Reflection And Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum)

Reﬂection and Refraction Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Edited by the Board of Quarterly H. M. Barstad – R. P. Go...

Author: Robert Rezetko | Timothy H. Lim | W. Brian Aucker (Eds.)

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Reﬂection and Refraction

Supplements to

Vetus Testamentum Edited by the Board of Quarterly

H. M. Barstad – R. P. Gordon – A. Hurvitz G. Knoppers – A. van der Kooij – A. Lemaire C. Newsom – H. Spieckermann J. Trebolle Barrera – H. G. M. Williamson

VOLUME 113

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chapter two

Reﬂection and Refraction Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld

Edited by

Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim and W. Brian Aucker

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2007

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data

Reﬂection and refraction : studies in biblical historiography in honour of A. Graeme Auld / edited by Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Aucker. p. cm. — (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum, ISSN 0083-5889 ; v. 113) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-14512-2 ISBN-10: 90-04-14512-5 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Auld, A. Graeme. II. Rezetko, Robert. III. Lim, Timothy H. IV. Aucker, W. Brian. V. Title. VI. Series. BS1171.3.R44 2006 221.6—dc22 2006049031

371.82968'0747'1–dc2 ISSN 0083–5889 ISBN-13: 978 90 04 14512 2 ISBN-10: 90 04 14512 5 © Copyright 2007 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

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PRINTED IN THE NETHERLAND

CONTENTS Acknowledgement ...................................................................... A Tribute to A. Graeme Auld ................................................ Publications of A. Graeme Auld .............................................. Abbreviations ................................................................................

ix xi xv xxv

W. Brian Aucker A Prophet in King’s Clothes: Kingly and Divine Re-Presentation in 2 Kings 4 and 5 ........................................

1

John Barton Historiography and Theodicy in the Old Testament ............

27

George J. Brooke The Books of Chronicles and the Scrolls from Qumran ........

35

Ronald E. Clements A Royal Privilege: Dining in the Presence of the Great King (2 Kings 25.27–30) ..........................................................

49

David J. A. Clines Translating Psalm 23 ................................................................

67

Adrian H. W. Curtis The Just King: Fact or Fancy? Some Ugaritic Reﬂections ....

81

Philip R. Davies The Trouble with Benjamin ....................................................

93

John Day Gibeon and the Gibeonites in the Old Testament ................ 113 Mary Douglas Reading Numbers after Samuel ................................................ 139 Lester L. Grabbe Mighty Oaks from (Genetically Manipulated?) Acorns Grow: The Chronicle of the Kings of Judah as a Source of the Deuteronomistic History ............................................................ 155

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A. Peter Hayman The ‘Original Text’ of Sefer Yeßira or the ‘Earliest Recoverable Text’? .................................................................... 175 Alastair G. Hunter ‘The Righteous Generation’: The Use of Dôr in Psalms 14 and 24 ........................................................................................ 187 William Johnstone Exodus 20.24b: Linchpin of Pentateuchal Criticism or Just a Further Link between the Decalogue and the Book of the Covenant? .................................................................................. 207 Gary N. Knoppers Cutheans or Children of Jacob? The Issue of Samaritan Origins in 2 Kings 17 .............................................................. 223 Lydie Kucová Obeisance in the Biblical Stories of David ............................ 241 Timothy H. Lim The Book of Ruth and its Literary Voice .............................. 261 James R. Linville Bugs Through the Looking Glass: The Infestation of Meaning in Joel .......................................................................... 283 Steven L. McKenzie The Trouble with King Jehoshaphat ........................................ 299 Raymond F. Person, Jr. The Deuteronomic History and the Books of Chronicles: Contemporary Competing Historiographies ............................ 315 Hugh S. Pyper Swallowed by a Song: Jonah and the Jonah-Psalm through the Looking-Glass ...................................................................... 337 David J. Reimer Stories of Forgiveness: Narrative Ethics and the Old Testament .................................................................................... 359 Robert Rezetko ‘Late’ Common Nouns in the Book of Chronicles ................ 379

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Thomas Christian Römer Israel’s Sojourn in the Wilderness and the Construction of the Book of Numbers ................................................................ 419 Margreet L. Steiner The Notion of Jerusalem as a Holy City ................................ 447 Emanuel Tov Biliteral Exegesis of Hebrew Roots in the Septuagint? .......... 459 Julio Trebolle Kings (MT/LXX) and Chronicles: The Double and Triple Textual Tradition ...................................................................... 483 John Van Seters The ‘Shared Text’ of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles Re-examined .............................................................................. 503 H. G. M. Williamson Once Upon a Time . . .? .......................................................... 517 Gregory T. K. Wong Gideon: A New Moses? ............................................................ 529 N. Wyatt The Seventy Sons of Athirat, the Nations of the World, Deuteronomy 32.6b, 8–9, and the Myth of Divine Election ........................................................................................ 547 Contributors ................................................................................ 557 Index of Names .......................................................................... 561

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT The task of editing a substantial volume like this could not be done without the help of several people whom we should like to thank. Foremost, we should like to record our gratitude to André Lemaire for accepting this Festschrift into the Vetus Testamentum Supplements series. It is an honour to have this collection of articles published exceptionally in this most reputable of series. His helpful guidance throughout the process has been much appreciated. The editors of Brill Academic Publishers, Hans van der Meij (now of IDC), and Mattie Kuiper, we should like to thank for their professionalism and cooperation. Finally, we are most grateful to Sylvia Auld not only for answering numerous questions about family life and history, but also for providing us with a most suitable title for the volume. W. Brian Aucker Timothy H. Lim Robert Rezetko

A TRIBUTE TO A. GRAEME AULD Between the covers of this book are published thirty articles written by colleagues, former students and friends in honour of Alan Graeme Auld. Many more would have contributed but for space, schedule and opportunity, yet all join us in congratulating Graeme on passing his sixty-ﬁfth birthday and on amassing a lifetime of work and achievement as one of the most original and innovative Hebrew Bible scholars of his generation. A passage from the Wisdom of Jesus ben Sira may be adapted to describe Graeme the scholar: he who devotes himself to the study of the law of the Most High will seek out the wisdom of all the ancients, and will be concerned with prophecies; he will preserve the discourse of notable men and penetrate the subtleties of parables; he will seek out the hidden meanings of proverbs and be at home with the obscurities of parables (39.1–3).

For most of his academic life, Graeme has been concerned with the study of the law or Pentateuch, especially but not exclusively with its ﬁfth book and the theory proposed by Martin Noth of a Deuteronomistic History that extends from Deuteronomy to 2 Kings. Over the years, Graeme has come to question the validity of this theory and has advanced an alternative model of a ‘shared text’ or ‘the Book of Two Houses’ to account for the overlapping material found in Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. Not everyone agrees with this model; however, most hold a critical appreciation of the way that Graeme’s work has compelled scholars to re-think the axiomatic in secondary literature. Like the scribe eulogised by Jesus son of Sira, Graeme has concerned himself with prophecies, not only because the ‘Former Prophets’ is another designation for the books of Joshua to Kings, but also in the way that he has examined the phenomena of prophecy and the legacy that the prophets left to us in the Old Testament. His study guide to Amos is an erudite and stimulating work in the best British tradition of accessible introductions by experts. For him, ‘prophet’ is a late term to describe the recipients of divine revelation. A source critic of the Hebrew Bible, Graeme has sought the wisdom of the ancients, especially among the translators of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, the Septuagint, but also more recently among the

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scribes who copied the biblical manuscripts from the Judaean Desert, the Qumran scrolls. He has not conﬁned himself to written sources, but has investigated as an independent witness the material culture that the ancients left to us in archaeological artefacts of the city of Jerusalem to the Hellenistic period. Just as the scribe who studies the law of the Most High preserves the discourse of notable men, so Graeme has left for perpetuity his discussions of Old Testament theology and in particular the contribution of the Scottish ‘divines’ who graced Scotland for hundreds of years. Graeme has not studied extensively parables or proverbs, but his close reading of Hebrew and Greek texts and biblical scholarship is nothing if not an act of detecting subtleties, hidden meanings and obscurities in authoritative texts and commonly held beliefs. Unlike the ancient scribe who ‘depends on the opportunity of leisure’ (Sira 38.24–25), Graeme has had his ‘hand to the plough’, serving as he has done over the years in numerous academic and administrative capacities as Dean of the Faculty (now School) of Divinity, Principal of New College, doctoral supervisor, teacher, external examiner and committee member. Graeme the colleague is highly respected for his eﬃciency, competence, unpretentiousness and above all his judgement. Always fair to all colleagues, no matter what religious background, gender, ethnic origin or educational pedigree, Graeme is a model of a good administrator and academic leader. Junior and senior staﬀ-members alike look to him for guidance and his opinion carries much weight within the School of Divinity, the College of Humanities & Social Science, the University of Edinburgh generally and beyond. As Principal of New College he has had pastoral oversight over candidates training for ministry in the Church of Scotland. In recognition of his many achievements, Graeme has been duly elected Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. Graeme Auld was born on 14th August 1941 at a nursing home in Aberdeen (though his family home was in Edinburgh). His mother, Alice, had returned to her hometown for the birth. His father Alan Talbert Auld was a Social Worker and the Secretary to the Aberdeen Association of Social Service. Graeme was to attend George Watson’s College, one of the three Edinburgh Merchant Company Schools, but his family moved to Aberdeen before he entered his ﬁrst year. In Aberdeen, he attended Robert Gordon’s College and sat exams in English, French, Latin, Mathematics and Greek at Higher, with supplementary papers in Dynamics, Calculus and Coordinate Geometry.

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On leaving school, Graeme won an academic bursary and attended Aberdeen University in 1959, reading the Master of Arts (in Scotland, it is an undergraduate degree) in Classics, and receiving a ﬁrst class result. From the time when he was in school, Graeme had already intended on entering the ministry, but back in the 1960s theological training in Scotland was solely a postgraduate qualiﬁcation. Thus, he ﬁrst read Classics, and having done so, Graeme moved to Edinburgh in 1963 to pursue the Bachelor of Divinity (BD) degree at the Faculty of Divinity of the University of Edinburgh. The ﬁrst two years of the three-year programme were devoted to Old Testament, New Testament, Church History and Systematic Theology; it was only in the last year that he specialised in Old Testament Studies. After completing his BD, Graeme continued postgraduate studies at the suggestion of George Anderson, then Professor of Hebrew and Old Testament Studies in Edinburgh. He received a studentship from the Scottish Educational Department and spent 1966–1968 studying abroad, ﬁrst at l’Ecole biblique et archéologique française in Jerusalem, then in Germany. While in Jerusalem, Père Roland de Vaux asked Graeme to review Sigmund Mowinckel’s Tetrateuch, Pentateuch, Hexateuch: die Berichte über die Landnahme in den drei altisraelitischen Geschichtswerken (1964) and this was the impetus that eventually led him to complete an Edinburgh PhD on the text and literary relations of the book of Joshua in 1976. Graeme also worked at the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem (BSAJ; now the Kenyon Institute, Jerusalem) where he met two people who were to have a signiﬁcant inﬂuence on him the rest of his life. The ﬁrst was Professor Martin Noth who suggested that he further his studies in Germany with Rudolf Smend, who was at that time at the Universität Münster before he moved to Göttingen. Second, he met Sylvia Joyce Lamplugh, the daughter of a MajorGeneral in the Royal Engineers, who was working at the British School. Sylvia was later to complete a doctorate in the history of Islamic Art at the University of Edinburgh. Graeme and Sylvia met, fell in love and were engaged at Teleilat Ghassul before being evacuated to Kyrenia, North Cyprus a week before the Six Day War. They were married in Somerset, England, in September 1967. Between 1969 and 1972, Graeme returned to Jerusalem to serve as the Assistant Director of the BSAJ. His son, Hamish, was born there and was christened in St. Andrews Church in West Jerusalem, an ecumenical ceremony attended by de Vaux, other Dominicans,

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members of the Greek Orthodox Church, Armenians, Church of England parishioners and Muslims. Graeme and Sylvia had two other children, Fergus and Caroline, and over the years they again travelled to the Holy Land by driving there in an ancient Volkswagen van with all three children in tow. Then, Graeme had long hair and wore ﬂared trousers and Sylvia sported a scarf around her neck, prompting their children to call them ‘hippy parents’! In 1972, he was called back to a lectureship in Edinburgh to replace Robert Davidson who had been appointed to a chair at the University of Glasgow. Thus Graeme returned to the Scottish capital, joining George Anderson, John Gibson and Peter Hayman as the fourth staﬀ member in Old Testament Studies. He was ordained in April 1973. He has spent his entire academic career in Edinburgh, having been promoted to Senior Lecturer and then in 1995 to a personal chair in Hebrew Bible. In 1994, he was awarded a Doctor of Literature degree by the University of Aberdeen. Throughout his career, Graeme has been involved in many professional guilds and societies, notable among these is the Society for Old Testament Study, for which he served as Book Editor (1986–1992), Foreign Secretary (1997–2004) and President (2005). Graeme’s hobbies include music (he used to sing in a choir), Sudoku, crosswords, Scottish rugby (especially this year!), reading and walking the dog. He has retained his interests and ability in Mathematics, astonishing colleagues by calculating sums and percentages instantly in his head. In his manse in the Borders, he enjoys entertaining family and friends, lighting bonﬁres and creating space in his garden. He has an instant rapport with children, taking them as individuals, and likes animals. Above all, Graeme is a man with a dry and witty sense of humour. Family members, friends, colleagues and students alike are often left wondering whether or not he is being serious. So, on the sixty-ﬁfth year of his birthday, we congratulate Graeme for what he has accomplished thus far and raise our glasses to celebrate his life and achievement. Slainte! W. Brian Aucker Timothy H. Lim Robert Rezetko

PUBLICATIONS OF A. GRAEME AULD* Books: Sole Author 1 Joshua, Moses and the Land: Tetrateuch-Pentateuch-Hexateuch in a Generation Since 1938 (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1980). 2 Joshua, Judges, and Ruth (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984); trans.: Yoshuaki (trans. K. Ono; Deiri sutadi baiburu, 7; Tokyo: Shinkyoshuppansha, 1987). 3 I & II Kings (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986); trans.: Retsuoki (trans. S. Fujimoto; Deiri sutadi baiburu, 9; Tokyo: Shinkyoshuppansha, 1994). 4 Amos (OTG; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1986, 1990; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1995, 1999; London: T & T Clark International, rev. edn, 2004). 5 Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). 6 Joshua Retold: Synoptic Perspectives (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998). 7 Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004). 8 Joshua: Jesus, son of Naue, in Codex Vaticanus (Septuagint Commentary Series; Leiden: Brill, 2005). 9 I & II Samuel (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, in preparation). 10

Commentary on Joshua (ICC; London: T & T Clark International, in preparation).

* Book reviews are excluded from this bibliography.

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Books: Joint Author 11 With M. L. Steiner, Jerusalem I: From the Bronze Age to the Maccabees (Cities of the Biblical World; Cambridge: Lutterworth Press; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1996). Books: Sole Editor 12 Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honour of George Wishart Anderson ( JSOTSup, 152; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993). Books: Joint Editor 13 With T. H. Lim, L. W. Hurtado and A. M. Jack, The Dead Sea Scrolls in their Historical Context (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2004). 14 With E. Eynikel (eds.), For and Against David: Story and History in the Books of Samuel (BETL; Leuven: Peeters, in preparation). Book Essays: Author 15 ‘Joshua: The Hebrew and Greek Texts’, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Studies in the Historical Books of the Old Testament (VTSup, 30; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1979), pp. 1–14; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 7–18. 16 ‘Creation and Land: Sources and Exegesis’, in Proceedings of the Eighth World Congress of Jewish Studies ( Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, Perry Foundation for Biblical Research; Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1982), pp. 7–13; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 63–68. 17 ‘Tribal Terminology in Joshua and Judges’, in Convegno sul tema: Le origini di Israele (Roma, 10–11 febbraio 1986) (Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, Fondazione Leone Caetani; Rome: Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, 1987), pp. 87–98; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 69–76. 18 ‘Word of God and Word of Man: Prophets and Canon’, in L. Eslinger and G. Taylor (eds.), Ascribe to the Lord: Biblical and Other Studies in Memory of Peter C. Craigie ( JSOTSup, 67; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1988), pp. 237–51.

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19 ‘Prophecy and the Prophets’, in S. Bigger (ed.), Creating the Old Testament: The Emergence of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989), pp. 203–26. 20 ‘Word of God’, in R. J. Coggins and J. L. Houlden (eds.), A Dictionary of Biblical Theology (London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), pp. 731–32. 21 ‘Amos and Apocalyptic: Vision, Prophecy, Revelation’, in D. Garrone and F. Israel (eds.), Storia e Tradizioni di Israele: Scritti in onore di J. Alberto Soggin (Brescia: Paideia Editrice, 1991), pp. 1–13; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 71–79. 22 ‘Can a Biblical Theology also be Academic or Ecumenical?’, in R. P. Carroll (ed.), Text as Pretext: Essays in Honour of Robert Davidson ( JSOTSup, 138; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1992), pp. 13–27. 23 ‘The British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem’, in A. Biran et al. (eds.), Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, June–July 1990 ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1993), pp. 23–26. 24 ‘Solomon at Gibeon: History Glimpsed’, in S. A˙ituv and B. A. Levine (eds.), Avraham Malamat Volume (ErIsr, 24; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1993), pp. 1*–7*; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 97–107. 25 ‘Reading Joshua after Kings’, in J. Davies, G. Harvey and W. G. E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer ( JSOTSup, 195; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1995), pp. 167–81; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 102–12. 26 ‘Hebrew and Old Testament’, in D. F. Wright and G. D. Badcock (eds.), Disruption to Diversity: Edinburgh Divinity, 1846–1996 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), pp. 53–71. 27 ‘Leviticus at the Heart of the Pentateuch’, in J. F. A. Sawyer (ed.), Reading Leviticus: A Conversation with Mary Douglas ( JSOTSup, 227; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1996), pp. 40–51; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 225–32. 28 ‘Re-Reading Samuel (Historically): “Etwas mehr Nichtwissen”’, in V. Fritz and P. R. Davies (eds.), The Origins of the Ancient

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29 ‘British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem’, in E. M. Meyers (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East (5 vols; New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1:359–60. 30 ‘The Former Prophets: Joshua, Judges, 1–2 Samuel, 1–2 Kings’, in S. L. McKenzie and M. P. Graham (eds.), The Hebrew Bible Today: An Introduction to Critical Issues (Louisville, KY: Westminster/ John Knox Press, 1998), pp. 53–68; repr. as ‘The Former Prophets’, in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 11–25. 31 ‘What Makes Judges Deuteronomistic?’, in Joshua Retold, pp. 120–26. 32 ‘The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets, or What Makes the Former Prophets Deuteronomistic?’, in L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism ( JSOTSup, 268; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 116–26; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 185–91. 33 ‘History–Interpretation–Theology: Issues in Biblical Religion’, in E. Ball (ed.), In Search of True Wisdom: Essays in Old Testament Interpretation in Honour of Ronald E. Clements ( JSOTSup, 300; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 22–36; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 161–71. 34 ‘Joshua, Book of ’, in J. H. Hayes (ed.), Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1999), pp. 625–32; repr. as ‘The History of Interpretation of the Book of Joshua’, in Joshua Retold, pp. 129–39. 35 ‘What was the Main Source of the Books of Chronicles?’, in M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture ( JSOTSup, 263; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 91–99; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 135–40. 36 ‘The Deuteronomists between History and Theology’, in A. Lemaire and M. Saebø (eds.), Congress Volume: Oslo 1998 (VTSup, 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 353–67; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 193–203.

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37 ‘Joshua and 1 Chronicles’, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSup, 81; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 132–41; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 113–19. 38 ‘Prophets Shared—but Recycled’, in T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL, 147; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2000), pp. 19–28; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 127–34. 39 ‘Samuel and Genesis: Some Questions of John Van Seters’s “Yahwist”’, in S. L. McKenzie, T. Römer and H. H. Schmid (eds.), Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible: Essays in Honour of John Van Seters (BZAW, 294; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2000), pp. 23–32; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 205–11. 40 ‘What if the Chronicler Did Use the Deuteronomistic History?’, in J. C. Exum (ed.), Virtual History and the Bible (BibInt, 8; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 137–50. 41 ‘From King to Prophet in Samuel and Kings’, in J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001), pp. 31–44; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 173–83. 42 ‘Bearing the Burden of David’s Guilt’, in C. Bultmann, W. Dietrich and C. Levin (eds.), Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments: Beiträge zur biblischen Hermeneutik für Rudolf Smend zum 70. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), pp. 69–81. 43 ‘Counting Sheep, Sins, and Sour Grapes: The Primacy of the Primary History?’, in A. G. Hunter and P. R. Davies (eds.), Sense and Sensitivity: Essays on Reading the Bible in Memory of Robert Carroll ( JSOTSup, 348; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2002), pp. 63–72; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 255–62. 44 ‘Prophecy’, in J. Barton (ed.), The Biblical World (2 vols; London: Routledge, 2002), 1:88–106. 45 ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, in J. C. Gertz, K. Schmid and M. Witte (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW, 315; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2002), pp. 233–46; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 243–54.

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46 ‘1 and 2 Samuel’, in J. D. G. Dunn and J. W. Rogerson (eds.), Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 213–45. 47 ‘Leviticus after Exodus and before Numbers’, in R. Rendtorﬀ and R. A. Kugler (eds.), The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception (VTSup, 93; Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature, 3; Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 41–54; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 233–42. 48 ‘What was a Biblical Prophet? Why does it Matter?’, in J. C. Exum and H. G. M. Williamson (eds.), Reading from Right to Left: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J. A. Clines ( JSOTSup, 373; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2003), pp. 1–12. 49 ‘Alexander Geddes on the Historical Books of the Hebrew Bible’, in W. Johnstone (ed.), The Bible and the Enlightenment: A Case Study – Dr Alexander Geddes (1737–1802): The Proceedings of the Bicentenary Geddes Conference held at the University of Aberdeen, 1–4 April 2002 ( JSOTSup, 377; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 181–200. 50 ‘Solomon and the Deuteronomists’, in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 119–25. 51 ‘The Story of David and Goliath: A Test Case for Synchrony Plus Diachrony’, in W. Dietrich (ed.), David und Saul im Widerstreit – Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit. Beiträge zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuchs (OBO, 206; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), pp. 118–28. 52 ‘Amphictyony, Question of ’, in B. T. Arnold and H. G. M. Williamson (eds.), Dictionary of the Old Testament Historical Books (Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press, 2005), pp. 26–32. 53 ‘Reading Kings on the Divided Monarchy: What Sort of Narrative?’, in H. G. M. Williamson (ed.), Understanding the History of Ancient Israel (British Academy Symposium Series; in preparation). 54 ‘A Factored Response to an Enigma (2 Samuel 21–24)’, in A. G. Auld and E. Eynikel (eds.), For and Against David: Story and History in the Books of Samuel (BETL; Leuven: Peeters, in preparation).

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55 ‘Writing Time and Eternity in Samuel and Kings’ in Festschrift Philip Davies (London: T & T Clark International, in preparation). Book Essays: Translator 56 W. Zimmerli, ‘The History of Israelite Religion’, in G. W. Anderson (ed.), Tradition and Interpretation: Essays by Members of the Society for Old Testament Study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), pp. 351–84. Journal Articles: Sole Author 57 ‘Judges I and History: A Reconsideration’, VT 25 (1975), pp. 261–85; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 79–101. 58 ‘A Judaean Sanctuary of 'Anat ( Josh 15:59)?’, TA 4 (1977), pp. 85–86; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 61–62. 59 ‘Cities of Refuge in Israelite Tradition’, JSOT 10 (1978), pp. 26–40; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 37–48. 60 ‘Textual and Literary Studies in the Book of Joshua’, ZAW 90 (1978), pp. 412–17; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 19–24. 61 ‘The “Levitical Cities”: Texts and History’, ZAW 91 (1979), pp. 194–206; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 25–36. 62 ‘Keeping up with Recent Studies VI. The Pentateuch’, ExpTim 91 (1980), pp. 297–302. 63 ‘Poetry, Prophecy, Hermeneutic: Recent Studies in Isaiah’, SJT 33 (1980), pp. 567–81. 64 ‘Israel’s Social Origins’, ExpTim 92 (1981), pp. 146–47. 65 ‘Prophets Through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23; repr. in R. P. Gordon (ed.), “The Place is Too Small for Us”: The Israelite Prophets in Recent Scholarship (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study, 5; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), pp. 289–307; repr. in P. R. Davies (ed.), The Prophets: A Sheﬃeld Reader (The Biblical Seminar, 42; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1996), pp. 22–42; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 45–59.

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66 ‘Prophets Through the Looking Glass: A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 41–44; repr. in P. R. Davies (ed.), The Prophets: A Sheﬃeld Reader (The Biblical Seminar, 42; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1996), pp. 57–60; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 59–61. 67 ‘Prophets and Prophecy in Jeremiah and Kings’, ZAW 96 (1984), pp. 66–82; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 29–43. 68 ‘Sabbath, Work, and Creation: hkalm Reconsidered’, Hen 8 (1986), pp. 273–80. 69 ‘Gideon: Hacking at the Heart of the Old Testament’, VT 39 (1989), pp. 257–67; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 63–70. 70 ‘The Cities in Joshua 21: The Contribution of Textual Criticism’, Text 15 (1990), pp. 141–52; repr. in Joshua Retold, pp. 49–57. 71 ‘Prophecy in Books: A Rejoinder [to Thomas W. Overholt]’, JSOT 48 (1990), pp. 31–32; repr. in P. R. Davies (ed.), The Prophets: A Sheﬃeld Reader (The Biblical Seminar, 42; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1996), pp. 85–86. 72 ‘Salomo und die Deuteronomisten – eine Zukunftsvision?’, TZ 48 (1992), pp. 343–55; trans. and repr. as ‘Vision of a New Future’, in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 109–17. 73 ‘Does God Speak [Hebrew]? A Response to Professor McKane’, ExpTim 108 (1997), p. 177. 74 ‘Le texte hébreu et le texte grec de Josué: une comparaison à partir du chapitre 5’, Foi et Vie. Cahier biblique 37 = FoiVie 97.4 (1998), pp. 67–78. 75 ‘Hebrew Bible and Theology’, Theology in Scotland 6 (1999), pp. 55–70. 76 ‘Réponse d’A. G. Auld [to C. Nihan and T. Römer]’, ETR 3 (1999), pp. 422–24. 77 ‘Tamar Between David, Judah and Joseph’, SEÅ 65 (2000), pp. 93–106; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 213–24. 78 ‘Deuteronomy, History and the Hebrew Bible’, ExpTim 113 (2002), pp. 173–74.

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79 ‘imago dei in Genesis: Speaking in the Image of God’, ExpTim 116 (2005), pp. 259–62. Journal Articles: Joint Author 80 With C. Y. S. Ho, ‘The Making of David and Goliath’, JSOT 56 (1992), pp. 19–39; repr. in Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 81–96 Journal Articles: Translator 81 R. Smend, ‘Julius Wellhausen and the Prolegomena to the History of Israel, 1878–1978’, Semeia 25 (1982), pp. 1–20. Periodicals: Editor 82–87 Book List of the Society for Old Testament Study, 1987–1992. 88 Theology in Scotland 12.1 (2005), pp. 3–84, a guest edited periodical number with papers from a conference celebrating the life and work of Professor Norman Walker Porteous. Online Essays 89 ‘Voices from the Past’, SOTS Presidential Address, 5 January 2005, www.sots.ac.uk.

ABBREVIATIONS AASF AASOR AB ABD

Annales Academiae scientiarum fennicae Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Anchor Bible D. N. Freedman (ed.), Anchor Bible Dictionary (6 vols; New York: Doubleday, 1992). ABRL Anchor Bible Reference Library ALASP Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syrien-Palästinas AnBib Analecta biblica AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament ArBib The Aramaic Bible ATANT Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch ATSAT Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im alten Testament AusBR Australian Biblical Review BA Biblical Archaeologist BARev Biblical Archaeology Review BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge BDB F. Brown, S. R. Driver and C. A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907). BEATAJ Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Berit Olam Berit Olam: Studies in Hebrew Narrative and Poetry BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium BHS K. Elliger and W. Rudolph (eds.), Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1983). Bib Biblica BibInt Biblical Interpretation BJS Brown Judaic Studies BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament BN Biblische Notizen BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament

xxvi BZ BZAW

abbreviations

Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft CahRB Cahiers de la Revue biblique CAT Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament CBC The Cambridge Bible Commentary CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series ConBOT Coniectanea biblica: Old Testament CV Communio viatorum DCH D. J. A. Clines (ed.), The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (5 vols; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993–2001). DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert DSB The Daily Study Bible ÉBib Études bibliques ErIsr Eretz-Israel: Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies EstBíb Estudios Bíblicos ETL Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses ETR Etudes théologiques et religieuses ExpTim Expository Times FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament FCB Feminist Companion to the Bible FoiVie Foi et Vie FOTL The Forms of the Old Testament Literature FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GKC W. Gesenius, Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar (ed. E. Kautzsch; trans. A. E. Cowley; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2nd edn, 1910). GTT Gereformeerd theologisch tijdschrift HALOT L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (trans. and ed. under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson; 5 vols; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994–2000). HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament Hen Henoch Hermeneia Hermeneia—A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible HO Handbuch der Orientalistik

abbreviations HS HSM HSS HTR HUCA IBC

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Hebrew Studies Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Semitic Studies Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching ICC International Critical Commentary IEJ Israel Exploration Journal Int Interpretation ITC International Theological Commentary JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JJS Journal of Jewish Studies JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages JQR Jewish Quarterly Review JSJSup Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplement JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement JSS Journal of Semitic Studies JTS Journal of Theological Studies KAT Kommentar zum Alten Testament KHAT Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament KTU M. Dietrich, O. Loretz & J. Sanmartín, The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts: From Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (KTU) (ALASP, 8; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2nd enl. edn, 1995). LB Linguistica Biblica LCL Loeb Classical Library LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies LSJ H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. S. Jones, Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 9th edn, 1940). LSTS Library of Second Temple Studies MdB Le Monde de la Bible MRS Mission de Ras Shamra MSU Mitteilungen des Septuaginta-Unternehmens NAC New American Commentary NCB New Century Bible NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament NTT Norsk Teologisk Tidsskrift

xxviii OBO OBT OED

abbreviations

Orbis biblicus et orientalis Overtures to Biblical Theology J. A. Simpson and E. S. C. Weiner (eds.), The Oxford English Dictionary (20 vols; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2nd edn, 1989). OLA Orientalia lovaniensia analecta OTE Old Testament Essays OTG Old Testament Guides OTL Old Testament Library OTS Oudtestamentische Studiën OTWSA Ou Testamentiese Werkgemeenskap in Suid-Afrika PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly PJ Palästina-Jahrbuch Proof Prooftexts: A Journal of Jewish Literary History PRSt Perspectives in Religious Studies Qad Qadmoniot RB Revue biblique REJ Revue de études juives RevQ Revue de Qumran RHPR Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses SB Sources bibliques SBB Stuttgarter biblische Beiträge SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series SBLMS Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series SBLSCS Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies SBLSymS Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series SBLWAW Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien SEÅ Svensk exegetisk årsbok SemeiaSt Semeia Studies SJOT Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament SJT Scottish Journal of Theology SMSR Studi e materiali di storia delle religioni SOTSMS Society for Old Testament Studies Monograph Series SSN Studia semitica neerlandica ST Studia theologica StC Studia catholica STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah

abbreviations SubBi SWBA TA TBT TBü TCS TDOT

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Subsidia biblica Social World of Biblical Antiquity Tel Aviv The Bible Today Theologische Bücherei Texts from Cuneiform Sources G. J. Botterweck et al. (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (vols 1–14; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2004). Text Textus TLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung TOTC Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries Transeu Transeuphratène TRE G. Krause and G. Müller (eds.), Theologische Realenzyklopädie (35 vols; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1977–2003). TRu Theologische Rundschau TSAJ Text und Studien zum antiken Judentum TynBul Tyndale Bulletin TZ Theologische Zeitschrift UBL Ugaritisch-Biblische Literatur UF Ugarit-Forschungen VD Verbum domini VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum Supplement WBC Word Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament ZABR Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZDPV Zeitschrift der deutschen Palästina-Vereins ZTK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

A PROPHET IN KING’S CLOTHES: KINGLY AND DIVINE RE-PRESENTATION IN 2 KINGS 4 AND 51 W. Brian Aucker 1. Introduction A. G. Auld observes that with biblical characters what you see is not necessarily what you get. Characters designated ‘priest’ may occasionally be seated as ‘king’.2 But such characterisations may work in other directions as well. By means of an exploration of 2 Kings 4–5 this essay will show that in the presentation of Elisha, we observe a ‘prophet’, functioning as much more than a prophet. It is not uncommon for scholars to point out the lack of coherence present within the stories of Elisha found in 2 Kings 2–8. W. Bergen states that for readers of the Elisha narrative ‘coherence is elusive in 2 Kings’.3 G. W. Anderson writes that the Elisha stories are less coherent than the Elijah stories since the former ‘are linked together by little more than the personality of the prophet’.4 For G. H. Jones the larger collection of stories of multiple genres ‘gives them no more than a superﬁcial appearance of unity’.5 Y. Radday states that the Elisha Cycle seems like a ‘foreign intrusion’ into Kings and that its

1 I oﬀer my thanks to Headmaster, Jim Marsh and Head of Upper School, Dr Jim Sefrit of Westminster Christian Academy for a leave of absence that enabled the completion of this project. I also thank Robert Rezetko and Timothy Lim for helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay. 2 A. G. Auld, ‘From King to Prophet in Samuel and Kings’, in J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001), pp. 31–44; repr. in idem, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (Society for Old Testament Study Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 173–83. It is a great pleasure to dedicate this essay to my former thesis supervisor Graeme Auld, whose scholarship, guidance, encouragement and friendship fostered my exploration of 2 Kings 2–8. 3 W. J. Bergen, ‘The Prophetic Alternative: Elisha and the Israelite Monarchy’, in R. B. Coote (ed.), Elijah and Elisha in Socioliterary Perspective (Semeia St; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 127–37 (129). 4 G. W. Anderson, A Critical Introduction to the Old Testament (Studies in Theology; London: Gerald Duckworth, 1959), p. 87. 5 G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; 2 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), 1:69.

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‘message—religious, national or social—is practically nil and why it was included in the book is a problem that still has to be solved’.6 This essay will not solve the problem of why Elisha was included in Kings. However, we will venture a start, challenging these assessments by means of an examination 2 Kings 4–5. The argument set forth is that it is Elisha’s kingly and divine re-presentation that makes the Elisha Cycle much more than a ‘foreign intrusion’ in the books of Kings.7 2. The Literary Structure of 2 Kings 2–8 The miracle stories in 2 Kings 2–8 provide a conundrum for the assessment of literary coherence both because they are ill-suited to their context and because the miracle stories appear so pointless. This is perfectly understandable given the view that the stories are postDeuteronomistic additions perhaps lifted from a prior prophetic source.8 B. Long notes, for example, the diﬃculty of discerning the intention of DtrH’s use of the stories in 2 Kings 4 which ‘accent’ Elisha within the reign of Jehoram. He suggests that perhaps, despite an apostate monarch and people, the DtrH wanted to emphasise the availability of God’s power in and through the successor of Elijah, i.e., since there is still a prophet in Israel there remains a God in Israel as well.9 This is an important emphasis in 2 Kings 5 (cf. v. 15) encouraging us to treat the two chapters together. The question of Elisha’s literary function within 2 Kings remains. Is it possible to read the narratives of chapters 4–5 and indeed all of 2 Kings 2–8 as an implicit indictment on the monarchy and its failed leadership and as the elevation of a prophetic ﬁgure to new heights? At the wider narrative level it is diﬃcult to establish a ‘principle of composition’. P. Buis attempts an arrangement of stories grouped 6

Y. Radday, ‘Chiasm in Kings’, LB 31 (1974), pp. 62–67 (63). Here Radday refers to R. H. Pfeiﬀer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1941), p. 407. 7 The larger and more detailed argument may be found in W. B. Aucker, ‘Putting Elisha in His Place: Genre, Coherence, and Narrative Function in 2 Kings 2–8’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2001). 8 S. Otto, ‘The Composition of the Elijah—Elisha Stories and the Deuteronomistic History’, JSOT 27 (2003), pp. 487–508 (497, 504–507). See also, S. L. McKenzie, The Trouble with Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History (VTSup, 42; Leiden. E. J. Brill, 1991), pp. 81–100. 9 B. Long, 2 Kings (FOTL, 10; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), p. 65.

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according to typology.10 He categorises them as (A) Elisha the benefactor—stories in which the prophet uses his miraculous powers in service to others: 2.19–22; 4.1–7; 4.38–44; 6.1–7; 8.1–2; 13.20–21; (B) Elisha and his servant: 4.8–37; 5.1–27; 6.8–23; (C) Elisha in the political sphere—here Elisha, as the successor of Elijah, instigates revolutions: 2 Kgs 8.7–15; 9.1–13; (D) Elisha in warfare: 3.4–27; 6.24–7.20; 13.14–19; (E) Biographical notices: 2.23–25; 8.3–6; 13.20. Buis sets forth the following arrangement for the stories from chapters 2–8:11 A B A B A B (4.1–7) (4.8–37) (4.38–44) (5.1–27) (6.1–7) (6.8–23) D (3.4–27) AE (2.19–22) (2.23–25)

(6.24–7.20) D (8.1–2) (8.3–6) AE

This is a reasonable attempt at creating an overall compositional structure for chapters 2–8 and places chapters 4–5 within a set of contiguous texts moving from 4.1–6.23. Here Elisha acts as benefactor (A) or with his servant (B). Undoubtedly, there is some artiﬁciality in the production of such structures. While helpful in situating our chapters, we would like to be more general. Stories in which Elisha moves amidst the common folk are distinguished from those where he is involved in the great political events of the day. This contrast is exempliﬁed, for example, in the narrative shift from the political events of chapter 3, to the prophet among the people in chapter 4. This is not the only place where such a shift occurs. Stretching back to 2 Kings 1, the narrative moves broadly from prophetic interaction with royal and political situations, including royal ﬁgures and/or messengers (A), to interaction with non-royal ﬁgures (B). Narrative movement of this sort encourages us to query the extent to which the prophet is being compared to royal ﬁgures.

10 P. Buis, Le Livre des Rois (SB; Paris: J. Gabalda and Librairie LeCoﬀre, 1997), p. 187. 11 Buis, Rois, p. 187 creates a chart which covers chapters 2–13. I have ‘magniﬁed’ his treatment of chapters 2–8 since they are my chief concern with respect to coherence.

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4 A (1.1–18)

B (2.1–25)

Ahaziah Elijah and his and the messengers sons of the prophets

A (3.1–27)

B (4.1–44)

A (5.1–27)

B (6.1–7)

A (6.8–7.20)

AB (8.1–6)

Jehoram Sons and of the Jehoprophets, shaphat et al.

Naaman and King of Israel

Sons of the prophets

King of Syria and King of Israel

King of Israel, Gehazi and Shunammite

Elisha interacts in pendulum fashion with these two groups until the convergence of both groups in 8.1–6 where we ﬁnd the unnamed King of Israel, the ‘woman whose son he [Elisha] had restored to life’ and Gehazi.12 The prophet is absent within the narrative and yet the king of Israel is very interested in hearing from Gehazi about ‘all the great things Elisha has done’ (8.4b). 3. The Feeding and Healing Prophet (2 Kings 4) 3.1. 2 Kings 4.1–7; 4.38–41; 4.42–44 The themes of provision and healing are evident in chapter 4. Two stories of provision of food (4.1–7; 4.42–44) surround two stories of healing from death (4.8–37; 4.38–41).13 The prophet’s changing interaction with varying groups contributes to the view that the stories have little relationship with one another.14 Below, we deal ﬁrst with the shorter stories, the so-called prophetic legenda of 4.1–7, 38–41 and 42–44, before turning to the longer tale 12 Though literary and thematic elements of 4.8–37 and 8.1–6 encourage reading the stories together, it remains atypical in practice. See M. Roncace, ‘Elisha and the Woman of Shunem: 2 Kings 4.8–37 and 8.1–6 Read in Conjunction’, JSOT 91 (2000), pp. 109–27. 13 N. Levine, ‘Twice as Much of Your Spirit: Pattern, Parallel, and Paronomasia in the Miracles of Elijah and Elisha’, JSOT 85 (1999), pp. 25–46 (29). W. Brueggemann, 1 & 2 Kings (Smyth and Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, GA: Smyth and Helwys, 2000), p. 236, examines ‘ﬁve wonders’ in this chapter with the provision of the son and the raising of the son considered separately. On the combination of the ‘miraculous birth story’ (provision) and the ‘miraculous survival story’ (raising) see Y. Amit, ‘A Prophet Tested: Elisha, the Great Woman of Shunem, and the Story’s Double Message’, BibInt 11 (2003), pp. 279–94. 14 M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 11; New York: Doubleday, 1988), p. 59, claim that the stories in chapter 4 are held together by Elisha’s wonder-working acts on behalf of his admirers. J. Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 3rd rev. edn, 1977), p. 491, notes that in 4.1–37 Elisha is more individual and not so tightly connected with the prophetic guild.

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of the Shunammite in vv. 8–37.15 Within the shorter narratives Elisha provides an abundance of materials basic to life. Along with the earlier provision of abundant water (3.16–17), the narratives of chapter 4 present oil that continues to ﬂow (4.1–7), and bread enough to feed one hundred such that some remains after everyone has been fed (4.42–44). All ﬁve instances of the messenger formula, hwhy rma hk, uttered by Elisha within chapters 2–8 are concerned with either the provision of abundant water (3.16, 17), bread (4.43), or grains (7.1). The ﬁfth instance occurs at 2.21 and will be considered below. Besides themes, there are a number of lexical features worthy of consideration. Levine observes the high concentration of qxy and q[x in these stories.16 In 4.1–7, the widow ‘cries out’ and oil is ‘poured out’. In response to the famine in the land the narrator explicitly portrays Elisha himself providing food or drink for the sons of the prophets (4.38–41). In this instance the prophet commands his servant to ‘set on the large pot and boil stew for the sons of the prophets’ (4.38b). The stew is ‘poured out’ only to have those eating ‘cry out’ to Elisha, ‘Death in the pot, O man of God!’. In an earlier tale (2 Kgs 2.19–22) Elisha commanded the men of the city to bring (jql, 2.20) him a new bowl containing salt, an ingredient the prophet proceeds to cast (˚lç) into the spring. The occurrence of the messenger formula is found in 2.21 and is followed by Yhwh’s promise: ‘I heal these waters: neither death (twm) nor miscarriage shall come from there again’ (2 Kgs 2.21b). Similarly, in 4.38–41 the prophet asks the sons of the prophets to bring (jql, v. 41a) ﬂour which he then casts (˚lç) into the pot. The end result of Elisha’s action is that in 2.21 and 4.41 death is robbed of its prey: death will not come from the water or the pot.17

15 A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible, their Literary Types and History (Publications of the Perry Foundation for Biblical Research in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), pp. 27–32, describes 2 Kgs 4.8–37 as an elaboration of the legenda combining miracles into an integrated story, recounting circumstances and events, and providing the development of characters. 16 Levine, ‘Twice as Much’, pp. 29–30. For stories involving Elisha see qxy (2 Kgs 3.11; 4.4, 5, 40, 41; 9.3, 6) and q[x (2.12; 3.21; 4.1, 40; 6.5, 26; 8.3, 5). Space does not permit full development here, but q[x has important implications for the divine and royal portrayal of the prophet especially in 6.24–7.20 and 8.1–6. See R. N. Boyce, The Cry to God in the Old Testament (SBLDS, 103; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). 17 R. D. Nelson, First and Second Kings (IBC; Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1987), p. 175, sees both the salt of 2.21 and the ﬂour of 4.41 as symbols of life. T. R.

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In view of the similarities, the story of the blighted stew, like the story of the water in 2.19–22, may be viewed as a story of healing. As Elisha heals the waters near Jericho so he also heals the stew. If these are to be read as healing stories then in both we ﬁnd stories which merge the features of healing and the provision of food (water, soup) into brief compass. The theme of feeding the sons of the prophets continues in ﬁnal story (4.42–44). Again the recipients of prophetic favour are most likely the sons of the prophets as well, even though the phrase is not explicitly used. At the end of the previous story the prophet casts ﬂour into the pot and follows with the command to ‘pour out for the people so that they may eat’. The stew ordered earlier for the ‘sons of the prophets’ (4.38b) is eventually poured out ‘for the people’ (4.41b). Similarly, in the story that follows, Elisha twice commands the man from Baal Shalishah (v. 42) to ‘give ( ˆtn) to the people so that they may eat’. The narratives encourage the association of ‘the people’ in 42b, 43b with the earlier ‘sons of the prophets’. Overall, these stories build upon and interact with one another such that they provide all that is needed for the making of bread: a new bowl with salt (2.20), clean water (2.21b), oil (4.6), ﬂour (4.41), and eventually enough bread such that the people may eat and have some left over (4.43).18 But what has Elisha’s provision to do with the concept of kingship? In these minor stories the prophet’s actions hint at the assumption of the royal task of providing food. In several instances in the Hebrew Bible we ﬁnd kings, or those granted the authority of kings, providing bread or grains for the people. For example, both David (2 Sam 6.19//1 Chron 16.3) and Joseph (Genesis 41, 47) provide for people in this manner.19 In Elisha’s case, this provision moves beyond

Hobbs, 2 Kings (WBC, 13; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 53, asserts that ‘death in the pot’ cannot be taken literally but is a reaction to the heinous mixture they have just tasted. However, Cogan and Tadmor, envisioning the same gourd as Hobbs, claim that it ‘has been known to be fatal’ (II Kings, p. 58). 18 L. Bronner, The Stories of Elijah and Elisha as Polemics against Baal Worship (Pretoria Oriental Series, 6; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), pp. 83–84 argues that miracles of grain and oil performed by Elijah and Elisha contrast the power of Yhwh to provide with the power of Baal to provide. 19 C. Grottanelli, ‘Religious Ideals and the Distribution of Cereal Grains in the Hebrew Bible’, in idem, Kings and Prophets: Monarchic Power, Inspired Leadership and Sacred Text in Biblical Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 31–45. Of course, the purpose of the provision of grain or bread is not the same in all cases. In David’s case the emphasis is not food for the hungry but the festival tied to the ark’s return (p. 32). Similarly, Joseph is not necessarily interested in saving lives but

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merely mimicking royal actions to actually criticising them. Discussing Elisha’s penchant for providing grains in 2 Kings 4, Grottanelli observes: ‘The prophets are guarantors of abundance (II Kings 4) and defenders of property (II Kings 8), while kings threaten property (I Kings 21) and are incapable of guaranteeing abundance (II Kings 6:25–27)’.20 While the actions of the prophet may be criticised elsewhere, it is diﬃcult to read Elisha’s actions here in a negative light since the prophetic provision contrasts with the Omride kings who either do not or cannot provide foodstuﬀs, or worse, actually remove property from their subjects (as with Naboth’s vineyard).21 This line of inquiry raises an interesting question with respect to the ﬁnal story in chapter 4: why does the man from Baal-Shalishah bring ‘bread of the ﬁrstfruits’ (μyrwkb, v. 42) to Elisha? The phrase presents diﬃculties for Bergen who wishes to see in the Elisha stories a critique of prophetism.22 It is also interesting to explore the attempts of commentators to deal with this oddity. Most seem puzzled by it.23 on gaining domination of the land and control of the people for the sake of the palace he serves (p. 34). 20 Grottanelli, ‘Religious Ideals’, p. 38. 21 Grottanelli, Kings and Prophets, p. 6, notes that in the ﬁght against greedy monarchs or oppressors the biblical narrative oﬀers as heroes those who are not kings. Often these non-monarchic ﬁgures are prophetic. For example, Deborah ﬁghts enemy kings and Elijah and Elisha ‘oﬀer their Israelite followers a miraculous distribution of cereal food’. 22 W. Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism ( JSOTSup, 286; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), p. 108, states that in this story ‘all the right elements are in the right places’. See also pp. 109–10 for a discussion of the ‘ﬁrstfruits’ used in three diﬀerent categories: ﬁrstfruits given to the priest; to the house of Yhwh where the priesthood is not mentioned directly; and to Yhwh as part of the general command to celebrate. 23 W. E. Barnes, The Two Books of the Kings in the Revised Version (The Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1908), p. 203, states, ‘Such an oﬀering was an appropriate one to make to a prophet’ but provides no reason why this is so. J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1951), p. 370, claim ‘not here a ritual term’. J. Robinson, The Second Book of Kings (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), pp. 48–49, observes that if this is a ritual oﬀering of ﬁrst fruits, then they are oﬀered to Elisha as prophet-leader at the sanctuary. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, 2:411 claims that it likely refers to the ﬁrst fruits oﬀered to God which are either ‘appropriated’ by Elisha ‘to prepare a sacramental meal’ or brought to both prophets and priests. Hobbs, 2 Kings, p. 53, only observes the timing of the food with respect to the famine of the previously established context (v. 38). Nelson, First and Second Kings, p. 175, believes it to be ‘in the nature of a religious oﬀering’. Brueggemann, 1 & 2 Kings, p. 325, sees it as a ‘gesture of gratitude’. For V. Fritz, 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (trans. A. Hagedorn; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), p. 255, ‘it is not clear why the gift of the ﬁrstfruits should reach the prophet’ given the loaves would belong to the priests.

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A. G. Auld explicitly notes: ‘It is striking that he [Elisha] should have received such a dedication at all; for ﬁrst fruits belonged to God, and were presented more immediately to his priests’.24 In the earlier story of the Shunammite, Elisha is likewise spoken of in ways reserved for ‘cult personnel’.25 Wiseman also notices this feature and questions whether Elisha’s acceptance and sharing of the gift ‘may indicate recognition of him as the Lord’s representative’.26 Going even further, Bergen raises the possibility that since the ﬁrstfruits should have been presented to Yhwh perhaps ‘this is another indication that Elisha is taking the place of Yhwh in the narrative?’.27 This gets to the heart of the matter. If, as Auld points out, priests can be seated as kings, and if as we argue here prophets provide grain in a king-like fashion, perhaps it is also true that prophets may receive ﬁrstfruits like priests. The question remains as to why this representative of Yhwh received such a gift when others did not? 3.2. 2 Kings 4.8–37 The theme of healing from death, prominent in 2 Kgs 2.19–22 and 4.38–41, is clearly present in the revival of the Shunammite’s son in 4.18–37 where the prophet stretches out on the body of the child in an act of identiﬁcation resulting in the child’s reviviﬁcation (v. 34). It is also possible that the provision of the son may itself be an act of Elisha healing the Shunammite’s barrenness (cf. 2.21).28 For our purposes, other features of 2 Kings 4.8–37 recall events in prior chapters and emphasise the appropriate response of ‘faithful Israel’

24 A. G. Auld, I & II Kings (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), p. 163. 25 The Shunammite tells her husband Elisha is a ‘holy man of God’ (v. 9a). Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 56, observe that this is the only case where a prophet is spoken of as ‘holy’. The term elsewhere is applied to cult personnel, Nazarites, or Israel as a ‘kingdom of priests’. 26 D. J. Wiseman, 1 & 2 Kings: An Introduction & Commentary (TOTC, 9; Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press, 1993), pp. 205–206. 27 Bergen, Elisha, p. 110. While admitting that this story clariﬁes the ‘connection’ between Yhwh and Elisha, Bergen ultimately questions this connection because he questions the appropriateness of bringing ﬁrstfruits to the prophet. 28 This point is much debated. R. W. Neﬀ, ‘Saga’, in G. W. Coats (ed.), Saga, Legend, Tale, Novella, Fable: Narrative Forms in Old Testament Literature ( JSOTSup, 35; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1985), pp. 17–32, argues that this is a healing narrative. However, M. Shields, ‘Subverting a Man of God, Elevating a Woman: Role and Power Reversals in 2 Kings 4’, JSOT 58 (1993), pp. 59–69, highlights elements that do not ﬁt the ‘promise to the barren wife’ type (pp. 62–63).

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to the prophet of Yhwh.29 The question Elisha puts directly to the widow (4.2) or indirectly to the Shunammite through Gehazi (4.13), is reﬂective of the query put to him by Elijah: 2 Kgs 2.9

Elijah to Elisha

‘Ask what I may do for you (˚lAhç[a hm) before I am taken from you’.

2 Kgs 2.4

Elisha to Shunnamite

‘And Elisha said to her, “What shall I do for you? (˚lAhç[a hm)”’.

2 Kgs 4.13

Elisha to Shunnamite through Gehazi

‘Say to her, “Look at all this great worry you have shown for us. What is to be done for you? (˚l twç[l hm)”’.

Not only are the questions similar, but the response of the Shunammite mirrors the actions of previous characters. Her language duplicates the previous response of Elisha to Elijah’s departure. The former claimed that he would allow no obstacle to come between him and his master, a sentiment echoed by the Shunammite. This connects the two responses enabling us to read the one in the light of the other. Elijah provides for Elisha and Elisha provides for the sons of the prophets: the reaction of the Shunammite exempliﬁes the appropriate response to the man of God: ˚bz[aAμa ˚çpnAyjw hwhyAyj

2 Kgs 2.2, 4, 6 Elisha to Elijah 2 Kgs 4.30

‘Elisha said, “As Yhwh lives and as you live, I will not leave you”’.

˚bz[aAμa ˚çpnAyjw hwhyAyj Shunammite ‘And the mother of the child said, “As to Elisha Yhwh lives and as you live, I will not leave you”’.

The actions of the Shunammite toward Elisha are also similar to the actions of the sons of the prophets when they realise that Elisha is endowed with his mentor’s spirit. Although the latter had bowed 29

The phrase ‘faithful Israel’ is used by P. E. Satterthwaite, ‘The Elisha Narratives and the Coherence of 2 Kings 2–8’, TynBul 49 (1998), pp. 1–28 (8), to contrast those faithful to Elisha and Yhwh (e.g., ‘sons of the prophets’ and the Shunammite woman) with the wider Israel of the northern Kingdom especially as represented by king Jehoram.

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to the ground before Elisha (hxra wlAwwjtçyw, 2.15), the Shunammite, herself a ‘great woman’ (hlwdg hça, 4.8), exhibits at least an equal reverence for the prophet and may actually encourage us to see in her behaviour a response of even deeper reverence because we are told that she ‘fell upon his feet and bowed to the ground’ (hxra wjtçtw wylgrAl[ lptw, 4.37). Thus her language reﬂects Elisha’s regard for Elijah and her deeds mirror the esteem of the sons of the prophets towards Elisha. Elisha is the only non-royal ﬁgure in Kings to be aﬀorded such treatment and the only prophet in the Hebrew Bible to be shown such reverence. Why? The reader is asked to see in this prophet one who is more than just a prophet. Certainly the interpretation advanced here, stressing the ‘elevation’ of the prophet, runs counter to recent treatments which see the prophet in a more critical light.30 In annunciation stories the announcement usually comes from the deity or divine messenger, but in this story it is Elisha who makes the announcement.31 Why is it not possible then to see Elisha ﬁlling a divine role in this story? Similarly, Amit asserts that even the arrangement of the furniture in Elisha’s upper room ‘is like a small sanctuary, an attic furnished with items that might recall God’s abode’.32 If Elisha is being given a divine re-presentation, observations like these make perfect sense. Narrative features of chapter 5, especially questions of the king and Elisha, will show the prophet accomplishing tasks that the king cannot. 4. A Critique of Kings, a YHWH-like Prophet, and Role Reversal (2 Kings 5) 4.1. 2 Kings 5.1–3: Background From the interaction of Elisha with non-royal / non-political ﬁgures in chapter 4, the narrative returns in chapter 5 to a portrayal of the prophet among political and military leaders, and does so with great

30 Amit, ‘A Prophet Tested’, p. 280, n. 5, notes the variety of interpretations over the last twenty years which ﬁnd in 2 Kgs 4.8–37 a critique of the prophet. 31 Amit, ‘A Prophet Tested’, p. 283. 32 Amit, ‘A Prophet Tested’, p. 284. Amit suggests that the table recalls the table of display (Exod 25.23–30), the chair suggests God’s seat (1 Kgs 22.19), and the lamp, an important vessel of the sanctuary (Exod 25.31–40), and the bed may echo the altar. Even Elisha’s use of drj may echo the theophany at Sinai (Exod 19.16, 18).

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style.33 Cohn suggests a three-fold structure focusing upon the central characters (Elisha, vv. 1–14; Naaman, vv. 15–19; Gehazi, vv. 20–27). Likewise Long’s triptych consists of the background to the problem (vv. 1–2), the resolution of the problem (vv. 3–14) and the ‘aftermath of cure’ (vv. 15–27). In keeping with the often understated quality of Hebrew narrative technique the author provides background information—sometimes shocking—that will play an important role in the story to follow. For example, in another detail that encourages us to read chapters 4 and 5 together, we learn in the opening verse that besides being the commander of the army of the king of Aram, Naaman was considered a ‘great man’ (lwdg çya) and held in high regard by his king (cf. hlwdg hça, 2 Kgs 4.8). This is due to the surprising fact that through the warrior Naaman, Yhwh had given ‘victory in battle’ to Aram.34 This is a startling piece of information and a reminder of the contextual importance of the military threat from Aram within the Elisha narratives. In fact the greater portion of the remainder of the stories from 5.1–8.15 will be dedicated completely to this theme in one form or another, broken only by the shorter stories of 6.1–7 and 8.1–6. Even more shocking is the end of verse one where we learn that Naaman is ‘a mighty man, a leper’. Verse two immediately contrasts his strength, position, and knowledge with that of a little girl (hnfq hr[n) from the land of Israel whom the ‘raiding bands’ (μydwdg) from Aram had taken captive. Within the Books of Kings these raiders are often sent in response to royal unfaithfulness.35 This captured servant-girl tells her mistress that if only Naaman were ‘before the prophet who is in Samaria’ (v. 3) his leprosy would be removed. In concluding the treatment of 2 Kings 4 it was claimed that in 2 Kings 5 Elisha is portrayed as something more than a prophet as evidenced by the questions of the king of Israel and Elisha near the beginning and end of the narrative. With these questions the narrator provides us with implicit commentary regarding his view of

33 R. L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Michael Glazier, 2000), p. 35; Long, 2 Kings, pp. 66–67. 34 D. P. O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time to Accept . . .?” (2 Kings V 26B): Simply Moralizing (LXX) or an Ominous Foreboding of Yahweh’s Rejection of Israel (MT)?’, VT 46 (1996), pp. 448–57. 35 In Kings they are found at 1 Kgs 11.24; 2 Kgs 5.2; 6.23; 13.20, 21; 24.2 (4x).

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the king and the prophet. Without saying so explicitly, he elevates the position of the prophet and in keeping with the overall thrust of the Elisha narratives, he indicts the king and indeed the concept of kingship within Israel. 4.2. 2 Kings 5.4–19: The Divine and Royal Prophet Having gained permission from his lord to seek healing in Israel (v. 5), Naaman is given a letter from the king of Aram to deliver to the king of Israel asking him to remove Naaman’s leprosy. Why does Naaman seek an audience with Israel’s king when he is told that healing comes from the prophet in Samaria? Perhaps, as a high foreign oﬃcial he simply follows routine diplomatic procedure. Perhaps there is some hint that he was not detailed enough in reporting to the king of Aram the words of the child (hr[nh hdbd tazkw tazk, v. 4). Regardless of Naaman’s report to his own king, it is clear from verse seven that the king of Israel sees more than just a visit from a foreign diplomat. He posits sinister motives behind this visit just as he had negatively interpreted Yhwh’s calling of the three kings (2 Kgs 3.13b). Believing the king of Aram to be seeking a quarrel (v. 7b) he asks, ‘Am I God to cause death (tymhl) and to make alive (twyjhl) that this one sends (jlç) to me . . .’ (v. 7a). By means of the king’s reading of this communiqué and the rending of his clothes, the narrator emphasises the ‘impotence of royal authority’.36 The phrase twyjhlw tymhl occurs only here in the Hebrew Bible, although there are other instances (Deut 32.29; 1 Sam 2.6) where twm and hyj are used together of Yhwh’s power over life and death. The narrative immediately contrasts the actions of the prophet with those of the king. 2 Kgs 5.7a

‘And it came about when the king of Israel read the letter, he rent his clothes . . .’.

2 Kgs 5.8a

‘And it came about when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes he sent . . .’.

36

Cohn, 2 Kings, p. 37.

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Whereas the king bemoans the fact that Ben-hadad sends (jlç) Naaman to him to be healed, Elisha now sends (jlç) to the king of Israel requesting that Naaman come to him. The little girl, Naaman’s wife, Naaman, and the reader all know what the narrator wants the king of Israel to know, namely, that there is a prophet in Israel who can heal: ‘Why have you rent your clothes? Let him come to me so that he will know that there is a prophet in Israel’ (2 Kgs 5.8b). What are the implications of Elisha’s oﬀer and what does the question and oﬀer say about both prophet and king? First, with these utterances Elisha couches an accusation in the form of a question by not explicitly stating the violated norm. Rosenblum observes, ‘It seems reasonable that at least in the public domain people rarely level their criticism straightforwardly’.37 The force of his question echoes Elijah’s question to Ahaziah in 2 Kgs 1.3: ‘Is it because there is no God in Israel . . .?’. Elisha expects more of the king of Israel than the king provides and in so doing the prophet points out the king’s failure. His recommendation, following upon his question, denies the king of Israel’s power to eﬀect the change Naaman seeks. Stated diﬀerently, Elisha addresses his question to one who should have known better. Second, within the narrative the king of Israel’s own question, ‘Am I God to cause death and to make alive . . .?’, is met by the prophet’s response ‘let him come to me’. Clearly a narrator is unlikely to have this prophet of Yhwh give a positive answer to the question ‘Am I God?’, and yet the request that Naaman be sent to the prophet suggests that Elisha is fulﬁlling the deity’s role. The narrative equates ‘healing’ with ‘making alive’ and reveals the presupposition that the one who heals, by implication, manifests divine qualities.38 Is Elisha being portrayed here as some kind of god, or at least a prophet who has taken over the task of healing possibly associated with kings? Kingly behaviour is noted later when Elisha refuses to speak directly to Naaman but instead communicates with him through a messenger. Likewise, ‘[t]he author implicitly contrasts the impotent king with the conﬁdent prophet who, unlike the king, actually exercises royal authority’.39 37

See K. E. Rosenblum, ‘When is a Question an Accusation?’, Semiotica 65 (1987), pp. 143–56 (144). 38 H. Ringgren, ‘hy:j’; , in TDOT 4:324–344 (337) states that ‘make alive’ and ‘cure disease’ are in 2 Kgs 5.7 ‘practically synonymous’. 39 R. L. Cohn, ‘Form and Perspective in 2 Kings V’, VT 33 (1983), pp. 171–84

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Grottanelli observes that the king in Mediterranean and Near Eastern societies was ‘both during his life and after his death, a “healer” and a “savior”’.40 Likewise, in Israel, the role of the king ‘ultimately coincided with the ancient Near Eastern pattern’ although this was given a somewhat diﬀerent expression.41 In this respect, if Elisha is being given a royal portrayal, it is not surprising that even in his death he is able to heal (2 Kgs 13.21). Hosea 5.13–6.2 also lends some support to the idea that kings were sought for healing. In Hos 5.13 both Ephraim with his ‘illness’ and Judah with his ‘wound’ sent (jlç) to the king of Assyria for help, ‘but he is not able to heal you nor shall a wound depart from you’ (Hos 5.13). In Hos 6.1–2 Yhwh does not bring about death as in Deut 32.29, but he is responsible as the one who has ‘torn to pieces’ but will heal, who has ‘struck’ but will bind up and ‘make us alive’. The healing of Naaman and the cursing of Gehazi exemplify the bringing of life and death by Elisha. There are a number of instances in 2 Kings where the he performs similar ‘Yhwh-like’ acts, whether healing (2.19–22), bringing about life (4.8–37) or death (2.23–25).42 Certainly he does not appear to act apart from Yhwh; prophets are commonly viewed as Yhwh’s representatives. However, in Elisha’s case does the identiﬁcation with Yhwh run deeper? To answer this question it is important to examine the other side of the equation consisting of the ineﬀectiveness of the king of Israel. Jehoram’s brother Ahaziah sought Baal-zebub for healing (2 Kings 1) and now the king of Aram seeks healing for his servant Naaman (176–77). This royal portrayal may also explain the use of Gehazi to communicate with the Shunnamite in 2 Kings 4 which some interpreters have viewed as contempt or relational distanciation. 40 C. Grottanelli, ‘Healers and Saviors of the Eastern Mediterranean in Preclassical Times’, in idem, Kings and Prophets, pp. 127–45 (127). Grottanelli is quick to note that both the ‘saving’ and ‘sacred’ quality of Near Eastern royal ideology is a debated subject. This essay is a reprint with revisions of Grottanelli’s earlier article of the same title in U. Bianchi and M. J. Vermaseren (eds.), La Soteriologia dei culti orientali nell’Impero Romano: atti del Colloquio internazionale su la soteriologia dei culti orientali nell’Impero romano, Roma, 24–28 settembre 1979: pubblicati (Etudes préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain, 92; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1982), pp. 649–70. The citations of this essay are from the revised article in Kings and Prophets unless indicated otherwise. 41 So G. E. Gerbrandt, Kingship according to the Deuteronomistic History (SBLDS, 87; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), p. 190. This ‘diﬀerent expression’ was as ‘covenant administrator’. 42 On this important theme see J. K. Mead, ‘“Elisha Will Kill”? The Deuteronomistic Rhetoric of Life and Death in the Theology of the Elisha Narratives’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Princeton Theological Seminary, 1999).

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from the anonymous king ( Jehoram?) of Israel. The royal ﬁgures in each case (Ahaziah; Ben-hadad on behalf of Naaman) seek healing from an inappropriate source (Baal-zebub; Jehoram?). However, this should not be taken as an indictment of Ben-Hadad; this foreign king’s actions may be painted in a more positive light. This theme, previously encountered in 2 Kings 1 and revisited in 2 Kgs 8.7–15 is repeated in 2 Kings 5: foreign kings seek Yhwh’s representative for healing while the kings of Israel are unable to recognise that help is close at hand.43 Interestingly, in 2 Kgs 8.7–15 Ben-Hadad appears to have learned his lesson since he does not seek the king of Israel for healing but Yhwh through his prophet. Instead, it is Elisha who fulﬁls the healing role and takes his place as an apposite earthly representative of Yhwh. To a certain extent it is irrelevant whether healing was actually an aspect of the royal persona in Israel. It is apparent that at least the king of Aram supposed that it was; Naaman arrives bearing a letter requesting the king of Israel to cure him and the king of Israel’s reaction shows that he understood the request as such.44 If this is so then perhaps the king of Israel is being viewed as somewhat akin to the ineﬀective Baal-zebul of 2 Kings 1. This role reversal at the human level reﬂects, at the divine level, a polemical concern common to the so-called northern prophetic narratives: Yhwh ‘usurps from some other ancient Near Eastern deity his [the deity’s] primary attribute’ as exempliﬁed for example in Elijah’s contest with the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18).45 S. Ackerman observes that the Baal in 1 Kings 18 is frequently identiﬁed as Baal Haddu46 noting that ‘Yahweh strips from Ba'al Haddu his primary attribute, his ability to withhold or bring the rains’.47 The behaviour 43 Hobbs, 2 Kings, p. 69, notes the theme of the search for healing in a foreign country also present in 2 Kings 1 and 8. 44 K. A. D. Smelik, ‘De Betekenis van 2 Koningen 5: Een “Amsterdamse” benadering’, GTT 88 (1988), pp. 98–115 (105) asserts that the king of Aram does not fully comprehend the situation as evidenced by the fact that he thinks the king of Israel, not Elisha, should heal Naaman. 45 S. Ackerman, ‘The Prayer of Nabonidus, Elijah on Mount Carmel, and the Development of Monotheism in Israel’, in W. G. Dever and J. E. Wright (eds.), The Echoes of Many Texts: Reﬂections on Jewish and Christian Traditions: Essays in Honor of Lou H. Silberman (BJS, 313; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), pp. 51–65 (61). In discussing 1 Kings 18, Grottanelli makes a similar distinction between context, a clash between the ‘foreign’ god Baal and the god Yhwh, and form, a contest between prophets of Baal and the solitary Elijah (‘Healers and Saviors’, p. 127). 46 Ackerman, ‘Prayer’, p. 62. 47 Ackerman, ‘Prayer’, p. 63.

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of Yhwh in 2 Kings 5 is mimicked by his representative in the sense that as Yhwh usurps the primary attribute of another deity in 1 Kings 18, so the prophet Elisha usurps a supposed task of the royal ﬁgure (healing). Admittedly Baal Haddu was not exalted as a god of skin diseases as is, for example, Sin the moon god of the Old Babylonian period.48 This, however, may help us pursue the analogy a bit further. The idea of ‘duelling deities’, so clearly present in 1 Kings 18, may not be far oﬀ in 2 Kings 5 since Hadad was known as Rimmon (or Ramman) to the Arameans of Syria.49 The argument here is not that Rimmon controlled skin diseases or that Yhwh in 2 Kings 5 has usurped those speciﬁc attributes of Rimmon. However, it is clear from chapter 1 that Baal was sought in the context of illness. The confrontation (Yhwh verses the foreign god) already hinted at in Elisha’s exchange with the king is further expanded by Naaman himself when in his rage50 he complains that the waters of his own land have cleansing abilities superior to those of the Jordan (vv. 11–12). The story continues to portray the divine qualities of Elisha in Naaman’s post-healing commentary (v. 15). The healing of Naaman was to have the purpose of showing the military man that there was a prophet in Israel, but instead Naaman is led to even greater epistemological understanding. Recalling the little girl (hnfq hr[n, v. 2) who knew that there was a prophet in Samaria, Naaman’s skin now becomes like that of a little boy ( ˆfq r[n, v. 14). The external change in his ﬂesh (wrçb bçyw, v. 14b) reﬂects an inward change of attitude such that he turned (bçyw, v. 15a) to the man of God with his exclamation: ‘Behold! I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel’. Naaman, a foreign military man who in the past oppressed Israel and who was up to this point in the story a leper, now knowing the presence of both prophet and God in Israel, stands in sharp contrast to the unknowing and unnamed king of Israel.51

48

Ackerman ‘Prayer’, pp. 58–59. W. Maier III, ‘Hadadrimmon’, ABD 3:13; J. C. Greenﬁeld, ‘The Aramean God Rammàn/Rimmòn’, IEJ (1976), pp. 195–98. 50 Verse 11 begins by mentioning Naaman’s wrath (πxq) and v. 12 ends noting his rage (hmj). 51 Satterthwaite, ‘Elisha Narratives’, p. 18. Naaman was sent to Elisha to learn of the prophetic presence in Israel. In the end he learns that there is no God except in Israel, a fact with which the narrative commences (5.1). J. Siebert-Hommes, ‘The Widow of Zarephath and the Great Woman of Shunem: A Comparative Analysis 49

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Like the persistence of the sons of the prophets before him (wbAwrxpyw, cf. 2.17), Naaman now presses upon Elisha (wbArxpyw, v. 16) remuneration for his healing although the prophet ﬂatly refuses to accept the gift. Why refuse this gratuity and what role does the denial of the gift play in the story? Prophets were not averse to accepting goods for services rendered. Saul, for example, takes along silver as payment for the seer Samuel (1 Sam 9.7–8) and Jeroboam’s wife takes bread, cakes and honey as payment to the prophet Ahijah (1 Kgs 14.3–4). From 2 Kgs 4.8–10 it is clear that even Elisha does not refuse gifts in principle. Also, there is no reason to believe that he refused the later gifts brought from Ben-hadad by Hazael.52 4.3. 2 Kings 5.20–27: A Critique of Kings So why does Elisha refuse Naaman’s gift? The answer is integrally bound up with Elisha’s interrogation of Gehazi in 5.25–27. The contact between Elisha and Naaman ends with the prophet’s ‘Go in peace’ (v. 19a), but his accusations clothed in rhetorical garb do not. Gehazi replies to Elisha’s terse question, ‘Where have you come from Gehazi?’ (v. 25ab), with the statement, ‘Your servant has not been anywhere in particular’ (v. 25b). Elisha is well-informed of Gehazi’s recent interaction with Naaman and yet nothing in the text necessitates any sort of supernatural prophetic vision here. Given Elisha’s familiarity with Gehazi, it is not surprising that he understands Gehazi better than Gehazi presently realises.53 It will be argued below that the ﬁnal question from the prophet in v. 26 is not addressed to Gehazi alone. It is also an intrusive comment by the narrator which functions at a variety of levels within of Two Stories’, in B. Becking and M. Dijkstra (eds.), On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender Speciﬁc and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes (Biblical Interpretation Series, 18; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), pp. 231–50 (249), sees a contrast between Elijah who emphasises the God in Israel and Elisha who ‘does his utmost to let it be known that there is a prophet in Israel (2 Kgs 5:8)’. Because we agree with Smelik’s assessment that the ﬁgures of prophet and Yhwh coincide in this narrative (‘Betekenis’, p. 106) there is no reason why the two concepts (prophet in Israel / God in Israel) must be viewed as adversaries. 52 O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?”’, p. 448, n. 1. 53 T. E. Fretheim, First and Second Kings (Westminster Bible Companion; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1999), p. 154, sees it as ‘God given insight into his servant, not extrasensory perception’. Note how the Targum ﬁlls the gap: yl hwjta hawbn jwrb (‘In a spirit of prophecy it was revealed to me’). See D. J. Harrington and A. J. Saldarini, Targum Jonathan of the Former Prophets: Introduction, Translation and Notes (ArBib, 10; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1987), p. 274.

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the story. Elisha queries: ‘Is it a time to take the silver and to take54 clothes, and olive-groves and vineyards, and sheep and cattle, and menservants and maidservants?’ (2 Kgs 5.26b). This rather odd question is even stranger when we consider the lack of indications within the text that Gehazi took more than just silver and clothes.55 Why does Elisha append the six items that follow? Examining the pairs of items which Elisha lists may enable us to set forth at least one possible answer. The ﬁrst two items on the list (silver and clothes) are simple enough in that they are the ones Gehazi himself asked for (v. 22b) and received (v. 23) from Naaman. Regarding olive-groves and vineyards (μymrkw μytyz), O’Brien observes that together within the Hebrew Bible they function as a metonymy and signify ‘a safe and prosperous life in the promised land’.56 There are several passages in which the words are found in close proximity and which serve to represent the blessings of a land given by Yhwh as part of spoils from war (Deut 6.11; Josh 24.13; Neh 9.25).57 The next phrase, rqbw ˆax, should be viewed as ‘synecdoche representing wealth in terms of agricultural produce but particularly as blessing through the covenant with Abraham’.58 While the use of the phrase in terms of agricultural wealth or possessions is predominant,59 it is only at Gen 24.35 that Yhwh’s blessing of Abraham is made 54 The importance of the motif of gifts and the verbs ˆtn (vv. 1, 17, 22, 23) and especially jql (vv. 5, 15, 16 [2x], 20 [2x], 23, 24, 26 [2x]) are noted by Smelik, ‘Betekenis’, p. 113. In the case of the former verb we may note also its importance in the immediately preceding tale (2 Kgs 4.42, 43, 44). 55 In the LXX Gehazi uses the silver to purchase (lÆmc˙ §n aÈt“) Elisha’s list of items (C. F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903], pp. 283–84). See also the similar treatment by the Targum. 56 O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?”’, pp. 455–56. The exact phrase μymrkw μytyz is found only at 2 Kgs 5.26. More typically μrk is found ﬁrst followed (of course not necessarily immediately) by tyz. 57 Several other passages use these words in similar fashion but with a diﬀerent emphasis. In 2 Kgs 18.31–32 the king of Assyria promises Deuteronomy-like blessings if Judah submits to him. In Amos 4.9, the gifts of the land once given by Yhwh are destroyed, vineyards by blight and withering and olive trees by locusts. 58 O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?”’, p. 456. O’Brien’s claim that ‘sheep and cattle occur 77 times in the OT’ likely represents passages where the two words are found in close proximity. The syntagm rqbw ˆax occurs 41 times and another 21 times with the nouns in the reverse order (A. Even-Shoshan, A New Concordance of the Bible [ Jerusalem: “Kiryat Sefer” Publishing House Ltd., 2nd edn, 1997], p. 971, col. 1). The latter order is found especially in Deuteronomy in the context of sacriﬁce and eating. 59 Gen 32.8; 33.13; 45.10; 46.32; 47.1; 50.8; Exod 9.3; 10.9, 24; 12.32, 38; 34.3; 2 Sam 12.2, 4.

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explicit in the context of wealth. It may be argued that the gifts Abraham receives (Gen 12.16; 20.14) are merely evidence of his becoming a great nation (Gen 12.2), making explicit what the text merely implies. In other instances the phrase is used as part of a treaty creation (Gen 21.27), plunder60 and sacriﬁce and/or sacriﬁcial meal.61 The ﬁnal phrase, twjpçw μydb[, occurs fourteen times in the Hebrew Bible62 and is associated most often with gifts (Gen 12.16; 20.14), Yhwh’s blessing of Abraham (Gen 24.35) or making/being made slaves (Deut 28.68; Isa 14.2; Jer 34.11, 16; Est 7.4; 2 Chron 28.10). Menservants and maidservants were therefore obtained primarily as plunder of war or were gained from outside Israel via purchase or gift.63 Given the fact that each pair evidences an association with plunder, perhaps Elisha is saying that it is not now time to plunder the Arameans, but that there will come a time when it is appropriate. In this way the ‘release’ of Naaman portends the release of the Arameans in the next story in which we ﬁnd them (6.8–23).64 This is certainly a possible explanation for the appended items, but we would like to suggest another. The narrative function of Elisha’s question may be approached from two distinct but somewhat related directions which comport well with our interpretation of the passage thus far. We may perceive Elisha’s question as a condemnation of Gehazi. Earlier we argued for the role reversal of prophet and king; in the curse placed upon Gehazi, role reversal is again prominent as the former follower of Elisha is burdened with Naaman’s leprosy ‘forever’ and Naaman is given some of Israel’s land.65 And yet the question, while directed at Gehazi within the story, may also be read as an intrusive comment by the narrator which spotlights several wider narrative concerns. If the overall interpretation

60

Gen 34.28; 1 Sam 14.32; 15.9, 15, 21; 27.9; 30.20. Exod 20.24; Lev 1.2; 27.32; Num 11.22; 22.40; 31.28; Deut 12.6, 17, 21; 14.23, 26; 15.9; 16.2; 1 Kgs 1.9; 8.5; 2 Chron 5.6; 18.2. 62 Even-Shoshan, New Concordance, p. 1198, col. 3. In addition, the phrase with singular nouns, hjpçw db[, is used ﬁve times. 63 O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?”’, p. 456. In several of these instances ( Jer 34.11, 16; 2 Chron 28.10) it is Hebrews enslaving fellow Hebrews contra Lev 25.39. 64 A similar point is made by R. D. Moore, God Saves: Lessons from the Elisha Stories ( JSOTSup, 134; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993), p. 83. 65 On this latter point see O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?”’, p. 457. Smelik, ‘Betekenis’, pp. 113–14 argues that the author has a propensity to such role reversals and contrasts within the story. 61

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of the narratives to this point is plausible, and the narrator has previously rolled Judah and Israel in the same narrative blanket,66 then perhaps Elisha’s rhetorical question provides further evidence for the condemnation of kings, both northern and southern. There is no indication that Gehazi ever took any of the other items on the formulaic list and yet when we look at Kings more broadly we remember that it was Ahab’s seizure of a vineyard that brought about Yhwh’s greatest displeasure. The taking of Naboth’s vineyard was the primary event that led to Yhwh’s oracle of destruction (1 Kgs 21.21–22) against Ahab’s house, a prophecy that awaits fulﬁlment within the story. This begs the further question of whether there is any other passage in the Hebrew Bible which combines a list of items similar to 2 Kgs 5.26b and anti-kingly sentiment? Such a passage is found in 1 Sam 8.10–22: (13) He will take (jqy) . . . (14) and the best of your vineyards (μkymrk) and olive groves (μkytyz) he will take . . . (16) and your menservants (μkydb[) and your maidservants (μkytwjpç) and the best of your choice men (μkyrwjb) and your asses he will take . . . (17) a tenth of your ﬂocks (μknax) and you yourselves shall become his servants.

Cohn comments that this list includes ‘the possessions which a despotic king can be expected to take from the people’.67 These verses set forth only a small portion of the anti-monarchical sentiment in the longer passage (1 Sam 8.10–22), and yet vv. 14–17 contain ﬁve of the six items listed by Elisha and in fact all six if we accept the more likely LXX rendering ‘your cattle’ (tå boukÒlia Ím«n, μkyrqb) in the place of the MT μkyrwjb.68 Elisha’s question, in the perspective of a wider narrative context, raises the possibility of a condemnation of kingship. The prophet clearly disapproves of the taking of such

66 The last time we hear the king of Israel ( Jehoram) mentioned by name is 2 Kgs 3.6. From 2 Kgs 3.7–8.15 the king of Israel remains anonymous. This narrative feature, along with others like Jehoshaphat’s twice rendered statement of identity with Ahab (1 Kgs 22.4b) and Jehoram (2 Kgs 3.7b), encourages us to see in 2 Kings 2–8 a co-mingling and blending of the northern and southern kingdoms. There is a royal void which Elisha ﬁlls within these stories. 67 Cohn, ‘Form and Perspective’, p. 182; O’Brien, ‘ “Is this the Time . . .?” ’, p. 456, agrees with Cohn’s assessment that the list represents a ‘tithing list for a despotic ruler from the blessings of the land’ but does not agree that the parallel portrays Gehazi acting like a despotic ruler. Cohn merely states, however, that Gehazi’s actions are associated ‘with the worse excesses of royal corruption’ (p. 182). 68 S. R. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Samuel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1890), p. 53.

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items, as he had strongly rejected Naaman’s earlier plea to accept a gift. Instead, Elisha gives rather than takes, reﬂecting a Yhwh-like dispersion of the deuteronomic blessings of the land which Israel should have obtained. It is to this latter point that we now turn. 5. The Blessings of the Land: Deuteronomic Themes in the Elisha Narratives In treatments of the Elisha narratives, stories are frequently dealt with in isolation. This limits the interpreter’s ability to gain any sense of interrelationship between stories. Cohn analyses chapter 5 as an independent story, noting that its length and complexity separate it from the shorter tales that immediately precede (4.38–41, 42–44) and follow (6.1–7).69 We have purposely not separated chapter 5 from the prior stories and argued that features of 2 Kings 4–5 encourage us to read one chapter in light of the other. While it is reasonable and even necessary at times to treat chapters in isolation, looking at 2 Kings 4–5 and beyond this to the wider scope of 2 Kings 2–8 may help us to place Elisha’s question in a wider context. O’Brien senses a critique of king and people in 2 Kings 5. Naaman’s conversion to Yahwism ‘is intended as a deliberate foil to the general faithlessness of the Israelites and their kings in that age’.70 Royal critique is also implied in the promise of blessing observed in Elisha’s provision and healing of the people in chapter 4, a set of stories that remind us that not all Israel was faithless. This results in a greater function for the shorter stories in which Elisha, contrary to the tendencies of despotic kings, provides for ‘faithful Israel’, namely to those who have not bowed to Baal (1 Kgs 19.18). In this regard Elisha’s question in 5.26b is an indictment of faithlessness in Israel but not without qualiﬁcation: Yhwh earlier promised the preservation of a remnant and it is to this remnant that the blessings of the land will come. This requires further elaboration. Perhaps the most unique and unexamined feature of the Elisha narratives concerns the prophet’s consistent provision of the basic staples of life. This is true particularly, although not exclusively, for the shorter stories, the so-called prophetic legends. The reigning conception 69 70

Cohn, ‘Form and Perspective’, p. 171. O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?” ’, p. 457.

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is that these narratives were preserved merely as a way to emphasise the miraculous and thereby exalt the holy man of God. Rofé asserts: ‘Elisha’s miracles are minor deliverances, small acts of salvation, in both scope and eﬀect. They attest merely to the supernatural power of the Man of God who performs them’.71 However, given that Elisha’s appended list in 2 Kgs 5.26b represents ‘the blessings of the land, including security and prosperity, as a signiﬁcant component of Yahweh’s covenant with Israel’72 the placement of these stories within Kings provides an implicit critique of kingship on the one hand, while leaving open the possibility of hope entailed in the blessing of the land on the other. The stories of 2 Kings 2–8 are believed to have little in common with deuteronomic themes. Otto states that the Elisha stories ‘do not comply with the Deuteronomist’s conception of history: they are not connected with their major themes nor do they conﬁrm deﬁnite signs of Deuteronomistic treatment’.73 But does this statement require qualiﬁcation? The narrative ﬂow of Deuteronomy 7–8 moves from the destruction of the gods of the nations to the promise of abundance of the land, a narrative ﬂow likewise present in the northern prophetic narratives where Elijah’s confrontation with Baal worship is followed by Elisha’s provision of life-giving produce. The concept of abundance in the land is especially prevalent in Deuteronomy 6–8 (particularly 8.6–9) which holds out the promise of good land (cf. 2 Kgs 2.19–22) and an abundance of basic provisions: water (Deut 8.7; cf. 2 Kgs 3), grains (Deut 7.13; 8.8; cf. 2 Kgs 6.24–7.20), bread (Deut 8.9; cf. 2 Kgs 4.42–44), oil (Deut 7.13; cf. 2 Kgs 4.1–7) and iron (Deut 8.9; cf. 2 Kgs 6.1–7).74 Other possible relations between the two passages include the assurance of fertility (Deut 7.14; cf. 2 Kgs 4.8–37), wiping out the names of foreign kings (Deut 7.24; cf. absence of the personal name of the king of Israel from 2 Kgs 3.7–8.15), plundering the land (Deut 6.10–12; cf. 2 Kgs 7.15–16) 71 Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 15. He also claims that they play no part in the history of the nation, they have no religious signiﬁcance and they are not tests of God’s strength (pp. 14–15). 72 O’Brien, ‘“Is this the Time . . .?” ’, p. 456. 73 Otto, ‘Composition’, p. 496. 74 In observing these connections the reader may think that I have gone well beyond likely textual inﬂuences. At the risk of further oﬀence it is interesting that conquest of the land holds out the promise of pomegranates, ˆwmr (Deut 8.8), also the name of the god renounced by Naaman in his promise to worship Yhwh alone in 2 Kgs 5.18.

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and the expansion of housing due to multiplication of Yhwh’s blessing (Deut 8.12–13; cf. 2 Kgs 6.1–7). The idea of eschatological blessing (abundance) in the Elisha tales was argued for by W. Reiser more than ﬁfty years ago.75 The arguments have been re-examined and overturned recently by W. Thiel.76 Texts such as Amos 9.13, Hos 2.23–25 and 14.6–9 are mentioned by Reiser for comparison with the Elisha traditions but are dismissed by Thiel because of ‘the immense distance in the content of the promises’.77 Thiel argues that the minuscule promises of the Elisha stories fade in the bright light of the passages from the latter prophets. However, if the overall narrative context is kept in mind (the destruction of Ahab’s line and Baal worship; war with Aram; miracles; the loss of royal identity; co-mingling of the kingdoms), there is ample evidence that ‘salvation’, however conceived, is an important concern of the stories.78 As opposed to the more mature reﬂections in the latter prophets—ideas ﬂourishing in response to imminent national crises of greater proportion—one might expect in the Elisha stories a nascent eschatological conception cultured in the milieu of kings who have rejected Yhwh in favour of the Baals.79 Of course, it is 75 W. Reiser, ‘Eschatologische Gottessprüche in den Elisa-Legenden’, TZ 9 (1953), pp. 321–38. Reiser examines the promises of food and water introduced by the messenger formula in 1 Kgs 17.14a and in 2 Kgs 2.21; 3.16–17; 4.43; 7.1. He concludes that ‘the oracles point modestly, but resolutely to a time which will transcend the present everyday life. They promise a time of salvation. The oracles are eschatological oracles’ (p. 333). The conclusion is cited by W. Thiel, ‘Character and Function of Divine Sayings in the Elijah and Elisha Traditions’, in H. G. Reventlow (ed.), Eschatology in the Bible and in Jewish and Christian Tradition ( JSOTSup, 243; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1997), pp. 189–99 (198). 76 Thiel wishes to re-examine Reiser’s results for several reasons. First, the original article has been neglected, and second, ‘if these results were correct, we would obtain important insights into the origins and development of the Elisha traditions. We would also have the opportunity to observe something like an eschatology of salvation that already existed in the prophetic circles of the late ninth century bce’ (‘Character’, p. 189). Thiel concludes only 1 Kgs 17.14a points to ‘a fairy-tale like fullness’. For the other stories, ‘Probably not more is meant than that the consumption for the day is secured, and this only for a while’ (‘Character’, p. 198). 77 Thiel, ‘Character’, p. 198. 78 Grottanelli, ‘Healers and Saviors’, in Bianchi and Vermaseren (eds.), Soteriologia, p. 649, notes that ‘salvation’ in the Mediterranean and Near Eastern societies typically involved safety from famine, epidemics and defeat in war. This included safety from slavery which was frequently a result of the main three. 79 G. von Rad, Old Testament Theology (trans. D. M. G. Stalker; 2 vols; Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1962 [vol. 1, from the second German edition, 1957] and 1965 [vol. 2, from the third German edition, 1960]), 2:29 appears to concur. He claims that Amos, Hosea, Isaiah and Micah developed ideas ‘in such a way as to make

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by no means certain that the Elisha stories arose in a period chronologically prior to the passages in Amos and Hosea. In any case one would expect the poetic expression of such blessings to exceed that found in prose. There are clearly ‘immense diﬀerences’ between the prose blessings of 2 Kings 2–8 and the poetry of Amos and Hosea. However, these are no more dramatic than the prose expressions of Exodus 14 and Judges 4 and their poetic counterparts found in Exodus 15//Ps 77.10–20 and Judges 5. 6. Conclusion We have argued that 2 Kings 4–5 manifests an implicit critique of kingship and an elevation of the prophet while also recalling the deuteronomic blessings exhibited in surrounding stories, particularly the so-called prophetic legends. These blessings arise from a prophet who, in reversing roles with the king, takes on characteristics both royal and divine in his acts of healing and provision of the basic staples of water, oil, bread and grains. While this does not solve Radday’s question of why Elisha was included in Kings it does oﬀer a start and challenges the view that ‘Elisha has no message’ for king or people.80 The oracle concerning Ahab in 1 Kgs 20.42 (‘your life instead of his life, your people instead of his people’) is manifested in another dramatic role reversal in 2 Kings 5 in which the Israelite Gehazi is laden with the Gentile Naaman’s leprosy, while Naaman takes the very land of Israel home with him. The king cannot heal because he is not God while the prophet succeeds since Yhwh is working through him. Perhaps the critique of kingship and the concern with deuteronomic blessing would be of concern to a writer or editor in an exilic setting in which the loss of kingship and the question of Yhwh’s continued concern for his people were pre-eminent. Although he does not make the connection explicit, Grottanelli sees the king’s

Elijah’s and Elisha’s view of the future seem naïve and almost embryonic’. In citing Reiser’s article von Rad notes that speaking of eschatology here comes down to how one deﬁnes the term (p. 29, n. 48). Hobbs, 2 Kings, p. 55, states: ‘It is a short step from this ideal, exempliﬁed in the actions of Elisha, to the later prophetic voice raised on behalf of the poor and oppressed and those victims of monarchical society’. 80 Bergen, ‘The Prophetic Alternative’, p. 135.

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statement in 2 Kings 5 as signiﬁcant because he views the rise of the prophetic movement within the wider context of the ‘collapse of the whole social and political system of the Eastern Mediterranean’ associated with the transition from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age.81 If Saul, Israel’s ﬁrst king, is a transitional ﬁgure portrayed as a ‘possessed prophet’,82 then perhaps in Elisha we are also witnessing a transitional ﬁgure, a royal- and perhaps even a priestly-prophet. This proposal becomes even more interesting as the text moves to 2 Kgs 6.1–23 where Elisha returns ‘borrowed iron’ (a symbol of failed kingship?) to the surface and single-handedly ‘saves’ Israel from the Arameans.

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Grottanelli, ‘Healers and Saviors’, p. 128. Grottanelli, ‘Charismatic Possession and Monarchic Rationalization’, in idem, Kings and Prophets, pp. 87–109, sees Saul as a transitional ﬁgure between the judges and kings (p. 100) and elsewhere notes that Saul is portrayed as a ‘possessed “prophet”’ (‘Healers and Saviors’, p. 128). 82

HISTORIOGRAPHY AND THEODICY IN THE OLD TESTAMENT John Barton Three questions may be asked of any literary document: What does it mean? What is its aim or goal? How is it meant to be used? The ﬁrst question is the one most commonly addressed by biblical scholars in handling the historiographical or narrative works of the Old Testament. Especially with the help of redaction criticism, it is possible to examine the meaning of the historical books not only at the level of words and sentences, but at the macrosemantic level at which whole books—even the whole ‘Deuteronomistic History’, supposing that there is one—convey theological signiﬁcance. The idea, for example, that there is a ‘kerygma’ of the Deuteronomistic History belongs to the quest for its meaning.1 The signiﬁcance of whole sections of the work, and their articulation in relation to each other, can be analysed, and an overall ‘drift’ identiﬁed. Notoriously, Martin Noth thought this drift negative and pessimistic,2 whereas Gerhard von Rad and Hans Walter Wolﬀ believed it to be much more positive.3 The question of the tailpiece on the release of Jehoiachin from prison (2 Kgs 25.27–30) is crucial here. Does it serve merely as a

1 See H. W. Wolﬀ, ‘Das Kerygma des deuteronomischen Geschichtswerks’, ZAW 73 (1961), pp. 171–86 = ‘The Kerygma of the Deuteronomic Historical Work’, in W. Brueggemann and H. W. Wolﬀ (eds.), The Vitality of Old Testament Traditions (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1975), pp. 83–100. 2 See M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien I: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft, 18; Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1943), pp. 43–152; idem, (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1957), pp. 1–110 = trans.: The Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 15; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1981). 3 See G. von Rad, Theologie des Alten Testaments (2 vols; Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1957 [vol. 1], 1960 [vol. 2]) = trans.: Old Testament Theology (trans. D. M. G. Stalker; 2 vols; Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1962 [vol. 1, from the second German edition, 1957] and 1963 [vol. 2, from the third German edition, 1960]). See also Wolﬀ, ‘Kerygma’.

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footnote, continuing the story for a few more years but basically conﬁrming that Israel remained in exile, or does it hold the promise of a fresh beginning? Commentators will no doubt continue to diﬀer about this, but what they are diﬀering about is the overall meaning of the work; what kind of Gestalt it should have in our literary imagination. The second question, about the purpose of Old Testament documents, is asked rather less frequently. To use jargon, it may be said to be a question about the narrative’s perlocutionary force. What does the work achieve? Martin Noth had an answer to this question as it relates to the Deuteronomistic History. Its purpose was theodicy, the explanation of the disaster that had befallen Israel in terms of the justice of God. The work was meant to convince its readers that the disaster of exile was a fully justiﬁed punishment by the God of Israel of his own people because of their constant backsliding and apostasy. Much the same may be said of some prophetic books. In Amos, for example, the aim of the compiler is to explain why the people have experienced bad fortune and to attribute this not to bad luck or human causes but to the avenging anger of God. We might say that von Rad and Wolﬀ also had an answer to the question about the purpose of the deuteronomistic work. It was written, they thought, to raise the spirits of those in exile, to assure them that God still had promises which he would fulﬁl in due time, and so to rejuvenate their life as exiles with the promise of better days to come. But they did not disagree with Noth that there was also a purpose in relation to theodicy. Only when the people could be brought to see why they had suﬀered could there be hope of improvement in the future, so that the promises might ﬁnd a response from a newly responsive community. The third question might be called a form-critical one. In what context, in what social situation, were various Old Testament documents meant to be encountered or used? This question is perhaps most discussed in relation to the Psalms where, since Gunkel4 and Mowinckel,5 it has been normal to concentrate on the supposed use 4 See H. Gunkel, ‘Psalmen’, in F. M. Schiele et al. (eds.), Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch in gemeinverständlicher Darstellung (5 vols; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1909–1913), vol. 4, cols. 1927–1949 = trans.: The Psalms: A Form-Critical Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1967). 5 S. Mowinckel, Oﬀersang og Sangoﬀer (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1951) = trans.: The Psalms in Israel’s Worship (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1962).

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in worship of many Psalms—almost to the exclusion of other questions about them. Where individual prophetic utterances are concerned, we know (or think we know) roughly how people were to encounter them: in some kind of public gathering in the case of oracles directed to all the people; in a court session of some sort in the case of oracles given to the king. But we are less sure that we know how prophetic books were meant to be used. They may have been meant for public reading in some kind of Ur-synagogue, or they may have been intended for private study, or perhaps for some combination of the two. The use of the Deuteronomistic History, in this sense, has not been much discussed. The assumption behind Martin Noth’s treatment of it as the conscious creation of a single mind suggests, perhaps, that it be understood as a literary work and encountered like other literary works in some kind of semi-private context such as a library or archive. Von Rad, on the other hand, probably thought of it as something that was proclaimed publicly since its purpose was to give encouragement and to revive hope, but he did not explicitly say how he envisaged its reception. On the whole, an archival approach seems to lie behind both the Harvard school’s theory of a double redaction6 and the Göttingen school’s idea that the work was subjected to two (or more) further redactions after its composition7 since, in both cases, the model presupposes the activity of scribes working on an existing document and adding or changing it in accordance with their own conception of what needed to be said. But neither school, so far as I am aware, has commented much on the practical issue of the work’s use. Graeme Auld’s fascinating theory that the Deuteronomistic History is one of two divergent works based on an original source text, the Book of Two Houses (the other being Chronicles)8 similarly seems to work with a model according to which

6 See F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973); R. D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 18; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1981). 7 See R. Smend, Die Entstehung des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 3rd edn, 1984); W. Dietrich, Prophetie und Geschichte: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (FRLANT, 108; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972); T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie: David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (AASF Ser. B, 193; Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1975). 8 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994).

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the work would have been encountered as a written text in a library or archive, but he does not make this explicit. On the whole it is probably fair to say that most redaction-critical work on the Deuteronomistic History has not asked what I have called the form-critical question. Scholars have been content to ask about the Tendenz of the work, which is a question about its meaning, and to ask what eﬀect it was meant to have on its readers, which is a question about its purpose, but they have not generally gone on to speculate about the practical issue of how the readers were meant to come across and get to ‘read’ the work at all. It seems to me, however, that this question is an important one. As a tribute to Graeme Auld, whose own work on Old Testament historiography is such a model of careful analysis, I should like to explore this issue a little further. The hint of a possible answer was proposed by Julius Wellhausen. Describing Kings, he wrote: The writer looks back on the time of the kings as a period past and closed, on which judgment has already been declared. Even at the consecration of the temple the thought of its destruction is not to be restrained; and throughout the book the ruin of the nation and its two kingdoms is present to the writer’s mind. This is the light in which the work is to be read; it shows why the catastrophe was unavoidable. It was so because of unfaithfulness to Jehovah, because of the utterly perverted tendency obstinately followed by the people in spite of the Torah of Jehovah and His prophets. The narrative becomes, as it were, a great confession of sins of the exiled nation looking back on its history.9

The whole Deuteronomistic History might similarly be regarded as a confession of national sin, and this is true whether it sees nothing beyond the disaster, as Noth thought, or holds out a hope for restoration, as argued by von Rad and Wolﬀ. In telling the story of how Israel left Egypt for Canaan, but once there behaved in such a way that those who were not exiled to Babylon returned to Egypt (thus nullifying the exodus), the History expresses the conviction that Israel is a sinful people and deserves the punishment it has received from the hands of God. If such a historical account were to be recited in a context of penitence, it would indeed function as a ‘great confession of sin’. 9 J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Israel (Edinburgh: Adam and Charles Black, 1885), p. 278 (my emphasis) = trans.: Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1883), 2nd edition of Geschichte Israels I (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1878).

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We possess few examples of ancient Israelite confessions, but those we do have tend to conﬁrm that the description of past national acts of rebellion against God formed the core of the text. Such is the case in the three ‘chapter 9’ confessions: Ezra 9, Nehemiah 9 and Daniel 9. The same is true of Isa 63.7–64.12 and Psalm 106. In each case the goodness of the God of Israel is contrasted with the disobedience and evil conduct of his people. Indeed, it is hard to see what other form a confession would be likely to take, though it is noteworthy that seldom do we seem to ﬁnd a recollection of contemporary misdeeds: rather, the person making confession runs through the misdeeds of ancestors and forebears. It is as though the sins of Israel, like the saving acts of God, had a kind of privileged period in which they were at their most paradigmatic, and it is that period— the days of ‘our kings, our oﬃcials, our priests, and our ancestors’ (Neh 9.34)—that is continually recalled. Thus one might reconstruct a use for the Deuteronomistic History, despite its great length, as a text with which confession was to be made in the lament liturgies of the exilic age that are surmised from the existence of the book of Lamentations and the evidence of Zechariah.10 Of course there is no direct evidence that would help us to imagine how it might actually have been used. I wonder, however, whether Noth’s theory that it is punctuated by the great speeches placed in the mouth of leading ﬁgures (rather than by the later chapter and book divisions) might suggest its use over a period of several days, each concluding with the appropriate speech. It is impossible to specify at what stage in its complex redaction the work might have functioned in this way. The addition of the ‘prophetic’ and ‘nomistic’ elements hypothesised by the Göttingen school might have been added after it passed from actual use into archival conservation or might, on the other hand, be evidence of gradual revision year by year as it was increasingly made more apt for its purpose (in the view of the redactors). As to this I would not hazard a guess. But the idea that it was intended for some kind of liturgical use, in

10 A liturgical origin for the History was proposed nearly thirty years ago by Michael Goulder: ‘The completed D-corpus was never intended to be a literary work, laid by, like Hilkiah’s book of the law, to be found during Temple renovations. It was intended and used for liturgical proclamation’. See M. D. Goulder, The Evangelists’ Calendar: A Lectionary Explanation of the Development of Scripture (London: SCM Press, 1978), p. 114.

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a context that most believe to have characterised the exilic age, seems to me one worth pondering. A liturgical theory for the origin of the Deuteronomistic History will naturally not account for it without remainder and will not explain the various elements left over from the earlier collections it subsumes into itself. For example, the whole cycle of stories about Elijah and Elisha will have had an independent existence, as will the ‘Succession Narrative’ and indeed all the stories of Saul and Samuel, and there is little to suggest that these have been extensively changed to reﬂect the exilic situation of lament and penitence. The work is not constructed, after all, out of whole cloth, and Noth’s editor, even if he was one individual with a single vision, was constrained in many ways by the materials at his disposal. But that is a problem for any theory of the origin of the work. All I would suggest is that at some stage in its redaction—a stage which we cannot reconstruct with any exactness—the work was shaped to function as a corporate confession of the sins of long generations of Israelites and was intended for recitation within whatever institutions of worship existed during the exilic age—whether in Judah or in Babylonia. Such a theory might also help to reconcile to some extent the ‘pessimistic’ and ‘optimistic’ interpretations of the History, i.e. the positions of Noth and von Rad. Hope, we might say, is contextually implied in the very fact of a confession of sin, for the purpose of confession is to acknowledge guilt and so open a door for God to forgive. Even if the actual content of the History contained no hints at all of hope (and von Rad surely showed that it does contain some), yet its very existence indicates that the leaders of the community thought that there was point in lamenting and bewailing the national sin. The pattern, especially of Judges of course, strongly suggests that God always and eventually intervenes on behalf of his people, however grievous their oﬀences, but even the more darkly pessimistic Kings can hold out hope of salvation by making it possible for the true extent of sin to be liturgically acknowledged. Thus rather than looking for hope at the level of the work’s meaning, we might ﬁnd it in the way the work was meant to be used. As with the lament liturgy in Joel, the expression of penitence and contrition would have the aim of leading God to ‘repent’ himself, that is, to think better of the aﬄiction he had brought on his people. Repentance, in the narratives that address it in the Old Testament, seems generally to consist of constructing a theodicy—telling God

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that he has been righteous in bringing disaster, in the hope that this recognition will prompt him to reconsider his intentions for the future. This raises, we may say, the question of the Sitz im Leben of theodicy in ancient Israel. It is little exaggeration to say that theodicy is the central theme of the Old Testament—the attempt to show that God is just in his dealings with his people and that whatever ill happens to them, they have deserved it. Even promise normally arises out of a prior conviction of just judgement, it does not come out of the blue—that is apparent, for example, even in the glowing promises of Deutero-Isaiah, which presuppose a preceding justiﬁed destruction (cf. Isa 42.24–5; 50.1). But what was the social location in ancient Israel of attempts at theodicy? It seems highly likely that it was the liturgy. It was in worship that awareness of guilt was expressed, both for the individual and for the nation. Prophetic theodicies emerged when the prophets were speaking to Israel’s representatives in some kind of public gathering, probably at the time of a festival or fast. It is hard to imagine that texts expressing theodicy were written for private study; rather, they presuppose a group gathered together for worship. If that is the normal context for theodicy, then it would make sense for such a work as the Deuteronomistic History to have been compiled with public liturgical use in mind. The reading of Israel’s history would not have been something to be done privately in an archive or library but would have been a corporate act undertaken in a congregational setting. Theodicy is accomplished by a worshipping group mulling over its past and seeking to discern how and why things went wrong, and where God was in it all. The History provides, as it were, the ‘text’ for such a gathering to reﬂect on.

THE BOOKS OF CHRONICLES AND THE SCROLLS FROM QUMRAN George J. Brooke 1. Introduction In this short study in honour of Graeme Auld I wish to consider brieﬂy four partially interrelated aspects of the Books of Chronicles in the light of the scrolls found in the eleven caves at and near Qumran.1 Graeme Auld’s own work on the historical books of the Hebrew Bible is well known. For the Books of Chronicles in particular he has argued for a reorientation of how the relationship between Chronicles and Samuel–Kings should be envisaged. Rather than seeing a simple line of dependence of Chronicles on Samuel– Kings, Auld has proposed that scholars should consider that both the compilers of Samuel–Kings and the Chronicler used a common source which is readily discernible in the text that the two works share; each then developed that common source in distinct ways. Since the starting point in each section of this paper is the evidence from Qumran, it is not necessary to enter into any lengthy arguments about the composition history of Chronicles or about its date and authorship.2 Nevertheless, although this paper is primarily about the reception of Chronicles in the second and ﬁrst centuries bce, such reception oﬀers insight into the nature of the Books of Chronicles too and appears partially to vindicate elements of Auld’s approach. 1 J. Trebolle Barrera, ‘Chronicles, First and Second Books of ’, in L. H. Schiﬀman and J. C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 129, oﬀers a concise note on Chronicles in the Dead Sea Scrolls but with little explanation or interpretation. 2 ‘[A] consensus for the dating of Chronicles is tending toward the early Greek period, perhaps the late fourth century, but more probably the early third century bce . . . If the books are to be dated to the early Greek period, however, they may still have been composed substantially in the Persian period’ (L. L. Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah [LSTS, 47; London: T & T Clark International, 2004], p. 98). This view is largely endorsed in the most recent substantial commentary on Chronicles by G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 12; New York: Doubleday, 2004), pp. 116–17.

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george j. brooke 2. 4QSama and the ‘Book of Two Houses’

Auld’s argument that Kings and Chronicles are independent reworkings of a common source that he labels the ‘Book of Two Houses’3 is based almost entirely, so it seems, on his comparison of the two works on the basis of the Masoretic Text, for all that he acknowledges from time to time that the evidence of the versions may support his approach. In his most complete presentation of his proposal, Kings without Privilege,4 Auld makes no explicit reference to F. M. Cross’s and E. Ulrich’s work on 4QSama,5 though he does note brieﬂy the relevance of Hebrew texts found in the Qumran caves. This is no doubt because his thesis is based on a comparison of large sections of Kings and Chronicles and concerns the Books of Samuel only incidentally,6 and the case for Kings may indeed be rather diﬀerent from that for Samuel. Nevertheless, it is surely signiﬁcant for Auld’s thesis that it seems as if the Chronicler worked from a text of Samuel other than that found in the MT. Cross long ago suggested that ‘examination of the passages of the large Samuel manuscript (4QSama) which are paralleled in Chronicles gives direct evidence that the Chronicler often utilised an edition of Samuel closer to the tradition of the Cave IV scroll than to that which survived in the Masoretic recension’.7 This was ratiﬁed by Ulrich’s analysis of 4QSama that produced the striking two-pronged result that is worth repeating: Searching for the root of this 4Q C agreement, we are impressed with two observations. First, the 4Q C agreements are mostly original S readings corrupt in M, or narrative expansions typical of the Palestinian text tradition, e.g., the Samaritan Pentateuch. The 4Q C agreements are thus a subset of the larger pattern 4Q = OG/pL OL C ≠ M. 3

The houses of David and of Yahweh in Jerusalem. A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). 5 F. M. Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1958; The Biblical Seminar, 30; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 3rd edn, 1995); E. C. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM, 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978). 6 As he has made plain in the defence of his ideas. See, e.g., A. G. Auld, ‘What Was the Main Source of the Books of Chronicles?’, in M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture ( JSOTSup, 263; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 91–99. 7 Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies, p. 141 (139 in the 3rd edn). 4

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Secondly, none of the 4Q C agreements either betrays characteristics commonly associated with the Chronicler’s speciﬁc interests (Levitical, genealogical, cultic, etc.) or displays new types of variation from M due to the fact that C now provides a parallel.8

This view of the state of aﬀairs has been endorsed once again in the principal edition of the Qumran Samuel manuscripts.9 On the basis of all those comments there would seem to be a prima facie case, supported by manuscript evidence, that there was an earlier tradition upon which both MT Samuel and Chronicles depended. Cross puts it thus: ‘The fragments of 4QSama underline the seriousness with which the Old Greek translator dealt with the Hebrew text, and conﬁrm most emphatically the usefulness of the Old Greek for the establishment of a more nearly original Hebrew text’.10 Although one may eschew ever knowing much about an original Hebrew text, the implication is clear for endorsing the possibility of the early existence of Samuel material other than that now found in the MT. Furthermore, whereas the Chronicler seems to have remained faithful in many details to that source tradition, more so than could possibly have been recognised on the basis of the MT alone, the Hebrew version of Samuel represented by the MT has moved away from the common source in both minor and major ways. There may be ongoing debates about the history of the textual transmission of individual pericopae,11 but sympathetic consideration of all the textual evidence now available, both Hebrew and Greek, should enable a rich reconsideration of the relationship of Chronicles to its sources. There are two points to be made in reiterating this common knowledge that is now reconﬁrmed by the publication of DJD 17. First, it remains the case that 4QSama is not transmitting the text of Chronicles into the Qumran library; rather both reﬂect, largely independently, 8 Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus, p. 163. Abbreviations: 4Q = 4QSama; C = Chronicles, OG = Old Greek; pL = proto-Lucian; OL = Old Latin; M = MT. 9 F. M. Cross, D. W. Parry, R. J. Saley and E. Ulrich, Qumran Cave 4: XII, 1–2 Samuel (DJD, 17; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005); sadly the textual characterisation of 4QSama on pp. 25–27 is not very detailed and includes only one brief mention of the aﬃliation between 4QSama and Chronicles. 10 Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4: XII, 1–2 Samuel, p. 27. 11 In several studies A. Rofé has challenged the antiquity of parts of the Hebrew text of 4QSama. See, e.g., A. Rofé, ‘4QMidrash Samuel? Observations Concerning the Character of 4QSama’, Text 19 (1998), pp. 63–74.

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the existence of a Hebrew tradition of Samuel other than that in the MT. Second, in the analysis of the relationship between Samuel–Kings and Chronicles the evidence of the MT has nearly always been given pride of place. It is now clear that a wide range of source material, including alternative forms of the Books of Samuel, needs to be considered, and that there is little diﬀerence between asserting that some of the variations between Samuel–Kings and Chronicles can be accounted for by acknowledging the existence of an alternative form of Samuel in Hebrew and that there were written sources variously used by the two ‘national epics’.12 As the wall between higher and lower criticism collapses, so the textual evidence indicates that Auld’s theory cannot simply be ruled out of court. 3. A Copy of Chronicles at Qumran? A manuscript like 4QSama cannot be understood as transmitting the text of Chronicles to the Qumran library, but was it there in its own right? Although the extant number of copies of a composition may be an accident of survival, it is nevertheless surprising that for a work as long as 1 and 2 Chronicles, there is no obvious copy in the Qumran caves. The mantra that fragments of all the books of the Hebrew Bible apart from Esther have been found at Qumran is often repeated without pause for thought.13 In fact, the one fragment that is supposed to be part of a manuscript of the Books of Chronicles needs classiﬁcation with great care.14 The fragment assigned to 4Q118 contains the remains of two adjacent columns.15 For the remains of column II it is indeed possible to read something that can be reconstructed suitably as from 2 Chron 28.27–29.3, although the reconstructed line lengths are somewhat variable, even if just within a tolerable range. But, for the remains of column I, no amount of careful reconstruction of adjacent passages of Hebrew Chronicles or 12

To use Knoppers’s generic label (1 Chronicles 1–9, p. 133). E.g., by J. Lust, ‘Quotation Formulae and Canon in Qumran’, in A. van der Kooij and K. van der Toorn (eds.), Canonization and Decanonization (Studies in the History of Religions, 82; Leiden: Brill, 1998), pp. 67–77 (67). 14 Furthermore it should be noted that for Ezra–Nehemiah there is but one manuscript copy of Ezra that has come from the Qumran caves (4Q117) and none of Nehemiah. 15 For the text see J. Trebolle Barrera, ‘118. 4QChr’, in E. Ulrich et al., Qumran Cave 4: XI, Psalms to Chronicles (DJD, 16; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), pp. 295–97. 13

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Kings will reveal the sequence of Hebrew letters that is found on the fragment. What then do we have in this manuscript, 4Q118? Is it in fact a manuscript of another composition altogether that just happens to have a small section that resembles 2 Chron 28.27–29.3? There are several possibilities. First, it is ﬁtting in this study to consider whether 4Q118 is in fact a copy of part of the ‘Book of Two Houses’, part of the source material used by Kings and Chronicles. Auld has included 2 Chron 28.27–29.3 in his common source.16 Given the degree of variation between the material common to Kings and Chronicles which Auld is happy to assign to a common source, then there may well be enough textual ﬂexibility to have the two words of column I in such a source. On the other hand, the logic of Auld’s position is that such variation should be kept to a minimum and so this naturally militates against 4Q118 being a version of the ‘Book of Two Houses’. This understanding of 4Q118 is unlikely, but must remain a possibility. Second it could be that 4Q118 represents a variant form of 2 Chronicles. This is not impossible, even though there is no textual evidence in support of taking the words of column I in this way. If Chronicles was recognised as a work of rewriting, then perhaps such a variation even belongs within a tradition of the further rewriting of Chronicles. Third, it could be that 4Q118 is some other kind of composition and simply quotes from or paraphrases 2 Chronicles at this point for some reason. If so, then 4Q118 would attest to the authoritative status of 2 Chronicles for the author of this composition but would not be a copy of Chronicles itself.17 Fourth, A. Rofé has wondered whether in fact like 4Q382 (Paraphrase of Kings) 4Q118 contains ‘a homiletical revision of the book of Kings that included a psalm of entreaty similar to the one attributed to Hezekiah in Isa 38:9–20’.18 Whatever the precise identiﬁcation of 4Q118, it is intriguing that the Books of Chronicles are so slightly represented in the Qumran collection. Is this just an accident? ‘The scarcity of Chronicles at 16

Auld, Kings without Privilege, pp. 71, 118, 120. As noted by Trebolle Barrera, ‘118. 4QChr’, p. 295. 18 A. Rofé, ‘No Ephod or Teraphim’—oude hierateias oude dèlòn: Hosea 3:4 in the LXX and in the Paraphrases of Chronicles and the Damascus Document’, in C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz and S. M. Paul (eds.), Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), pp. 135–49 (143, n. 22). 17

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Qumran could be by chance, with several other manuscripts being lost. More likely, however, the small number of scrolls is by design, since Chronicles has a strong focus on Jerusalem and the Temple, from which the Qumran community had removed itself ’.19 But the matter can probably be put more strongly than this, when, alongside the contents of 4Q118, which have determined the four suggestions above, its date is also considered. Trebolle Barrera dates 4Q118 to the late Hasmonaean period (c. 50–25 bce); it has no distinctive orthographic traits. Although typological palaeographic datings are often too precise historically, we may suppose that 4Q118 was probably brought to Qumran from elsewhere in the latter half of the ﬁrst century bce or later; its late arrival there corresponds with the apparent sectarian reluctance to invoke Chronicles, probably because the authoritativeness of the work was endorsed as part of the political agenda of the Hasmonaeans, as I will argue below. While the Hasmonaeans were in power, particularly in their heyday, so there really may not have been any copy of Chronicles at Qumran, just as neither 1 nor 2 Maccabees have been found in the library, probably for similar reasons. 4. Rewritten Bible? A very large number of the manuscripts found in the Qumran caves can be related to authoritative scriptural antecedents in one way or another.20 It is evident that in addition to copies of scriptural scrolls, the library contained a wide range of parabiblical and rewritten Bible compositions. Two comments are worthwhile in light of this. First, it is worth asking more directly, as Knoppers has done,21 whether the Books of Chronicles should now be seen far more obviously as part of this rewriting activity of the late Second Temple period. For some scholars the label ‘Rewritten Bible’ is of use only in relation to a narrowly deﬁned set of narrative texts,22 while for 19

J. C. VanderKam and P. W. Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Signiﬁcance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002), p. 118. 20 As I have tried to argue in G. J. Brooke, ‘The Dead Sea Scrolls’, in J. Barton (ed.), The Biblical World (London: Routledge, 2002), pp. 250–69. 21 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, pp. 129–34. 22 E.g., M. J. Bernstein, ‘ “Rewritten Bible”: A Generic Category Which Has Outlived its Usefulness’, Text 22 (2005), pp. 169–96.

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others it is a suitable catch-all ‘meta-genre’ for a large number of paraphrastic compositions.23 Knoppers concludes that overall Chronicles should not be classiﬁed as Rewritten Bible because it is not just an explicatory variation on Samuel–Kings; ‘it is reductive to attribute all of the Chronicler’s unique material to exegesis or theological reﬂection’.24 It seems to me that to insist that the designation ‘Rewritten Bible’ can only apply if a whole text is exegetical in one way or another strangely misconstrues what might have been deemed by the Chronicler to have been authoritative sources. It was not just what later came to be acknowledged as scriptural that was taken as authoritative by him—it is important not to let anachronistic notions of scripture dominate the discussion. Chronicles rewrites not just the scriptural texts as we know them in a canonical form but from within the full spectrum of authoritative Jewish tradition as that was available to the Chronicler in the fourth century bce.25 The process of moving from authority to canon is one of narrowing down from a wide range of texts, not one of being increasingly inclusive. Second, it seems that in the Hellenistic period some complete rewritings, such as the Books of Chronicles, were indeed emerging as authoritative in their own right for some Jews. The three most obvious examples provided by the Qumran library concern the appeals to the Book of Jubilees and probably to the Aramaic Levi Document in the Damascus Document 26 and the use of a citation from the Apocryphon of Joshua in Testimonia.27 Perhaps for those who collected the manuscripts in the eleven Qumran caves the Books of Chronicles should be viewed in a similar light as having an emerging authority, but of a marginal kind compared with Genesis, Deuteronomy, Isaiah, the Twelve and the Psalms. The eventual diﬀerence between Chronicles on the one hand and Jubilees and the Apocryphon of Joshua on the other is obvious: the former 23 E.g., G. J. Brooke, ‘Rewritten Bible’, in L. H. Schiﬀman and J. C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 777–81. 24 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, p. 131. 25 For example, some place should be given to the ‘new’ Prayer of Manasseh found in 4Q381 33 I, 8–11 in relation to 2 Chron 33.13, 18. 26 See, e.g., J. C. Greenﬁeld, ‘The Words of Levi Son of Jacob in Damascus Document iv, 15–19’, RevQ 13 (1988), pp. 319–22. 27 On the debate about this see H. Eshel, ‘The Historical Background of the Pesher Interpreting Joshua’s Curse on the Rebuilder of Jericho’, RevQ 15 (1992), pp. 409–20, esp. 409–12.

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became authoritative widely as part of the Writings, whereas the latter retained authority only in a restricted fashion or not at all. But actually the case is more complicated than that. Although there may be some evidence of the emerging authority of Chronicles in the compositions of the second century bce found in the Qumran library, in the ﬁrst century bce it seems to have been completely marginalised or even avoided by the sectarians;28 it was certainly given much less attention than works like the Book of Jubilees. So the authority eventually given to Chronicles within Judaism is a measure of the success of the Hasmonaean project to endorse a composition like Chronicles with its ‘strong focus on Jerusalem and the Temple’29 and other matters, as described below. 5. The Residual Presence of Chronicles in the Qumran Library? In none of the scrolls that survive from the Qumran caves is there any explicit citation of the Books of Chronicles unless such is the case with the late ﬁrst century 4Q118. This is true for both the socalled sectarian compositions and for the others. Some scholars, like VanderKam and Flint, might see this as the result of a deliberate policy of excluding the Books of Chronicles from the library for ideological or theological reasons. On the basis that the Hasmonaean political programme probably included the endorsement of certain compositions as part of the authoritative collection of scriptures that could be read as pro-Hasmonaean, I have argued elsewhere that the absence of obvious manuscript copies of the Books of Chronicles from the Qumran library can be understood in two ways.30 On the one hand, the community which preserved the scrolls may well have been antipathetic to the probable Hasmonaean claims to be heirs to the Davidic tradition.31 On the other, over against Hasmonaean 28 The New Testament writers also almost completely ignore 1 and 2 Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah. 29 VanderKam and Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls, p. 118. 30 G. J. Brooke, ‘Between Authority and Canon: The Signiﬁcance of Reworking the Bible for Understanding the Canonical Process’, in E. G. Chazon, D. Dimant and R. Clements (eds.), Reworking the Bible: Apocryphal and Related Texts at Qumran: Proceedings of a Joint Symposium by the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature and the Hebrew University Institute for Advanced Studies Research Group on Qumran, 15–17 January, 2002 (STDJ, 58; Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 85–104 (88–89). 31 Cf. 1 Macc 2.57 which can be read as shifting the Davidic inheritance to the

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Davidic aspirations, the community kept silent about the Davidic identiﬁcation of its Messiah of Israel until the end of the ﬁrst century bce. Some further support for this understanding of the evidence can be found by a consideration of those compositions in the Qumran library in which there are allusions to the Books of Chronicles. All the compositions that display the unambiguous inﬂuence of Chronicles are likely to come from the second century bce and are not clearly sectarian.32 G. Knoppers has suitably identiﬁed some of the candidates that should be discussed. He has been concerned to demonstrate that because of the use of Chronicles in these compositions, so it can be argued that by the time of their writing Chronicles had come to have authority. Thus a very late date for the Books of Chronicles seems unlikely; for Knoppers and most others it must have been around in the third century bce at the latest.33 My purpose here is not to disagree with Knoppers, but in the light of the virtual absence of Chronicles from the Qumran library to comment brieﬂy on the compositions he cites. My suggestion in this section is that the Books of Chronicles might well have carried some weight among those compiling works in the second century bce, but that by the ﬁrst century, when the probable Hasmonaean adoption of Chronicles was in full swing, the Books of Chronicles were rarely, if ever, referred to by the Qumran sectarians. To my mind the clearest inﬂuence of the Books of Chronicles in compositions found in the Qumran caves can be seen in the Temple Scroll.34 The temple material in the ﬁrst section of the scroll is indeed based largely on a combination of ideas and phrases to be found in the description of the Tabernacle in Exodus, in the portrayal of Solomon’s temple in 1 Kings, and in the vision of the heavenly Hasmonaean dynasty: J. Goldstein, I Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 41; New York: Doubleday, 1976), p. 240. 32 The links proposed between the Damascus Document and the Books of Chronicles are very slight so that it is not suitable to make detailed comments on them. See, e.g., J. G. Campbell, The Use of Scripture in the Damascus Document 1–8, 19–20 (BZAW, 228; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1995), p. 182, who cites the possible allusion to 2 Chron 20.7; 36.15, 16, 21; and P. Mandel, ‘Inclusio: On the Final Section of the Damascus Document and Its Literary Signiﬁcance’, Meghillot: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls 2 (2004), pp. 57–68 (Hebrew), who wonders whether the end of the Damascus Document is modelled on 2 Chron 24.23–27. 33 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, pp. 109–11. 34 See also the comments of Y. Thorion, ‘Die Sprache der Tempelrolle und die Chronikbüker’, RevQ 11 (1982–84), pp. 423–28.

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temple in Ezekiel 40–48. Nevertheless in two ways the inﬂuence of Chronicles can be observed. First, as Yadin has noted, the entire motivation for the composition seems to depend on the way in which 1 Chron 28.11–12 and v. 19 describes how David has received a template for the temple which he passes to Solomon.35 Second, in a short study and in his detailed monograph D. D. Swanson has made it plain that amongst the inﬂuential sources behind some sections of the Temple Scroll room must be made for the Books of Chronicles.36 It was not suﬃcient to refer to the accounts of the Tabernacle in the Pentateuch, the description of the Temple in 1 Kings and the visionary perspectives of Ezekiel 40–48 for ﬁlling out the details of the plan; reference had to be made also to the special material in the Books of Chronicles. Several other themes that are dominant in Chronicles can be discerned as lying behind certain sections of the Temple Scroll: among these are Levitical preferences and the concern in places to subordinate the king to the priest. A second composition to be considered is 4Q522, an Apocryphon of Joshua. In some lines the phraseology in this composition is closer to that of the Books of Chronicles (1 Chron 21.18–22.1) than to any other scriptural source. More signiﬁcantly, in fragment 9 there is a prediction that implies that one day the son of Jesse will take responsibility for collecting the building materials and ﬁnances for the construction of the temple, even though his son will actually build it. This seems to reﬂect the position of the Chronicler who has David take pride of place in relation to the temple and its plans, whereas Kings assigns the role to Solomon himself. There is nothing sectarian in 4Q522 and E. Puech, its editor, has dated its composition to the mid-second century bce.37 Overall, the text of 4Q522 does not

35 Y. Yadin, The Temple Scroll (3 vols; Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society, The Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, The Shrine of the Book, 1983), 1:82–83. 36 D. D. Swanson, ‘The Use of Chronicles in 11QT: Aspects of a Relationship’, in D. Dimant and U. Rappoport (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (STDJ, 10; Leiden: E. J. Brill; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1992), pp. 290–98; idem, The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT (STDJ, 14; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995); G. Steins, Die Chronik als kanonisches Abschlussphänomen: Studien zur Entstehung und Theologie von 1 / 2 Chronik (BBB, 93; Bodenheim: Anton Hain, 1995), has argued that it was the other way round: the author of 2 Chronicles 3 knew a text akin to the Temple Scroll. 37 E. Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4: XVII, Textes Hébreux (4Q521–4Q528, 4Q576–4Q579) (DJD, 25; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), pp. 70–71.

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whole-heartedly endorse the views of Chronicles. Rather, ‘[i]t is not impossible that 4Q522 comes to grips with the various biblical traditions embedded in the Books of Joshua and Judges regarding the ark, explaining how the ark came to Bethel and moved from there to Shiloh, where it was indeed found at a later stage according to Josh. 18’.38 Or again: ‘This nonsectarian text contains a prophecy explaining why Joshua did not conquer Jerusalem or establish the Temple there’.39 Two other sets of manuscripts also need to be considered brieﬂy. In the War Rule there is some detailed description of the means for conscription for the army (1QM II, 6–8, 10).40 This does not follow a pattern of tribal or geographical mustering, but a system based on selection by the heads of the congregation which keeps to an annual rotation of divisions in which each division is composed of units from all the tribes. Y. Yadin suggested that this is more akin to the mustering described in 1 Chronicles 27 than to that in 1 Kings 4,41 but a close look at the phrasing of the War Rule shows that even if there might be a general attempt to imitate the system of Chronicles, 1 Chronicles 27 provides none of the technical terminology or precise details, such as length of service. If there is any inﬂuence of Chronicles in the War Rule, it is so indirect as to be almost unnoticeable. The same cannot be said for the lists of the priestly courses presented in several ‘Tables of Priestly Watches’ (4Q320–4Q324a; 4Q324c–4Q325; 4Q328–4Q330). The names of the twenty-four divisions of priests detailed in these tables derive from a list embedded in the account of King David’s testament in 1 Chronicles 22–29 . . . The Qumran ﬁnds preserve, in fact, the earliest extrabiblical duplicates of the biblical roster, with the only diﬀerence being that the list is headed by Gamul, in service already

38 E. Tov, ‘The Rewritten Book of Joshua as Found at Qumran and Masada’, in M. E. Stone and E. G. Chazon (eds.), Biblical Perspectives: Early Use and Interpretation of the Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the First International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 12–14 May 1996 (STDJ, 28; Leiden: Brill, 1998), pp. 233–56 (247). 39 E. Eshel, ‘Jubilees 32 and the Bethel Cult Traditions in Second Temple Literature’, in E. G. Chazon, D. Satran and R. A. Clements (eds.), Things Revealed: Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone ( JSJSup, 89; Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 21–36 (25). 40 This section of the War Rule might date from the 2nd century bce. 41 Y. Yadin, The Scroll of the War of the Sons of Light Against the Sons of Darkness (London: Oxford University Press, 1962), pp. 79–86.

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george j. brooke at the time of Creation, while in the Chronicles version, the course Jehoiarib heads the list.42

The authoritative force of the list in 1 Chron 24.7–18 is visible most notably in the way in which the twenty-four courses are not expanded by two in order to ﬁt the annual cycle of two weeks service in each ﬁfty-two week year, but the twenty-four courses are rotated so that at the end of a six-year cycle the system begins again with each course in its allotted place. But it should also be noted that the diﬀerence in starting point could support the overall argument of this essay. The change from Jehoiarib to Gamul ‘may reﬂect the covenanters’ opposition to the Hasmoneans, who claimed descent from Jehoiarib’ (1 Macc 2.1).43 The calendrical compositions that contain the list of priestly courses date roughly from between the last quarter of the second century bce and the last quarter of the ﬁrst century bce and so cover a large part of the period of Hasmonaean domination. Thus, even when the community felt obliged to follow a tradition from the Books of Chronicles, it was consistently adjusted in an anti-Hasmonaean fashion.44 From the ﬁrst century bce there is only one sectarian composition that seems to cite the Books of Chronicles. In 4Q252, Commentary on Genesis A, there is a short bridging passage between one section and another in which there is a short phrase, ‘a land he gave to Abraham his friend’ ("rß ntn l"brhm "hbw) that resembles the language of 2 Chron 20.7, ‘Did you not, O our God, drive out the inhabitants of this land before your people Israel, and give it forever to the descendants of your friend Abraham?’ Now, the text in 4Q252 is certainly not a quotation of 2 Chronicles. It is possible that it should be understood as part of poetic triplet being used in 4Q252 II, 7–8 to link 42 S. Talmon with the assistance of J. Ben-Dov, ‘Calendrical Documents and Mishmarot’, in S. Talmon, J. Ben-Dov and U. Glessmer, Qumran Cave 4: XVI, Calendrical Texts (DJD, 21; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001), pp. 1–166 (8). 43 G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10 –29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 12A; New York: Doubleday, 2004), p. 842; with many others Knoppers rightly argues against seeing this as evidence that the Books of Chronicles are a Maccabean composition. 44 The list in 1 Chron 24.7–18 seems to belong to the last priestly editing of the Chronicler’s work and may reﬂect the reform of the Jerusalem priesthood in the late Persian period. See H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982), p. 158. How the priesthood in the movement related to the Qumran community was descended from such reforms and subsequent upheavals in the temple priesthood is a story yet to be told fully.

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a section on the curse of Canaan with a passage commenting on the journey of Abram to the land: ‘God blessed the sons of Noah (Gen. 9.1)/ and in the tents of Shem may He dwell (Gen 9.27a)/ a land he gave to Abraham his friend (cf. 2 Chron 20.7)’. This seems all the more likely, given that the compiler of 4Q252 then reverts to using Abram as he follows through with the sequence of Genesis. Elsewhere I have wondered whether this poetic bridge passage is in fact a quotation from an epic poem rather than a direct citation from 2 Chron 20.7.45 If so, it could be that the phraseology of 2 Chronicles itself is a reﬂection of the same poem. Although the compiler of 4Q252 could be creating a new passage for his own purposes, this is somewhat uncharacteristic, since throughout he seems to be compiling his commentary from extracts from a number of sources. The corresponding familiarity of Chronicles with epic poetry is well known, as is attested by the place of Psalms 105 and 106 in 1 Chronicles 16.46 Thus it seems that even 4Q252 provides no clearly unambiguous use of the Books of Chronicles in a ﬁrst century bce sectarian text.47 6. Conclusion In this short study I have argued four things. First, 4QSama indicates that Chronicles preserves evidence for a Hebrew text of Samuel that is earlier than that of the MT. Thus for Samuel both MT and Chronicles rewrite earlier texts and incorporate other sources; why not for Kings too? Second, seeing Chronicles as part of the ‘meta-genre’ of Rewritten Bible enables the better appreciation of the processes of its formation and eventual move from authority to canon, even though a more precise generic label is also required. Third, some sections of the Books of Chronicles have been of ongoing inﬂuence in some compositions found in the Qumran library. It is likely that the existence of a temple plan in 1 Chronicles and 45 G. J. Brooke, ‘The Genre of 4Q252: From Poetry to Pesher’, Dead Sea Discoveries 1 (1994), pp. 160–79 (167–68). 46 Though who is citing whom is open to debate. See G. J. Brooke, ‘Psalms 105 and 106 at Qumran’, RevQ 14 (1989–90), pp. 267–92. 47 The same can be said for 4Q174 which some have supposed to be citing 1 Chron 17.9–13 but which is more likely to be an alternative form of Samuel as in 4QSama.

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other details of the role of David in the building of the temple can be noticed in the Temple Scroll and the non-sectarian 4Q522. The list of priestly courses in 1 Chron 24.7–18 is echoed in the Qumran calendrical texts, but it is altered so that it is headed by Gamul not Jehoiarib. But claims that Chronicles is very much behind part of the War Rule or one section of the Commentary of Genesis A are grossly overstated. Fourth, the paucity of explicit evidence for the Books of Chronicles in the Qumran community can be interpreted not just as an antipathy towards some of its views on Jerusalem and the temple but as a deliberate attempt to avoid a text which was probably having its authority endorsed by the Hasmonaeans as part of their political agenda. Even when one element of the priestly organisation referred to in Chronicles is preserved and utilised, it is carefully adjusted to ﬁt a view of the signiﬁcance of the calendar which puts creation ﬁrst and those who might claim descent from Jehoiarib ﬁrmly in their place. The absence of copies of the Books of Chronicles from the Qumran library in the ﬁrst half of the ﬁrst century bce thus becomes negative evidence for the role of the Hasmonaeans in contributing to the authoritative and eventually canonical status of the Chronicler’s work.

A ROYAL PRIVILEGE: DINING IN THE PRESENCE OF THE GREAT KING (2 KINGS 25.27–30) Ronald E. Clements 1. Introduction Professor Auld has contributed towards unravelling the several mysteries of ancient Israelite historiography with his study of the literary background of the Former Prophets entitled, Kings Without Privilege.1 It is appropriate, therefore, to begin this short study of four of the key verses of the history of the Former Prophets by looking at one of the most striking and signiﬁcant privileges that was accorded to one of the least enviable of Judah’s kings. This is found at the very close of the narrative of 2 Kings and concerns the remarkable change of fortune regarding the circumstances pertaining to the Babylonian exile of the ill-starred king Jehoiachin of Judah. The passage reads: (27) In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of King Jehoiachin of Judah, in the twelfth month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, King Evil-merodach of Babylon, in the year that he began to reign, released King Jehoiachin of Judah from prison; (28) he spoke kindly to him, and gave him a seat above the other seats of the kings who were with him in Babylon. (29) So Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes. Every day of his life he dined regularly in the king’s presence. (30) For his allowance a regular allowance was given him by the king, a portion every day, as long as he lived (2 Kgs 25.27–30, nrsv).

These verses have understandably attracted a great deal of attention, on account of what they imply about the author’s interest in the destiny, and potential future, of the Davidic royal dynasty. The immediately preceding narratives relating to the siege and fall of Jerusalem and the humiliation and suﬀering of King Zedekiah highlight this royal family’s severe misfortunes.

1 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994).

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ronald e. clements 2. Jehoiachin’s Release as a Historical and Literary Problem

This report regarding King Jehoiachin’s release from imprisonment and survival in Babylon introduces an altogether diﬀerent note regarding the royal family. It raises questions regarding the kingship and its possible role in Israel’s future in a way that compels the reader to ask what the author’s purpose may have been in drawing attention to this singular change in the former king’s fortunes. Obviously if this reversal in the conditions of Jehoiachin’s exile were widely known this fact would undoubtedly have raised hopes, in the eyes of some persons at least, about the future of Judah’s ancient royal house in general. Jehoiachin’s new privileges could well have given credence to expectations that the day was not far oﬀ when a new line of kings would emerge from the remnant that was left of Judah’s distinguished royal family. There clearly were some circles among the survivors of Judah’s decades of disaster which believed this to be the case (cf. Jer 23.5–6; 33.19–26; Ezek 37.24–28). Since the fate of the royal dynasty descended from David stands as the point of central focus for the story of Israel told in the Former Prophets, this report of the unexpected upturn in the fortunes of one of the last of its heirs was clearly intended to make some comment about the future of the royal house. In another direction these four verses have also been regarded as uniquely informative about the time of origin of the composition of the history which now constitutes the Former Prophets ( Joshua–2 Kings). I have elsewhere expressed the view that, to follow Martin Noth2 in labelling this the Deuteronomistic History, is to give this narrative a misleading title.3 In company with Graeme Auld,4 I remain convinced that the title should be dropped as drawing too much attention to a feature which cannot have been primary in respect of 2 M. Noth, The Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 15; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2nd edn, 1991), pp. 27, 117, 143. Cf. especially his comment on page 27: ‘. . . this gives us a deﬁnite terminus a quo for the date of Dtr’s work. We have no reason to put Dtr much later than this terminus a quo’. 3 R. E. Clements, ‘The Former Prophets and Deuteronomy—A Re-Examination’, in J. H. Ellens, D. L. Ellens, R. P. Knierim and I. Kalimi (eds.), God’s Word for Our World: Biblical Studies in Honour of Simon John De Vries ( JSOTSup, 388–389; 2 vols; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), 1:83–95. 4 A. G. Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists between History and Theology’, in A. Lemaire and M. Saebø (eds.), Congress Volume: Oslo 1998 (VTSup, 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 353–67 (367).

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its composition. However, even among those who have endeavoured to modify Martin Noth’s claims, the reference to Jehoiachin’s release and elevation has appeared informative about the time of its ﬁnal composition.5 Since the accession of the Babylonian king Evil-merodach (Amel-marduk) can be dated from the Babylonian chronology to 562 bce (or 561 on some calculations of the Babylonian chronology) this event points to one of the latest happenings referred to in the narrative of the Former Prophets. It has therefore appeared to provide a useful terminus a quo regarding the composition of the history. Moreover, with this event taking place in Babylon, it could be further taken to suggest that the work was composed in Babylon.6 However, the usefulness of the date given in these verses relating Jehoiachin’s release is signiﬁcantly reduced once we take account of more recent scholarship regarding the composition of the Former Prophets. Increasingly scholars have argued that there were at least two major stages in the composition of this history. Steven McKenzie7 has followed F. M. Cross in discerning an original composition dating from the reign of King Josiah, with a subsequent expansion after the disasters of 598 and 587 bce. More recent work has pointed, not to two, but to a sequence of expansions of an original royal history of the kings of Judah and Israel.8 These additions and insertions greatly modify the original work and take account of subsequent calamitous events which marked the demise of the Davidic dynasty’s rule in Jerusalem. It appears highly plausible therefore to include the ﬁnal four verses of 2 Kings among these later additions. As the latest of the events recorded, it is highly

5

Cf. most recently J. A. Emerton, ‘The Date of the Yahwist’, in J. Day (ed.), In Search of Pre-exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar ( JSOTSup, 406; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 107–29 (108): ‘The second edition [of the Former Prophets] was exilic but was prepared before the possibility of return from exile became imminent; it is probably to be dated close to 562, the year of the release of Jehoiachin from prison, the last event to be recorded in 2 Kgs 25.27–30’. 6 Cf. E. W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1970), pp. 116–35, but for the opposite view see Noth, Deuteronomistic History, p. 143. 7 S. L. McKenzie, The Trouble With Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History (VTSup, 42; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991); cf. F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History and Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973). 8 Cf. R. G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (trans. J. Bowden; London: T & T Clark International, 2005), pp. 95–210.

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probable that these verses represent one of the last additions made to the history. How they may relate to other additions is therefore a matter of conjecture. However important the questions may be regarding the chronology of composition, there are further questions regarding the aim and tenor of the history in its entirety and the purpose of these four verses in particular. The original document was evidently centred upon belief in the enduring divine foundation of the royal dynasty of David, with its focal point established by the promise declared by the prophet Nathan on behalf of the Lord God of Israel (2 Sam 7.1–17).9 The composition of this royal chronicle, which A. G. Auld has described as the ‘Book of Two Houses’,10 was most probably begun in the reign of King Josiah (639–609 bce) since its ideology closely reﬂects what appears to have been a strong attempt at the reuniﬁcation of the two divided nations during that king’s reign.11 The marked decline in the fortunes for Judah’s royal house after Josiah’s untimely death, and the short, disastrous reigns of the kings that followed him, called for a signiﬁcant re-shaping of the strongly pro-Davidic narrative.12 In consequence the new material that was introduced into the narrative greatly modiﬁed the theme and character of the original history and extended the story both backwards to the era of Moses and forward to the collapse of the kingdom. The revised history had, of necessity, to present the role of Israel’s kings and the eﬃcacy of the divine promise made to the dynasty founder, in a much altered perspective. These revised conclusions make these last four verses of 2 Kings particularly surprising. On the surface they appear to hark back to the major role played by the divine promise to King David in the original version of the history, even though they follow reports of the events which had largely destroyed the credibility of that promise. Since these four verses may be presumed to have been one of the latest of the additions that were made to the Former Prophets, it is 9 D. J. McCarthy, ‘II Samuel 7 and the Structure of the Deuteronomic History’, JBL 84 (1965), pp. 131–38; repr. in D. J. McCarthy, Institution and Narrative: Collected Essays (AnBib, 108; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1985), pp. 127–34. 10 Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists between History and Theology’, p. 367. 11 Cf. M. A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 33–76. 12 Cf. G. Gakuru, An Inner-Biblical Exegetical Study of the Davidic Covenant and the Dynastic Oracle (Mellen Biblical Press Series, 58; Lewiston, NY: Edward Mellen Press, 2000).

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altogether unexpected that they should revive interest in the future of the Davidic family at such a late point in time. The alternative would be to assume that they were part of the earlier, pro-monarchic narrative and were retained as a partial amelioration of the sombre story that the last years of the monarchy proclaimed. Yet this seems highly improbable. As a consequence, even assuming the historicity and chronological reliability of the events they refer to, their inclusion seems to put in reverse the exclusively negative impact of the events that had preceded them. It is important also to keep in mind that the date they indicate provides no more than a terminus a quo for a late redaction of the history of the Former Prophets. Only Noth’s overall thesis regarding the composition of what he called ‘the Deuteronomistic History’ made the information they provide a useful pointer to the time of composition of that work. The date of Evil-merodach’s accession to the Babylonian throne, ascertainable from the Babylonian chronicles, provides no information worth having about the time of composition of the base narrative of the Former Prophets. The fact that it provides us with an indication of a late editorial expansion is of limited value since we do not know how long after Jehoachin’s release from imprisonment and death this addition was made. Martin Noth’s thesis placed the release from imprisonment, the subsequent death of the former king, and the composition of the historical work, all in a relatively brief time-scale. Once these verses are isolated from the main body of the work their interest centres more directly on the unexpectedness of the way in which they re-awaken interest in the surviving element of the Davidic family, not on their usefulness as a handle to establish a literary chronology. 3. Jehoiachin’s Release in Context Part of our concern in this paper is to question the many assumptions regarding the value for dating the composition of the Former Prophets provided by this brief historical note. Among them we must certainly include that of the historicity of the circumstances of Jehoiachin’s release and the reliability of the source from which this information was drawn. Once the editorial purpose of the report is adequately recognised it seems unlikely that the information regarding its contents was drawn from a readily available contemporary historical record.

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If this is the case then we must cast doubt on the assumption that these verses were added relatively soon after King Jehoiachin’s death. It seems more probable that a considerable interval had elapsed after that event before these four verses were introduced as the conclusion of the narrative of 2 Kings. A primary requirement is to understand what these verses actually aﬃrm and then to consider where the information they contain may have come from. Only then can we draw any useful conclusions about how they relate to the structure and composition of the Former Prophets. The signiﬁcance of the message they contain is indissolubly bound up with the reason for their inclusion at this point. When this was likely to have been done can then be set in its proper context. Clearly it is important to acknowledge the indications of multiple stages in the composition of the Former Prophets, even though the precise scope of each addition is subject to uncertainty. This task is directly linked to the major point that there is a striking ambiguity about the completed work’s central theme. Quite evidently it has two focal centres, not one, and this somewhat elliptical focus is linked to the various stages of its composition. In one direction the focus is on the origin and history of Israel’s line of kings, with the foundation and claims of the Davidic royal house at its centre. For this narrative the story of the divine promise to King David in 2 Sam 7.1–17 provides the pivotal central event and provides it with a basic coherence of plot and purpose. In the other direction there is a perspective of a diﬀerent order. This has, at its central emphasis, an appeal to the authority of the book of torah given by Moses in the Plains of Moab. Israel is constantly judged in accordance with the basic precepts of this torah which establishes a perspective that is sceptical of the value of kingship altogether. Seen from this perspective the kings are largely responsible for Israel’s downfall. Monarchy, as an institution, is made subordinate to the constitutional torah given through Moses and the conduct of the kings after David is set in a far from complimentary light. That this second theme has its focus on the torah of Moses has provided the reason for describing the history as ‘Deuteronomistic’. In this revised version of the original history the ﬁgure of Moses overshadows, but does not altogether displace, that of David as the unique and supreme leader of Israel. Seen from this point of view these enigmatic last four verses of 2 Kings appear as an ‘after-thought’— a codicil to the Mosaic charter of Israel—harking back to a theme

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which the revised overall structure has otherwise rendered secondary. They suggest that, contrary to the implied message of the immediately preceding events, there may after all be a major role for the surviving branch of the Davidic royal house to fulﬁl. This twofold thematic and structural shape to the history of the Former Prophets lends a touch of ambiguity to its message about the tragedies of the past and the hope for the future which scholars have noted. It hovers between a striking conﬁdence and optimism linked to the Davidic royal promise and a note of condemnation, lamentation and near despair, focused on Israel’s disobedience to the Mosaic torah. Kingship, even that drawn from the royal dynasty of David, is both redemptive and ruinous. Apart from these ﬁnal four verses of 2 Kings the message of the twilight years of Judah’s kingship is so stark and relentless in its sharpness that the assurances of hope and conﬁdence expressed earlier appear eclipsed. Israel failed because its kings failed to live up to the example of obedience that King David had set. A unique point of interest of 2 Kgs 25.27–30, therefore, rests on the unexpected nature of the message which these verses appear to give regarding the role of the Davidic royal house. They re-open a door of hope linked to the future of that dynasty, but fail to specify clearly what form exactly this renewed hope may take. When these verses are placed in the setting of the probable editorial developments of the history of the Former Prophets, their return to the basic theme of the earliest stratum appears all the more enigmatic. It occasions no surprise therefore that conﬂicting interpretations should have arisen among modern interpreters regarding their signiﬁcance. By appearing to favour the interpretation that, after all that has happened, there remains a special role for the remnant of the Davidic royal house to fulﬁl, these verses allow the possibility that there may be an eventual restoration of the dynasty to the throne in Jerusalem. Yet this can hardly have been intended since they leave Jehoiachin, the last of those kings who had actually reigned in Jerusalem, already dead, and recall that he had suﬀered a long and painful exile in Babylon. Only in his last days had he enjoyed privileges appropriate to royalty. There is no word at all about his substantial family and what the future was to hold for them. Certainly nothing is said to encourage the belief that they might one day return to their ancestral throne. In these verses Jehoiachin belongs to the past, not to the future of Israel. His status is that of an exile and scarcely that

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of a royal pretender to a vacant throne. Had anything more than this been part of the intention behind their inclusion, then we should certainly have expected the point to be made more clearly. 4. The Historical Background to Jehoiachin’s Release from Imprisonment We have already expressed the need for caution about the acceptance by historians of the general historicity of the circumstances and time of Jehoiachin’s release from his Babylonian imprisonment. Evil-merodach’s accession to the Babylonian throne has been dated to the year 562 bce and this report declares this to have been the moment for King Jehoiachin’s release. The details they relate about what then happened to Jehoiachin are instructive in their reﬂection of the signiﬁcance attached to royal protocol. The privilege of dining with the ‘Great King’—the world’s greatest of that period—was quite evidently intended as a very high honour indeed for one who was the former ruler of a relatively minor kingdom. Eating with so august a ruler was a mark of special privilege, as would still be the case today. Not only was it a sign of the highest honour for Jehoiachin, but it hints at the comparable and favourable implications concerning the relationship between the Babylonian court and other Judean survivors of the catastrophes that had overtaken Jerusalem. Jehoiachin was clearly being treated with great respect and this honour is heightened still more in that he is said to have dined in this august fashion daily, and to have occupied ‘a seat above the other seats of the kings who were with him in Babylon’ (v. 28). The point appears intended to highlight Jehoiachin’s unique status as a member of the line of David and a former king in Jerusalem. This was no ordinary royal dynasty! The ex-king’s unique signiﬁcance is indicated and is designed to show that, even in exile, here was a person who was high above other kings of the earth. All these aﬃrmations raise questions regarding their historicity. The verses show signs of being designed to uphold the traditional ascriptions of greatness promised to King David and his heirs in Israel’s royal psalms, rather than deriving from internally preserved records of life at the Babylonian court. Three features relating to the context of this report of ancient royal protocol may be noted. The ﬁrst concerns whether this change of fortune for the former king of

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Judah is independently veriﬁable. The publication of documentary evidence from Babylonian tablets of the daily food allowance for a certain ‘Ya"ukina of Yaudu’ has been taken to provide independent (Babylonian) evidence of the favourable treatment of Jehoiachin and his family in Babylon.13 Assuming that the identiﬁcation is correct, the date of the tablet (592 bce) is prior to Amel-marduk’s accession. In itself it oﬀers no support for the claim that Jehoiachin’s treatment was uniquely favourable. Certainly there is no inherent improbability in the assertion that the year of accession of a new king to the throne of Babylon would have been an occasion when such gestures of clemency, demonstrating royal authority, were publicly made. Both V. Fritz14 and R. G. Kratz15 describe the episode as ‘The Pardoning of Jehoiachin’, and this appears to be how the story is meant to be understood. It could well be that the change in his situation was a widely known fact and is eﬀectively the sum of all that is historically known about Jehoiachin’s later days.16 The story appears simply to reﬂect popular knowledge that some improvement occurred in the status accorded to the former king of Judah. This is based on knowledge of the Babylonian court protocol which displayed its authority over subordinate royal personages. Royalty remained royal and deserved respect! A second point concerns whether any particular circumstance in the Babylonian royal succession may have motivated the Babylonian ruler Evil-merodach to honour Jehoiachin in this way17 and whether this was linked to any change in the status of the administration of the territory of the former kingdom of Judah. Clearly no evidence

13 Cf. J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller, Israelite and Judean History (London: SCM Press, 1977), p. 471. The original publication of the tablets was made by E. F. Weidner, ‘Jojachin, König von Juda, in babylonischen Keilschrifttexten’, in Mélanges Syriens oﬀert à Monsieur René Dussaud (Bibliothèque Archéologique et Historique, 30; 2 vols; Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1939), 2:923–25. 14 V. Fritz, 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (trans. A. Hagedorn; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), p. 425. 15 Kratz, Composition, p. 169. 16 The particular treatment is viewed by Moshe Weinfeld as indicative of a formal act of establishing a grant, for which he adduces a number of ANE parallels. Cf. M. Weinfeld, ‘The Counsel of the “Elders” to Rehoboam and Its Implications’, in G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study, 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), pp. 516–39 (538–39). 17 Cf. Weinfeld, ‘Counsel of the “Elders”’, p. 539.

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is available on either front and we remain ignorant of any such possible royal motives from the Babylonian side. A third point may also be noted. From a historical perspective, questions have been raised concerning what precisely the status of Jehoiachin was at this time. Several scholars have argued that the references to him as ‘king of Judah’ in 2 Kgs 25.27 should be interpreted in their full constitutional weight.18 On such a reckoning he would then have remained the authorised ‘king of Judah’ at the time of his capture and removal to Babylon in 598 bce. Zedekiah would then simply have been serving as his deputy and been left in an administratively weakened position as a result. The Babylonian authorities may have deliberately planned such a situation in order to maintain pressure on Zedekiah and his vassal administration in Jerusalem during the years of his reign. However, although such a possibility may be entertained, this interpretation of the situation is largely speculative and has little to commend it. Far more probable is the conclusion that, after his father, Jehoiakim’s death, King Jehoiachin was authoritatively deposed by his Babylonian suzerain, Nebuchadrezzar, in 598 bce as punishment for Judah’s rebellion. His uncle (or half-brother) Zedekiah19 was then appointed to the throne in Jerusalem, in his place. Later still, after Zedekiah’s rebellion and removal from oﬃce in 587 bce, the title ‘king’ formally lapsed so far as Judah was concerned and an altogether diﬀerent political status for the region was instituted. In referring to Jehoiachin as ‘king’, therefore, the author of 2 Kgs 25.27 was essentially referring retrospectively to one who, in constitutional status, was actually the former king of Judah. At most, the use of the title reﬂects the viewpoint of a particular group who regarded the survival of a branch of this ancient royal family as a mark of hope for the rebirth of the ruined nation. In such a context it is possible to see that the retention of the title was in line with the interests of the 18

Cf. Hayes and Miller, Israelite and Judean History, p. 471, who point to Jeremiah 28 as evidence that some circles hoped for the return of Jehoiachin to Judah. Cf. also W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel I: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24 (trans. R. E. Clements; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), pp. 114–15 who sees the evidence of dating in the book of Ezekiel as accepting the legitimacy of Jehoichin’s claim to the Jerusalem throne; cf. further F. M. T. de Liagré Böhl, ‘Nebukadnezzar en Jojachin’, in Opera Minora: Studies en Bijdragen op Assyriologisch en Oudtestamentisch Terrein (Groningen: J. B. Wolters, 1953), pp. 423–29. 19 Cf. 2 Chron 36.10 (LXX); contra 1 Chron 3.15 (MT).

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author of 2 Kgs 25.27, rather than being an accurately preserved recognition of an oﬃcially approved status. He was expressing a Judean point of view which reﬂected the strong tradition of loyalty and belief that was vested in the Davidic family, not one that had been established by the Babylonian administration. We can, therefore, sum up quite brieﬂy these general historical conclusions regarding the event that is recorded in these four verses. As an item of historical information it appears probable that it reﬂects popular knowledge that, after his capture and exile, Jehoiachin, together with his family, was held under a form of ‘house arrest’ at the Babylonian court. This was a treatment that accords with ancient practice for captured royal personages and most probably was generous, and respectful. There are no clear indications that this treatment carried any wider signiﬁcance so far as the Babylonian court was concerned. That the circumstances pertaining to Jehoiachin’s release amounted to a speciﬁc act of pardon for his earlier rebellion is not explicitly stated, but appears to be implied. There is no evidence that the situation of Judah, during this period after the destruction of 587 bce, was changed as a result of it. It appears likely that the assertions regarding the uniquely favourable terms of the treatment accorded to Jehoiachin are almost entirely drawn from the author’s convictions regarding the special status of the Judean royal family, and not from personal knowledge or oﬃcial records. The story is introduced at this point because it served the author/redactor’s purpose to draw attention to the circumstances of Jehoiachin as an example of the conditions that ‘exile’ would mean for the future of Israel. Years spent in Babylon would impose a new order of political and social life for Israel, but they would not mean the ‘death’ of the people. The question for the modern reader and historian to address then is: ‘Why was Jehoiachin’s fate a matter of such interest and what was it thought to signify?’ 5. The Limitations of the Message of 2 Kings 25.27–30 In order to establish a realistic picture of why these verses are uniquely informative from the perspective of biblical historiography it is useful to close the gateway to a number of false trails. These have arisen because these verses appear to answer questions which are otherwise

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unanswerable and which are largely concerned with the authorship and structure of the history of the Former Prophets. As a result, conclusions have been drawn which appear plausible, but which, when scrutinised more closely, have little to commend them. We have already drawn attention to several features concerning the historicity of the events covered. Of particular signiﬁcance for the interpretation of the narrative history has been the assumption that these verses were designed to express a message of hope regarding the Davidic royal house after the predominantly negative message of the events that followed King Josiah’s death. Only in a very limited sense can this be the case. The favourable circumstances that pertained for Jehoiachin up to the time of his death appear to beneﬁt no one but himself and his immediate family. If there is hope in this privilege, everything depends on what kind of hope and expectation this change in his circumstances indicates. To suppose that ‘hope’ in this context meant the possibility of a return to the throne in Judah is wholly wide of the mark and expressly contrary to the emphasis upon the restricted activities of Jehoiachin in Babylon. Even a palace had walls and the eating of meals cannot have carried great administrative responsibilities! It is possible that some lesser regaining of authority by Jehoiachin was thought to be implicit in his change of circumstance, but there are no clear indications that this was the case. Whatever level of ‘hope’ was intended to be conveyed must have been related directly to what is narrated concerning the honoured lifestyle that was accorded to Jehoiachin in the Babylonian court. Clearly had the intention been to indicate the awakening of hope for a return of either Jehoiachin or one of his sons to re-ascend the throne in Jerusalem then more would have needed to be said regarding this. The fact that such hopes certainly arose in some Jewish circles carries little weight since they evidently failed to result in any positive achievement. They understandably appear to have become politically divisive and controversial among those who had survived the disasters of the preceding half-century. A more subtle message about kingship and the future of Israel must lie behind these verses. The belief that this is the case points to wider concerns regarding the role that the Davidic royal house was believed to exercise in serving Israel. The favourable nature of Jehoiachin’s treatment in the Babylonian court serves as a clue to the way in which a future hope for the survivors of Israel more generally

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could be expected to emerge. It could be read as a whisper of hope in a situation in which very few grounds for hope remained ﬁrm. It is important to reﬂect on this general point that the content of what is aﬃrmed in these four verses is signiﬁcantly limited in its implications. Yet limited as this change of circumstance may be, it is the favourable nature of this change that is regarded as signiﬁcant. The point that is emphasised concerns Jehoiachin’s dining in honour in the presence of the greatest of earth’s kings, and this is held to convey a message for the readers. His privileged, dependent status is noted, not his world-wide power and grandeur. He is the recipient of the favours of a king greater than himself, not the foundation of all truth and justice. The verses contain a message that every ancient reader would understand since it impinges directly on an all too familiar life situation. Jehoiachin is portrayed as an exile among exiles, and the survivability of this situation is the point that is driven home. In his case survival depended on the recognition accorded him by a foreign ruler. There is signiﬁcance therefore in the fact that the circumstances of the former king’s rehabilitation convey some kind of message about the nature and meaning of exile for Israel’s future. 6. The Signiﬁcance of Jehoiachin’s Change of Fortune in Its Biblical Setting So far we have focused our attention in the narrative regarding Jehoiachin’s return to honour in Babylon in connection with the possible historical circumstances which underlie it and the connection of these verses with the origin and purpose of the history of the Former Prophets. On both fronts the results that emerge are very meagre. The report itself has a strikingly contrived and implausible character, aimed at setting the heir of the royal dynasty of David above other kings of the earth, even in a situation where he was at the mercy of the Great King who was his host. The story has all too readily been over-interpreted out of a desire to use the details it contains to address questions which in itself, it fails to answer. At most it oﬀers some kind of amelioration of the consistently negative portrayal of the reigns of Judah’s last kings, suggesting that, in the end, there was a dignity and honour that belonged to royalty descended from King David which did not apply to other kings of the earth.

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We have to search elsewhere in order to understand the importance of these verses for understanding the origin and interpretation of ancient Israel’s history-writing. 7. The Intertextual Links of 2 Kings 25.27–30 The primary clue to achieving such an understanding has been provided by Jon Levenson,20 and the purpose of this study is to followup more fully the guidelines of what he has suggested. The key to his fresh interpretation lies in recognising the inﬂuence of the ancient royal psalms in the message that is conveyed by noting the change in the fortunes of Jehoiachin’s Babylonian domicile. Levenson points to Ps 18.44–45 which describes, in the cult-mythological language of hymnic praise, the triumph of Israel’s king over all hostile powers. The heir to the promises made to David is to be ‘head of the nations’; foreigners are to lose heart and come cringing to him (vv. 43–44). As a result Israel’s king is to be praised and exalted over the nations (v. 50). Levenson describes this as a ‘conditional Messianism in the Diaspora’ and comments: ‘2 Kgs 25.27–30 represents part of an eﬀort by an exilic Deuteronomistic source to bring the legacy of the promissory covenant with David into line with the new historical reality eﬀected by the events of 587 bce and with the novel social and political situation of the continuing Diaspora’. He comments regarding the content of what is aﬃrmed regarding King Jehoiachin: ‘An exile becomes an honoured guest’. In many ways even more striking than the impact of Psalm 18 is that of Psalm 72, with its aﬃrmation that ‘all nations’ will render service to Israel’s king, descended from the line of David, and hence heir to the great promises made to that founder of the dynasty. Already B. D. Sommer has shown how deeply this psalm has inﬂuenced the prophecies of Isaiah 40–55 (66).21 Most striking in these sixteen 20

J. D. Levenson, ‘The Last Four Verses in Kings’, JBL 103 (1984), pp. 353–61. B. D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40 –66 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998). Sommer regards Isaiah 40–66 as a literary unity, but the evidence that Isaiah 56–66 are of later origin than chapters 40–55 appears strong. It is noteworthy that Isa 55.1–5 appear as a carefully planned concluding summary regarding the signiﬁcance of the divine promise to King David which is presumed throughout chapters 40–55. Cf. especially A. Labahn, Wort Gottes und Schuld Israels: Untersuchungen zu Motiven deuteronomisticher Theologie im Deuterojesajabuch mit einem Ausblick auf das Verhältnis von Jes 40 –55 zum Deuteronomismus (BWANT, 143; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1999), pp. 44–95. 21

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chapters is the use of the Davidic psalm traditions to show how the ‘kings of the earth’ show respect and honour to the heir of the line of David. Most particularly, in this regard, the Persian ruler Cyrus is heralded as one who is to fulﬁl the will of the Lord. I have already argued elsewhere22 that it has been a persistent misinterpretation of the title ‘the Lord’s anointed’, as applied to Cyrus (Isa 45.1), to regard this Persian ruler as displacing and supplanting the heirs of King David as the unique royal administrators of the government of Israel in the name of Israel’s God. The title ‘anointed’ in this context means no more than ‘one who has been commissioned to fulﬁl a particular service’ (so also in Isa 61.1). Like ‘the kings of Sheba and Seba’ who, according to Ps 72.10, give service to King David and his royal heirs, Cyrus, king of Persia, renders such service to the people of Israel who have fallen on diﬃcult times. The fact that he does so is claimed to be entirely due to the tradition of a divine assurance to King David that all the kings of the earth will serve him. The role of Cyrus as the anointed one of the Lord God of Israel is a service accomplished out of respect for the uniqueness of Israel’s royal ancestry. Similarly, in these verses at the end of 2 Kings, Evil-merodach, King of Babylon, is presented as one who rendered a similar service of honour to another of David’s descendants, namely Jehoiachin. There is a coherence and consistency in the message that is given. The ancient divine promise to David, the ancestor of Israel’s most illustrious line of kings, provides assurance that he, and his heirs, would serve as Guardians and Protectors of the people Israel. Each king of this royal lineage would be, as the aggrieved cry of Lam 4.20 expresses it: ‘. . . the one of whom we said, “Under his shadow we shall live among the nations”’.

In a quite new, literal sense this conﬁdence was to be put to the test after the events of 598 and 587 bce. 2 Kgs 25.27–30, insists that, in respect of ex-King Jehoiachin, this conﬁdence was not misplaced. In Babylon, Jehoiachin was shown favour, and, in consequence, the survivors of Israel who were forced to live among the nations, 22 Cf. R. E. Clements, ‘The Davidic Covenant in the Isaiah Tradition’, in A. D. H. Mayes and R. B. Salters (eds.), Covenant as Context: Essays in Honour of E. W. Nicholson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 39–69 (60–64); cf. idem, ‘Psalm 72 and Isaiah 40–66: A Study in Tradition’, PRSt 28 (2001), pp. 333–41.

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would do so under the shadow of protection promised to their great royal ancestor. This ancient promise was held to retain its validity, even though, in a larger military and political perspective, the heirs of King David had been unable, in the years 598 and 587 bce, to defend Israel and its territorial borders. In spite of these disasters, the promise was held to be enduring in its validity. Jehoiachin’s example is highlighted in this story of his personal rehabilitation when a new Babylonian king came to the throne. What was necessary was to show that the promise remained valid, but had acquired an extended meaning and signiﬁcance. Israel would indeed live among the nations under the shadow of an heir of the ancient royal line. Jehoiachin’s example was held up as exemplary. 8. Jehoiachin’s Release as Preface to the Latter Prophets If this analysis of the signiﬁcance of the story of Jehoiachin’s rehabilitation is valid, then it carries a number of signiﬁcant corollaries regarding the story itself and the structure and history of the second part of the biblical canon. In the ﬁrst context it would appear that we must retain a strong scepticism regarding the historical reliability of what is narrated. Probably the most that was reliably known was that Jehoiachin had lived for a long time after his deportation in 598 bce and that he had been held in the huge palace complex in Babylon. The connection with the accession of the new Babylonian ruler, Evil-merodach, may have been occasioned by little more secure information than the realisation that Jehoiachin’s change of fortune could not reasonably have taken place in the reign of the fearful King Nebuchadrezzar. It seems highly probable therefore that almost all that is narrated in 2 Kgs 25.27–30 has been deduced by a form of midrash from the promises contained in Israel’s psalms, such as those of Ps 18.43–50. As such it deserves to be evaluated along with other midrashic elements in the books of 1 and 2 Kings. Here was one of David’s heirs who had, in his ﬁnal years, been exalted above his erstwhile adversaries (cf. Ps 18.48). A considerable range of other psalm passages may well have contributed to the construction of this sketch of what life was like behind the palace walls. It is not diﬃcult to see that a unique sense would have been found in the familiar words of Ps 23.5:

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You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overﬂows (Ps 23.5).

Before leaving consideration of this important conclusion to the chronicle of 2 Kings it is salutary to note that it raises a number of points which have wider implications regarding the literary structure of this part of the Hebrew canon. First among these is the importance of these verses as a vital hinge-point, linking the Former with the Latter Prophets. In his study Kings Without Privilege, A. G. Auld points to the strong evidence of the links between the Book of Jeremiah and the composition of 2 Kings. In many respects the closeness of the connections between the editing of the book of Jeremiah and the composition of the Former Prophets, most especially the books of 1 and 2 Kings, has been the central issue of discussion for understanding the Jeremiah tradition. Yet, surprisingly, this link has been disrupted by the interpolation of the book of Isaiah as the ‘ﬁrst’ of the Latter Prophets. In all respects this development is surprising, because of the closeness of the literary and ideological links between Jeremiah and 2 Kings. Nevertheless it is apparent that Isaiah is the prophetic book which most strongly and forthrightly reﬂects an interest in the divine promise to the royal house of David. It would appear helpful to suggest therefore that it was on this account that it was appropriate to conclude the story of the ending of the years of that dynasty’s rule in Jerusalem with a note about what the future of the family might be. The story of Jehoiachin’s rehabilitation in Babylon prepares the reader of the Latter Prophets to understand how the divine promise to Israel’s royal dynasty remained relevant to the new world of exile. In a closely similar literary development it is noteworthy that the fate of Jehoiachin is the point of central focus in the story of King Hezekiah’s serious errors of judgement which forms the subject of Isaiah 39. This chapter is the link chapter between the two major parts of the Isaiah book, fulﬁlling a similar function in that work as do the last four verses of 2 Kings between the Former and the Latter Prophets.23 Since these two parts of the second division of the Hebrew 23 Cf. W. A. M. Beuken, ‘The Unity of the Book of Isaiah: Another Attempt at Bridging the Gorge between its Two Main Parts’, in J. C. Exum and H. G. M.

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biblical canon were originally joined together as one single work there is a special literary signiﬁcance in the story of Jehoiachin’s ﬁnal days. One era had come to an end, but a new era had come into existence. It was to be an existence in which ‘exile’ would be the dominant feature. Nevertheless it would remain an existence in which Israel could ‘live among the nations’ under the shadow of the promise that the Lord God of Israel had made centuries before to its great royal ancestor King David. In the light of these literary and ideological factors, it is evident that the story of Jehoiachin’s release from his Babylonian imprisonment has an important literary and ideological function to fulﬁl. It makes clear what became of the old monarchic order about which such high hopes had once been entertained. At the same time it demonstrates what the new order would be. It would be a world of exile and dispersion among the nations. The message of the Latter Prophets then unfolds to express the hope of an eventual return to the land postponed to an indeﬁnite timescale. For the time being Israel had to learn to live between the two temporal horizons of the national life that had been lost and that which was yet to come. Nevertheless this was not a world without security since Israel could live among the nations under the shadow of the promise made to King David, their illustrious royal ancestor. The personal fate of the exiled King Jehoiachin was seen as a positive demonstration of the validity of the divine promise of royal authority made centuries before to King David. Since the composition of such a link passage presupposes the existence of the much longer literary components which it binds together, it may be regarded as virtually certain that it is itself a very late literary element.

Williamson (eds.), Reading from Left to Right: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J. A. Clines ( JSOTSup, 373; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2003) pp. 50–62 (59–62).

TRANSLATING PSALM 23 David J. A. Clines Psalm 23 is, I suspect, the best known but worst translated chapter of the Bible.1 In this paper I will consider some twenty points in the psalm where our usual English translations oﬀer us less than satisfactory renderings, comparing some fourteen of the standard English versions of the psalm2 with their Hebrew original, in tribute to my friend Graeme Auld, a skilled scrutineer of variant biblical texts. 1. Who is my shepherd? I begin with an obvious but commonly overlooked point. Since this famous psalm is entirely about my shepherd, you would think it would be interesting to know who my shepherd is, that is, the name of my shepherd. Apparently, not to translators of the Bible into English, who make it their business to conceal the name of the shepherd, Yahweh, and to substitute a title, the Lord, which is of course not his name.3 Among the well-known English versions I considered for this paper, only the American Standard Version (asv), with ‘Jehovah’, and the New Jerusalem Bible (njb), with ‘Yahweh’, reveal the name of the shepherd.

1 Earlier oral versions of this article have been presented under the titles ‘Translating Psalm 23: A EuroProject’ (paper presented at the meeting of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Leiden, 1–6 August 2004), and ‘The Lord is my Shepherd in East and South-East Asia’ (paper presented at the International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Singapore, 26 June– 1 July 2005). 2 Authorized Version / King James Version (kjv, 1611), Revised Version (rv, 1881), American Standard Version (asv, 1901), James Moﬀatt’s A New Translation of the Bible (1925), Revised Standard Version (rsv, 1952), Jerusalem Bible (jb, 1966), New American Bible (nab, 1970), New English Bible (neb, 1970), Today’s English Version/ Good News Bible (tev, 1976), New International Version (niv, 1978), New Jerusalem Bible (njb, 1985), New Jewish Publication Society Version (njps, 1985), New Revised Standard Version (nrsv, 1989), Revised English Bible (reb, 1989). 3 Moﬀatt uses the title ‘the Eternal’ for Yahweh.

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david j. a. clines 2. Where does the emphasis lie in ‘Yahweh is my shepherd’ (v. 1)?

What is the one thing that the two opening words y[r hwhy are saying? When we read the psalm, should we be emphasising Yahweh or my shepherd ? Does the clause mean, ‘It is Yahweh’ (and not some other deity) ‘who is my shepherd’? or ‘It is my shepherd that Yahweh is’? What will better suit the poem as a whole? And above all, how shall we read it aloud? Yahweh is my shepherd, or Yahweh is my shepherd ? Cannot Hebrew grammar settle the question? In a verbal clause, where the usual pattern is predicate–subject, the reverse word-order suggests that the subject is being emphasised. Nominal clauses, however, are rather more complicated. It is not clear in the clause y[r hwhy which of the words is the subject, ‘my shepherd’ or ‘Yahweh’. Furthermore, is this a clause of identiﬁcation, like hwhy yna ‘I am Yahweh’ (Exod 6.2), in which the order is typically subject–predicate, or a clause of classiﬁcation, like a awh yja ‘he is my brother’ (Gen 20.5), in which the order is usually predicate–subject (though less predictably so when the predicate is a noun with a suﬃx)?4 Even if we could resolve these matters, would we be any better oﬀ than knowing whether it means ‘Yahweh is my shepherd’ or ‘My shepherd is Yahweh’? We would still not know which word we should emphasise. In my opinion, it is inconceivable that the meaning should be: Yahweh is my shepherd, i.e., it is Yahweh who is my shepherd—for that would mean, Yahweh and not someone else. And there is nothing in the psalm about rival shepherds. So I am clear that the sense is: Yahweh is my shepherd, i.e., it is a shepherd that Yahweh is to me—which is after all the point the whole poem is making in each of its verses. Strange to say, however, I have not been able to ﬁnd any translation that helps the reader on how to read or read aloud this verse. They all just say, The Lord (or Yahweh) is my shepherd, as if it did not matter which of the two words are to be emphasised. Those who read the psalm aloud have to decide the matter for themselves.

4 See further B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), pp. 130–35.

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3. Have I no lack, or shall I have no lack (v. 1)? The verb in rsja al, being imperfect, could mean ‘I shall not lack’— future tense (as kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, neb, niv), or ‘I do not lack’— present tense (as Moﬀatt, jb, reb, njps, nab, njb, tev). Which is the better? To me the answer is pretty clear. There is nothing in the whole poem about the future until we reach the very last verse. Few want to make lying in green pastures future, or spreading a table or anointing the head, and plainly the focus of vv. 1–5 is on the speaker’s experience in the present. Furthermore, rsja al ‘I do not lack’ in the second colon must be parallel to, or a development from y[r hwhy ‘Yahweh is my shepherd’ in the ﬁrst colon. How could it be that Yahweh is my shepherd in the present if all the proof I expect to have of that lies in the future? If it is only in the future that I will not lack, then it will only be in the future that Yahweh will be my shepherd. But no one translates ‘Yahweh will be my shepherd’. Things are diﬀerent in the last verse of the psalm. Here the movement from present to future with the phrases ‘all the days of my life’ and ‘for length of days’ is a signal of closure; it extends the time perspective forward from the experience of the present to an anticipation of the future. But while we are still in v. 1, we are in the present, as we are also with all the verbs of vv. 2–5 as well. 4. Want or lack (v. 1)? The Hebrew is clear. rsj is ‘lack, be lacking, need’. But some English versions have ‘want’ (kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, neb), which, for most users of modern English, is a far diﬀerent thing. ‘Want’ today is about desire (subjective), not about the absence of something (objective). In the seventeenth-century language of the Authorized Version/ King James’ Version, ‘to want’ meant ‘to lack’, as in the proverb ‘want not, waste not’, the sense ‘desire’ not being attested earlier than 1706, according to the OED. So to every copy of the rsv (1952), and even of the nrsv (1989), there should be aﬃxed a health warning: This Bible version may be dangerous for your morals unless you are an expert in seventeenth-century English! ‘Lack’ is the translation of Moﬀatt, jb, njps, nab, njb, reb; and tev ‘I have everything I need’ likewise avoids the misleading ‘want’. niv ‘I shall not be in

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want’ manages to have its cake and eat it by keeping the word ‘want’ but in a phrase that does not conjure up ‘desire’. 5. Does the shepherd make me lie down or let me lie down (v. 2)? The verb in ynxybry açd twanb is of course hiphil, and generations of students in English-speaking countries have learned to translate hiphils by ‘cause to’, ‘make to’. A typical English translation is rsv’s ‘he makes me lie down in green pastures’, following kjv, which was itself no doubt following the Geneva Bible’s ‘He maketh mee to rest in greene pasture’.5 But how does a shepherd make a sheep do that? You could perhaps imagine a powerfully built shepherd forcing the sheep down onto the grass. Or knocking the sheep’s legs from under it? Or stunning it with his rod and his staﬀ (v. 4)? Obviously, kjv, rv, asv, Moﬀatt, nrsv, njps, niv, neb and reb have all thought out how the shepherd would manage it, for they all have ‘make’. In fact, so I am told, it is impossible to make a sheep lie down. Or else you could imagine the shepherd doing nothing at all. In that case, the shepherd would ‘let’ the sheep lie down—which is what njb has, with ‘In grassy meadows he lets me lie’ (similarly jb), and tev ‘He lets me rest in ﬁelds of green grass’ (so too nab). 6. Lie down or graze (v. 2)? Why should I lie down in green pastures? Since the whole purpose of the shepherd is to leave the sheep lacking nothing, and the second half of this verse is about water, you might think that the ﬁrst half is about eating—which is not exactly lying down. Why is the sheep lying down? What has that to do with not lacking? tev thinks that the sheep is lying down to rest (‘He lets me rest in ﬁelds of green grass’), but that cannot be right, for a sheep can rest anywhere, whether or not there is grass, and whether or not it is green (see below). From a sheep’s point of view, green grass means only one thing: food. The nab understands that, and so it oﬀers ‘In 5 Coverdale had ‘He shall feed me in a green pasture’. It is not improbable that in these early versions ‘green’ had simply the sense of ‘plant’ without reference to the colour (cf. OED, §4).

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green pastures you let me graze’, ignoring the lying down. We leave aside the ‘you’, which is surely unwarranted, since the Hebrew is unmistakably ‘he’. The real problem here is that sheep do not eat lying down. If they are grazing, they are not lying down. If they are lying down, they are not grazing. What are they doing when they are lying down? They are chewing the cud, ruminating on the grass they have eaten while standing up. Its greenness and moisture were very welcome while they were eating, and equally when they are enjoying their food for the second time lying down. They will happily chew the cud for several hours every day. These urbanised days, when most of us know little about the habits of sheep, if I were a Bible translator, I should be writing, ‘He is not forever moving me on, but lets me lie down for hours to chew the cud after I have eaten green grass standing up’. But that would fail the test of poetical quality. 7. ‘Green’ pastures (v. 2)? All our English versions (except njb) tell us that the sheep lies down in ‘green’ pastures. But there is no word for ‘green’ in the Hebrew, since açd just means ‘grass’. Not all grass is green (e.g., prairie grass, bluegrass, yellow grass), and even green grass is perhaps not green in the night-time. But if açd only means ‘grass’, what are açd twan? ‘Pastures of grass’ would be tautological, would it not? What else could a pasture consist of but grass? I suppose the answer must be that hw:n: (or hw
6

Cf. BDB, p. 627b (s.v. hw
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8. ‘Beside’ the waters or ‘to’ the waters (v. 2)? Imagine you are a sheep and thirsty, and you are led beside cool, still water. Would you not think the shepherd a sadist? The Hebrew preposition l[ can indeed mean ‘beside’, though rarely, as in Cant 1.8: ‘If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the ﬂock, and feed thy kids beside (l[) the shepherds’ tents’ (kjv). Isa 32.20: ‘Blessed are ye that sow beside (l[) all waters, that send forth thither the feet of the ox and the ass’ (kjv). Job 1.14: ‘And there came a messenger unto Job, and said, The oxen were plowing, and the asses feeding beside (l[) them’ (kjv).

It seems much more likely that the shepherd is leading the sheep ‘to’ still waters, or better still, ‘down to’ (BDB lists places where l[ is used when there is motion ‘from a higher place downwards’).7 In any case, there are many examples where it means simply ‘to’, e.g., Exod 32.1: ‘. . . the people gathered themselves together to (l[) Aaron’ (rsv). 2 Sam 15.4: ‘Absalom said moreover, “Oh that I were judge in the land! Then every man with a suit or cause might come to (l[) me, and I would give him justice”’ (rsv). Mal 3.24 (evv 4.6): ‘And he will turn the hearts of fathers to (l[) their children and the hearts of children to (l[) their fathers, lest I come and smite the land with a curse’ (rsv).

What do the English versions do? The traditional translation has been ‘beside’ still waters (as the Geneva Bible, kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, neb, niv; njb ‘by’). But this can hardly be right, and we should render the preposition as ‘to’ (as also Moﬀatt, jb, njps, nab, reb, tev). 9. ‘Still’ waters, ‘quiet’ waters, ‘safe’ waters, water ‘in places of repose’ (v. 2)? ‘Still’ waters has been the default translation among the English versions since the kjv at least (so too rv, asv, rsv, nrsv), but still waters might be stagnant waters (though not necessarily, since still waters

7

Cf. BDB, p. 756a, §7a.

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can run deep, as the saying goes). niv has ‘quiet waters’, njb ‘tranquil streams’, tev ‘quiet pools of water’ (no brooks or streams, then? how do they know it is only ‘pools’?). The Hebrew hjwnm means most often ‘resting-place’ but also sometimes ‘rest’.8 Three versions seem to adopt the former of these senses: jb has ‘to the waters of repose’, njps has ‘he leads me to water in places of repose’ and reb ‘water where I may rest’ (neb had ‘the waters of peace’, whatever they are; the phrase is hardly English). The other versions think that it is not waters where the sheep can be quiet or restful, but waters that are themselves quiet or restful. I agree. The ﬁrst colon lays a stress on the food the shepherd provides, the second on the water. In any case, it is not ‘safe waters’ (nab) since hjwnm does not mean ‘safety’; nor is it ‘refreshing streams’ (Moﬀatt) since that hardly represents hjwnm. 10. Does he restore my soul (v. 3)? Do sheep have souls? Probably not. If we translate çpn here by ‘soul’ (as kjv, rv, asv, rsv, jb, nrsv, niv), we have decided that the image of the sheep has now disappeared from the psalm. Some indeed think that in the course of the psalm the opening image of the sheep is gradually being supplanted by another, more human image, such as that of the traveller; but the rod and staﬀ in v. 4 can only be for the protection of sheep, not for the safety of a traveller, so here we need to translate çpn with a term suitable for a sheep. Among the translations that allow a reference to a sheep are ‘he renews my life’ (njps), ‘he renews life within me’ (neb), ‘he revives my spirit’ (reb), ‘he restores my spirit’ (njb), and ‘you restore my strength’ (nab, though the second person of the verb is indefensible). 11. In paths of righteousness (v. 3)? I assume the image of the sheep continues. But it can hardly be an ethical sheep with an interest in ‘paths of righteousness’ (kjv, rv, 8 DCH 5:348a, notes sixteen occurrences in the Hebrew Bible in the concrete sense ‘resting place’ or ‘royal place’, ﬁve in the abstract sense of ‘rest, refreshment, peace’. BDB, p. 629b, has six in the abstract sense (including Ruth 1.9 and 1 Kgs 8.56, but not including 2 Sam 14.17). In identifying the word in Ps 23.2 DCH hesitates between the abstract and the concrete.

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asv, rsv, niv), or ‘paths of virtue’ (jb), still less in ‘paths of saving justice’ (njb). Admittedly, hqdx especially in Second Isaiah often means ‘salvation’; but what is saving justice to a sheep? These must be ‘right paths’ (njps, neb, tev; ‘the right path’ in nab, neb; ‘the true path’ according to Moﬀatt). There are no paths that are ‘right’ in themselves; they can only be the paths that are right in the shepherd’s judgement, right for the sheep, which must mean: paths that lead to food and water, even if they run through a dark valley (v. 4). 12. For his name’s sake (v. 4)? We should note that the phrase ‘for his name’s sake’ (as kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, niv, neb, reb; similarly ‘for the sake of your name’ in nab, ‘for the sake of his name’ in jb) is barely an English idiom, and is not even intelligible unless ‘name’ (μç) is understood as ‘reputation’. It is a lazily literal translation that is ripe for replacement. The key word is ˆ[ml. That does not properly mean ‘because of ’ in reference to the past (so njps and njb ‘as beﬁts his name’ will not do, nor will Moﬀatt’s ‘as he himself is true’, nor tev’s ‘as he has promised’); BDB correctly sees that when Yahweh is called on to act for the sake of his name (Pss 25.11; 31.4; 79.9; 106.8; 109.21; 143.11; Jer 14.7, 21; Ezek 20.9, 14, 22, 44; Isa 48.9), it means ‘to maintain his reputation, or character’.9 ˆ[ml typically has reference to the future.10 But that only leads us to ask, What kind of a shepherd is it who guides and feeds the sheep for the sake of his own reputation—not for the sake of the sheep? Does he protect his sheep in order to protect himself ? No doubt we are at this point a little unnerved culturally by the language of an honour–shame society. Our society values an act done from pure altruism above one done for the sake of one’s honour. Nevertheless, the psalm is not so very shocking: Yahweh’s ‘name’ is here nothing other than his reputation as a good shepherd. He cannot have that reputation if he does not look after his sheep. If he acts for the sake of (ˆ[ml) that reputation, he will continue to be a good shepherd, and his sheep will beneﬁt as much as he will. 9 10

Cf. BDB, p. 775a. This is especially evident when ˆ[ml is the conjunction (cf. BDB, p. 775b).

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Sheep have a better chance of being properly cared for if their shepherd’s reputation is on the line, for a shepherd has no more unfailing motivation than that. Our translations had better accept that this is the outlook of the psalm. 13. ‘When’ I walk or ‘if ’ I walk or ‘although’ I walk (v. 4)? It’s a small point, but does the sheep expect to walk through a dark valley, or is that merely a possibility? Is the yk temporal (‘when/whenever’) or conditional (‘if ’) or concessive (‘although’)? yk can mean any of these. ‘When’, is more likely than ‘if ’, as BDB puts it: yk can have ‘a force approximating to if, though it usually represents a case as more likely to occur than μa’.11 On the side of ‘if ’ is tev; ‘though’ (which is much the same) is to be found in the Geneva Bible, kjv, rv, asv, rsv, jb, nrsv, njps, niv, neb (reb, njb ‘even were I to walk’, Moﬀatt ‘my road may run’). ‘When’ I ﬁnd only in the nab. We cannot settle the matter from the Hebrew, but I think ‘when’ is best. Dark valleys are nothing exceptional; why should the sheep think that its way may never pass through them? 14. ‘Valley of death’s shadow’ or ‘very dark valley’ or simply ‘dark valley’ (v. 4)? Translators must ﬁrst decide whether the term tw<m;l]x' is a compound noun meaning literally ‘shadow of death’ or a misvocalisation of an abstract noun tWml]x' ‘darkness’, from a supposed Hebrew root μlx ‘be dark’. (1) ‘The valley of the shadow of death’ has long been the favourite of the English versions, as Coverdale, kjv, rv, asv, rsv, niv witness. In the other seventeen occurrences of tw<m;l]x,' rsv always translates it by ‘shadow dark as death’, but here it keeps the traditional formula-tion ‘valley of the shadow of death’, plainly to please its reading public and not for any scholarly reason. (2) Increasingly, though, the idea of tWml]x' ‘darkness’ is gaining prominence. There is no direct evidence of a Hebrew μlx, though 11 BDB, p. 473a. DCH 4:386b, does not attempt to distinguish between ‘if ’ and ‘when’.

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the root is well attested in Akkadian, Arabic and Ethiopic, though not, perhaps, in Ugaritic, as is often claimed. Nevertheless, most recent scholars, including lexicographers,12 accept the supposition of a tWml]x' ‘darkness’. nrsv has ‘the darkest valley’, njps and reb ‘a valley of deepest darkness’, and tev ‘the deepest darkness’ (the valley has disappeared); but there is no reason for the superlative, and jb’s ‘a gloomy valley’, nab’s ‘a dark valley’ or Moﬀatt’s ‘a glen of gloom’ is all that the Hebrew allows. Incidentally, none of these versions mentions that it is emending the text. For myself, I still think it more likely13 that tw<m;l]x' is a compound of lxe ‘shadow’ and tw<m; ‘death’, but not that physical death itself is the shadow.14 The idea would rather be that death spreads its darkness around the world in the form of danger, darkness is the sphere of death, and the general sense would be: ‘even though I fall into danger that could lead to death’. We could then translate ‘a valley of deathly darkness’ or, with njb, ‘a ravine as dark as death’ (neb ‘a valley dark as death’). Incidentally, if tw<m;l]x' does mean ‘the shadow of death’, I should insist that the verse does not mean ‘even if I should die’, for how would the rod and staﬀ comfort me if I were dying? No doubt, they are weapons for warding oﬀ wild animals that lurk in the dark valleys. 15. Evil or harm (v. 4)? Here is the clearest distinguishing mark of a translation into modern or contemporary English as against older or archaising English. In modern English ‘evil’ has a moral connotation; even OED (§B.6) recognises ‘evil’ meaning ‘calamity, disaster, misfortune’ to be obsolete. The modern English term is ‘harm’. Not surprisingly, we ﬁnd ‘evil’

12 So, e.g., W. Gesenius, Hebräisches und aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament (ed. F. Buhl; 16th edn, Leipzig: F. C. W. Vogel, 1915), p. 684b; HALOT 3:1029b. BDB, p. 853b, refers to this view, though it prefers to take the word as a compound. 13 Cf. D. J. A. Clines, ‘The Etymology of Hebrew Íelem’, JNSL 3 (1974), pp. 19–25; repr. in D. J. A. Clines, On the Way to the Postmodern: Old Testament Essays, 1967–1998 ( JSOTSup, 293; 2 vols; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1998), 2:577–84. 14 I don’t follow the idea of my former teacher D. Winton Thomas who argues that tw<m; is a superlative (‘A Consideration of Some Unusual Ways of Expressing the Superlative in Hebrew’, VT 3 [1953], pp. 209–24 [219–22]).

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in kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, niv, neb, and ‘harm’ in Moﬀatt, jb, njps, nab, reb (‘danger’ in njb; tev does not see ﬁt to mention what the sheep may be afraid of ). 16. Comfort or courage (v. 4)? The shepherd’s rod and staﬀ are often thought to ‘comfort’ (kjv, rv, asv, rsv, nrsv, njps, niv; neb ‘are my comfort’, reb ‘aﬀord me comfort’), or ‘soothe’ (njb). But these are poor translations today, for it is hard to see how two lumps of wood could comfort or soothe a sheep. Here again we need a health warning. ‘Comfort’ is ﬁne if one is speaking Elizabethan English, where it usually meant ‘encourage’15 (as the derivation from Latin fortis would also suggest). And so does μjn, as in Isa 40.1, where it is not a matter of consoling Jerusalem but of encouraging a return to the land.16 The shepherd’s rod and staﬀ (one of them probably a crook) encourage the sheep to keep on walking, though it is aware that the way ahead is dangerous. Moﬀatt already saw that ‘give me courage’ is the sense; so too nab, and jb (‘hearten’). Incidentally, μjn cannot possibly mean ‘protect’, as tev has; ‘protect’ is an external reality, but ‘encourage’ is the eﬀect on the spirit. 17. Prepare a table or spread a banquet (v. 5)? Sheep do not eat from a table, and if that is what the Hebrew suggests, the image of the sheep must have disappeared by this stage in the psalm. However, people in ancient Israel do not eat from a table either; BDB explains ˆjlç as ‘prop . . . skin or leather mat spread on ground’.17 ‘Table’ is therefore, for cultural reasons, entirely the wrong 15 The sense ‘soothe’, ‘console’ is attested as early as 1297, but the entry in the OED shows clearly enough that ‘encourage’ has been the principal sense down to modern times. 16 BDB, p. 636b, does not recognise ‘encourage’ as a meaning of μjn piel, but see HALOT 2:689a: although it translates ‘comfort (with words)’, it follows that with a quotation from K. Elliger, ‘to comfort does not mean to sympathise but to encourage’ (Deuterojesaja [BKAT, 11/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978], p. 13). DCH 5:664a, regrettably oﬀers only the meanings ‘comfort, console’. 17 BDB, p. 1020a. HALOT 4:1520a, oﬀers a veritable essay on the term ˆjlç, observing that ‘it is . . . possible that among the Israelite tribes in the period before the conquest a ˆj;l]v¨ consisted of a mat, or the skin of an animal spread out over

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word in a modern translation, and, while ˆjlç is not itself the banquet spread on the mat, ‘banquet’ would be a much better translation— all the more so because the verb ˚r[ means ‘arrange in order’ (i.e., the food), rather than ‘prepare’.18 Of all the English translations I have reviewed, only Moﬀatt ‘spreading a feast’ and tev ‘you prepare a banquet for me’ have noticed the cultural problem with ‘table’. 18. Does my cup overﬂow, or is it satisfaction (v. 5)? Most of the English versions have my cup ‘runneth over’ (kjv, rv, asv; neb ‘runs over’) or ‘overﬂows’ (rsv, nrsv, nab, niv) or ‘brims over’ (jb, njb, reb; Moﬀatt ‘brimming over’). But the Hebrew has no verb, and the noun hywr means ‘satiation, satisfaction’, which is to say, ‘my cup is satiation’. That means that I have all that I need—not more than I need, which is what running over or overﬂowing implies. njps correctly has ‘my drink is abundant’, and tev ‘[you] ﬁll my cup to the brim’.19 But surely a sheep does not drink from a cup? No, but it is not a literal cup, for a literal ‘cup’ can hardly be at the same time an abstract noun, ‘satiation’. The ‘cup’ here must be a metaphor for ‘portion’, ‘fate’, as in Ps 11.6 = 16.5; so too Greek potÆrion, as in Lk 22.42 ‘remove this cup from me’. It can well be the sheep’s lot, or fate, to be fully satisﬁed. the ground, around which people would have lain down in preparation for their meal’. However, the article continues, ‘. . . there is no place (with the possible exception of Ps 7819 . . .) where any reference to this ancient type of ˆj;l]vu can be presupposed’, and it understands the texts from Ugarit to show that ‘the table was a sturdy and important piece of household equipment, standing on legs and providing a ﬂat surface’. This then, it concludes, ‘was the situation that was accepted as normal [in Israel], particularly in towns and probably also in the more sophisticated levels of society; but in the remoter areas, on the fringes of cultivated society, the older practice of using the skin of an animal or a mat must still have been customary’. Let us not stumble over the blatant social prejudices of the author, but allow that a sheep on the move is quite likely to ﬁnd itself in remoter areas and on the fringes of the cultivated society it would doubtless fain rejoin, and would perforce content itself with food spread on the ground rather than on a sturdy piece of household equipment. Ezek 23.41 admittedly has diners sitting on a couch with a ˆjlç spread before them—which would suggest a table with legs; but we should not imagine that the diners’ legs were under the table. 18 So BDB, p. 789b, ‘arrange a table (i.e., dishes in order upon it)’, citing Isa 21.5; 65.11; Prov 9.2; Ezek 23.41; Ps 78.19. 19 Cf. BDB, p. 924a, which explains: ‘i.e. is well-ﬁlled’; s.v. swk ‘cup’, however, it says the cup is a cup of blessing that is ‘overﬂowing’ (p. 468a). HALOT 3:1201b, surely cannot be right in glossing the word as ‘superﬂuity’.

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19. Dwell or return (v. 6)? Shall I dwell in Yahweh’s house (reading yTib]viw,“ and following LXX

ka‹ tÚ katoike›n me), or return to Yahweh’s house (sticking with the

MT, yTib]v'w)“ ? All the English versions have ‘dwell’—of course without telling the reader they have emended the Masoretic Text. But the reading is hard to justify. On the level of the imagery, if the sheep metaphor is still in play, the controlling image is of the sheep being led from one pasture to another—the process of annual transhumance, which will recur again and again. And that matches well the depiction of the pilgrim en route to the temple for the annual festival. And on the level of the language itself, it does not make much sense for anyone except a cult functionary to speak of ‘living’ in the temple. 20. Forever (v. 6)? The Hebrew is clear: μymy ˚ral ‘for length of days’ cannot possibly mean ‘forever’. But many English translations since Coverdale have ‘for ever’ (so kjv, rv, asv, rsv, niv; njb ‘for all time to come’). neb and nrsv, more correctly, have ‘my whole life long’, and jb and tev ‘as long as I live’. Even that, however, is not what the Hebrew says. It is in the ﬁrst colon of the line that we ﬁnd ‘all the days of my life’; in the second colon the phrase is more vague, and is better represented by nab ‘for years to come’ or reb ‘throughout the years to come’. It is obvious that the more common translation, ‘for ever’, which is plainly wrong, arises from a christianising interpretation of the psalm, in which the Lord’s house is understood as heaven, and the psalmist begins to dwell there, not to return there, and will dwell there forever, not for a long time. Finally, I make bold to oﬀer my own proposed version of the psalm, with a few footnotes explaining choices I have made in addition to those mentioned above. 1 Yahweh is a shepherd to me; therefore20 there is nothing I lack. 20 There is nothing in the Hebrew corresponding to ‘therefore’, but I have added it to explain the relation between the ﬁrst and second cola (as I understand it). It

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2 In grassy pastures he lets me lie, chewing the cud; down to quiet waters he leads me; 3 he revives my life; he leads me by the right paths— all21 to uphold his repute. 4 Even when I walk through a dark valley, I fear no harm, for you are with me; your crook and your staﬀ are my reassurance. 5 You spread a banquet before me even if 22 enemies surround me; you anoint my head with oil; abundance is my lot. 6 Such23 goodness and constancy24 shall surely be my companions25 as long as I live, and I shall journey again to Yahweh’s house for many days to come.

is not that there are two truths (Yahweh is my shepherd, there is nothing I lack), but that it is because of the ﬁrst statement that the second is the case. 21 I have added ‘all’ in order to make clear that there are four things the shepherd does for the sake of his reputation: lets me lie, leads me to water (v. 2), revives my life, leads by right paths (v. 3a, b). 22 The phrase ‘before my enemies’ (yrrx dgn) has been a diﬃculty to commentators; ‘even if ’ is an addition in an attempt to explain the presence of the phrase. 23 From where do these abstracts ‘goodness’ (bwf) and ‘constancy’ (dsj) suddenly spring? This poem has hitherto been almost exclusively about concrete particulars. I infer that all that the shepherd does for the sheep in vv. 2–5 is here conceived of as acts of ‘goodness’ and ‘constancy’, and the sheep means that it is conﬁdent that its experience of the shepherd hitherto will continue into the future. Hence I add ‘such’, as a recognition that bwf and dsj are not new hopes but names for what the sheep has already been enjoying. 24 Everyone agrees that dsj is virtually untranslatable, yet almost everyone ends up with ‘love’ (nab, niv, tev) or some variation on ‘love’ (neb, reb ‘love unfailing’; njps ‘steadfast love’; asv ‘lovingkindness’). ‘Mercy’ in kjv, rv, rsv, nrsv is if anything, even more wrong, and Moﬀatt’s ‘kindness’ is uncharacteristically feeble. 25 πdr is usually ‘pursue, chase’, even ‘persecute’ (BDB, p. 922b). ‘Pursue’ would be unintelligible here (though that is jb’s and nab’s translation). Since the verb is plainly used in a positive sense, the meaning here must be ‘follow’; but even so, the cultural frame of ‘following’ is not easily transposed into the modern world. The social reality is that of the world of ancient hospitality, in which the traveller (and the sheep is a traveller) is accompanied on the road by the host, or servants of the host, for protection and entertainment. Moﬀatt alone of the English versions I have surveyed seizes the point, with his plain but bold translation ‘Goodness and Kindness wait on me’. For the pairing of two attendants, some would compare Gupn and Ugar, messengers of the gods in the Baal myth.

THE JUST KING: FACT OR FANCY? SOME UGARITIC REFLECTIONS Adrian H. W. Curtis At the end of his book Kings without Privilege, in a short section headed ‘The “Real” and the “Ideal”’, Graeme Auld expressed the hope that ‘One of the results of this study may be to encourage fresh scrutiny of the inter-relationships between more realistic and more idealised materials in the Hebrew Bible’.1 This paper seeks to apply that scrutiny not primarily to the Hebrew Bible but to the presentation of the king in some of the texts from Ugarit. But it does so in a context— that of the king’s judicial function—where parallels can be drawn and which can perhaps legitimately be illuminated with reference to the Hebrew Bible and other important ancient Near Eastern texts such as the Law Code of Hammurabi. The underlying issue is the extent to which epic or legendary material in particular can be useful in reconstructing a picture of the society from which it emerged. The stimulus behind this consideration of the Ugaritic material was provided by the reading of some comments, not directly related to its main theme, in a book entitled The Royal God: Enthronement Festivals in Ancient Israel and Ugarit? The book oﬀers a re-examination of Mowinckel’s Enthronement Festival hypothesis and the extent to which there is evidence from Ugarit which might support the theory. The author, A. R. Petersen, claims: ‘We cannot assume . . . that correspondence between ideology and conduct was part and parcel of life in antiquity’.2 He goes on to suggest that the Ugaritic Keret and Aqhat texts (which he describes as epics) may oﬀer examples, and comments: ‘The ideal of the king as the righteous judge who sits in the gate and listens to the cause of the orphans has little to do with the complicated bureaucracy attested through a wealth of Ugaritic administrative texts’.3 A little later, after a brief discussion of the 1 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), p. 175. 2 A. R. Petersen, The Royal God: Enthronement Festivals in Ancient Israel and Ugarit? ( JSOTSup, 259; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1998), p. 98. 3 Petersen, The Royal God, p. 98.

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views of Gray,4 who based an argument for a form of sacral kingship at Ugarit on the Keret and Aqhat texts, and de Tarragon,5 who challenged Gray’s views but who argued that what separated the literary texts describing the kings from other texts6 which reﬂected royal activity was primarily a matter of chronology, Petersen went so far as to say: ‘I believe it is far better to follow Liverani and let aqht and krt belong to the world of the fairy tale’.7 He would presumably consign Danel to the world of the fairy tale along with his son! The implication is not just that he believes Keret, Danel and Aqhat to have been ﬁctional rather than historical characters, a judgement which seems likely to be entirely justiﬁed. It is rather being suggested that the presentation of the king as a righteous ruler is not merely idealistic but fantastic. This prompted a revisiting of the Keret and Danel stories with a series of questions in mind: (1) (2) (3) (4)

Are Keret and Danel presented as kings? Are they presented as engaging in judicial activity? Is the presentation idealistic? To what extent is the presentation diﬀerent from what is found in the legal texts?

Insofar as there is such a thing as a consensus about aspects of the contents of the texts from Ugarit, it seems generally agreed that Keret and Danel were depicted as kings, and that one of their functions was that of dispenser of justice. That Keret was a king is made clear in the texts and, in his translation of the texts into English, Wyatt heads the Keret texts as ‘The Story of King Keret’.8 The verbal evidence is as follows:

4 J. Gray, ‘Sacral Kingship in Ugarit’, in C. F. A. Schaeﬀer (ed.), Ugaritica VI: publié à l’occasion de la XXXe campagne de fouilles à Ras Shamra (1968) (MRS, 17; Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1969), pp. 289–302. 5 J.-M. de Tarragon, Le culte à Ugarit: d’après les textes de la pratique en cunéiformes alphabétiques (CahRB, 19; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1980). 6 De Tarragon was referring primarily to ritual and oﬀering texts. 7 Petersen, The Royal God, p. 100. The reference is to M. Liverani, ‘L’epica ugaritica nel suo contesto storico e litterario’, in Atti del convegno internazionale sul tema: la poesia epica e la sua formazione (Roma, 28 marzo–3 aprile 1969) (Accademia nazionale dei Lincei. Problemi attuali di scienza e di cultura, 139; Rome: Accademia nazionale del Lincei, 1970), pp. 859–69. 8 N. Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit (Biblical Seminar, 53; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2nd rev. edn, 2002).

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krtn db˙ db˙ mlk '“r '“rt KTU 1.16 i 39–41

Gibson translates these words as: Our Keret is making a sacriﬁce, the king is holding a banquet.9

Wyatt suggests that the -n of krtn is not a suﬃx but that the form is hypocoristic, and that db˙ is unlikely to mean sacriﬁce here, partly because of the parallelism and partly because Keret is at this point in the story on his sickbed and unlikely to be engaging in cultic activity. He therefore translates: Keret is giving a banquet; the king is holding a feast.10

But what is clear is that Keret is described as ‘king’. A little later in the same tablet, where the text is admittedly somewhat fragmentary, mlk is paralleled by krt adnk (KTU 1.16 i 56–60). And at the end of a passage, to which we shall return, in which Keret’s son Yasib is reproaching his father for his inability to rule, Yasib says: rd lmlk amlk Come down from your kingship, I shall be king; ldrktk aΔb an from your dominion, I indeed shall be enthroned. KTU 1.16 vi 37–38

There is less certainty as to whether Danel is a king, though Wyatt comments: ‘I do not think the matter of Danel’s royal status is in dispute, despite claims to the contrary’.11 The key diﬀerence is that the word mlk is not explicitly used of Danel. However, there are some pointers to the fact that he was so envisaged. Several times Danel’s house is referred to as hklh, ‘his palace’. Particularly noteworthy is a couplet which occurs twice, since Danel is speciﬁcally named: dnil bth ym©yn Danel proceeded to his house; y“tql dnil lhklh Danel arrived at his palace. KTU 1.17 ii 24–25; 1.19 iv 8–9

9 J. C. L. Gibson, Canaanite Myths and Legends (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 2nd rev. edn, 1978), p. 95. 10 Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, p. 225. 11 Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, p. 247.

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Elsewhere, bbt (‘in [his] house’) is paralleled by bqrb hklh (‘in the midst of his palace’), where the reference seems clearly to be to Danel (KTU 1.17 i 25–26). There is an episode in tablet 19 (to which we shall return later) in which a king is apparently depicted as cursing a number of cities and where it is likely that the person concerned is Danel. However, the word mlk, which occurs in the phrase qr mym mlk yßm in KTU 1.19 iii 45–46, and which is usually taken to be a reference to the king at the beginning of the description of the cursing of the ﬁrst city, has been diﬀerently understood by Pardee,12 who takes it to mean ‘What pertains to you’. But there seems no good reason to doubt that the sense ‘king’ is appropriate here, and that the phrase means ‘Qar Mayim the king cursed’. The context is one in which a number of birds of prey have been cursed and, when they fall to the ground, their stomachs are examined for the remains of the dead Aqhat who is eventually found and buried. It seems reasonably clear that the protagonist is Danel, not least because of the reference to qbr bny (‘the grave of my son’) in KTU 1.19 iii 44, and that he now proceeds to curse some nearby cities. If we may accept that Keret and Danel were indeed kings, we can turn to the passages which describe them as dispensers of justice. In the case of Keret, the description is of course a negative one. The context is Yasib’s reproach to his father for his inability to rule correctly because of his sickness. He rebukes him: ltdn dn almnt You do not try the case of the widow; ltΔp† Δp† qßr np“ you do not judge the cause of the powerless.13 KTU 1.16 vi 33–34

Danel is twice described positively as performing similar functions, and an indication is given as to where he carried out his judging: yt“u yΔb bap Δ©r t˙t

He raised himself and sat at the entrance of the gate, beneath adrm dbgrn ydn the trees which were by the threshing ﬂoor. He tried dn almnt yΔp† Δp† ytm the case of the widow, he judged the cause of the orphan.14 KTU 1.17 v 6–8; cf. 1.19 i 21–25 12 D. Pardee, ‘The "Aqhatu Legend’, in W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, Jr. (eds.), The Context of Scripture, Volume I: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 343–56 (354, n. 115). 13 The translation ‘powerless’ follows Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, p. 239. 14 The word rendered ‘trees’ literally means ‘mighty ones’.

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Here we see the juxtaposition of ideas familiar from the Hebrew Bible. The notion of the gate, in particular the city gate, as the place where justice was dispensed is known from a number of passages (Deut 21.19; Amos 5.10, 12, 15); and in 1 Kgs 22.10 there is a reference to the kings of Israel and Judah ‘. . . sitting on their thrones, arrayed in their robes, at the threshing ﬂoor at the entrance of the gate of Samaria . . .’, albeit in that instance there is no mention of any judicial activity. And, of course, the notion of the king as guaranteeing justice on behalf of those members of society who were not able to defend themselves is a theme found in the Hebrew Bible. This is nowhere more clearly expressed than in Psalm 72: Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son. May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice . . . May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor. Ps 72.1–2, 4

The psalmist here suggests that the king’s justice is God’s justice. The king is to reﬂect God’s attitude to those who cannot defend themselves.15 And elsewhere in the Psalter we read: Father of orphans and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. Ps 68.5

Stories such as those of the wise woman of Tekoa (2 Sam 14.1–20) and of the Shunammite woman (2 Kgs 8.1–6) illustrate the right of appeal of widows and orphans to the king. This attitude was described by F. C. Fensham as a ‘common policy in the ancient Near East’.16 It is famously also evidenced in the Epilogue of the Law Code of Hammurabi: So that the mighty might not exploit the weak, and so that the orphan and the widow may be treated properly, I have written these very special words of mine on this stone; I have set them together with the image of me, the king of justice . . .

15 See A. Curtis, Psalms (Epworth Commentaries; Peterborough: Epworth Press, 2004), p. 150. 16 F. C. Fensham, ‘Widow, Orphan and the Poor in Ancient Near Eastern Legal and Wisdom Literature’, JNES 21 (1962), pp. 129–39.

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adrian h. w. curtis so that disputes may be settled in the land, so that decisions may be made in the land, so that the oppressed may be treated properly.17 Epilogue, paragraph 8

But to return to the presentation of Keret and Danel in the Ugaritic texts, while it may be appropriate to suggest that these presentations of the kings acting as guarantors of justice present an ideal of kingship, it is important to stress that the depictions are not particularly central to either story, though it might be going too far to describe them as incidental. In the case of Keret, there is no focus on any actual failure to defend the widow or the orphan. Rather, the phraseology is simply a way of his son saying, ‘You are unﬁt to be king’, since he could not carry out the everyday duties of the monarch. The two instances of Danel taking his seat at the gate and judging the case of the widow and the orphan are again not mentioned because of any wish to concentrate on the judicial activities. Rather, they set the scene for Danel to be in a position to see two signiﬁcant characters approaching, ﬁrst Kothar, the divine craftsman, with the marvellous bow he has fashioned, and later Pughat, as she arrives to lament the withering of the crops apparently consequent upon the death of her brother Aqhat. Aitken, in his structural analysis of the story of Aqhat, sees these passages as forming one of a number of pairs of similar or contrasting themes which occur before and after the pivotal point of the story, the murder of Aqhat.18 So there is a sense in which these passages simply describe a king as doing (or not doing, in the case of Keret) what a king is expected to do. While Keret is not depicted as performing other judicial acts in the extant story, there are one or two places where Danel is shown engaging in activities which might be deemed as of a legal nature. In KTU 1.19 iv 28–40, Pughat is presented as seeking Danel’s blessing upon her as she sets out to seek blood revenge for the death of her brother Aqhat. Wyatt translates the latter part of the passage thus:

17 The translation is from M. E. J. Richardson, Hammurabi’s Laws: Text, Translation and Glossary (Biblical Seminar, 73; Semitic Texts and Studies, 2; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2000), p. 121. 18 K. T. Aitken, The Aqhat Narrative: A Study in the Narrative Structure and Composition of an Ugaritic Tale ( JSS Monograph, 13; Manchester: University of Manchester, 1990), pp. 168–69.

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Then Danel, the man of healing, replied: ‘Let your spirit ﬂourish, Pughat, you who carry water on your shoulder, who wring dew from the ﬂeece, who know the course of the stars. May it go well with (you)! You will smite [your brother’s] smiter; you will kill your sibling’s killer!’19

The text is not absolutely clear: the verbs in the last two lines (tm¢ß and tkl ) could be understood as third person feminine singular in form. A third person understanding seems to be presumed by the reconstruction of the penultimate line as including the form a¢h in the second edition of KTU.20 Gibson translates ‘let her smite the smiter of [her brother]’.21 But whichever understanding is preferred, it seems likely that the king is being presented as sanctioning an act of blood vengeance. There is also an important episode a little earlier in tablet 19, of which mention has already been made. Here the king, presumably Danel, is presented as cursing three cities. The passage begins: qr my[m] Qar Mayim the king cursed. mlk yßm y lkm qr mym d '[lk] ‘Woe to you Qar Mayim because near you m¢ß aqht ©zr was smitten Aqhat the hero’. KTU 1.19 iii 45–47

Aitken, in his discussion of the Aqhat story, argues: ‘At several points in the narrative the plot structure has been expanded by themes which reﬂect cultural conventions of one kind or another attendant upon the nature and development of the plot’.22 He suggests that the episode of the cursing of the three cities by Danel is an instance of this phenomenon: ‘It reﬂects a judicial convention in the case of homicide by an unknown assailant: the community nearest to the place where the crime took place was held responsible and cursed’.23 A footnote somewhat enigmatically says, ‘Cf. Deut 21.1–19’ (sic), without explanation. However, a footnote to Gibson’s translation includes the somewhat fuller statement, ‘On the custom of cursing

19 20 21 22 23

Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, pp. 309–10. P. 61. Gibson, Canaanite Myths and Legends, p. 121. Aitken, The Aqhat Narrative, p. 159. Aitken, The Aqhat Narrative, p. 165.

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cities near the scene of a crime see Deut. xxi 1–9’.24 Similarly, Wyatt comments, ‘Perhaps the legal tradition outlined in Deut 21.1–9 lies in the background of Danel’s action’.25 Aﬃnities have also been seen with the Code of Hammurabi, paragraphs 22–24: (22) If a man has committed robbery and is caught, that man shall be killed. (23) If a criminal has not been caught, the injured man shall declare in the presence of god what he has lost and the citizens of the state or the leader of the province where the crime was committed shall repay him anything he has lost. (24) If someone is killed, the citizens or the leaders shall pay one mina of silver to his people.26

It is possible, then, that Danel is presented as participating in a widely practised judicial activity. The time has now come to move from the stories of Keret and Danel to consider legal documents from Ugarit. It must be noted that no royal law-code, such as the code of Hammurabi, has been discovered hitherto at Ugarit. However, a number of legal texts have been found. A fairly recent treatment of these legal texts from Ugarit has been provided by Ignacio Márquez Rowe and the paragraphs which follow are based on his survey.27 He conﬁrms that the vast majority were found in the archives of the Royal Palace, amounting to some 300 texts and fragments. There may have been some classiﬁcation system, in that royal domestic legal texts, i.e., those wherein the king features as presiding over a transaction or as a party to the transaction, come mainly from the Central Archive. International legal texts were found in the Southern Archive. The only chronology of such texts which is possible is based on the name of the reigning king. The scribes did not employ any more precise system of dating. Most of the legal texts were written in Akkadian. This is not surprising for international documents, given that Akkadian was a sort of lingua franca, but it is also true of domestic documents. It appears that most scribes were able to use both Ugaritic and Akkadian (though clearly some were able to use other languages as well) and it may 24

Gibson, Canaanite Myths and Legends, p. 119, n. 1. Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, p. 308, n. 252. 26 Richardson, Hammurabi’s Laws, p. 49. 27 I. Márquez Rowe, ‘The Legal Texts from Ugarit’, in W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (HO, I.39; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 390–422. 25

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be that Akkadian seemed the appropriate language for legal documents. It is the domestic legal texts with which this paper is interested. They tended to have certain common physical features, i.e., they were written on the so-called ‘common tablet’ measuring about 90mm × 70mm, with a single seal impression (usually of the rolled cylinder type) at the top of the obverse, sometimes separated from the text by a ruled line. Márquez Rowe notes that Nougayrol subdivided the domestic legal texts into three categories: (1) acts performed before witnesses, (2) acts performed before the king, and (3) acts of the king in which there is no mention of witness(es). He suggests, however, that for the third category it must be assumed that the king played an active role and that the naming of witnesses was unnecessary. He therefore proposes two main categories: (1) records describing acts presided over or performed by the king and (2) records describing acts before witnesses. It is the former group which concerns us here. Of the 170 or so texts which belong in this category, 147 were found in the Central Archive, suggesting that its purpose was precisely to house such documents. The seal used on the majority of these texts is the dynastic seal of the Ugaritic dynasty, inscribed with the name of ‘Yaqarum, son of Niqmaddu, king of Ugarit’, thought to be the founder of the dynasty. Occasionally a stamp ring-seal is used. One bears the name of Niqmaddu (presumably Niqmaddu II). After the seal-impression comes the text, in formulaic style. The main part of the text describes ﬁrst the completed part of the transaction, often commencing with the phrase ‘From today’. There is usually a reference to the king as having presided over or taken part in the transaction. Then come stipulations and obligations for the future. Finally, there is a formula identifying the seal which has been used and the name of the scribe. Márquez Rowe makes the important observation that, in such texts, there is no divine element such as oaths witnessed by the gods or threats of divine action against those who will contravene the stipulations. The majority of the actual transactions are various forms of conveyance, for example sales, purchases, barters, divisions of inheritance, verdicts over litigation concerning property (usually land), and above all royal gifts, with or without reciprocation. Gifts can be, for example, of land, even an entire village, or the taxes levied from a village. There are, however, a few transactions which do not concern property. There are deeds of adoption and of manumission, as well as grants of privilege or promotion.

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Although the majority of legal texts discovered were written in Akkadian, there are a few legal texts in Ugaritic. Márquez Rowe suggests that their very limited number suggests that they are exceptions, though it might be countered that such statistics could be misleading since they rely on the assumption that the texts discovered hitherto are a representative selection. (It is noteworthy that, although the majority of these texts in Ugaritic were found in the Palace Archives, two hitherto unpublished documents were found in the archive in the House of Urtenu. One of these, RS 94.2168, is apparently clearly royal, and the other, RS 94.2965, contains language typical of royal documents, though it bears no royal seal impression and there is no space for such an impression. This raises the possibility that other royal legal texts might have been stored in the archives of private individuals.) Their similarity in form and phraseology to Akkadian texts raises the possibility that they could be translations of Akkadian originals into the vernacular. It is perhaps not surprising that almost all the Ugaritic legal texts deal with domestic transactions. As with the Akkadian texts, they can be subdivided into the royal and the non-royal. With regard to the royal texts, several begin with the phrase l ym hnd (‘From today’), sometimes followed immediately by the name of the king. Their contents include deeds of gift (KTU 3.2; 3.5; in both of which ‘AmmiΔtamru [II] is the donor), and of the freeing of a royal slave (KTU 2.19; in which Niqmaddu [II or III] is the granter of the franchise). KTU 3.4 deals with the redemption of seven people from the birtym by a certain iwrkl. Text RS 94.2168 deals with rights of succession, in particular relating to property received from the king. Text RS 94.2965 also deals with property rights. Márquez Rowe suggests the possibility that many of the beneﬁciaries of these transactions were members of the royal family or court oﬃcials. Now to what extent, if at all, does the picture presented in the legal texts relate to that presented in the Keret and Danel texts? At ﬁrst sight, Petersen’s view quoted earlier might appear to be justiﬁed, i.e., that the two pictures are poles apart. But is this necessarily the case? It is true that the legal texts do not mention the king sitting and giving judgement in the gate, and if, as is often assumed, the reference is to the city gate, then no clear evidence of such a gate has yet been found at Ugarit. But doubtless there was such a gate, and access cannot have been limited to the so-called ‘postern gate’. But is the gate necessarily that of the city, or could it be that the king

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sat close to the entrance to the royal palace in a courtyard? The ﬁnd-spot of the majority of the royal legal texts might point to the judicial activity taking place in the Royal Palace. There is circumstantial support from Tel Mardikh, ancient Ebla. Excavations there suggest that in Palace G there was an audience court which was in part at least surrounded by a colonnade which would have supported an awning for shelter, under which was a stepped dais on which, it is conjectured, the king would sit to receive deputations.28 The legal texts do not refer to widows or orphans, but they do show the king concerned to guarantee property and inheritance rights and, in at least one instance, the freeing of a slave. So, whilst it might be argued that the depiction of the king as the defender of the defenceless may present something of a rosy picture, the fact that the kings were concerned with the guaranteeing of justice certainly does not seem to be capable of dismissal as a mere fairy tale. The Hebrew Bible presents a situation wherein an ideal view of kingship seems to have been able to exist side by side with the realities of actual kings whose depiction suggests that they did not live up to the ideal. That the epics from Ugarit could convey a picture of how kings were expected to behave, and to do so almost incidentally to the main themes of the stories, suggests that the notion of the just king may have undergirded the king’s day to day judicial activities. One detail in all the above which is perhaps surprising is the fact that the legal texts from Ugarit do not refer to any divine sanctions behind the law. Nor, with one possible exception, do the stories of Keret and Danel suggest that the aid of a god was invoked in enforcing a judicial act. The possible exception occurs in the account of Danel’s cursing of the three cities. When the third city is cursed, Danel says: ylk qrt ablm Woe to you, town of Abilim, d'lk m¢ß aqht ©zr because near you was smitten Aqhat the hero! 'wrt y“tk b'l lht May Baal make your wells dry. Henceforth w'lmh l'nt pdr dr and forever, now and for all generations! KTU 1.19 iv 3–6

The translation follows Wyatt who, in a footnote to the passage, makes the point that Abilim is cursed last in a climactic series because

28 For a plan see, for example, G. Pettinato, Ebla: A New Look at History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), p. 47.

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it was the actual site of the murder of Aqhat.29 It may be signiﬁcant that there is no invocation of Baal when the previous two cities are cursed. The calling upon the god adds to the climactic nature of the ﬁnal curse and suggests that sometimes divine sanctions may have been invoked in judicial contexts. But it would be unwise to read too much into this one instance. Whilst epic or legendary material must not be confused with historical or legal material, the diﬀerent types of literature can perhaps be used judiciously (the word is used advisedly!) to build up a picture of ancient societies such as that of Ugarit.

29

Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, p. 307.

THE TROUBLE WITH BENJAMIN Philip R. Davies Among the many issues that have absorbed Graeme Auld’s wideranging interest, the books of Joshua to Kings occupy a central place. When Graeme and I ﬁrst met, in Jerusalem, he was wrestling with a doctoral thesis on the book of Joshua, and especially the ‘Tetrateuch–Pentateuch–Hexateuch’ debate. The fruits of that engagement were published as Joshua, Moses and the Land 1 and Graeme has returned to Joshua many times.2 His participation in the recent intensive debates about ‘Deuteronomism’ and the ‘Deuteronomistic History’ has also been extensive and, as always, perceptive and original, including his radical hypothesis concerning the relationship between Samuel–Kings and Chronicles,3 which, like so much of his work, illustrates how attention to detailed textual features can challenge the most strongly-established consensus. I am pleased to be able to oﬀer Graeme a discussion on matters dear to his heart. The tribe and territory of Benjamin is an intriguing phenomenon, and remarkably underplayed in biblical scholarship. To date, still the only major treatment is Schunck’s Benjamin,4 summarised in his Anchor Bible Dictionary entry on ‘Benjamin’.5 The southernmost of the territories that constituted the kingdom of Israel,6 at some point Benjamin 1 A. G. Auld, Joshua, Moses and the Land: Tetrateuch-Pentateuch-Hexateuch in a Generation Since 1938 (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1980). 2 A. G. Auld, Joshua, Judges, and Ruth (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984); idem, Joshua Retold: Synoptic Perspectives (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); idem, Joshua: Jesus, son of Naue, in Codex Vaticanus (Septuagint Commentary Series; Leiden: Brill, 2005). 3 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). 4 K.-D. Schunck, Benjamin: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung und Geschichte eines israelitischen Stammes (BZAW, 86; Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1963). 5 K.-D. Schunck, ‘Benjamin’, ABD 1:671–73. In addition, a recent article devoted to the ‘Benjamin conundrum’ by Yigal Levin challenges ‘“new age” biblical unhistorical criticism’ with its neglect of this issue. See Y. Levin, ‘Joseph, Judah and the “Benjamin Conundrum”’, ZAW 116 (2004), pp. 223–41. 6 The modern critical consensus is that the name derives from this southerly position. See Schunck, Benjamin, pp. 6–8 for discussion of the origin of the name. It is now the critical consensus that there is no intrinsic connection between this tribe and the (banu)-yamina of Mari.

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became part of the kingdom of Judah, and for well over a century (between 586 bce and at least the mid-ﬁfth century)7 it formed the political and religious centre of Judah. Thereafter members of the tribe of Benjamin are ‘Jews’. I want to suggest that Benjamin holds the key to the basic questions of how and why the biblical historiographical enterprise was initiated, and why ‘Judaeans’ began to call themselves ‘Israel’. I cannot develop this suggestion in full in a short essay, but I hope to lay the ground for a more substantial argument in the near future. 1. The Legacy of Benjamin The self-identity and allegiance of Benjaminites under the reinstated dominion of Jerusalem (from the mid-ﬁfth century or later, onwards) and under the label of ‘Judaean/Jew’ provides scope for interesting and signiﬁcant questions, which can be approached ﬁrst through portraits of individual Benjaminites. The most proliﬁc author in the New Testament, Paul of Tarsus, was and is regarded as a Jew, but he was born in Cilicia, and not of the tribe of Judah. Well before his own time, Judaism had been regarded in the wider world in which it was dispersed as an ethnos, but one deﬁned as a cult or as a philosophy. Hence Paul would have found it convenient and in a sense accurate to be called a ‘Judaean/Jew’ (more so than for this Welsh author to be called ‘English’, and which for a Scot would be an insult!). Yet while the Paul of Acts has no problem with his ‘Jewish’ identity’, his letters appear to betray some reservation. In Rom 1.16 (and throughout chapter 2, plus 3.1) Paul uses the categories of ‘Jew’ and ‘Greek’, but he does not identify himself as either. This is, I suggest, not merely a function of his theological principle that there is no distinction in Christ. It may be something personal, too. For he himself straddles the two identities (in addition to being a Roman citizen). In 1 Cor 9.20, he even admits to this dual identity, though he gives a pragmatic pretext: ‘to the Jews I became as a Jew, to win over Jews’, etc. (ka‹ §genÒmhn to›w ÉIouda¤oiw …w ÉIouda›ow ·na ÉIouda¤ouw kerdÆsv . . .). Just once in his letters (Gal 2.15) Paul does

7 On the vexed question of when and why Jerusalem regained its status, see the detailed treatment in D. V. Edelman, The Origins of the ‘Second’ Temple: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem (BibleWorld; London: Equinox, 2005).

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declare himself a Jew ‘by birth’, when reporting a conversation with ‘Cephas’, and even here he uses ‘we’ in addressing his fellow-apostle: ÑHmeiw fÊsei ÉIouda›oi (‘becoming as a Jew’ to a Jew to win him over?). His own self-designation is as a Benjaminite, of a tribe of Israel: and while he can declare that the ‘Jews’ no longer enjoyed a special divine status, that is not how he expresses himself when speaking of ‘Israel’: I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin (Rom 11.1). . . . circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews . . . (Phil 3.5)8

On both occasions, he seems, quite deliberately, to avoid the more obvious term ‘Jew’ in favour of ‘Israelite’, ‘Benjamin’ and ‘Hebrew’. Again, theological reasons may be sought for this, but they can only raise the question: where is the diﬀerence theologically between ‘Jew’, ‘Israelite’ and ‘Hebrew’? The answer most probably lies in his membership in the tribe of Benjamin, of which he is obviously proud. And such loyalty is obviously inherited: his parents, after all, named him ‘Saul’, who to Judaeans was a villain, persecutor of David and divinely rejected. This is evidently not the view of ancient Benjaminites.9 How did this Saul view his namesake? The Paul of Acts makes a speech in Pisidian Antioch (Acts 13), which refers to Saul’s replacement by David, but then of the ‘promises made to David’ being given to another. How far the author of Acts has composed the speech in recognition of Paul’s opinions on the matter of Saul and David we cannot know, but the language may be indicative: Jesus is not referred to in any way as ‘son of David’, while Saul’s ‘rejection’ and disgrace are elided with the word ‘removed’ (metastÆsaw aÈtÒn, v. 22).10 Signiﬁcantly, the allusion to king Saul in Acts 13

8 It may be relevant that in Jonah, the protagonist (who is identiﬁed as from the kingdom of Israel), calls himself a ‘Hebrew’ ( Jon 1.9—but with the religious deﬁnition that ‘Jew’ came to have: ary yna μymçh yhla hwhyAtaw). 9 Modern secular Israelis also sometimes name their children after biblical ‘villains’ (e.g., Amnon, Athalya) in simultaneous aﬃrmation of a Jewish ancestry and rejection of a religious aﬃliation. 10 The commentators are disappointingly thin on this unique reference to king Saul in the New Testament. Most are interested only in the forty years of Saul’s rule. Some note the signiﬁcance of the name Saul, but others dismiss it. Dunn, for example, comments ‘it is a pleasant speculation that king Saul is mentioned (for

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occurs together with the transition in that book from ‘Saul’ to ‘Paul’ (13.9)—hardly an accidental device.11 The change of name is intended by the author to indicate a change of identity and divine calling, after the model of Abram/Abraham; but nowhere is it in fact implied that Saul actually ‘changed’ his name at some precise point: he remains ‘Saul’, especially when speaking, or being spoken to, in Hebrew (Acts 26.14). (The use of dual Greek/Semitic names was a well-known custom in the classical world.) He remained ‘Saul’. Paul’s own letters contain just one reference to Jesus’ physical descent from David, and it lacks any messianic implication (Rom 1.3).12 Both Acts and the letters also refer to his persecution of followers of Jesus (Acts 8.1–3; 9.1; 22.7, etc.; 1 Cor 15.9). This replay of the persecution of a ‘son of David’ by a Saul may be thought fanciful; yet such a realisation surely did not escape the Benjaminite Saul of Tarsus, nor the author of Acts—both of whom exhibit a fondness for scriptural analogies and precedents—nor indeed other reasonably knowledgeable Jews of that time. Nevertheless, my point in all this is simply that the case of Saul/Paul, our only well-known historical Benjaminite from the Greco-Roman period, points us to the unease with which any loyal Benjaminite might have read the scriptural account of Saul. Like him, they may have cherished a diﬀerent story. Likewise, they perhaps constituted a diﬀerent, and special, kind of ‘Jew’, and an even more special kind of ‘Israelite’. More light is thrown on the complexities of Benjaminite identity by the story of Esther. ‘Now there was a Jew in the citadel of Susa whose name was Mordecai son of Jair son of Shimei son of Kish, a Benjaminite’ (Est 2.5). ‘Son of Kish’ evokes king Saul, while Shimei is the name of a member of Saul’s family who cursed David (2 Sam 16.5–14: ‘this Benjaminite’, v. 11). Mordecai’s enemy, Haman, is named

the only time in the New Testament) because it was his namesake speaking, also of the tribe of Benjamin (Phil. 3.5) and so probably named after his eminent, though tragic forbear’ ( J. D. G. Dunn, The Acts of the Apostles [Narrative Commentaries; Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International; Epworth Commentaries; Peterborough: Epworth Press, 1996], p. 179). On the speeches in Acts generally, see M. L. Soards, The Speeches in Acts: Their Content, Context, and Concerns (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994); cf. especially pp. 79–88 on this speech. 11 David Jobling pointed this out to me in a private conversation. 12 Paul’s use of XristÒw throughout his letters, as if part of a personal name, serves eﬀectively, of course, to disguise any messianic status or claim on the part of Jesus or his followers. The word is virtually meaningless in Greek. Suetonius’ Chresto (Claud 25.4) is entirely understandable as a more recognisable cognomen.

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as an ‘Agagite’ (3.1; etc.). There is no such tribe or people, but the initial basis on which Saul was, according to the Bible, stripped of his kingship was his failure to kill an Amalekite king called Agag (1 Samuel 15). The Amalekites were commanded to be exterminated (Exod 17.14; Num 24.20; Deut 25.19), and Saul had disobeyed this injunction. The story of Esther, therefore, has a Saulide theme. Mordecai the Benjaminite, whose genealogy disports Saulide names, seeks to avenge Saul over Amalek: as Israel was supposed to exterminate Amalek, so Haman vows to exterminate Israel. Another parallel, if less obvious, is between the death of Saul’s three sons along with him at Gilboa, along with the hanging of Saul’s body (1 Sam 31.6, 10) and the hanging of Haman, and subsequently, his ten sons (Est 7.10; 9.14). On the other hand, (μ)ydwhy appears a huge number of times (52) in the MT (slightly fewer in the LXX). There seems to be none of the reserve here about the ‘Judaean’ identity that Paul’s writings display, which might be explained by the strong interest in ethnicity (and ethnic unity) that the story displays; it may also indicate diﬀerences between the Western diaspora and the Eastern over such matters. Or indeed, may it be a not-too-subtle celebration of Judaeans being saved by a Benjaminite (rather than a messianic son of David)?13 At all events, we now have two cases of individual Benjaminites, and their families, ﬁercely loyal to the memory of the ﬁrst king of Israel and his family. What implications does such a loyalty have for the attitudes of Benjaminites towards Jerusalem—and towards the kings of Judah? Much, of course, depends on the antiquity of the story that Saul was supplanted by David, or that either was a ‘king’. That issue is currently controversial and unresolved. But regardless of whatever elements of historicity there may be in this narrative (which require to be appraised with extreme caution on both archaeological and literary grounds), the story of a triumph of Judah’s hero

13 The evidence of (deliberate?) merging of Judaean and Israelite populations and identities is an interesting phenomenon in the literature of this period. In Tobit (whose protagonist comes from Naphtali) Judah is mentioned in 1.18 in a reference to Sennacherib ﬂeeing the kingdom of Judah, but in 11.17 is a reference to ‘rejoicing among the Jews in Nineveh’ (xarå pçsin to›w Ioudaio›w to›w oÈsin §n Nineuh)— again indicating the use of ‘Jew/Judaean’ in the broader sense. In Judith, ‘Judah’ and ‘Judaean’ are similarly used; the book assumes a single ‘Israel’ including Judah, with the capital in Jerusalem ( Judith 4.1–8): note especially ‘Israelites living in Judaea’ (oﬂ uﬂo‹ Israhl o‹ katoikoËntew §n t∞ Iouda¤&).

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at the expense of Benjamin’s requires some explanation, given that both Judaeans and Benjaminites were siblings in a single ethnos. The evidence from our individual Benjaminites suggests that Benjaminites disowned this story. It is possible, even perhaps likely, that the David–Saul narrative is a response to, rather than a reason for, Judaean–Benjaminite tensions, conceived as a literary celebration of victory in a diﬀerent conﬂict, the roots of which can be traced in the book of Jeremiah. At the end of the Davidic dynasty, when Jerusalem was facing the Babylonian army, the royal prophets are shown as advising the king of Judah to resist, and promising peace and prosperity (e.g., Jer 14.13–16; 23.16–22), while Jeremiah himself, from the Benjaminite town of Anathoth, announces destruction on the royal house (ch. 21), the inhabitants of Judah and Jerusalem (ch. 25) and the temple (ch. 26), unless the king capitulates. (The conﬂict is dramatically encapsulated in the well-known altercation between Jeremiah and Hananiah in chapter 28.) Jeremiah’s message was one of surrender, and, not unreasonably, he is regarded by the king and by many of his contemporaries as a traitor. The conﬂict is presented as a case of true versus false prophecy, of acknowledgement or ignorance of the divine will. But commentators have also noted the political dimensions: Jeremiah has the protection of a powerful lobby that is in favour of capitulation, or that is even pro-Babylonian. (Any number of reasons may be given for such an allegiance, but the termination of the kingdom of Israel by Assyria would make such sympathy for Assyria’s conquerors understandable.)14 Prominent in this lobby is the family of Shaphan, who is described as the sopher under Josiah (2 Kgs 22.8), and as acting with Hilkiah the priest; and the sons of both these men (Elasah and Gemariah) are paired in Jer 29.3 as bearers of Zedekiah’s letter to Nebuchadrezzar.15 In Jer 26.24 Shaphan’s son Ahikam protects Jeremiah, and 14 This suggestion has already been made by J. Blenkinsopp, ‘Bethel in the NeoBabylonian Period’, in O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), pp. 93–107: ‘. . . the inhabitants of the region [sc. Benjamin] belonged to the antiwar or appeasement party from the beginning of the Babylonian takeover [sc. from Assyria]’ (p. 96). 15 In this instance Holladay’s maximalist reading of the book of Jeremiah is justiﬁed: ‘. . . it is virtually certain that all these were members of a single family’ (W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2 [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989], p. 140). Ironically, Holladay’s overriding concern with reconstructing the life of Jeremiah does not, however, extend to exploring the political connections and ideology that

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in 39.14 Jeremiah is released by order of the Babylonians and escorted from custody by Gedaliah, who is later installed in Mizpah as ruler of Judah. If the priest Hilkiah of 2 Kings 22 were Jeremiah’s father ( Jer 1.1),16 we could conclude that Jeremiah was not merely protected by a powerful group, but was in fact part of that group, which seems to have had Benjaminite connections.17 In any event, the call in make Jeremiah’s words and life meaningful. That the details of Jeremiah or his life are necessarily accurate cannot, of course be assumed; but we can assume that those responsible for the book’s creation (in its various forms) were aware of the political context, the consequences of which lasted well into the Persian period. Hence the sceptical position of R. P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 1986), is not herewith being rejected. The authenticity of the bulla with the name ‘Gemaryahu ben Shaphan’ (cf. Y. Shiloh, Excavations at the City of David. Vol 1, 1978–1982, Interim Report of the First Five Seasons [Qedem, 19; Jerusalem: The Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University, 1984], pp. 19–20, no. 2) is only slightly questionable, since it did not surface from a private collection. The dangers of simply reading even the prose passages in Jeremiah as reliable accounts of the prophet have been well expressed by W. McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah (ICC; 2 vols; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1986, 1996), 1:lxxxix, though he expresses no suspicions about 29.3. 16 As argued by R. R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980), p. 223. Holladay disagrees on the grounds that ‘high priest’ is lacking from the designation (W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1986], p. 16). G. W. Ahlström, The History of Ancient Palestine (Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993) says ‘this could possibly be the same person . . .’ (p. 789, n. 3). 17 A minor clue is that another (possibly) Benjaminite prophet apparently shared Jeremiah’s view: in Jer 26.20–23 is a reference to an otherwise unknown Uriah from Kiriath-jearim who had prophesied against Jerusalem and Judah, but ﬂed to Egypt (as Jeremiah is said to have done) but was retrieved and executed. But here— by way of acknowledging the complexity of the underlying issues over which I am so lightly skating—let us brieﬂy sample the problems of border territory and conﬂicting claims of Judaean and Benjaminite allotment. According to Josh 15.60 and 18.14–15 Kiriath-jearim, under the name of Kiriath-baal, is in Judah (see also Josh 15.9). Judges 18.12 and 1 Chron 13.6 also place it in Judah. According to Josh 18.25 it lies in Benjamin. The topographical problems of the boundary lists in Joshua are notorious. See Auld, Joshua, Moses and the Land, pp. 37–51 for a review of the positions of Alt and Noth, Cross and Wright, Kallai, Aharoni, Schunck, Simons and Bächli. For Auld’s own proposal see pp. 52–71. His general conclusion is well taken: ‘. . . considerable caution is required by the historian who would handle this material. Much less of it has been transcribed from archives than many historians of early Israel have allowed. Much of the material under review is not raw source-data for the modern historian, but rather the solutions and deductions of his counterparts in the later biblical period . . .’ (p. 110). We are dealing with a place that was historically border territory, and a manner of assigning such territory that is ultimately ideological and political. Indeed, the whole of Benjamin is marginal territory, aﬃliated ﬁrst with Israel and then with Judah. No doubt it was indeed vulnerable to the ﬂuctuating fortunes of the two kingdoms. Jerusalem itself is also allotted to Benjamin as well as Judah (contrast Judg 1.8 and 1.21). Bethel is a slightly diﬀerent case of disputed Benjaminite territory (see below). The essential point is that some ancient Israelite and Judaean topography is literary and ideological.

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Jer 6.1 to Benjaminites to ﬂee from Jerusalem may have special signiﬁcance; the reference might just possibly have a purely geographical reference to the north (in the direction of the enemy?), but, in light of the fact that the territory of Benjamin was not ravaged, it may reﬂect Benja-minite dissociation from resistance. Or does the statement reﬂect, after the event, what turned out to be the case? An indication of the (eﬀectively) pro-Babylonian stance of a group with Benjaminite connections is the favour shown to the territory of Benjamin by Nebuchadrezzar after the fall of Jerusalem.18 In any case, this territory apparently escaped the devastation wrought on Jerusalem and its environs, and became the centre of administration in Judah during the whole of the Neo-Babylonian and early Persian periods (probably until at least the middle of the ﬁfth century). Archaeological surveys have shown that during the 6th and early 5th centuries bce the population of Judah was somewhat concentrated in the territory of Benjamin, while the territory of Judah was relatively less populated.19 2. Benjamin as Both ‘Israel’ and ‘Judah’ Benjamin’s incorporation in (and subordination to) Judah implicates another quite diﬀerent relationship, that between Israel and Judah. According to traditions in the ( Judaean) scriptural canon, Benjaminites themselves had played the leading part in the formation of the kingdom of Israel. When and why, then, did it migrate from one kingdom to the other? As a border territory, and lying very close to Jerusalem (if indeed it did not claim Jerusalem as its own), it could well have been the object of territorial conﬂict between the two kingdoms, as many scholars suggest. Schunck reconstructs six diﬀerent borders at diﬀerent periods, but accepts that from the time of Rehoboam the

18 For much of what follows, see O. Lipschits, ‘The History of the Benjamin Region under Babylonian Rule’, TA 26 (1999), pp. 155–90. 19 Cf. C. Carter, ‘Ideology and Archaeology in the Neo-Babylonian Period: Excavating Text and Tell’, in Lipschits and Blenkinsopp, Judah and Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, pp. 301–22; Lipschits, ‘The History of the Benjamin Region under Babylonian Rule’; idem, ‘Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries bce’, in Lipschits and Blenkinsopp, Judah and Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, pp. 323–76; and see especially the more nuanced assessment in Edelman, Origins of the Second Temple, particularly chapter 5 and the map reproduced below.

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Sites newly founded in Yehud in the Persian period20

20

Edelman, Origins of the Second Temple, p. 291 (reprinted with permission).

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territory of Benjamin had always belonged to Judah.21 Here he follows for the most part the deceptively simple biblical explanation, namely that there was once upon a time an ‘Israel’ that included the tribes forming the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, and, despite having been somehow separated into ‘Israel and Judah’, it was reunited under David and ruled by Solomon and Rehoboam. The re-division of that uniﬁed kingdom is said to have come about because Rehoboam refused to accede to a request from the northern tribes (the ‘house of Israel’). The story is as follows: When all Israel saw that the king would not listen to them, the people answered the king, ‘What share do we have in David? We have no inheritance in the son of Jesse. To your tents, O Israel! Look now to your own house, O David’. So Israel went away to their tents. But Rehoboam reigned over the Israelites who were living in the towns of Judah. When King Rehoboam sent Adoram, who was taskmaster over the forced labour, all Israel stoned him to death. King Rehoboam then hurriedly mounted his chariot to ﬂee to Jerusalem. So Israel has been in rebellion against the house of David to this day. When all Israel heard that Jeroboam had returned, they sent and called him to the assembly and made him king over all Israel. There was no one who followed the house of David, except the tribe of Judah alone. When Rehoboam came to Jerusalem, he assembled all the house of Judah and the tribe of Benjamin, one hundred eighty thousand chosen troops to ﬁght against the house of Israel, to restore the kingdom to Rehoboam son of Solomon. But the word of God came to Shemaiah the man of God: ‘Say to King Rehoboam of Judah, son of Solomon, and to all the house of Judah and Benjamin, and to the rest of the people . . .’ (1 Kgs 12.16–23, nrsv).

The account in 2 Chron 10.16–11.12 speaks of Rehoboam reigning over ‘the people of Israel who were living in the cities of Judah’ (10.17), and in 11.1 he assembles ‘troops of the house of Judah and Benjamin’ (a hendiadys?), while Shemaiah addresses ‘all Israel in Judah and Benjamin’ (11.3). It is remarkable that the one and only ally of Judah here is Benjamin, the tribe from which Saul had come. Why would the leading tribe of the kingdom that was, as the story goes, to become Israel, decide to join in with Judah under a successor of David rather than with a member of Saul’s kingdom? If the stories of David’s takeover of Saul’s kingdom represent a historical memory, there would have been some animosity between the two; if they are not (perhaps along with 21

Schunck, Benjamin, pp. 139–69; see especially the map on p. 169.

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Solomon and Rehoboam as well), there is still a problem.22 For if there was no ‘united monarchy’, the alliance of Benjamin with Judah still needs explaining. The most reasonable conclusion seems to be that the biblical accounts have retrojected the later Judah–Benjamin union into the beginnings of the independent Judaean kingdom itself, severing Benjamin from any recent connection with Israel. If so, that is surely a Judaean rather than a Benjaminite invention, and it may be attributed to the same motives as generated the story of David’s replacement of Saul and other stories that depict Judah’s supremacy over its neighbour. The earliest moment at which Benjamin might realistically have been transferred to Judah, and perhaps the occasion to have engendered the least resistance (because the transfer was imposed by a third power), is the time of the annexation of most of Israel as Assyrian provinces. It is unclear where the southern boundary of the province of Samaria was drawn by the Assyrians, and they may have decided to grant this territory to their loyal allies. If so, however, we have no indications at the time of Hezekiah, shortly afterwards, that this territory was invaded by Sennacherib, or that it was removed from Judaean control.23 Perhaps it was claimed (or ‘reclaimed’) by Josiah, who is believed by many scholars to have acquired territory to the north of his kingdom. But by this time Benjamin was surely part of Judah (how else do we account for Jeremiah and his political allies?), and if the annexation had not taken place in the closing years of the eighth century, which as I have suggested is unlikely, then it must have occurred under Manasseh, which, given his pro-Assyrian stance, is a plausible scenario. But in the end we simply cannot know more than this: Benjamin had very probably been part of the kingdom of Israel (which was more powerful than Judah) until the end of that kingdom, and was now part of Judah. According to the biblical 22 Here lies the problem with the ‘solution’ proposed by Levin, ‘Joseph, Judah’, who suggests that some Benjaminites joined with Judah and some remained attached to Israel—assuming that the events ascribed to the reign of Rehoboam in 1 Kings are reliable. Even if the ‘united monarchy’ were historical, this suggestion still does not explain why any Benjaminites went with Judah, though Levin notes reasons advanced by other scholars (p. 228, n. 21). He is also constrained by a view of the ‘Deuteronomistic History’ as written ‘towards the end of the monarchic era’ (p. 231). 23 If Benjamin had been part of the territory of Judah at the time of Hezekiah, it is hard to explain the expansion of Jerusalem as resulting from mass ﬂight from Israel; many of the refugees, if there had indeed been any, would more probably have settled in the cities of Benjamin.

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account (which matches other evidence), Judah and Israel were enemies for most of their common history, and when they were allies their cooperation was reluctant. At some point Israel had dominated Judah to the point, perhaps, of assassinating its king, or, if Jehoram of Judah is an invention, perhaps even ruling it directly from a single throne;24 later, desperately seeking to avoid invasion from Israel and Damascus by appealing for Assyrian help, the Judaean king Ahaz brought Assyria down on Israel. Such a history of relations between the two kingdoms makes the status of Benjamin a very interesting topic for examination. Where did its allegiances lie once it ceased to be part of Israel and became part of Judah? If Jeremiah and his supporters reﬂected more widelyheld sentiments in Benjamin, we know at least part of the answer. 3. The First ‘History of Israel’ The next step in exploring the self-identity of Benjamin is to recover its own historical ‘memories’ or ‘traditions’ (whether real or invented). The story of Saul is undoubtedly a major part of these. But that story, in the form we now have it, is not an isolated one, but belongs to a longer account of the origins of Israel in which particular prominence is also given to Benjamin. Within the books of Joshua, Judges and 1 Samuel runs a thread—I would suggest a very distinct one— in which the military leadership during the formative stages of Israel (excluding Judah) was assumed by Benjamin, and the crucial formative events (conquest, cult, judgeship, coronation) took place in the territory of Benjamin. It seems reasonable to regard this thread, which is now of course woven into a Judaean narrative, as originating in Benjamin.25 However, the story, which culminates in the establishment of the kingdom of Israel, is not conﬁned to Benjamin alone, but includes (to a much lesser extent), elements from other tribes that also made up the ﬁrst kingdom of Israel: Ephraim and Manasseh

24 Cf. J. Strange, ‘Joram, King of Israel and Juda’, VT 25 (1975), pp. 191–201; J. M. Miller and J. H. Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1986), pp. 280–82. 25 The alternative explanation is that these formative events originate elsewhere; but in this case, since they are unlikely to have been invented on Benjamin’s behalf, there is a strong argument for their historicity, which probably means they were also asserted by Benjaminites!

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and some other tribes to the north of these, bordering on the Jezreel plain.26 It thus seems to represent a sort of Benjaminite history of the origins of the kingdom of Israel. The thread begins with the conquest of the land under Joshua, continues with a ‘book of saviours’, the embryo of the book of Judges, and ends with Saul, the ﬁrst king of Israel. The ‘history’ opens with the acquisition of the area of Benjamin by military conquest, in the battle accounts now found in the ﬁrst part of the book of Joshua. As is well-known, these conquests take place in the territory assigned to Benjamin. The ‘arrival’ of ‘Israel’ into Canaan takes place at Gilgal and proceeds west, through Jericho, Ai and Gibeon. Jerusalem itself (see Joshua 10) is not necessarily an exception to this, if (as Josh 18.28 and Judg 1.21 suggest) that city was also reckoned in Benjamin as rightfully theirs. The expedition to Hazor ( Joshua 11) and possibly the excursion round Judaean territory ( Josh 10.29–39, at least) represent the extension of the Benjaminite conquest into respectively an Israelite conquest and, in a later Judaean revision, into a conquest of all of Canaan by a twelve-tribe ‘Israel’.27 The structure of the original account, beginning and ending ( Josh 10.43, before the Hazor campaign) in Gilgal, remains nevertheless relatively undisturbed.28 The ‘history’ can be traced again in Judges, where the theme passes from conquest to defence against neighbouring aggressors. Again the original narrative has been expanded extensively into a twelve-tribe perspective. But the Benjaminite foundation remains visible: the earliest of the Judges is originally Ehud the Benjaminite.29 According to Richter’s analysis of the ‘book of saviours’,30 Ehud was originally 26 The inclusion of Naphtali, Issachar and Zebulun is suggested by the Song of Deborah (if it is in fact ancient, and even if not, it seems to represent a claim on their behalf ) and by the campaign against Hazor in Joshua 11. 27 The possibility remains, however, that the Hazor expedition belongs to a phase in which the Benjaminite story becomes an Israel story, and its inclusion may be connected with the inclusion of the Deborah material in Judges 4–5 in the ‘book of saviours’. 28 Alt’s suggestion, followed by Soggin, that Gilgal was the place of origin and preservation of these traditions is an obvious deduction. See A. Alt, Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel (2 vols; Munich: C. H. Beck, 1953), 1:176–92; J. A. Soggin, Joshua: A Commentary (trans. R. A. Wilson; OTL; London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1972), pp. 9–10. 29 Othniel (of Judah) is widely recognised as a Judaean intrusion. 30 W. Richter, Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Richterbuch (BBB, 18; Bonn: Peter Hanstein, 1966).

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followed by Barak, Gideon and Abimelech, representing respectively the southern, northern and central parts of Israel.31 This proposal has more recently been developed by Knauf and Guillaume, who propose that ‘book of saviours’ originated in Bethel in c. 720.32 But the Benjaminite thread running from Joshua to 1 Samuel undermines Guillaume’s theory of a separate book of Judges, and indeed, a distinct ‘book of saviours’. It seems to me rather that the ‘book of saviours’ functioned as part of a larger story about the origin and establishment of Israel.33 There is a case, though not perhaps a strong one, for considering that Judges 20–21 is based on an episode in this ‘history of Israel’. Guillaume argues34 that, in the course of development from a ‘book of saviours’ to the ‘book of Judges’, the story of Judges 19–21 was inserted between 515–450 bce in order to depict how chaotic rule under a leaderless Benjamin and then under the Benjaminite king Saul had been—and would be again—in order to justify the elimination of the tribe as well as to create a permanent division between the newly-restored Jerusalem and the remaining Benjaminites.35 This is certainly a plausible scenario, though whether Jerusalem assumed its former status before 450 is doubtful.36 There is little doubt that the story now represents strong anti-Benjaminite, and a speciﬁcally antiGibeah, polemic. But there are some grounds for suspecting that it 31 With the exception of Samson, this is almost identical to the pre-Deuteronomistic collection proposed by J. Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1899), p. 214. 32 E. A. Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DH) Exist’, in A. de Pury, T. Römer and J.-D. Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs its History: Deuteronomistic Historiography in Recent Research ( JSOTSup, 306; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2000), pp. 388–98; P. Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah: The Judges ( JSOTSup, 385; London: T & T Clark International, 2004). 33 This observation does not necessarily endorse the theory of a ‘Deuteronomistic History’, though in my view its existence would have provided the main pretext for such an enterprise. The long essay by De Pury and Römer oﬀers important arguments in favour of a ‘pre-Deuteronomistic’ stratum in Judges. See A. de Pury and T. Römer, ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography (DH): History of Research and Debated Issues’, in de Pury, Römer and Macchi, Israel Constructs its History, pp. 24–141. For an assessment of Noth’s theory and its fate, see S. L. McKenzie and M. P. Graham (eds.), The History of Israel’s Traditions: The Heritage of Martin Noth ( JSOTSup, 182; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1994). 34 Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah, pp. 198–226. 35 Cf. C. Edenburg, ‘The Story of the Outrage at Gibeah ( Judg 19–21) and its Relation to the Deuteronomistic History’ (paper given at the meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta, 22–25 November 2003). 36 Cf. Edelman, Origins of the Second Temple.

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was built around an episode in the Benjaminite ‘history’ that celebrated Benjamin’s defeat of its fellow-tribes (not twelve!).37 It is hard to tell whether the obvious intertextual links in the present version might be traced to the original or to the much-expanded version of the story. The similarity to the capture of Ai in Joshua suggests an ultimate defeat for Benjamin (as for Ai); the notion of a complete tribe of left-handers, inspired by the case of Ehud, may be derogatory—though both features signiﬁcantly link this episode with my Benjaminite ‘history’ and so could be original. The story of Lot (Genesis 19), another obvious intertextual link, may be later as well as earlier. Judges 19 is clearly anti-Saulide and hardly looks like a Benjaminite tale. That it furnishes the pretext for the war in chapters 20–21 means either that any original Benjaminite story has been extensively overwritten, or that there was no such story in the ﬁrst place. In the end, I can only note a possibility; there is insuﬃcient basis for a strong argument. The Benjaminite thread runs beyond Judges, at any rate, through the activity of Samuel and on to Saul. It is a Benjaminite who brings the news of the capture of the ark to Eli (1 Sam 4.12), and in 1 Samuel 7, Samuel brings the people to Mizpah, thereafter ‘judging’ Israel at Mizpah, Gilgal and Ramah—all sites in Benjamin: the phrases ‘from all the tribes of Israel’ (2.28) and ‘from Dan to Beersheba (3.20) represent only slight adjustments in favour of the ‘all-Israelite’ perspective of the later Judaean form of the narrative. Samuel is presented as a successor to the ‘judges’ and even possibly to the ‘saviours’. That he belongs in the original Benjaminite ‘history’ is suggested by the geography of his career and by the fact that he links the ‘saviours’ with the king. Nevertheless, the suspicion remains powerful that his birth narrative has been stolen from Saul (1 Sam 1.20), and that his role in the present narrative has been much magniﬁed so as to make him a representative of prophecy versus kingship, a prominent theme of the books of Samuel–Kings. Like Joshua, Samuel is said to come from Ephraim (1 Sam 1.1), where Shiloh is also 37 The story has puzzling features that challenge any solution. One glaring problem is that after the massacre of Benjaminites, there should have been a shortage of males, not females. The idea that the other tribes would not intermarry with Benjamin is feeble; endogamy within a tribe was surely very common. Hence, it has been suggested widely that the capture of the women of Shiloh lies at the root of the tale, in some celebration of a large-scale intermarriage or war-raid, comparable to the ‘rape of the Sabine women’ in Roman legend.

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located. These indications show, as already suggested, that the history is dominated by, but not conﬁned to, Benjamin itself. It is an Israelite history. The story apparently ends with the death of Saul at the hands of the Philistines. Like the books of Kings, it therefore has a tragic ending—but from the perspective of the historian and ﬁrst readers, as with Kings, a further history is understood. Just as the reader of 2 Kings knows that Judah was restored, and needs only to know how it was that exile came about, so the subsequent history of Israel was known to have continued after Saul, though with its centre elsewhere. The travails and successes of its founding achievements have been realised. It is a story of origins only, and Saul brings these to an end. His death does not diminish his heroic status, as later generations of Benjaminites would conﬁrm. What Graeme Auld has called the ‘Book of Two Houses’ begins exactly with Saul’s death,38 perhaps another indication that it represented an already given point of departure. Where was this ‘history of Israel’s origins’ ﬁrst given literary form? We can hardly do better than Noth’s original proposal for the Deuteronomistic History: Mizpah.39 Together with Auld’s (postexilic and Judaean) ‘Book of Two Houses’,40 we may have the major components of the later Judaean historiography in which the ‘biblical Israel’ was brought together under the banner of Judah, the so-called ‘Deuteronomistic History’. 4. Judah Becomes Israel Does the reconstruction I am suggesting here have any historical implications? Only in ﬁlling out a process that we already know: that Benjamin was once part of Israel and became part of Judah, that for a considerable period Benjamin had political and religious priority in Judah, and that this was then lost to Jerusalem. There

38

Auld, Kings without Privilege, p. 42. M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1957), p. 110, n. 1 = trans.: The Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 15; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1981), p. 145, n. 1. See also A. Jepsen, Die Quellen des Königsbuches (Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1956), pp. 94–95. 40 Cf. Auld, Kings without Privilege. 39

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are few, if any implications in all this for the origins of either Israel or Judah. We can discover that Benjamin and Judah each had its own diﬀerent memories/traditions of the past, later combined by Judaeans into the present story of a Saulide kingdom taken over by David, uniting Judah and Israel. How much of these are history? The books of Kings (Chronicles is rather diﬀerent) maintain that the distinction between ‘Israel’ and ‘Judah’ remained always fundamental, and that the relationship between the two was mostly inimical. It seems to me, therefore, that the burden of proof lies on those who claim that there was some early sense of unity between the two nations. The origin of that larger 12 (or 13) tribe ‘nation’ of Israel is, then, probably a late invention, stemming from the time after Judaeans absorbed elements of Israelite historical and religious identity. Only then was the ‘biblical Israel’ created, as something idealised but already passed, preserved only in the tribes of Judah, Benjamin and Levi.41 The role of Benjamin in creating the idea of the ‘nation’ of Israel is the most signiﬁcant historical implication of this reconstruction. Previous attempts to attribute ‘northern’ inﬂuences on Judah to the time of Hezekiah and/or Josiah are now not only hypothetical (as they always were) but also unnecessary. In the case of Hezekiah, the enlargement of Jerusalem has been attributed to the inﬂux of refuges from the north, leading subsequently to the adoption of Israelite traditions in Judah. This supposes that there were refugees (from a land that was not on the whole devastated), while ignoring the possibility that the size of Jerusalem was swollen by refugees from Judah itself, which was devastated. In the case of Josiah, the well-established scholarly (not biblical!) theory of a Josianic religious and political initiative has become almost a fact. But it is also an unlikely hypothesis. Na’aman has demonstrated that control of Palestine was transferred in an orderly manner from Assyria to Egypt before Josiah took the throne.42 At his death, whether in war (as the Chronicles

41

The origins of Levi are also a fascinating problem, but rather than see this as an originally Israelite tribe, or one dispersed among both Israel and Judah, it may rather be the case that it is a priestly caste invented in the Second Temple period. 42 N. Na’aman, ‘The Kingdom of Judah under Josiah’, TA 18 (1991), pp. 3–71 = repr.: The Kingdom of Judah Under Josiah (Tel Aviv Reprint Series, 9; Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, 1992). See also P. R. Davies, ‘Josiah and the Law Book’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (LHBOTS, 393; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 5; London: T & T Clark International, 2005), pp. 65–77.

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account interprets it; 2 Chron 35.20–24) or by execution, as Na’aman proposes, any territorial gains would presumably have been nulliﬁed. Neither scenario, even if historical, would provide an explanation of why Judaeans should come to think of, and name themselves as ‘Israel’. For that we return to Benjamin, and especially to Bethel.43 Bethel was, according to the books of Kings, one of the two royal sanctuaries of Israel. Indeed, according to the Pentateuch, it was the shrine associated most closely with Jacob, who is named as the ancestor of Israel. According to Josh 18.22, Bethel is allotted to the tribe of Benjamin, but according to Judg 1.22 is taken over by the ‘house of Joseph’, designating the tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh (in this case, Ephraim). But in Ezra (implicitly: 2.28) and Nehemiah (11.31), Bethel is part of the Persian province of Judah. If we were to accept the statement of 2 Chron 13.19 (and without a parallel in Kings we should not), the Judaean king Abijah, the successor of Rehoboam, captured it from Israel, and there is no explicit account of its recapture. Hence the Chronicler’s implication is that Bethel was part of Judah for most of the history of Judah—and unlike the copious references to it in Kings, Bethel is otherwise unmentioned in Chronicles apart from 1 Chron 7.28 where it is listed as within Ephraimite territory. According to 2 Kings 23, the Judaean king Josiah sacked Bethel, however, and the report, whether historically reliable or not, seems to imply that Bethel was within Judah; he carries the ashes of the burnt non-Yahwistic cultic vessels to Bethel without any mention of an invasion. The evidence points to the conclusion that Bethel was either in Benjamin or belonged within that Benjaminite territory which at some point was transferred from Israel to Judah. At all events, Blenkinsopp has argued that during the Neo-Babylonian period, when Benjaminite territory lay at the centre of Judaean political and religious life, Bethel became the major sanctuary of the province.44 The cult of Bethel, whose foundation legend apparently celebrated a theophany to Jacob, and which had been a royal Israelite sanctuary, regulated much of the religious life of Judah for well over a century.

43 A fuller review of the proposal here can be found in P. R. Davies, ‘The Origin of Biblical Israel’, in Y. Amit, I. Finkelstein, E. Ben Zvi and O. Lipschits (eds.), Festschrift Nadav Na’aman (forthcoming). 44 Blenkinsopp, ‘Bethel in the Neo-Babylonian Period’.

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The rivalry between Mizpah and Jerusalem is illustrated in the account of the assassination of Gedaliah by a Davidide (2 Kgs 25.25; more fully in Jeremiah 40–41). But the rivalry between Bethel and Jerusalem is much more fully attested throughout the biblical corpus. Blenkinsopp gives several examples (the ‘golden calf ’ topos, the Josian desecration and its associated text in 1 Kings 13, the transfer of the ark from Kiriath-jearim), but he excludes the rivalry between Saul and David. This is curious, since Edelman45 has made a very good and detailed case for precisely this. The restoration of Jerusalem to political and religious hegemony, and its subsequent claims to exclusivity, account perhaps for a great deal of the historiographical writing in the Hebrew Bible, but no less important is the Benjaminite substratum that this literature seeks to amend. Guillaume takes account of this factor in his analysis of the growth of the book of Judges, though he does not exploit it as fully as he might.46 But the ﬁnal victory of Jerusalem was not secured without compromise. Whether or not Blenkinsopp is correct that the ‘sons of Aaron’ represent the priesthood of Bethel transferred to Jerusalem,47 it seems that the name ‘Israel’ and the appellation ‘Jacob’, ‘house of Jacob’ and ‘children of Jacob’ were transferred to Judah, which from now on would rationalise that process by creating the 12/13–tribe ‘Israel’ which the biblical corpus now oﬀers as the historical origin and which until recently biblical scholars have mistakenly accepted as their own starting point. But when Saul of Tarsus proudly claimed that he was an ‘Israelite’ he almost certainly knew the diﬀerence. Benjaminites saw in themselves the ‘real’ Israel, even if they consented to be called ‘Jews’ after the people who had taken over their name.

45 D. Edelman, ‘Did Saulide-Davidic Rivalry Resurface in Early Persian Period Yehud?’, in J. A. Dearman and M. P. Graham (eds.), The Land That I Will Show You: Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honour of J. Maxwell Miller ( JSOTSup, 343; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press), pp. 69–91. 46 Cf. Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah. 47 J. Blenkinsopp, ‘The Judean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction’, CBQ 60 (1998), pp. 25–43.

GIBEON AND THE GIBEONITES IN THE OLD TESTAMENT John Day Graeme Auld has made a noteworthy contribution to the study of the so-called historical books of the Old Testament. It is therefore hoped that this study of Gibeon and the Gibeonites, relating as it does to books such as Joshua, Samuel, Kings and Chronicles on which he has contributed so much, will provide a ﬁtting tribute in his honour. 1. The Location of Gibeon The site of ancient Gibeon, presumably meaning ‘little hill’, is now universally located at the Arab village of el-Jib, about 9 km north by northwest of Jerusalem. We must assume that over the centuries the ending of the name ('ôn) disappeared and the Arabic deﬁnite article ("el ) got attached to the beginning. This had already occurred by the late twelfth century, as the name el-Jib is attested in Behâ ed-Dîn’s Life of Saladin.1 Although the identiﬁcation of Gibeon with el-Jib had ﬁrst been proposed in 1666 by F. F. von Troilo and in 1738 by R. Pococke,2 positive reasons for the equation were ﬁrst given in 1838 by Edward Robinson,3 following which this view became widely accepted, though some4 queried it. However, it was not ﬁnally conﬁrmed until the discovery of numerous jar handles, on which the name Gibeon (gb'n) was either wholly or partly preserved, during

1 Behâ ed-Dîn, The Life of Saladin (Library of Palestine Pilgrims’ Texts Society, 13; London: Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund, 1897), p. 360. 2 Subsequently published in F. F. von Troilo, Orientalische Reise-Beschreibung (Dresden: M. Bergens, 1677), p. 290; R. Pococke, A Description of the East, and Some Other Countries (2 vols; London: W. Bowyer, 1745), vol. 2, pt. 1, p. 49. 3 E. Robinson, Biblical Researches in Palestine and the Adjacent Regions: A Journal of Travels in the Years 1838 and 1852 (3 vols; London: John Murray, 3rd edn, 1867), 1:455–57. 4 E.g., A. Alt, ‘Das Institut im Jahre 1925’, PJ 22 (1926), pp. 5–80 (11–22); idem, ‘Neue Erwägungen über die Lage von Mizpa, Ataroth, Beeroth und Gibeon’, ZDPV 69 (1953), pp. 1–27 (18–27).

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J. B. Pritchard’s excavations at el-Jib in 1956, 1957 and 1959.5 These jar handles frequently have the words gb'n gdr followed by a personal name, most naturally to be rendered ‘Gibeon, walled enclosure of x’, indicating the vineyard from which the wine originated. This coheres with the fact that excavations revealed wine cellars at Gibeon6 dating from the same (late monarchical) period. Pritchard7 left open the question whether gdr means ‘walled enclosure’ or is a place name Gedor near Gibeon (he compared 1 Chron 8.31; 9.37). However, it is unlikely that Gedor is a place name in the Chronicles passages, as all the adjacent names appear to be simply personal names and no such place name in Benjamin is otherwise attested.8 On the other hand, gàdèr is well attested as meaning a wall or fence round a vineyard, and since the related g edèrâ can be used of the area enclosed and not merely the wall or fence enclosing it (sheepfolds in Num 32.16, 36, etc.), presumably gdr here refers to the area enclosed as a vineyard. 2. The Ethnic Background of the Gibeonites The Gibeonites are described as belonging to one of the pre-Israelite peoples inhabiting Canaan called the Hivites ( Josh 9.7; 11.19); the 5 See J. B. Pritchard, Hebrew Inscriptions and Stamps from Gibeon (Museum Monographs; Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, 1959), pp. 1–7, with discussion on pp. 7–17; idem, ‘More Inscribed Jar Handles from El-Jîb’, BASOR 160 (1960), pp. 2–6. There are 31 such jar handles according to Pritchard, ‘Gibeon’, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (4 vols; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Carta; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993), 2:511–14 (511). However, in their apparently complete listings both G. I. Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions: Corpus and Concordance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 92–101 and F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, J. J. M. Roberts, C. L. Seow and R. E. Whitaker, Hebrew Inscriptions: Texts from the Biblical Period of the Monarchy with Concordance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), pp. 167–80 cite only 30. 6 J. B. Pritchard, Gibeon: Where the Sun Stood Still (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1962), pp. 79–99; idem, Winery, Defenses, and Soundings at Gibeon (Museum Monographs; Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, 1964), pp. 1–27. 7 Pritchard, Hebrew Inscriptions, pp. 9–10; idem, Gibeon, pp. 48–49. 8 A. Demsky, ‘The Genealogy of Gibeon (1 Chronicles 9:35-44): Biblical and Epigraphic Considerations’, BASOR 202 (1971), pp. 16–23 (22) holds that Gedor is a Gibeonite clan name, but there is no real evidence for this. It is widely accepted that min-hagg edôr in 1 Chron 12.8 (evv 12.7), sometimes translated ‘from Gedor’, is a dittograph from the similar words at the beginning of the following verse, no other place names in the list being introduced by min; cf. BHS; H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982), p. 106.

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name is strictly Hivvites, but English Bible translations regularly render it with one ‘v’. Other Hivites included the pre-Israelite inhabitants of Shechem (Gen 34.2), on Mt Lebanon ( Judg 3.3), at the foot of Mt Hermon ( Josh 11.3), and in various cities between Sidon and Beer-sheba (2 Sam 24.7). It is diﬃcult to be sure about the background of the Hivites, but the majority of recent proposals envisage them as non-Semitic. However, the claim of D. W. Baker9 that the inclusion of the Hivites among the descendants of Ham (through Canaan) in Gen 10.15 proves they were non-Semitic is invalid, since Semitic groups are included among Ham’s descendants (e.g., Canaan, Sidon, Amorites, in Gen 10.15). Nevertheless, the fact that the Hivites of Shechem are described as being originally uncircumcised in Genesis 34 could be a pointer to their non-Semitic origin. Three main nonSemitic views of the Hivites have been proposed. The ﬁrst sees them as Hurrians.10 Speiser, who initiated this view, was struck by the fact that the LXX reads ‘Horite(s)’ instead of ‘Hivite(s)’ in Gen 34.2 and Josh 9.7.11 However, as de Vaux12 argued, these readings are surely the product of textual corruption, since the similarity of the Hebrew letters resh and waw could easily lead to their confusion; similarly, Zibeon the Horite (Gen 36.20; cf. 36.29) is erroneously called Zibeon the Hivite in Gen 36.2. Nevertheless, we know that the Hurrians were present in parts of Palestine (though not, so far as we know, in Edom, where the Old Testament locates the Horites), as testiﬁed by the Egyptian designation of Syria-Palestine as ›uru and various 9

D. W. Baker, ‘Hivites’, ABD 3:234. For variants on this view see E. A. Speiser, ‘Ethnic Movements in the Near East in the Second Millennium B.C.: The Hurrians and their Connections with the Habiru and the Hyksos’, AASOR 13 (1933), pp. 13–54 (26–31); idem, Genesis: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB, 1; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), pp. 283–84; W. F. Albright, ‘The Horites in Palestine’, in L. G. Leary (ed.), From the Pyramids to Paul: Studies in Theology, Archaeology and Related Subjects Prepared in Honor of the Seventieth Birthday of George Livingstone Robinson (New York: Thomas Nelson, 1935), pp. 9–26; R. North, ‘The Hivites’, Bib 54 (1973), pp. 43–62; Baker, ‘Hivites’, p. 234. J. Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel: The Role of Gibeon and the Gibeonites in the Political and Religious History of Early Israel (SOTSMS, 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), pp. 14–27 preferred merely to speak of the Hivites having aﬃnities with the Hurrians. 11 E. Meyer, Die Israeliten und ihre Nachbarstämme (Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1906), p. 31 had earlier supported the originality of the LXX reading ‘Horite(s)’ in Gen 34.2 and Josh 9.7 without speciﬁcally mentioning the Hurrians, though he does compare the Egyptian name for Palestine Charu, i.e., ›uru (p. 330). 12 R. de Vaux, Histoire ancienne d’Israël (2 vols; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1971), 1:134 = trans.: The Early History of Israel (2 vols; trans. D. Smith; London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1978), 1:137. 10

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Hurrian names in inscriptions: indeed, the names of two persons in a cuneiform text from Shechem (associated with the Hivites in Gen 34.2) appear to be Hurrian, even though most are Semitic (like those of Shechemites in the Old Testament). A second proposal, originally put forward by G. E. Mendenhall and subsequently developed by M. Görg and A. Lemaire,13 holds that the Hivites came from Cilicia in south-east Asia Minor and that their name derives from an alternative spelling for Que (1 Kgs 10.28), which denotes this area. While the diﬀering initial consonants might appear to count against this view, its advocates point out that other languages represent the name in diverse ways, e.g., Quwe in Neo-Assyrian and ›ume (pronounced ›uwe) in Neo-Babylonian. A third suggestion, supported by A. H. Sayce (following A. E. Cowley) and O. Margalith,14 maintains that the name Hivite reﬂects that of the Achaeans. Conceivably, one could combine the second and third views, since the Luwian name for Cilicia attested in the Çineköy inscription, Hiyyawa, quite possibly means Achaea (cf. Hittite Ahhiyawa), thus correlating with Herodotus 7.91, which states that the Cilicians were originally called Hypachaeans. However, a minority continues to see the Hivites as Semitic, which is not impossible (cf. the reference to the Gibeonites as Amorites in 2 Sam 21.2 and the implication of Gen 48.22 that the Shechemites were also Amorites, though these may be using language loosely), but the view of Hostetter15 that their name means ‘tent-dwellers’ (from ˙awwâ ‘tent-camp’) is speculative and does not cohere with references to Hivite cities (e.g., 2 Sam 24.7). All in all, the scanty nature of our evidence unfortunately makes it impossible to be certain about the precise ethnic background of the Hivites.

13 G. E. Mendenhall, The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Bible and the Biblical Tradition (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), pp. 154–63; M. Görg, ‘Óiwwiter im 13. Jahrhundert v. Chr.’, UF 8 (1976), pp. 53–55; A. Lemaire, ‘“Maison de David”, “maison de Mopsos”, et les Hivvites’, in C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz and S. M. Paul (eds.), Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), pp. 303–12 (310–12). 14 A. H. Sayce, ‘The Tenth Chapter of Genesis’, JBL 44 (1925), pp. 193–202 (199); O. Margalith, ‘The Hivites’, ZAW 100 (1988), pp. 60–70. 15 E. C. Hostetter, Nations Mightier and More Numerous: The Biblical View of Palestine’s Pre-Israelite Peoples (BIBAL Dissertation Series, 3; Birmingham, AL: Bibal Press, 1995), p. 76.

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3. Joshua 9 and the Gibeonite Treaty The Gibeonites ﬁrst make their appearance in Joshua 9, which recounts their ruse and subsequent treaty with the Israelites. The ﬁrst part of the chapter describes how the Gibeonites pretend to come from a far country, bearing mouldy food and worn-out clothes, and succeed in persuading the Israelites to make a treaty with them (vv. 1–15). In the second half of the chapter, the deception having been discovered, the Israelites agree to keep to their treaty and spare the lives of the Gibeonites, but they are destined to become hewers of wood and drawers of water for the sanctuary (vv. 16–27). It is widely recognised that various inconsistencies in the story indicate that more than one hand has been at work on it. For example, the people negotiating with the Gibeonites are variously described as ‘the men [lit. ‘man’] of Israel’ (vv. 6b, 7a), ‘the men’ (v. 14), ‘the chiefs (of the congregation)’ (vv. 15b, 18–21 + LXX of v. 14), and ‘Joshua’ (vv. 6a, 8, 24–27). Again, at the beginning of the story it is said to concern simply the people of Gibeon ( Josh 9.3), but later on reference is made not only to Gibeon, but also to the other Hivite cities of Chephirah, Beeroth and Kiriath-jearim ( Josh 9.17, the only reference to this Gibeonite tetrapolis). However, it is not possible to isolate complete separate sources;16 what we have is rather a story that has been redactionally developed over the course of time. Evidence of Deuteronomistic redaction is particularly clear (see below), and the passages (vv. 15b, 18–21) alluding to the ‘chiefs’ (ne≤î "îm) and ‘congregation’ ('èdâ) are usually attributed to P. The story as narrated clearly cannot represent accurate history, as it contains too many improbabilities: for example, if the Gibeonites had really come from afar oﬀ as they claimed, why should they need to make an alliance with the Israelites, and would the Israelites have been so easily deceived?17 At the same time there is every reason to

16 Contra K. Möhlenbrink, ‘Die Landnahmesagen des Buches Josua’, ZAW 56 (1938), pp. 238–68 (241–45); G. Schmitt, Du sollst keinen Frieden schliessen mit den Bewohnern des Landes (BWANT, 91; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1970), pp. 30–37. 17 It has also been questioned whether Gibeon was a signiﬁcant town in the Late Bronze Age (cf. Josh 10.2, ‘a great city, like one of the royal cities’), unlike in the Early Iron Age, when archaeology reveals it was fortiﬁed. On the one hand, no archaeological strata at el-Jib date from this time and Gibeon is unmentioned in extra-biblical texts from this period, e.g., the annals of Thutmose III or the elAmarna letters (contrast its later mention in Shoshenq I’s list of Palestinian cities

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believe that there was a treaty between the Gibeonites and Israel going back to quite early times, since this is presupposed by the narrative in 2 Samuel 21. The purpose of the story is thus partly to explain why there was a treaty with the Gibeonites, when according to Deuteronomic theology all the Canaanites should have been exterminated and no treaties made with them (Deut 7.1–5; 20.10–18). The story in Joshua 9 deals with this by pointing out that the treaty was made on the assumption that the Gibeonites had come from far away, which the Israelites had been deceived into believing. According to Deut 20.10–18 it was all right for the Israelites to make treaties with distant peoples, in contrast to the Canaanites. That Joshua 9 is speciﬁcally engaging with the ideas expressed in Deut 20.10–18 is supported inter alia by the fact that in terms of contents and order the list of pre-Israelite inhabitants of Canaan in Josh 9.1 corresponds exactly with that of Deut 20.17 and with no other in the whole of the Old Testament except Josh 12.8. In a way the sparing of the Gibeonites parallels the sparing of Rahab the Canaanite prostitute in Joshua 2, and both of them are represented as uttering similar Deuteronomistic confessions of Yahweh’s mighty works and their resulting fear ( Josh 2.10–11; 9.9–10, 24). At the same time the purpose of Joshua 9 is also to explain why some of the Gibeonites were employed in menial cultic service. The reference to the sanctuary as ‘the place that he [Yahweh] should choose’ (v. 27) again clearly reﬂects Deuteronomic terminology (e.g., Deut 12.5), and since the menial cultic service continues ‘to this day’, this must imply the Jerusalem Temple as its current setting, since the Deuteronomists recognised no other in their own time.18 The Gibeonites’ condemnation to menial cultic service most naturally arose in the time of Solomon, when the Jerusalem Temple was built and the Canaanites

at the temple of Karnak). On the other hand, Late Bronze Age tombs have been unearthed at el-Jib ( J. B. Pritchard, ‘A Bronze Age Necropolis at Gibeon’, BA 24 [1961], pp. 19–24; idem, The Bronze Age Cemetery at Gibeon [Museum Monographs; Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, 1963]), implying that there was some habitation then, and it is possible that Late Bronze Age remains might exist in the large unexcavated parts of the site. 18 While some have recognised the Jerusalem allusion, others have supposed the shrine in question to be at Gibeon or Gilgal. However, the Deuteronomists would never have spoken of Gibeon as the place which Yahweh had chosen (note the Deuteronomistic embarrassment at Solomon’s worshipping at the Gibeonite high place reﬂected in 1 Kgs 3.2–3), and the Gilgal sanctuary is never spoken of in such terms either.

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(including the Hivites to which the Gibeonites belonged) were subjected to slave labour (1 Kgs 9.20–21).19 Another parallel with Deuteronomic literature is found in the reference to the Gibeonites as ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ ( Josh 9.21, 23, 27), a phrase found elsewhere only in Deut 29.10 (evv 29.11). Some claim this is not merely evidence of common Deuteronomistic origin but of the dependence of one on the other, since there are also other parallels between these chapters, e.g., the references to worn-out sandals and clothes which the Gibeonites had in Josh 9.13 and the Israelites in the wilderness did not have in Deut 29.4 (evv 29.5). For those taking this view there has been debate whether Deuteronomy 29 is dependent on Joshua 9 or vice versa. C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger20 aﬃrms the priority of Deuteronomy 29, claiming the Gibeonites of Joshua 9 are depicted as the Gegentypus of the Israelites. However, it is more often thought that Joshua 9 is prior and A. D. H. Mayes,21 one of those who favours this view, has argued that the description of the ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ in Deut 29.10 (evv 29.11) as gèrîm, ‘sojourners’, reﬂects the way the Deuteronomists envisage the position of the Gibeonites, who, he claims, are now seen as serving Israel as a whole rather than the sanctuary. He sees this as an anticipation of P, who, it is claimed, in Josh 9.18–21 uncouples the Gibeonites from the cult, making them rather servants of the community ('èdâ). R. P. Gordon,22 however, has recently urged caution, claiming that we have here little more than casual word-associations between Joshua 9 and Deuteronomy 29 that count for little. That the Deuteronomist in Joshua 9 speciﬁcally associates the Gibeonites with the sanctuary would further incline 19 Cf. J. Halbe, ‘Gibeon und Israel: Art, Veranlassung und Ort der Deutung ihres Verhältnisses in Jos. ix’, VT 25 (1975), pp. 613–41 (633–34); R. D. Nelson, Joshua: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1997), pp. 127–28. 20 C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, ‘Das gibeonitisches Bündnis im Lichte deuteronomischer Kriegsgebote: Zum Verhältnis von Tradition und Interpretation in Jos 9’, BN 34 (1986), pp. 58–81 (65). 21 A. D. H. Mayes, ‘Deuteronomy 29, Joshua 9, and the Place of the Gibeonites in Israel’, in N. Lohﬁnk (ed.), Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft (BETL, 68; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 1985), pp. 321–25. Also favouring the priority of Joshua 9 is P. J. Kearney, ‘The Role of the Gibeonites in the Deuteronomic History’, CBQ 35 (1973), pp. 1–19 (1–8). 22 R. P. Gordon, ‘Gibeonite Ruse and Israelite Curse in Joshua 9’, in A. D. H. Mayes and R. B. Salters (eds.), Covenant as Context: Essays in Honour of E. W. Nicholson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 163–90 (169).

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me to doubt whether Deut 29.10 (evv 29.11) is really seeking to dissociate them from the cult. 4. The ‘Standing Still’ of the Sun at Gibeon in Joshua 10 Following the treaty between the Israelites and the Gibeonites we read in Joshua 10 that a coalition of Canaanite city states came to attack the Gibeonites, but Joshua overcame it with the help of Yahweh’s intervention. This is the setting of the famous account of the standing still of the sun and moon ( Josh 10.12–13). This unusual incident has received many diﬀerent interpretations. The ﬁrst view understands the text to be referring to a literal standing still of the sun and moon in the heavens. Whereas those who took this view in earlier ages often believed that such an event actually happened, this is, of course, no longer scientiﬁcally credible and those who follow this understanding today (except for fundamentalists) take it to be legend, comparable to the similar miracle in Homer’s Iliad, 2.413–15.23 There is no doubt that such a literal understanding is what is implied in the prose comment on the poetry in Josh 10.13b. However, it should be equally clear that this is not what was originally intended by the poetry in Josh 10.12b–13a, since the position of the sun over Gibeon and the moon over the valley of Aijalon (east and west respectively) implies that the time is morning, when Joshua would hardly be requesting a prolongation of light. A second view holds that there is a prolongation of the light by means of a meteorite.24 However, Phythian-Adams equates the meteorite with one referred to in the annals of the Hittite king Mursilis II (c. 1339–1306 bce), which seems somewhat early for Joshua, and comparable examples of such phenomena indicate that the eﬀects of a meteorite in Asia Minor would be unlikely to be observable in Palestine. A third view

23 T. H. Gaster, Myth, Legend and Custom in the Old Testament (London: Gerald Duckworth, 1969), pp. 414–15; J. A. Soggin, Le Livre de Josué (CAT, 5a; Neuchâtel: Éditions Delachaux et Niestlé, 1970), pp. 92–93 = trans.: Joshua: A Commentary (trans. R. A. Wilson; OTL; London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1972), pp. 122–23; M. Weinfeld, ‘Divine Intervention and War in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East’, in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (eds.), History, Historiography, and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1983), pp. 121–47 (146–47). 24 P. F. Ceuppens, Le Miracle de Josué (Liége: Soledi, 1944); W. J. Phythian-Adams, ‘A Meteorite of the Fourteenth Century B.C.’, PEQ 78 (1946), pp. 116–24.

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claims that rather than a prolongation of light we have here a total eclipse of the sun on 30 September, 1131 bce.25 However, such a date for Joshua seems somewhat late, and the precise time of the eclipse, 12.40 p.m., makes it diﬃcult to comprehend why the moon should also be requested to be silent. A fourth view26 holds that the sun and the moon refer to the cult of the sun god at Gibeon and the moon god at Aijalon and that Joshua is commanding these deities not to intervene in the battle. However, we have no knowledge of such cults, it seems strange that Joshua should be represented as addressing them, and this view ignores the fact that Joshua was actually coming to the rescue of Gibeon. A ﬁfth view claims that the standing still of the sun and moon is to be understood in terms of Mesopotamian astrology,27 and that what we have is the opposition of sun and moon either as a good omen on the fourteenth day (Holladay) or a bad omen on the ﬁfteenth day (Walton). However, we have no information on what day of the month the incident occurred and no sure knowledge that the ancient Israelites would have been familiar with Mesopotamian omens. Finally, the sixth and most plausible view28 is that the sun and moon are thought of as being blotted out by a storm. Not only does this cohere with the allusion to hailstones in Josh 10.11 but also with the use of similar imagery implying the blotting out of these heavenly bodies in Hab 3.10–11 (likewise in a storm theophany in the context of holy war), where we read that ‘The sun raised high its hands; the moon stood still in its dwelling at the light of thine arrows as they sped, at the ﬂash of thy glittering spear’. It is noteworthy that the identical verb 25 J. F. A. Sawyer, ‘Joshua 10:12–14 and the Solar Eclipse of 30 September 1131 B.C.’, PEQ 104 (1972), pp. 139–46. 26 J. Dus, ‘Gibeon: Eine Kultstätte des “m“ und die Stadt der benjaminitischen Schicksals’, VT 10 (1960), pp. 353–74; J. Heller, ‘Die schweigende Sonne’, CV 9 (1966), pp. 73–78; Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, pp. 44–52. 27 J. S. Holladay, ‘The Day(s) the Moon stood still’, JBL 87 (1968), pp. 166–78; J. H. Walton, ‘Joshua 10:12–15 and Mesopotamian Celestial Omen Texts’, in A. R. Millard, J. K. Hoﬀmeier and D. W. Baker (eds.), Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in Near Eastern Context (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994), pp. 181–90. 28 A. S. Palmer, A Misunderstood Miracle: An Essay in Favour of a New Interpretation of ‘the Sun Standing Still’ in Joshua X.12–14 (London: Swan Sonnenschein, Lowrey & Co., 1887); J. Reid, ‘Did the Sun and Moon Stand Still?’, ExpTim 9 (1897–1898), pp. 151–54; H. H. Rowley, The Re-discovery of the Old Testament (London: James Clarke, 1946), pp. 68–69; B. Alfrink, ‘Het “still staan” van zon en maan in Jos. 10:12–15’, StC 24 (1949), pp. 238–68; J. de Fraine, ‘De miraculo solari Josue’, VD 28 (1950), pp. 227–36.

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‘stood still’ ('md ) is used of the moon here as in Josh 10.13, so we should expect the meaning to be similar. The imagery is thus comparable to what we ﬁnd in Day of the Lord passages. One of these, Isa 24.23 says of the fading of sun and moon, ‘The moon will be abashed (˙àperâ), and the sun ashamed (ûbô“â)’; it is therefore interesting that in Ps 31.18 (evv 31.17) the verb bw“ is found in parallelism with dmm, the verb used of the sun in Josh 10.12–13. 5. Gibeon in Isaiah 28.21 One of the rare allusions to Gibeon outside the historical books occurs in Isa 28.21, where the prophet declares, ‘For the Lord will rise up as on Mount Perazim, he will rage as in the valley of Gibeon; to do his deed—strange is his deed! And to work his work—alien is his work!’. Opinion is divided over whether the reference to Gibeon alludes to the events of Josh 10.10–15 or to 2 Sam 5.25, where the MT reads that David ‘smote the Philistines from Geba to Gezer’, but we should probably read Gibeon for Geba, as in the LXX (which often reﬂects the original Hebrew of Samuel) as well as in the parallel account in 1 Chron 14.16. The superﬁcial advantage of seeing a reference to the latter incident29 is that it is alluded to in the biblical text following the account of David’s victory at Baal-Perazim (2 Sam 5.20; 2 Chron 14.11), which is referred to as ‘Mount Perazim’ in Isa 28.21. However, on balance the view that it refers to the incident in Joshua 1030 is preferable, since it is more fully centred on 29 Followed, e.g., by H. Wildberger, Jesaia 29 –39 (BKAT, 10.3; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), p. 1079 = trans.: Isaiah 28–39: A Continental Commentary (trans. T. H. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), p. 44; J. D. W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33 (WBC, 24; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 371; M. A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL, 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), p. 371. 30 Followed, e.g., by O. Kaiser, Der Prophet Jesaja, Kapitel 13–39 (ATD, 18; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973), p. 203 = trans.: Isaiah 13–39 (trans. R. A. Wilson; OTL; London: SCM Press, 1974), p. 255; R. E. Clements, Isaiah 1–39 (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1980), p. 232; J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), pp. 394–95. A. G. Auld, Joshua, Judges, and Ruth (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984), p. 70 also rightly follows this view and notes that the verb used in Isa 28.21 of Yahweh’s action at Gibeon, rgz, can mean ‘quake’, and thinks that Isa 28.21 implies a variant tradition of Yahweh causing an earthquake at Gibeon. However, if this were the case we should rather expect the hiphil of rgz to be used. Moreover, since Isa 28.17 refers to the hail, evoking Josh 10.11, and since the related noun rògez is employed of the thunder in Job 37.2, I feel inclined to hold that rgz is alluding to a storm.

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Gibeon and also involves the hail, referred to in Isa 28.17 (cf. Josh 10.11), unlike the 2 Sam 5.25 incident. 6. Saul’s Capital: Gibeah or Gibeon? It has sometimes been suggested that Saul made Gibeon his capital.31 However, there is no real evidence for this view, and even one of its main proponents, Blenkinsopp,32 admits that the arguments are hypothetical. Thus, 1 Samuel repeatedly speaks of Saul as being resident at Gibeah throughout his reign (1 Sam 11.4; 15.34; 22.6; 26.1), but never mentions Gibeon in this regard; moreover, Isa 10.29 likewise speaks of ‘Gibeah of Saul’ as a town close to Jerusalem and further south than Geba, and hence quite distinct from Gibeon. If Gibeon really had been Saul’s capital we must suppose that there has been a deliberate cover-up by the Old Testament (so Edelman and Blenkinsopp). Among the arguments brought forward in favour of Gibeon being Saul’s capital are that it had a good water supply and the capacity for expansion, unlike Gibeah, that as a former Canaanite enclave it would make a good neutral capital since it was without particular attachment to either north or south, that 1 Kings 3 proves that it was an important site in the time of Solomon, and presumably therefore earlier, and that a move to make it Saul’s capital might explain his attack on the Gibeonites mentioned in 2 Samuel 21. However, all this is speculative and in the absence of solid evidence to the contrary it seems safer to hold that Gibeah remained Saul’s capital. It is true that in 1 Chron 8.29–33 and 9.35–39 Gibeon is listed as an ancestor of Saul, but even this is not the same as saying it was his capital. In any case, doubts exist about the reliability

31 K.-D. Schunck, Benjamin: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung und Geschichte eines israelitischen Stammes (BZAW, 86; Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1963), pp. 131–38; Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, pp. 63–64; idem, ‘Did Saul make Gibeon his Capital?’, VT 24 (1974), pp. 1–7; D. Edelman, ‘Did Saulide-Davidic Rivalry Resurface in Early Persian Yehud?’, in M. P. Graham and J. A. Dearman (eds.), The Land that I will Show You: Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honor of J. Maxwell Miller ( JSOTSup, 343; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 70–92; idem, ‘Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited’, in O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), pp. 153–67; also even earlier A. Bruno, Gibeon (Leipzig: A. Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung; Erlangen: Dr. Werner Scholl, 1923), pp. 48–87, but he wrongly equated Gibeon with Gibeah and Nob and located them at Nebi Samwil. 32 Blenkinsopp, ‘Did Saul make Gibeon his Capital?’, p. 4.

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of the Chronicler’s genealogy of Saul: for example, what is stated does not always agree with information found in 1 Samuel.33 Diana Edelman34 holds that Gibeon was Saul’s capital but puts forward no additional arguments in its support. Rather she presupposes it in arguing, quite originally, that in the late sixth century bce the pro-Davidides put down a resistance movement of proSaulides who were opposed to the appointment of a Davidic governor in Jerusalem and preferred a Saulide governor based in Gibeon, deliberately ﬁlling in the ‘pool’ at Gibeon in the process. However, this is simply adding speculation to speculation. As has already been noted, there is no solid evidence that Gibeon was Saul’s capital. Neither is there solid evidence that there were those in the sixth century bce still hankering after a return of Saulide rule. We should need to have much greater conﬁdence on both these points before feeling able to support her hypothesis regarding the reason for the ﬁlling in of the ‘pool’ at Gibeon. But if Gibeah, not Gibeon, was Saul’s capital, where was it? Most commonly it has been located at Tell el-Ful, just north of Jerusalem. J. M. Miller and P. M. Arnold,35 however, have argued that Gibeah is the same as Geba, further north at modern Jaba'. However, against this stand three points. First, Josh 18.24, 27 clearly distinguish Geba and Gibeah as separate places (in addition to Gibeon as a third place in v. 25). Secondly, Isa 10.29 likewise distinguishes Geba from Gibeah of Saul, the former being mentioned between Michmash (v. 28) and Ramah, suggesting that Geba is to be identiﬁed with Jaba', whereas Gibeah is implied as being further south, nearer Jerusalem. (Similarly, Hos 5.8 refers to ‘Gibeah . . . Ramah . . . Beth-aven [Bethel]’ in that order.) Thirdly, although Iron Age II pottery has been found at Jaba', no Iron Age I sherds have been discovered there,36 further

33 Cf. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 86. Further, the attempt of Demsky, ‘The Genealogy of Gibeon’, to defend the authenticity of the Chronicler’s genealogy by ﬁnding parallels between a couple of names there and on the Gibeonite jar handles is unconvincing: as noted above, gdr more likely means ‘vineyard enclosure’ rather than being a personal name Gedor; also Gibeonite nr " is not quite the same as Ner. 34 Edelman, ‘Did Saulide-Davidic Rivalry Resurface?’; idem, ‘Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited’. 35 J. M. Miller, ‘Geba/Gibeah of Benjamin’, VT 25 (1975), pp. 1–22; P. M. Arnold, Gibeah: The Search for a Biblical City ( JSOTSup, 79; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1990). 36 A. Negev and S. Gibson, ‘Jaba’, in A. Negev and S. Gibson (eds.), Archaeological Encyclopedia of the Holy Land (London: Continuum, rev. and updated edn, 2001), p. 251.

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supporting the evidence of Isa 10.29 that Jaba' is not to be equated with Saul’s capital of Gibeah. This latter is likely to be situated at Tell el-Ful, where not only Iron I remains but a fortress, probably to be equated with Saul’s, has been unearthed.37 7. The Gibeonites and the Sacriﬁce of Saul’s Descendants in 2 Samuel 21.1–14 It is widely accepted that this narrative is chronologically misplaced. It clearly belongs prior to 2 Samuel 9, the latter implying that Mephibosheth (Meribaal) is the only surviving member of Saul’s family. The words of Shimei in 2 Sam 16.7–8, which claim that God was avenging on David the blood of the house of Saul that he had shed, surely refer back to this incident, at least in part. In its current position 2 Sam 21.1–14 forms the ﬁrst part of an appendix to the David narrative in 2 Samuel 21–24, which contains a chiastic structure. At the outer edges of the chiasm stand 2 Sam 21.1–14 and 2 Samuel 24, which both refer to a natural disaster that came upon Israel, in the former instance a three-year famine and in the latter a three-day plague, and both conclude with similar words, ‘After that, God heeded supplications for the land’ (2 Sam 21.14) and ‘So the Lord answered his supplication for the land . . .’ (2 Sam 24.25). The inner elements of the chiastic structure contain lists of David’s heroes (2 Sam 21.15–22; 23.8–39) and at the centre of the chiasm are the poetic passages relating to God’s relationship with David (2 Samuel 22; 23.1–7). It would appear that the event which 2 Samuel 21 presupposes, namely Saul’s slaying of the Gibeonites, is not recounted in 1 Samuel (though 2 Sam 4.3’s reference to the ﬂight of the people of Beeroth, part of the Gibeonite tetrapolis, to Gittaim and the murder of Saul’s son Ish-bosheth [Ishbaal] by two Beerothites in 2 Sam 4.5–7 may be related to Saul’s hostility to the Gibeonites). It has, though, sometimes

37 W. F. Albright, Excavations and Results at Tell el-Ful (Gibeah of Saul) (AASOR, 4; New Haven: ASOR, 1924); idem, ‘A New Campaign of Excavation at Gibeah of Saul’, BASOR 53 (1933), pp. 6–12; N. L. Lapp, The Third campaign of Tell el-Ful: Excavations of 1964 (AASOR, 45; Cambridge, MA: ASOR, 1981); S. Shalom Brooks, ‘From Gibeon to Gibeah: High Place of the Kingdom’, in J. Day (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (LHBOTS, 422: London: T & T Clark International, 2005), pp. 40–59 (47–57).

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been supposed38 that the event is to be equated with Saul’s slaying of the 85 priests of Nob in 1 Sam 22.6–23, which he instigated because Ahimelech, the priest there, had welcomed David and inquired of God for him. However, Nob is nowhere mentioned in the Bible as a Gibeonite city, and it is more natural to equate it with the Nob mentioned in Isa 10.32, which is there implied to lie immediately to the north of Jerusalem, unlike Gibeon. A place called Nob is also mentioned in Neh 11.32 as a Benjaminite city after Anathoth and before Ananiah (Bethany), which are both very near Jerusalem, so this must again be the same site and therefore too far south to correspond with Gibeon. Moreover, the reason given for Saul’s slaying of the Gibeonites in 2 Sam 21.2 (‘zeal for the people of Israel and Judah’) is quite diﬀerent from that given for Saul’s killing the priests of Nob in 1 Samuel 22, i.e., their favouritism towards David. The narrative refers back to the treaty between the Israelites and the Gibeonites recounted in Joshua 9 and implies that the famine was a consequence of Saul’s breaking the treaty by killing the Gibeonites (2 Sam 21.2), which required the sacriﬁce of seven of Saul’s descendants by way of expiation. Malamat39 has produced an illuminating Hittite parallel in the second plague prayer of Mursilis II, which blames a plague aﬀecting the Hittites on the breach of a treaty between the Egyptians and the Hittites that took place under the previous Hittite ruler Suppiluliumas.40 The year 1955 was an annus mirabilis in the study of 2 Samuel 21, since it saw not only the publication of Malamat’s article but also of two other studies by Kapelrud (who also wrote on this again in 1959) and Cazelles.41 Both suggested that the death of Saul’s

38 H. A. Poels, Examen critique de l’histoire du sanctuaire de l’arche (Louvain: J. Van Linthout, 1897), pp. 287–90; T. K. Cheyne, ‘Nob’, in T. K. Cheyne and J. S. Sutherland (eds.), Encyclopaedia Biblica (4 vols; London: Adam and Charles Black, 1902), vol. 3, cols. 3429–30 (3430); Bruno, Gibeon, pp. 69–87; H. W. Hertzberg, Die Samuelbücher (ATD, 10; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2nd edn, 1960), p. 315 = trans.: I & II Samuel: A Commentary (trans. J. S. Bowden; OTL; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 382–83; Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, p. 67 (possibly). 39 A. Malamat, ‘Doctrines of Causality in Biblical and Hittite Historiography: A Parallel’, VT 5 (1955), pp. 1–12. 40 J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 3rd edn, 1969), pp. 394–96; W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger (eds.), The Context of Scripture (3 vols; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 3:157–59. 41 A. S. Kapelrud, ‘King and Fertility: A Discussion of II Sam 21:1–14’, NTT 56 (1955), pp. 113–22 (= Interpretationes ad Vetus Testamentum pertinentes Sigmundo Mowinckel septuagenario missae [Oslo: Land og Kirke, 1955]); idem, ‘King David and the Sons

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descendants in 2 Samuel 21 constituted not merely an expiation of blood guilt but also reﬂected a fertility cult ritual of human sacriﬁce in order to assure the return of the rain. In support both noted that the deaths took place at the time of barley harvest (about mid-April) and that Rizpah’s mourning for her sons occurred from then till the time when the rains returned (about October; 2 Sam 21.10). This is possibly the case (though it is questioned by McCarter),42 and the execution of Saul’s descendants certainly appears to be presented as a sacriﬁce, since it is said to take place ‘on the mountain before the Lord’ (2 Sam 21.9), i.e., presumably at the Gibeonite high place (cf. v. 6 and discussion below). However, it is over-speculative for Cazelles to claim that this human sacriﬁce reﬂects the cutting up of Mot in the Ugaritic Baal myth; he even claims that the verb employed (hiphil of yq' ) means ‘dismember’ (cf. nab). Unfortunately, its precise meaning is unclear: other suggestions include ‘expose’ (LXX; cf. niv), ‘impale’ (Aquila; cf. jb, njps, nrsv), ‘hang’ (Symmachus, rabbinic commentators; cf. av, rv, rsv), ‘crucify’ (Vulgate, Targum) and ‘sacriﬁce’ (Peshitta). The rendering of William Robertson Smith,43 ‘hurl down’ (cf. neb, reb), on the basis of an alleged Arabic cognate, is less likely in view of Num 25.4, where the action of the same verb takes place ‘before the sun’. Whatever exactly the verb means, it clearly denoted a very humiliating punishment, as the bodies were exposed for six months, rather than being immediately buried (2 Sam 21.10). Whatever the precise background to the story, the author strives to convey the impression that David himself was not personally responsible for the death of Saul’s descendants, but attributes it to a divine oracle requiring the expiation of blood guilt resting on Saul’s house with regard to the Gibeonites. However, it was clearly highly convenient for David, since the continued existence of Saul’s descendants would have constituted a potential danger to his throne, and modern historians understandably ﬁnd David more culpable than the narrator implies, as apparently did some of David’s contemporaries (cf. 2 Sam 16.7–8). It is also noteworthy that the Chronicler does not see ﬁt to repeat this story. of Saul’, in La regalità sacra. Contributi al tema dell’VIII Congresso Internazionale di Storia delle Religioni (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1959), pp. 294–301; H. Cazelles, ‘David’s Monarchy and the Gibeonite Claim’, PEQ 87 (1955), pp. 165–75. 42 P. K. McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB, 9; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), p. 444. 43 W. R. Smith, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites: First Series, The Fundamental Institutions (London: Adam and Charles Black, 2nd edn, 1894), p. 419, n. 2.

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According to Chronicles the tabernacle had been at Gibeon prior to being taken up to the Jerusalem Temple. Most modern scholars since Wellhausen44 have rightly rejected this notion, seeing it as an attempt by the Chronicler to justify Solomon’s worshipping at the high place of Gibeon (2 Chron 1.3; cf. 1 Chron 16.39; 21.29; contrast 1 Kgs 3.4). 1 Kings 8.4 (cf. v. 1) most naturally implies that the tent of meeting came to the Temple along with the ark from the city of David in Jerusalem, in which case it will not have been at Gibeon. As for the ark, the Old Testament nowhere declares it to have been at Gibeon, but there have been a few scholars who have speculated that it did spend some time there during the reign of Saul and at the beginning of David’s rule, e.g., J. Blenkinsopp and S. Shalom Brooks,45 and this idea is presumably implicit in D. Edelman’s claim that Gibeon ‘was the main sanctuary site under Saul’.46 Shalom Brooks’s argument particularly depends on the Chronicler’s references to the tabernacle being at Gibeon mentioned above, combined with the view that the ark and tabernacle naturally belong together, as in P. However, we have already seen that the Chronicler’s placing of the tabernacle at Gibeon is tendentious, in order to provide legitimacy for Solomon’s sacriﬁcing at the high place there. Moreover, it is clear from 1 Kings 8 that the ark and tabernacle had indeed previously been together, but at Jerusalem. The most extended argument for the ark’s having been at Gibeon comes from Blenkinsopp, but even he admits that it is simply a hypothesis. Among his arguments are that 2 Sam 21.6 speaks of Gibeon as ‘the mountain of the Lord’ in the time of David (for this translation, see below) and 1 Kgs 3.4 indicates it was the major high place early in the reign of Solomon. However, these verses in no way prove that Gibeon had previously been the seat of the ark, though they do indicate it was an impor-

44 J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1883), pp. 41–43 = trans.: Prolegomena to the History of Israel (trans. J. S. Black and A. Menzies; Edinburgh: Adam and Charles Black, 1885), pp. 40–41, following W. M. L. de Wette, Beiträge zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament (2 vols; Halle: Schimmelpfennig, 1806), 1:108–12. 45 E.g., Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, pp. 65–83; Shalom Brooks, ‘From Gibeon to Gibeah’, pp. 45–46. 46 Edelman, ‘Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited’, p. 164; cf. idem, ‘Did SaulideDavidic Rivalry Resurface?’, p. 80.

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tant sanctuary, at least under David and Solomon. Again, Blenkinsopp feels that bringing up the ark to Gibeon would have reinforced Saul’s centralisation of power in Gibeon from a religious point of view; however, as noted above, there is no real evidence that Saul did make Gibeon his capital. Yet again, Blenkinsopp feels that 1 Sam 7.2’s placing the ark at Kiriath-jearim (as opposed to Gibeon) is part of a late and unreliable text in 1 Sam 7.2–17. However, the preceding ark narrative, whose historicity Blenkinsopp does not deny, already states that the men of Kiriath-jearim took up the ark for themselves (1 Sam 6.20–7.1), so it is most natural to assume that they took it to Kiriath-jearim (cf. Ps 132.6, ‘the ﬁelds of Jaar’). That the ark should have been taken to Kiriath-jearim rather than the more important site of Gibeon is explicable if the latter was not yet incorporated into Israel at that time, something which perhaps occurred under Saul (cf. 2 Sam 21.1–2). 9. The Location of the Great High Place of Gibeon The Old Testament makes it clear that there was an important sanctuary at Gibeon (1 Kgs 3.4; 1 Chron 16.39; 21.29; 2 Chron 1.3, 13).47 This is also the case in 2 Sam 21.6, where although the MT reads that seven of Saul’s descendants were to be executed ‘at Gibeah of Saul, the chosen of the Lord’ (begib'at “à"ûl be˙îr yhwh), it is widely and rightly agreed (cf. jb, nab, rsv, nrsv) that we should rather read that this took place ‘at Gibeon, on the mountain of the Lord’ (begib'ôn behar yhwh). (Contrast the neb, reb and niv, which retain the MT, and Haran,48 who accepts the emendation ‘on the mountain of ’, but retains ‘Gibeah’.) That we should prefer Gibeon to Gibeah not only seems more natural in the context, where Saul’s descendants are handed over to the Gibeonites, but also has the support of the LXX (and Aquila and Symmachus), which often preserves the original text of Samuel more accurately than the MT, as was already perceived 47

It has also been suggested, e.g., by L. H. Vincent, ‘Néby Samouil’, RB 31 (1922), pp. 360–402 (366) and Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, p. 7, that ‘the great stone which is in Gibeon’ (2 Sam 20.8), where Joab slew Amasa, refers to the altar of the sanctuary there. Though not impossible (cf. 1 Sam 14.33–35), if this is correct it is strange that 2 Sam 20.8 does not refer explicitly to an altar or sanctuary. 48 M. Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), p. 36.

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by Thenius and Wellhausen49 and as the Qumran scrolls have conﬁrmed,50 though unfortunately the relevant words of 2 Sam 21.6 are no longer preserved there. Further, the words ‘the chosen of the Lord’ (be˙îr yhwh) are implausible on the lips of the Gibeonites as applied to Saul, and we may further appeal to the parallel passage in 2 Sam 21.9, which states that the Gibeonites executed Saul’s descendants ‘on the mountain before the Lord’ (bàhàr lipnê yhwh), supporting the emendation of be˙îr yhwh to behar yhwh in v. 6. Further, as R. P. Gordon51 notes, ‘The alteration of Gibeon to “Gibeah of Saul”, to provide “chosen” with a referent, would naturally have followed the misreading of behar’. A considerable number of scholars have speculated that the sanctuary was not actually at Gibeon itself but 2 km south on the impressive height of Nebi Samwil.52 Nevertheless, in spite of its popularity, this view is seriously open to question.53 First, the Bible clearly states that the sanctuary was in Gibeon itself (1 Kgs 3.4, 5 gib'ônâ, begib'ôn; cf. 2 Sam 21.6 above), the site of which is known to have been at el-Jib, and from what we know of other sites in ancient Israel it is most unlikely that a place 2 km away would have been known by the same name. Secondly, with regard to Nebi Samwil, the excavations carried out between 1992 and 1999 revealed that the earliest settlement there was not until the eighth century bce, over two centuries after the time that the great high place of Gibeon is referred to as existing.54 (Incidentally, this fact, combined with the absence 49 O. Thenius, Die Bücher Samuels (Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament; Leipzig: Weidmann’sche Buchhandlung, 1842; Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 2nd edn, 1864); J. Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1871). 50 See now F. M. Cross, D. W. Parry, R. J. Saley and E. Ulrich, Qumran Cave 4: XII, 1–2 Samuel (DJD, 17; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005); cf. E. C. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM, 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978). 51 R. P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel: A Commentary (Exeter: Paternoster Press, 1986), p. 300. 52 E.g., M. J. Lagrange, ‘Lettre de Jérusalem’, RB 1 (1892), pp. 439–56 (455); Pritchard, Gibeon, p. 39 (tentatively); Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, p. 7; J. Briend, ‘Israël et les Gabaonites’, in E.-M. Laperrousaz (ed.), La Protohistoire d’Israël: De l’exode à la monarchie (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1990), pp. 121–82 (166). 53 Few have questioned it, e.g., J. Simons, The Geographical and Topographical Texts of the Old Testament (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1959), p. 32; J. A. Soggin, ‘Der oﬃziel geförderte Synkretismus in Israel während des 10. Jahrhunderts’, ZAW 78 (1966), pp. 179–204 (190, n. 25). 54 Y. Magen and M. Dadon, ‘Nebi Samwil (Shmuel Hanavi-Har Hasim˙a)’, Qad 118 (1999), pp. 62–77 (Hebrew).

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of sixth century bce sherds, also tells against Magen and Dadon’s own equation of Nebi Samwil with Mizpah, the latter being better equated with Tell en-Naßbeh, as both the name and dates of archaeological strata attest.) Thirdly, it should be borne in mind that only a small part of el-Jib has been excavated, and the unexcavated parts include much of the top, which is surely the most likely place for the sanctuary to have been situated. One may compare, for example, the temples at Ugarit, the Israelite sanctuary at Dan and the Temple in Jerusalem, all of which were on the highest spots of their respective hills. Interestingly, there is now a mosque on the very top of el-Jib:55 while it is too much to expect continuous cultic continuity between the Israelite (presumably originally Canaanite) high place and the Muslim mosque (via possible Jewish and Christian places of worship), it would not be surprising if the ancient high place was in this general vicinity at the top of the modern village, and therefore out of reach of archaeological excavation.56 10. Solomon at the Gibeonite Sanctuary In both 1 Kings 3 and 2 Chronicles 1 we read of Solomon’s oﬀering sacriﬁce at Gibeon and having a dream there.57 In the dream God grants Solomon whatever he requests, and this is variously described as ‘an understanding mind to govern thy people, that I may discern between good and evil’ (1 Kgs 3.9) or ‘wisdom and knowledge to go out and come in before this people’ (2 Chron 1.10). God also grants him what he has not requested, riches and honour, and in the case of the 1 Kings 3 account, also long life. There can be no doubt that an older story lies behind the account, since both the Deuteronomist and the Chronicler had to invent explanations to overcome the problem of Solomon’s sacriﬁcing at a high place.58 1 Kings 3.3 states, ‘Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the For a photograph, see Pritchard, Gibeon, ﬁg. 49, as well as the book’s dust cover. Pritchard, Gibeon, pp. 86–87 notes that he was able to excavate part of the top without ﬁnding the sanctuary. However, much of the top remains concealed under the village. 57 On this narrative see H. A. Kenik, Design for Kingship: The Deuteronomistic Narrative Technique in 1 Kings 3:4–15 (SBLDS, 69; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983); D. M. Carr, From D to Q: A Study of Jewish Interpretations of Solomon’s Dream at Gibeon (SBLMS, 44; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991). 58 For Graeme Auld’s reconstruction of the underlying story see ‘Solomon at 55

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statutes of David his father; only, he sacriﬁced and burnt incense at the high places’. This remark recalls the Deuteronomistic comments on a number of other kings who are deemed generally good, but who nevertheless allowed the high places to continue. But it should be noted that 1 Kgs 3.2 further declares, ‘The people were sacriﬁcing at the high places, however, because no house had yet been built for the name of the Lord’. This verse seems out of place prior to v. 3 and is generally regarded as a later gloss that would more ﬁttingly come after v.3. Thus, whereas the original Deuteronomist accepted that Solomon’s worship at high places was a lapse from the ideal, the glossator attempts to excuse this on the grounds that the Temple had not yet been built. Further, the statement in v. 15 that Solomon afterwards went to the ark in Jerusalem and oﬀered sacriﬁce there sounds like an attempt to mitigate the embarrassment of his having sacriﬁced at Gibeon. The Chronicler, however, claims that Solomon’s frequenting Gibeon is in order as this was the seat of the tabernacle (2 Chron 1.3). However, there is no other evidence for this beyond the statements of the Chronicler (cf. 1 Chron 16.39; 21.29), and as noted above, this is generally accepted as a radical manoeuvre by the Chronicler to justify Solomon’s worship at Gibeon. 11. Gibeon as a Levitical City As the site of an important sanctuary it is not surprising that Gibeon became one of the Levitical cities. The list of these is contained in both Joshua 21 and 1 Chron 6.39–66 (evv 6.54–81). Auld59 has forcefully challenged the consensus view, arguing that the Chronicles version is earlier, though the view that Chronicles is dependent on Joshua (albeit an earlier form than the MT) has recently been reargued by Knoppers.60 The version in 1 Chronicles 6 lists only eleven Gibeon: History glimpsed’, in S. A˙ituv and B. A. Levine (eds.), Avraham Malamat Volume (ErIsr, 24; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1993), pp. 1–7, repr. in idem, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 97–107; idem, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), pp. 15–21. 59 A. G. Auld, ‘The “Levitical Cities”: Texts and History’, ZAW 91 (1979), pp. 194–206, repr. in idem, Joshua Retold: Synoptic Perspectives (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), pp. 25–36; idem, ‘Joshua 21: The Contribution of Textual Criticism’, Text 15 (1990), pp. 141–52, repr. in idem, Joshua Retold, pp. 49–57. 60 G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 12; New York: Doubleday, 2004), pp. 443–48.

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of these cities, although v. 45 (evv 6.60) states there were thirteen, so it is generally accepted that Juttah and Gibeon should be restored in 1 Chron 6.44–45 (evv 6.59–60) on the basis of Josh 21.16–17.61 It is particularly easy to see how Gibeon fell away through haplography, as it preceded the similar name Geba. 12. The Water Systems of Gibeon and the Old Testament In the light of the fate of the conquered Gibeonites to be ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ ( Josh 9.23, 27) and the fact that 2 Sam 2.13 mentions a pool in Gibeon and Jer 41.12 alludes to the great waters of Gibeon, it is interesting that the archaeological excavations at Gibeon by J. B. Pritchard62 revealed two diﬀerent water systems. The ﬁrst was a stepped tunnel leading down to an underground water chamber fed by another tunnel from a spring, while the second was a large cylindrical shaft with a spiral staircase leading down to a tunnel that ended in an underground water chamber. In addition, a large rectangular reservoir tank in the open plain to the northeast of the village spring had already been known before Pritchard’s excavations and it was supposed by Edward Robinson63 that this might be the pool of Gibeon referred to in 2 Sam 2.13, by the side of which we read that the men of Joab on David’s side and the men of Abner on the side of Ish-bosheth (Ishbaal) fought each other (vv. 13–17; cf. 2 Sam 3.30). Pritchard,64 however, was able to demonstrate that this was in fact a Roman construction, and he supposed that the pool of Gibeon referred to there is rather to be equated with the large cylindrical shaft which he had excavated.65 This has been quite a popular view, P. M. Arnold and W. Schniedewind,66 for example, both declaring the equation to be ‘undoubtedly’ correct. However, other scholars have raised doubts.67 The most serious problem is that the Bible refers to a pool (berèkâ), whereas what Pritchard 61

E.g., Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 75. J. B. Pritchard, The Water System at Gibeon (Museum Monographs; Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, 1961); idem, Gibeon, pp. 53–78. 63 Robinson, Biblical Researches, 1:455, 456–57, n. 10. 64 Pritchard, Water System, pp. 11–12; idem, Gibeon, pp. 74–76. 65 Pritchard, Water System, pp. 8–10, 23; idem, Gibeon, pp. 64–74. 66 P. M. Arnold, ‘Gibeon’, ABD 2:1010–13 (1010); W. Schniedewind, ‘Gibeon’, in D. N. Freedman (ed.), Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), p. 502. 67 E.g., Blenkinsopp, Gibeon and Israel, pp. 6–7. 62

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found was not a pool (in spite of his constantly using that term for it) but rather a stairwell. In order to counter this problem Dan Cole68 hypothesised that the cylindrical shaft was originally constructed as a cistern but that the tunnel leading to the water chamber was a subsequent construction. A. Mazar,69 however, has pointed out that the spiral staircase and tunnel appear to be part of the same construction. It is therefore possible that 2 Sam 2.13 inaccurately refers to the stairwell at Gibeon as a pool. Alternatively, one might suppose that the pool alluded to in 2 Sam 2.13 is located in an unexcavated part of the site. Interestingly, the waters at Gibeon are mentioned again at a signiﬁcant historical moment in Jer 41.12, for we there read that it was at ‘the great waters (mayim rabbîm) at Gibeon’ that Johanan, son of Kareah, and his men overtook Ishmael, a man of royal blood who at Mizpah had recently assassinated Gedaliah, the governor whom the Babylonians had set up over Judah.70 It is quite remarkable that almost all English Bible translations in recent years fail to render the words ‘the great waters at Gibeon’ literally but prefer to translate rather as ‘the great pool at Gibeon’ or the like (rsv, nrsv, neb, reb, jb, niv, njps; an exception is nab), in contrast to the older av and rv. It is diﬃcult not to conclude that the rsv has been inﬂuenced by 2 Sam 2.13, and it is possible that the other modern versions have been inﬂuenced not only by that but also by the popular misunderstanding that the stairwell uncovered by archaeology at Gibeon is a pool. 13. The Gibeonites, the Nethinim and the Sons of Solomon’s Servants As noted earlier, at the conclusion of the story of the Gibeonite deception in Joshua 9 we read in v. 27 that ‘Joshua made them [the Gibeonites] that day hewers of wood and drawers of water for the congregation and for the altar of the Lord, to continue to this day, in the place which he should choose’ (cf. 9.23). As also noted earlier, Deuteronomistic terminology is clearly detectable in the phrase 68

D. Cole, ‘How Water Tunnels Worked’, BARev 6.2 (1980), pp. 8–29 (27–29). A. Mazar, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible 10,000–586 BCE (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1990), p. 527, n. 15. 70 The book of Jeremiah also refers to Gibeon as the place of origin of the prophet Hananiah ( Jer 28.1), further highlighting its importance at this time. 69

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‘the place which he should choose’, and since for the Deuteronomists at the time of writing this would have been the Jerusalem Temple, it follows that the Gibeonites were understood to have been incorporated within that sanctuary to perform menial cultic tasks. Ezekiel 44.6–9, referring back to the pre-exilic period, similarly alludes to foreigners having been employed to work in the Jerusalem Temple, for which the people are now rebuked. It is natural to assume that the Gibeonites, referred to by the Deuteronomistic historian in Joshua as similarly employed, were included among them. It has sometimes been thought that Ezek 44.6–9 is referring simply to the foreign Carite (Carian?) guards of the Temple (and palace) alluded to in 2 Kgs 11.4, 19.71 However, from the description of the future role of the Levites envisaged in Ezek 44.11, which is expected to replace that of the foreigners, it is clear that the role in question encompassed not only guarding but also service (“rt) in the Temple more generally, which would therefore include, among other things, the task of the Gibeonites referred to in Josh 9.23, 27, but certainly other things as well. Coming down to the postexilic period, several times in Ezra and Nehemiah and once in Chronicles we ﬁnd references to the Nethinim, a group of servants employed to perform menial tasks at the Jerusalem Temple (1 Chron 9.2; Ezra 2.43, 58, 70; 7.7, 24; 8.17, 20; Neh 3.26. 31; 7.46, 60, 73; 10.29, evv 10.28; 11.3, 21). The Talmud connected these people with the Gibeonites (b.Yeb. 71a, 78b–79a). Modern scholars appear divided, however, as to whether they see a connection or not. Whereas the rabbis appear simply to have equated the Nethinim with the Gibeonites, modern scholars have often tended to see the Gibeonites as one group among others which were absorbed into the Nethinim,72 though sometimes they have denied that there was any relationship at all.73 Ezra 2.43, 58, 70 (= Neh 7.46, 60, 73) refer to the Nethinim among those who returned to Palestine from the Babylonian exile and we 71

E.g., H. H. Rowley, Worship in Ancient Israel (London: SPCK, 1967), p. 100. E.g., M. Haran, ‘The Gibeonites, the Nethinim and the Sons of Solomon’s Servants’, VT 11 (1961), pp. 159–69. 73 E.g., B. A. Levine, ‘The Netînîm’, JBL 82 (1963), pp. 207–12; ‘Later Sources on the Netînîm’, in H. A. Hoﬀner (ed.), Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (AOAT, 22; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), pp. 101–107; more cautiously, H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC, 16; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 36, ‘at best speculative’. 72

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gather that they had separate quarters in the Ophel district of Jerusalem (Neh 3.26, 31; 11.21). That they performed menial tasks in the Temple is indicated by the following points: in addition to being listed after the priests and Levites, as well as after the singers and gatekeepers when they are also included (1 Chron 9.2; Ezra 7.7; Neh 10.29, evv 10.28; 11.3; cf. too the relative position of the list of Nethinim in Ezra 2 and Nehemiah 7), suggesting they were subordinate to them, the Nethinim are speciﬁcally said to assist the Levites (Ezra 8.20), who were themselves subordinate cultic oﬃcials in the postexilic Temple.74 Moreover, it is signiﬁcant that, though included within Israel, the Nethinim listed in Ezra 2.43–54 and Neh 7.46–56, as well as the sons of Solomon’s servants named in Ezra 2.55–56 and Neh 7.57–59, overwhelmingly have foreign names, unlike the names of other returning exiles mentioned in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah.75 Among them are the sons of Meunim and the sons of Nephisim, plural terms designating certain foreign tribal groups (Ezra 2.50; the latter called Nephushesim in Neh 7.52; cf. 1 Chron 5.19). We may conclude with a high degree of probability, therefore, that the Nethinim who undertook menial tasks within the Temple, though incorporated within Israel, were of foreign descent. It is therefore plausible to connect them with the foreigners working in the Temple referred to in Ezek 44.6–9, who will have included the Gibeonites undertaking the hewing of wood and drawing of water for the Jerusalem Temple mentioned in Josh 9.27 (cf. 9.23). But they are now considered ministers of the cult rather than slaves, a transformation doubtless encouraged by the intervening experience of exile.76 However, alternatively, rather than being absorbed into the Nethinim it is possible that the Gibeonites were absorbed into the sons of Solomon’s servants, who are sometimes mentioned after the Nethinim and appear to have been loosely associated with them as undertak74 As Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 35 notes, Ezra 8.20 disposes of J. P. Weinberg, ‘Netînîm und “Söhne der Sklaven Salomos”, in 6.–4. Jh. v. u. Z.’, ZAW 87 (1975), pp. 355–71, who denies they were cultic oﬃcials; cf. too Ezra 7.24. 75 Cf. R. Zadok, ‘Notes on the Biblical and Extra-biblical Onomasticon’, JQR 71 (1980), pp. 107–17 (110–16). 76 Levine, ‘The Netînîm’, emphasises that the Nethinim were not slaves. However, while this is true for the postexilic period, it does not follow that this was the case in pre-exilic times, and Levine unnaturally associates the sons of Solomon’s servants with the more exalted servants of 1 Kings 9.27 rather than the slaves of 1 Kgs 9.20–21. However, the fact that the Nethinim and sons of Solomon’s servants are placed last in postexilic lists suggests a humble origin for them.

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ing subordinate tasks in the Jerusalem cult (Ezra 2.55, 58; Neh 7.57, 60; 11.3). As noted above, their personal names, like those of the Nethinim, indicate a signiﬁcant foreign element, even though they came to be regarded as Israelites. It is natural to suppose that these sons of Solomon’s servants were descendants of the various groups of Canaanites enslaved by Solomon in 1 Kgs 9.20–21, of whom it is said, ‘these Solomon made a forced levy of slaves, and so they are to this day’. In favour of this alternative for the absorption of the Gibeonites it should be noted that 1 Kgs 9.20 speciﬁcally includes Hivites among them, the group to which the Gibeonites belonged. Whether we envisage some Gibeonites as being absorbed into the Nethinim or the sons of Solomon’s servants, Gibeon as a town also continued to exist after the exile. Gibeonites are listed among those returning from exile (Neh 7.25) and participating in rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem (Neh 3.7), and archaeology likewise attests Gibeon’s existence in the Persian period, though it was no longer fortiﬁed.77 At this point we come to the end of our discussion of Gibeon and the Gibeonites in the Old Testament. While uncertainties inevitably remain on various points, it is hoped that we have succeeded in clarifying a number of issues.

77 Pritchard, Gibeon, p. 163 mentions jar handles stamped with the name Mozah in Persian period Aramaic script.

READING NUMBERS AFTER SAMUEL Mary Douglas On the naming of the third book of the Pentateuch Graeme Auld says, ‘it is very curious that it is to the third “book” of Moses that the name ‘Leviticus’ has become attached; for Leviticus would be even more appropriate as the name of the fourth than Numbers’.1 The comment is mainly based on a word count. It is true that the word ‘Levites’ appears in Numbers centrally and very many times; in Leviticus and earlier it is only mentioned occasionally and peripherally. Partly because of the strong presence of the Levites in the book of Numbers and partly because of a new set of characters, Ezra and Nehemiah, he considers that Numbers is a watershed in the mood and cultural background of the Pentateuch. It is also true that we heard nothing much about the Levites before, and that thereafter they are obviously important. So perhaps he is right to ﬁnd it odd that the preceding book has got the title that would seem to belong to Numbers. I venture to justify the apparent oddity. On my reading there is good reason why the name Leviticus is appropriate for the third and not appropriate for the fourth book. To be named in the title of a book is something of an honour. It might well be inappropriate for the name of a national epic to feature the anti-hero. It would be like replacing the title ‘Robin Hood’ by ‘The Sheriﬀ of Nottingham’. The Levites are deﬁnitely depicted in Numbers as anti-heroes, and though the book does introduce a new world, it is one whose coming the priestly editors ardently sought to prevent.2 One of Numbers’ goals is to subordinate the Levites (chapters 1–4), and to this end the middle of the book reveals their impiety and corrupt ambitions (chapters 16–17). We learn through Numbers that the Levites have custodial

1 A. G. Auld, ‘Leviticus after Exodus and before Numbers’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 233–42 (239). 2 Even though there may be serious doubts about whether Numbers was edited by P, the contents of its narrative and laws make sense as the expression of priestly interests.

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responsibility for the fabric and contents of the tabernacle but that they may never be ordained or function as sacriﬁcial priests. Their role is to be servants of the sons of Aaron. As temple janitors, they have the privilege of moving the furniture and carrying the baggage. They must keep to their place, they may not even look at the sacred things, and they are in danger of death if they encroach. It is a very clear message. The division of the priesthood into two classes, one sacriﬁcial and one menial, is indeed a big cultural change announced by Numbers. But we do not know how it worked in practice—if at all. Perhaps Numbers’ account of a two-tier priestly system merely expressed an ideal, a change that the priestly editors ardently desired. Evidently it did not happen that way. What we do know is that the Aaronite priesthood was rarely mentioned after Numbers and may have been actually fading out.3 In that case the Levites, who are hailed in Deuteronomy as heroes (33.8–12), and in Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles as teachers of the Law of Moses, would have been given responsibility by default.4 In this essay I wish to support one of Graeme Auld’s dazzling and perturbing insights into the relations of the biblical books to each other. The close parallels he shows between parts of Numbers and parts of the books of Samuel are a revelation. He speciﬁcally focuses on the similarities between the story of Balaam in Numbers 22–24 and the book of Samuel. The parallels are too intricate to be accidental; they must be due to deliberate copying of passages from Samuel by the editor of Numbers. ‘Where direction of inﬂuence can be plausibly inferred, it is always from Samuel to Numbers’.5 The argument is technical, it rests on philological evidence from several languages, and presupposes familiarity with the Septuagint and the Masoretic versions.6 This is how we know that the direction of inﬂuence is from Samuel to Numbers, not the other way round. 3 J. Blenkinsopp, ‘The Judaean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction’, CBQ 60 (1998), pp. 25–43. 4 See the discussion of the evidence in M. Douglas, Jacob’s Tears: The Priestly Work of Reconciliation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 5 A. G. Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 243–54 (254). 6 ‘My own preference too, increasingly, is to read the inﬂuence backwards from Kings, not forward from Dtr . . .’ (A. G. Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets, or What Makes the Former Prophets Deuteronomistic?’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 185–91 [189]).

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To the newcomer it is a shock to learn that so much copying was going on in the production of ancient Mediterranean literature. The biblical redactors were not alone. Unacknowledged copying from other sources was a widespread habit. There was no such thing as intellectual property in those early days of writing. Modern thoughts of plagiarism are irrelevant. Plagiarism is classiﬁed as a kind of theft. It is deﬁned as ‘the wrongful appropriation, or purloining, and publication as one’s own, or the expression of the ideas (literary, artistic, musical, mechanical, etc.) of another’,7 all of which implies intent to deceive. There can be no such intention in the cases of biblical copying because the sources would be abundantly transparent to literate hearers and readers of the period. It is more a matter of saluting esteemed predecessors or acknowledging their inﬂuence by lifting passages. Although we are talking about texts without beneﬁt of footnotes or quotation marks, repetitions of short phrases serve as markers to indicate the original source. There is also the matter of a whole book being modelled on another predecessor. It would be unworthy to suggest that the authors of these sophisticated works were not competent to hold to a central thread without a model. We should redirect our thoughts from theft to homage. Christopher Ricks’ interpretation of poetic allusion can usefully be applied to early copying.8 It could have been counted as a fault not to allude at all to an illustrious predecessor. Thanks to allusion the great poets of our past still echo through modern English poetry. By allusion Shakespeare and Milton are ever present in Dryden, Pope, Keats and Wordsworth. ‘All are happy to add to their happiness a sense of what it is to sing rhymes that are both yours and others, the poet is no less grateful to the past than to the present and the future’.9 Deliberate allusions create solidarity with the past; they make an inheritance for the future of poetry. In David Lowenthal’s happy phrase, the poet who alludes to the ancient great ones is ‘stewarding the future’.10

7

C. B. Ricks, ‘Plagiarism’, Lecture to the British Academy, 1997, repr. in idem, Allusion to the Poets (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 220. 8 Ricks, Allusion to the Poets, p. 345. 9 Ricks, Allusion to the Poets, p. 77. 10 D. Lowenthal, ‘Stewarding the Future’, CRM: The Journal of Heritage Stewardship 2.2 (2005), pp. 20–39; and see also his The Past Is a Foreign Country (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), where he documents the loss of community with the past that our postmodernist culture suﬀers.

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If ancient copying acquired esteem for the poem, and if it was both elegant and necessary to copy great texts, it falls on the contemporary reader to seek out the model. If Exodus is modelled on Herodotus, who did Herodotus use for model? Homer, of course! The Iliad is the supreme example of epic’s greatness, closely copied by Thucydides and Pindar, and endlessly dominating the literary history of Europe.11 Apart from enriching it, and generating a special environment for the poem, there were other reasons for this elaborate copying. It can give the poem a strong and unexpected twist. It is not only a question of verbal sequences lifted from one book and inserted in another, but a matter of using the structure of one famous book as a framework on which to map out a new one. Jan-Wim Wesselius says the transfer of structural elements from one story of the Bible into another is ‘one of the leading principles of the literary composition of Primary History’.12 To demonstrate, he shows the story of Moses to be modelled upon the story of Xerxes in Herodotus’ Histories.13 He gives many convincing examples of deliberately contrived congruences. Israel’s subjugation of Canaan as told in Joshua, Judges and Kings is modelled on Herodotus’ account of the Persian invasions. For instance, two armies safely cross a sea too vast for a bridge: the Israelites led by Moses miraculously cross the Red Sea in Exodus; the army led by Xerxes makes an extraordinary crossing of the Hellespont in Herodotus. This does not mean that there is any similarity between two ﬁgures which have been cast in the same structural position: the character of Cyrus has nothing in common with Joseph, or Xerxes with Moses, they just feature in similar events. He argues that the copying would have had a political twist. As far as the direction of inﬂuence is concerned, Herodotus came ﬁrst and was dead before Israel’s ‘Primary History’ was complete. In the case of the Bible, . . . our Jewish author and redactor of the late 5th and 4th centuries bce, acquainted with the work of Herodotus, wanted to show that the history of his own people was of far greater signiﬁcance for the world than the episode of war between Greeks and Persians. . . . many of the major events related by Herodotus could be found in a morally supe11

Thanks to Simon Hornblower for discussion of this point. J.-W. Wesselius, The Origin of the History of Israel: Herodotus’s Histories as the Blueprint for the First Books of the Bible ( JSOTSup, 345; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2002). 13 Wesselius, Origin of the History of Israel, p. 50. 12

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rior form in the history of the people of Israel, the forefathers of whom were also superior in this respect to the Persian monarchs.14

Copying the invasion of the Greek and other small states by the mighty Persian King enhances the image of Israel, initially small and vulnerable, as a great victorious conqueror under the command of a mighty God. This aspect of the copying habit legitimates my curiosity about what precisely was gained in particular cases of biblical copying. Why are some reputations polished? Others smirched? What political point has been made by plotting one book upon another? I ask because Auld gives us many short quotations as useful cues for tracking the mapping of the little Balaam fable in Numbers on the book of Samuel. But I do not think he says how the meaning of either is enhanced or changed by the modelling of parts of Numbers on Samuel. For cues to the connection between those books, ‘three times’ is the much-repeated key phrase that points across from Samuel to Numbers. Threesomes feature frequently in each of these books. The story of Balaam is full of them: Balaam beats the ass three times, she complains that he has beaten her three times, the angel of God says the same thing. Balak tells Balaam to curse Israel on three occasions, and three times Balaam utters marvellous blessings on Israel. In Samuel many things happen three times, as when Absalom sends three times to Joab before he comes (2 Sam 14.28–32). God gives David a choice between three punishments. The continuous repetition of ‘three times’ in both books suggests strongly to him that we should be reading them synoptically. As they are so common in the Bible it is possible to pay too much attention to arrangements in threes. But Auld notes many more solid clues. For example, the Lord answered Moses’ request for help in dealing with the people’s complaints by taking some of the spirit that was in him and putting it upon seventy elders and they prophesied (Num 11.25); the spirit of the Lord came upon Samuel enabling him to prophesy (1 Sam 10.10; 11.6) and on David (16.13). In the story of Balaam the spirit of the Lord enters the foreign seer, enabling him to prophesy (Num 24.2).

14 Wesselius, Origin of the History of Israel, p. 60. From here he goes on to give a detailed comparison.

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When these two books are linked together thus, Auld invites us to consider the second as a commentary on the ﬁrst. We should imagine the priestly editor studying the narrative of Samuel and worrying lest its brief references to cultic laws may be misunderstood by readers. He adds them to the list of laws and commentaries in the book of Numbers and comments upon them. I suggest an example of my own. At the very beginning of his reign when Saul called out the Israelites to join him in the war against the Philistines he ‘blew the trumpets throughout the land, saying “Let the Hebrews hear”’ (1 Sam 13.3). Sure enough, the expanded explanation is to be found in Numbers (10.1–10): ‘the Lord said to Moses, “Make two silver trumpets . . . and when you go to war in your land against the adversary who oppresses you, then you shall sound an alarm with the trumpets”’ (10.9). Disappointingly, after this good beginning, it is Leviticus rather than Numbers that provides most of the priestly explanation of events in Samuel. The meaning of the ‘showbread’ in the tabernacle which the priest allowed David to take when he was on the run from Saul (1 Sam 21.1–6) is explained in Lev 24.5–9. The same goes for eating blood (1 Sam 14.32–34). It is not necessary for Numbers to explain the sin of eating blood as Leviticus has taken it up in detail (Lev 7.26; 19.26). The same applies to Samuel’s references to the sin of divination (15.23; 28.3, 7), thoroughly denounced in Leviticus (19.31; 20.6, 27). These examples support Auld’s insight that the Pentateuch books have been written serially, each commenting upon, expanding or correcting the previous one.15 They conﬁrm the link between Leviticus and Numbers. As to a link between Numbers and Samuel, if Numbers follows on Leviticus it still makes sense to interpret Numbers as picking up the points that Leviticus has missed. Auld proposes another reason for taking seriously the linking of the two books through the Balaam story. The other linkages are somewhat superﬁcial, here follows a serious one. Why, when he had ordered David to take a census, was God’s anger ‘kindled’ (2 Sam 24.1)? In the story of Balaam, when God explicitly gave Balaam permission to go to Balak, why was his anger ‘kindled’? Because he went (Num 22.22)? The two cases of divine

15

Auld, ‘Leviticus after Exodus and before Numbers’.

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anger kindled without provocation seem to chime together and they give scope for theological scandal. What price the omniscience of the Almighty? If the Lord changes his mind, is it right to infer that he does not know what the consequences of his actions will be? It is certainly one of the diﬃcult passages in Samuel, and the similar case in Numbers supports the theory that Numbers is designed to correct and explain them. Numbers presents the story of the foreign seer, Balaam, who was summoned by Balak, king of Moab, to curse the army of Israel as it marched towards his borders. It is a digression, a bit of light relief. Balaam was promised great wealth if he would go to Moab (22.7–8). He did not accept, but invited the emissaries of the king to stay overnight so that he could consult the Lord. Though he is a foreigner, the Lord that he consulted is the same Lord God of Israel. God refused him permission to go (22.12–14), so Balaam obediently stayed. King Balak would not accept ‘no’ for an answer; he sent another set of emissaries with even bigger promises of reward. For a second time Balaam dutifully said ‘no’. But again he consulted the Lord over night. This time the Lord said: ‘If the men have come to call you, rise, go with them; but only what I bid you, that shall you do’. So Balaam (obedient again) went with the men next morning on his ass. ‘But God’s anger was kindled because he went’ (22.22). It is like an echo of the puzzle sounding out why God was angry about David taking the census after having been told to do it. Then follows the episode in which God’s angel bars the way. The she-ass he is riding recognises the angel of the Lord standing in her path and stops, but Balaam does not see him and tries three times to whip her on. When the angel of God ﬁnally revealed himself to Balaam, he bowed his head, fell on his face, saying: ‘I have sinned for I did not know that thou didst stand in the road against me. Now therefore, if it is evil in thy sight I will go back again’ (22.34). Why was God’s anger kindled? It may be relevant that God had already given a categorical refusal. We look at both books again, taking each as a lens for a fresh reading of the other. The important element in the Balaam story is that God has been asked once already, had refused permission, and given a reason. ‘You shall not go with them. You shall not curse the people, for they are blessed’ (22.12). When he is asked again, he gives in. There seems to be a simple lesson from Balaam to Samuel: never ask God for the same thing again after a point-blank refusal. This explains God’s

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anger in Numbers, but it does not explain his anger about David’s census. David did not ask to take the census. The text of Samuel suggests to me that God never was angry with David at all, and that the whole business of the census has been misread. It is unlikely that the priestly editor meant the story of Balaam to refer to the story of David and the census. It is plain from the text that the anger of God had been kindled before he told David to go and number the people: ‘Again the anger of the Lord was kindled against Israel, and he incited David against them, saying: “Go, number Israel and Judah”’ (2 Sam 24.1). The book says God was already angry, and that he was angry with Israel. Therefore God’s anger could not have been about the census-taking: he was angry ﬁrst, before he even told David to take a census and well before the deed was done. This means there is no clear parallel between he ‘repented’ (Num 23.19) in Balaam’s tale and ‘I repent’ (2 Sam 24.16) in the case of David’s census. In my view God’s words in Samuel (1 Sam 15.29), repeated in Numbers, connect Balaam’s story with the kingship. In the book of Samuel God gave Israel permission to install a king. This is another occasion where God refuses permission the ﬁrst time he is asked, but yields when asked again, and later is angry. The elders of Israel had listened to the people who were saying ‘Give us a king to govern us’ (1 Sam 8.6). God told Samuel that the request was deeply oﬀensive; he himself was their king: ‘they have rejected me from being king over them’ (1 Sam 8.7). He regarded it as equivalent to forsaking him and serving false gods. He issued a dark warning on what human kingship was going to mean to Israel. But when the same request came back a second time, he gave in and told Samuel to ‘hearken to their voice, make them a king’ (8.22). Then later, he says ‘I repent that I have made Saul king’ (15.11, 35). Does that mean that God changes his mind capriciously? There was room for pious puzzlement here. The negative came emphatically from the mouth of Balaam: ‘God is not man, that he should repent. Has he said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will not fulﬁl it?’ (Num 23.19). Balaam tells the readers of the book of Samuel how not to interpret God’s saying that he repents. Indeed, there are various ways in which the word ‘repent’ can be interpreted. Balaam asserts that it does not mean that God acts capriciously.16 16

Jacob Milgrom comments upon the word which the rsv translates ‘repent’

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This splendidly justiﬁes the idea of the Balaam story as a commentary. It picks up ambiguous and obscure parts of the book of Samuel and explains them in parables. The words for ‘repent’ and ‘anger kindled’ deliberately link the passages in Samuel and Numbers. After Saul had defeated the Amalekites he disobeyed the command (1 Sam 15.3) to take no prisoners or loot: ‘The word of the Lord came to Samuel: “I repent that I have made Saul king; for he has turned back from following me, and has not performed my commandments”’ (15.10–1117 and also v. 35). In Numbers, Balaam’s divinely inspired words would force the people of Israel to think again on the question of a king for Israel. God had always been against it; the very notion of a human king was sinful, as he kept saying. The rule that emerges is that if someone asks God for something, and he refuses the ﬁrst request, there would have been reasons for refusal. If he yields to a second request, it will be reluctantly because he has been pestered, and he is likely later to ‘repent’, but his initial judgement is not changed. He is liable to allow trouble to fall on the one who has persisted in demanding whatever it was. Balaam never received the wealth he had been promised by Balak. The people of Israel had a lot of trouble from their kings. The next big puzzle is why David thought it was a sin to have made a count of the warriors. After the census his heart smote him and he said: ‘I have sinned greatly in what I have done’ (2 Sam 24.10). The standard interpretation is that David believed censustaking was wrong. But why should he have thought so? Note also that Saul counted his men on three occasions (1 Sam 13.15; 14.17; 15.4), but we never hear this held against him. Where Samuel tells Saul he has done foolishly, the reproach was for not waiting for Samuel and oﬀering the burnt oﬀering (1 Sam 13.13). He was never rebuked for numbering his men, which he only did after Samuel had gone. His sin was not that he counted but that he swooped on the forbidden spoils of the war against the Amalekites (15.10–11).

(Num 23.19). His version of Balaam’s praise of God is: ‘God is not man to be capricious, or mortal to change his mind’ (Numbers [The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1989], p. 199). But that translation loses the chance for Balaam to echo in advance the word ‘repent’ which is reported of God in 1 Sam 15.29, 35. 17 1 Sam 15.9, 19.

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Auld introduces us to the learned speculation about the census and suggests that David was confused by two meanings, one is to make a tally, the other is to give an account of. A good shepherd is expected to count his sheep, the word for count includes the idea of accounting for, and the accountability of a steward.18 Auld convincingly suggests that after the census David thought that he had foolishly made a head-count of his warriors, a mere tally, instead of giving a full account of Israel and Judah. As a sin this is very small change compared with the major sins of idolatry, turning against the commands of the Lord, or acting treacherously, of which God complained. It is out of scale for the punishment which later God will exact. Comparison with Balaam’s story suggests that the standard interpretation of 2 Sam 24.10 (‘David’s heart smote him after he had numbered the people’) is mistaken and that there was no serious sin connected with the census. I prefer to connect the stories of Balaam and David through the story of the kingship. Returning to the text of 2 Sam 24.1, God was angry with the people of Israel, not with David. It is not clear why he used the command to make a census ‘to incite David against the people’, which is the reason given in the book itself (24.1). Was God expecting that the counting process would run into trouble? Joab, the military commander, did not want to undertake it. The standard interpretation of Joab’s reluctance is that he knew it was sinful to take a census. He never said that. All Joab said was: ‘why does the lord my king delight in this thing?’ They were in the middle of a war. Good military grounds would have made him shrink from undertaking a huge operation which eventually took more than nine months (24.4–9). But it all went smoothly. On my version, while it was being done David had time to think of his sins. When it was over, David remembered that he had done some wrongful things, so he exclaimed ‘I have sinned’. These words exactly repeated by Balaam indicate that we are looking in the right quarter to understand what it is about. Since the book says it was not David but the people of Israel who had angered God in the ﬁrst place, and that it was Israel that he meant to punish, David was in error if he thought the sin was his census-taking (but he never even said he thought so). While David was in this self-accusatory mood God sent him his prophet, Gad, 18 A. G. Auld, ‘Counting Sheep, Sins, and Sour Grapes: The Primacy of the Primary History?’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 255–62.

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with a choice of three punishments (2 Sam 24.12–14). Each of the three punishments, famine, pestilence or pursuit by Israel’s enemies, was bound to fall upon all of Israel. If the sin had to do with taking the census the penalties would be personal to the guilty one, David or to his house. David keeps thinking it is because of his own sins, and protests against the pestilence: ‘Lo, I have sinned, but these sheep, what have they done?’ (24.17). But God was angry with the people of Israel. What they had done is obvious once we drop the idea that taking the census was a sin. Israel had committed plenty of sins. In the ﬁrst place, Israel had despised God’s wishes; they had pestered him to give them a king, instead of accepting their God as their king (1 Sam 8.4–5; 10.19). The Lord described the people’s oﬀence of demanding a king to Samuel: ‘According to all the deeds they have done to me, from the day that I brought them up out of Egypt even to this day, forsaking me and serving other gods’ (1 Sam 8.8). God was oﬀended, but he yielded to pressure (as he did in the case of Balaam). Israel ﬁnally rejected God’s anointed one, the king they had asked for (2 Sam 20.1–2). There was also the nasty case of Saul breaking his word to the Gibeonites and massacring them: God said ‘There is blood guilt on Saul’ (2 Sam 21.1–9). Furthermore, the civil war between Absalom’s followers and David (2 Samuel 15–18) amounted to fratricide between the descendants of the patriarchs. This was a very grave sin in Israel, as made clear in Numbers and in the book of Judges. The Lord had many reasons for being angry with his people. He was not angry with David. I repeat the same for the case of Balaam in Numbers. God did tell Balaam to go to Moab, the second time round, but he had earlier refused permission. Balaam should not have asked him twice over, he must have known it was against God’s will. What he did wrong was to ask twice. (In rebuke, God only sent an angel to bar his way.) It does support Auld in presenting Numbers as a kind of midrash for correcting the book of Samuel. Admittedly there are some ambiguities in the text, but in the course of the story Balaam speaks with God directly, and God makes him his mouthpiece for speaking marvellous blessings on Israel. The story makes Balaam sound like a good man, a trusted and loyal friend of the Lord, who never meant to do any harm to Israel. However, a tradition has arisen that Balaam was an evil seer, greedy for the promised reward; he fully intended to harm Israel, but was

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thwarted by the intervention of God who turned his curses into blessings (Deut 23.4–5). This bad reputation is widespread through the Bible, but its only warranty in the book of Numbers comes several chapters later than the story. After a tremendous battle and victory over the Midianites, Moses reproaches his army commanders for not having killed the women of Moab. ‘Have you let all the women live? Behold, these caused the people of Israel, by the counsel of Balaam, to act treacherously against the Lord in the matter of Peor, and so the plague came among the congregation of the Lord’ (31.15–17). It comes as a complete surprise. There has been no information about Balaam between chapter 24 and this denunciation. No narrative justiﬁes the accusation. The original story of Balaam might have given oﬀence by the very idea that the God of Israel would have let a foreigner collaborate in his designs for his own people. Because we ﬁrst read the main story of Balaam in the earlier chapters in Numbers (22–24), when we read on to chapter 31 it is natural to suppose that the second version is new. To justify my own naïve view that a good man is being falsely accused of deep guile and treachery I propose that some late editor disapproved of so much honour being paid to a foreign seer. Contemporary xenophobia could have led to a late insertion of the accusation attributed to Moses himself in chapter 31. Auld has suggested in his paper, ‘The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets’, that the correction of the text may have gone the other way, ﬁrst Moses’ accusation in chapter 31, and then a long rehabilitation of Balaam’s character inserted at an earlier point in the book at chapters 22–24. Perhaps the idea that Numbers was a late commentary on the books of Samuel, an expansion or a correction of Samuel, will help to choose between two opposing interpretations. Auld focuses his argument on the close connection between the Balaam story in Numbers and the census story in Samuel.19 I want to push his argument further. Agreed that the two books are connected by obvious matching quotations, why is the Balaam story there at all? What are all the matching quotations for? And the three-times happenings, the spirit

19

Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, pp. 244–45.

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of God and other parallels? What is the editor’s motive for making superﬁcial similarities between the two stories. I suggest that Numbers has put the obvious borrowings from Samuel into the Balaam story to indicate a more profound comparison. The light-hearted story of Balaam points to a deeply embedded analogy between the two books, Samuel and Numbers. I suggest that the whole of Numbers (not just Balaam) has been modelled on the whole of Samuel, and this with a purpose. Numbers has got two dominant themes, one about the Levites’ challenge to the Aaronic priesthood, the other about God’s Covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and their descendants for ever. Samuel also has two themes: one minor one is about the bad priests, the sons of Eli at the beginning and then the sons of Samuel. Following these, and against the background of wars against the Philistines, there is the grand theme of the wars between Saul and David, and David and Absalom. It turns at the end into the major theme of the war between Israel and Judah and the split between two kingdoms. These two themes in parallel connect the two books. Samuel begins with the story of the old priest Eli whose two sons were bad priests (1 Sam 2.12–17, 22–25). They were reproved for their evil ways, they took no notice, and both were killed in the wars with the Philistines (4.11). At the beginning of Numbers certain sons of Levi are identiﬁed as cult servants, and distinguished from the sons of Aaron, the consecrated priests. In the middle of the book these unconsecrated Levites lead a revolt against Moses and Aaron. The revolt climaxes when Moses challenges them: ‘And would you seek the priesthood also?’ (16.10). Thousands of the rebel Levites are killed by the hand of God. It is plausible that the book of Numbers is using the stories of the bad priests in Samuel as a framework for its attack on the presumptuous Levites. At the time of the redaction Levites are actually encroaching on the priestly preserve. The tension between the Aaronites and the other Levites corresponds to the tension between the followers of Saul and the followers of David. Balaam is modelled on Samuel in many ways: in prophesying with the spirit of God, in instructing the king Balak on how to make sacriﬁce, in travelling from one shrine or altar to another, and like Samuel in his close relation with and complete obedience to God. Modelled on Samuel, how could the Balaam of Numbers 22–24 possibly be evil? The character assassination in the name of Moses must have been a later insertion.

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The game of tracing models can get out of control, the plotting of characters in like situations is only suggestive, and the model is very fragmentary. Samuel and David correspond to Moses and Aaron. David sins in manipulating the death of Uriah. Aaron sins in making the golden calf. Both are disappointed in their sons: Absalom is killed in a war that he instigated against his father; the sons of Aaron oﬀer alien incense at the altar in the tabernacle and are killed by divine ﬁre. And so on. I ﬁnd the idea that Numbers is modelled on Samuel very convincing. The editing took place at a time when it was as normal to design a new composition on the model of a prestigious previous work as it is for modern writers to conform to the rules of an accepted genre. We should always ask what it is in aid of ? What is the point of matching plots to one another? Is it just poetic decoration? Or is there another goal? Numbers can reap a propaganda advantage for the Aaronid priests in taking the book of Samuel as its model. In the ﬁrst book, the pair David and Samuel correspond to Moses and Aaron in the second book. They are the good guys, Saul and his followers are the bad guys who tear the fabric of Israel, unleash a civil war, and separate the northern kingdom. When we come to Numbers 16 the contumacious Levites revolting against Moses would be standing in parallel with Saul and his followers ﬁghting David. The second major theme of Numbers is about the original solidarity of the descendants of Jacob.20 Jacob had twelve sons. The Covenant was for all of them. Over and over again Numbers makes this point by organising another and another count of the tribes. The priestly editors, by writing about the cause they had at heart, that is the unity of the twelve tribes, naturally made themselves unpopular with the government of Judah. The book of Samuel gives a clue to this theme, which Numbers embellishes, when David returns in triumph to Jerusalem after the wars with Absalom and Israel: ‘all the people of Judah and half the people of Israel brought the king on his way’ (2 Sam 19.40). The people of Israel argued that the people of Judah had stolen the king away from them, adding: ‘We have ten shares in the king, and in David we have also more than you. Why then do you despise us?’ (19.43). Presumably ten shares meant ten

20

This is the theme which I have explored in Jacob’s Tears.

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tribes, as against the two tribes of Judah and Benjamin. This is the very asymmetry which is so prominently deplored in Numbers.21 These two basic analogies relate to the cultural change marked by the book of Numbers. Moses and Aaron dominate in Exodus; in Leviticus the sons of Aaron are consecrated as priests; in Numbers the other sons of Levi oﬀer competition, they are reprimanded and severely punished by God and Moses for their encroachment. During the process of redaction the government of Judah was being confronted with a powerful rival, Samaria, which traditionally was the place of the sons of Joseph. Later the priests at Jerusalem felt the threat of Samaria as a rival cult centre, but in Numbers the sons of Joseph are foremost among those tribes which risk being excluded from the Covenant by Judah’s monopoly. Both books end in reconciliation. At the end of Numbers the Levites are reinstated, though not in a priestly function. They are given land, towns and pastures, and a digniﬁed semi-judicial role. Their cities will be sanctuaries throughout Israel for protecting unintentional slayers from the vengeance of victim’s kin. Those scholars who feel distaste for the speculative tracing of parallels between books can at least agree that Numbers has emphasised its two central themes with apt selections from the books of Samuel. I would go so far as to say that Numbers is plotted upon Samuel as Exodus is plotted on Herodotus’ Histories. In the case of Exodus the cause to be justiﬁed was nationalist pride, not political protest. I believe that the cause that Numbers espoused was more narrowly political, and that this is what gives the sense of a completely new world.

21 This is the reading of Numbers which I proposed in In the Wilderness: The Doctrine of Deﬁlement in the Book of Numbers ( JSOTSup, 158; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993) and also in Jacob’s Tears.

MIGHTY OAKS FROM (GENETICALLY MANIPULATED?) ACORNS GROW: THE CHRONICLE OF THE KINGS OF JUDAH AS A SOURCE OF THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY Lester L. Grabbe In spite of many criticisms, corrections and remodellings the concept of a Deuteronomistic history (DtrH) still holds sway over biblical scholarship.1 Martin Noth would—ought to—be proud that this thesis has so well stood the test of time. One of the questions still much discussed is that of the sources of the DtrH. My purpose here is to focus on one possible source, a Chronicle of the Kings of Judah (henceforth CKJ). 1. The Sources of the Deuteronomistic History When Noth wrote his seminal essay, he made it clear that the author of the DtrH had acted in many ways as a compiler, for he often incorporated material with little or no editing, with his editorial work frequently conﬁned to linking material or to decisions about where to place the traditions at his disposal. Noth accepted that oﬃcial chronicles were among the DtrH’s sources,2 an idea that was by no means new: indeed, he referred to it as ‘generally known’ that DtrH based much of the books of Kings on the Chronicle of the Kings of Israel (henceforth CKI ) and the CKJ.3 In Noth’s view these ‘chronicles’ (Tagebücher) provided only the framework for the history, and other sorts 1 Originating with M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien I: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft, 18; Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1943), pp. 43–152 = trans.: The Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 15; Sheﬃeld: JSOT, 1981 [ﬁrst English edition]). 2 Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, pp. 114–20 = Noth, Deuteronomistic History, pp. 63–68. 3 Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, pp. 114–15: ‘Dem letzten Teile seiner Geschichtsdarstellung hat Dtr die von ihm regelmäßig zitierten “Tagebücher der Könige von Israel bzw. Juda” zugrunde gelegt, wie allgemein bekannt ist’ (= Noth, Deuteronomistic History, p. 63). Menahem Haran traces the idea back at least to the nineteenth century (‘The Books of the Chronicles “of the Kings of Judah” and “of the Kings of Israel”: What Sort of Books Were They?’, VT 49 [1999], pp. 156–64 [157, n. 2]).

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of material (e.g., prophetic legends) were used to ﬁll up the narrative. His main point was that the Deuteronomist used a variety of sources in creating the Deuteronomistic History, and he did not attempt to delineate the two chronicles further. A brief survey of commentaries shows that the CKI and the CKJ (or something similar) are often assumed to be important sources for the DtrH.4 In 1953 Alfred Jepsen developed a theory about the redaction of 1 and 2 Kings built on several sources and redactors, including a ‘synchronistic chronicle’ (synchronistische Chronik) and a set of ‘annals’ (Annalenwerk).5 Shoshana R. Bin-Nun did a study of the formulae in this context and concluded that part of the formulaic material was taken from the original sources, with complete king lists from both Israel and Judah available to the author.6 Several others also analysed the formulae, with the objective of getting at the redactional layers of DtrH: Helga Weippert,7 speciﬁcally considering the evaluation or judgement formula; Anthony F. Campbell,8 building on Weippert’s work; Baruch Halpern and David S. Vanderhooft.9 More recently Nadav Na’aman has written a good deal on the question of the sources used by DtrH,10 and Menahem Haran has looked at the speciﬁc question of the CKI and the CKJ.11 4 For example, J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1951), pp. 30–38; J. Gray, I and II Kings (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 2nd edn, 1970), pp. 26–28; G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; 2 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), 1:61–64. 5 A. Jepsen, Die Quellen des Königsbuches (Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1956). 6 S. R. Bin-Nun, ‘Formulas from Royal Records of Israel and of Judah’, VT 18 (1968), pp. 414–32. This is a useful study but draws conclusions from assuming a fairly rigid use of formulae and often uses arguments that ‘it stands to reason’ or ‘it is logical’ rather than drawing on data from actual chronicles. Baruch Halpern cites this study as demonstrating the use of early material (The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History [San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988], pp. 207–16). 7 H. Weippert, ‘Die “deuteronomistischen” Beurteilungen der Könige von Israel and Juda und das Problem der Redaktion der Königsbücher’, Bib 53 (1972), pp. 301–39. 8 A. F. Campbell, Of Prophets and Kings: A Late Ninth-Century Document (1 Samuel 1–2 Kings 10) (CBQMS, 17: Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1986), pp. 139–202; A. F. Campbell and M. A. O’Brien, Unfolding the Deuteronomistic History: Origins, Upgrades, Present Text (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), pp. 33–34. 9 B. Halpern and D. S. Vanderhooft, ‘The Editions of Kings in the 7th–6th Centuries B.C.E.’, HUCA 62 (1991), pp. 179–244. 10 See especially N. Na’aman, ‘Prophetic Stories as Sources for the Histories of Jehoshaphat and the Omrides’, Bib 78 (1997), pp. 153–73; idem, ‘The Contribution of Royal Inscriptions for a Re-evaluation of the Book of Kings as a Historical Source’, JSOT 82 (1999), pp. 3–17; idem, ‘La Bible à la croisée des sources’, Annales: Histoire, Sciences Sociales 58.6 (2003), pp. 1321–46; idem, ‘The Sources Available for

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There are a number of reasons for postulating a native chronicle as a major source: (1) Oﬃcial chronicles of various sorts, connected to the royal court, are widely known from the ancient Near East. (2) We appear to have a reference to Israelite and Judahite chronicles in DtrH itself.12 Can we take this at face value, or could the author simply be inventing sources to give plausibility to his account?13 The latter is possible, though the direct citation of sources is an obsession of modern historians and not one widespread in ancient historiographic works. Considering the extensive evidence for such chronicles in the ancient Near East, it seems unlikely that the author was inventing ﬁctitious sources. He does not seem to be depending on a knowledge of other cultures but on experience of his own. That is, he knew of such chronicles, even if he had not himself seen them. (3) A number of stereotyped formulae that introduce and summarise the reigns of diﬀerent kings might suggest borrowing from a source. For more on this, see section 3 below. (4) Some reliable historical data for the reigns of Israelite and Judahite kings during the period of the ‘Divided Monarchy’ have been demonstrated (e.g., the names, order and approximate time frame of the kings).14 There is no denying the actual names of

the Author of the Book of Kings’, in M. Liverani (ed.), Recenti tendenze nella ricostruzione della storia antica d’Israele: convegno internazionale: Roma, 6–7 marzo 2003 (Contributi del Centro linceo interdisciplinare ‘Beniamino Segre’, 110; Rome: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, 2005), pp. 99–114. 11 See n. 3 above. 12 For a list of passages, see n. 30 below. 13 This is the assumption of V. Fritz, 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (trans. A. Hagedorn; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), p. 157. 14 Rather than try to give a lengthy bibliography here, I would like to refer readers to earlier studies of mine that do draw attention to the data and also other sources and bibliography: L. L. Grabbe, ‘Are Historians of Ancient Palestine Fellow Creatures—Or Diﬀerent Animals?’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Can a “History of Israel” Be Written? ( JSOTSup, 245; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 1; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1997), pp. 19–36; idem, ‘“The Exile” under the Theodolite: Historiography as Triangulation’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Leading Captivity Captive: “The Exile” as History and Ideology ( JSOTSup, 278; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 2; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1998), pp. 80–100; idem, ‘The Kingdom of Judah from Sennacherib’s Invasion to the Fall of Jerusalem: If We Had Only the Bible . . .’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings ( JSOTSup, 393; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 5: London: T & T Clark International, 2005), pp. 78–122.

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Israelite and Judahite kings as found in the Assyrian records. If the DtrH was compiled at a late date, such as the exilic period or even the time of Josiah, where did the compiler obtain such information? Historical data are most likely to have come from a written source, but the sort of source that would contain that type of data consistently is a chronicle. I have long believed that there is evidence for the use of a chronicle or chronicles as an important source by the DtrH.15 Here I attempt to characterise that source. Brieﬂy, my thesis is that a single chronicle—CKJ—was used by the author/compiler of DtrH for the framework of his history, for the ‘Divided Monarchy’. This chronicle gave brief but factual information on each king of Judah but also recorded the accession and deaths of the neighbouring kingdom of Israel. Other (often legendary or semi-legendary) material was used by DtrH to ﬁll out the narrative, but much of the reliable data—the data conﬁrmed by other ancient Near Eastern sources— was taken from the CKJ. 2. Chronicles from the Ancient Near East for Comparison 2.1. Mesopotamian King Lists and Chronicles16 We are fortunate in having a variety of chronicles from Mesopotamia, from various historical periods: the Sumerian King List, the Assyrian King List, eponym lists, the Synchronistic Chronicle, the Babylonian Chronicles and the like. A number of these are simply lists that summarise a reign in a single sentence, whereas others give the king’s deeds year by year, if succinctly. Some scholars have lumped chronicles in with king lists, without recognising that a chronicle can take more than one form.17 Chronicles generally give concise summaries of activities 15 Cf. L. L. Grabbe, ‘“Who Were the First Real Historians? On the Origins of Critical Historiography’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period ( JSOTSup, 317; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 3; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 156–81 (173–74). 16 The main source of information for this section is J.-J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (ed. B. R. Foster; SBLWAW, 19; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004). An important earlier collection is A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS, 5; Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin, 1975). 17 Jepsen, Die Quellen des Königsbuches, pp. 107–10 makes such an artiﬁcial distinction. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, pp. 37–40 distinguishes a bare king list from a chronicle but also shows that chronicles take a variety of forms.

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and are more than bare king lists. The extant chronicles are generally compilations of reigns over a considerable period of time. They do not appear to constitute the actual ‘diary’ or ‘day book’ in which events were noted as they happened, but the chronicles do seem to be compiled from such day books and generally record an accurate set of data where they can be checked. Some brief excerpts from a Mesopotamian chronicle are very instructive for comparative purposes:18 The eighth year when there was no king in Babylon, in the month of Dumuzi, the third day, the gods of Uruk returned from [Assy]ria (!) to Uruk. In the month of Te“rit, at noon, the twenty-third day, King ›umban-¢alta“ of Elam fell ill. He [di]ed at sun[set]. ›umban-¢alta“ reigned eight years over Elam. ›umban-¢alta“ (II), his [son], ascended the throne. In the month of ˇebeth, the twentieth day, during an insurrection, the son of King Sennacherib of Assyria killed his (father). Sennacherib reigned [twenty-four] years over Assyria. In Assyria, the insurrection lasted from the month of ˇebeth, the twentieth day, to the month of Adar, the second day. In the month of Adar, the [twenty-]eighth (?) day, Esarhaddon, his son, ascended the throne of Assyria.

Before commenting on this, let’s look at another passage from this chronicle:19 [In the third year (of the reign) of Nabonassar], king of Babylon, [Tiglath-pileser (III)] ascended the throne of Assyria. The same year, [the king of Assyria] went down into Akkad, pillaged Rabilu and ›amràna, and deported the gods of ”apazza . . . The second year, (Nabû)-nàdin-(zèri) was killed during an insurrection. (Nabû)-nàdin-(zèri) reigned two years over Babylon. (Nabû)“uma-ukìn (II), a governor, leader of the insurrection, ascended the throne. (Nabû)-“uma-ukìn reigned one month and two (?) days over Babylon. (Nabû)-mukìn-zèri, the Amuka[nit]e, dethroned him and took the throne. . . . The ﬁfth year, in the month of ˇebeth, ”almaneser went to his destiny. ”almaneser reigned ﬁve years over Akkad and Assyria. In the month of ˇebeth, the twelfth day, Sargon (II) ascended the throne of Assyria. In the month of Nisan, Merodach-baladan (II) ascended the throne of Babylon.

18 19

Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, p. 199 (no. 16). Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, p. 195.

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Notice the similarities between the Mesopotamian chronicle and the summary information given for the reigns of several kings in 1 and 2 Kings. Several points can be made about these passages: (1) The main perspective is that of Babylonia (Akkad), but Assyria and Elam were closely involved with Babylon through this period. Data on all three dynasties are included in this chronicle. (2) Information other than just the rule of kings is included, but not a lot. For example, the return of the gods of Uruk is important from a Babylonian point of view. (3) The length of reign of each king is given, regardless of which country. (4) Not only the year but the month and the speciﬁc day are also given. These points will be instructive when we look at the postulated CKJ. The Babylonian Chronicles, which have many points of interest for comparative purposes, record the reign of each king year by year. But other chronicles, such as that quoted above, summarise the entire reign of the king in succinct fashion and provide a better parallel in this regard. At the beginning of the Hellenistic period, under the Seleucid king Seleucus I, the Babylonian priest Berossus compiled a history of Babylonia in Greek.20 It included information on mythology, history and the succession of rulers over Babylon. Sections seem to have been little more than lists of kings, but others related events or stories in narrative form.21 2.2. Manetho and Egyptian King Lists22 Manetho was an Egyptian priest who wrote a history of Egypt in Greek during the reign of Ptolemy I about 300 bce. There are many 20 On Berossus in general, see S. M. Burstein, The Babyloniaca of Berossus (Sources and Monographs on the Ancient Near East: Sources from the Ancient Near East, 1.5; Malibu, CA: Undena Publications, 1978); A. Kuhrt, ‘Berossus Babyloniaka and Seleucid Rule in Babylonia’, in A. Kuhrt and S. Sherwin-White (eds.), Hellenism in the East (London: Duckworth, 1987), pp. 32–56. The Greek text can be found in F. Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker: Dritter Teil Geschichte von Städten und Völkern (Horographie und Ethnographie), C Autoren über Einzelne Länder Nr. 608a–856 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1958), no. 680 (pp. 364–97), and in the classic study by P. Schnabel, Berossos und die babylonisch-hellenistische Literatur (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1923). 21 For an example, see the quotation on p. 170 below. 22 For the major recent analysis of Manetho’s work, see D. B. Redford, Pharaonic

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parallels with Berossus, both being priests, both drawing on the native traditions (Manetho seems to have used Demotic documents rather than consulting monumental inscriptions), and both combining mythic, epic and chronicle material. Manetho provided the original dynastic framework which was quite important in the early days of modern Egyptology. Native Egyptian records have now given better information for much of Egyptian history; for example, we have some ancient Egyptian king lists, such as the Turin Papyrus.23 After the time of Ramesses II, however, Manetho is still the primary source for the framework of reigning kings. As might be expected, there are several complications with using Manetho’s account. First, an Epitome was made of his work in antiquity, but we have neither the original Aegyptiaca nor the Epitome. Instead, what we have are excerpts in a number of later writings, primarily Josephus and the Christian writers Eusebius and Julius Africanus. Even then the versions of the last two writers come to us in Greek only as they are quoted by the ﬁfth-century Byzantine writer Syncellus.24 Also, some of these quotations seem to be taken from the Epitome rather than the longer original. This makes it diﬃcult to get a clear idea of Manetho. Josephus quotes extensively from Manetho about the Hyksos, showing a lengthy section of narrative text, contrary to the bare king lists we often have from other sources.25 Like Berossus, Manetho apparently included a diversity of material in his study, including not only the bare dynastic lists and also

King-Lists, Annals and Day-Books: A Contribution to the Study of the Egyptian Sense of History (Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities Publication, 4; Mississauga, Ontario: Benben, 1986), especially chapter 6. A classic study is W. Kroll, ‘Manethon’, in G. Wissowa and W. Kroll (eds.), Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Neue Bearbeitung; Stuttgart: J. B. Metzlersche Verlagbuchhandlung, 1930), vol. 14, cols. 1060–1101. A useful edition and translation with introduction to the manuscript tradition is found in the Loeb Classical Library: W. G. Waddell, Manetho (LCL; London: W. Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1940). For the text, see also Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, no. 609 (pp. 5–112). 23 Redford, Pharaonic King-Lists, pp. 1–18. 24 E.g., Syncellus quotes Africanus as speaking in the ﬁrst person when quoting Manetho on king Suphis of Dynasty 4 (Waddell, Manetho, pp. 46–47). 25 Yet some argue that Josephus did not have direct access to Manetho but might even have used a text worked over to give it an anti-Semitic tone which was absent from the original. For a discussion of this question, with sources, see M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, (3 vols; Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1974), vol. 1, nos. 19–21. He himself concludes that the antiSemitic material is original to Manetho, but others argue that Manetho did not mention the Jews.

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historical details but even oral traditions which were more in the category of folklore.26 Donald Redford characterises Manetho’s work as probably ‘a king-list interspersed with narrative sections’, and there seems to be some truth in the view that it is basically a king list that has been expanded by glosses and narratives.27 3. Reconstructing the Chronicle of the Kings of Judah When we start to ask what the CKJ (hypothesised at the end of section 1) might have looked like, it seems to me that we have a number of indications in the biblical text itself. First, we notice the recurrence of three formulae. One of these is about the accession of the king and one is about the death of the king, which are the formulae of interest here. A third formula (often studied) is a theological evaluation of the king’s reign and is certainly the contribution of the DtrH and will not be further discussed.28 No chronicle is likely to have included a theological judgement of the king’s rule, especially since these evaluations found throughout the DtrH are mostly negative. No example of such evaluations is found in any of the other chronicles known from the ancient Near East, but this precisely ﬁts the aim of the Deuteronomistic compiler who is composing a theological account of the history of Israel and Judah. A typical example concerns the reign of Abijam of Judah (1 Kgs 15.1–8, nrsv): (1) Now in the eighteenth year of King Jeroboam son of Nebat, Abijam began to reign over Judah. (2) He reigned for three years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Maacah daughter of Abishalom. (3) He committed all the sins that his father did before him; his heart was not true to the LORD his God, like the heart of his father David. (4) Nevertheless for David’s sake the LORD his God gave him a lamp in Jerusalem, setting up his son after him, and establishing Jerusalem; (5) because David did what was right in the sight of the LORD, and did not turn aside from anything that he commanded him all the days of his life, except in the matter of Uriah the Hittite. (6) The war begun between Rehoboam and Jeroboam continued all the days of his life. (7) The rest of the acts of Abijam, and all that he did, are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the 26

Cf. Redford, Pharaonic King-Lists, pp. 211–12. Redford, Pharaonic King-Lists, p. 230. 28 On this, see especially Weippert, Campbell, and Halpern/Vanderhooft in nn. 7–9 above. 27

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Kings of Judah? There was war between Abijam and Jeroboam. (8) Abijam slept with his ancestors, and they buried him in the city of David. Then his son Asa succeeded him.

This shows two formulae, one about the accession of the king (marked with a single underline) and one about the death of the king (marked with a double underline). The information that might have been borrowed from the CKJ is given in italics. It is unlikely that both the italicised statement in v. 6 and that at the end of v. 7 are quotations from CKJ, but the chronicle must have had a statement on the war. Why DtrH refers to it twice is uncertain, but it illustrates that the author adapted material from the CKJ and did not always just quote it verbatim. Verses 3–5 are clearly the contribution of the Deuteronomistic editor. An important conclusion immediately manifests itself: All of the real information in this passage could have come from a chronicle. In addition to the information in vv. 1–2, a chronicle entry might well have mentioned that Abijam waged war against Jeroboam all his reign (vv. 6–7). The statements in vv. 3–5 are part of the Deuteronomistic repertoire but do not constitute ‘information’, in the sense of telling us something about the king’s reign. Now let us consider the continuation of the passage, to the reign of Asa of Judah (1 Kgs 15.9–24): (9) In the twentieth year of King Jeroboam of Israel, Asa began to reign over Judah; (10) he reigned forty-one years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Maacah daughter of Abishalom. (11) Asa did what was right in the sight of the LORD, as his father David had done. (12) He put away the male temple prostitutes out of the land, and removed all the idols that his ancestors had made. (13) He also removed his mother Maacah from being queen mother, because she had made an abominable image for Asherah; Asa cut down her image and burned it at the Wadi Kidron. (14) But the high places were not taken away. Nevertheless the heart of Asa was true to the LORD all his days. (15) He brought into the house of the LORD the votive gifts of his father and his own votive gifts— silver, gold, and utensils. (16) There was war between Asa and King Baasha of Israel all their days. (17) King Baasha of Israel went up against Judah, and built Ramah, to prevent anyone from going out or coming in to King Asa of Judah. (18) Then Asa took all the silver and the gold that were left in the treasures of the house of the LORD and the treasures of the king’s house, and gave them into the hands of his servants. King Asa sent them to King Ben-hadad son of Tabrimmon son of Hezion of Aram, who resided in Damascus, saying, (19) ‘Let there be an alliance between me and

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lester l. grabbe you, like that between my father and your father: I am sending you a present of silver and gold; go, break your alliance with King Baasha of Israel, so that he may withdraw from me’. (20) Ben-hadad listened to King Asa, and sent the commanders of his armies against the cities of Israel. He conquered Ijon, Dan, Abel-beth-maacah, and all Chinneroth, with all the land of Naphtali. (21) When Baasha heard of it, he stopped building Ramah and lived in Tirzah. (22) Then King Asa made a proclamation to all Judah, none was exempt: they carried away the stones of Ramah and its timber, with which Baasha had been building; with them King Asa built Geba of Benjamin and Mizpah. (23) Now the rest of all the acts of Asa, all his power, all that he did, and the cities that he built, are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah? But in his old age he was diseased in his feet. (24) Then Asa slept with his ancestors, and was buried with his ancestors in the city of his father David; his son Jehoshaphat succeeded him.

This example is similar to the one on Abijam’s reign, with the same basic accession and death formulae. But it is also longer, with more information, especially with regard to the cult and to the involvement of the king of Damascus. Did the compiler have other sources for the reign of Asa? Possibly, but it would not be necessary, since he could have taken everything here from a chronicle entry, apart from his own contribution from the stock Deuteronomistic repertoire. A suggestion of what the CKJ might have contained is indicated by the italicised text, though this can be no more than a guess based on what is found in other chronicles. It is not clear how much of vv. 12–14 might have been in the CKJ, though some of the data might have been. Some of the content of v. 15 was probably in the chronicle, as was some of vv. 17–21, but it would have been bare factual statements: the explanatory material is probably the contribution of the DtrH editor. The contents of v. 22 might also have been in the chronicle. Thus, two formulae emerge that might have been a part of the original chronicle and not just a stereotyped expression of the Deuteronomist. The ﬁrst is an accession formula:29 29

This formula is found in the following passages: 1 Kgs 14.21: Rehoboam; 15.1–2: Abijam of Judah (partial); 15.9–10: Asa of Judah (partial); 15.25: Nadab of Israel; 15.33: Baasha of Israel; 16.8: Elah of Israel; 16.10–15: Zimri of Israel (partial); 16.23: Omri of Israel; 16.29: Ahab of Israel; 22.41–42: Jehoshaphat of Judah; 22.52: Ahaziah of Israel; 2 Kgs 3.1: Jehoram of Israel; 8.16–17: Joram of Judah; 8.25–26: Ahaziah of Judah; 12.1–2: Jehoash of Judah; 13.1: Jehoahaz of Israel; 13.10: Jehoash of Israel; 14.1–2: Amaziah of Judah; 14.23: Jeroboam (II) of Israel; 15.1–2: Azariah of Judah; 15.8: Zechariah of Israel; 15.13: Shallum of Israel; 15.17;

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a. In the nth year of king PN of Israel/Judah, PN son of PN became king. [b. He was n years old when he became king.] c. And he reigned n years in Jerusalem/Samaria. [d. His mother’s name was PN.] This formula takes two slightly diﬀerent forms, depending on whether it refers to a king of Israel or a king of Judah. Points b and d are not found for Israelite kings, but their (mostly) consistent presence with Judahite kings indicates that they were likely to have been included in the chronicle entry for each Judahite king. It is important to note that this formula is not rigid and was adapted to take care of unusual events such as assassination or usurpation. The second formula relates to the end of the ruler’s reign, and can perhaps be called the death or closing formula:30 a. And the rest of the deeds of PN and all that he did—are they not written in the Book of the Matters of Days of the King of Israel/Judah? [b. Reference to a speciﬁc deed (or occasionally deeds) of the king.] c. PN slept with his fathers and was buried in the GN. d. His son PN became king in his place. Menahem of Israel; 15.23: Pekahiah of Israel; 15.27: Pekah of Israel; 15.32–33: Jotham of Judah; 16.1–2: Ahaz of Judah; 17.1: Hoshea of Israel; 18.1–2: Hezekiah; 21.1: Manasseh; 21.19: Amon; 22.1: Josiah; 23.31: Jehoahaz; 23.36: Jehoiakim; 24.8: Jehoiachin; 24.18: Zedekiah. 30 This formula is found in the following passages: 1 Kgs 14.19–20: Jeroboam (I) of Israel; 14.29–31: Rehoboam of Judah; 15.7–8: Abijam of Judah; 15.23–24: Asa of Judah; 15.27–31: Nadab of Israel (truncated: assassination); 16.5–6: Baasha of Israel; 16.10–14: Elah of Israel (truncated: assassination); 16.18–20: Zimri of Israel (truncated: assassination); 16.27–28: Omri of Israel; 22.39–40: Ahab of Israel; 22.46, 51: Jehoshaphat of Israel; 2 Kgs 1.17–18: Ahaziah of Israel (truncated); 8.23–24: Joram of Judah; 9.27–28: Ahaziah of Judah (variant: assassinated); 10.34–36: Jehu of Israel (variant, perhaps because of no accession formula); 12.20–22: Joash of Judah; 13.8–9: Jehoahaz of Israel; 13.12–13: J(eh)oash of Israel; 14.15–16: Jehoash of Israel (repeated); 14.18–20: Amaziah of Judah (assassinated); 14.28–29: Jeroboam (II) of Israel; 15.6–7: Azariah of Judah; 15.11–12: Zechariah of Israel (variation: assassination); 15.15: Shallum of Israel; 15.21–22: Menahem of Israel; 15.26: Pekahiah of Israel; 15.31: Pekah of Israel; 15.36: Jotham of Judah; 16.19–20: Ahaz of Judah; 20.20–21: Hezekiah; 21.17–18: Manasseh; 21.25–26: Amon; 23.28–30: Josiah; 23.33–34: Jehoahaz (variant: removed from oﬃce); 24.5–6: Jehoiakim (there are no closing formulae for Jehoiachin or Zedekiah). What I treat as a single formula Halpern and Vanderhooft discuss as several separate formulae, including a ‘death and burial formula’ (my point c), ‘supplementary note(s)’ (my point b) and a ‘source citation’ (my point a) (Halpern and Vanderhooft, ‘The Editions of Kings’, pp. 183–97, 212–21).

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Since no chronicle entry would contain a cross reference to itself, point a did not come from CKJ. Point c could be from the chronicle but could also be the DtrH’s own invention. Point d repeats information in the accession formula and thus is probably not from the chronicle. Point b does not always occur (which is why it is in brackets), and sometimes it is embedded in the middle of point a. The information in it could well have come from a chronicle but probably not from a ﬁxed formula. When we examine these two formulae, it becomes clear that the opening formula is similar to chronicle entries in other ancient Near Eastern chronicles. Although no other chronicle mentions the name of the king’s mother, this could be a cultural practice unique to Judah. Its consistent presence for Judahite kings but absence for Israelite kings suggests this. This opening formula seems to contain certain sorts of information that is conventionally found in oﬃcial chronicles. Thus, there is a good possibility that the opening formula was taken from the CKJ. It might have been adapted but could in many cases be verbatim: since this is essential information for DtrH’s narrative, why not just copy from the chronicle? The closing formula is more diﬃcult. As noted above, element a is unlikely to have come from any chronicle, but it is conceivable that a chronicle might regularly have a statement that a king ‘slept with his fathers and his son reigned after him’; however, it is also possible that this is a DtrH invention, since it generally tells us nothing new. To examine the question further would take more time and space than can be given to the question in this study. What does seem clear is that the opening formula—but not the closing—is likely to be a direct borrowing from the CKJ. A partial borrowing or an adaptation from a chronicle formula for the closing formula is possible, but it could just as well be an invention of the DtrH. Is the use of only one chronicle as a source suﬃcient to explain this type of material in DtrH? It is often assumed that the author made use of two sources, the CKI and the CKJ. Statements that synchronised the reigns of Israelite kings with the Judaean line have often been ascribed to the editor who supposedly combined two sets of annals. Yet, as Haran asked, how would the author come into possession of two such chronicles?31 Na’aman has recently argued 31 Haran, ‘The Books of the Chronicles “of the Kings of Judah” and “of the Kings of Israel” ’, pp. 158–59.

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that the temple library was available to the compiler.32 This would be reasonable if a version of DtrH was composed in the time of Josiah (as Na’aman and others have argued); however, this is less likely if the book is entirely an exilic composition, as is still widely accepted in German-speaking scholarship.33 But would even the temple library have had a copy of the CKI ? It seems unlikely, and Haran’s argument that the author would not have had two (or three, if we count the Chronicle of the Acts of Solomon) chronicles in front of him has force. However, the ubiquitous thesis that a chronicle from the Northern Kingdom was available to the author is unnecessary. As was shown above (section 2.1), we have examples of Mesopotamian chronicles that include information on the accession to the throne of kings in neighbouring regions. The Synchronistic Chronicle has been mentioned along these lines, but it is not a good example of what we ﬁnd in 1 and 2 Kings. But there are other chronicles that have such data and are closer to the format in 1 and 2 Kings, of which some excerpts were given. They provide excellent comparative evidence of how a single chronicle might well include accession data from neighbouring countries. When we compare these passages from the Mesopotamian chronicles to 1 and 2 Kings, a number of points are suggested for the postulated CKJ. Here are some of the features that the CKJ was likely to have possessed: (1) It would be fairly concise, devoting only a paragraph to each king. Even if individual years were sometimes recorded, these would have been very short. (2) The basic data included for each king would be the time of taking his throne, his father, his mother and the length of his reign. In addition, some of the main events of his reign would be included (if there were any): battles, invasions, revolts, building projects and other signiﬁcant events. Although stereotyped language might be used in describing these, the writer was ready to be ﬂexible in the case of unusual events: the formula is not used rigidly. (3) The synchronism of the reigns of the Israelite and Judahite 32 Most recently, Na’aman, ‘The Sources Available for the Author of the Book of Kings’, p. 108. 33 A good summary of the argument is given by R. Albertz, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century BCE (trans. D. E. Green; Studies in Biblical Literature, 3; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), pp. 271–302.

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kings (for the period up to 720 bce) would also be part of this single chronicle. It would make sense if the compiler of a Judahite chronicle included information for its nearest (and stronger) neighbour (4) However, moral or religious judgement about the king would not be contained in the chronicle. Such information is a contribution of the DtrH editor/compiler. 4. Implications for Writing the History of Ancient Israel In the previous section I argued for a single chronicle as a central source for the DtrH and attempted to reconstruct the form and model contents of such a chronicle. Some previous discussions have suﬀered from an inﬂexible model, but the extensive chronicles now known from Mesopotamia have provided a model that ﬁts our needs. The sort of information that has been conﬁrmed by external records is not extensive and could be explained on the basis of an oﬃcial chronicle, a number of examples of which are found in Mesopotamia. Such a chronicle would have given precise information about the length of reign, the time of death and period of reign, with some key events in the king’s reign. Discussion about the king’s moral character, obedience to Yhwh, or sins against Yhwh would have had no place in the chronicle. Such a chronicle would explain only a part of the DtrH, since a good portion of the text seems to depend on other sources, primarily prophetic and other legendary or semilegendary material, as well as the contribution of the DtrH editor. To illustrate how the hypothesis of such a chronicle can help us in evaluating the DtrH account, we can take the reign of Ahab as an example. His story covers six chapters in the book of 1 Kings, but much of the narrative focuses on Elijah, Micaiah and deliverance from the Aramaeans with the help of prophets (sources: prophetic legends?), Naboth’s vineyard (DtrH) and Ahab’s death in battle (Deuteronomistic invention?). Only a small part of the story seems to be based on a chronicle, but it is this information that is most important: the length of Ahab’s reign, the fact that he was ‘buried with his fathers’, the name of his son succeeding him and some small details about his wealth (such as his ‘ivory house’). But this model of a chronicle is not the only one that has been advanced for understanding the composition of the DtrH. Van Seters has oﬀered Herodotus as the appropriate model for the Deuteronomistic

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editor/author.34 The analogy of Herodotus indeed ﬁts well the period of the ‘United Monarchy’, with a variety of stories that have been edited together with some connecting links between. For the ‘Divided Monarchy’, however, Manetho and Berossus seem to provide better models. That is, an old chronicle was taken as the backbone of the history. Parts of the chronicle could be copied directly, with little or no change. This might include the accession formula and the basic summary of the king’s reign. In the case of several kings whose lives were not very important to the compiler, most or all of what we have has been simply taken over from the chronicle (see the example of Abijam discussed in section 3). Considering the Deuteronomist’s moral aim, the basic data could still be expanded with moralistic statements and evaluations about whether the king was good or (for most of them) bad. This added to the bulk of the text without really contributing any new information. For most of the kings, though, there was other information, usually in the form of stories that could be added to the framework taken from the chronicle. The result of taking these over (in whole or in part) was a narrative that contained the chronicle type of information but other information as well, resulting in a writing that looked more like Berossus or Manetho (assuming our attempts at reconstruction of their original form is anything close to right) than Herodotus. This does not suggest that the compiler produced his writing at such a late date that he could have used Berossus or Manetho as models. It seems to me that the arguments for the DtrH being no later than the Persian period are decisive.35 Rather, the Deuteronomist had sources similar in nature to those of Manetho and Berossus, which led him to work in a similar fashion. To demonstrate how similar Berossus can be to DtrH, here is Berossus’s account of the reign of Sennacherib as quoted in Eusebius’s Chronicle:36 34 J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), especially his last chapter; cf. also S. Mandell and D. N. Freedman, The Relationship between Herodotus’ History and the Primary History (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993); J.-W. Wesselius, The Origin of the History of Israel: Herodotus’ Histories as Blueprint for the First Books of the Bible ( JSOTSup, 345; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2002). 35 For the arguments, see L. L. Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (LSTS, 47; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 337–41. 36 The original version of Eusebius’s Chronicle is extant only in an Armenian

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lester l. grabbe After the reign of the brother of Senecherib and after the rule of Akises over the Babylonians; he was killed by Marudach Baldan before he ruled even thirty days. And Barudach Baldan maintained himself as tyrant for six months, and a man whose name was elibos killed him, and he became king. And in the third year of the reign of Belibos Senecheribos, king of the Assyrians, gathered together an army against the Babylonians, faced them resolutely and defeated them. After taking Belibos and his friends prisoner, he transported them into the land of the Asyrians. He ruled over the Babylonians and established his son Asordianios as king over them. He himself returned to the land of the Assyrians. When he learned that Greeks had invaded the land of the Cilicians, he hastened against them, faced them, and after many of his own troops had been cut down by his enemies, gained the victory in the battle. As a memorial of his victory he left a statue of himself on the battleﬁeld and ordered that an account of his courage and heroic deed be inscribed in Chaldaean script for future times. And Senechrib built (so he reports) the city Tarson after the model of Babylon, and he gave it the name Tharsin. And after all the other acts of Sinecherim he adds the following note: he lived 18 years and he died at the same time that a trap was being readied for him by his son Ardumuzan . . .

As Na’aman has argued,37 it is doubtful that we would have much further information if this chronicle suddenly came into our hands from a serendipitous excavation, because the information in the chronicle was not extensive, and most of it seems to have been used by the compiler.38 He may have omitted material from the chronicle if he had what seemed like more detailed information in other sources (e.g., no accession formula for Jehu), though we also have some indication of duplication between chronicle and story material (cf. 2 Kgs 14.21–22 and 15.1–2 on Azariah of Judah). If I am correct that the synchronic information was already a part of the chronicle used by the compiler, these data are likely to be more reliable than previously thought. Another interesting consideration is that the CKJ is not cited before the beginning of the ‘Divided Monarchy’. This ﬁts with translation, rendered in German in the standard version of J. Karst, Die Chronik aus dem Armenischen übersetzt (Eusebius Werke, 5; Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte, 20; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1911). The English translation here is taken from Burstein, The Babyloniaca of Berossus, pp. 23–24. 37 Contra Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, pp. 62–63. 38 Na’aman, ‘The Sources Available for the Author of the Book of Kings’, p. 110. The formula that ‘the rest of the acts of PN are to be found in the CKJ/CKI ’ is thus only a rhetorical device, not an indication of further information available but not used.

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other arguments that the ‘United Monarchy’ is still a semi-legendary part of Israel and Judah’s history. A signiﬁcant inference from a comparison of the Mesopotamian chronicles is that such compilations tend to be quite reliable. The Sumerian king list might seem to be an exception, since it begins with a list of kings that few would feel had any claim to historical reality: the antediluvial kings; however, the basic conclusion about the post-diluvial kings is that they are more likely to be lists of actual rulers. This also illustrates why the use of formulae and stereotyped phrasing is not necessarily an argument for distortion or invention. The formulae are in fact used ﬂexibly. For example, the constant repetition of the phrase, ‘In the month of Nisan, the king did not go to Babylon . . . The New Year’s festival was not celebrated’ in the Nabonidus Chronicle, is not just rhetoric but a way of recording an important event (or non-event). A ﬁnal question is whether the DtrH used the CKJ directly. If only one chronicle was used, as I have suggested, the chances of having direct access to it are greater than if the compiler had to have two or three chronicles.39 Most of what we see the DtrH use of chronicle material suggests direct access. The most parsimonious solution seems to be that he had the CKJ in front of him. However, we know that real life is often messier than scholarly theory—which can be built only on the evidence available—and it is certainly possible that one or more intermediate sources were what was available to him. 5. Conclusions I have hypothesised a chronicle used by the author of 1 and 2 Kings. It seems to have been a foundational source for the DtrH. This idea is far from new, but discussions up to the present (at least, as known to me) have gone only a certain way in characterising it. The following points summarise my conclusions about it: (1) The biblical text refers to the CKJ and the CKI. Considering the widespread evidence for such chronicles in the ancient Near East, it seems unlikely that the author was inventing ﬁctitious sources. That they are probably not ﬁctitious is also indicated by the data in the text attested by external sources. 39

This was Haran’s reason for arguing against direct access. See n. 31 above.

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(2) The DtrH is made up of a variety of material of diﬀerent sorts and from diﬀerent ages (also of very diverse historical value, though it has not been my purpose here to consider the historical value of all the material in the DtrH, but only the CKJ ). The CKJ seems to have provided the framework for the ‘Divided Monarchy’, but it was supplemented by much other material. The data that might have come from a chronicle are not extensive and could be explained as coming from a fairly concise chronicle such as we ﬁnd in Mesopotamia. (3) It has usually been assumed that the author used two sources, which he synchronised himself. I have proposed that it is not necessary to assume two chronicles since all the chronicle data in 1 and 2 Kings could have come from a single chronicle, the CKJ. The synchronic data about the kings of Israel would have been present in the CKJ. (4) This chronicle had several characteristics: (a) Basic accession data but also including the name of the king’s mother. (b) Data on its main neighbour and rival, the Kingdom of Israel, including the synchronic data. (c) Brief notes on major events in the king’s reign. These were not necessarily stereotyped but could include a wide variety of data relating to the military, politics, building activities, personal matters relating to the king (e.g., major illnesses) and the cult. This was not according to a rigid formula. (5) Although some of the other sources may sometimes have contained reliable historical data, most of the data in the text conﬁrmed by external data as reliable could have come from such a chronicle. This means that the bulk of the DtrH’s text is not of great value for historical events, though it can be of use for sociological study and of course for literary, theological and other non-historical disciplines of the Hebrew Bible. (6) The question of historical value does not depend on the genre. The use of stereotyped and formulaic language is not unusual in chronicles, but it is a way of organising data, not necessarily of distorting it. The formulae are in fact used ﬂexibly. So far, there is good evidence that the chronicle-type material in 1 and 2 Kings is fairly reliable. This is true even if the CKJ was not used directly by the compiler of DtrH but came to him only via an intermediate source or sources.

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No stream can rise higher than its source. In evaluating the historical value of various sources, the prime emphasis should rightly be on determining whether the data can be veriﬁed. Where the data came from is of secondary concern: if they are right, they are right, regardless of source, and vice versa. The source(s) of the data will usually be a matter of inference and speculation, anyway. Yet we cannot ignore the question of sources. If data in a historical document seem to be reliable, it is proper that the historian ask where the writer of the document obtained the information. The answer to the question might help in further evaluation of the document’s historical value. It is a pleasure to dedicate this essay to Graeme Auld who has devoted much of his scholarly energies to the Deuteronomistic History in one way or another.

THE ‘ORIGINAL TEXT’ OF SEFER YEÍIRA OR THE ‘EARLIEST RECOVERABLE TEXT’? A. Peter Hayman It gives me great pleasure to dedicate this paper to my long-time friend and colleague, Graeme Auld. The problems it discusses are ones which we have long pondered over together: what can be achieved by the conventional methods of textual criticism and how should we structure critical editions of texts from Jewish antiquity? The paper is also an oﬀspring from a long-term research project which Graeme has constantly been encouraging me to complete. It was ﬁrst presented in a raw form at the Biblical Seminar at New College where Graeme and I have nearly always ﬁrst tried out our research ideas. Fortuitously, as it now turns out, he was not able to be present when I presented this paper. 1. A Brief Introduction to Sefer Yeßira1 Sefer Yeßira is a short, enigmatic text which sets out to demonstrate how God created the world by using what it calls the ‘thirty-two wondrous paths of wisdom’ constituted by the seﬁrot: the Spirit of the Living God, air, water, ﬁre, the six dimensions of space, together with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. It belongs to no clear genre of Jewish literature in the ﬁrst millennium ce and, indeed, betrays little interest in the subjects which characterise most of this literature. Its origins are completely obscure and its dating even more so, with contemporary scholars oﬀering dates from the ﬁrst century ce2 to the ninth century.3 SY ﬁrst appears in two tenth century manuscripts, one now in the Vatican Library and beautifully written in the square Hebrew script used for biblical texts. The other is in a scroll found in the Cairo 1

Henceforth SY. See Y. Liebes, Ars Poetica in Sefer Yetsira (Tel-Aviv: Schocken, 2000). 3 S. M. Wasserstrom, ‘Sefer Yeßira and Early Islam: A Reappraisal’, Jewish Thought and Philosophy 3 (1993), pp. 1–30. 2

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Geniza and now in three separate parts in Cambridge University Library. Thereafter there is a gap in the manuscript record until the second half of the thirteenth century, after which numerous copies appear—about 130 in all have been identiﬁed.4 Simultaneous with the two earliest manuscripts of SY, three commentaries on it appear in the tenth century, all by key ﬁgures in early medieval Judaism and all treating it as a venerable text which either goes back to Abraham himself or descends from him by oral tradition: Saadya Gaon (931). Dunash ben Tamim (955/56). Shabbetai Donnolo (between 946 and 982, probably nearer 982).5 Then in the mid-twelfth century we have the massive commentary of Rabbi Judah ben Barzillai of Barcelona.6 Thereafter SY gradually ceased to be of primary interest to mainstream Jewish scholars and was absorbed into the nascent Jewish mystical movement, the Kabbalah. Numerous kabbalists wrote commentaries upon it; we have about 65–70 commentaries in all from the Middle Ages. Why there was so much interest in this text—apart obviously from ﬁnding out how God created the world—we will consider at the end of this paper when we take a closer look at its concluding paragraph. 2. The Problems Confronting the Editor of Sefer Yeßira In preparing an edition of this text I had to confront and make decisions on a number of problems, many of which are common to scholars working on the text-criticism and edition of Jewish texts from antiquity. Some of them (though not many as we shall see) are of course unique to this particular text. Two particular questions concern me here: (1) how to structure an edition of SY?, and (2) what should be my aim as an editor? What ﬁnal result should I be looking for? Let us consider ﬁrst the chaos of the manuscript data of SY confronting the potential editor. I have constructed two tables in Appen4 For a description and a list of some of these manuscripts see my edition: Sefer Yeßira (TSAJ, 104; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), pp. 12–23. 5 For information on these commentaries see Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 25–31. 6 Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 32–33.

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dices I and II of my edition in order to make the problem visually apparent to the reader.7 In Appendix I, I lay out the attestation of the paragraphs of the text of SY as they appear in the nineteen manuscripts which I have chosen as the basis for my edition. I use as a basis the sixty-four paragraph division established by Ithamar Gruenwald in his preliminary critical edition of SY8 which was based on the full form of its text which appears in the tenth century Vatican Library manuscript. A quick glance shows that very few manuscripts attest all these paragraphs and some a lot fewer. A signiﬁcant number (which immediately group themselves together) have about ﬁfty of these paragraphs. Another group of three manuscripts also have about ﬁfty of the paragraphs but very often the missing ones are diﬀerent from those of the ﬁrst group. A third group consisting of six manuscripts contains nearly all of the sixty-four paragraphs. This leaves us with precisely thirty-two paragraphs which are present in all nineteen of the manuscripts. If we leave aside those paragraphs which are missing in just one or two manuscripts we still have only about forty out of a possible sixty-four paragraphs attested in the bulk of our manuscripts. Clearly we are faced here with a text whose size was never ﬁxed and any attempt on the part of an editor to reconstruct its ‘original form’ is going to be problematic. The problem is compounded when we come to Appendix II where I lay out in tabular form the order of the paragraphs as they appear in each manuscript, indicating also if there is a chapter division and where the divisions lie. Again the manuscripts fall into three groups, with two groups following roughly the same paragraph order but the group of three having a radically diﬀerent pattern from all the other manuscripts. However, even within the other two groups there are signiﬁcant variations of paragraph order. It is thus apparent that, not only is the size of our text not ﬁxed, neither is the order of the material which it contains! However, one clear result emerges from this scene of chaos: the manuscripts group themselves into three recensions9 and any edition should recognise this fact. But before we look at how best to represent

7

Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 43–48. I. Gruenwald, ‘A Preliminary Critical Edition of Sefer Yezira’, Israeli Oriental Studies 1 (1971), pp. 132–77. 9 Already recognised by previous scholars and now generally referred to as the Long, the Saadyan and the Short Recensions. 8

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this data in an edition, we need ﬁrst to see how unique the manuscript tradition of SY is among other Jewish texts. So in my introduction I compare SY with the Mishnah tractate Pirke Avot, the Hekhalot texts (the earliest phase of the post-biblical Jewish mystical movement), the anti-Christian Jewish polemical literature in the Jewish dialect of Arabic ( Judeo-Arabic), and ﬁnally I bring in the Synoptic Gospels.10 My conclusion is that the situation I face with SY is actually characteristic of most Jewish texts—at least the ones for which we have an abundance of manuscript evidence. In the case of many texts an illusion of textual uniformity has been created by the fact that only one or two manuscripts survive or all the existing manuscripts can be traced back to a single manuscript or a small uniform group of manuscripts. I am thinking here particularly of the MT text of the Hebrew Bible.11 Where the manuscript evidence is abundant, chaos reigns. Why should this be so? 3. The Sociological Context in which Hebrew Manuscripts Have Been Transmitted The answer lies in the sociological situation in which most Hebrew texts were transmitted in the Middle Ages and the practices of the scribes responsible for handing the texts on. Malachi Beit-Arié (the leading world-expert on Hebrew codicology) points out that the lack of centralised political and religious institutions in medieval Jewry meant that no control could be exercised over individual copying of texts: Encouraged by authors to correct their works, and aware of the unavoidable corruption imposed by the unconscious mechanics of copying, copyists in particular did not view copying as mechanical reproduction, but instead as a critical editorial operation involving emendation, 10

See Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 7–8. For an earlier discussion of the problems discussed here and, in particular, a more detailed discussion of the problem of relating the MT to the ‘original text’ of the Hebrew Bible, see A. P. Hayman, ‘The “Original Text”: A Scholarly Illusion?’, in J. Davies, G. Harvey and W. G. E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer (Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1995), pp. 434–49. For a similar discussion of these issues but concentrating on the literature of the Kabbalah see D. Abrams, ‘Critical and Post-Critical Textual Scholarship of Jewish Mystical Literature: Notes on the History and Development of Modern Editing Techniques’, Kabbalah: Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts 1 (1996), pp. 17–71. See pp. 32–34 for Abrams’ comments on Ithamar Gruenwald’s ‘Preliminary Critical Edition of Sefer Yezira’. 11

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diagnostic conjecture, collation of diﬀerent exemplars and even incorporating external, relevant material and the copyist’s own opinion. Consequently, many Hebrew manuscripts present texts not only corrupted by the accumulation of unsupervised involuntary copying errors, but also distorted by editorial or even redactoral reconstruction, contamination by diﬀerent models and versions, and deliberate integration of pertinent texts.12

Elsewhere Beit-Arié ﬁnesses these observations when he makes a distinction between the attitude to the text being copied of the professional scribe working for hire and that of the individual author copying a text for his own use: While the ﬁrst scribe [the professional] is more vulnerable to unconscious mistakes conditioned by the copied text and the mechanism of copying, the second one [the individual owner/scholar] may feel free to change the copied text consciously by amending and editing what might seem to him corrupted passages, sentences or words, collating other versions or completing missing or abbreviated parts relying on memory and the authority of his scholarship.13

Another factor which Beit-Arié also regards as potentially fatal for the eﬀort to reconstruct the ‘original text’ is the way in which authors continued to update and expand their works with the result that manuscripts copied at diﬀerent stages of the evolution of a text would be in circulation at the same time and inevitably then would crossfertilise.14 Of course, this problem bedevils text-editors working in all periods and literatures. The editor of the works of D. H. Lawrence has to struggle with the fact that no such thing as a ‘text’ of his works can be said to exist.15 12

M. Beit-Arié, Hebrew Manuscripts of East and West: Towards a Comparative Codicology (London: The British Library, 1993), p. 83. 13 M. Beit-Arié, ‘Palaeographical Identiﬁcation of Hebrew Manuscripts: Methodology and Practice’, Jewish Art 12–13 (1986–1987), pp. 15–44. Reprinted with additions and corrections in M. Beit-Arié, The Makings of the Medieval Hebrew Book: Studies in Palaeography and Codicology ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, The Hebrew University), pp. 11–40. 14 Cf. Abrams, ‘Critical and Post-Critical Text Scholarship’, p. 65: ‘the phenomenon of multiple versions of Jewish mystical texts is characteristic of the early Kabbalah’. 15 See J. Worthen, ‘D. H. Lawrence: Problems with Multiple Texts’, in I. Small and M. Walsh (eds.), The Theory and Practice of Text-Editing: Essays in Honour of James T. Boulton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 14–34. Worthen concludes his paper with the words: ‘some texts can only be preserved in a very special kind of critical edition, precisely because they have no single existence. All we can do is to record, in one form or another, the versions that make up their multiplicity’ (p. 32).

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What are the consequences of this for the structure and aims of an edition of SY? There are currently three possible models for the edition of texts: (1) The classical, eclectic critical edition, e.g., the Göttingen edition of the LXX. (2) The diplomatic edition, e.g., the Cambridge edition of the LXX. (3) The synoptic edition, e.g., Peter Schäfer’s edition of the Hekhalot Texts or the Jerusalem Talmud.16 In my introduction I discuss these models in relation to Ithamar Gruenwald’s ‘Preliminary Critical Edition of SY’ published in 1971, an edition of SY chapter 1 produced by Israel Weinstock in 1972, Peter Schäfer’s synoptic editions, David Abrams’ edition of the Book Bahir, and ﬁnally David Stec’s edition of the rabbinic Targum to the Book of Job.17 In the end I have opted for a modiﬁed version of the synoptic model. Since the manuscripts of SY so clearly fall into three main recensions the synoptic model is obviously the best way of representing the data. But unfortunately, although all the manuscripts can be roughly assigned to one or other of the recensions, they do not all slavishly follow the majority readings of their group. Most of the variants can be recorded in a critical apparatus but often it is too confusing for the reader to have to laboriously recreate the particular text of a manuscript from a critical apparatus. When I judge this to be the case I simply add the full text of such manuscripts to my synoptic presentation. The textual commentary which I provide to each paragraph discusses all the variants in the manuscripts.

16 P. Schäfer, M. Schlüter and H. G. von Mutius, Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur (TSAJ, 2; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1981); P. Schäfer and H.-J. Becker, Synopse zum Talmud Yerushalmi (TSAJ, 31, Band I/1–2; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1991). For a similar attempt to use these three models as a template against which to construct his own edition of Hekhalot Rabbati see J. R. Davila, ‘Prolegomena to a Critical Edition of the Hekhalot Rabbati’, JJS 45 (1994), pp. 208–26. 17 Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 9–12.

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5. The Aim of my Edition So much for the solution of my ﬁrst problem—how to present and structure an edition of SY. Now to my second problem: what should be the overall aim of my edition and commentary. Clearly it cannot be to reconstruct the ‘original text’ of SY. The manuscript data and the practices of medieval scribes (and almost certainly of Jewish scribes before them) rule that out of court. Instead I have aimed at reconstructing what I call the ‘earliest recoverable text of SY’. By this I mean the text on the basis of which it is possible to explain how most of the variant texts now in the recensions and manuscripts arose. Often, but not always, it will be the lowest common denominator of our available texts—what they all have in common. It also, almost invariably, turns out to be the shortest text we have. There are a few occasions where we can guess why a scribe might want to shorten the text he had before him but nearly always it is easier to think of reasons why scribes expanded the text. We certainly have the support of the earliest commentators for assuming this to be the case for SY. There is only one case where I am inclined to suspect that part of the text was cut out for theological reasons. Otherwise, scribes altered the ideological orientation of the text by means of supplementation and, if that produced internal inconsistencies, it did not seem to worry them. My ‘earliest recoverable text’ is not to be taken as synonymous with the ‘original text’ of SY. It has been created as a theoretical exercise in order to try to penetrate into the processes which led to the formation of the multitudinous texts of SY which have come down to us. We have no reason to presume that these processes had not been in operation prior to the period to which the manuscripts give us access. Penetrating into that period does become highly speculative and obviously passes over the borderline between textual and literary/ source criticism. My reconstruction of the ‘earliest recoverable text of SY’ is kept completely separate from the main edition of the manuscripts and is printed in Appendix III.18 The textual notes in the main part of the edition provide the justiﬁcation for the decisions I arrived at in

18

Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 49–51.

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reconstructing this form of the text. Nearly all the decisions are backed up by text-critical data. In the few cases where I feel that this data is not decisive I have placed the relevant texts in square brackets. This reconstructed text has 896 words. In Appendix IV I have printed the complete text of the tenthcentury Vatican manuscript of SY because this is an excellent example of the Long Recension. This form of the text has 2,713 words. I have then underlined the material in this manuscript which is not present in my ‘earliest recoverable text’. This enables me to isolate the material which I conjecture has been added in the course of the growth of the SY text-tradition and also to make the diﬀerence between the two stages of the text visually clear to the reader. Having isolated the material it is then possible to attempt to account for it, to explain why scribes felt the need to supplement the form of the text which they inherited. This added material can be divided into six main categories: (1) Biblical citations and allusions. Most of the biblical material in SY turns out to be weakly attested. Only in two places do we get explicit quotations introduced by the requisite formulae (‘for thus it is said’ and ‘for thus it is written’)—two words from Ezek 1.14 in §5 and three words from Ps 104.4 in §14. Elsewhere there are a few one or two word allusions to biblical texts. All other biblical references are not attested in one or more of the manuscripts.19 (2) Rabbinic material. There is hardly anything in the ‘earliest recoverable text’ of SY that connects it with material which can be found in the standard sources for rabbinic Judaism. There is a good deal of it to be found in the extra material which makes up the Long Recension. In addition there is a limited layer of allusions which seems to connect SY with the Hekhalot literature.20 The function of these additions seems to be to accommodate SY to the standard forms of Judaism that were becoming normative towards the end of the ﬁrst millennium ce. (3) Creatio ex nihilo. The view of creation that emerges if we read the ‘earliest recoverable text’ is one where God works on previously 19 I have investigated this aspect of the textual tradition of SY in much more detail in A. P. Hayman, ‘Some Observations on Sefer Yesira: (1) Its Use of Scripture’, JJS 35 (1984), pp. 1–17. 20 All these additions are discussed in detail in Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 34–35, and in the papers referred to there in the footnotes.

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existing material. The added material eﬀects a comprehensive adjustment of this to the view of creation which became normative in medieval Judaism—creatio ex nihilo.21 (4) Astrological material. An extensive block of material (§§41–44) has been added to our ‘earliest recoverable text’ in order to align SY with current astrological speculations. No hint of astrology is discernible in the earlier form of the text. (5) Kabbalistic material. A few manuscripts dating from the fourteenth century and later contain allusions to kabbalistic notions. (6) Commentary material. The vast bulk of the extra material in SY constitutes clariﬁcatory and expository material, some of it reﬂecting a disciplined and determined editorial intention, other parts ad hoc and incidental. Helpfully, the earliest commentators often classify this material for us as μyçwrp (‘interpretations’). What this material exempliﬁes is the almost seamless way in which an early text expands through the addition of interpretative material to the full-blown form of the later medieval commentaries. It almost becomes an arbitrary decision on the part of the scholar as to what constitutes text and what constitutes commentary. Or to put it another way, by what criteria can we cut into this continuous process of development and say at this point the text is established and from now on we have commentary? The process is, of course, parallel to that occurring in all streams of Jewish tradition. We have no reason to assume that this process of adding material to SY began only in the period just prior to the emergence of our earliest manuscripts and commentaries. We can speculate about the nucleus from which the text originally started to develop as does Israel Weinstock in his recreation of an ‘original’ form of chapter one of SY (§§1–16) going back to the ﬁrst century ce.22 But, in the absence of manuscript evidence or citations from earlier authors, we have no objective way of accessing this earlier part of the process. This is not to say that such speculations are worthless, just that the

21 See A. P. Hayman, ‘The Doctrine of Creation in Sefer Yesira: Some TextCritical Problems’, in G. Sed-Rajna (ed.), Rashi, 1040–1990: hommage à Ephraim E. Urbach: congrès européen des études juives (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993), pp. 219–27. 22 See Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 4–6 for bibliography and an assessment of Weinstock’s work. Ithamar Gruenwald has made some similar observations in his article ‘Some Critical Notes on the First Part of Sefer Yezira’, REJ 132 (1973), pp. 475–512.

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process of supplementation outlined above makes it more or less certain that we can never recover the ‘original form’ of SY. Since the same processes of text transmission were operative right across all types of Jewish literature in late antiquity (and almost certainly in earlier periods too) this renders problematic all claims to reconstruct the ‘original form’ of Jewish texts. 6. Sefer Yeßira §61 Let us conclude with one example of the eﬀects of this process on the text of SY. §61 was clearly intended to be the conclusion of SY, though in the Long Recension and two manuscripts of the Short Recension some additional material was added later—now making §§62–63.23 Here is a translation of the twelve words which constitute this paragraph in my ‘earliest recoverable text’:24 When Abraham our father understood, and formed, and combined, and investigated, and succeeded, the Lord was revealed to him.

And here is a translation of the eighty-seven words of §61 as it appears in the tenth-century Vatican manuscript, representing the Long Recension: When Abraham our father came, and looked, and saw, and investigated, and understood, and carved, and combined, and hewed, and pondered, and succeeded, the Lord of all was revealed to him. And he made him sit in his lap, and kissed him upon his head. He called him his friend and named him his son, and made a covenant with him and his seed for ever. And he trusted in the Lord, and he accounted it to him for righteousness (Gen 15.6). And he invoked upon him the glory of the Lord, as it is written: Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, etc. ( Jer 1.5). He made with him a covenant between the ten toes of his feet— it is circumcision. He made with him a covenant between the ten ﬁngers of his hands—it is language. He bound twenty-two letters into his language, and the Holy One revealed to him the secret. He drew them out into water, he burned them into ﬁre, he shook them into the air, he branded them into the seven, he led them into the twelve constellations.

23 I hope I have been able to demonstrate that §63 grew originally out of a marginal comment found in one Ms of §48b; see Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 188–92. 24 For the Hebrew texts of this paragraph see Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, pp. 51, 57–58, 181–86. The basis for my reconstruction is the text found in the Geniza Scroll which has twenty words.

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How did this paragraph grow from a presumed twelve to eightyseven words? Clearly it grew by many of the types of additions which I have classiﬁed above. The paragraph begins with a chain of verbs which attempt to describe Abraham’s experience as recorded in Genesis 15. In the manuscripts the number of verbs in this list varies from three to eight. Even the shortest lists do not provide us with a single verb which is attested in all the manuscripts. My reconstruction is based on, but not identical with, the list found in our earliest manuscript—the Geniza scroll. I have little conﬁdence that my list is identical with what the original author wrote. However, we can be sure that later scribes felt the need to supplement this list with many of the verbs used earlier in SY to describe the creative activity of God. In this ﬁrst sentence the word ‘Lord’ received the obvious supplement ‘of all’; other manuscripts expand with phrases like ‘the Holy One, blessed be He’ or ‘the glory of the Lord’. The next two sentences are clearly generated by Genesis 15 and aim to make explicit the reference which is only alluded to in the earlier form of the text. In the process the idea of the covenant with Abraham and his seed is introduced, a concept not referred to earlier in SY.25 The Geniza Scroll of SY does not have this explicit reference to Genesis 15 but has instead the reference to Jer 1.5 which also appears now in the Vatican manuscript. The ten manuscripts of the Short Recension do not contain the reference to Jer 1.5. The reference to the making of the covenant is then expanded in the Vatican manuscript by bringing in substantial amounts of material from SY §3, none of which is present in the Saadyan Recension. This introduces a reference to circumcision which also is not present in the Saadyan version of §3. The ﬁnal two sentences of the longer version can be identiﬁed as a further series of expansions by their absence in one of the tenth-century commentators (Donnolo) or their description as a ‘variant reading’ by Judah ben Barzillai. They draw on a set of Long Recension expansions found in SY §§32–24, 41, 52 and 36, 44, 54. Such is the process by which an earlier text containing twelve words grew into a later one containing eighty-seven. In the case of §61 I surmise that the ‘original text’ of SY was not too diﬀerent from my ‘earliest recoverable text’, though, as I have said, I cannot be sure what the original ﬁrst verb was nor which of 25 Especially if we understand the phrase dyjy tyrbw in §3 with Saadya as meaning ‘and the creation of the Unique One’. See Hayman, Sefer Yeßira, p. 68.

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the ﬁrst four verbs were in the apodosis (if there were four). But what I am certain of is that the overall syntactical structure of the original text has been preserved in all manuscripts despite the additions. And it is this syntactical structure which is crucial for understanding the importance of SY in early medieval Judaism, because to put it baldly, what this states is that reason is prior to revelation. Abraham works out for himself with the use of his human reason that there is only one God who has created the world in the way recorded in SY and then, and only then, is God revealed to him. That is why SY was a magnet drawing Jews who deeply felt the lack of a philosophical tradition in rabbinic Judaism which could compare with that boasted of by Christian and Islamic scholars. With the aid of SY these Jews could argue that Judaism too had a philosophical tradition and one which was much older than those of its rival religions. Despite the eﬀorts of the scribes to load up SY §61 with biblical, rabbinic, and commentary material, this major presupposition of the original author still shines through the enlarged text. Were this paragraph not part of the original text then I could not understand all the eﬀorts made by Jews in the early middle ages to transmit, expand and comment on Sefer Yeßira.

‘THE RIGHTEOUS GENERATION’ THE USE OF DÔR IN PSALMS 14 AND 241 Alastair G. Hunter 1. Generations in Time and Space The phrase wyçrwd rwd hz (‘such is the company of those who seek him’) in Ps 24.6a is widely perceived to be a crux. Despite the relative frequency of the word rwd itself there are no precise equivalents of this construction. I shall in due course examine three close, though not exact, parallels which will be instructive for the attempt to pin down a plausible interpretation of the formulation in Psalm 24. In the meantime, as a preliminary, it will assist in our quest for meaning if we review brieﬂy the range of meanings of rwd in its more normal uses. First, the term is used some sixty-ﬁve times to refer to generations in the past or still to come, the largest single form being a group (thirty-six in number) of phrases which repeat the word rwd.2 The primary purport of the word in such contexts is the description of duration in time rather than the extent of the community. Thus two starkly contrasting examples from Exodus: God also said to Moses, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites, “The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob has sent me to you”: This is my name for ever, and this is my title for all generations’ (3.15). 1 It gives me considerable pleasure to contribute this essay in honour of Graeme Auld. I have known and admired him both as a scholar and a person for more than a quarter of a century, and I esteem him as a ﬁne representative of a long and illustrious tradition in Scotland in general and Edinburgh in particular. Aspects of this essay reﬂect that sense of continuity: I have made use of the work of scholars ranging from the late 19th to the early 21st century, and the earliest form of this piece was as my own ﬁrst stumbling presentation to the Society for Old Testament Study, of which Professor Auld is a distinguished past president. 2 Speciﬁcally, rwd rwd or rwdw rwd preﬁxed by a preposition of some kind: Exod 3.15; 17.16; Deut 32.7; Isa 13.20; 34.17; 58.12; 60.15; 61.4; Jer 50.39; Joel 2.2; 4.20; Pss 10.6; 33.11; 49.12; 61.7; 77.9; 79.13; 85.6; 89.2, 5; 90.1; 100.5; 102.13; 106.31; 119.90; 135.13; 145.13; 146.10; Prov 27.24; Lam 5.19; Est 9.28. There are two variants: μyrwd rwd (Isa 51.8; Pss 72.5; 102.45) and rwdl rwd (Isa 34.10; Ps 145.4).

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and And Moses built an altar and called it, The Lord is my banner. He said, ‘A hand upon the banner of the Lord! The Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation’ (17.15–16).

In a similar mode we ﬁnd references to generations extending ‘from the beginning’—çwr (Isa 41.4; Job 8.8)—or ‘for ever’—μlw[ (Gen 9.12; Isa 51.9), generations of the fathers or the children ( Judg 3.2; Pss 49.20; 73.15), and ‘all generations’ (Ps 45.8). There are also nine instances where the language speaks of ‘a later generation’—rja rwd (Deut 29.21; Josh 22.27; Judg 2.10; Joel 1.3; Pss 48.14; 78.4, 6; 102.19; 109.13). These refer in particular to promises (or threats) which will be delivered to the next generation, or to the importance of passing on the traditions of Yahweh to those who come after. Thus, while being more speciﬁc about which generation is involved, the meaning is still to be understood chronologically. Finally, a number of phrases refer to a speciﬁc number of generations, sometimes in terms of the lasting power of God’s word, sometimes to express the term of a ban. The numbers used are all rather conventional, and clearly serve a rhetorical purpose; thus: three (Deut 23.8), four (Gen 15.16; Job 42.16), ten (Deut 23.3, 4) and a thousand (Deut 7.9; Ps 105.8; 1 Chron 16.15). There is a quite technical use found in the legal traditions, where the plural form of the word is found with various pronominal suﬃxes.3 These are clearly intended to emphasise the permanence of a rule or commandment, that it should be interpreted as extending throughout time and without limit. Incidentally, in terms of distribution throughout Tanakh, rwd is found predominantly in Torah (ﬁfty-eight times) and Psalms (thirty-nine times). There are sixteen occurrences in Prophets and a further sixteen scattered in the remaining books. So far all of the examples we have listed refer to time, to generations in the past or in the future. But there is a rather diﬀerent emphasis to be found in a group of instances which refer to the present generation.4 In these cases the meaning of rwd needs to be understood rather diﬀerently, for the idea of the contemporary ‘generation’

3 Gen 17.7, 9, 12; Exod 12.14, 17, 42; 16.32, 33; 27.21; 29.42; 30.8, 10, 21, 31; 31.13, 16; 40.15; Lev 3.17; 6.11; 7.36; 10.9; 17.7; 21.17; 22.3; 23.14, 21, 31, 41, 43; 24.3; 25.30; Num 9.10; 10.8; 15.14, 15, 21, 23, 38; 18.23; 35.29. 4 Straightforward cases which clearly refer to, for example, the passing of a particular generation are to be found in Exod 1.6; Num 32.13; Deut 2.14; Judg 2.10.

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is in many ways coincident with the idea of the community as a whole. Psalm 112.2 aﬀords an interesting bridge into this concept, in an ambiguous couplet where the use of rwd can be interpreted in diﬀerent ways. Their descendants (w[rz) will be mighty in the land; the generation (rwd) of the upright (μyrçy) will be blessed.

How we are to understand the second line depends partly on how the parallelism is construed, and partly on the way that the construct chain ‘generation-of-(the)-upright’ operates. The singular form might suggest that this is not straightforwardly to be read in the same way as the examples above; the parallelism works diﬀerently if we take the emphasis to be on ‘descendants’ than if we stress ‘their’; that is, the second line might easily be a further description of the present community rather than a simple repetition of the idea of descendants. This becomes particularly pertinent in a group of texts which refer to an ‘evil’ or ‘wicked’ rwd or one that provoked God’s wrath (Deut 1.35; 32.5, 20; Jer 7.29; Pss 12.8; 78.8). These are in many ways diﬃcult to distinguish from the people who could be similarly described, as is clear from the wording of Deut 1.35: ‘Not one of these—not one of this evil generation—shall see the good land that I swore to give to your ancestors’. Perhaps the simplest way to express this nuance is to recognise that these texts are describing the covenant community as an entity with temporal as well as spatial dimension, something which comes out naturally from the bitter words of Deut 32.5 (cf. v. 20): ‘. . . his degenerate children have dealt falsely with him, a perverse and crooked generation’. Those who are ‘perverse and crooked’ are, to be precise, a cross-section of the community in time, as is clear also from Ps 95.10: For forty years I loathed that generation and said, ‘They are a people whose hearts go astray, and they do not regard my ways’.

2. ‘Such is the Generation’ On the basis of these preliminary comments, I claim that it is appropriate to think of rwd as having a direct connection with the people of Israel as a whole, at least as they are idealised in the biblical traditions where the covenant with Yahweh is a core deﬁning property. I do not wish to deny the predominant sense of a collection

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of descendants through time, but I aﬃrm that this is not the whole or the only story. One curious usage merits a mention here—the sequence of four verses in Prov 30.11–14 where each verse begins with rwd and then proceeds to deﬁne abuses which could well belong to a prophetic harangue. This is obviously not a reference to people in the future or the past. The nrsv rendition ‘There are those who’ seems weak; would it not be better to see this as a quasiprophetic denunciation of the community as a whole which has somewhat lost its bearings in the less heated atmosphere of Proverbs?5 When it comes to Ps 24.6a translators have had diﬃculty in producing a plausible interpretation of the Hebrew wyçrwd rwd hz. nrsv’s ‘Such is the company of those who seek him’ does at least defer to a meaning of rwd not unlike that which I have just canvassed. njb has a weaker version of this, ‘Such is the people that seeks him’, while jps goes for the somewhat eccentric, ‘Such is the circle of those who turn to Him’. Some have taken the word here to mean something like ‘fate’; thus neb and reb, ‘Such is the fortune of those who seek him’, and Jacquet, ‘Voilà le lot de qui recourt à Yahve’.6 A related use, in Ps 14.5b, qydx rwdb μyhlaAyk, is rendered by nrsv, ‘for God is in the company of the righteous’, while jps repeats its use of ‘circle’ for rwd. The diﬃculty of ﬁnding a good translation for 24.6a is compounded by the fact that the rest of the verse, as we shall see, is equally problematic. A second important feature of the phrase under consideration is the use of the demonstrative hz with rwd. There is no exact parallel to this—the placing of the demonstrative before the noun is unique to Psalm 24—but there are analogues in ﬁve instances: Gen 7.1; Exod 1.6; Deut 1.35; 32.20; and Ps 12.8. Most versions follow the Greek in supplying a demonstrative in Ps 95.10, ‘that generation’, and the opening vocative form, rwdh, in Jer. 2.31 could be read demonstratively. Nevertheless, the parallels are limited, and we shall look for other similarities in our quest for a plausible interpretation of 24.6. It is clear—and the translations at least agree in this—that this verse does not refer to duration in time, and that it has no speciﬁc 5 R. J. Cliﬀord, Proverbs: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1999), p. 259, translates ‘A sort that . . .’ which, while odd, at least registers the curious Hebrew. The consensus seems to be that the term is used here to denote a class of people. 6 L. Jacquet, Les Psaumes et le coeur de-l’homme: étude textuelle, littéraire et doctrinale (3 vols; Gembloux: Duculot, 1975), 1:566.

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legal context. What it does surely have is a locus within the speciﬁcs of Israel, understood as a religious community with a historical destiny—a combination which expresses both the temporal and the contemporary dimensions which we identiﬁed in section one. Many years ago F. J. Neuberg argued on the basis of certain Ugaritic and Phoenician documents that rwd can have the meaning ‘assembly’ or ‘council’.7 His examples include Ps 112.2, which we have already discussed, and the three which are at the heart of this paper (Pss 14.5; 24.6; Jer 2.31), conﬁrming the sense that these passages should indeed be treated diﬀerently. Certain other passages deserve special notice; we have not included them yet in our survey precisely because they do not readily ﬁt with any of the patterns of use already covered. The ﬁrst is Gen 6.9 (with an echo in 7.1) which describes Noah as ‘blameless in his generation’, a phrasing which strongly suggests the contemporary community. In the rest of this essay I propose to examine closely the context of rwd in Pss 14.5 and 24.6, particularly in respect of the idea of the entrance liturgy. While this is usually applied to Psalms 15 and 24, there seem to be factors which could suggest the inclusion of 14 also. I shall then turn to the passages from Genesis and Jeremiah which might shed light on these liturgical contexts, with a view to making some suggestions about conventional rubrics which might have functioned as part of the liturgy in (probably) the post-exilic period. 3. The Entrance Liturgies There is a clear consensus that Psalm 24 belongs to the liturgy of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem,8 and that it includes a very speciﬁc feature: 7 F. J. Neuberg, ‘An Unrecognized Meaning of Hebrew DÔR’, JNES 9 (1950), pp. 215–17. 8 H.-J. Kraus, Psalmen (BKAT, 15; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1960), pp. 196ﬀ. identiﬁes several expressions in Psalm 24 as technical terms relating to pilgrimage. Thus hl[, b μwq (cf. Ps 1.5); çrd (cf. Amos 5.5; 2 Sam 21.1); and çqb (cf. Hos 5.15; 2 Sam 12.16). J. T. Willis, ‘Ethics in a Cultic Setting’, in J. L. Crenshaw and J. T. Willis (eds.), Essays in Old Testament Ethics (J. Philip Hyatt, in memoriam) (New York: Ktav, 1974), pp. 145–70 (150f.), gives a useful summary of linguistic pointers to the cultic setting of both psalms (15 and 24). Apart from those already mentioned: (1) ˚çdq rh (15.1), hwhyArh // wçdq μwqm (24.3), also occur in Pss 2.6; 48.2; Isa 2.3; 30.29, where the contexts refer explicitly to Zion and/or Jerusalem; (2) lha (15.1) is used of the Temple in Pss 27.5–6; 61.5; Isa 33.20; and (3) hl[ (24.3) is a technical term for a pilgrimage procession in 1 Sam 10.3; 2 Sam 6.12, 15; 1 Kgs 8.4; 12.33; Ps 47.6.

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the entrance or torah liturgy (vv. 3–6) which validates the qualiﬁcations of the pilgrims who seek admission to the temple.9 Willis observes that ‘many religions in the ancient world required worshippers to meet certain conditions before allowing them to enter into the sanctuary’.10 Examples known from elsewhere in the Ancient Near East include the following from the Temple of Horus at Edfu: O, you prophets and priests, all you who enter before gods . . . Do not appear with sin. Do not enter in uncleanness. Do not speak lies in his house. Do not embezzle the provisions!11

Anderson (quoting G. E. Wright) refers to an admission rule inscribed on the Jerusalem Temple: ‘No alien may enter within the barrier and wall around the Temple. Whoever is caught (violating this) is alone responsible for the death (-penalty) which follows’.12 Willis further claims that there are ‘several texts in the Old Testament which indicate that priests, Levites, and/or gatekeepers refused to allow worshippers entrance into the temple if they were unclean, which would require a prior investigation of those seeking entrance’.13 All of these examples may have some bearing on the general principle of restricted entry; but they diﬀer from our two psalms in that the latter clearly present a liturgy of self-examination, not an ‘entrance examination’ carried out by authorities. Two prophetic passages might well have been inﬂuenced by the genre of the entrance liturgy: Isa 33.13–16 and Mic 6.6–8. Neither, of course, constitutes a liturgy in itself, but the work of Johnson and others has surely established beyond doubt the likelihood of cross

9 Jacquet, Les Psaumes et le coeur de-l’homme, p. 567. See also A. Weiser, The Psalms: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1962), p. 167: Psalm 15 ‘obviously originated in the cultus. . . . Once every sanctuary probably laid down its own rules in accordance with which admission was granted by the priest’. M. Dahood, Psalms I: 1–50: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB, 16; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967) describes Psalm 15 as an admission liturgy (p. 83) and Psalm 24 as a pilgrimage liturgy (p. 151). 10 Willis, ‘Ethics in a Cultic Setting’, p. 148. 11 H. Ringgren, The Faith of the Psalmists (London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963), p. 120. 12 A. A. Anderson, The Book of Psalms (2 vols; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972), 1:202. 13 Willis, ‘Ethics in a Cultic Setting’, p. 149.

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inﬂuences.14 More recently, the question of processions and possible entrance liturgies has been extended by Craig Broyles, who has proposed that Psalms 5, 26, 28, 36, 52 have features in common with 15 and 24 which entitle us to regard them in this light.15 My own work on Psalms 120–134 indicates an extensive liturgy of procession and entry in which Psalms 130 and 131 form the immediate preparation for the procession into the temple.16 The wording of 130.3–4 is particularly interesting in this connection: If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.

These brief observations are germane to the overall purpose of this essay, which is to identify a cultic/performative context for the unusual uses of rwd which I have identiﬁed in Pss 24.6 and 14.5, together with Gen 6.9 (and 7.1) and Jer 2.31. What I hope to show is that the accepted context of the ﬁrst of these has implications for how we read the others. 4. Psalm 14 Psalm 14 has always drawn attention, not least for its stark condemnation of ‘fools’ who deny the existence of God. The fact that it stands immediately before the ﬁrst entrance liturgy may be suggestive, for it is on the face of it improbable that the series of psalms which climaxes in 24 is not also thematically in sequence, though I am not at the time of writing aware of any such recent study. Some scholars have identiﬁed connections between Psalms 14 and 9/10,17 and Maclaren goes further in trying to group together the whole of the 14 A. R. Johnson, The Cultic Prophet in Ancient Israel (Cardiﬀ: University of Wales Press, 1962); idem, The Cultic Prophet and Israel’s Psalmody (Cardiﬀ: University of Wales Press, 1979). 15 C. C. Broyles, ‘Psalms Concerning Temple Entry’, in P. W. Flint and P. D. Miller (eds.), The Book of Psalms: Composition and Reception (VTSup, 99; Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature, 4; Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 248–87. 16 A. G. Hunter, Psalms (Old Testament Readings; London: Routledge, 1999), pp. 175–258 (242–48). 17 C. A. Briggs, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms (ICC; 2 vols; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1906–1907), 1:104; M. Buttenwieser, The Psalms, Chronologically Treated (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1938), p. 477.

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sequence 8–15.18 These notes may be taken as work in progress, though what I mainly want to consider is some close parallels between Psalms 14 and 24. The former contains a systematic confrontation between those, ‘the foolish’, who proclaim that there is no god (μyhla ˆa), and, the wise who seek god (μyhlaAta çrd). Verses 1, 3–4 are thematically close to a systematic negation of the qualities demanded in the two entrance-liturgy psalms, which might suggest that this psalm had a dramatic role in the overall build-up to the actual entrance so vividly presented in 24.7–10. The repeated use of the more unusual negative form ˆya (four times in verses 1 and 3) strongly reinforces Table 1 Psalm 14

Psalm 15

Psalm 24.3–6

Words in square brackets indicate verbal equivalences across two or more of the psalms quoted here. Opening question

‘The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who [seek] after God’ (2)

‘O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your [holy] [hill]?’ (1)

‘Who shall ascend the [hill] of the Lord? And who shall stand in his [holy] place?’ (3)

Closing answer

‘God is with the [company] of the [righteous]’ (5b)

God/not-God; dangers of idolatry/true worship

‘Fools say in their [hearts], “there is no God” ’ (1a) ‘Have they no knowledge, all the evildoers’ . . . who ‘do not call upon the Lord’ (4c)

Those who ‘speak Those ‘who do not the truth from their lift up their souls to [heart]’ (2b) what is false’ (4b) ‘in whose eyes the wicked are despised, but who honour those who fear the Lord’ (4a, b)

Evil and corrupt deeds/right behaviour

‘They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good’ (1b, c)

‘Those who walk blamelessly and do [what is right]’ (2a) ‘who stand by their

‘Such is the [company] of those who [seek] him, who seek the face of the God of [ Jacob]’ (6)

‘Those who have clean hands and pure [hearts]’ (4a)

18 A. Maclaren, The Psalms (The Expositor’s Bible; 3 vols; New York: A. C. Armstrong & Son; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1892–1894): 1:123f. I have myself explored the sequence 8–14 in an unpublished paper presented to the Society for Old Testament Study in Dublin, July 2002.

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Table (cont.) Psalm 14

‘They have all gone oath even to their astray, they are all hurt’ (4c) alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one’ (3a, b) Treatment of the innocent

Those ‘who eat up my people as they eat bread’ (4b) ‘You would confound the plans of the poor, but the Lord is their refuge’ (6)

Consequences ‘There shall they be in great terror’ (5a)

Liturgical climax?

Those ‘who do not Those ‘who do not slander with their swear deceitfully’ (4c) tongue, and do no evil to their friends, nor take up a reproach against their neighbours’ (3) ‘who do not lend money at interest, and do not take a bribe against the innocent’ (5a, b) ‘Those who do these ‘They will receive things shall never be blessing from the moved’ (5c) Lord, and [vindication] from the God of their [salvation]’ (5)

‘O that [deliverance] None for Israel would come from Zion! When the Lord restores the fortunes of his people, [ Jacob] will rejoice, Israel will be glad’ (7)

vv. 7–10

this impression. Table 1 summarises both the thematic and the signiﬁcant linguistic connections across all three psalms.19 There is also a possibly signiﬁcant emphasis on actions shared between Psalms 14 and 15: hç[ in 14.1, 3 and 15.3, 5, and l[p in 14.4 and 15.2. There are also a few additional linguistic links between Psalms 15 and 24, which are of less concern to us here, since our direct interest is in the role of Psalm 14 in the network of entrance liturgies. What I want to do now is to examine in more detail a few of the parallels between Psalms 14 and 24. 19

I include Psalm 15 since it has its own signiﬁcance within the entrance liturgy.

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4.1. What the Fool Thinks The metaphor ‘heart’ which is present in all three psalms is, of course, best rendered in English in terms to do with the will or the intellect. It is found in 14.1 and 24.4 in the context of worship of God contrasted with idolatry—the use of awç in the latter can with some plausibility be taken to be a reference to idols—and enables us to deﬁne a close relationship of contrast between these verses. The fool thinks ‘There is no God’ Their works destroy and corrupt, there is none that does good.

He whose hands are innocent and whose thoughts are pure, who has not devoted himself to an idol, nor sworn by a fraud.

The ﬁrst two lines of 14.1 are matched by the last two of 24.4 in that they both refer to the stance of the worshipper before God—the one sceptical, the other refusing to be distracted by frauds and impostors. Equally, the third and fourth lines of 14.1 contrast with the ﬁrst two of 24.4. What is clear is that this is not a purely philosophical or theological debate. The ethical connections are at least as important to the psalmist as are the mental attitudes which underpin them. Interestingly, other passages in which something like the ‘no God’ of Psalm 14 is to be found support this reading. Psalm 10.4, though somewhat diﬃcult to render precisely, has a sequence of phrases which certainly anticipate the words of Psalm 14: ˆya çrdyAlb wytwmzmAlk μyhla. The inclusion of two unusual negatives, the seeming refusal to seek, the statement that there is ‘no God’, and the conclusion ‘that’s all they think’ take us ﬁrmly within the thought-world of Psalm 14. The fact that later in the psalm (v. 11) they are heard claiming that ‘God has forgotten, he has hidden his face’ demonstrates that this is not philosophical atheism but ethical avoidance. The other two signiﬁcant places (apart from the repetition in Ps 53.1) where the precise phrase ‘no God’ occurs are Isa 44.6 and 45.5,20 in the general context of the unique claims of Yahweh and the reduction of other ‘gods’ to the status of mere idols. Other relevant exam-

20 There are three further occurrences—in 2 Kgs 1.3, 16; 5.15—which are not directly related to the context of idols.

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ples can be found where the text uses μyhla al; thus 2 Kgs 19.18 (= Isa 37.19), Jer 2.11 and 16.20, all of which endorse the analysis above, that when Tanakh speaks of ‘no God’ it implies the kind of nothingness or vanity represented by idols or the demoted gods of other nations, rather than any kind of theoretical atheism.21 This is important for our analysis of what is going on here: the culmination of Psalm 24 in the great entry into the Jerusalem temple to meet the true god, and its identiﬁcation of a particular group of qualiﬁed pilgrims, is closely related to the way that Psalm 14 deﬁnes the wrong kind of pilgrims. To sum up: the essence of the psalmist’s claim is that, for those who embark on the pilgrimage to ﬁnd God, it is essential to establish a fundamentally right attitude of mind. This is, however, not a matter of mere intellectual assent; for out of a person’s thoughts arise his or her deeds, and failure in the former leads inevitably to corruption of the latter. The betrayal is to imagine that it is possible to say ‘no God’ without implying idolatry. The no-god is an idol, a falsehood, a deception, a vanity—but at the same time an all too real thing which can destroy its acolytes. Psalms 14 and 24, negatively and positively, say the same thing: the true seeker is inevitably a true believer, while whoever does not believe will not even want to seek the God of Jacob. 4.2. The Reward of Jacob There is a signiﬁcant cluster of shared language between Pss 14.5–7 and 24.5–6. This has been indicated in Table 1, but for the purposes of a clearer analysis I will set them out afresh. The translation is broadly nrsv, with an emendation corresponding to my analysis of the crux at the end of 24.6.22

21 One further, isolated phrase in Deut 32.21 (laAalb) seals the matter: ‘They made me jealous with what is no god, provoked me with their idols’. 22 See Hunter, Psalms, pp. 130–31, 136–37. A very similar translation was given more than a hundred years ago by Maclaren, The Psalms, 1:238. F. Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Psalms (trans. D. Eaton; The Foreign Biblical Library, 11; 3 vols; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1887–1889): 1:413 expresses the force of this single ejaculatory proper name most eloquently: ‘The predicate, which has assumed several forms, concentrates itself in the one word bq[y, which it all along had in view’.

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14.5b God is with the company of the righteous.

μyhla rwd qydx

14.7a O that deliverance for Israel would come from Zion!

hqdx and vindication from 24.5b μyhla the God of their t[wçy w[çy salvation.

14.7b When the Lord restores the fortunes of his people, 14.7c Jacob will rejoice, Israel will be glad.

twhy

[v. 2, çrd]

hwhy They will receive

24.5a

blessing from the Lord,

rwd Such is the company 24.6a çrd of those who seek him,

bq[y bq[y Who seek your face, 24.6b Jacob

The argument is not that the two passages say literally the same thing; rather it is that by use of shared terms and a similar mood of salvation, vindication and blessing deriving from the reality of God/Yahweh in Zion/the Temple, the two Psalms reach the same kind of conclusion. Of course, Psalm 24 goes on in verses 7–10 to depict in memorable detail the actual arrival at God’s holy mountain (wçdq rh); something which remains implicit, but nonetheless undeniable, in Psalm 14. Some of the detailed parallels in Table 2 merit closer attention. Firstly, both psalms link deliverance or salvation with the quality of righteousness or vindication—without qdx there can be no [çy—and these two terms are closely identiﬁed with the ‘company’ (rwd) of those who are clearly the favoured pilgrims. Secondly, there is the fact of the quest. Both Psalms are clear that the arrival at a state of righteousness, the winning of salvation, and the permission to ‘see God’, all depend on an active quest. Those who sit passively at the foot of the hill, as it were, gain nothing; only those willing to submit to the test will enter the gate of the temple (14.2; 24.6). And ﬁnally there is the use of the proper name Jacob. While it sometimes serves as a useful poetic parallel to Israel, there are other resonances which might suggest a more deeply-rooted cultic usage. One of the most intriguing of these is in Ps 132.2, 5 ‘the mighty one of Jacob’—a psalm, incidentally, which also contains a refrain (vv. 9, 16) linking righteousness and salvation. Maclaren, in justifying his translation of 24.6, comments that

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the declaration that such seekers are the true people of God is a worthy close of the whole description, and the reference to the ‘face’ of God verbally recalls Penuel and that wonderful incident when Jacob became Israel. The seeker after God will have that scene repeated, and be able to say, ‘I have seen God’.23

In the light of the many other verbal links between 14.5–7 and 24.5–6, the pairing of Jacob and Israel (in that order) in 14.7 when read with the dramatic use of ‘Jacob’ as a self-identiﬁcation of the pilgrims in 24.6 lends considerable support to Maclaren’s thoughtful proposal. 4.3. Sacred Space and the Entrance Liturgies I conclude this comparison of Psalms 14 and 24 with a brief comment on the role of sacred space in each (as also in Psalm 15). There are multiple terms, some shared, which identify this motif as a key one in such liturgies. In Psalm 14 we have the Lord looking down ‘from heaven’ and the expectation that deliverance will come ‘from Zion’; in Psalm 15 Yahweh’s ‘tent’ and his ‘holy hill’ open the liturgy; and in Psalm 24 we may single out ‘the hill of the Lord’ and ‘his holy place’ in v. 3, while recognising the implied space of the temple in vv. 7–10.24 Together with the other interlinking features identiﬁed in the foregoing account, these surely add up to a strong probability that both psalms address the same situation, albeit from opposing perspectives. I shall now turn to the other two unusual uses of rwd which we noted in section 2. 5. Noah in his Generation In Gen 6.9 there is a description of Noah which serves to justify his exemption from the universal destruction about to be brought about by the ﬂood. The key sentence reads: Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation; Noah walked with God.

jn ˚lhth μyhlaAta wytrdb hyh μymt qydx çya jn

23

Maclaren, The Psalms, 1:238. If the literal meaning of the opening two verses is also part of this theme, then indeed the whole world and everything in it is, in a real sense, sacred. But this is perhaps to generalise too much and to lose the speciﬁc reference to the deﬁned sacred spaces of Israel as a cult. 24

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While this example is morphologically diﬀerent, in that it uses the plural form of rwd with a pronominal suﬃx, it nonetheless clearly belongs with the cases we have already considered. It does not refer to Israel, being within the compass of the primeval history, and it certainly refers not to generations extending through time but to Noah’s own contemporaries. Thus it is reasonable to consider it as one of the small class of instances deﬁned in section 2. There are very striking links between this verse and our three entrance liturgy psalms.25 Psalm 15.2 speaks of ‘Those who walk (˚lh) blamelessly (μymt), and do what is right (qdx)’ and includes no fewer than three of the key roots in Gen 6.9. Psalm 14.5 reminds us that ‘God (μyhla) is with the company (rwd) of the righteous (qdx)’, again containing three verbal connections with the Noah saying. Psalm 24 does not contain a single line with quite the same reverberations, but does remind us that it is the company (rwd) of those who seek him who will be vindicated (qdx) by God (μyhla) (vv. 5–6). The earlier reference to ‘whose hands are innocent and whose thoughts are pure’ (v. 4), while not using the word μymt, does imply the same kind of condition of blamelessness found in Gen 6.9 and Ps 15.2. There is, however, one important distinction to be made: whereas the ‘generation’ or ‘company’ deﬁned in the Psalms is a collective of those who meet the requirements of the entrance liturgy, in Noah’s case it is that over against which his righteousness is deﬁned. The whole of the rest of humanity is caught up in the damning indictment of Gen 6.5–7, which could well stand comparison with the negative portrayal in Ps 14.1–5 which also culminates in the threat of a terrible fate awaiting the wicked.26 In Genesis we meet a single righteous man against the wickedness of the world; in the psalms it is Israel, the people of God, against its corrupt enemies. As the one righteous man of his time, Noah embodies and anticipates that righteous generation which is yet to appear—the descendants of Jacob, the nation of Israel—and is the ﬁrst so to be described. There is no occurrence of any form of the root for ‘righteous’ in Tanakh before this singular attribution of that quality to Noah, and it is repeated

25 For reasons of succinctness I have used the triliteral for most of the shared terms rather than reproducing the speciﬁc forms employed. 26 Maclaren, The Psalms, 1:125, commenting on 14.2 remarks: ‘The strong anthropomorphism of the vivid picture recalls the stories of the Deluge, of Babel, and of Sodom’. Cf. also Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Psalms, 1:258.

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by God in 7.1, at the point of Noah’s entry into the ark with his family: ‘I have observed that you [alone] are righteous before me in this generation’.27 It is hard to say whether these verbal and thematic reminiscences have signiﬁcance beyond mere coincidence. If it could be established that the liturgy of Psalms 14, 15 and 24 had wide currency, there is no reason to doubt that the writer of Genesis might have reworked it in his ﬂood narrative in such a way that his or her readers would readily recognise. Two further pieces of evidence make this more likely: ﬁrstly, the analysis of the Psalms of Ascent as a pilgrim festival focussed on Zion,28 and secondly, the ﬁnal text to be considered in this essay, Jer 2.31a. A number of important, though not often noted, links exists between the entrance liturgy psalms and members of the Ascents group.29 In Ps 14.7 there are two intertexts which call to mind Psalm 126: ‘When the Lord restores the fortunes of his people’ (cf. 126.1a, 4a), and ‘Jacob will rejoice, Israel will be glad’ (cf. 126.2a, 2b, 3b, 5b, 6c). The questions in Pss 15.1 and 24.3 are reﬂected in 130.3, and the curious combination of the roots lgr (‘foot’) and fwm (‘to stumble’) in 15.3a and 5c is reminiscent of the saying in 121.3, ‘He will not let your foot be moved’.30 The ark liturgy which is clearly implicit in Psalm 24 is made explicit in 132, where the special meaning of Jacob is also attested. Overall, the references to Zion and the terminology of the holy hill, the dwelling, and the place of God which infuse both collections reinforce this sense of a similar setting. If the later group belongs, as I have argued, to a processional event, the context for a similar reading of 14–24 is already in place. I shall now consider the ﬁnal piece of evidence in order to reach some modest conclusions.

27 The importance of the ascription of righteousness to Noah is further emphasised by the curious fact that none of the patriarchs is described in Genesis as tsadiq. The virtue of tsedaqah is twice attributed to Abraham, in 15.6 and 18.19, and is used disingenuously by Jacob in 30.33 to protest his honesty when he is in the process of cheating Laban! But that is all; the remaining instances are, once in 20.4 when Abimelech protests against the punishment of innocent people, and a similar cluster in Abraham’s famous debate with God prior to the destruction of Sodom (18.24–29). 28 Hunter, Psalms, pp. 175–258. 29 The New Revised Standard Version Cross Reference Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), which is in many ways an admirable scholarly tool, oﬀers no links whatsoever. 30 Dahood interprets the hapax qal use of the verbal form lgr in 15.3 as ‘to trip over his tongue’, though the conventional interpretation of the phrase is ‘to slander’.

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6. A Liturgical Fragment in Jeremiah? Jeremiah 2.31a is a fragment both syntactically strange and contextually ill-ﬁtting. It is generally deemed to be a scribal gloss of late date, and is rarely commented on.31 The surrounding material does not shed any immediate light on its meaning, and translations tend to claim (with the nrsv) that the ‘meaning of the Hebrew is uncertain’. In fact the words are not particularly obscure; it is what they mean that seems to elude interpreters. The phrase in question reads, literally, as follows: (4) the-word-of-YHWH (3) see (impv.) (2) you (1) the generation

hwhyArbd

war

μta

rwdh

The most obvious puzzles about this sentence are, ﬁrstly, how to interpret ‘the generation’ and secondly, what it means to ‘see the word of Yahweh’. The most likely readings are, respectively, a vocative: ‘O generation’, and to take the verb to mean ‘experience’ rather than literally ‘see’, a meaning which does have some support elsewhere. An alternative to the second is to take ‘the word of the Lord’ as a form of God’s presence, as in 1 Kgs 19.9b, ‘The the word of the Lord came to [Elijah], saying’; in that case we would be able logically to retain the literal meaning ‘to see’. From these preliminary comments we could arrive at something like, ‘And you, O generation, see the Word of the Lord’ or ‘And you, O generation, experience the word of the Lord’. Neither is entirely satisfactory. There are several aspects of the phrase which bear comparison with Ps 24.6a; thus: (1) The awkward juxtaposing of an emphatic pronoun with rwd (μta rwdh // rwd hz) 31 Most commentators treat the phrase as a gloss, and make no signiﬁcant comment on it. A few take it to be the heading of a new section, thus D. R. Jones, Jeremiah (NCB; London: Marshall Pickering; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), and J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999). The one substantive comment I have found is in W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chapters 1–25 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), pp. 55, 107. He proposes to read the deﬁnite article on ‘community’ as a question—only a simple revocalisation is required—and thus oﬀers the translation: ‘ Then see the word of Yahweh!’ (p. 55).

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(2) The theme of seeking or seeing (3) The object of the search (the-word-of-Yahweh // Yahweh) If the phrase is indeed a gloss, it may have originated in some part of the liturgy familiar to the annotator, and may further have been prompted by clues in the Jeremiah text to which it was appended. The comparison above suggests that the liturgy in question might be that which we have tentatively identiﬁed in the earlier parts of this essay; it remains to see whether we can ﬁnd the contextual clues to support our thesis. There is a cue in Jer 2.26–28 which calls to mind Psalm 14. The passage is mocking Israel’s leaders for their apparent readiness to worship trees and stones, and to turn their backs and not their faces to God. The signiﬁcant phrase is in v. 28: ‘But where are your gods?’ (˚yhla hyaw)—a riposte, as it were, to the fool’s proclamation, ‘There is no God’.32 In that same passage, in v. 26, the root çwb is used of Israel’s shame; compare the wicked in Ps 14.6 who ‘shame’ the designs of the poor. The reference in v. 27—‘They have turned their backs to me, and not their faces’—may be contrasted with the description of those in Ps 24.6 who ‘seek the face [of God]’. Similarly, the blatant failure of non-gods to ‘come and save’ (wn[yçwy hmwq) in v. 27, and the prophet’s mocking, ‘let them come, if they can save you’ (˚w[yçwyAμa wmwqy) calls to mind the pilgrims’ question in Ps 24.3, ‘Who shall stand . . .?’ and the ‘them’ of salvation and deliverance in Pss 14.7 and 24.5. Verse 30 contains further suggestive echoes: the use of ‘in vain’ (awçl)—compare Ps 24.4—and ‘to devour’ (lka), which is used both here and in Ps 14.4 of the destruction of the innocent. Lastly, there is in vv. 26–27 a series of three emphatic pronouns which bear comparison with the emphatic use of pronouns and demonstratives in Psalm 24 (see my own discussion of this phenomenon),33 and the presence both of the deﬁnitive article with rwd and the pronoun μta in v. 31a. In v. 26, where the oﬃcials responsible for resiling from true worship are named, they are also identiﬁed collectively as ‘they’ (hmh), while the tree and the stone in v. 27 are

32 It is also pertinent to note that one of the examples of the formula ‘no god’ which we discussed above (4a) is in Jer 2.11. 33 Hunter, Psalms, p. 134.

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addressed speciﬁcally as ‘you’ (hta, ta, respectively). The irony is pointed: Yahweh in Psalm 24 is, of course, the ‘he’ (awh) who made these same things which are now foolishly addressed by deluded Israelites as if they were gods. In the light of these many similarities, conﬁned within a narrow compass (vv. 26–31a), I believe that there is a good case for seeing the gloss (if that is indeed how it should be read) as a semi-quotation from a very familiar liturgical setting prompted by a string of clues in the passage in which it is set. 7. Conclusion The evidence for a specialised use of ‘generation’ gathered in this brief survey is striking. In ﬁve contexts—Pss 14.5 and 24.6; Jer 2.31; and Gen 6.9 and 7.1—we have clariﬁed a very signiﬁcant agreement of vocabulary and theme which points plausibly, if not absolutely convincingly, in the direction of a liturgical usage familiar to the writers of these passages. In this cultic moment a group of pilgrims identify themselves as the ‘generation’ (rwd)—or better, ‘assembly’ or ‘company’—of those who wish to present themselves as qualiﬁed to enter the sacred place and stand in the presence of Yahweh. The evidence of Psalms 14, 15 and 24 implies an entrance liturgy or torah which might have been either the subject of self-diagnosis, or a formalised interrogation by a priest at the gate. The texts we now have do not provide a single clear formulaic structure, though a general form may be proposed: [demonstrative] + [‘company’] + [‘seek’ (çrd or çqb) or ‘see’] + [yhwh, or substitute]

This would constitute an aﬃrmation or declaration at the end of the putative dialogue implied, for example, in Ps 24.3–6, and would be accompanied by an expression of the two theological virtues which attend true pilgrims: ‘righteousness’ and ‘salvation’. Israel W. Slotki proposed, many years ago, an expansion of the relevant text in Psalm 24 which explained its obscurities on the assumption that the written form we now have is abbreviated, certain repetitions having been omitted.34 I conclude with his proposal, partly for its interest, and 34 I. W. Slotki, ‘The Text and Ancient Form of Recital of Psalm 24 and Psalm 124’, JBL 51 (1932), pp. 214–23.

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partly in recognition of one aspect of this essay: the continuing value to contemporary scholarship of the work carried out by our predecessors, which is too often sidelined in a breathless quest for ‘the new’. This is the assembly of those who look for him the company of those who seek your face This is the assembly of Jacob the company of those who seek your face

(wçrd rwd hz) (˚ynp yçqbm rwd) (bq[y rwd hz) (˚ynp yçqbm rwd)

EXODUS 20.24B: LINCHPIN OF PENTATEUCHAL CRITICISM OR JUST A FURTHER LINK BETWEEN THE DECALOGUE AND THE BOOK OF THE COVENANT?1 William Johnstone A characteristic of the work of Graeme Auld—and the basis for his sometimes strikingly independent judgements—has been the intensive study of parallel biblical texts (and of the Hebrew and Greek versions). At the close of his Joshua, Moses and the Land, a volume which concentrates especially on parallels between Joshua 21 and 1 Chronicles 6, Judges 1 and Joshua, and the second half of Joshua and Numbers, he raises the question of the possible application of his methods to the wider Pentateuch. Citing E. W. Nicholson’s work,2 Auld describes the Decalogue in Exod 20.1–17 as ‘“Priestly” appropriation of material developed in another biblical context’ (i.e., Deut 5.6–21). In this case, he observes, ‘its source is available for inspection and discussion’, and then asks, ‘But is its very presence justiﬁcation for a search for other such supplements . . .?’3

1 It is a great pleasure to oﬀer this article to Graeme Auld as a token of warm appreciation of him as respected scholar and valued colleague. Over more than forty years our paths have frequently touched. I ﬁrst got to know of Graeme in the University of Aberdeen in session 1962–1963, when he was an undergraduate in the ﬁnal year of an honours Classics degree (training which he has amply exploited in his Septuagintal studies) and I was beginning my academic career as Lecturer in Hebrew & Semitic Languages. A decade later I met him in Jerusalem. Since then, we have acted as undergraduate and postgraduate external examiners for each other on more than one occasion. He kindly accepted my invitation to contribute to my valedictory Alexander Geddes conference in Aberdeen in 2002. See A. G. Auld, ‘Alexander Geddes on the Historical Books of the Hebrew Bible’, in W. Johnstone (ed.), The Bible and the Enlightenment: A Case Study—Dr Alexander Geddes (1737–1802): The Proceedings of the Bicentenary Geddes Conference held at the University of Aberdeen, 1–4 April 2002 ( JSOTSup, 377; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 181–200. Since my taking up residence in Edinburgh, he has oﬀered me both social and academic hospitality; this paper originally given to the University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Biblical Seminar in March 2005 is an expression of the latter. 2 E. W. Nicholson, ‘The Decalogue as the Direct Address by God’, VT 27 (1977), pp. 422–33. 3 A. G. Auld, Joshua, Moses and the Land: Tetrateuch-Pentateuch-Hexateuch in a Generation Since 1938 (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1980), pp. 117–18.

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As it happens, I have been independently engaged in just such ‘synoptic’ studies, in this case the comparison of the reminiscences in Deuteronomy, especially chapters 1–11, and the matching accounts in the preceding Tetrateuch, both in Exodus and in Numbers, precisely with the aim of determining the range of Deuteronomic materials which P has ‘appropriated’ and of delimiting the P ‘supplements’ themselves. In this quest a key text has indeed been the Decalogue. I have argued that the reminiscence of the revelation of the Decalogue and associated events of covenant-making in Deut 4.9–5.31 enables the reconstruction of a matching narrative, a ‘D-version’, of that revelation and associated covenant-making in Exod 19.1–24.8. For present purposes that reminiscence in Deuteronomy provides, in my view, two vital pieces of information, one or other or both of which, nonetheless, it is common to ﬁnd disputed in the secondary literature:4 ﬁrst, that, as Deut 4.9–13, 15, 36; 5.2–30 suggests, the Decalogue must be integral to the matching narrative of the making of the covenant in Exodus 20; second, that, as Deut 4.14; 5.31 suggests, the Book of the Covenant in Exod 20.22–23.33 must also be integral to that narrative.5 It is that evidence from the reminiscence in Deuteronomy that precipitates the present inquiry: if Decalogue and Book of the Covenant (B) are both integral to the same narrative in its original D-version in Exodus 19–24, is there a close literary connection between Decalogue and B themselves? When one tabulates the beginning of the Decalogue in Exod 20.1–11 and the sacral framework of B in Exod 20.22–26; 23.10–19,6 a striking phenomenon meets the eye.

4

See n. 38 below. E.g., W. Johnstone, Chronicles and Exodus: An Analogy and Its Application ( JSOTSup, 275; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1998). In pp. 27–31 of that volume I argue against the particular deductions of Nicholson which, as just mentioned above, Auld cites: it seems to me to be beyond dispute that the ﬁnal formulation of the Decalogue in Exod 20.1–17 is the work of the P-editor, as the reason given for remembering the Sabbath indicates, but that does not mean that the P-editor has ‘appropriated’ the Decalogue from its original position in Deut 5.6–21 and inserted it in Exod 20.1–17. Rather, as the reminiscence in Deuteronomy suggests, a D-version of the Decalogue was already present in the matching D-narrative in Exodus but underwent editing by P in that context. This is only one of many such instances. See W. Johnstone, ‘The Use of the Reminiscences in Deuteronomy in Recovering the Two Main Literary Phases in the Production of the Pentateuch’, in J. C. Gertz, K. Schmid and M. Witte (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW, 315; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2002), pp. 247–73. 6 The opening section of B in 20.22–26 is demarcated as framework from the 5

exodus 20.24b

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The sacral framework of B

The Decalogue

Exod 20.22a narrative identifying YHWH as speaker

Exod 20.1 narrative identifying God as speaker

20.22b prologue, citing past action of YHWH as ground for obedience: ‘You have seen that I have spoken . . .’ (as in 19.4a)

20.2 prologue,7 citing past action of YHWH as ground for obedience: ‘I am YHWH thy God who has brought thee up . . .’

20.23a ‘You shall not make with me’8

20.3 I: ‘Thou shalt not have other gods before me’

20.23b ‘Gods of silver . . . you shall not make . . .’9

20.4 IIa: ‘Thou shalt not make an image . . .’

20.24–26 ‘An altar . . . thou shalt make for me . . .’

20.5–6 IIb: ‘Thou shalt not worship them . . .’

23.10–12 (19)10 ‘. . . For six days thou shalt do thy works . . .’ (v. 12)

20.8–11 IV: ‘. . . For six days thou shalt labour . . .’ (v. 9)

following ‘legal’ core of B by the title μyfpçmh hlaw in 21.1; the closing section in 23.10–19 is demarcated from the immediately preceding ‘ethical’ section, 22.20–23.9, by the clause, ‘for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt’, which, repeated in its ﬁrst and last verse, delimits that section. 7 The diﬀerent systems of enumerating the clauses in the Decalogue are frequently tabulated. See, e.g., W. P. Brown (ed.), The Ten Commandments: The Reciprocity of Faithfulness (Library of Theological Ethics; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2004), p. 319. 8 In this reading full weight is given to the athna˙ at the end of v. 23a. (In the argument that follows full weight will also be given to the athna˙ at the end of v. 24a.) The correspondence of the concluding prepositional phrases, yta in 20.23a and ynpAl[ in 20.3, is then striking. 9 It may be noted that the phrase ‘gods of gold’ is found in the Hebrew Bible only here and in the Golden Calf narrative (Exod 32.31; cf. BDB s.v. μyhla 1.d, which records that, oddly enough, ‘gods of silver’ does not recur). The plural, ‘gods’, is picked up by the plural ‘gods’ in Exod 32.4, which, in turn, anticipate the golden calves of Jeroboam (1 Kgs 12.28). The ﬁrst breach of the covenant of which Israel is to be guilty is in terms of the First Commandment (in the D-version’s method of counting the First Commandment as evidenced in Deut 5.6–10). This violation leads directly, via the golden calves of Jeroboam, to the exile (2 Kings 17). In one deft stroke, the theme of the entire ‘Enneateuch’ is indicated: ideal, failure, and promise of restoration through ideal regained. 10 The whole of the passage on ‘sacred time’ in 23.10–19, beginning ‘And for

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It seems to be immediately clear that there are close parallels in form and content between the framework of B and the opening of the Decalogue in Exod 20.1–11. But there appears, at ﬁrst sight at any rate, to be a striking omission: there is no parallel in this sequence in the framework of B to the Third Commandment in 20.7: ‘Thou shalt not take the name of YHWH thy God in vain . . .’. The question thus arises: if I, II and IV ﬁgure in the framework of B, should not III also? I wish therefore to explore the possibility that there is in fact an allusion to the Third Commandment in the opening sacral framework of B. I ﬁnd that allusion in Exod 20.24b. The text runs: ˚ytkrbw ˚yla awba ymçAta rykza rça μwqmhAlkb. For this n/rsv oﬀers a conventional rendering: ‘in every place where I cause my name to be remembered I will come to you and bless you’.11 There is a prima facie case for proposing a link between Exod 20.24b and the Third Commandment: the Divine Name and its utterance occur in both. In III, the improper use of the name of YHWH brings the threat of Divine retribution, ‘the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless . . .’; in B the proper use of the name of YHWH brings the promise of Divine blessing. What III states negatively, B states positively. There is a more general consideration: inﬂuence of the Decalogue on the structure of the framework of B would not be surprising given the privileged status of the Decalogue (particularly so, if both belong to the same version). The Decalogue is the only law communicated in the sight and hearing of the people in theophany; thereafter, it is written on tablets of stone by the ﬁnger of God and deposited in the ark. B, on the other hand, is mediated through Moses to the people (as 20.22a makes clear). It would then not be surprising if the mediated code resumes as its framework the ideas of the privileged code, but not its actual wording, for that is reserved to God alone. Further, the particular inﬂuence of I–IV would not be surprising given that they constitute the ‘First Table’ of the Decalogue, ‘the ﬁrst and greatest commandment’.

six years thou shalt sow . . .’, may be regarded as an elaboration of the Fourth Commandment in 20.8–11: ‘Remember the Sabbath . . .’. The special place of 23.13 will be noted below. 11 So, e.g., niv: ‘Wherever I cause my name to be honoured . . .’; esv, ‘In every place where I cause my name to be remembered . . .’; jps, ‘in every place where I cause my name to be mentioned . . .’.

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A further factor prompts me to raise a question about the conventional understanding of Exod 20.24b. On grounds of grammar I have long had reservations about the propriety of rendering of the opening phrase, μwqmhAlkb, ‘in every place’, as in n/rsv above. (These reservations predate theories I entertain about the compositional history of Exodus and go back to my study of Arabic—as one trained in the tradition of William Robertson Smith—beginning in 1959.) The natural Hebrew for ‘in every place’ is μwqmAlkb, without the deﬁnite article; μwqmhAlkb, with the deﬁnite article, as here, most naturally means ‘in the whole place’. (One might compare μwyAlk, ‘every day’, without deﬁnite article, and μwyhAlk, ‘the whole day’, with deﬁnite article.) The parallel construction in Arabic is absolutely standard. The analogous phrase, fì kulli makàn, without the article, can only mean ‘in every place’; fì kulli ’l-makàn, with the article, ‘in the whole place’.12 There is a clear and unambiguous diﬀerence between the two; anything else would be an error. So why should Biblical Hebrew be diﬀerent? If, then, Exod 20.24b is to be related to III, rather than II, and is to be rendered in accordance with its plain grammatical sense, how is it to be translated? The translation I propose, and seek to defend below, is: ‘Throughout the whole land where I permit my name to be invoked, I shall come to you and bless you’. Any attempt to understand Exod 20.24b other than in the conventional sense as represented by n/rsv, however, runs into formidable diﬃculties. Understood in that conventional sense, Exod 20.24b has provided a linchpin for Pentateuchal criticism. The reason for translators and commentators not adopting the plain sense of Exod 20.24b, ‘throughout the whole place’, as suggested by the grammar is clear: it is dictated initially by the immediate context. The context of Exod 20.24b, both immediately preceding and immediately following, concerns the altar: v. 24a, ‘An altar of earth thou shalt make for me . . .’; v. 25, ‘But if an altar of stones thou makest for me . . .’. It is thus assumed by interpreters that Exod 20.24b must also concern the altar; indeed the whole passage, 20.22–26, is sometimes referred to simply as ‘the altar law’13 (surely a far too undiﬀerentiated 12 See W. R. Smith and M. J. de Goeje (eds.), A Grammar of the Arabic Language, Translated from the German of Caspari, and Edited with Numerous Additions and Corrections by W. Wright (2 vols; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 3rd rev. edn, 1898), 2:204. 13 E.g., La Bible de Jérusalem (1961) / Jerusalem Bible (1966); B. S. Childs, Exodus:

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and limited description). That assumption determines in turn the meaning of ‘place’ at the beginning of v. 24b: it must be ‘sanctuary’. If so, it makes little sense to translate according to the natural meaning, ‘throughout the whole sanctuary I will come to you and bless you’, since there was, normally at least, one must assume, only one altar of burnt oﬀering per sanctuary; on this understanding, only one sharp focus of blessing.14 The reference must therefore be to every sanctuary where there is an altar, an assumption strengthened by knowledge of variations in the practice of altar-building in the later Hebrew Bible. The adoption of such an understanding is encouraged by historical criticism: B in this verse seems to be sanctioning plurality of altars; this contrasts starkly with the prohibition of all but the one central altar in Deuteronomy 12. Far-reaching deductions have accordingly been made about the history of sacriﬁce, the history of law-codes, and the history of literature in Hebrew Bible. B, permitting plurality of altars, is generally assumed to be the oldest lawcode in the Bible; the state of aﬀairs it envisages is seemingly conﬁrmed by the practice of approved religious leaders from Joshua down to the reformation of Josiah. It was only with the reformation of Josiah that the local sanctuaries were abolished and the sacriﬁcial cult was centred exclusively in Jerusalem, the state of aﬀairs seemingly stipulated in Deuteronomy 12. A certain clarity is thereby imparted to the history of the cult, the history of law, and the history of Israel’s literature, a welcome clarity that is not to be easily surrendered.15

A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974), p. 464; J. Blenkinsopp, Treasures Old and New: Essays in the Theology of the Pentateuch (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), p. 183. J. H. Tigay, ‘The Presence of God and the Coherence of Exodus 20:22–26’, in C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz and S. M. Paul (eds.), Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), pp. 195–211, concludes that the whole of vv. 22–26 is coherent round the idea of the altar: Israel has no need of idols, since God has spoken from the heavens; all it need make is a simple altar and God will come. 14 I must admit that when I was ﬁrst troubled by the grammar of this half-verse I was such a compliant follower of the dominant view that μwqm must here mean ‘sanctuary’ that I thought the phrase μwqmhAlkb must have some such meaning as ‘throughout the whole sanctuary’, having in mind a passage like 2 Chron 7.7, where because of pressure of space on the altar of burnt oﬀerings Solomon had to use the centre of the courtyard for sacriﬁce. The late date of that passage, however, caused the issue to continue to rankle. 15 Some representative ﬁgures supporting the prevailing critical view may be cited. L. Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Das Bundesbuch (Ex 20,22–23,33): Studien zu seiner Entstehung und Theologie (BZAW, 188; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1990), pp. 295–98: ‘The

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My argument would make this half-verse irrelevant for that hardwon reconstruction. (There are, I think, still plenty of other grounds for maintaining the general soundness of that reconstruction: even if 20.24b does not refer to multiple sanctuaries, and therefore does not provide supporting evidence for their existence, this does not disprove that such local sanctuaries did in fact exist; the references in the ‘historical’ books and the practice of religious rites in the period before Deuteronomy of asylum, deciding of legal cases, oﬀering of ﬁrstlings, and perhaps Passover,16 provide suﬃcient testimony.) Brevard Childs may be taken as an example of those arguing for the ‘received opinion’. Seeking to defend the desired distributive sense, ‘in every place’, he appeals to the use of μwqmhAlk in Gen 20.13; Deut 11.24.17 B. M. Levinson seeks to develop Childs’ argument by observing that Deut 11.24 is cited in Josh 1.3 without the deﬁnite article, i.e., irrespective of the presence or absence of the deﬁnite article, both expressions must mean ‘every place’.18 These passages obviously merit a closer look. law on the altar is pre-Deuteronomistic in its basic formulation and contradicts the Deuteronomic requirement of centralization of the cult. A Deuteronomistic redactor is responsible for its separation from the corpus of the Book of the Covenant by the title in Exod. 21.1 . . . By this means a prescription of once general application is downgraded to a one-oﬀ instruction to Moses, carried out in Exod. 24.4–5’. Thus the Deuteronomistic editor ‘“immunises” it’ (my translation, as of other foreign language citations below). E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien (BZAW, 284; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1999), pp. 352–53: ‘centralization of the cult [in D] is the hermeneutical key for the reception and reformulation of B’. In response to the distinctive view of J. Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 60–67, that B is attributable to his exilic J who is to be dated after D, B. M. Levinson, ‘Is the Covenant Code an Exilic Composition? A Response to John Van Seters’, in J. Day (ed.), In Search of Pre-Exilic Israel ( JSOTSup, 406; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 272–325 (272 [cf. 297–98]) cites J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 2nd edn, 1883), p. 203: ‘Deut. 12 polemisirt gegen den durch Exod. 20,24 sanktionirten Zustand’. See also B. M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 21; R. G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (trans. J. Bowden; London: T & T Clark International, 2005), pp. 118, 264, 317. 16 See Otto, Deuteronomium, pp. 217–364. 17 Childs, Exodus, p. 447. Childs’ view is frequently endorsed, e.g., by T. N. D. Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth: Studies in the Shem and Kabod Theologies (ConBOT, 18; Lund: CWK Gleerup), p. 126, n. 29. E. Robertson, ‘The Altar of Earth (Exodus xx, 24–26)’, JJS 1 (1947–1948), pp. 12–21 (12) has already cited Gen 20.13. 18 Levinson, Hermeneutics, p. 32, n. 18. J. Schaper, ‘Schriftauslegung und Schriftwerdung im alten Israel: Eine vergleichende Exegese von Ex 20,24–26 und Dtn 12,13–19’, ZABR 5 (1999), pp. 111–32, following Levinson, ﬁnds a convenient

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In Gen 20.13 Abraham reports his own speech to Sarah to Abimelech, king of Gerar: awh yja ylAyrma hmç awbn rça μwqmhAlk la. It does not seem to me impossible to render that sentence, ‘Unto the whole place whither we are going [i.e., the kingdom of Abimelech] say of me, “He is my brother”’, rather than ‘wherever we go’, as if the command were without geographical limitation. According to v. 2 of that chapter it was when they were already entering Gerar, speciﬁcally, that Abraham issued this order to Sarah. There seem to me to be no problems in assigning what I regard as the regular meaning in Deut 11.24 and Josh 1.3. These passages may be translated as follows: Deut 11.24, μklgrAπk ˚rdt rça μwqmhAlk hyhy μkl wb, ‘The whole land on which the sole of your foot will tread shall be yours’; Josh 1.3, μkl wb μklgrAπk ˚rdt rça μwqmAlk wyttn, ‘Every place where the sole of your foot will tread I have given to you’. The ﬁrst takes the land as a whole, the second as the sum of its parts. It is to be noted that in none of these passages does μwqm mean ‘sanctuary’. The appositeness of the citations for the proposed meaning is thus open to question. It must nonetheless be acknowledged that, despite Arabic usage, there are parallels in biblical Hebrew for singular deﬁnite nouns being used in a collective sense. The only question is whether μwqm in the sense ‘sanctuary’ can be one of these. Edward Robertson cites the analogy of Exod 1.22, ˆwyjt tbhAlkw whkylçt hrayh dwlyh ˆbhAlk: ‘As for each son who is born, into the Nile shall you cast him, but each daughter you shall spare alive’.19 This demonstrates that it is possible for biblical Hebrew anomalously to use a singular noun with the deﬁnite article in a collective sense.20 Even so, no example of,

ambiguity in the supposed distributive and non-distributive meanings of μwqmhAlkb to explain how Exod 20.24b could be regarded as authoritative scripture by the writers of Deuteronomy 12. Kratz, Composition, p. 150, n. 26, similar. 19 Robertson, ‘Altar’, p. 12. Tigay, ‘Presence’, p. 196, n. 6 adds further examples: Exod 15.26 hljm; Lev 11.27ab hyj, 43, 44, ≈rç; 15.26 bkçm; 23.29 çpn; Deut 4.3 çya; 15.9 rwkb. 20 GKC §127b and note gives examples of lk + singular deﬁnite noun with a collective sense: rbd, Exod 18.22; jrza, Num 15.13; çya, 2 Sam 15.2; and with participles, ab, Num 4.23; ˚wçn, Num 21.8. There is further discussion of singular nouns with the deﬁnite article used as collectives in §123b; and §126l, ‘the singular . . . with the article . . . to include all individuals of the same species’, where it is noted that the ‘use of the article to determine the class is more extensive in Hebrew than in most other languages. In this case the article indicates universally known, closely circumscribed, and therefore well deﬁned classes of persons or things’. Cf. Smith and de Goeje, Grammar, 1:179A, 181A; 2:204, for collective nouns in Arabic.

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speciﬁcally, μwqm in a collective sense is oﬀered.21 Further, there is a consciousness among interpreters that, ordinarily at least, μwqmhAlkb, ought to mean, ‘throughout the whole place’, not ‘in every place’.22 I should judge, therefore, that the balance of probability of grammatical usage is that μwqm is not here a collective noun. My inhibition is heightened by the fact that this alleged collective noun is construed here with a preposition that implies some limitation, ‘in all [those particular sanctiﬁed—a string of qualiﬁcations that would surely need to be spelled out] locations’, and, not least, by the wide range of possible meanings of the word μwqm. DCH lists sixteen meanings for μwqm: the two relevant here are 1. ‘place, location, site’ in reference to land, and 3. ‘sanctuary, sacred site’. DCH opts for the latter in this context, and gives as further examples Gen 12.6, 8; 13.14; 22.4; 28.11, 16, etc., but for the former gives as examples Gen 29.26; Exod 3.8; 23.20; Num 10.29; 14.40; Judg 11.19; 1 Sam 12.8.23 Within the body of B μwqm occurs once, Exod 21.13, where it certainly has the meaning, ‘place [of refuge]’, as created by a sanctuary (cf. ‘altar’ in the following verse). But μwqmh with the deﬁnite article occurs once again in B, in 23.20. That is a signiﬁcant context: it is the opening verse of the concluding exhortation, to be attributed to the D-version, immediately adjoining the sacral framework of B.24 Clearly in 23.20 μwqmh is a reference to the Promised Land 21 GKC §127e comments: ‘In Ex 2024 μwqmhAlkb in all the place, sc. of the sanctuary, is a dogmatic correction of μwqmAlkb, in every place, to avoid the diﬃculty that several holy-places are here authorized, instead of the one central sanctuary’. But this explanation need only be entertained if μwqm in this context actually means ‘sanctuary’, a view I resist. 22 This is scrupulously acknowledged by Levinson: ‘More commonly, the idiom for “every” requires lk plus an indeﬁnite substantive’ (Hermeneutics, p. 32, n. 18). P. Heger, The Three Biblical Altar Laws (BZAW, 279; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1999), p. 27, n. 30, cites rabbinic comment to the eﬀect that μwqmhAlkb is a srwsm arqm, a mutilated reading, and should be read μwqmAlkb. 23 DCH 5:460–61. The other proposed meanings listed are 2. ‘dwelling place, abode, home’; 4. ‘space, room’; 5. ‘(plot of ) land, property, estate, ﬁef ’; 6. ‘tomb’; 7. ‘place of refuge’; 8. ‘place at meal’; 9. ‘site of leprosy’; 10. ‘position’; 11. ‘oﬃce, post’; 12. ‘reason’; 13. ‘opportunity (to speak)’; 14. ‘direction’; 15. periphrasis for YHWH; 16. cstr. ‘(in) place of, instead of ’. Proposed meaning ‘5’ records a proposal I made in ‘Old Testament Technical Expressions in Property Holding: Contributions from Ugarit’, in C. F. A. Schaeﬀer (ed.), Ugaritica VI: publié à l’occasion de la XXX e campagne de fouilles à Ras Shamra (1968) (MRS, 17; Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1969), pp. 309–17 (314–15). 24 The parallels in that concluding exhortation to Judg 2.1–5 provided the startingpoint for my whole inquiry into the D-version of the Pentateuch (see Johnstone, ‘Reactivating’, pp. 25–26).

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whither YHWH’s angel is about to bring Israel. It is thus very possible that if the sacral framework of B in Exod 20.22–26; 23.10–19 is to be attributed to the D-version, as I am arguing, μwqmh should also mean ‘[Promised] Land’ in 20.24b too.25 This is in line with usage in many other passages in the D-version, e.g., Exod 3.8; Num 10.29; 14.40; Deut 11.24; 26.9. Considerations of immediate context may give rise to further objections to my proposal. If on grounds of grammar and the meaning of μwqmh I seek to sever the connection of Exod 20.24b with its immediate context, that leaves it exposed as an isolated half-verse. Also, it requires that v. 25 is resumptive of v. 24a. There is little diﬃculty, I believe, with either of these consequences. Parallels may be readily found for both phenomena. Further, it is through this isolation that full value is given to other features in the syntax of the verse and in the general arrangement of the pericope. The all-important athna˙ at the end of v. 24a marks v. 24b as at least a separate clause; its possession of a principal clause, ‘I shall come . . .’, identiﬁes it as an independent statement. This independence is conﬁrmed by asyndeton, the lack of the conjunction ‘and’ at the beginning of the sentence. That it is an independent sentence with a change of topic is indicated by inversion, in this case of the adverbial clause, ‘Throughout the whole land where . . .’, before the principal clause. Such independence, marked by punctuation and conﬁrmed by asyndeton and inversion, is paralleled on numerous occasions elsewhere in B (e.g., 21.12; 22.17–19) and its framework (e.g., 23.12, 14, 19). It is precisely paralleled in v. 24a, the immediately preceding independent item in the list; the First Commandment in 20.3, in the MT punctuation a single principal clause, and the parallel suggested for it above in 20.23a are even briefer independent statements. It is by asyndeton and inversion that a series of independent statements is enumerated item by item.26 25 This is peremptorily dismissed by Levinson, Hermeneutics, pp. 30–31; ‘Exilic Composition?’, pp. 303–306. Levinson does not, however, cite Exod 23.20. It seems unnecessarily restrictive to limit the invocation of the name of YHWH, theophany, and the reception of blessing, to a sanctuary, as he suggests. 26 It should not be thought that the conventional critical understanding of Exod 20.24b in terms of the altar necessarily produces ﬂuent sense. Quite the contrary. Two examples may be given. Otto, Deuteronomium, pp. 343–51, ignores the problem of the presence of the deﬁnite article in the phrase μwqmhAlkb in Exod 20.24b, in contrast to the absence of the deﬁnite article in μwqmAlkb in Deut 12.13; he takes both to mean, ‘in any μwqm’. Thus it is possible for him to claim that the phrase

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As for resumption, it may be pointed out that even on the conventional rendering of v. 25b there is a resumption: v. 24a resumed by vv. 25–26 is about the materials of which the altar may be constructed, whereas v. 25b is about the location of the altar. Examples of resumption can readily be found in the body of B. Perhaps the most celebrated one is in 21.37–22.3 where 22.3 more logically goes with 21.37 about the culpability of the housebreaker rather than with 22.1–2 about the culpability of the householder. But perhaps most signiﬁcant of all is the resumption in the other half of the sacral framework of B of the topic of sacred times in 23.14–19 from 23.10–12. Intrusive between them is a commandment on general obedience in 23.13a linked, strikingly in view of the use of the Divine name in 20.24b, with the prohibition of the invocation of the name of alien deities in 23.13b. That observation is highly suggestive: that both 20.24b and 23.13b represent recastings of the Third Commandment not to take the name of the LORD in vain; in the ﬁrst case, a promise arising from the proper use of the name; in the second case, a prohibition of use of the name of rival deities. If the argument of rça μwqmAlkb (sic, without deﬁnite article) in Exod 20.24 is received by Deut 12.13 as the opening of the D law of centralisation (p. 344). Otto further ignores the athna˙ at the end of Exod 20.24a and reads 20.24b as continuing directly from 20.24a in a misconstrual of the syntax as a relative clause (p. 344). Otto’s construal is similar to that of the Septuagint. The textual evidence is thoroughly cited and tabulated in Levinson, ‘Exilic Composition?’, pp. 307, 310. Levinson’s primary concern is to controvert J. Van Seters’ proposal that in Exod 20.24b rykzt, ‘you invoke’, be read instead of rykza. But the textual evidence that he cites is equally eloquent on the matter of òhAlkb. Among the ‘primary’ textual witnesses, Septuagint, Samaritan Pentateuch, Targum Onqelos, and Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, only the last matches the MT but adds a clarifying phrase, ‘and you worship before me there’. The other three ease the construction: the Septuagint and Targum Onqelos (and the ‘secondary’ textual witnesses, Peshitta, Fragment Targum and Neoﬁti I) suppress the deﬁnite article, and therefore read indeed, ‘in every place’; the Samaritan Pentateuch suppresses the ‘all’, ‘in the place where . . .’. The Septuagint takes the phrase with v. 24a, ‘you will sacriﬁce . . . in every place, wherever I name my name’, and then adds an ‘and’: ‘and I shall come to you and bless you’. As Levinson notes (p. 308), by its repunctuation the Septuagint changes the sense and harmonises it with Deuteronomy 12. The versions do not elucidate the problem of MT; they ease and paraphrase. As Levinson comments, the MT is to be defended as the lectio diﬃcilior. C. Houtman, Exodus: Volume 3, Chapters 20 – 40 (trans. S. Woudstra; HCOT; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), pp. 98, 107, renders the whole of v. 24b as a relative clause with a principal clause understood, ‘at every place where I reveal myself, come to you to bless you ([,] you shall do that)’; he takes the clause to be ‘related to the worship in the synagogue; it validates it and declares the blessed presence of the Shekinah there (cf. Mek., II, 287)’, idem, p. 106.

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this paper is sound, a striking pattern emerges: the opening half of the sacral framework of B is arranged in the pattern of citation of commandments I, II, III, II of the Decalogue, while the closing half of the sacral framework is arranged in the pattern IV, III, IV.27 That is to say, the Third Commandment provides the matching pivot for each half of the sacral framework and the integrating commandment of the whole series. Exodus 23.13a might even be taken as the climax of the series I–IV in Exod 20.22–26; 23.10–12, as a generalised exhortation to obedience to all the commandments of the privileged First Table of the Decalogue.28 An alternative approach to the issue of resumption could be that it provides evidence of editorial activity. An appeal to secondary editorial expansion in 20.25–26 is not one that I should exclude a priori. It could, I think, be readily granted that there is P expansion in v. 24a: the explanatory apposition of ‘your ﬂocks and herds’ to ‘your whole burnt oﬀerings and communion sacriﬁces’ in v. 24abg. I would be happy to accept that the ﬁrst phrase, ‘your whole burnt oﬀerings and communion sacriﬁces’, is the intrusive one;29 indeed, that it and the whole of vv. 25–26 could be attributed to the P-edition. (Such detailed adjustment of the D-version by the P-edition is, in my view,

27 A parallel to this sequence of stipulations following the sequence of the opening clauses of the Decalogue with resumption is to be found in Deut 6.12–15: ‘. . . YHWH who brought thee out of the land of Egypt . . .; YHWH . . . shalt thou fear, and him shalt thou worship and in his name shalt thou swear thine oaths’ (vv. 12–13, cf. Prologue, I, II, and III), followed by the resumption of I and II after III in vv. 14–15. 28 Levinson, ‘Exilic Composition?’, p. 302, n. 51, comes to within a hair’s-breadth of the argument of this paper. He correctly sees that in Exod 23.13b rykzh is about vows or swearing oaths in a judicial setting and comments: ‘Note that in the Decalogue, the prohibition against the use of the divine name in the context of oaths (Exod. 20.6) immediately precedes the Sabbath law (Exod 20.7–10). Similarly, the command here not to invoke the names of foreign deities (Exod 23.13) immediately follows the Sabbath law of the Covenant Code (Exod 23.12)’. It does not seem to have occurred to Levinson that rykzh in 20.24b could also therefore be associated with oath or vow, not simply, as he argues, with sacriﬁce. 29 Levinson, Hermeneutics, p. 38 points out that μymlç ‘with one exception [n. 28: Deut 27.7, ‘. . . within a chapter that is a late, secondary addition to the legal corpus’], the word is never used in Deuteronomy and is not part of its vocabulary’. Heger, Altar Laws, p. 23: ‘your ﬂocks and your herds’ would be suitable for a plebeian cult; the technical terms reﬂect a regulated cult; this is the only time twl[ are introduced by jbz (hl[h would be expected); p. 63 on 20.24: ‘the rule for the earthen altar constitutes an independent pericope, complete with all relevant detail, whereas the rules for the stone altar rely in great measure on the speciﬁcs expressed concerning the earthen altar’.

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widespread; Exod 31.18 would be a signal example.)30 But this judgement on the editorial history of the pericope would not aﬀect the principal argument advanced above about the relation of v. 24b to the Third Commandment; in the context of this article it would smack of special pleading. Some consideration must now be given to the meaning of Exod 20.24b as a whole, if it is freed from immediate association with the altar and interpreted as the counterpart to the Third Commandment in the sacral framework of B. The verb rykza presents an immediate issue. On the assumption that the half-verse relates to the altar, it is widely interpreted as referring to theophany that justiﬁes the building of an altar.31 I do not say that this reference is excluded; I simply ask whether there are other connotations. Speciﬁcally to the point of this inquiry, the contexts in the Hebrew Bible where rykzh is associated with the noun μç, ‘name’, may be noted. In that combination, it can mean ‘to pronounce the name of ’, as in Isa 49.1, where it is parallel to arq,32 hence in religious contexts, ‘to invoke’, as in the doxology in Isa 12.4, Ps 20.8, and perhaps the more obscure Amos 6.10. The ﬁrst person in Exod 20.24b is often found to be a problem: Van Seters ﬁnds it absurd that YHWH should invoke his own name,33 but that YHWH may pronounce his own name in a theophany is indicated by Exod 34.6.34 In the context of Exod 20.24b ‘invoke’ seems a suitably generalised sense, here understood permissively, ‘wherever I permit/acknowledge as appropriate the invocation of my name’.35 30

Johnstone, ‘Reactivating’, pp. 28–29. References could be multiplied almost inﬁnitely; e.g., W. R. Smith, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites: First Series, The Fundamental Institutions (London: Adam and Charles Black, new edn, 1907), p. 117; idem, The Old Testament in the Jewish Church: A Course of Lectures on Biblical Criticism (London: Adam and Charles Black, 2nd rev. edn, 1907), p. 342; Childs, Exodus, pp. 442, 447, 466; Levinson, ‘Exilic Composition?’, pp. 312–17. 32 Also, ‘to commemorate, immortalise’, as of Absalom through his memorial, 2 Sam 18.18; or of the fame of the king perpetuated through the words of the court minstrel, Ps 45.18. 33 He thus proposes emendation to second person and translates: ‘In every place where you invoke my name, I will come to you and bless you’. Van Seters, Law Book, p. 61. 34 Mettinger, Dethronement, pp. 39–40, 127–28, notes many parallels, e.g., Pss 50.7; 81.11. 35 Rashi, ‘give you permission to mention My Ineﬀable Name’, though he limits that permission to the priestly blessing in the Temple (A. Ben-Isaiah and B. Sharfman, The Pentateuch and Rashi’s Commentary: A Linear Translation into English [5 vols; Brooklyn: S. S. & R. Publishing Co., 1949–1950], 2:222–23). 31

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In two contexts rykzh, construed with μç, explicit or implied, is found in association with stems from the root [bç, ‘to swear, to take an oath’. In Isa 48.1, yhlabw hwhy μçb μy[bçnh . . . bq[yAtyb tazAw[mç wrykzy larçy, to mention the name of YHWH is synonymous with taking an oath in his name. In Josh 23.7ba, wrykztAal μhyhla μçbw w[ybçt alw, the prohibition on uttering (rykzh) the names of the gods of the indigenous population and swearing by them ([ybçh) is coupled with the prohibition ‘to serve them’ and ‘to bow down to them’, as in the Decalogue. Signiﬁcantly, then, in the context of B as already noted, in Exod 23.13b μç +rykzh is used in the context of invoking foreign gods, though precisely in what sense is not made clear. The oath may be uppermost in the mind of the writer but need not be exclusively so.36 The proposal to emend Exod 20.24b to the second person, ‘where you invoke my name’,37 in the light of Exod 23.13b is not, however, to be accepted: the point is that there has to be some restriction on human use, some criterion of divine acceptability. Exodus 23.13b itself is speciﬁcally directed against human decisions about which gods it is appropriate to invoke. The link between the root rkz and the proper understanding of the name of God recurs in Exod 3.15b: rd rdl yrkz hzw μl[l ymçAhz. That link seems suitably general: any purpose which is for the sake of the LORD, and is approved as such. The invocation of the LORD’s name is an invitation to him to intervene (hence the reticence in Amos 6.10). If Exod 20.24b is an alternative way of expressing the third commandment, there should be parallels between ˚rb ‘bless’and hqn ‘hold innocent’. This association of ideas is conﬁrmed by Ps 24.4–5 where clean hands, not swearing falsely, and receiving blessing occur together. hqn is much used in connection with clearing of an oath or curse, e.g., Gen 24.8, 41; Exod 21.28; Josh 2.17, 20. In sum, then, my proposed translation, ‘Throughout the whole land where I permit my name to be invoked, I shall come to you and bless you’, leaves the meaning open, as in III in the Decalogue; blessing is not limited to the correct observation of the rites of the altar (though the latter is not excluded). Rather, wherever the LORD acknowledges appropriate use of his name, that is, use that is fully consonant with his revealed nature and action and is expressive of 36 The jps version limits the Third Commandment to the oath, which the Jewish Study Bible justiﬁes by comparison with Lev 19.12. 37 So Van Seters, Law Book, p. 62.

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these, whether in worship, blessing, testimony, oath, or whatever, he will bestow blessing. Instead of the curse that will follow from the improper use of the LORD’s name in perjury, malediction, or perverted rites and practices, or from the use of the name of alien deities for such purposes, will come blessing. In conclusion, it may be pointed out that the above argument that Exod 20.24b is a reformulation of the Third Commandment, indeed that the sacral framework of B is a paraphrase and exposition of the First Table of the Decalogue, would strengthen not only the contention that B is integrally related to the Decalogue but also the much wider argument that, as suggested by the reminiscences in Deuteronomy 4–5, both Decalogue and Book of the Covenant are integral to the D-version of the making of the covenant recounted in the Sinai pericope in Exodus 19–24.38 This, in my view, is conﬁrmed by the relatively precise, but subtly varying, use of terms in the account of the making of the covenant in Exod 24.3–8. In Exod 24.3a Moses recounts to the people ‘all the words of the LORD and all μyfpçmh’. This oral communication is likely to have contained the whole revelation that has preceded, both ‘all the words of the LORD’, the Ten Words/Decalogue, the rational content of which the people needed Moses’ mediation to comprehend,39 and ‘all μyfpçmh’, the content of the Book of the Covenant, still to be written, referred to under the shorthand of the title in Exod 21.1. To this oral communication, Moses secures the preliminary assent of the people: now the somewhat narrower expression, ‘all the words which the LORD has spoken’ (Exod 24.3b), that the people use in reply must nonetheless include the entire revelation which Moses has just relayed verbally. But ‘all the words of the LORD’ that Moses then wrote down in v. 4a cannot have included the Decalogue itself in its original form as revealed in the theophany in Exod 19.19; 20.1–21, for the Decalogue in that form was to be later written by YHWH himself on the two tablets, as the sequel beginning in Exod 24.12

38

A P origin for the Decalogue would require it to be regarded as a later insertion, so, e.g., F.-L. Hossfeld, Der Dekalog: Seine späten Fassungen, die originale Komposition und seine Vorstufen (OBO, 45; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), p. 284; Van Seters, Law Book, p. 53. On the contrary, Levinson, ‘Exilic Composition?’, pp. 281–82, regards B as secondary. For both Decalogue and B as secondary, see Kratz, Composition, p. 306. 39 As I have argued in Chronicles and Exodus, pp. 27–31, contra the article of Nicholson cited in n. 2 above.

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recounts. It can only have been B that Moses wrote down. Thus it can only be B that Moses read out to the people (Exod 24.7a), and it can only be B that formed the basis of the covenant (Exod 24.8b). Yet, on the argument above, it is appropriate to term B ‘everything that the LORD has spoken’, as the people do in Exod 24.7b. For its outer framework, Exod 20.22b–26; 23.10–19, represents nothing other than a reformulation of the First Table of the Decalogue. And it is not implausible to maintain that its inner core, Exod 21.1–23.9, containing both a ‘law code’, fpçmw qj,40 and ethical instruction, constitutes a reformulation of the inter-human stipulations of the Second Table of the Decalogue. But to justify that last statement would require at least another paper.41

40

For justiﬁcation for this bald statement see Johnstone, ‘Reactivating’, p. 30. Suﬃce it to point out that the ‘legal’ core of B begins in 21.1–11 with the release of slaves, thereby picking up the ‘Prologue’ of the Decalogue. Remembering that one was oneself once a slave in Egypt as stated in the ‘Prologue’ is the ground for much of the ethical teaching in the D-version, beginning with the humanitarian reason for keeping the Sabbath, Deut 5.15; see Deut 16.12; 24.18. In B, this motivation (now in terms of remembering that one was once a sojourner) frames the ethical section in 22.20–23.9. The use of this motivation is to be accounted for on literary grounds and provides no information about possible historical background for the introduction or implementation of this legislation, contra historicalcritical attempts to date such references by, e.g., R. Rothenbusch, Die kasuistische Rechtssammlung im ‘Bundesbuch’ (Ex 21,2-11.19–22,16) und ihr literarischer Kontext im Licht altorientalischer Parallelen (AOAT, 259; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2000), pp. 450–58, for whom the rg formulation of 22.20–23.9 reﬂects the settlement of refugees in the wake of the fall of Samaria around 720 bce. 41

CUTHEANS OR CHILDREN OF JACOB? THE ISSUE OF SAMARITAN ORIGINS IN 2 KINGS 17 Gary N. Knoppers The long discussion of Israel’s exile in 2 Kings 17 features a series of Deuteronomistic reﬂections on the causes of the northern kingdom’s defeat.1 Presenting the ﬁnal course of history as the actualisation of the covenant curses, the Deuteronomistic reﬂections depict the eﬀects of the Assyrian deportations as deﬁnitive for the northern tribes.2 As with the later fall of the southern kingdom centuries later (586 bce), history stops when the population exits the land (2 Kings 24–25). In the book of Kings, exile is not simply the nadir of history, but also its end.3 Or so it seems. The very fact that the story does not end with the Israelites’ expulsion from the land is important.4 That the writers of 2 Kings 17 feel compelled to discuss the aftermath of the Assyrian exile is signiﬁcant, because it departs from the standard Deuteronomistic, historiographic pattern of focusing solely upon Israel’s history within 1 It is a pleasure to oﬀer this paper as a tribute to Graeme Auld. In my experience, Graeme has been one of the most creative and good-humoured scholars in the ﬁeld. In the wake of the manuscript discoveries at Qumran, Graeme has rightly stressed the intimate relations between so-called lower criticism (textual criticism of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the MT, and the LXX) and higher criticism (especially source criticism and redaction criticism). My hope is that this study, which reﬂects two of Graeme’s interests—textual criticism and the development of the Deuteronomistic story of Kings—will do honour to his many contributions to scholarship. 2 Of all the assertions made about the Israelite exile (2 Kgs 17.6, 18, 20, 23; 18.9–12), the one in 2 Kgs 17.18 is the most explicit about a (temporarily) empty northern land. The repeated blanket declarations of exile, including this comprehensive declaration, were inﬂuential on later tradition. Note, for instance, how Josephus (Ant 9.279) speaks of the Assyrian monarch sending ‘all of the people (panta ton laon) to Media and Persia’. 3 On the threat of exile, see Deut 4.25–28; 6.13–15; 28.36–37, 63; 29.26–27; Josh 23.13, 15, 16; 1 Sam 12.25; 1 Kgs 9.7; 14.11, 15. With the religious course of the northern kingdom in mind (e.g., 1 Kgs 12.28; 14.9), it is relevant that most of these curses have to do with the worship of other gods (Deut 6.14–15; 28.36–37, 63–68; 29.17–27; Josh 23.15–16; 1 Kgs 9.7; 14.11, 15). 4 Given the normal Deuteronomistic pattern of beginning the story with the people’s entrance into the land and ending the story when the people exit the land, one would expect that coverage of northern aﬀairs would terminate with the fall of the northern kingdom.

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the land. To take one example, 2 Kgs 15.27–29 mentions that the residents of various sites in Gilead and the Galilee, ‘the entire region of Naphtali’, were deported by Tiglath-pileser III (2 Kgs 15.29).5 In the subsequent narratives dealing with the northern kingdom, these exiled northern Israelites are never heard from again. To take a second example, the writers of Kings mention Yhwh’s dispatching bands of Chaldeans, Edomites, Aramaeans, Moabites and Ammonites against Judah in the ﬁnal decades of the Judahite kingdom (2 Kgs 24.2). The activities of these groups are signs of the troubles that the Judahite monarchy faces as it nears dissolution. Nevertheless, the text does not discuss what happens to these foreign elements after the Judahites exit the land.6 The historiographical choice of limiting coverage to the experience of Israelites and Judahites in the land makes the exception to the rule in 2 Kings 17 all the more intriguing. Two commentaries on the aftermath of the Assyrian invasions (2 Kgs 17.24–34a, 34b–40) follow the Deuteronomistic commentaries on the fall of Israel. Both of the narratives dealing with the conditions in the former northern kingdom are ﬁlled with Deuteronomistic vocabulary and clichés. The second of these commentaries (2 Kgs 17.34b–40) is the topic of my short study.7 In recent scholarship, the commentary in 2 Kgs 17.34b–

5 It is quite possible that ‘Galilee’ and ‘Gilead’ are later additions to the text, E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön 25 (ATD, 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), p. 383; M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 11; New York: Doubleday, 1988), p. 174. 6 In this context, see also the blanket declarations of exile in 2 Kgs 23.27; 24.3, 10 (M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972], p. 347). 7 On the division of these verses and their separation from vv. 24–34a, see B. Stade, ‘Miscellen 16. Anmerkungen zu 2 Kö. 15–21’, ZAW 6 (1886), pp. 156–89 (167–70); I. Benzinger, Die Bücher der Könige (KHAT, 9; Freiburg: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1899), pp. 175–76; C. F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), pp. 333–37; M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1957), pp. 85–86; J. Gray, I and II Kings (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 2nd edn, 1970), pp. 655–56; R. D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 18; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1981), pp. 64–65; G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; 2 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), 2:542–55; S. L. McKenzie, The Trouble with Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History (VTSup, 42; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991), pp. 140–42; E. Eynikel, The Reform of King Josiah and the Composition of the Deuteronomistic History (OTS, 33; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), p. 94; A. F. Campbell and M. A. O’Brien, Unfolding the Deuteronomistic

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40 has been the subject of considerable discussion. The traditional opinion is that the passage in question reacts to and contests the point of view expressed in 2 Kgs 17.24–34a. As such, 2 Kgs 17.34b– 40 is understood to be one of the latest sections in the composition of this chapter.8 In place of the traditional interpretation, the passage is said by others to be the continuation of the editorial on Israel’s fall concluding in 2 Kgs 17.23. The implications of the new theory completely revise the force of the text in question. In the new theory, the passage deals with exiled Israelites, rather than with foreign immigrants living in the land vacated by Israelites. My study both draws from and departs from these two major theories. In what follows, I do not quarrel with either the notion that the commentary in 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 is highly-slanted or the notion that this commentary stigmatises the population under review.9 Rather, I would like to explore the nature of the polemic and the distinct view of northern religion and ethnicity embedded within the narrative. Because this second commentary follows another commentary (2 Kgs 17.24–34a), some discussion of the earlier commentary will be necessary to contextualise the discussion. My thesis is that two diﬀerent views of postexilic Samarian history are presented in the two passages (2 Kgs 17.23–34a, 34b–40). In this respect, the Deuteronomistic writers present conﬂicting accounts of postexilic northern aﬀairs. The ﬁrst text (2 Kgs 17.23–34a) portrays the residents of the

History: Origins, Updates, Present Text (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), pp. 441–45; J. T. Walsh, ‘2 Kings 17: The Deuteronomist and the Samaritans’, in J. C. de Moor and H. F. Van Rooy (eds.), Past, Present, Future: The Deuteronomistic History and the Prophets (OTS, 44; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 315–23 (318–19). The reconstruction of V. Fritz is more complicated, but he also sees a basic division between vv. 29–34a and vv. 34b–40. See 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (trans. A. Hagedorn; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), pp. 347–52. 8 When discussing the redaction history of 2 Kings 17, Jones speaks of a ‘long and tortuous process of composition’ (1 and 2 Kings, 2:542). See also the comments of S. Talmon, ‘Polemics and Apology in Biblical Historiography—2 Kings 17.24–41’, in R. E. Friedman (ed.), The Creation of Sacred Literature: Composition and Redaction of the Biblical Text (Near Eastern Studies, 22; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), pp. 57–68. 9 Nor would I deny that 2 Kings 17 was cited by some early interpreters to cast aspersions upon the ethnic origins and religious mores of the later Samaritan population. See further H. G. Kippenberg, Garizim und Synagoge: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode (Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten, 30; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1971), pp. 87–93; R. J. Coggins, Samaritans and Jews: The Origins of Samaritanism Reconsidered (Growing Points in Theology; Atlanta: John Knox, 1975), pp. 15–22.

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former northern kingdom as foreign colonists, but depicts the religion adopted by the colonists as remarkably conservative in nature. On the level of ethnicity the text suggests total discontinuity, but on the level of religious practice the text asserts substantial continuity. The second text (2 Kgs 17.34b–40) disputes one of the central points made by the earlier passage (2 Kgs 17.23–34a) about Yahwistic worship in Samaria, but paradoxically does so by recourse to Israel’s longstanding covenant with Yhwh. In other words, the view of the northerners embedded in the second passage is that of the descendants of Jacob. The text assumes ethnic continuity, rather than discontinuity, in the postexilic population of Samaria. 1. The Revival of Northern Israelite Religion in Postexilic Samaria In 2 Kgs 17.24–34a, the writers depict a complete demographic transformation of the area once occupied by the northern kingdom.10 The massive dislocation of the Israelites (2 Kgs 17.6) is followed by the introduction of other peoples into the land. Assyrian-sponsored settlers, drawn from various sectors of the Assyrian empire, are transported into the territories vacated by the Israelites (2 Kgs 17.24). The postAssyrian invasion residents of the region are thus distanced—literally and ﬁguratively—from their Israelite forbears. The eﬀects of the bidirectional deportations are unmistakable. Typologically, the sequence of events represents the reversal of the process whereby Israel ﬁrst entered the land in the time of Joshua. Instead of the autochthonous nations being removed from the land in favour of the allochthonous Israelites, the autochthonous Israelites are removed from the land in favour of allochthonous Cuthites, Babylonians, Sepharvites, Hamathites and Avvites (2 Kgs 17.24–34a).11 The legacy of the 10 For helpful discussions of the fate of those Israelites who were deported to Assyria, see B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1979); idem, ‘Observations on the Israelite/Judaean Exiles in Mesopotamia during the Eighth–Sixth Centuries BCE’, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipi…ski (OLA, 65; Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oriëntalistiek, 1995), pp. 205–12; K. L. Younger, ‘The Deportations of the Israelites’, JBL 117 (1998), pp. 201–27; idem, ‘The Repopulation of Samaria (2 Kings 17:24, 27–31) in Light of Recent Study’, in J. K. Hoﬀmeier and A. Millard (eds.), The Future of Biblical Archaeology: Reassessing Methodologies and Assumptions: The Proceedings of a Symposium, August 12–14, 2001 at Trinity International University (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), pp. 254–80. 11 The antique view that the Samaritans were Cuthites (or Cutheans) from the

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Assyrian campaigns is thus a land transformed—emptied of natives and ﬁlled with foreigners. But the transition of the landed immigrants to their new land is not an easy one. In Deuteronomistic theology, there is a strong connection between deity and land. The tie is so basic that the Deuteronomists consistently speak of exile as being cast away from God.12 In this context, the remark that Yhwh sent lions to attack the new settlers is important, because it shows that Yhwh has not relinquished his claim to the territory once inhabited by the Israelites.13 In sending lions to kill some of the colonists, Yhwh uses a time-tested and rather successful means of gaining the attention of the northern Israelites (1 Kgs 13.20–26; 20.35–36). Given the continuing loss of settlers, a crisis ensues both for the immigrants and for the imperium that sent them (2 Kgs 17.25; cf. 1 Kgs 13.24). The lifestyle maintained by the immigrants is deemed to be unacceptable, because they do not know the custom of the god of the land (2 Kgs 17.24–26). The king of Assyria’s approach to resolving the issue is to repatriate an exiled Samarian priest to teach the new settlers the custom of the neglected god of the land (2 Kgs 17.27). Led by this repatriated priest, the colonists reform their older religious practices. This strategy proves successful in so far as the Israelite priest teaches the strangers ‘how to fear Yhwh’ (2 Kgs 17.28). As a result, these immigrant peoples fear (i.e., worship) Yhwh, on the one hand, and their

region of Cutha (Xouthos; cf. MT 2 Kgs 17.24 Kûthâ; LXXB Xountha; LXXL Xòtha), whom the Assyrian king brought to the former northern kingdom, is already attested in Josephus (Ant 9.279, 288–291). In this presentation, the Cuthites appear as an ethnic rubric under which the other Gentile peoples are catalogued as tribes. Cf. b. Qidd 75–76; b. Óul 5b–6a. 12 In the depiction of the reign of King Jehoahaz, one ﬁnds the editorial comment, ‘And Hazael king of Aram oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz. But Yhwh had compassion on them and was merciful to them and God turned (toward them) for the sake of his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He was unwilling to destroy them and he was unwilling to cast them out from his presence until now’ (2 Kgs 13.22–23). The linkage to divine presence is repeatedly underscored in the commentary on Israel’s fall, ‘And Yhwh became very angry with Israel and turned them away from his presence until there was none remaining, only the tribe of Judah by itself ’ (2 Kgs 17.18). The writer of 2 Kgs 17.23 puts things similarly, ‘Yhwh turned Israel away from his presence as he said by the hand of all his servants the prophets’. When alluding to the deportations of both Israel and Judah, the author of 2 Kgs 17.20 declares, ‘And Yhwh rejected all of the seed of Israel, aﬄicted them, and consigned them to plunderers until he cast them away from his presence’. 13 So also R. L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 2000), p. 120.

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own deities, on the other hand. ‘Yhwh they were fearing and their gods they were serving ('òbedîm)14 according to the custom of the nations from which they were exiled there’.15 But what does it mean to fear Yhwh? What exactly is this repatriated oﬃcial telling the immigrants? We gain one vital clue from the fact that the priest takes up residence at one of the (former) major state-sponsored sanctuaries in Israel, the shrine at Bethel (2 Kgs 17.28). It appears from the systems of iconography, priesthood, and sanctuaries depicted in the text that the Israelite priest taught the new immigrants how to observe features of the syncretistic cult established by King Jeroboam I centuries earlier. The cultic practices acquired by the colonists from their new tutor do not inaugurate a new pagan religion, but rather replicate traditional northern Israelite practices in most details.16 2. Israelites in Exile? The text of 2 Kings 17 does not speak with one voice about ethnic and cultic life in postexilic Samaria. The text of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 disputes whether the people do indeed worship Yhwh. Introducing his commentary through the use of the literary technique of inverted

14 In this phrase, the Deuteronomic word pair ary and db[ (e.g., Deut 6.13; 10.12, 20) has been broken up to underscore the duality of the Samarian religion. Whether the eﬀect of separating the two verbs in this manner is to show the impropriety of the new cult (so Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 212) is debatable, because once the Samarians revise their cultic practices to the new syncretistic format the lion attacks cease. 15 Literally, ‘that they exiled there from there’. The point of view of the person writing is that of someone in the land, Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 212. 16 In other words, the implication of the story is not that ‘the pre-exilic priests of the northern kingdom (and, by implication, its people) practiced the true religion of Yahweh’, M. C. Astour, ‘The Origin of the Samaritans: Critical Examination of the Evidence’, in S. Shaath (ed.), Studies in the History and Archaeology of Palestine (Proceedings of the First International Symposium on Palestine Antiquities) (3 vols; Aleppo: Aleppo University Press, Palestine Archaeological Centre, 1988), 3:9–53 (11). Quite the contrary, the implication of the story is that the pre-exilic priests of the northern kingdom practiced a syncretistic religion, one that (from a Deuteronomistic perspective) combined Yahwistic practices with idolatrous and polytheistic practices. The revised practices of the settlers replicate the pattern of the northern state cult in a new ethnic and political setting. See, provisionally, my Two Nations Under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual Monarchies 2: The Reign of Jeroboam, the Fall of Israel, and the Reign of Josiah (HSM, 53; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), pp. 64–70. I hope to develop this point in a future study.

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citation, the writer of the second passage under discussion (2 Kgs 17.34b–40) declares. ‘They do not fear Yhwh and they do not act according to their statutes and their custom’. In critical scholarship, this text (2 Kgs 17.34b–40) has been usually understood as an addendum to 2 Kgs 17.23–34a, further condemning the postexilic inhabitants of Samaria already excoriated in vv. 24–34a.17 As such, the text refutes the earlier claim that the northern residents worship Yhwh. Their cult was not a conservative replication of the old state cult, but a radical departure from Israel’s covenant. Admittedly, this exegesis of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 is not without its problems, because the passage seems to assume that the residents of the land are responsible for Yhwh’s covenant (vv. 35–36). To assert, as this passage does, that ‘they did not listen but rather acted according to their former custom’ (v. 40) is to acknowledge that these people were subject at some point to a communication from Yhwh about what the worship of Yhwh entailed (vv. 34b–39). Is this a case of confusion or of mistaken identity? Or, are readers expected to suppose that the earlier text about the foreign settlers completely displacing the Israelites was a case of extended hyperbole or of exaggerated polemics?18 Given these hermeneutical diﬃculties, another approach to this puzzling text has recently begun to gain some favour. A number of commentators advocate the view that 2 Kgs 17.34(b)–40 concern northern Israelites deported from their land to various Assyrian locales.19 These scholars consider it highly implausible that a Judahite writer would refer to the exodus and to Yhwh’s covenant with Israel when speaking of the experience of foreign immigrants. In this view, 17 See, for instance, Stade, ‘Anmerkungen’, pp. 156–89; Benzinger, Könige, p. 175; Burney, Notes, pp. 333–34; Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, p. 85, n. 5; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 655; Würthwein, Könige, p. 401; M. A. O’Brien, The Deuteronomistic History Hypothesis: A Reassessment (OBO, 92; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), p. 211. 18 E. Ben Zvi, ‘Inclusion and Exclusion from Israel as Conveyed by the Use of the Term Israel in Post-Monarchic Biblical Texts’, in S. W. Holloway and L. K. Handy (eds.), The Pitcher is Broken: Memorial Essays for Gösta W. Ahlström ( JSOTSup, 190; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1995), pp. 95–149 (102). 19 M. Cogan, ‘Israel in Exile—the View of a Josianic Historian’, JBL 97 (1978), pp. 40–44; idem, ‘“For We Like You, Worship Your God”: Three Biblical Portrayals of Samaritan Origins’, VT 38 (1988), pp. 286–92; Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, pp. 204–207; B. Oded, ‘II Kings 17: Between History and Polemic’, Jewish History 2 (1987), pp. 37–47; M. Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel (London: Routledge, 1995), pp. 112–34, 208–17; Walsh, ‘2 Kings 17’, pp. 315–23.

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2 Kgs 17.34(b) picks up the story from 2 Kgs 17.23, bringing the focus back to the Israelites.20 The subject of the passage in 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 is purportedly Israel in exile. In other words, the passage in question has nothing whatsoever to do with the previous passage about the foreign immigrants (2 Kgs 17.24–34a). The pericope does not represent one of the latest stages in the composition of 2 Kings 17, but forms one section of one of the earliest stages of composition. Given the insistence that the people continued to carry on their former custom (17.40), the point of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 is that the deported Israelites fared no better than the landed Israelites did. Neither sought a return to Yhwh. One function of these verses is to discredit the deportees, who by their continued idolatry forfeit any rights to their former inheritance. Another is to draw a contrast between the stubborn Israelites and the more observant non-Israelites, who heed the divine word and ‘at least partially adhere to minimal Yahwistic practices’.21 In this interpretation, the conclusion of 2 Kgs 17.41 that ‘these nations were worshiping Yhwh and serving their idols’ resumes the narrative thread of the tale about the foreign immigrants learning to fear Yhwh in 2 Kgs 17.33.22 From a source-critical vantage point, the new theory holds some attractions. One can progress from the story of the Jeroboam-induced exile in vv. 21–23 to the comment referencing the sons of Jacob in vv. 34b–40. There are, however, three important obstacles to this line of interpretation. The ﬁrst is that it is highly unusual for the writers of the Deuteronomistic History to comment in any detail on the life of Israelite or Judahite exiles outside the land. The only exception that I am aware of is the appendix to Kings dealing with the mercies aﬀorded to the exiled King Jehoiachin (2 Kgs 25.27–30).23 The work focuses exclusively on the people’s existence in the land and ceases its coverage once the people exit the land. Second, it is 20 Note also the view of McKenzie, Trouble with Kings, pp. 140–42, 152, that v. 34b may represent the continuation of the commentary in vv. 7–20. If so, ‘all the seed of Israel’ (v. 20) would be the antecedent for the subject in v. 34b. 21 So Brettler, Creation of History, pp. 122–24, 132, who draws attention to 1 Kgs 8.41–43 and 2 Kings 5. 22 Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 213; Brettler, Creation of History, pp. 131–32. 23 Often thought to be an epilogue or late addition to the book of Kings (most recently, Fritz, Kings, p. 425). Some, however, view the piece as an original part of the Deuteronomistic History (e.g., Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, p. 87). In any case, it is relevant to point out that the epilogue deals with the mercies aﬀorded to the exiled King Jehoiachin and does not deal with the Judahite people as a whole.

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entirely unclear why an editor (or editors) would separate the two parts of one story in this manner. Would it not make much more sense if v. 34b followed directly after v. 23?24 As it is, the nearest antecedents to the plural third person masculine pronoun and participle (hèm 'ò≤îm), ‘they act’, in v. 34a and the plural third person masculine participles with the inﬂected negative particle "ên ("ênàm yerè "îm, "ênàm 'ò≤îm), ‘they do not worship, they do not act’ in v. 34b are the plural third person perfects and participles (hàyû yerè "îm, hàyû 'òbedîm) in v. 33, ‘they were worshiping, they were serving’, referring to the residents of the former northern kingdom. In other words, the very placement of v. 34 after v. 33 suggests a relationship between the two passages. Even if one concedes, for the sake of argument, that part of vv. 34b–40 originated in a source criticising the exiled Israelites, one has to allow for the fact that the contextualisation of that source in a diﬀerent setting has generated new meanings.25 The reader can follow the sequence from one sentence to another without being introduced to an explicit change in subject. Third, there is some evidence that the later pericope (vv. 34b–40), whatever its ultimate origins, was framed in such a way so as to refute the conclusion of the earlier pericope (vv. 24–34a), namely that the northerners worshiped Yhwh. The writer of 17.34b–40 introduces his material by means of the literary technique known as Zeidel’s Law or inverted citation from v. 34b, ‘(until this day) they act according to their former custom’ (a. hèm 'ò≤îm; b. kammi“pà†àm hàri"“ôn)26 to the end of v. 40, ‘according to their former custom they act’ (b’. kemi“pà†àm hàri"“ôn; a’. hèm 'ò≤îm).27 The very use of this 24 To put things somewhat diﬀerently, the very insertion of vv. 24–34a generates new readings of vv. 34(b)–40. To sustain the argument, one would have to jump from the end of v. 23 to vv. 34b and 40 to conﬁrm that the antecedent of ‘they’ in v. 34 is ‘Israel’ in v. 23 (or ‘all the seed of Israel’ in v. 20). If one wishes to sustain the second theory, one has to concede, at the very least, that the present sequence of pericopes has introduced confusion into the text. 25 One might also ask how the editor who purportedly (mis)placed vv. 34b–40 in its present position understood the force of the earlier text (vv. 24–34a). 26 M. Zeidel, ‘Parallels between Isaiah and the Psalms’, Sinai 38 (1955–1956), pp. 149–72, 229–40, 272–80, 335–55 (Hebrew). In 2 Kgs 17.34, I am reading the singular, ‘former custom’ with the LXX and the Vulgate. The MT (cf. Targum ˆwhyswmn, ‘their former laws’) has ‘former customs’. Cf. v. 40. 27 A later editor, who compiles a brief update, has added v. 41, reasserting the thrust of vv. 24–34a by returning to the assertion in v. 34a and quoting it according to the same technique (inverted citation). Note the beginning of v. 34 ‘until this day they act (a. 'ad hayyôm hazzeh; b. hèm 'ò≤îm)’ and the clause at the end of v. 41. ‘They do so to this day’ (b’. hèm 'ò≤îm; a’. 'ad hayyôm hazzeh). The editor clearly has

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literary technique calls attention to the fact that the editor is dealing with a pre-existing narrative and engaging his source.28 The same point can be seen from a diﬀerent angle. In the Deuteronomistic reﬂection concluding in 2 Kgs 17.23, the demise of the northern kingdom is attributed to the repeated failure of its monarchs and people to depart from the inﬂuential cultic policies established by their founding king—Jeroboam I—centuries earlier (2 Kgs 17.21–23). The problem, according to this theological analysis, was not the non-worship of Yhwh, but the establishment and continuation of a counter-cultus to the cultus in Jerusalem. In another much longer Deuteronomistic reﬂection, Israel’s demise is traced to the people’s rejection of Yhwh’s commandments and their desire to follow the customs of the surrounding nations (2 Kgs 17.7–17*). The latter commentary, which largely consists of a catalogue of cultic infractions ranging from astral worship to child sacriﬁce, blames the people themselves for their sorry fate. The remaining material in 2 Kgs 17.18–20 links Judah’s fate to that of Israel and comments on Yhwh’s rejection of ‘all the seed of Israel’ (17.20).29 In sum, the Deuteronomistic editorial comments in 2 Kgs 17.7–23 enumerate various shortcomings of the Israelites—idolatry, worship of other gods, the sins of Jeroboam, and so forth—but it does not equate these oﬀences with failure to worship Yhwh. To be sure, the writers do not insist that the northern Israelites worshiped Yhwh. They simply do not address the issue. It is the writer(s) of 17.24–34a who repeatedly raises the topic of Yahwistic worship as a vital issue in the life of the former northern kingdom (vv. 25, 28, 32, 33). Given the fact that the writer of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 repeatedly focuses attention on the issue of (non-)Yhwh worship (vv. 34, 36, 39), it seems only reasonable to conclude that he has the earlier text (2 Kgs 17.24–34a) in view. the earlier pericope in view, because he speaks of ‘these nations’ (ha-gôyîm hà"èlleh), referring back to ‘the nations’ (ha-gôyîm) in v. 26 and ‘each nation’ in v. 29 ( gôy gôy [bis]). 28 P. C. Beentjes, ‘Inverted Quotations in the Bible: A Neglected Stylistic Pattern’, Bib 63 (1982), pp. 506–23. 29 The compositional history of 2 Kgs 17.7–23, a complicated issue in and of itself, need not detain us in the context of this essay. For a recent discussion, see B. Becking, ‘From Exodus to Exile: 2 Kgs 17,7–20 in the Context of Its Co-Text’, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSup, 81; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 215–31, and the references cited there.

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3. Those Children of Jacob who do not Worship Yhwh In what follows, I would like to defend the tenets of the older theory, while incorporating the basic insight of the newer theory. If nothing else, this will add some variety to the ongoing discussion. My position is both that the writer of vv. 34b–40 rebuts the claim that the postexilic northern population worships Yhwh and that this writer assumes that this population stands in continuity with the northern Israelites. In other words, the writer views the residents of the former northern kingdom ethnically as Israelites.30 The passage consists of two sets of editorial comments (vv. 34b– 35a and v. 40) that frame an oracle delivered at some unspeciﬁed past moment to the people (vv. 35b–39). Both the divine speech and the editorial comments are replete with Deuteronomistic vocabulary and clichés.31 Even though the verbal communication is said to reﬂect Yhwh’s covenant with his people and is introduced with the citation formula (rmal; v. 35b), the speech as a whole does not appear to be a quote of anything that appears earlier in the Deuteronomic and Deuteronomistic literature. While the editorial comments surrounding the oracle lament the people’s failure to fulﬁl their obligations to Yhwh, the oracle identiﬁes who Yhwh is in relation to the children of Jacob and summarises what the people’s obligations consist of. The text begins with the assertion that "ênàm yerè "îm "et-yhwh, ‘They do not worship Yhwh’ (v. 34b). The writer both cites and takes issue with the repeated declaration in v. 33 (and elsewhere in the earlier passage), that "et-yhwh hàyû yerè "îm, ‘Yhwh they were worshiping’ (cf. vv. 29, 32). Similarly, the comment that ‘They do not act according to their statutes and their custom—the instruction and the commandment that Yhwh commanded the children of Jacob whose name he established as Israel’ (v. 34b), may also be couched with the earlier 30 Alternatively, one could argue that the colonists from Assyria are now simply being held responsible for observing the covenant traditionally observed by the Israelites, Cohn, 2 Kings, p. 122. In this scenario, the colonists take on the historical identity of the departed Israelites. 31 The following Deuteronomistic idioms in this passage are keyed according to the classiﬁcation developed by Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, pp. 320–59: v. 34b (pp. 332–33 [#3a]; p. 338 [#21g]); v. 35 (p. 321 [#4]; p. 322 [#13]; pp. 332–33 [#3a]); v. 36 (p. 329 [#15]; pp. 332–33 [#3a]); v. 37 (p. 322 [#13]; pp. 332–33 [#3a]; p. 336 [#17a]; p. 338 [#21g; #21h]); v. 38 (p. 322 [#13]; p. 367, n. 6; v. 39 (p. 332 [#3]).

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passage (17.24–34a) in mind.32 The reference to ‘their custom’ (mi“pà†àm) in the context of a discussion of Yhwh’s commandments and teaching seems designed to contest the presentation of ‘the custom of the god of the land’ (mi“pà† "îlòhê hà"àreß) found twice in the earlier text (17.26, 27). There, the term carries the connotations of a transmitted habit, practice, or belief.33 Over against such an understanding, this author plays on the diﬀerent nuances of the term. The writer construes the deity’s custom or customs (ha-mi“pà†îm; v. 37) in the context of a revelation from Israel’s deity to a speciﬁc population (v. 37). As the oracle goes on to make clear, this revelation to the children of Jacob, whom Yhwh liberated from Egypt (v. 36), is to be understood as part of a larger covenantal relationship (vv. 35, 38) and was written down by this deity on Israel’s behalf (v. 37). In other words, the form and substance of the people’s worship were set by divine decree and were not the result of whatever custom or customs the people may have developed over time (cf. v. 34a). For the writer of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40, the custom of the deity of the land refers to something dictated from on high and written down for the sake of the people, rather than to something acquired through natural accumulation or the practice of habit. It was the ‘custom’ of the people (v. 40), however, to ignore ‘the statutes, customs, instruction, and commandment’ that Yhwh wrote for them (v. 37). As the foregoing discussion makes clear, the very engagement with and refutation of claims made in the earlier passage (vv. 24–34a) by the latter passage (vv. 34b–40) has larger implications for how the writer of the latter passage understands the subject under discussion. The writer of the latter passage, unlike the writer of the earlier pas32 I am translating the verb μyç according to its normal sense (HALOT 5:1323b). If the verb has the rare meaning of ‘to change’ only here and in Neh 9.7 (so Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 213), that would not change the overall argument. The allusion to the naming of the children of Jacob as the children of Israel (17.34) may be deliberate in the context of a literary setting in which both Israelites and other peoples are under discussion (cf. 1 Kgs 18.31). 33 That the early interpreters struggled with this matter is evident in the Targum to 2 Kgs 17.34–40. In v. 34, the Targum has nimôsà, ‘law’ (cf. Gk nomos) instead of the MT’s fpçm. Similarly, in the following verses, the Targum has g^zêrà, ‘decree’ instead of the MT’s qj. The usage likely reﬂects an interpretation by the Targum writers that the ‘custom(s)’ and ‘statutes’ refer to non-Israelite regulations, D. J. Harrington and A. J. Saldarini, Targum Jonathan of the Former Prophets (ArBib, 10; Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1987), p. 298. The interpretation of the Targum writers is relevant, because it shows, among other things, that they did not construe the subject of vv. 34b–40 to be exiled Israelites.

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sage, associates the postexilic northern inhabitants with the Israelites. The connection of the subject of this passage with the Israel whom Yhwh brought out of Egypt (17.36) critically undermines the claim made in the earlier text (17.24–34a) that the postexilic northern residents were foreign peoples whom the Assyrian king brought to the southern Levant from other places within the empire.34 To be sure, the issue for this writer is not so much disproving the identity of the northern population sketched in the earlier text as it is correcting the impression left by the earlier passage about how the northern residents adapted after the Assyrian conquests. But the very correction of the earlier writer’s work reveals that the latter writer is working with a profoundly diﬀerent understanding of postexilic northern identity from that of the earlier writer. The thrice-repeated admonition not to worship other deities (17.35, 37, 38)—quoted as part of the direct speech from Yhwh to the populace (17.35b–39)—is key to the author’s message, not only because it assumes a direct communication from Israel’s God to this people, but also because it presents worship as an either/or proposition. In this, the writer contests the both/and stance of the earlier passage (17.24–34a). Citing the repeated use of the verb yàra", ‘to fear, to worship’, in his source, the writer of this later text disputes its Yahwistic application to the postexilic residents of Samaria.35 The message of worship as an either/or matter is reinforced through a series of adversative kî "im constructions, two in the oracle (vv. 36 and 39) and one in the narrative conclusion (v. 40). The two kî "im 34 In this respect, the passage is consonant with the book as a whole, which upholds a comprehensive, rather than a very circumscribed, view of the people of Israel, J. R. Linville, Israel in the Book of Kings: the Past as a Project of Social Identity ( JSOTSup, 272; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1998), pp. 212–18. 35 The use of the verb ‘to fear’ (ary = ‘worship’) with Yhwh as object appears in the earlier text (17.24–34a) in 17.32 (bis) and 33 and in the later text (17.34b– 40) in 17.39. The same verb is used in a negative sense with Yhwh as object in 17.34b. The use of the verb with other gods as the object appears three times in the later text (17.35, 37, 38). Elsewhere in 2 Kings 17, the verb appears with ‘other gods’ in 2 Kgs 17.7 and with Yhwh as object in the editorial summary of 17.41. Elsewhere within the Deuteronomistic work, the verb often refers to loyal service and piety (Deut 4.10; 14.23; 17.19; 31.12, 13; Josh 4.24; 1 Sam 12.14, 24; 1 Kgs 8.40, 43; and Jer 32.39 [C]; Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, pp. 83, 322, 332–33). The chief exception is 2 Kings 17. The use of the verb with this speciﬁc meaning is thus one sign of unity in the chapter as a whole. For other indications of unity from a synchronic vantage point, see the treatments of P. A. Viviano, ‘2 Kings 17: A Rhetorical and Form-Critical Assessment’, CBQ 49 (1987), pp. 548–59 and B. O. Long, 2 Kings (FOTL, 10; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), pp. 180–90.

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constructions within the oracle are each introduced by references to Yhwh’s covenant (vv. 35 and 38). By repeating the prohibition injunction against worshiping other gods, the author signals his disapproval of the kind of conduct described in the earlier text, namely that the immigrant peoples made and served their own gods (17.29–34a). Remembering ‘the covenant that I [Yhwh] cut with you’ means that ‘You will not fear other gods, worship them, serve them, or sacriﬁce to them, but rather (kî "im) Yhwh, who brought you up from the land of Egypt . . ., him you will fear, worship, and sacriﬁce to’ (17.35–36). The ﬁrst kî "im construction is arranged along the lines of an elaborate chiastic structure. μyrja μyhla waryt al μhl wjbzt alw μwdb[t alw μhl wwttçtAalw . . . rça hwhyAμaAyk waryt wta . . . wjbzt wlw wwjtçt wlw μyrja μyhla waryt alw That the hinge in the chiasm is introduced by the adversative kî "im draws attention to the author’s point that the fear of other gods and the fear of Yhwh are opposites. In this construction, the alien gods are only associated with negative injunctions (vv. 35b, 37c), whereas Yhwh is associated both with beneﬁcial acts and with positive injunctions (vv. 36–37b). As part of the covenant, Israelites are not to worship other deities or to sacriﬁce to them. As the deity who liberated the people from Egypt (v. 36a), Yhwh is the deity to whom the Israelites are to accord their worship and sacriﬁce (v. 36b). Those ‘statutes, customs, instruction, and commandment that Yhwh wrote for you, you will be careful to observe all the days’ (17.37). In short, the negative and the positive admonitions are intimately related. Not worshiping other deities is vital to keeping Yhwh’s commandments. Worshiping Yhwh means not worshiping other gods. A similar message is brought home in the second kî "im construction (vv. 38–39). In the covenant between God and the children of Jacob—the covenant the people are admonished not to forget—worship is construed as an exclusive matter: ‘You will not fear other gods, but rather Yhwh your God you will worship’ (vv. 38b–39). The adversative kî "im is strategically placed in the middle of this chiastic structure. μyrja μyhla waryt alw Aμa yk waryt μkyhla hwhyAta

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By the logic inherent in these admonitions, the residents of the former northern kingdom fail to worship Yhwh precisely because they also worship other gods. If the ﬁrst kî "im construction was geared toward the past and the present (vv. 35–37), the second kî "im construction is geared toward the present and the future (vv. 38–39). In this respect, the implications of the second arrangement are revealing. The admonition to the children of Jacob not to forget the covenant that ‘I [Yhwh] cut with you’ (17.38) and ‘not worship other gods’ intimates that Jacob’s children did indeed forget the covenant and worship other gods.36 The conclusion of the oracle that he (Yhwh) would deliver (hû" yaßßîl "etkem) the people from their enemies, if the people worshiped Yhwh their God (17.39), assumes both that Yhwh revealed this obligation to this people some time in the past and that they themselves were to blame for their sorry fate.37 The editorial comment following the conclusion to the oracle oﬀers the third and ﬁnal adversative kî "im construction: ‘They did not listen, but rather (kî "im) act according to their former custom’ (17.40). Such an assessment is only possible if the people had been part of a long-term, albeit troubled, relationship with the God of Israel.38 The point is not that this writer is less critical of the Samarians than the previous writer. One can argue, in fact, that this writer is more critical of the northern population than is the writer of 17.24–34a. The point is that the writer of the second text (17.34b–40) has a diﬀerent understanding of the Samarians than that of the ﬁrst writer. For the earlier writer, the northern population is composed of foreigners

36 Reading with the MT and the Targum (lectio diﬃcilior). The LXX and Vulgate have the 3rd masculine singular. 37 In his second speech (2 Kgs 18.28–35; cf. 2 Kgs 19.10–13), the Rabshakeh turns the same logic against Judah. He asks rhetorically whether the gods of other nations, including the gods of Samaria, saved (wlyxh lxhh) their lands from the power of the Assyrian king (2 Kgs 18.33–34). If not, would Yhwh deliver (lyxy) Jerusalem? (2 Kgs 18.35). In 2 Kgs 18.34, I am reconstructing ˆwrmç ≈ra yhla hyaw on the basis of the LXXL, the Old Latin, and the testimony of Isa 36.19. The MT of 2 Kgs 18.34 has hw[w [nh, but the LXXB and Isa 36.19 lack this phrase. M. Anbar, ‘kai pou eisin hoi theoi tès xòras Samareias, et où sont les dieux du pays Samarie?’, BN 51 (1990), pp. 7–8, provides a more detailed discussion of the text-critical problems in this verse. 38 Hence, I do not believe that the reader is to suppose that ‘the children of Jacob’ (17.34b) are somehow distinct from the northern residents, pace W. Rudolph, ‘Zum Text der Königsbücher’, ZAW 61 (1951), pp. 201–15 (213–14). Rather, the reader is to suppose that the population under discussion is to be associated, ethnically at least, with ‘the children of Jacob’, Ben Zvi, ‘Inclusion and Exclusion’, pp. 95–149 (102).

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and thus the residents of the former northern kingdom have no association with the name Israel. But this writer views the ancestors of Samaria’s residents as Israelite.39 He disputes the claim that these residents worship Yhwh according to the terms that he thinks are normative for all who would identify with the name Israel. His assertion is that the (surviving) Israelite residents of Samaria were fundamentally unchanged by the Assyrian conquests.40 They stubbornly cling to their ways and fail to worship Yhwh, just as their ancestors failed to worship Yhwh. 4. Conclusions The text of 2 Kings 17 has often been viewed as presenting a univocal perspective on Samari(t)an origins. But the situation is more complex. Within this chapter the reader is introduced to two fundamentally understandings of Samarians—one foreign and the other Israelite.41 These two conceptions, along with the view that the Samarians were somehow an ethnic conglomeration of native Israelites and foreigners— have dominated scholarly discussions from antiquity to modernity.42 39 In one respect, this stance is close to that of the Chronicler, who also viewed the surviving residents of the former northern kingdom as Israelite. The Chronicler displays, however, a much more positive understanding of the reality and possibilities of Yahwistic worship among the northern Israelites than the writer of 2 Kgs 17.34b–40 does. The Chronistic work depicts, for example, northern awareness of guilt (2 Chron 28.9–15), some northern repentance (2 Chron 30.6–11), and active participation in Josiah’s reforms (2 Chron 34.6, 9, 21, 33; 35.18). See, further, S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (trans. A. Barber; BEATAJ, 9; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997); H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); T. Willi, Juda, Jehud, Israel: Studien zum Selbstverständnis des Judentums in persischer Zeit (FAT, 12; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1995); G. N. Knoppers, ‘What has Mt. Zion to do with Mt. Gerizim? A Study in the Early Relations between the Jews and the Samaritans in the Persian Period’, The Bulletin of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies / La Société canadienne des études bibliques 64 (2004–2005), pp. 5–32. 40 Hence, the writer(s) of this passage, like the writer(s) of 17.24–34a, posits basic continuity in some cultic practices. But, in this case, the continuity resides in nonworship of Yhwh. 41 The latter is, of course, also the Samaritan view. The Samaritans see themselves as descendants of the sons of Joseph. See J. R. Pummer, The Samaritans (Iconography of Religions, 23/5; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1987), pp. 2–5; I. Hjelm, The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis ( JSOTSup, 303; Copenhagen International Seminar, 7; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2000), pp. 76–103; J-.F. Faü and A. D. Crown, Les Samaritains, rescapés de 2700 ans d’histoire (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 2001), pp. 7–15. 42 The third view may also be represented in 2 Kings 17, at least implicitly. Only

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In his detailed treatment of 2 Kings 17, Brettler comments that ‘because the reason that the north was exiled was of tremendous ideological importance for the Judaeans, the story of the exile of the north acted as a magnet, collecting an unusually large number of traditions and reﬂections’.43 Brettler helpfully calls attention to the Judahite interest in and diverse commentary on the Assyrian exile. Yet, surely the questions arising for Judahite writers did not have to do simply with the causes of the Israelite deportations, but also with the phenomenon of continuing Yahwistic worship in the former northern kingdom. Given the end of the northern monarchy and the dislocation of Israelites to various sites in the Assyrian empire, how should one account for the continuation of Yahwism in Samaria?44 To this question, writers in the Deuteronomistic tradition did not provide univocal, much less simple, answers. The very fact that there are diﬀerent viewpoints within a single literary work is itself revealing, because it suggests that the issues of identity, religious practice, and national origins were ongoing issues in elite Judahite circles. The two passages in question thus provide more evidence for the point of view often expressed by Graeme Auld that the Deuteronomistic writers (if there ever were such creatures!) belonged to a living and diverse tradition, rather than to a static and monolithic school.45 one priest from Samaria is speciﬁcally mentioned, but plural verb forms appear in MT v. 27 (followed by the LXXB): ‘Let them go (wklyw) and let them settle (wbçyw) there and let him teach them the custom of the god of the land’. Some would read, therefore, the plural forms throughout the verse (e.g., J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings [ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1951], pp. 473, 479). Note also the mention in Josephus (Ant 9.289–290) of priests’ (hiereis) being repatriated to Samaria. It would seem that the source text used by Josephus, like some of the witnesses to 2 Kings 17, spoke of a plurality in the repatriated sacerdocy. In any case, perhaps the plural verbal forms, coupled with speciﬁc mention of the repatriated Israelite priest(s), constitute one of the sources, if not the source, for the later tradition that the Samaritans were composed of a mixed population. 43 Brettler, Creation of History, p. 133. 44 The tensions and strains were undoubtedly exacerbated by the fact that Judahite conceptions of northern identity had a direct bearing on how Judahite writers viewed Judahite identity, J.-D. Macchi, ‘Les controverses théologiques dans le judaïsme de l’époque postexilique. L’exemple de 2 Rois 17,24–41’, Transeu 5 (1992), pp. 85–93. Perhaps, though, the transference from northern Israel (or Samaria) to Judah was not automatic for all members of the Jerusalemite intelligentsia. 45 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), pp. 147–75; idem, Joshua Retold: Synoptic Perspectives (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), pp. 102–12, 140–49.

OBEISANCE IN THE BIBLICAL STORIES OF DAVID1 Lydie Kucová An appropriate starting point for investigating the theme of reverential behaviour in biblical texts relating to David is an observation made by Graeme Auld. He comments on prostration as a posture expressing an attitude of reverence in the Bible and, in particular, in the books of Samuel and Kings: In itself, the practice seems unremarkable – a piece of etiquette, especially court etiquette, familiar from many periods and many cultures and many places, including the Near East. The Hebrew verb hwjtvh is used widely throughout the Bible, but mostly where prostrating oneself before Yahweh is commended or prostration before other gods is condemned. Between humans, however, it is much less common – and almost absent where we might most expect it, as in the stories in Exodus about the house of Pharaoh, the great court of Egypt. Yet in that book we meet it only twice: of Egyptian oﬃcials bowing before Moses (11:8), and Moses before his father-in-law (18:7). In Samuel, together with the opening two chapters of Kings, it is used many times in connection with David: ﬁrst of David himself bowing before Jonathan (1 Sam. 20:41) and Saul (24:9), and then of many characters making their approach to David. People behave before David as before a great king; and David himself salutes the previous royal family similarly – both Saul and Jonathan. I think we readers are expected not to approve of this behaviour which David ﬁnds ﬁtting. It reminds me of the Greeks around Alexander the Great, and their horror at his un-Greek behaviour when he started to accept the worship, the prostration, traditional in the court of Persia.

Auld continues: All of the references which link this practice to David, except for one, are in the special material which we ﬁnd in Samuel and Kings, but not in Chronicles. In the narrative which the Chronicler shares, only 1 It is a pleasure to oﬀer a paper in honour of Graeme Auld who has made a signiﬁcant mark on the study of the Hebrew Bible, in particular by providing some new and fresh perspectives on reading the books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings and Chronicles. I wish to express gratitude to Andrew Barclay, James T. McDonough, Jr. and Timothy H. Lim for their helpful comments and editorial suggestions. The views expressed and any errors are mine.

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lydie kucová one human being so bows before another. And he is a foreigner: Araunah, who prostrates himself before David when David approaches him to buy his threshing-ﬂoor (2 Sam. 24:20 / 1 Chron. 21:21).2

Araunah’s obeisance to David, though appearing in parallel episodes in Samuel and Chronicles, is not described in identical terms in these two texts. In 1 Chron 21.21 Araunah does obeisance dywdl ‘to David’ but in 2 Sam 24.20 ˚lml ‘to the king’.3 In 1 Chron 21.21 Araunah prostrates himself hxra μypa ‘face to the ground’ but in 2 Sam 24.20 hxra wypa ‘his face/nose to the ground’. These are not insigniﬁcant diﬀerences in the depiction of Araunah’s obeisance between the two accounts. The phrase hxra μypa is a standard expression used elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible in connection with hwjtçh, appearing in Gen 19.1; 42.6; 2 Sam 25.41; 1 Chron 21.21; Neh 8.6; and Isa 49.23. However, hxra wypa employed in combination with hwjtçh is speciﬁc to the narratives of David in the books of Samuel and Kings. It belongs to the variety of expressions (hxra wypaAl[, hxra wypal, hxra wypa) that are found in connection with hwjtçh in 2 Sam 14.33; 18.28; 24.20; and 1 Kgs 1.23.4 The phrase conveying Araunah’s prostration in 2 Sam 24.20, although diﬀerent from its counterpart in 1 Chron 21.21, shows remarkably close links with its immediate context of other obeisance terminology within the David stories in Samuel and the beginning of Kings. Did the Chronicler rephrase Araunah’s act of obeisance from his source? Or, was the synoptic passage of Araunah’s obeisance in Samuel adjusted to ﬁt in with the surrounding context of similar obeisance expressions? Araunah, who prostrates himself in the presence of David, acknowledges by his act that he is meeting a king. There is no hidden agenda here, nor does it bring advantage to either party. Perhaps it helps

2 A. G. Auld, ‘Tamar between David, Judah and Joseph’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 213–24 (220). 3 This divergence accords well with the larger picture showing preference for the personal name ‘David’ in 1 Chronicles 21, whereas the parallel text in 2 Samuel 24 prefers the title ‘king’. For more on this point, see A. G. Auld, ‘What if the Chronicler did use the Deuteronomistic History’, in idem, Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 141–50 (146–47). 4 Additionally, hxra wypal occurs linked with hwjtçh in Gen 48.12. The reading in this verse, however, is textually problematical due to variants in ancient versions. LXX reads ka‹ prosekÊnhsan aÈt“ §p‹ prÒsvpon §p‹ t∞w g∞w instead of MT’s hxra wypal wjtçyw, and the plural verb hwjtçh is also supported by the Samaritan Pentateuch and the Peshitta.

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to throw a more favourable light on David as he is receiving honour pertinent to a king. What is more interesting, however, is that Araunah is a foreigner, a Jebusite citizen of Jerusalem. Elsewhere in the stories of David in Samuel and Kings, it is either Israelites (Abigail, Mephibosheth, Ziba, Joab, Nathan, etc.) or those foreigners who became incorporated among Israelites (son of Amalekite’s resident alien, Cushite messenger) who are associated with the practice of prostration. In the only synoptic account mentioning obeisance, in 2 Sam 24.20 and 1 Chron 21.21, the person prostrating himself before David is non-Israelite. It has been eﬀectively argued that Araunah has a Hurrian name meaning ‘ruler’ or ‘lord’, which indicates that he was perhaps a ﬁgure of royal signiﬁcance, rather than designating an individual name.5 Araunah’s obeisance to David thus conforms with the more general picture of the ancient Near East where such practices with regard to other people or nations take place. From this general environment of relations between people and nations, to which Araunah’s prostration belongs, the theme of obeisance before a king is taken over in Samuel and the early part of Kings and is applied to domestic circumstances and the relationships of David with his people. Although the material in the Hebrew Bible dealing with kings and royal houses encompasses the narratives from King Saul to Zedekiah, the theme of prostration and obeisance does not appear signiﬁcantly with any king of the united or divided monarchy other than David. No obeisance is mentioned in the stories of the early reign of King Saul (1 Samuel 9–15). The following narratives dealing with Saul’s reign and the rise of David include only two obeisance scenes that relate to Saul and his family. In both cases it is David who oﬀers this courtesy to the royal family (1 Sam 20.41; 24.9). This foreshadows the future events in which the practice is reversed; the people will eventually bow before David. The courtly behaviour of obeisance is noted many times in David’s lifetime (1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 1). When Solomon succeeds David on the throne, however, with the exception of two instances early in Solomon’s reign (1 Kgs 1.53; 2.13 [LXX])6 the references to the courtesy of obeisance 5 See, e.g., N. Wyatt, ‘“Araunah the Jebusite” and the Throne of David’, ST 39 (1985), pp. 39–53 (39–40); idem, ‘David’s Census and the Tripartite Theory’, VT 40 (1990), pp. 352–60 (355). Cf. S. Yeivin, ‘Social, Religious and Cultural Trends in Jerusalem under the Davidic Dynasty’, VT 3 (1953), pp. 149–66 (149); G. W. Ahlström, The History of Ancient Palestine (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), pp. 470–71. 6 1 Kgs 2.19 (MT). For a persuasive argument suggesting the text of 1 Kgs 2.13

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completely vanish. An occasion logically appropriate for inclusion of the royal etiquette of obeisance during the reign of Solomon would be the episode of the two prostitutes approaching the king in their dispute over a child (1 Kgs 3.16–28). Instead of the language conveying prostration and obeisance, however, the narrative simply reads: ‘Then two women who were prostitutes came to the king and stood before him’ (1 Kgs 3.16). After Solomon, the practice is similarly not recalled within monarchic settings. Only one brief reference to this etiquette in the royal court appears in the accounts of the divided monarchy, and this is in Chronicles, when oﬃcials of Judah prostrate themselves in the presence of King Joash (2 Chron 24.17).7 Obeisance as an etiquette associated with royalty is largely conﬁned to the narratives that relate to the emergence and the reign of David and the introduction of the reign of Solomon.8 References to obeisance are thus limited to only one particular section of the narratives dealing with royal settings, namely 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2, indicating that court etiquette is not a common or traditional motif in the biblical stories describing people’s approach to their king. This may suggest that drawing attention to court etiquette within 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2 is a particular concern of one mind rather than of several authors using a common motif. More to the point, the episodes with obeisance in the stories of David appear to be in part thematically linked and constitute a progression. It is the intention of this study to trace the development of the motif of obeisance in 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2 and to hint at its implication for the literary history of the David narratives.

(LXX) as preserving the more original reading, see A. Schenker, Septante et texte massorétique dans l’histoire la plus ancienne du texte de 1 Rois 2–14 (CahRB, 48; Paris: J. Gabalda, 2000), pp. 60–66. 7 By contrast to the absence of obeisance as an etiquette in royal courts in the stories of the divided monarchy, it is the prophets Elijah (1 Kgs 18.7; only lpn) and Elisha (2 Kgs 2.15; 4.37) who become honoured by the deferential behaviour. On the aspect of a prophet fulﬁlling and taking on the role of king in the Elisha narratives, see speciﬁcally the study by W. B. Aucker, ‘Putting Elisha in His Place: Genre, Coherence, and Narrative Function in 2 Kings 2–8’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2000). 8 Other signiﬁcant occurrences of the etiquette in the Hebrew Bible are in the patriarchal narratives of Genesis (e.g., 23.7, 12; 27.29; 33.3, 6, 7). These stories, however, do not deal with royalty and therefore are not a concern of this paper.

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1 The ﬁrst two obeisance scenes in the books of Samuel show David bowing down before Jonathan and Saul (1 Sam 20.41; 24.9). David’s courtly behaviour in 1 Sam 20.41 belongs to a scene in which David and Jonathan express friendship to each other in the midst of David’s facing hostility from Jonathan’s father Saul. David prostrates himself three times (μym[p çlç wjtçyw) on his meeting Jonathan. The act of obeisance conveyed in numerical terms is found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible only in Gen 33.3, and there it occurs also in the context of deferential behaviour before another human being: when Jacob and his family had a moving encounter with Esau, Jacob bowed before his brother seven times. In 1 Samuel 20, however, the number ‘three’ occurs several times (vv. 5 [only MT], 12, 19, 20, 41), which suggests that its appearance with the obeisance formula in v. 41 was deliberately chosen to conform to a literary trope.9 1 Samuel 20 is a chapter that displays important points of intersection with 2 Samuel 9, another chapter that includes references to obeisance.10 First, embedded in the two chapters is the reciprocal act of dsj.11 David asks Jonathan to ‘deal kindly’ with him, invoking covenantal ties (1 Sam 20.8), whereby he puts on himself the obligation to reciprocate. David’s commitment is made explicit later in the narrative by Jonathan’s words calling on David’s loyalty (1 Sam 20.14–15). Being aware of having once needed dsj from Jonathan, David’s motivation for the act of loyalty to a relative of Jonathan 9 See R. Polzin, Samuel and the Deuteronomist: 1 Samuel (A Literary Study of the Deuteronomistic History, 2; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989), p. 192, who contends that the repeated use of the number ‘three’ throughout the chapter forms one of several ‘structural means to organize the story’. 10 Commentators have noted similar issues occurring in 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9. Some scholars attribute shared concerns in these two chapters to later editorial activity by the Deuteronomists. See, e.g., T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie: David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (AASF, B193; Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1975), pp. 81–87; P. K. McCarter, I Samuel (AB, 8; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980), pp. 16–17, 344, followed by R. Klein, 1 Samuel (WBC, 10; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1983), pp. 205–206. However, 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9 have more profound connections and aﬃnities on linguistic and other levels that do not seem to be easily explained on the basis of Deuteronomistic editorial activity; for a critique of the Deuteronomistic links, see A. F. Campbell, 1 Samuel (FOTL, 7; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 216–17. 11 On the reciprocal character of dsj, see R. C. Bailey, David in Love and War: The Pursuit of Power in 2 Samuel 10–12 ( JSOTSup, 75; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1990), pp. 58–60. Cf. K. D. Sakenfeld, The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible: A New Inquiry (HSM, 17; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press), pp. 58–78.

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(2 Sam 9.1, 3, 7) resides principally in his obligation to reciprocate his loyalty in exchange for Jonathan’s earlier deed of support. Thus David’s deed of dsj in 2 Samuel 9 is based on the earlier act of dsj which David asked for himself, from Jonathan, prior to his departure from Saul’s court. Second, the two chapters share a link in their employment of the word ˆjlç.12 Isolated references to the king’s table appear occasionally elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. In both 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9, however, the term ˆjlç referring to the table at which the king eats is used repeatedly and more often than in any other narrative account.13 There is also an interesting linkage of ˆjlç to the notion of dsj in these two chapters. In 2 Samuel 9 the act of dsj abides in the right to be present at the king’s table. A neat reversal to this kind of loyalty is seen in 1 Samuel 20, where Jonathan does dsj to David in terms of mediating his absence from the king’s table. Third, an emphasis is laid in 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9, though in each of them diﬀerently, on a particular feature relating to royal dining. 1 Samuel 20 lays stress on the motif of ‘being missed’ at the royal table by the frequent use of the verb dqp.14 This is set in contrast with the theme of ‘being always (dymt) present’ at the king’s table in 2 Samuel 9.15 Unlike Saul, who is unable to keep an eye on David, even by noting that his place at the royal table is empty (dqpyw), David makes sure when he later sits on the throne that Mephibosheth, a member of Saul’s house, always (dymt) takes his seat at the table. David, from his own earlier experience of which in fact he was a beneﬁciary, is all too well aware what it means for the king not to be able to keep track on the movements of those who might potentially be a menace to the throne.

12 J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. Volume 1: King David (II Sam. 9–20 & I Kings 1–2) (SSN, 20; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), p. 29, also draws attention to the links between 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9 in their use of dsj and ˆjlç. 13 1 Sam 20.24 (LXX), 27 (LXX, 4QSamb), 29, 35; 2 Sam 9.7, 10, 11, 13. The MT does not mention ˆjlç in 1 Sam 20.24 and 27, reading μjlhAla/l[ instead. F. M. Cross and D. W. Parry, ‘A Preliminary Edition of a Fragment of 4QSamb (4Q52)’, BASOR 306 (1997), pp. 63–74 (67) propose that ˆjlç, as it appears in the LXX (vv. 24, 27) and in 4QSamb (v. 27), is the more original reading. 14 1 Sam 20.6 (Qal), 18 (2x), 25, 27 (Niphal). On dqp and its particular connotation ‘miss’, see L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner et al. (eds.), The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (2 vols; Leiden: Brill, study edn, 2001), 2:955–58. 15 2 Sam 9.7, 10, 13.

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It is within this context of ties and relations between 1 Samuel 20 and 2 Samuel 9 that the subject of obeisance, which the two chapters share, can be compared. The deferential behaviour of David who prostrates himself before Jonathan in 1 Sam 20.41 has already been noted. In 2 Sam 9.6, 8, when David is sitting on the throne, it is Jonathan’s son Mephibosheth who does this courtesy to the newly installed king. Both David (1 Sam 20.41) and Mephibosheth (2 Sam 9.8) do obeisance, acting by this gesture in response to those who did dsj to them. David prostrates himself before Jonathan at the moment which marks the beginning of their permanent separation. After this encounter they see each other only brieﬂy once more (1 Sam 23.15–18) but not again before Jonathan’s death. When the son of Jonathan makes his very ﬁrst appearance before David, the obeisance is reciprocated (2 Sam 9.6). This signiﬁes the continuity of mutual family salute.16 Two features of the narrative in 2 Samuel 9 point to the continual thread of mutual respect that is shown in the behaviour of Mephibosheth. First, the literary context of David’s conversation with the servant Ziba, in which the scene of David meeting Mephibosheth is set, plays an important role. Although he has a lower status than his master Mephibosheth, no physical act of courtesy by Ziba before the king is recorded in the text. Ziba shows his respect only verbally but not bodily. Mephibosheth’s deferential behaviour when he approaches the king is thus particularly highlighted.17 Second, the earlier relationships that David had with the ﬁrst dynasty are alluded to by the language describing the conversation between David and Mephibosheth. The manner in which David is referred to when speaking with Mephibosheth stands in noticeable contrast to how David’s person is introduced in the dialogue with Ziba. At the start of 2 Samuel 9, when he asks to whom he may do dsj for Jonathan’s sake, and Ziba is summoned to him, David is mentioned only by his personal name (vv. 1–2a). This foreshadows the informal way in

16

See also A. G. Auld, ‘1 and 2 Samuel’, in J. D. G. Dunn and J. W. Rogerson (eds.), Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 213–45 (234–35), who notes Mephibosheth’s deferential approach to David in 2 Samuel 9 echoing David’s earlier courtesy to Mephibosheth’s ancestors. 17 Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, p. 29 comments: ‘Ziba does not engage in ceremony, whereas Mephibosheth is courteous. The scene is poignant; we observe the cripple bowing to the ground with all the diﬃculty and pain that that entails’.

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which David is referred to when he speaks with Mephibosheth, where he is similarly called only dwd (vv. 6–8). On the contrary, in dialogues with Ziba David is always referred to as ˚lmh (vv. 2b–4, 9–11). The reference to David in v. 5 as dwd ˚lmh is consistent with the transition from the conversation between the king and Ziba to the dialogue of David and Mephibosheth that follows. The layout of the references to David throughout the chapter points out the diﬀerent roles David performs. With respect to Ziba he acts in his superior role of reigning king. However, with Mephibosheth, he is stripped of his royal title which shows him in a less formal and more intimate light. Such a depiction of David in his encounter with Mephibosheth seems to draw on the earlier intimate relationship David had with Mephibosheth’s father. Considering that obeisance is done not so much to the king as to David, though he is a king, Mephibosheth’s behaviour can be understood in terms of paying back the respects David earlier made to predecessors of his family. Apart from David’s act of deference to Jonathan that is later returned by Jonathan’s son Mephibosheth, David does obeisance also to Jonathan’s father Saul (1 Sam 24.9). This is the only instance in the Bible when someone does obeisance before Saul as king, and it may be signiﬁcant that it is David who prostrates himself, since many will do the same to him when he later succeeds Saul on the throne. In this episode of the cave in the wilderness of En-gedi, David ﬁrst calls after Saul addressing him ˚lmh ynda ‘my lord the king’ before he bows down, prostrating himself before him. The formula of David’s address ˚lmh ynda ‘my lord the king’ that precedes David’s prostration is not used in addressing Saul in earlier narratives. When people approach Saul, they usually address him either wnnda/ynda ‘my/our lord’ (1 Sam 16.16; 22.12), or ˚lmh ‘the king’ (1 Sam 17.55; 22.15), but not by the whole courtly phrase ˚lmh ynda ‘my lord the king’. This formula is ﬁrst introduced by David in 1 Sam 24.9, and thereafter only David utilises the expression with reference to Saul (1 Sam 26.15 [˚lmh ˚ynda], 17, 19). In one instance, David also addresses King Achish by the formula ˚lmh ynda (1 Sam 29.8). Later the phrase becomes predominant as people use it in addressing David as king.18 18

2 Sam 3.21; 4.8; 9.11; 13.33; 14.9, 12, 15, 17 (2x), 18, 19 (2x), 22; 15.15, 21 (2x); 16.4, 9; 18.28, 31, 32; 19.20, 21, 27, 28, 29, 31, 36, 38; 24.3, 3 (//1 Chron 21.3), 21, 22 (//1 Chron 21.23); 1 Kgs 1.2, 13, 18, 20 (2x), 21, 24, 27 (2x), 31, 36, 37 (2x). In one case it is also used with reference to Solomon (1 Kgs 2.38). Other occurrences of the formula ˚lmh ynda and its variants are as follows: 1 Kgs 12.27; 20.4, 9; 2 Kgs 6.12, 26; 8.5; 18.23 (//Isa 36.8); Jer 37.20; 38.9; Dan 1.10.

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There emerges a very similar pattern of distribution of both, the obeisance formula and the formula ˚lmh ynda, in royal settings within the books of Samuel and Kings. The phrases are not used in earlier narratives about King Saul but only begin to appear in David’s usage when he approaches royalty. Later on, the situation with respect to the use of the phrases is reversed in that they are applied largely to David himself when he is king. The expressions continue to appear consistently throughout 2 Samuel until 1 Kings 2, where they are used with reference to Solomon. Beginning in 1 Kings 3, however, their use is minimised. The occurrences of the obeisance formula and the formula ˚lmh ynda in 1 Sam 24.9 are congruent with this scheme of distribution. In the light of later use of these expressions when addressing David, one may contend that the courtly address ˚lmh ynda and the obeisance done by David to Saul in 1 Sam 24.9 are both self-serving actions by David. This future leader of the nation seems to have legitimised such behaviour for later use in David’s time as king. The thematic role which obeisance plays in the texts studied above (1 Sam 20.41; 24.9; and 2 Sam 9.6, 8) has been observed in the mutual acts of respect paid between David and the Saulides. For David, though, court etiquette has yet another signiﬁcance. He initiates the practice of bowing down before Jonathan and Saul, the representatives of the royal house. Paradoxically, David prostrates himself before members of the former dynasty in circumstances, in which they proclaim him to be a future king (1 Sam 24.20; cf. 1 Sam 23.17). David’s acts of obeisance in these circumstances do not play a signiﬁcant role in elevating the royal status of Saul or Jonathan but they do contribute in giving credence to the future conduct of people before David himself. Since David initiates courtly etiquette and does obeisance to the dynasty he is about to succeed, his acts pave the way for people to behave similarly when he is king. The primary concern in describing David as the one who oﬀers this courtesy to the former dynasty is to give legitimacy to such courtly behaviour later on, that is, to give approval to this courtly practice before David during his own reign. Between David’s initiation and the subsequent continuation of the acts of obeisance at the time of David’s reign, however, a transitional stage can be observed in 1 Samuel 25 and 2 Samuel 1, the chapters that describe consecutively Abigail’s and the Amalekite messenger’s approach to David. David is not yet on the throne but already he seems to be functioning as a proper king.

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David does not yet occupy a throne when Abigail approaches him to avert dangers which Nabal brought on himself and his household by his imprudent behaviour. Nonetheless, the story of the encounter of Abigail with David in 1 Samuel 25 is marked by several royal overtones. Abigail’s obeisance on her initial meeting with David is described in considerable detail: ‘When Abigail saw David, she hurried and got oﬀ the donkey, fell before David on her face and prostrated herself to the ground; she fell19 at his feet’ (1 Sam 25.23–24a). This vivid description may lead us to view the scene as if it is happening before a sovereign. The act of obeisance as such is signiﬁcant for the portrayal of David in Abigail’s story. It is one of several characteristics in this episode that are common to the structure of ‘audience with king’ in a number of biblical texts. Jung in his study of court etiquette distinguishes between several types of royal audiences in the texts of the Hebrew Bible. One of them is called ‘petitionary audience’ and consists of the following elements: ‘opening obeisance by subject’, ‘acknowledgement by king’, ‘address to king by subject and response by king’, ‘departing obeisance’, and ‘self-deprecatory expression or a blessing to the king’.20 Abigail’s encounter with David is consistent with the structure of ‘petitionary audience’. On her meeting David, a king-to-be, Abigail initially prostrates herself before him (vv. 23–24a). This act is followed by what is known in petitionary audience as ‘address to king by subject’. Abigail ﬁrst expresses her guilt and asks for permission to speak (v. 24). Then she entreats David that he may restrain from vengeance and at the same time warns him that the shedding of innocent blood could be for him, the one destined for the throne, his downfall (vv. 25–31). David responds in the way a king responds to the petitionary request. He pronounces a series of blessings (vv. 32–35) and says in formulaic tone: ‘Go up to your house in peace; see, I have heeded your voice, and I have granted your petition’ (v. 35). When occasion later allows, David also answers Abigail’s other plea to remember her when Yahweh has dealt well with him (v. 31b). This results in David’s proposing marriage to Abigail (vv. 39–41), to which she reacts by The second lptw is missing in LXXB. K. N. Jung, ‘Court Etiquette in the Old Testament’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Drew University, 1979), p. 121. 19 20

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obeisance and a self-deprecatory statement: ‘Your servant is a slave to wash the feet of the servants of my lord’ (v. 41). These two ﬁnal acts by Abigail accord with the ﬁnal two elements in petitionary audience, ‘the departing obeisance’ and ‘a self-deprecatory expression’. Abigail’s meeting with David thus closely follows almost all stages of petitionary hearing before the king. The episode is congruent with those describing a royal audience as, for example, the story of the woman of Tekoa (2 Sam 14.1–24) when David sits on the throne.21 Despite the fact that Abigail is not meeting a royal person, the narrative in 1 Samuel 25 borrows the formal structure of an ‘audience with the king’ type-scene in order to describe the event. This may have been the compositional technique of an author who had a particular interest in already depicting David by using royal language at a stage at which he is not yet oﬃcially appointed king. Ultimately, the most explicit hint suggesting the royal overtones in the episode is put in the mouth of Abigail herself when she professes David to be the future leader of the nation (vv. 28–31). The second story, which mentions obeisance done before David while he is still only aspiring to the throne, not yet in possession of it, concerns the Amalekite messenger who brings David the news of Saul’s death (2 Sam 1.1–16). This story shows similarities in its structure with another messenger’s report, that of the messenger bringing Eli the news of Israel’s defeat (1 Sam 4.12–17).22 Although the pattern of questioning the messengers who return from the battle is very similar in the two stories, the episode of the Amalekite messenger includes also distinctive elements. These involve the Amalekite’s prostration before David (2 Sam 1.2) and his presentation of the royal artefacts (2 Sam 1.10), both of which enhance the status of David as the receiver of the news. David is portrayed in the light of his imminent role of being king. Some commentators contend that, 21 Both Abigail and the woman of Tekoa approach David in accordance with the rules of the court. They both use formulaic expressions in asking David for permission to speak and David also responds to both women using formulaic language. Further, the two narratives include frequent use of deferential language such as ‘my lord, (the king)’ or ‘your servant’. For other similarities between the encounters of Abigail and the woman of Tekoa with David, see D. M. Gunn, The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation ( JSOTSup, 6; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1978), pp. 42–43; cf. L. L. Lyke, King David with the Wise Woman of Tekoa: The Resonance of Tradition in Parabolic Narrative ( JSOTSup, 255; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1997), pp. 111–19. 22 For an analysis of the two accounts, see Gunn, The Story of King David, pp. 55–56.

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despite the ﬁctitious nature of the Amalekite’s report, the account was preserved primarily to provide an explanation of how David came into possession of royal emblems. They suggest that the episode formed a necessary part of the defence of David so as to bear witness that David was not involved in Saul’s death.23 Considering the royal status that the account assigns to David as is evidenced in the messenger’s prostration and the symbolism of insignia, however, there seems to be more underlying the episode. Polzin points out that ‘the Amalekite’s taking the crown from Saul and bringing it to David represents the transition of royal authority from Saul to David’.24 Therefore it is now David, who is given ‘the physical symbols of royalty’ and is honoured by the act of obeisance as though a king, who ‘[will dominate] the royal history’.25 The obeisance signals the era of David’s imminent kingship as well as foreshadowing the manners that become a regular part of David’s court. The royal overtones in the portrayal of David in the Amalekite episode suggest that the story was composed from the perspective of David’s kingly role, documented later in the narratives of Samuel. A further feature of the Amalekite story, which ends with his death, may substantiate this proposal. The pericope regarding the Amalekite’s execution (2 Sam 1.13–16) displays formal elements of royal judicial proceedings. Although the report of the Amalekite’s being put to death by David describes an event that took place before David’s actual reign, it conveys all the signs of David’s exercising royal legal jurisdiction. Whitelam notices this feature especially in the formal judicial language that the narrative employs. In light of the story’s emphasis on David’s monarchical judicial authority, Whitelam proposes that the narrative was produced in retrospect of David’s position as king.26 The messenger’s prostration, the presentation of royal insignia and David’s exercise of judicial authority in the Amalekite story indicate that there are close relations between this episode and the narratives describing David’s kingship. It is, therefore, possible to view 2 Sam

23 See, e.g., P. K. McCarter, II Samuel (AB, 9; Garden City, NY: Doubleday), pp. 64–65; A. A. Anderson, 2 Samuel (WBC, 11; Dallas, TX; Word Books, 1989), p. 5. 24 R. Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: 2 Samuel (A Literary Study of the Deuteronomistic History, 3; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1993), p. 9. 25 Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist, p. 10. 26 K. W. Whitelam, The Just King: Monarchical Judicial Authority in Ancient Israel ( JSOTSup, 12; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1979), pp. 100–101.

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1.1–16 as being written in retrospect, in light of stories describing David’s own reign. Likewise, the story of Abigail’s encounter with David, and the manner in which this narrative is structured with its formal elements of ‘petitionary audience’, points to its composition in retrospect along the lines of other episodes in which David is approached as king. Observing this authorial activity which projects David’s kingly qualities back into his early life, we can trace this work backward not only in introducing obeisance into the stories in which David is not yet a king, but also in recording David’s own initiation of these acts while he was a young lad at Saul’s court. As suggested earlier, the introduction of obeisance into Samuel’s stories which feature young David aims to sanctify the practice for later on when David becomes king and ruler over Israel. 3 Obeisance scenes in biblical texts relating to David appear most prominently in the stories dealing with the period of David’s own reign. The accumulation of references to court etiquette can be observed in the narratives revolving around Absalom’s revolt (2 Samuel 13–18) and the revolt of Adonijah (1 Kings 1–2). In the account of Absalom’s revolt – apart from the Cushite’s obeisance before Joab (2 Sam 18.21), Ahimaaz’s before David (2 Sam 18.28) and Ziba’s oral profession ytywjtçh ‘I prostrate myself ’ (2 Sam 16.4) – all references to obeisance are found in 2 Samuel 14 and 15, the two chapters concerned with emerging trouble involving Absalom in David’s house. The obeisance scenes found in 2 Samuel 14–15 and 1 Kings 1–2 share a number of remarkable similarities. Each of these texts with its cluster of obeisance episodes includes a major scene of audience before David as king. One involves the audience of the woman of Tekoa (2 Sam 14.1–24) and the other the queen Bathsheba (1 Kgs 1.11–31). The layout of references to obeisance scenes in 2 Samuel 14–15 and 1 Kings 1–2 appears to be carefully structured in order to make the occasions correspond one with another. The obeisance of the woman of Tekoa on entering the king’s presence in 2 Sam 14.4 parallels that of Bathsheba and Nathan in 1 Kgs 1.16, 23. The next reference to obeisance is made in both narratives in the context of thanksgiving to the king, uttered by Joab in 2 Sam 14.22 and by Bathsheba in 1 Kgs 1.31. The context of these parallel references is clear; it is a royal audience in which subjects prostrate

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themselves on their arrival and, in response to a royal pronouncement, on their departure from the king. Following the royal audiences of the woman of Tekoa and the queen Bathsheba, the passages in 2 Samuel 14–15 and 1 Kings 1–2 mention obeisance at the moments of reconciliation of royal sons with their authority. In 2 Sam 14.33, Absalom prostrates himself before David, and in 1 Kgs 1.53 Adonijah prostrates himself before Solomon. Both texts display a picture of strained relationships between the reconciling parties. They describe only a momentary reconciliation which does not last. In the case of Absalom and David (2 Sam 14.33), we may feel uneasiness and the cool relationship between the main protagonists through the mere silent gesture of a father’s kiss. In the case of Adonijah and Solomon (1 Kgs 1.53), one can observe the diﬃculty in the confrontation between rival brothers, reconciliation that is marked by circumspection and restraint.27 The obeisance, being fundamental for the thematic element of reconciliation in these two scenes, appears in the narratives about Absalom and Adonijah once more. Admittedly, the analogy in the theme is not further developed between the ﬁnal obeisance scenes, 2 Sam 15.5 and 1 Kgs 2.13 (LXX). It is noteworthy, however, that obeisance in these passages occurs in contexts pertinent to those who previously sought reconciliation. The conclusion can be drawn from this review of the distribution of obeisance scenes in 2 Samuel 14–15 and 1 Kings 1–2 that the theme of court etiquette is one of the elements that contributed to the content and appears to be a signiﬁcant vehicle in structuring and arranging these texts. The major royal audiences together with their corresponding obeisance scenes in 2 Samuel 14 and 1 Kings 1 deserve a closer look. The audience scenes of the woman of Tekoa and the queen Bathsheba are not only characterised by the presentation of a woman before the king but also by the emergence and role of third parties: Joab and Nathan. Nicol contends that ‘[i]n 1 Kgs 1 Nathan plays a role analogous to Joab’s in 2 Sam 14, while Bathsheba’s role is analogous to that of wise woman’.28 The links between the roles of both men and women in the two royal audience scenes can be explored further. In the narratives Joab and Nathan incite the women to go 27 A point emphasised by B. O. Long, ‘A Darkness Between Brothers: Solomon and Adonijah’, JSOT 19 (1981), pp. 79–94 (87–88). 28 G. G. Nicol, ‘Bathsheba, a Clever Woman?’, ExpTim 99 (1987–1988), pp. 360–63 (361).

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and present a case before the king (2 Sam 14.2–3; 1 Kgs 1.11–14). Each woman is instructed how to speak (2 Sam 14.3, 19; 1 Kgs 1.13). Just as Nathan, so also Joab makes his appearance later before the king, even though each appearance takes place at a diﬀerent stage of the narrative. Nathan comes to support the appeal of Bathsheba (1 Kgs 1.22–27), while Joab comes to hear the king’s ruling in the matter of Absalom (2 Sam 14.21). Both men follow the women in a courtly approach to the king (2 Sam 14.22; 1 Kgs 1.23–27); they prostrate themselves and use the deferential courtly language just as the women before them did. Though Joab and Nathan appear before David also at other times, their courtly behaviour of such proportions as described in these two audience scenes is not repeated elsewhere. Bar-Efrat paying attention to this detail notes that the court style used by Joab in 2 Sam 14.22, just like Nathan’s address in 1 Kgs 1.24–27, is very diﬀerent from the tone used when they rebuke the king (Nathan in 2 Sam 12.1–14 and Joab in 2 Sam 19.7).29 The accepted court style which accompanies the speech heightens the eﬀect of what is said. This applies not only to Joab and Nathan but even more so to the women, to Bathsheba and the woman of Tekoa. They know how to approach the matter, how to speak and act in the presence of the king. Their speech is replete with the niceties of courtly style and manners as they address the king with the purpose of achieving their desired goals.30 Polite forms of speech accompanied by a courtly style of prostration and obeisance seem to play an almost manipulative role so as to reinforce the overall eﬀect on the king. The king is molliﬁed and deigns to listen. If we consider Abigail’s earlier approach to David alongside the approaches of the woman of Tekoa and the queen Bathsheba we can identify progression in the role and use of courtly forms. When Abigail approaches young David destined to be the king, she does it in a courtly manner and style but it is rather her speech that disarms David and persuades him to act favourably to her plea. The woman of Tekoa obtains an audience from David when he is well

29 S. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible ( JSOTSup, 70; Sheﬃeld: Almond Press, 1989), p. 68. 30 See Nicol, ‘Bathsheba, a Clever Woman?’, p. 362 for the manner of Bathsheba’s speech, and J. Hoftijzer, ‘David and the Tekoite Woman’, VT 20 (1970), pp. 419–44 (429, 444) for that of the woman of Tekoa.

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established as king. Her dialogue with the king is the longest of all three, though her communication is not always the clearest.31 Nevertheless, her courtly approach combined with the language of her appeal causes the king to act positively when he turns and speaks to Joab. Joab’s obeisance at the very end is consistent with the overall picture of courtly manners presented throughout the scene but adds nothing special to inﬂuence the king’s decision, which is already made. Now in the third case, when Bathsheba comes into the presence of the king, right from the beginning she speaks with courage and conﬁdence. Thus her speech is more forceful. The strategy adopted by Nathan who enters the king’s presence a little later after Bathsheba is very similar. Both introduce themselves by doing obeisance to the king. They then quite boldly and directly present their concern that Solomon be David’s successor to the throne.32 It is true that their conﬁdence in choosing direct tactics when approaching the king might be partly due to their knowledge of David’s declining powers (cf. 1 Kgs 1.1–4). However, it seems that the forms of courtly style have greater weight in bringing an impact on the king and serve here as a manipulative means.33 It is enough to bow before the king, then to speak boldly, and the king soon puts into eﬀect the oath he has never sworn! It appears as though a routine ceremony at court performed in David’s kingly established etiquette took control. The practice of obeisance which David in his youth innocently initiated and which he himself enjoyed many times later as king gradually took over and became in his old age a tool of power over him. It turned from being a genuine honourable act before the king to becoming a form without content, a part of bureaucratic regulations at court, serving more to the advantage of those honouring than to the one being

31 Hoftijzer, ‘David and the Tekoite Woman’, p. 429. P. K. Willey, ‘The Importunate Woman of Tekoa and How She Got Her Way’, in D. N. Fewell (ed.), Reading Between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible (Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1992), pp. 115–31 exploits the complexity of the words of the Tekoite woman even to an excessive measure. 32 See Nicol, ‘Bathsheba, a Clever Woman?’, p. 362 for detailed analysis of the qualities of the Bathsheba and Nathan speeches; see also Long, ‘Darkness Between Brothers’, p. 85. 33 R. Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1999), p. 367, n. 16 remarks on a ‘punctilious observance of palace protocol’ by Bathsheba but does not discuss the possibility that it could be for her own purpose and advantage.

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honoured.34 The author of the biblical text eﬀectively shows the subversive power of this practice, which may have been a part of his intentional design as a veiled disapproval and critique of the court. 4 As the theme of obeisance unfolds in the stories of David, it apparently shows a progression. From a practice being innocently established by David when he bowed down to Jonathan and Saul and then used many times in David’s career as king, it eventually becomes the tool of bureaucratic machinery that overpowers David at the end of his life. The continuity of the theme of obeisance throughout the whole of 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2 does not easily square with the usual scholarly division of these texts into two distinct narrative works: the History of David’s Rise (HDR; 1 Samuel 16–2 Samuel 5) and the Succession Narrative (SN; 2 Samuel 9–20 + 1 Kings 1–2). The boundaries between these suggested independent sources are also obscured by the linguistic aspects of obeisance phrases in 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2. No diﬀerence or change of style can be observed between the obeisance phrases occurring in 1 Samuel 20, 24, 25 and 2 Samuel 1 belonging to the HDR on the one hand, and those appearing in 2 Samuel 9–20 + 1 Kings 1–2 belonging to the SN on the other hand. On the contrary, the phrases conveying obeisance are very closely related throughout the David narratives.35 Doubts about the existence of the HDR and SN as self-contained primary documents included with the history of the Israelite monarchy have been expressed for some time in scholarly literature.36 The theme of obeisance in 34 K. Gros Louis, ‘The Diﬃculty of Ruling Well: King David of Israel’, Semeia 8 (1977), pp. 15–33 (20) correctly notes that David’s court towards his later years becomes ‘heavily politicized’. 35 See the appendix with a list of obeisance formulae in the context of human relationships in 1 Samuel 20–1 Kings 2. 36 See most signiﬁcantly J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 264–91. Earlier already R. A. Carlson, David, the Chosen King: A TraditioHistorical Approach to the Second Book of Samuel (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1964), pp. 131–39 expressed criticism over the HDR and SN as entities constituting the David narratives in Samuel and the beginning of Kings. Studies undermining the classic SN hypothesis ﬁrst formulated by L. Rost in his Die Überlieferung von der Thronnachfolge Davids (BWANT, III/6; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926) include among others A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and

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the stories of David further contributes to questions being raised over these so-called literary sources.37 It also leads in the direction of the thought that a diﬀerent arrangement of the David material may have been at work. The suggestion of Graeme Auld that the David stories in Samuel and Kings without a parallel in Chronicles are late additions to the primary source shared by Samuel–Kings and Chronicles provides a good working model for explaining the theme of obeisance throughout the David stories.38 This leads back to the initial exploration of the prostration of Araunah before David as the only obeisance story shared by Samuel–Kings and Chronicles, and it is probably the most original. And it may be that it was the reviser of Araunah’s obeisance formula in Samuel in 2 Sam 24.20 who altered its phrasing, adjusting it to the material about David in Samuel and the early part of Kings when this material was added to the shared source. It is reasonable to conclude that the interest in the courtly practice of obeisance in the David narratives arose from a single occurrence of such etiquette to David and developed into a recurring

Moses’ and ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23, 41–44; Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 277–91; idem, ‘The Court History and DtrH: Conﬂicting Perspectives on the House of David’, in A. de Pury and T. Römer (eds.), Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids: Neue Einsichten und Anfragen (OBO, 176; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000) pp. 70–93; S. L. McKenzie, ‘The So-Called Succession Narrative in the Deuteronomistic History’, in de Pury and Römer, Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, pp. 123–35; S. Frolov, ‘Succession Narrative: A “Document” or a Phantom?’, JBL 121 (2002), pp. 81–104. See also J. Blenkinsopp, ‘Structure, Theme, and Motif in the Succession History (2 Samuel 11–20; 1 Kings 1–2) and the History of Human Origins (Genesis 1–11)’, in idem, Treasures Old and New: Essays in the Theology of the Pentateuch (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), pp. 102–19. 37 C. Y. S. Ho, ‘The Troubles of David and his House: Textual and Literary Studies of the Synoptic Stories of Saul and David in Samuel-Kings and Chronicles’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1994), pp. 179–80 notes the use of hwjtçh as one element among others of close literary links between the narratives usually thought to belong to the HDR on the one hand and the SN on the other. Also R. Rezetko observes further signiﬁcant aﬃnities between the accounts of David and Saul and the accounts of David and Absalom traditionally assumed to belong to diﬀerent sources. See his ‘Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2004), pp. 454–58 (forthcoming as R. Rezetko, Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16 [LHBOTS; London: T & T Clark International, 2007]). 38 Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass’, pp. 3–23, 41–44; idem, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). See also essays in his Samuel at the Threshold.

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theme which now occupies a signiﬁcant space in the biblical stories of David. In these, the practice is described as being initiated by David and then used repeatedly to David’s beneﬁt as he becomes king. Yet this practice is fated to be used ﬁnally as a manipulative tool against King David himself. Appendix 39 1. 1 Sam 20.41

μym[p çlç wjtçyw hxra wypal lpyw ‘he fell on his face/nose to the ground and prostrated himself three times’

2. 1 Sam 24.9

wjtçyw hxra μypa dwd dqyw ‘David bowed, face to the ground, and prostrated himself ’

3. 1 Sam 25.23–24

wylgrAl[ lptw ≈ra wjtçtw hynpAl[ dwd ypal lptw ‘she fell before David on her face and prostrated herself to the ground, she fell at his feet’

4. 1 Sam 25.41

hxra μypa wjtçtw ‘she prostrated herself, face to the ground’

5. 2 Sam 1.2

wjtçyw hxra lpyw ‘he fell to the ground and prostrated himself ’

6. 2 Sam 9.6

wjtçyw wynpAl[ lpyw ‘he fell on his face and prostrated himself ’

7. 2 Sam 9.8

wjtçyw ‘he prostrated himself ’

8. 2 Sam 14.4

wjtçtw hxra hypaAl[ lptw ‘she fell on her face/nose to the ground and prostrated herself ’

9. 2 Sam 14.22

wjtçyw hxra wynpAla bawy lpyw ‘Joab fell on his face to the ground and prostrated himself ’

10. 2 Sam 14.33

˚lmh ynpl hxra wypaAl[ wl wjtçyw ‘he did obeisance to him [LXX adds “and fell”] on his face/nose to the ground before the king’

39

The Hebrew text is that of the MT; the biblical translations are my own.

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wl twjtçhl çyaAbrqb hyhw

11. 2 Sam 15.5

‘whenever a man came near to do obeisance to him’

ytywjtçh

12. 2 Sam 16.4

‘I prostrate myself ’

bawyl yçwk wjtçyw

13. 2 Sam 18:21

‘the Cushite did obeisance to Joab’

hxra wypal ˚lml wjtçyw

14. 2 Sam 18.28

‘he did obeisance to the king, his face/nose to the ground’

hxra wypa ˚lml wjtçyw

15. 2 Sam 24.20

‘he did obeisance to the king, his face/ nose to the ground’

˚lml wjtçtw [bçAtb dqtw

16. 1 Kgs 1.16

‘Bathsheba bowed and did obeisance to the king’ 17. 1 Kgs 1.23

hxra wypaAl[ ˚lml wjtçyw ‘he did obeisance to the king, his face/ nose to the ground’

18. 1 Kgs 1.31

˚lml wjtçtw hxra μypa [bçAtb dqtw ‘Bathsheba bowed, face to the ground, and did obeisance to the king’

19. 1 Kgs 1.53

hmlç ˚lml wjtçyw ‘he did obeisance to King Solomon’

20. 1 Kgs 2.13 LXX

ka‹ prosekÊnhsen aÈtª

‘and did obeisance to her’ Cf. 1 Kgs 2.19 MT

hl wjtçyw ‘and did obeisance to her’

THE BOOK OF RUTH AND ITS LITERARY VOICE1 Timothy H. Lim the serious artistic voice is one of individual style, and it is sexless; but perhaps to have a sexdetermined voice, or to be believed to have one, is, after all, better than to have no voice at all. Joyce Carol Oates2

In the past century, the book of Ruth has been read and interpreted as folk literature.3 An idyllic story, as Goethe and Gunkel famously described it,4 grounded in traditional values of love, faithfulness, and

1 It is my pleasure to dedicate this article to a friend, colleague and scholar. Although better known for his publications on the Former Prophets, he has also published a short and erudite commentary on the book of Ruth entitled, Joshua, Judges and Ruth (DSB; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984). This article is a revised version of the paper that I read at the Society for Old Testament Studies, Winter Meeting, January 2005, in Birmingham, under the Presidency of A. Graeme Auld. 2 J. C. Oates, ‘Is there a Female Voice? Joyce Carol Oates Replies’, in J. Todd (ed.), Gender and Literary Voice (Women and Literature, N.S. 1; New York: Holmes & Meier, 1980), pp. 10–11 (11). 3 Feminist scholarship traces the beginnings of research to S. D. Goitein’s suggestion that Ruth was written by a wise woman whose interests centre around Naomi (S. D. Goitein, ‘Women as Creators of Biblical Genres’, Proof 8 [1988], pp. 1–33 [31, n. 2]), which was originally published in Hebrew in 1957. 4 Commonly regarded as a novella or short story. It is often characterised as ‘idyllic’ in comparison to other biblical narratives. H. Gunkel, What Remains of the Old Testament, and Other Essays (trans. A. K. Dallas; New York: Macmillan, 1928), pp. 20–21, lauds the aesthetic creations of the Bible, contrasting Ruth to other narratives: Think of the force with which, in the Cain story, murder is set forth as the basal crime; the charm of the Joseph story, eloquent of envy and fraternal love, and full of faith in an overruling Providence; the attractiveness of the Ruth idyll, exhibiting a widow’s love lasting beyond death and the grave; the magniﬁcent solemnity of the Creation narrative; the wondrous story of Paradise, naïve yet profound. Gunkel’s description of ‘the Ruth idyll’ is inﬂuenced by J. W. von Goethe’s description of it as ‘the most charming little complete piece of writing that has been handed to us in epic and idyllic form’ (A. Preminger and E. L. Greenstein, The Hebrew Bible in Literary Criticism [A Library of Literary Criticism; New York: Ungar, 1986], p. 3 = Göthe’s Werke 21:231).

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sorority, it is the adventure of two women, Naomi and Ruth,5 in a kind of ancient ‘road movie’. Feminists claim the story and interpret it in various ways. Most exhort the initiative and resourcefulness of the duo, in the absence of male family members who have died, to provide for themselves. But others disparage the dependence of the women upon the largess of their male gò"èl or ‘redeemer-onceremoved’, Boaz, and the patriarchal agenda of the narrative that in the end serves only to provide an heir for the Davidic line.6 1. Gynocentric Reading of Ruth Recently, an intriguing hermeneutical theory based upon this megillah was advanced by Richard Bauckham.7 He argued that the book of Ruth is a key to the gynocentric reading of scripture. Like the role of canon, he found that gynocentric texts function as a corrective to the androcentrism of the biblical corpus by relativising the focus upon men and male agenda. To impute such a role to this short novella, ﬁrst Bauckham had to make a case for the gynocentrism of the book of Ruth itself. He did so by comparing the biblical book to the novel, The Wall of the Plague,8 by André Brink, a contemporary, South African academic and author. This is a modern tale that uses the wall of the plague in France as an allegory for the wall of apartheid in South Africa. It is a story of personal discovery and the uneasy love between a white male ﬁlm-maker, his black female lover and a black activist. Bauckham suggested that the author writes in the ﬁrst person as ‘Andrea’ before disclosing in the concluding sections his own ethnic

5 See, above all, P. Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (OBT, 2; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978), chapter 6. 6 E. Fuchs, ‘The Literary Characterization of Mothers and Sexual Politics in the Hebrew Bible’, in A. Y. Collins (ed.), Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship (Biblical Scholarship in North America, 10; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), p. 130. She states: ‘Ruth does not act independently but complies strictly with the patriarchal ethos which enjoins her own culture and heritage. . . .’ (p. 188, n. 4). 7 R. J. Bauckham, Gospel Women: Studies of the Named Women in the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), chapter 1. See also his earlier study, R. J. Bauckham, Is the Bible Male?: The Book of Ruth and the Biblical Narrative (Grove Biblical Series, 2; Cambridge: Grove Books, 1996). 8 A. Brink, The Wall of the Plague (London: Vintage, 1984).

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origin and gender as a white, male Afrikaner.9 Addressing now the Andrea of his own creation, the author confesses that ‘[t]he only way I can possibly do justice to you is to try and imagine what it is like to be you’.10 Bauckham contended that disclosure of the author’s identity is paralleled in the book of Ruth in which the female voice gives way, in the concluding genealogy of 4.18–22, to an unmistakable, male voice. This parallel depends upon reading the patrilineal descent of the ﬁnal verses in its received form of the Masoretic Text as part of the original. Most scholars, feminists or no, read the genealogy as secondary, as it were, a literary ‘take-over’ by the male redactors of the Bible. It was not original and forms no part of the story. Bauckham rejected this dominant view by ﬁrst observing that Boaz’s marriage to Ruth ‘is a kind of levirate marriage designed to secure a son for her dead husband Mahlon and a grandson for Naomi’s husband Elimelech’.11 Literarily, he argued, that if the genealogy is understood as a secondary addition that serves to secure a son for Boaz, then Elimelech and his line would have been ignored and the story ‘ludicrously redundant’.12 I am not sure why this should be so, for even if the original story ended at 4.17, the line of Elimelech is surely continued with the declaration that ‘A son is born to Naomi’. Bauckham’s suggestion that in the book of Ruth the female voice is latterly supplanted by a male voice is intriguing. He correctly assumed that authors of either gender could adopt male and female voices. He tried to steer clear of the vexed problem of authorship of the biblical text by stating that ‘[w]hether the real author was male or female we cannot know’.13 What is important is the ‘voice

9 Bauckham, Gospel Women, pp. 1–2. In fact, Brink already hints at this earlier in the novel, ‘[t]o try to understand, to grasp. A time; a country. More speciﬁcally, a person. A woman. Andrea, you. To see you “in your own right”. But how can I do so other than in my own words, my way of writing and thinking—except when, from time to time, mercifully or shockingly, your own words break into my mind?’ (p. 107). 10 Brink, Wall of the Plague, p. 429. 11 Bauckham, Gospel Women, p. 5. A phrasing that echoes P. Joüon’s ‘mariage léviratique au sens large’ (p. 3) and ‘un mariage de type léviratique’ (p. 9), in P. Joüon, Ruth: Commentaire Philologique et Exégétique (Rome: Pontiﬁcal Biblical Institute, 1953). 12 Bauckham, Gospel Women, p. 5. 13 Bauckham, Gospel Women, p. 3.

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with which the text speaks to its readers is female’.14 This is a line of inquiry into the book of Ruth that I would like to pursue a little further, for I believe that he is correct to shift the focus of the question from authorship to literary voice. I ﬁnd the claim of scholars that the book of Ruth was written by a woman to be rather simplistic. Adrien J. Bledstein, for instance, argued that the author of Ruth is to be identiﬁed with J, the Yahwist and master storyteller of the Bible, who is none other than Tamar, daughter of David.15 But none of the features in Ruth that she identiﬁed, namely characterisations, themes, irony and a healing sense of humour, are distinctively female. Moreover, while there are undoubted connections between 2 Samuel 13 and Ruth, the suggestion that Tamar, the great-granddaughter of Ruth, Naomi and Boaz, was the author, who is also the hypothetical ‘J author’, is highly speculative. Bauckham did not deﬁne what he meant by literary voice, except to say that it is ‘the ancient Israelite woman’s perspective on ancient Israelite society’.16 The notion of literary voice, however, is not unequivocal and scholars, literary critics and writers often diﬀer in what they mean by ‘literary voice’. For instance, the quotation from Joyce Carol Oates opening this essay, takes voice to mean none other than an author’s individual style. She took exception to herself being described by the Harvard Guide to Contemporary American Literature as part of ‘the great lump of “Women Writers”’.17 For her what is important is the artistic merit of the author’s writing, and not whether the voice or artistic style, is sex-determined.18 We will return to the deﬁnition of literary voice below.

14

Bauckham, Gospel Women, p. 3. A. J. Bledstein, ‘Female Companionships: If the Book of Ruth were Written by a Woman . . .’, in A. Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Ruth (FCB, 3; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993), p. 132: ‘[t]he features of the book of Ruth to which I have called attention in this essay . . . mark the narrator as J, the Yahwist and ‘master’ storyteller of the Bible. I suggest we think of this narrator as Tamar, the daughter of David, who could have written during the latter part of David’s early years of Solomon’s reigns’. 16 Bauckham, Gospel Women, p. 3. 17 Oates, ‘Is there a Female Voice?’, pp. 10–11. 18 The diversity of views is amply evidenced in the volume, Gender and Literary Voice, for which Oates’ short contribution serves as a Foreword. 15

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2. Voice and Authorship in the Ancient World Modern authors regularly adopt styles and perspectives of the opposite sex, but what did the ancients do? In an important study, Mary Lefkowitz analysed how ancient male and female classical authors wrote.19 She showed that in ancient Greek literature there was ‘an established tradition of men writing with sympathy and concern for women’s experience’,20 beginning with Homer, presuming that he was male, and taken up by the Attic dramatists and lyric poets, Euripides, Stesichorus, and Sophocles. Although information about them is scanty, Hellenistic and Roman women wrote epigrams, prose treatises, and poetry. Lefkowitz argued that when ancient men wrote from the female perspective, however sympathetically, there is a tendency to ‘to call disproportionate attention’21 to women’s lives in relation to men, focusing on aspects of marriage and sexuality. By contrast, poems by women about women tended to describe thoughts independent of men: the grief of a mother for her daughter who died before marriage or the grief of a woman for her childhood friend. Lefkowitz illustrated this type of women’s writing with the Acts of Saints Perpetua and Felicity. This passion, an historical account of the martyrdom, includes an initial section authored by a woman, Perpetua, who was executed by the Romans in Carthage on 7 March, 203 ce. Lefkowitz saw an emphasis upon her thoughts and emotions, for example, when the martyr wrote, ‘I was terriﬁed, because I never had before experienced such darkness’ (3.5). Also, Perpetua ‘was undone’ by her family’s suﬀering; she grieved for her father; and she longed for her baby. Lefkowitz concluded her study by comparing the Acts of Saints Perpetua and Felicity to one Christian and two Jewish texts that other scholars have suggested were authored by women. Neither in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, the account of Joseph and Aseneth, nor the Testament of Job does she ﬁnd evidence of female authorship. Her views about Joseph and Aseneth have been challenged by Ross S. Kraemer who pointed out that there are two diﬀerent recensions,

19

M. R. Lefkowitz, ‘Did Ancient Women Write Novels?’, in A.-J. Levine (ed.), “Women Like This”: New Perspectives on Jewish Women in the Greco-Roman World (Early Judaism and its Literature, 1; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), pp. 199–219. 20 Lefkowitz, ‘Ancient Women’, p. 200. 21 Lefkowitz, ‘Ancient Women’, p. 214.

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the shorter recension, edited by Marc Philonenko, as opposed to longer one of ms. B, ‘remains a better candidate for female authorship’.22 3. Authorship, Voice and Gender in the Hebrew Bible Even if there were an established tradition of men writing for women’s experience in the Graeco-Roman world, this argument could not be extended to the biblical texts without further scrutiny. Did the biblical authors do the same? Can we identify male biblical authors who wrote from the female perspective? Athalya Brenner and Fokkelein van Dijk-Hemmes have provided one of the most sophisticated theoretical discussions of literary, and especially women’s, voices in the Hebrew Bible.23 I will refer to them separately when I discuss the sections of the book that they have individually authored, but will also refer to ‘their position’, since they themselves regarded their book as ‘the product of a joint eﬀort’.24 They suggested that the concept of ‘voice’ involves two important features, orality and focalisation. The former consists of the ‘speech acts’ of a ﬁctive character or narrator embedded in a written text and the latter the dominant focus or viewpoint of a passage. They further recognised that the relationship between the ﬁctive and real world do not correspond ‘one-to-one’. Literary voices embedded in texts are only echoes, ﬁctionalised to be sure, but also grounded in the real world. There is an added feature to women’s voices of the Hebrew Bible in that they are contextualised in the biblical narrative. ‘Women’s voices’, argued Brenner, ‘are further divorced from their presumed literary and non-literary origins by having been contextualized into male discourse. Thus we have come to realize by degrees that, while interpreting women’s textual discourse, it is hardly appropriate to regard a voice as a woman’s (or, for that matter, a man’s) property’.25 Instead, for her and van Dijk-Hemmes the ‘textualized voice’ is an

22 R. S. Kraemer, ‘Women’s Authorship of Jewish and Christian Literature in the Greco-Roman Period’, in Levine, “Women Like This”, pp. 221–43 (235). 23 A. Brenner and F. van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts: Female and Male Voices in the Hebrew Bible (Biblical Interpretation Series, 1; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993), pp. 7–8. 24 Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, p. 1. 25 Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, p. 7.

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abstracted construct and as such should be otherwise termed the F (feminine/female) and M (masculine/male) voices. Van Dijk-Hemmes, in her part of the book, appealed to the literary scholar Elaine Showalter’s concept of ‘women’s culture’ that theorises women to be forming a ‘muted group’ within the dominant male culture. They are marginalised within the dominant group and the language that they speak is ‘“double-voiced”, containing a dominant and muted story’.26 Phrased diﬀerently, there are vestiges of women texts, the so-called F voice, which are embedded within the Hebrew Bible. Adopting S. D. Goitein’s model of women as ‘creators of biblical literary genres’, she proceeded to discuss several biblical texts that illustrated the F voice: victory and mockery songs (women of the city celebrating David, 1 Sam 18.6–7; Jephthah greeted by his ill-fated daughter, Judg 11.34a; song of Miriam, Exod 15.20–21 [now in Qumran]; and Deborah celebrated in song, Judg 5.7, 12); wisdom speeches (wise women of Tekoa and Abel speaking with authority and in proverbs [2 Sam 14.13–17]; the eloquence of Abigail [2 Sam 25.29–31]; lady wisdom [Prov 8.14–16]; warning speeches [mother of Lemuel, Prov 31.1–9; the ‘I’ of Prov 7); prophecy and soothsaying (prophetesses: Miriam, Exod 15.20; Deborah, Judg 15.20; Huldah, 2 Kgs 22.14 and 2 Chron 34.22; Noadiah, Neh 6.14; nameless wife of Isaiah, Isa 8.3; prophesying women, Ezek 13.18–19; raiser of spirits from Endor, 1 Sam 28.8b–14, 21–22); love songs (festival for Yahweh in Shiloh with female participation, Judg 21.19–21; dancing maidens by vineyards, Hos 2.17 [evv 2.15]; Isa 5.1; dream sequences in the Song of Songs, Cant 3.1–4 and 5.1–7; songs of harlots, Isa 23.16; Hos 2.7); laments (mourning women of Jer 9.6–21 [evv 9.7–22]; lady Jerusalem, Lam 1.11b–13, 15b–16); rituals of lament (wailing women, Ezek 8.14; Judg 11.38b); vows and prayers (to the Queen of Heaven, Jer 44.19; Hannah’s vow and prayer, 1 Sam 1.10–11, 13); birth songs (Leah on Asher’s birth, Gen 30.13; neighbouring women in Ruth 4.14–15); and naming speeches (Rachel’s despair as a barren woman, Gen 30.6, 8, 24; the unloved Leah, Gen 29.32, 33–34; 30.19–20; oﬀspring of slave girl, Gen 30.1; thanksgiving, 1 Sam 1.20; Gen 29.35; 30.11; name reﬂects birth circumstance of Jabez, 1 Chron

26

Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, p. 27.

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4.9; Moses, Exod 2.10; name reﬂects political occurrence, 1 Sam 4.20–22; personal tragedy, Ben-oni/Benjamin, Gen 35.17–18; Seth as ‘provided’, Gen 4.25). Having trawled the Hebrew Bible for vestiges of ‘women’s texts’, van Dijk-Hemmes concluded with Goitein that: ‘Women texts’ in the Hebrew Bible are not so much literal quotations from (reconstructed) women’s oral traditions, but, rather, ‘texts which have been so formulated by (probably) male authors, that give a “recognizable impression” (Goitein 1988, 5) of these oral women’s traditions. All the biblical passages discussed can be classiﬁed as ‘women’s texts’ in that sense with a certain degree of plausibility, but without certainty.27

Put in other words, van Dijk-Hemmes has argued for vestiges of women texts that are found within the Hebrew Bible. These ‘women texts’ are literary fragments, probably composed or at least edited by men to represent the reality of women’s traditions as singers, speakers and creators of various oral genres. Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes’s work is one of the most sophisticated attempts to address the issue of gendering the biblical texts. They have redeﬁned female authorship not in the common sense of a composer or even editor of a work, but as literary voice, that is to say the contribution made by and from the perspective of women encoded in the biblical texts by males. They entertained the possibility that women may have been involved in the writing process, noting that Jezebel wrote a letter in the name of King Ahab in 1 Kgs 21.8 and Esther drafted a missive together with Mordecai about the festival of Purim in Est 9.29, but do not press the case: since ‘[n]owhere in the Bible is there mention of female professional writers (scribes)’.28 If women did participate in the writing traditions, it is possible that this occurred in prophetic and royal circles, rather than the priestly circles from which they were by deﬁnition excluded. Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes’s have a nuanced and, what I would describe as a, ‘soft’ position about female participation in the writing of the biblical texts. ‘Soft’ in the sense that they do not claim that any single book of the Hebrew Bible was written by a woman, let alone venture an identiﬁcation of that author. The textual fragments of the F voice are literary constructs rather than historical reconstructions. This is a contribution to biblical scholarship. 27 28

Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, p. 108. Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, p. 18.

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There are, however, certain points that would beneﬁt from further reﬂection. First, one wonders about nature of the biblical passages highlighted. If we were to take the classical tradition, as outlined by Mary Lefkowitz, as a rough guide and measured the biblical texts according to this benchmark, it would become clear that many of the biblical passages discussed by Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes fall into the category of male authors writing about women’s lives. The birth songs of Leah in Gen 30.13 and of the neighbouring women in Ruth 4.14–15, for instance, are traditional topics of representing women in relation to sexuality, marriage and child-bearing. Moreover, I think this topos can be corroborated in extra-biblical literature, such as the explicitly male voiced text of Genesis Apocryphon. Second, the deﬁnition of the F voice is rather broad. It could literally refer to the speech acts of a female (e.g., Song of Miriam, Exod 15.20–21 [see now Qumran scroll]), the female voice mediated through a male (e.g., Lemuel conveying his mother’s wise words in the speech of Prov 31.1–9), a male speech about women (e.g., Ezekiel’s cursing of female necromancers and soothsayers in Ezek 13.18–19), the female perspective (e.g., report of Hannah’s muted words in 1 Sam 1.13), or simply female rituals (e.g., female laments in Judg 11.38). 4. Voice in the Book of Ruth What has not been done is to analyse the book of Ruth for its literary voice. Bauckham asserted that the book of Ruth represents life from women’s perspectives, but he did not show how that was so. In the rest of this paper, I would like to oﬀer a sketch of the literary voice in the book of Ruth. I will take as my working deﬁnition ‘literary voice’ as the speech acts of the various biblical characters in the story. There are 50 such speech acts that are introduced by verbs of speaking, primarily rma:

rma (43 times): 1.8, 10, 11, 15, 16, 19, 20; 2.2, 3, 4 (2x), 5, 7, 8, 9, 13, 14, 19, 20 (2x), 21, 22; 3.1, 5, 9 (2x), 10, 15, 16 (2x), 18; 4.1, 2, 3, 4 (2x), 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 14, 17 hn[ + rma (twice): 2.6, 11 hwx + rma: 2.15 dygh + rma: 2.19 rma + hlg + rmal: 4.4 hçn + hkb: 1.9, 14 (speech not repeated)

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I will distinguish these speech acts from the narrative that I shall discuss under focalisation. 5. Female and Male Features of the Book of Ruth Scholars regularly point to female features in Ruth to support their gender reading of the text. It was either written by a woman or depicts the female perspective because of the literary style. The book apparently does not depict death, war and violence, but love, trust and faithfulness. This is surely a reverse form of gender stereotyping. To say that depiction of war and violence is speciﬁcally male and not female is facile and simply untrue whether in modern or ancient literature. Besides, the story opens with the three deaths of Elimelech and his two sons Mahlon and Chilion. Though it is not explicitly stated, it may be that they died in the ﬁelds of Moab29 because of the famine (cf. Ruth 1.6). There are 85 verses that make up the four chapters of the book. Of these, 59 or 69% contain dialogue. Almost 70% of the book consists of speech acts. There was an earlier count of the verses by Paul Joüon who came up with a slightly diﬀerent total of 55/85 verses or 65%.30 There seems to be some discrepancy in counting, but we have no way of ﬁnding out how he did it. The proportion of the verses whose speakers are male or female is the following:31 Female: 29 (49%, i.e., 29/59) Male: 27 (46%) Male/Female: 2 (3.9, 17)32 (4%) Female reporting male speech: 1 (2.21) (2%)

The proportion of male and female speech in the book is balanced, especially if one counts the one instance in 2.21 that is nothing more than Ruth reporting what Boaz had said to her.

29 4QRutha appears to read the singular ‘ﬁeld of Moab’ in 1.1, 2 (and 6), whereas 4QRuthb corroborates the MT plural (E. Ulrich et al. [eds.], Qumran Cave 4: XI, Psalms to Chronicles [DJD, 16; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000], pp. 188–89, 193 and plate XXIV). 30 Joüon, Ruth, p. 12 and n. 1. 31 Note the total of 101% is due to the rounding up to the nearest unit. 32 This verse could theoretically be classiﬁed with the following category of female reporting male speech, but it diﬀers from 2.21 in including her own as well as a report of Boaz’s speech.

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Moreover, the proportion by chapters is the following: Chapter 1 Female: 12 (20%) Chapter 2 Female: 8 (14%) Male: 10 (17%) Female reporting male speech: 1 (2%) Chapter 3 Female: 7 (12%) Male: 6 (10%) Male/Female (also report of male speech, 3.17): 2 (3%) Chapter 4 Female: 2 (3%) Male: 11 (19%)

These statistics show that in terms of verses, the ﬁrst and fourth chapters are dominated by female and male speech respectively. Only females speak in chapter 1 and male speech outnumbers female speech by more than 5 to 1 in chapter 4. The two internal chapters are fairly balanced between male and female speeches. Female speakers include Naomi, Ruth, Orpah and the women of Bethlehem. Male speakers are Boaz, the young man in charge of the ﬁeld, the redeemer (‘Mr So and So’) and all the people at the gate and the elders. More speciﬁcally, the following is the proportion of speeches given by the various characters of the narrative: Character

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Naomi

1.8–9 1.11–13 1.15 1.20–21

2.23 2.19 2.20 (2x) 2.22

3.1–4 3.16 3.18

No. of speeches: 12

4

5

3

Ruth

1.16–17

2.2 2.7 2.10 2.13 2.19 2.21 (reports Boaz’s speech)

3.5 3.9 3.17 (reports Boaz’s speech)

No. of speeches: 10

1

6

3

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272 Table (cont.) Character

Chapter 1

Ruth/ Orpah

1.9–10 (1.14 [speech of v. 10 not repeated cf. dw[ and 1.15])

No. of speeches: 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

2.4 2.5 2.8–9 2.11–12 2.14 2.15–16

3.9 3.10–13 3.15 3.17

4.1 4.2 4.3 4.5 4.9–10

6

4

5

1

Boaz

No. of speeches: 15 Women of Bethlehem No. of speeches: 3

Chapter 2

1.19 (astonished greeting)

4.14–15 4.17

1

2

All the people of the gate and the elders No. of speeches: 1

4.11–13

Redeemer

4.4 4.6

1

No. of speeches: 3

3

Male harvesters* No. of speeches: 1

2.4 (greeting only)

Young man (overseer) No. of speeches: 1

2.6

1

1

* Female gleaners (2.8) never speak and, of course, neither do the deceased Elimelech, Mahlon and Chilion.

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Statistics, however, tell just part of the story and it is important to consider the focus of the speeches and narrative. In total, females speak 26 times. Naomi and Ruth speak in the ﬁrst three chapters, but not the ﬁnal one. Only females speak in chapter 1 and the focus is centred on women, especially on Naomi and Ruth who give longish speeches. Naomi advises each of her daughters-in-law to return to ‘the house of her mother’, an unusual description of the household (as opposed to the more common ‘house of the father’) that has led Carol Meyers to argue for powerful, informal female networks in ancient Israelite society.33 But Meyers’ studies do not tell us anything about authorship or voice. In her farewell speech, Naomi invokes a farewell blessing, remarkably beseeching Yahweh to imitate the hesed or piety of the two Moabite women (‘May Yahweh deal faithfully with you just as you have done with the dead and with me’, v. 8). In v. 8, ‘with you’ translates the Hebrew μk,M'[i which is a masculine plural when the referents are clearly feminine, Ruth and Orpah. There are seven instances in the book where the masculine plural form is used when the antecedent is feminine plural: μk,M'[i (‘with you’), μt,yci[} (‘you have done’, 1.8), μk,l; (‘to you’, 1.9, 11), μK,mi (‘than for you’, 1.13) and μh,yTev] (‘two of them’, 1.19; 4.11). This use of the masculine for the feminine plural has been explained by Joüon and Muraoka as genus potior—that is, the masculine is preferred when two nouns of diﬀerent gender are referred—and is especially frequent as a substitute for feminine plurals in later biblical books, especially Chronicles.34 Jacob M. Myers has rightly questioned this explanation

33 In two articles on Ruth, Carol Meyers has examined the social organisation of females in ancient Israelite society. She points out that it is highly signiﬁcant that in 1.8 Naomi should order her daughters-in-law to return each woman ‘to the house of her mother’ (hma tybl). This phrase which she translates as ‘mother’s household’ also occurs in Gen 24.28 and Cant 3.4 and 8.2 and is equivalent to the ‘father’s household’. In each passage, a woman’s story is being told; there is wisdom association; women are agents of their own destiny; women aﬀect other characters; it is set in domestic life; and marriage is involved. Arising as it does in an androcentric text, this phrase provides a ﬂeeting glimpse into the ‘informal reality’ of Israelite society where women play powerful roles. See C. Meyers, ‘Returning Home: Ruth 1:8 and the Gendering of the Book of Ruth’, in Brenner, A Feminist Companion to Ruth, pp. 85–114; idem, ‘“Women of the Neighbourhood” (Ruth 4.17): Informal Female Networks in Ancient Israel’, in A. Brenner (ed.), Ruth and Esther: A Feminist Companion to the Bible (FCB, Second Series, 3; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 110–27. 34 P. Joüon, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (trans. and rev. T. Muraoka; SubBi, 14; 2 vols; Rome: Editrice Pontiﬁcio Istituto Biblico, 1991), 2:§149b (p. 551); §150a (p. 552).

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and instead argued that they are indicative of peculiarities of dialect.35 But E. F. Campbell pointed out that Myers had missed a crucial feature: each of the seven examples has as its referent two women. He prefers, following Francis I. Anderson, to explain the forms as vestiges of an old form of the feminine dual.36 This explanation of the Ugaritic dual has wide support.37 Thus, Frederic Bush, for instance, extends the explanation to the hM;he (1.22) that he also explains as the Ugaritic dual.38 Others see this not as a plural masculine, independent pronoun, but as an emphatic particle. What has not been noticed hitherto, as far I know, is that six of the seven instances of this old dual form occur in speeches. Naomi uses ﬁve such dual forms in her speeches in the ﬁrst chapter and the people of the gate and elders also use it in their marriage blessing in 4.11. The seventh instance of the dual form occurs in the narrative of 1.19, but this may have been a scribal mistake of assimilation to 4.11 (with its reference to two women, Rachel and Leah), since several masoretic manuscripts correct the reading to ˆh,yTev,] the feminine plural ending. The use of an old Ugaritic dual is perhaps a deliberate attempt on the part of the author or redactor to characterise as more formal, even archaic, the speech of Naomi, Boaz and the elders. Paul Humbert, in his ‘Art et leçon de l’histoire de Ruth’ noted a similar archaising tendency in the use of the so-called nun paragogic: ‘The narrator’, he states, ‘takes care to make Boaz speak as the aged, for he makes him use some archaising verbal forms and the solemnity that he also places in Naomi’s mouth no other interlocutor employs in the story of Ruth’.39 In 2.21, ˆyqiB;d“Ti does occur, but this is Boaz’s speech that Ruth reports. In chapter 1, when Ruth and Orpah refuse to leave, Naomi assumes that they are waiting for her to have more children (vv.

35 J. M. Myers, The Linguistic and Literary Form of the Book of Ruth (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1955), p. 20. 36 E. F. Campbell, Ruth: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB, 7; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), p. 65. 37 J. M. Sasson, Ruth: A New Translation with a Philological Commentary and a FormalistFolklorist Interpretation (Biblical Seminar; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 2nd edn, 1989), p. 23. 38 F. Bush, Ruth, Esther (WBC, 9; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1996). 39 P. Humbert, Opuscules d’un Hébraïsant (Neuchâtel: Université de Neuchâtel, 1958), p. 92.

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11–13) when in fact they said nothing of the kind (‘with you will we return to your people’, v. 10). Regardless, Naomi’s response seemed to have raised practical problems of widowhood that Orpah, but not Ruth, accepted. It may be what is at issue here is, as Susan Niditch has pointed out with regard to Tamar, that a widow’s place in Israelite society is a precarious one: a respectable woman is either an unmarried virgin in the family home or a wife with husband and children in her own home. Those women, like Naomi but also Ruth and Orpah, fall between these categories and are misﬁts who remain vulnerable in society.40 The other notable speech by Naomi takes place at the end of the chapter where she is prompted by the women of Bethlehem, who greet her with disbelief (‘Can this be Naomi?’, v. 19), to lament her fate under Shadday/Yahweh. She does so with great rhetorical skill by playing on the popular, etymological explanation of the names ‘Naomi’ and ‘Mara’ (‘Do not call me “Naomi” [which must have meant something like ‘my pleasantness’ to the original audience]; call me “Mara” for Shadday has made [my lot] for me very bitter’, v. 20) and by contrasting the fullness and emptiness of her family life when she left and in her return. Ruth is the other focus of the opening chapter. The spotlight is on her as she insists on following Naomi, despite the older woman’s urging to do as her sister-in-law has done in returning to their Moabite home (v. 15), and uttering surely one of the most famous lines of ﬁlial piety in the Hebrew Bible: ‘whither you will go I will go and wherever you will stay the night I will stay the night, your people is my people, your God is my God. In the place where you will die I will die and there I shall be buried’, (vv. 16–17; verses that have some striking similarities to what David said to Ittai the Gittite in 2 Sam 15.19–22). The speech of Ruth 1.16–17 is sometimes read as harmony of purpose between mother- and daughterin-law, but the ensuing silence (vv. 18–19) may be otherwise interpreted as Naomi’s cold-shouldering of an obstinate Ruth who simply will not allow her a clean break from her past, as Danna Fewell and David Gunn argue.41

40 S. Niditch, ‘The Wronged Woman Righted: An Analysis of Genesis 38’, HTR 72 (1979), pp. 143–49. 41 See D. N. Fewell and D. M. Gunn, ‘Is Coxon a Scold?: On Responding to

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Orpah is only a supporting character and exits the scene and story altogether after v. 14. She is reported to have spoken twice (vv. 10 and 14), but only once is her speech quoted directly and in any case it is said in unison with Ruth. The other supporting characters are the women of Bethlehem who reappear in the dénouement of the story. Verse 19 states that the whole town was abuzz with the arrival of the duo, but it was the women of the town who spoke (hn:r“m'ato, v. 19) and to whom Naomi replied ( ˆh,ylea,} v. 20). The focus upon the female characters in chapter 1 needs to be qualiﬁed. The opening six verses of the book recount the sojourn of the family in Moab. This is narrated from the male point of view, the family history of Elimelech. It balances the closing verses of the book where the birth of Obed is celebrated and the Davidic line is traced. In chapter 2, the plot thickens and the reader ﬁnds out how Ruth came to meet Boaz. The narrator begins by telling the reader that Naomi had a kinsman on her deceased husband’s side. At this point in the story, the aged widow is unaware of Boaz’s name. She later ﬁnds out from Ruth who this kinsman was (v. 19). Ruth takes the initiative and asks Naomi that she be allowed to glean in the ﬁeld, for they had arrived in Bethlehem at the start of the barley harvest (1.22). The custom of gleaning grains from an Israelite’s ﬁeld is guaranteed by law. Leviticus 19.9 states that ‘when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap your ﬁeld to its border, neither shall you gather (fQel't)] the gleanings (fq,l), of your harvest’. In Lev 23.22 the law further enjoins the Israelite farmer to leave the gleanings for the poor and the stranger (cf. Deut 24.19–22). < m] i rqeY, wI )" and gleans Naomi agrees and Ruth providentially enters (h;rq in the ﬁeld that belongs to Boaz. In the middle section of chapter 2, the focus is trained on Boaz and Ruth. She asks special permission to glean (aN:Ahf;ql’ a' )} and gather among the sheaves (μyrIm[; b’ ); behind the harvesters (v. 7). She has to do so, because she was asking more than what she was entitled by law; she wanted to gather among the sheaves and not just pick up the grains that had fallen on the ground.

the Book of Ruth’, JSOT 45 (1989), pp. 39–43 a rejoinder to a prior response of P. W. Coxon, ‘Was Naomi a Scold? A Response to Fewell and Gunn’, JSOT 45 (1989), pp. 25–37. See also D. N. Fewell and D. M. Gunn, Compromising Redemption: Relating Characters in the Book of Ruth (Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1990).

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In vv. 15–16, Boaz grants her permission and instructs the young men to pull out some stalks from the bundles and leave them for her.42 Sasson argued that Ruth deliberately asked the overseer permission for which only the owner of the ﬁeld, and not he, was able to grant, thereby assuring a meeting with Boaz.43 But this view assumes that v. 7 is an indirect speech and that Ruth had made her request to the overseer, whereas the verse is ambiguous and could be interpreted as a question directed at Boaz. Between vv. 8 and 14, there is a conversation between Boaz and Ruth. The speeches alternate between Boaz and Ruth. He advises her against gleaning in another ﬁeld, suggesting rather that she should cling to his female gleaners (yt;ro[}n"Aμ[i ˆyqiB;d“t)i for safety, and, if she is thirsty, help herself to the water that has been drawn by his young men (2.9). Moreover, at mealtimes she is to eat from the bread of the harvesters and ﬂavour the morsel with vinegar (2.14). She expresses her gratitude to him, wondering rhetorically why she deserves such favour (ˆje, 2.10). Boaz proceeds to tell her that all that Ruth has done has been made known to him, namely that she left her own mother and father and native land and accompanied Naomi back to Bethlehem after the death of her husband Mahlon (implied in the phrase ‘all which you have done with your mother-in-law’, v. 11). In 1.8 Naomi uses the term hesed, variously translated as ‘faithfulness, loyalty, kindness or loving-kindness’, to describe the loyalty of her daughters-in-law. But Ruth never uses this religiously loaded, Israelite term, even after she has declared allegiance to Yahweh (‘your God will be my God’, 1.16).44 The redactor purposely avoids

42 Joüon, Ruth, p. 49: ‘d’autant qu’au v. 15 c’est bien une faveur spéciale que Booz fait à Ruth en lui permettant de glaner entre les gerbes. . . .’ 43 Sasson, Ruth, pp. 47–48. 44 See K. D. Sakenfeld, The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible: A New Inquiry (HSM, 17; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978). An earlier study was carried out by N. Glueck, Das Wort hesed im alttestamentlichen Sprachgebrauche als menschliche und göttliche gemeinschaftgemässe Verhaltungsweise (BZAW, 47; Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1927). More recently, a University of Melbourne PhD thesis was published by G. R. Clark, The Word Hesed in the Hebrew Bible ( JSOTSup, 157; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993). The importance of this motif is reﬂected in, inter alia, Campbell, Ruth, pp. 80–81; Sasson, Ruth, p. 23; and Bush, Ruth, Esther, pp. 134–37, 170–72. The impressive commentary from the Jewish perspective by Y. Zakovitch has recently been translated from Modern Hebrew to a European language, Das Buch Rut: Ein jüdischer Kommentar (SBS, 177; Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1999). See most recently, A. Lacoque, Le Livre de Ruth (CAT, 17; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2004), who emphasises the connection between hesed and Torah.

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placing the term hesed in the mouth of a recent convert from Moab. For her act of piety, Boaz entreats Yahweh under whose wing she has sought refuge (2.12) to repay Ruth in full for her deed (Ël´[’P); . To which Ruth gratefully gives thanks for the favour ( ˆj´) that Boaz has shown her despite not being even of his slave girls. The foreman, the male harvesters and female gleaners all have secondary roles in this scene. The harvesters speak only once in greeting Boaz when he ﬁrst arrived from Bethlehem (2.4). They were told not to molest Ruth (2.9) nor rebuke her when she gleans between the sheaves (2.15). Rather they are to draw out and leave behind some stalks from the bundles (2.16). The female gleaners never speak; they are muted and while integral to the task of harvesting, perhaps as bundlers and gleaners, they do not welcome Ruth to their fold nor grumble at the special privilege that she has been given. Boaz asked the young man in charge of the harvesters about Ruth, signiﬁcantly underscoring her dependence as a gleaner by the form of the question, ‘To whom does this young woman belong?’ (2.5; cf. the Egyptian in 1 Sam 30.13). He explains that she is the young Moabitess who returned with Naomi from the ﬁeld of Moab (2.6) and those are the last words that he utters. Chapter 2 closes with a return to the scene between the two women, Ruth and Naomi. Their conversation revolves around the identity of Boaz, whom Naomi discloses as being one of the redeemers (2.20). Ruth tells her motherin-law Boaz’s name and reports how he cared for her safety in advising her to cling to his harvesters (2.21). Thus, she did until the end of the barley harvest. Ruth reports Boaz’s speech in 2.21 that apparently confuses ‘the young men’ for ‘the young women’: ‘He had said to me, “With my young men (yliArv,a} μyrI[;N“h)' you should cling (ˆyqiB;d“t)i until they will have completed all my harvest”’. What Boaz actually said in 2.8 is ‘cling to my young women’ (yt;ro[}n"Aμ[i ˆyqiB;d“t)i . Naomi conﬁrms this in the next verse, ‘It is good, my daughter, that you go with his young women (wyt;ro[}n"Aμ[i yaix]t)e so that they will not molest you in another ﬁeld’ (2.22; cf. 3.2). The explanation by Bush that the term μyrI[;N“h' refers to the whole group of harvesters and gleaners, male and female, does not take into account the fact that Ruth is here reporting Boaz’s speech (ylæae rm'a;AyKi). It is better to take this apparent confusion as intentional: the redactor wanted to show that Ruth the Moabitess was less familiar with both the language and custom of the Israelites. Despite the error, Naomi understood what she must

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have intended, namely that Boaz must have advised Ruth to cling to ‘his young women’ and not ‘young men’ lest she be molested. In this chapter, both the voice and focus of the narrative shift with the plot of the story. It begins with women and ends with women, but in the middle the scene involves the combined voice of Boaz and Ruth and it is the male voice and focus that are dominant. Like the previous scene, chapter 3 opens and closes with Ruth and Naomi. In its middle is the famous encounter between Boaz and Ruth on the threshing ﬂoor. Naomi begins by devising a plan to bring Ruth and Boaz together. The Hebrew word hT;[' (‘now’, 3.2) in her utterance is signiﬁcant since it does not have its usual temporal sense, but indicates the line of Naomi’s reasoning. It is balanced by two other instances of ‘now’ (3.11, 12) in Boaz’s speech and his own plan. The focus in the ﬁrst ﬁve verses is clearly trained on Naomi. Ruth’s only words are: ‘All which you say [kethib vowels: to me] I will do’ (3.5). Naomi tells Ruth, whom she calls ‘her daughter’ (cf. 1.12), that she will seek a good resting place (j"wOnm;) for her. This echoes her wish in chapter 1 that Yahweh might grant the two daughters-inlaw ‘security’ (hj;Wnm]) in the house of their husbands (1.9). She informs her that Boaz is winnowing, literally, ‘the threshing ﬂoor of the barley’ (μyrI[oC]hæ ˆr
45 See D. R. G. Beattie, Jewish Exegesis of the Book of Ruth ( JSOTSup, 2; Sheﬃeld: Dept. of Biblical Studies, University of Sheﬃeld, 1977).

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this reading. But Moshe Bernstein disagreed and suggested that while the vocabulary of the threshing ﬂoor scene allows for ambiguity, the sense of the sentences and the overall depiction of Ruth and Boaz as noble characters mean that no sexual intimacy took place on the threshing ﬂoor.46 More on this below. In any case, in the central scene on the threshing ﬂoor, Boaz, and not Ruth, dominates the speech. In fact, between verses 9 and 15 Ruth utters but one line, ‘I am Ruth your handmaid. You must spread your garment over your female slave, because you are a redeemer’ (3.9). Startled in the middle of the night, Boaz not only asks who Ruth was, but blesses her for her virtue in not chasing after young men, assures her that her request will be fulﬁlled, informs her that there is another redeemer closer than him, and vows that he himself will perform the redemption if the kinsman is unwilling. At ﬁrst light Boaz warned, lest it become scandalous, ‘Let it not be known that a woman came to the threshing ﬂoor’ (3.14). He then asked her to hold out her shawl as he poured six measures of barley on to it. The third chapter fades out with a return to the scene of the two women. Naomi inquires and Ruth recounts the events, including a report of what Boaz had apparently said about not returning empty handed to Naomi (3.17). Naomi’s last words look forward to the events that are to unfold in the next chapter. Naomi and Boaz are the central characters of this chapter. Ruth does what she is told and makes the vital request for redemption in 3.9. Otherwise, she says very little. She is one of the actors of the drama, but not the main one. Boaz and Naomi, who never meet, plan and set things into motion. Chapter 4 opens with an episode involving men discussing business in the city gate and concludes with the aﬃrmation by males and females together of the marriage of Ruth and Boaz and the security of Naomi. Boaz engages the redeemer in discussion over the fate of Elimelech’s portion of the ﬁeld that Naomi is selling. He calls the redeemer over to sit together (4.1–2) and informs him of his duty to redeem. Otherwise Boaz himself will do so (4.3–4). When the kinsman agrees (4.4), Boaz further draws his attention to the

46

M. J. Bernstein, ‘Two Multivalent Readings in the Ruth Narrative’, JSOT 50 (1991), pp. 15–26 (16–20).

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requirement to acquire all that belongs to Elimelech, including the daughter-in-law Ruth, and his obligation to perpetuate the name of Mahlon (4.5). Having realised the ramiﬁcations of redemption on his inheritance, he foregoes his right and exhorts Boaz to do so (4.6, 8), securing the agreement by handing over his sandal as was the Israelite custom (4.7). It seems to me that Sasson’s argument for reading the kethib in 4.5 breaks down precisely here, for if Boaz had actually said that ‘I have acquired (Ruth) in order to raise up the name of the dead over the inheritance’, then there would be no reason for the anonymous redeemer to fear a threat to his inheritance (4.6). The qere, ‘you have acquired’ (cf. LXX and Syr) is preferable, since it gives the reason for reneging on his ﬁrst agreement.47 Whereas the redeemer ﬁrst thought that the aged Naomi, now no longer fecund, was to be included in the acquisition, he is now told that the redemption included Ruth. Boaz, then, addresses the elders and all the people, conﬁrming them as witnesses to the transaction that gave him the acquired right of redeeming all that belonged to his relative Elimelech, including Ruth the Moabitess (4.9–10). This is the climax of the story as the future of Naomi and Ruth is now made secure. Two blessings are uttered, one by all the people of the gate, most probably all males, and the elders (4.11–12) and the other by the women (4.14). The men invoke Yahweh’s blessing on the marriage of Ruth and Boaz, whereas the women praise Yahweh for not withholding a redeemer from Naomi and renewing her life with a child from Ruth (4.14–15). The ﬁnal speech of chapter 4 is spoken by the women who declare that ‘A son is born to Naomi’ and they, not Boaz, Ruth or Naomi, named him Obed (4.17). The genealogy then traces the line of Boaz and Obed within the Davidic family tree. 6. Epilogue Ruth is a fascinating book that continues to intrigue. Bauckham’s view that a male author wrote from the female perspective is further

47 Cf. E. W. Davies, ‘Ruth IV 5 and the Duties of the Gò"èl’, VT 33 (1983), pp. 231–34; and T. Thompson and D. Thompson, ‘Some Legal Problems in the Book of Ruth’, VT 18 (1968), pp. 79–99.

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explored in this study, as was his suggestion that the female voice is latterly supplanted by the male voice in the genealogy. I would suggest that it is impossible to know at present whether a real, male author wrote from the female perspective; there is insuﬃcient information beyond the biblical texts themselves about how ancient Israelite literature was composed. On the supplanting of the female voice or perspective in the genealogy, it should be noted that it is not just the end, but also, the beginning of Ruth that represents the male perspective. In its ﬁnal form, the book of Ruth represents a thoroughly male perspective. Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes have rightly highlighted the problems related to the gendering of the biblical texts. They have argued for the female voice in numerous texts without necessarily denying male authorship. This methodological discussion is useful, but I have found their deﬁnition of ‘voice’ rather elastic. Working with a much more precise notion of ‘voice’ as speech acts, in distinction to narrative focus, I have analysed Ruth to determine the perspective of the numerous speeches. I have suggested that the speeches do not represent just the female point of view. They are fairly balanced as far as gender is concerned. Females speak 26 times whereas males 21 times. I also argued that because the book of Ruth consists primarily of speeches, the gender balance of the speeches means that the book represents both male and female perspectives.48 Moreover, the focus of the narrative shifts according to the plot of the story, highlighting both male and female perspectives. In each chapter the perspective shifts from male to female, from main to secondary characters. The focus of the reader’s attention follows primarily the dialogue or speech acts. The determining factor is the plot of the story, culminating in a chorus of blessings by the men at the gate and the women of the neighbourhood. The last words are those of the neighbourhood women who named the child Obed, but they also belong to the narrator who states that he was the father of Jesse, the father of David. Despite its title, the book of Ruth is not just about Ruth, but equally or in greater measure also the story of Naomi and Boaz.

48 See also the analysis of the speeches in M. Bal, ‘Heroism and Proper Names, or the Fruits of Analogy’, in Brenner, A Feminist Companion to Ruth, pp. 42–69 (53–56).

BUGS THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS: THE INFESTATION OF MEANING IN JOEL1 James R. Linville In another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room. The very ﬁrst thing she did was to look whether there was a ﬁre in the ﬁreplace, and she was quite pleased to ﬁnd that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind . . . Then she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from the old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest was as diﬀerent as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall next to the ﬁre seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the Lookingglass) had got the face of a little old man, and grinned at her.2

This paper argues that scholars have too-hastily identiﬁed in Joel both direct and metaphorical references to actual environmental or political circumstances which motivated the composition of the book. But before we begin that journey allow me to make two initial comments. My title alludes to a 1983 paper by Graeme Auld, created with Lewis Carroll’s novel as its own operative metaphor. In the article, Auld argues that, in the postexilic period, there was a new acceptability of the term ‘prophet’. Earlier texts, ﬁrst written by poets who were critical of ‘prophets’, were expanded and the terms prophet and prophesy were used more freely of these books’ own heroes. Moses’ own portrayal was shaped by the developing prophetic corpus.3

1 This paper was written speciﬁcally for this volume, but an initial version of it was presented to the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies in London, Ontario on May 30, 2005. 2 L. Carroll, Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There (London: Bloomsbury, 2001), pp. 17–18. The original edition was published in 1871. 3 A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23; repr. in A. G. Auld, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 45–61. Pages 59–61 of Auld’s republished article reproduce A. G. Auld, ‘A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 41–44. Citations below will refer to the reprinted essay.

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Auld writes, ‘Prophets then precede—but have not precedence over— Moses . . . Torah, having been nurtured at several stages by the prophetic tradition, sought to control them, and does so in the Hebrew Bible’.4 There are a number of points raised by Auld’s treatment of the prophets which are beyond the scope of the present paper. And, I suspect, this volume’s honouree would prefer it that way. I do remember him, as my thesis supervisor, commenting on my plans to adopt his views on the redactional history of Kings into my own work on the book. He cautioned against sailing too far on what he jokingly labelled his ‘sinking ship’. Failing to see a life preserver in his oﬃce, it struck me that some boats are clever enough to leak in both directions and eventually resurface. Still, submarines are not known for their passenger-carrying ability so I will not look at Joel through the periscope of Auld’s perceptive style of diachronic and textual reasoning. Rather, I will chart my own synchronic course on a vessel of my own design. But on this journey we will meet Moses again. My second point deals with young Alice and the looking-glass world she enters. When we read the Bible, we look into a ‘lookingglass ancient Israel’. As critical interpreters, we must ask how or even whether a literary world represents ‘real’ events and situations through which its creator, the author, lived. Likewise, we may ask how or whether the author had reliable information concerning other events.5 Scholars of Joel very often sort out the book’s intricacies based on the premise that there must have been some real-world crisis close at hand in the world of the author to generate the text, and that direct references to that crisis are speciﬁed somewhere in Joel 1.4–2.11. This assumption is part of the larger paradigm that has long guided research into biblical prophetic literature. This paradigm holds that Israel’s prophets addressed particular circumstances with particular orations, many of which are now found (albeit selectively arranged, edited and expanded) in the Hebrew Bible. A new awareness of these texts as literary productions which may mask the

4

Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass’, p. 59. Post-modernists might ﬁnd the literary world of Joel to be merely a reﬂection of the inner-world of the reader. But let us remain a bit more ‘modern’. 5

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‘authentic words’ of the prophets has now ﬁrmly established itself, but the standard paradigm has yet to be fully replaced.6 When one reads the biblical texts we encounter distortions, smudges, cracks and so forth in the surface of the glass, which itself may be made of several panes. There are redactional seams, words of uncertain meaning, textual diﬃculties and variations, scribal errors and the like. Understanding them is a fundamental part of the job of biblical scholars. But the glass has internal and external reﬂections. Joel is well known for its quotes and allusions to other biblical texts.7 When we engage the biblical worlds, it is not that we merely look through the glass darkly, but we see the glass itself only though another distorting lens: that of the distance in time and culture between us and the text’s producers. It is through these diﬃculties that we must interpret what is a depiction of something ‘real’ and what is ﬁgurative, imaginary or illusory in the Bible’s looking-glass worlds. While all texts reﬂect the interests and even unconscious predilections of their authors, there need not be a direct relationship between the textual reality and the reality the author is living in. And so this paper seeks to deconstruct the conﬁdence with which scholars have tried to understand the authorial circumstances of Joel and posit that these diﬀering views are based more on the result of initial assumptions by the interpreter than they are on evidence from within the text. Most scholars generally see the book of Joel as describing a literal infestation of locusts or that it uses locust imagery to describe some other environmental or pressing military situation unfolding in the author’s day. The historicising tendency is matched in a number of cases with an attempt to ﬁnd a real-life religious situation which the text relates to the political/environmental circumstances. As is well known, no sin on the part of Judah is speciﬁcally stated in Joel. Some argue that Judah had abandoned worship of Yahweh for other gods.8 Others say Judah had forgotten the prophetic word and been 6 See the diﬀerent views in J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001). 7 See, for instance, R. J. Coggins, ‘Interbiblical Quotations in Joel’, in J. Barton and D. J. Reimer, (eds.), After the Exile: Essays in Honour of Rex Mason (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1996), pp. 77–84. 8 G. W. Ahlström, Joel and the Temple Cult of Jerusalem (VTSup, 21; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971), p. 26.

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led into false conﬁdence by the repetitious, liturgical religion of the priesthood.9 For Stuart, the presence of various calamities ‘implies general national disobedience to Yahweh’.10 What this means, of course, is that two kinds of historical information are inferred: the nature of the crisis itself and the religious climate of the day. As Clines has argued in regards to Amos, however, it is uncritical to accept the depictions of sin in a prophetic text as accurate information about the society the book is addressing.11 How much more in regards to a book in which sin is not mentioned, but only inferred? There is a certain circularity to the process: the historical reality of the book’s composition is derived from the text and the text is then interpreted in view of those conclusions. More recently, Joel has been interpreted as a theodicy. Crenshaw, who likens the book to Job, says that the reference to ‘turning’ back to God in Joel does not necessarily imply a repentance.12 This makes problematic, to some extent, the simplistic linking of a real-life crisis with a real-life apostasy, but Crenshaw and Barton still think it wise to propose that the author was writing about a real infestation of locusts, as I will outline below. Yet, theodicy is a topic which can be written about anytime: it need not be motivated by any speciﬁc hardship. The literary world of Joel operates not so much on the logic of the world in front of its looking-glass surface, but on cosmic, mythic themes. Simkins interprets Joel against the backdrop of the ANE combat myth, although, as I will detail below, he too historicises the locusts.13 Building on his observations about Joel’s mythic

9 H. W. Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos: A Commentary on the Books of the Prophets Joel and Amos (ed. S. D. McBride, Jr.; trans. W. Janzen, S. D. McBride, Jr. and C. A. Muenchow; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977), pp. 12–14. 10 D. K. Stuart, Hosea–Jonah (WBC, 31; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), p. 230. 11 D. J. A. Clines, ‘Metacommentating Amos’, in H. A. McKay and D. J. A. Clines (eds.), Of Prophets’ Visions and the Wisdom of Sages: Essays in Honour of R. Norman Whybray on his Seventieth Birthday ( JSOTSup, 162; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993), pp. 142–60. 12 J. L. Crenshaw, Joel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 24; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1995), pp. 188–89, citing Isa 44.22. See too, J. Barton, Joel and Obadiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2001), pp. 35, 36, 76–80. 13 R. A. Simkins, Yahweh’s Activity in History and Nature in the Book of Joel (Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies, 10; Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1991); idem, ‘God, History, and the Natural World in the Book of Joel’, CBQ 55 (1993), pp. 435–52.

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content, I have described the prophetic book as a depiction of the process of restoring the sacred order to the universe, which includes reconstituting the now-destructive deity as a positive, re-creative one through a ritual which sacralises hunger as fasting and turns the sounds of suﬀering into lamentation.14 So, what was on the same side of the looking glass as our historical, real-life Joel? Locusts? Armies? A nightmare vision, but brought on by what? Most interpreters of Joel have argued that at least some of the terrifying imagery of disaster in Joel 1–2 stems from the prophet’s response to at least one actual locust infestation. Indeed, Joel 1.4 names four kinds of insects that ravaged the land. Joel 1.6 does refer to a nation, ywg, invading the land, although this is easy to interpret as a reference to the insects since v. 7 describes greenery as being laid waste and stripped white. Joel 2.1–11 announces the invasion of a fantastic horde that bounds over walls, and, like thieves, crawls through windows. Such descriptions can also be metaphorical description of locusts, especially since the insects’ heads were sometimes said to resemble those of horses.15 Joel 2.25 tells of Yahweh’s promise to compensate the people for the ‘years of the locust’. Joel, however, is not so simple a book. In 1.10–12, 17, 19–20 the crops seem to have failed because of drought and ﬁre. While many of the images in Joel 2 describing the terrible force attacking may be taken as representing locusts, there is also a ﬁre scorching the earth (2.3). When relief is ﬁnally oﬀered, it includes not just the destruction of the ‘army’ (2.20), but new and abundant rainfall (2.23). Scholars have struggled with reconciling the diverse imagery. Crenshaw sees 2.1–11 as oﬀering an intensiﬁed, emotion-laded version of the infestation of chapter one. He also reasons that this tragedy persisted for some time.16 Barton thinks of a single infestation mentioned twice in the two chapters, and is tempted to excise 2.25 entirely.17 Part of the problem involves the main verbs of the descriptions in

14

J. R. Linville, ‘The Day of Yahweh and the Mourning of the Priests in Joel’, in L. L. Grabbe and A. Ogden Bellis (eds.), The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priests, Prophets, and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets ( JSOTSup, 408; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 98–114. 15 Barton, Joel and Obadiah, p. 73. 16 Crenshaw, Joel, p. 122; see also W. S. Prinsloo, The Theology of the Book of Joel (BZAW, 163; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1985), pp. 47–48. 17 Barton, Joel and Obadiah, p. 70.

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Joel 1 being perfects and those of Joel 2.1–11 imperfects. On the other hand, Barton thinks Joel 1 employs a ‘prophetic perfect’, and consequently reaches his diﬀerent interpretation.18 Wolﬀ builds on the shift in the verbs and says that the real insects of Joel 1 provided the occasion and primary metaphor for the Joel 2 prophecy of an eschatological army.19 Simkins is among those who argue that Joel 1 refers to a past, initial wave of infestation, and Joel 2 to an immanent one. He ﬁnds that an initial infestation occurred in spring, just before the grain harvest. The defoliation, combined with the seasonal aridity, would have provided the prophet with the appropriate imagery of a fatally desiccated landscape. Simkins argues that Joel 2 refers to a continuation of the invasion from one year into the next, and Joel, in the midst of the second infestation, sees the whole process as manifesting the terrible Day of Yahweh. This also explains why 2.25 refers to the ‘years’ of the locusts.20 These arguments never seriously question the connection between the primary locust imagery and world outside the text. Reconciling the diverse imagery into to plausible historical scenario does not provide solid proof of the probable historical circumstances. Others ﬁnd that the writing of the oldest redactional layers of the book was motivated by a drought. Nash adopts and overly demythologises Joel’s reference to the Day of Yahweh thinking it refers to the seasonal dry winds and that the text’s setting is a ritual after which the rains will return.21 Loretz oﬀers a complex, redactional analysis which concludes that a text, originally at home in a ritual for rain, received eschatological expansions.22 Bergler builds on Loretz’s foundation and the amount of literary borrowing apparent in Joel. He also argues that the book has at its core a poem reacting to a severe drought. This was combined with one of a foreign invasion. This is supplemented with imagery borrowed from the Pentateuchal depictions of locust-plagues on Egypt and was adapted to serve as

18

Barton, Joel and Obadiah, pp. 47, 69. Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos, pp. 41–42. 20 Simkins, Yahweh’s Activity, pp. 154–55. 21 K. S. Nash, ‘The Cycle of Seasons in Joel’, TBT 27 (1989), pp. 74–80, links the Day of Yahweh to the dry East wind. 22 O. Loretz, Regenritual und Jahwetag im Joelbuch: Kanaanäischer Hintergrund, Kolometrie, Aufbau und Symbolik eines Prophetenbuches (UBL, 4; Altenberge: CIS-Verlag, 1986). 19

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a prophetic warning of an immanent foreign invasion and the coming Day of Yahweh.23 This thesis has the same weaknesses as Loretz’s: dependence on the uncertainties of redactional criticism and a simple association of a real life referent for the earliest perceived compositional layer. On the other hand, Bergler is to be commended for accenting the degree of Joel’s debt to other literature. Yet this feature of the book renders very tenuous any redactional schema which goes so far as to identify the historical circumstances of a hypothetical original text’s composition. Pablo Andiñach and Douglas Stuart hold that a locust infestation could not have caused all of the damage the book claims and prefer to ﬁnd military oppression the pressing concern in the book.24 On the contrary, given all the evidence Andiñach provides that locusts were considered an apt metaphor for soldiers who could do terrible damage, it is simpler to conclude that, in the ancient Near East, locusts were seen to be capable of horrendous damage, regardless of how often communities managed to survive the onslaught. As Ronald Simkins says, however, neither locusts nor human armies can make the earth shake and heavens tremble as described in 2.10.25 Andiñach thinks that the Israelites were taught by oppression at the hand of the Egyptians and others to be sensitive to the diﬀerences between natural disasters like locust plagues and political disasters. This is quite ad hoc and he is special pleading when he says that the similes which liken the invaders to armies and horses ( Joel 2.4) reveal an innovative use of the convention of describing armies as locusts.26 Andiñach, however, is not the only one to ﬁnd a portrait of Moses in Joel’s looking-glass house. Stuart argues that Joel is strongly inﬂuenced by the highly metaphorical and symbolic curses of the Pentateuch. He describes the curses as an interrelated whole (referring to Deut 28.15–45) and that any one implies the whole, the end point of which is exile. But Stuart observes how Leviticus 26, Deuteronomy 4 and 28–32 posit exile as

23

S. Bergler, Joel als Schriftinterpret (BEATAJ, 16; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988). 24 P. R. Andiñach, ‘The Locusts in the Message of Joel’, VT 42 (1992), pp. 433–41; Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, pp. 232–33, 43. 25 Simkins, ‘God, History, and the Natural World’, pp. 440–41. 26 Andiñach, ‘Locusts’, p. 439.

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the ultimate punishment for an impious nation to which all other curses, including locust infestations, lead up. He also ﬁnds a number of cases in which the approach of a foreign army is described by images of natural devastation (e.g., Hab 3.16–17). Therefore, he reasons, it is best to see real armies as the real issue in Joel. He too, struggles to make sense of the similes ‘like soldiers / warriors’ in 2.7. He writes that they portray the enemy army as both soldiers and locusts, the latter being unstoppable by military defences.27 Stuart is looking at the world of Joel through the looking glass of a completed canon interpreted in such a way that the covenant curses take precedence over all else. While it is not ultimately invalid to do this, it is anachronistic and subjective. Graham S. Ogden links Joel to liturgical laments which employ metaphors and stylised, generalised language. Since national laments in the Psalms are mostly about military/political crises, and since nations and peoples are referred to in Joel 1.5–6 and 2.2, Ogden concludes that a dire military situation, perhaps the Babylonian invasion of 587 bce, is being lamented in Joel with the locusts, ﬁre and so forth as simply representative.28 He writes that it is inconsistent to treat the locusts as historical and the other images as not.29 Regarding Joel 2.2b–10, Ogden explains the reference to ﬁre as a ‘scorched earth’ policy. So, too, must he regard the promise of new rain 2.23 as ﬁgurative of a post-invasion restoration.30 Against Ogden one could argue that it is equally inconsistent to treat the references to invasion as historical and not the locusts or the drought! Against any of the ‘invader’ proposals stand the similes of chapter two, in which the enemy are likened to an army. Of course an army is like an army.31 So then, if there is no pressing need to ﬁnd armies threatening to smash in the door of the author of our text, must we ﬁnd bugs crawling in through the windows? Not necessarily. Ferdinand Deist

27

Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, pp. 232–34, 251. G. S. Ogden and R. R. Deutsch, A Promise of Hope—A Call to Obedience: A Commentary on the Books of Joel and Malachi (ITC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Edinburgh: Handsel Press, 1987), pp. 11–14; see also G. S. Ogden, ‘Joel 4 and Prophetic Reponses to National Laments’, JSOT 26 (1983), pp. 97–106. 29 Ogden, ‘Joel 4 and Prophetic Responses’, p. 104. 30 Ogden, A Promise of Hope, pp. 21, 28, 33–36. 31 Crenshaw, Joel, p. 94; Barton, Joel and Obadiah, p. 44; Simkins, ‘God, History, and the Natural World’, p. 439. 28

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has interpreted the book diachronically as revealing a number of diﬀerent applications of the tradition of the Day of Yahweh each of which reﬂect distinct theologies. Over all, the book reﬂects an apocalyptic theology of the Day, although without the ﬁnal chapter, one is better oﬀ to consider the text as eschatological. When taken alone, Joel 1–2 reveal a theophanic and judgmental interpretation of the predicted Day, especially in view of 2.1–17, while an anti-Canaanite polemic is found in rest of Joel 1–2. What really sets Deist apart from the main body of work on Joel is his conclusion that the book was never intended to describe any real event that befell Judah. Thus, the locusts, droughts, ﬁres and armies are all literary, not literal in character. He also points to the very complex structures in the book, with the troubles of Joel 1.2–20 being answered in 2.18–27 while 2.1–17 parallels closely the contents of 1.1–17.32 I am not sure how much of an ‘anti-Canaanite’ polemic one should ﬁnd, but I think Deist is on very solid ground in not ‘privileging’ (to adopt an expression used by our honouree for my own uses) the locusts, the armies or the droughts with a presence outside the looking-glass. Whether one reduces the complexity of the text through peeling back the layers of redactional activity or navigates one’s way through the intricate web of intertextuality in Joel, the ‘core’ one ﬁnds is still not necessarily a direct reference to the circumstances that Joel found himself in. That core could be a literary construct as well. And so we should begin our brief journey through Joel’s looking-glass house ourselves to tease out some more of the intricacies of the text. The door to Joel’s glass house is framed with the expected prophetic superscription, but it is singularly undecorated: ‘The words of the Lord which came to Joel, Son of Pethuel’ ( Joel 1.1) does not really say much. But then when we look harder, we may learn a lesson in taking things at face value. But what is in a name, anyway? ‘Must a name mean something?’ Alice asked doubtfully. ‘Of course it must,’ Humpty Dumpty said with a short laugh: ‘my name means the shape I am—and a good handsome shape it is, too. With a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost.’33

32 F. E. Deist, ‘Parallels and Reinterpretation in the Book of Joel: A Theology of Yom Yahweh?’, in W. T. Claassen (ed.), Text and Context: Old Testament and Semitic Studies for F. C. Fensham ( JSOTSup, 48; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1988), pp. 63–79. 33 Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, p. 107, emphasis in the original.

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In our prophetic book, there seems to be something of the father in the son, at least from what we can tell given the shape of their names. ‘Joel’ and ‘Pethuel’ share the same three ﬁnal letters: lawy, the son of lawtp. Joel appears to be mean ‘Jahweh is God’, and is perhaps meant as a mirror image of the name ‘Elijah’: certainly a handsome moniker for a prophet.34 Our rotund Mr Dumpty might have some sport with Pethuel, however, for scholars are quite undecided as to its meaning. Perhaps it means ‘Young Man of God’ (wtp/ytp + la).35 But just as Alice met a ‘rocking horseﬂy’, then a ‘snap-dragonﬂy’ and then a ‘bread and butterﬂy’, we might ﬁnd something more happening with our prophet and his father.36 We might interpret the name Joel on the basis of the verb lay. In the hiphil stem, this means ‘to be willing’ and the imperfect third masculine singular form of this verb sounds very similar to the name of the prophet (e.g., Exod 2.21). We could also relate this to Pethuel as formed from a diﬀerent derivation of the verb htp. Gesenius’s tentative reading is ‘“ingenuousness of God” = holy simplicity’.37 We might want to be a bit more mischievous and see it as ‘persuaded’ or ‘enticed’.38 This has negative connotations which give some reason to rule out the possibility.39 On the other hand, we should remember that Jeremiah complained that he was ‘enticed’ by God ( Jer 20.7). And Amos, too, is no stranger to being tricked into prophesying doom as the word-play visions of Amos 7.7–8 and 8.1–2 demonstrate. If we wish to go this route we could return to Joel and ﬁnd not only an allusion to the hiphil lay ‘to be willing/prepared’ but also to the verb in its niphal form meaning ‘to be a fool’, as in Num 12.11. In this verse Aaron pleads with Moses to forgive the foolish sin of challenging the exclusivity of Moses’ prophetic gift. With this digression into the potential meaning of names (and we will have reason to return to it below), we are through the surface

34

Crenshaw, Joel, p. 80. L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner et al. (eds.), The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (2 vols; Leiden: Brill, study edn, 2001), 2:985 (s.v. la´WtP]). 36 Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, pp. 55–56. 37 W. Gesenius, Gesenius’ Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testament Scriptures, (trans. S. P. Tregelles; repr. of 1857 edn; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1949), p. 696 (s.v. la´WtP]). 38 M. Bi‘, Das Buch Joel (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1960), pp. 2–13, suggests comparison with Hos 7.11 where Israel has become a ‘simple-minded’ dove. 39 HALOT (study edn) 2:985 (s.v. la´WtP]); Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos, p. 25. 35

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of our mirror into a symbolic world in which even the logic of time does not mean the same thing as it once did. As noted above, commentators have addressed the change of verb forms from chapter 1 to chapter 2. There is no historical setting for Joel, but only a statement that the story of a phenomenal event must be transmitted through the generations ( Joel 1.2–3). But if we look across Joel’s house, we do ﬁnd a calendar on the wall but the only speciﬁc day marked on it is no less mysterious than the timelessness of the introduction. That day, of course, is the terrible ‘Day of Yahweh’ ( Joel 1.15; 2.1–2, 11; 3.4; 4.14). The ‘historyless’ reference to the eternal tradition to be handed down in 1.3 and the ‘years’ of the locust in 2.25 and the ‘days’ of 3.2 and 4.1 stand in relationship with the ‘Day’, informing and deforming each other. We must also wonder about the sequence and logic of events in Joel 1.4: The chewer’s (μzg) leftovers, the swarming locust (hbra) ate. The swarming locust’s leftovers, the jumper ( qly) ate. The jumper’s leftovers, the ﬁnisher ( lysj) ate.40

The result is a rhetorical and logical overkill with one insect managing to feed itself on what another has left behind after that insect ate another’s leavings. Much has been written on the entomology of 1.4 (and 2.25).41 What is sometimes left unexplored is just who is speaking and how it relates to the order to tell succeeding generations about the unspeciﬁed, but perfectly unique event mentioned in v. 3.42 Wolﬀ calls v. 4 Joel’s ‘report’.43 I agree with Crenshaw, however, that v. 4 not only lets the reader in on what is happening (or, perhaps, to happen), but also what the elders are supposed to recount to their children.44 Reading it this way can result in a dramatic and ironic eﬀect in view of the very next verse: ‘Wake up, drunkards and weep! Cry, all you drinkers of wine! A nation (ywg) has invaded my land’ (v. 5). The descriptions in vv. 6–7 of the invaders with

40 The translation of this verse is mine but it employs the insect names oﬀered by Crenshaw, Joel, pp. 82, 88–89. 41 See, for instance, Simkins, Yahweh’s Activity, pp. 101–20. 42 See, for instance, Crenshaw, Joel, pp. 88–94; Barton, Joel and Obadiah, pp. 42–48. 43 Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos, p. 28. See also, Bi‘, Joel, p. 16; W. Rudolph, Joel, Amos, Obadja, Jona (KAT, 13; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1971), p. 42. 44 Crenshaw, Joel, pp. 13, 87.

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lion’s teeth leaving ‘my vines’ and ‘my ﬁg trees’ stripped white is a superb image of the locusts.45 Yet it seems peculiar that so horrible a scene should be news to anyone in the midst of it. Barton thinks in terms of a prediction of an immanent infestation which will eliminate one of life’s joys: wine.46 Some take the reference to winedrinkers as referring to a population not quite understanding the implication of the ﬁrst wave of an infestation or an invasion which has already laid waste to the vineyards.47 This understanding works better if the call is seen as a rhetorical strategy within the ‘wordworld’ of the text, and not as a simple transcript of a ‘real-life’ speech. Moreover, if we take v. 4 as the content of what is to be recounted through the generations, the speech of vv. 5–7 not only intensiﬁes v. 4, but in some ways deconstructs it for the beneﬁt of the readers. In vv. 3–4, the focus is on the future, on the passing on of the memory of a unique event. In vv. 5–7, the call to ‘wake up’ seems to shake the reader into realising that this is not an event conﬁned merely to tradition, but is an event of immediate concern. In this light, the ‘drunkards’ may not be so much the drinkers of wine in the text but the reader who may read about these locusts as simply a past event. As I have indicated above, scholars have attempted in various ways to relate the diverse imagery in the rest of chapter 1 to the locusts of v. 4. My sense is that vv. 5–14 oﬀer a number of diﬀerent scenarios of disaster which are not intended to have a single historical reality to unite them. The unifying principle is a cumulative ‘overkill’ along the same lines as the waves of locusts in v. 4. The repetition of key words throughout the passage adds to the unity within diversity. On the other hand, there is no need to see the locusts as any more ‘real’ than any other factor in the suﬀering of the land and its human and animal populations. Four generations are implied in the order to transmit the tradition of the disaster in v. 3: the implied addressees, their children, grandchildren and the generation to follow them. Four waves of glut-

45 I agree with Crenshaw, Joel, p. 96, who comments that the possessives mark this as the prophet adopting the divine persona to highlight divine involvement. 46 Barton, Joel and Obadiah, pp. 50–51. 47 Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos, pp. 29–29, thinks that the lack of awareness was indeed brought on by last year’s vintage. Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, p. 242, argues that an invader has taken the grape crop.

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tonous insects appear in v. 4. In vv. 5–14, there are four passages introduced by imperatives calling for mourning. Verses 5–7 build directly on the locust image and concern the ‘drunkards’. Verses 8–10 demand lamentation, like a young woman mourning her husband. The reasons here are that oﬀerings and libation have been ‘cut oﬀ ’ and the priests are mourning. In this passage, the drinkers of wine are replaced by those who pour out the libations, but now both the wine and oil are gone. The country is said to be ravaged, and even the ground mourns. The third passage spans vv. 11–12 and picks up on the theme of mourning and builds on the image of desiccated ﬁelds, adding considerably to the list of crops which are destroyed. The passage demands that farmers and vine dressers ‘be ashamed’ and ‘wail’ for the destruction of their various crops. ‘Joy has dried up’, v. 12 says. The ﬁnal passage has two phases and picks up a number of themes from the earlier ones. In the ﬁrst phase (v. 13) the priests are spoken to directly. They are to gird themselves, lament, cry and wear sackcloth in reaction to the end of the sacriﬁcial rites. The second phase, v. 14, instructs them to solemnise a fast, to gather all the people to the temple to cry to God. This second phase introduces the great lament of vv. 15–20.48 This forms an interesting juxtaposition between the demand to pass on the information about a disaster in v. 3 and the more pressing demand for communication: the appeal to God. Rather than merely relate the story, they are to lament, weep, mourn and cry to God. If we continue into Joel 2 we may see it as a mirror, reﬂecting Joel 1 back to us.49 Both address the ‘inhabitants of the land’. The predicted ‘Day of Yahweh’ of 1.15 has now come. In the ﬁrst few verses of each chapter the incomparability of some sort of calamity is mentioned (1.2; 2.2). In the plea of 1.15–20, the coming of the Day of Yahweh is likened to ‘destruction from the destroyer’ ydçm dçk. Chapter 2 picks up on the use of the preposition k used in this alliterative expression and employs it repeatedly to describe the uniqueness, darkness and the surrealistic atmosphere of the Day. In 2.2, the line ‘like blackness’ rjçk spread upon the hills looks back to the

48 Some commentators, such as Barton, Joel and Obadiah, p. 57, and Rudolph, Joel, p. 47, mark these verses as the content of the pleading cries the priests are commanded to lead at the end of v. 14. Others, such as Wolﬀ, Joel and Amos, pp. 33–35, consider this to be a continuation of Joel’s exposition. 49 See Deist, ‘Parallels and Reinterpretation’, pp. 65–67.

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verse’s earlier references to the dark, deep clouds of the Day. It also anticipates the following reference to the approach of the mighty army, the ‘like’ whmk of which has never and will never be been seen again. As v. 3 has it, the dark army burns an Eden-like world ˆd[Aˆgk to desolation. Their appearance is like the appearance of horses μysws harmk and they charge like war-horses μyçrpk. In Joel 2.5, we read that ‘like the sound lwqk of chariots on the tops of hills they leap, like the sound lwqk of a tongue of ﬂame they consume the stubble, like a mighty army μ[k arrayed for war’. Now this armylike entity is like the sound of an army’s chariots and the sound of a ﬁre.50 Later, in v. 7, they are said to be ‘like warriors’ μyrwbgk and ‘men of war’ hmjlm yçnak and in v. 9, ‘like thieves’ bngk. But what is it that is like these things and unlike all things? Locusts have started the trajectory of images which lead up to 2.1–11. The images and patterns have multiplied as if in a kaleidoscope, building successive waves of imagery which overpower one’s senses. We might see Joel 2.1–11, coming hard on the heels of the prayer of 1.15–20, as the coup de grâce: as if even that prayer will not save one. Joel 2.1–11 picks up most of the themes of the successive depictions of chaos from Joel 1. There are invaders, and at least allusions to insects, ﬁre, and desiccation. All of the imagery is heightened. The same deity, who in 1.5–6 announced that the people should awaken and realise that his land, his vines and his ﬁgs were destroyed, is in 2.11, roaring at the head of his army. But again the text turns and pleas to the priest to gather the people and ritualise the suﬀering (2.12–17). But now, only after the text has reached its crescendo, is there a statement that Yahweh has relented and saved the people (2.18–27). The descriptions of divine action reverse all the imagery: locusts are destroyed, rain returns, nations are defeated. Although the locusts of 1.4 have provided a central metaphor for Joel 1.2, it is hard to see them as the only threat facing the people in the literary world of the book. They begin a trajectory, but are not the sum total of it. As I read it, there is no one threat in Joel which demands an extra-textual reality. Deist may be right after all in saying the depictions are literary in nature, and that, over all, the

50 Preposition k attached to ‘sound’ in v. 5 can be understood as ‘with’ instead of ‘like’, but in view of the other uses of it as a comparative in the ﬁrst ﬁve verses, this is gratuitous.

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book is eschatological in character. Barton is certainly right about the dangers of imposing one’s ‘favourite’ sin onto one’s interpretation of the book.51 But perhaps one might complain that many interpreters, including Barton, have a priori imposed their preferred catastrophe onto their historicising interpretations of Joel. It is very possible that the form-critical sensibilities of Ogden are well-tuned to the book, and that the text follows the pattern of ritual laments employed in the face of foreign invasion. Yet, the use of any example of a genre of writing need not be exclusively linked to that form’s original Sitz im Leben: the form can take on a life of its own. This is especially so if Joel is as dependent upon a wide variety of other writings as many claim. But we need to return to Auld’s point that the Law has taken its precedence over the prophets. The prophets as we read them now are bound to the Torah’s curses and blessing, as Stuart argues, but they are bound to Moses in other ways as well. In Numbers 11, the people grow tired of manna and receive a veritable blizzard of quail. Seventy elders are chosen to bear some of Moses’ burden of caring for this people, and they receive a portion of the divine spirit originally granted to Moses. In one instance, they prophesy and Moses then wishes aloud that all his people could prophesy (Num 11.29). In Joel 3, the future is full of the outpouring of God’s spirit: dreams, visions and prophecy abound. It seems as if Joel is saying Moses’ wish is coming true. In Num 12.5–8 God angrily tells Aaron and Miriam that he speaks with Moses face to face while prophets only receive visions and dreams. So, in the end, we shall let Moses have his privileges over Joel.52 Yet, we are left with the question of whether our enigmatic book reveals that there are secrets behind mere tradition, that one should wake up and recognise portents in any pests, ominous signs behind any military insignia. The earliest readership were probably the colleagues of the very scribes who crafted the book.53 What did they

51

Barton, Joel and Obadiah, p. 80. See Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass’, p. 58. 53 P. R. Davies, ‘The Audiences of Prophetic Scrolls’, in S. B. Reid (ed.), Prophets and Paradigms: Essays in Honour of Gene M. Tucker ( JSOTSup, 229; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1996), pp. 48–62, and E. Ben Zvi, ‘Studying Prophetic Texts against Their Original Backgrounds: Pre-ordained Scripts and Alternative Horizons of Research’, in Reid, Prophets and Paradigms, pp. 125–35. 52

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think when they read they must ‘tell their children’? Of course, the transmission of the book of Joel becomes a tradition of passing on what became considered as prophecy, even if the book says that ultimately the phenomenon of new prophecy itself will reappear. I wonder if the transmitters saw something of themselves reﬂected in the image of the prophet. Did they want to be, ‘Willing, son of Persuadedby-God’: some one like Isaiah, who eagerly said ‘Here I am’ (Isa 6.8) when God asked for a messenger? Or were they calling themselves the ‘Gullible, the child of the Easily-Fooled-by-God’? It is now well-recognised that the biblical writers were masters of their language who enjoyed playing and creating with the power of words and ideas. I will fully admit that this paper has been, in its own way, playful, but as scholars of the prophets we do not have the option of not rethinking our assumptions about the origins of this literature: this is certainly something the work of Graeme Auld has taught us. So, what in the text is a direct reference to what the writers and redactors understood to be immediately present in their world? Insect hordes, Babylonian swarms, or the perception of a spirit guiding their pens? Perhaps they constructed the text out of a longing to ﬁnd such a spirit so they could transcend their own role as transmitter of revelation and to ﬁnd in the ﬁgure of Joel ben Pethuel their own prophetic muse. In any case, we must admit in the end that the only Joel ben Pethuel we can meet has never really been on our side of the glass at all.

THE TROUBLE WITH KING JEHOSHAPHAT1 Steven L. McKenzie Jehoshaphat is unique in the Chronicler’s account of the kings of Judah. Judging from the amount of space devoted to his reign in Chronicles, he is in the same league as Hezekiah and Josiah. But unlike them, he is guilty of a serious oﬀence that leads to prophetic denunciation. Yet, the account of his reign is not ‘periodised’ as are those of kings who start out well but then do evil, and as a result, come to ruin2 or the reverse.3 The Chronicler is decidedly ambivalent about Jehoshaphat. Among the kings in the former group, Rehoboam is somewhat exceptional and might be considered similar to Jehoshaphat. But the diﬀerences between the two highlight the Chronicler’s ambivalence about Jehoshaphat. Both kings begin well. Rehoboam obeys the prophetic command not to ﬁght against Israel (2 Chron 11.2–4) and receives the blessings that are typical in Chronicles for faithful kings: successful building projects and military strength (11.5–12) as well as a large family (11.18–23). In addition, his kingdom is strengthened by the arrival of the priests and Levites from the north to Jerusalem (11.13–17). Jehoshaphat is also blessed with military strength—so much so that other peoples bring him tribute (2 Chron 17.2, 10–19). Moreover, Jehoshaphat is highly praised for his righteousness (17.3–4, 6), which is exhibited in his campaign to educate Judah in the law (17.7–9). His righteousness and resulting wealth and international renown are reminiscent of Solomon—high praise indeed in Chronicles (17.1, 5).4

1 It is a pleasure to contribute to this volume in honour of my good friend, Graeme Auld. Despite our disagreement on the relationship of the books of Chronicles and Samuel–Kings, which will surface in this article, I admire Graeme’s openmindedness and the conviction with which he insists on challenging consensus and examining the evidence from new perspectives. 2 Rehoboam (2 Chronicles 11–12), Asa (2 Chronicles 14–16), Joash (2 Chronicles 24), Amaziah (2 Chronicles 25), Uzziah (2 Chronicles 26). 3 Manasseh (2 Chron 33.1–20). 4 The statement in 17.1b that Jehoshaphat ‘strengthened himself over Israel’ is

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Both kings are subsequently denounced by prophets for sins they commit—Rehoboam for abandoning the law of Yahweh (2 Chron 12.1, 5) and Jehoshaphat for his alliance with wicked King Ahab (2 Chron 18; 19.2). Rehoboam and his oﬃcers humble themselves and receive a mitigated sentence so that the destruction wrought by Shishak’s invasion is not complete (2 Chron 12.6–12). In contrast, there is no notice that Jehoshaphat repents or humbles himself following his denunciation, nor is it clear what the ‘wrath’ is that is prophesied against him. He next carries out judicial reforms (2 Chron 19.4–11) and leads Judah to victory over a large invading force using the weapons of prayer and liturgical piety (2 Chron 20.1–28), leading to his reward of peace and international repute, again reminiscent of Solomon’s reign (20.29–30). The Chronicler’s concluding evaluation states that Jehoshaphat did what was right in Yahweh’s eyes without turning aside from it (20.32). Yet the conﬂicting notices that he both removed and failed to remove the ‘high places’ (17.6; 20.33) hints at his ambivalence. Moreover, this is not the Chronicler’s ﬁnal word about the king, for he relates another cooperative venture of Jehoshaphat’s with an evil Israelite king, followed by another prophetic denunciation (20.35–37). This time the punishment is clear; Jehoshaphat loses his investment. The Chronicler may even be trying to suggest a connection with Jehoshaphat’s death by placing the notice of it immediately after this episode (21.1).5 Despite this unique portrait, the Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat has received rather less attention from scholars than his versions of other righteous kings, such as Hezekiah and Josiah. The attention given to the account of Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 17–20 has focused, moreover, on certain speciﬁc elements of the account and their historicity rather than the overall nature of his reign and the Chronicler’s objectives in recounting it. I wish in this article to examine the

ambiguous. The nrsv’s translation of the preposition as ‘against’ rather than ‘over’ is defensible in light of v. 2’s reference to outposts in Ephraim. Still, this interpretation seems unlikely in view of the amiable relationship fostered by Jehoshaphat with the Israelite kings in the Chronicles account. More likely is the jps understanding that Jehoshaphat ‘took ﬁrm hold of Israel’—the same expression used in Chronicles’ description of Solomon’s consolidation of power at his accession (2 Chron 1.1). 5 So K. Strübind, Tradition als Interpretation in der Chronik: König Josaphat als Paradigma chronistischer Hermeneutik und Theologie (BZAW, 201; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1991), p. 195.

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Chronicler’s account of Jehoshaphat in order to propose an explanation—perhaps an overly simple one—for its uniqueness. 1. Content The account of Jehoshaphat’s reign in Chronicles consists of six basic sections. 17.1–6: introduction describing Jehoshaphat’s righteousness 17.7–19: Jehoshaphat’s educational campaign 18.1–19.3: joint military venture with Ahab of Israel to Ramoth-Gilead 19.4–11: Jehoshaphat’s judicial reforms 20.1–30: Jehoshaphat defeats the Ammonite-Moabite coalition 20.31–37: conclusion of Jehoshaphat’s reign

With the exception of the story in chapter 18 and portions of the regnal formulae in 17.1a and 20.31b–33a, the account of Jehoshaphat’s reign in Chronicles is very diﬀerent from the one in Kings. This suggests the possibility that the Chronicler’s unusual perspective on Jehoshaphat may have come from or been inﬂuenced by sources that he used but that are no longer extant. Consideration of this possibility will be the focus of the following survey, by section, of the Chronicler’s account of Jehoshaphat’s reign. 1.1. 2 Chronicles 17.1–6 Understanding 17.1b to mean that Jehoshaphat, like Solomon, consolidated power at his accession (see n. 4 above), ‘Israel’ here probably does not refer to the Northern kingdom but to Judah as ‘true’ Israel. This is a common moniker in 2 Chronicles, reﬂective of the Chronicler’s view that the North was apostate and the real people of Yahweh, the remnant of the twelve tribes, were preserved in Judah.6 The reference in 17.2 to the cities of Ephraim captured by Asa is problematic, since neither Kings nor Chronicles contains any such record. The Chronicler may be confusing Asa with Abijah, Jehoshaphat’s grandfather, who is explicitly credited with capturing Bethel,

6

Cf. 2 Chron 10.17; 11.3; 12.1, 6; 13.5; 19.8; 20.29; 23.2; 24.5, 6, 16; 28.23, 27; 29.24; 31.1, 6; 33.18.

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Jeshanah, and Ephron in a text unique to Chronicles (2 Chron 13.19). If so, then the Chronicler is drawing here on his own material, albeit erroneously. The reference in 17.3 to Jehoshaphat walking in the ‘earlier ways of David his father’ is also problematic. David’s name is lacking in some Hebrew manuscripts and in the LXX. It is almost certainly an error in the MT since the Chronicler does not divide David’s reign into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ periods. He may have in mind Asa, whose reign he does periodise.7 Whoever the king intended here, the main point for our present purpose is that this kind of periodisation of a king’s reign is a typical feature of the history in the book of Chronicles, so that the reference to the ‘earlier ways’ of Jehoshaphat’s predecessor is a mark of the Chronicler’s hand. Another well-known mark of the Chronicler’s hand in vv. 3–4 is the twofold use of the verb ‘seek’ (çrd), which is his way of expressing singleminded devotion to Yahweh coupled with right action. Finally in this section, the references to Jehoshaphat’s abundant wealth and glory (17.5) and his heart being lifted up (17.6) are characteristic expressions of the Chronicler. The underlying reason for the Chronicler’s periodisation is his doctrine of immediate reward or retribution. Jehoshaphat is rewarded, like Solomon (9.13–27) and Hezekiah (32.27), with ‘wealth and glory’ (dwbkw rç[). Uzziah (26.16) and Hezekiah (32.25) are also reported to have had arrogant or ‘lifted up’ hearts. The diﬀerence is that in these two instances the expression refers to sinful pride, while Jehoshaphat’s heart was lifted up ‘in the ways of Yahweh’. Given the other two instances one wonders whether the Chronicler is expressing, at the outset, some ambivalence about Jehoshaphat that will be born out in the further account of his reign. 1.2. 2 Chronicles 17.7–19 Jehoshaphat’s instructional campaign focuses on the book of the law (17.9), a relatively obvious anachronistic retro-projection of the scroll purported to have been found under Josiah (2 Chron 35.14–15; 2

7 It is tempting to see the problems in vv. 2–3 as related to one another. Abijah’s name may have been lost from v. 2 by haplography, due to its similarity with wyba, ‘his father’. Then, Asa’s name may have subsequently been misplaced from v. 3 into v. 2, though this does not explain the presence of David’s name in v. 3.

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Kgs 22.8). Still, some scholars ﬁnd evidence of older source material in the make-up of the educational commission appointed by Jehoshaphat in vv. 7–8.8 The enterprise involves three classes of teachers: priests, Levites and oﬃcials. This is somewhat unusual since instruction of this nature is viewed elsewhere as exclusively the task of priests (Lev 10.11; Deut 31.9–13; Jer 18.18; Ezek 7.26; Hag 2.11). However, the inclusion of Levites and oﬃcials in instruction has parallels in Ezra 7.25 and Neh 8.7, indicating a postexilic setting for this practice or the account of it. Most of the names in these verses are common and do not indicate a date for the list or its authorship. Three names, Benhail, Shemiramoth and Tob-adonijah, are unusual and represent exceptions to this observation. The ﬁrst and last of these are unique but likely resulted from textual corruption. ‘Benhail’ is better read with the LXX as (lyj ynb), ‘worthy men’, and Tob-adonijah is a dittograph of the previous two names, Adonijah and Tobiah. The middle name, Shemiramoth, is signiﬁcant because it occurs elsewhere in the Bible only in Chronicles (1 Chron 15.18, 20; 16.5). Its occurrence here, together with the evidence for a postexilic setting, suggests that the Chronicler is the author of this report (vv. 7–9) and that one need not look outside of the canon for his sources. He could easily have compiled the names from elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. He may also have borrowed the idea of itinerant teachers from the description of Samuel’s activity as a judge in 1 Sam 7.16. The peace, prosperity, building projects and military strength attributed to Jehoshaphat’s reign in 17.10–19 are all well attested signs of divine favour in Chronicles in reward for his righteous ‘fear of Yahweh’. Jehoshaphat is the ﬁrst king since Solomon to receive tribute from foreign countries, and only Uzziah (26.8) joins him in that honour. The statement that Jehoshaphat ‘grew steadily greater’ in v. 12 (hl[ml d[) uses a favourite expression of the Chronicler’s.9 The ﬁgures for the army in 17.14–18 seem clearly to be artiﬁcial when compared with those for Asa (14.8). Asa’s army was comprised

8 Notably, H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982), p. 282. Williamson bases his conclusion on the involvement of laypersons in the teaching enterprise, the speciﬁcity of names in the commission list, and precedence of Levites in that list. 9 As noted by S. Japhet, ‘The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah Investigated Anew’, VT 18 (1968), pp. 330–71 (357).

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of 300,000 men from Judah and 280,000 from Benjamin, which are the same numbers for the ﬁrst two divisions of Jehoshaphat’s army. Then, Jehoshaphat’s remaining three divisions total 580,000, the same as the total number in Asa’s army. In short, Jehoshaphat’s army is exactly twice as large as Asa’s. In fact, Jehoshaphat’s army is the largest one reported in Chronicles, next to David’s. The large numbers indicate the Chronicler’s great esteem for Jehoshaphat. The names of the commanders in these verses also signal the Chronicler’s hand. Adnah occurs elsewhere only in 1 Chron 12.20. Jehohanan is found only in Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah, and its short form, Johanan, occurs outside of these books only in 2 Kgs 25.23 and in Jeremiah 40–43. Similarly, Zichri occurs nine times in Chronicles, twice in Nehemiah, and only once outside of these books.10 Eliada is used outside of v. 17 only in 2 Sam 5.16//1 Chron 3.8 and 1 Kgs 11.23. Jehozabad appears outside of v. 18 only in 2 Kgs 12.21; 1 Chron 26.4; 2 Chron 24.26, and its variant, Jozabad, is again exclusive to Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah. Only Amasiah, a variant of Amos, is unattested elsewhere in the Bible. However, the statement that he ‘volunteered’ makes use of one of the Chronicler’s favourite verbs (bdn, hiphil).11 The features just outlined are strong indications that 17.7–19 is the Chronicler’s composition based on other parts of Chronicles and of the Hebrew Bible. There is no need to posit any other source underlying this narrative. The only detail that is not immediately explainable as having been drawn from the Chronicler’s own interests or canonical sources is the reference in 17.11 to the tribute brought by the Arabs and Philistines. However, the amount of tribute—7700 rams and 7700 male goats—reﬂects the kind of exaggeration typical of the Chronicler. The choice of the Arabs and Philistines, peoples south and west of Judah, may be the Chronicler’s way of ‘rounding out’ Jehoshaphat’s dealings with neighbouring peoples since the other materials about his reign describe encounters

10 1 Chron 8.19, 23, 27; 9.15; 26.25; 27.16; 2 Chron 17.16; 23.1; 28.7; Neh 11.9; 12.17; Exod 6.21. 11 Contra R. W. Klein, ‘Reﬂections on Historiography in the Account of Jehoshaphat’, in D. P. Wright, D. N. Freedman and A. Hurvitz (eds.), Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), pp. 643–57 (646). Klein states that the epithet ‘gives an air of versimilitude to the whole list’.

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with nations to the north and northeast (Israel and Aram, chapter 18) and to the east (Moab, Ammon and Edom, chapter 20). 1.3. 2 Chronicles 18.1–19.3 Except for its beginning (18.1–3) and ending (19.1–3), this passage is virtually identical to 1 Kings 22. It is the only extended narrative about the North in Kings that is also included in Chronicles. There are several strong indications that this narrative was borrowed by the Chronicler from Kings rather than from a shared source as postulated by Auld.12 These relate especially to the identiﬁcation of the two kings as Ahab and Jehoshaphat and their situation as contemporaries. Auld’s suggestion that ‘the original story, as still the version in 2 Chronicles 18, had been told within and had been part of the story of Jehoshaphat’13 fails to come to terms with the observations of a long history of scholarly analysis. These observations are complicated, but the salient points are the following.14 First, there are whole sections of the story in Kings that do not mention Jehoshaphat or, by their use of singular verbs and pronouns, presuppose his presence (1 Kgs 22.1, 3, 6, 9, 11–13, 15–17 (LXX), 19–28). The same is true of much of the Chronicles parallel (2 Chron 18.5,15 8, 10–12, 19–27). The instances of plurals in Chronicles where Kings has singulars (2 Chron 18.14–16, 18) are easily explained as

12 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). I elaborate here on points presented brieﬂy in my article, ‘The Chronicler as Redactor’, in M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture ( JSOTSup, 263; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 70–90 (83–84), to which Auld responded (inadequately in my view) in the same volume (‘What Was the Main Source of the Books of Chronicles?’, pp. 91–99). 13 A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets Shared – but Recycled’, in T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL, 147; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2000), pp. 19–28 (23). 14 For more details and fuller bibliography see S. L. McKenzie, The Trouble with Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History (VTSup, 42; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991), pp. 81–100. 15 Auld, ‘Prophets Shared’, p. 23 notes that 2 Chron 18.5, 14 have the plural (‘Shall we go up . . .’) followed by the singular, which Auld interprets as ‘Shall I desist from pressing [on you?] my scheme’. He further posits that the singular has been changed to a plural in 1 Kgs 22.15 in order to implicate Jehoshaphat in the scheme. Of course, this hardly explains all the singulars in the narrative. Moreover, Chronicles depicts Jehoshaphat as the superior king. If Chronicles reﬂects the older version of the story, as Auld holds, why did the author of Kings change it?

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the attempt to accommodate Jehoshaphat’s addition to the narrative. No such explanation is readily forthcoming if one assumes that Jehoshaphat was the focus of the original story. In addition to the fact that the story is set in the North and takes place largely in the court of the king of Israel, Jehoshaphat’s absence from much of it hardly supports Auld’s claim that he ‘is very much more the hero of the tale than Ahab’.16 It is much more likely that this story originated in a collection dealing with northern prophets as indicated by its aﬃnities with other stories in Kings. The opening of the story in Kings (‘for three years Aram and Israel continued without war’) ties it closely with the stories in 1 Kings 20; indeed in the LXX of Kings, it directly follows chapter 20. Even more signiﬁcant is the fact that Chronicles accords with Kings (MT) in placing this story outside of the regnal formulae for Jehoshaphat (1 Kgs 22.41–45; 2 Chron 20.31–21.1). In Kings this makes sense, because the story falls within the regnal formulae for Ahab. It is, therefore, yet another indication that the story originated in northern circles rather than as part of a Jehoshaphat collection. However, as Auld observes, Kings (LXX) has the regnal formulae for Jehoshaphat signiﬁcantly earlier—in 1 Kgs 16.28a–d.17 This is because the Old Greek and MT of Kings follow diﬀerent chronologies, as Miller and Shenkel have shown.18 They also demonstrated that the Old Greek chronology is the older of the two. The shift in the MT chronology was probably caused by the occurrence of Jehoshaphat’s name in the story in 2 Kgs 3.4–27, which also led to his addition to the story in 1 Kings 22//2 Chronicles 18. The most important point for our present discussion is that the Chronicler, far from preserving some older source also behind the Deuteronomistic History, makes use of Kings in essentially its latest textual version! The Chronicler’s changes at the beginning and ending of this narrative reﬂect his ambivalence about Jehoshaphat. The reference to his wealth and honour in 18.1a echoes the statement in 17.5. The hint in that verse that his wealth and honour may have led him to wrongful pride seems conﬁrmed by his deeds in the present narra-

16

Auld, ‘What Was the Main Source’, p. 95. Auld, ‘What Was the Main Source’, p. 95. 18 J. M. Miller, ‘The Elisha Cycle and the Accounts of the Omride Wars’, JBL 85 (1966), pp. 441–54; J. D. Shenkel, Chronology and Recensional Development in the Greek Text of Kings (HSM, 1; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968). 17

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tive. He forges a marriage alliance with Ahab (18.1b)—a datum pieced together by the Chronicler from 1 Kgs 22.44 and 2 Kgs 8.27. The marriage of their children is the occasion for the feast prepared by Ahab (1 Chron 18.2). Chronicles uniquely states that Ahab used the occasion to seduce (tys, the same verb used of a ˆfç in 1 Chron 21.1) Jehoshaphat to join him in war against Ramoth-Gilead. The Chronicler presents Jehoshaphat as the superior of the two kings by virtue of his wealth and honour. His superiority is also indicated by the fact that Ahab plies him with the banquet. In addition, in Kings, Ahab’s motive is to recover what belongs to Israel (1 Kgs 22.3). The Chronicler has omitted this verse with the result that Ahab’s motive in his account is one of sheer aggression in which Jehoshaphat has no stake. He has no business joining Ahab in the attack. Jehoshaphat’s encounter with the prophet Jehu, which presently concludes the Chronicles version of this story in 2 Chron 19.1–3, is the Chronicler’s composition. He has taken the prophet Jehu ben Hanani from 1 Kgs 16.1, 7. The scene also recalls the encounter of Asa with Hanani the seer—apparently Jehu’s father—in 2 Chron 16.7–10. The expressions ‘set the heart’ (cf. 1 Chron 29.18; 2 Chron 12.14; 20.33; 30.19) and ‘seek Yahweh’ in 19.3 are favourites of the Chronicler. He articulates his ambivalence about Jehoshaphat by having Jehu threaten punishment but then, with the next breath, points out Jehoshaphat’s righteous deeds and faithful heart. Jehoshaphat’s reaction, or lack thereof, to the oracle contrasts with Asa’s resentful imprisonment of Hanani. This, plus his further just deeds in the rest of the Chronicles narrative about him, conﬁrms the statements about him in Jehu’s speech. The story about Micaiah further illustrates and perhaps contributed to the Chronicler’s ambivalence. Jehoshaphat’s alliance with the wicked Ahab suggests poor judgement on his part. Yet, Jehoshaphat responds appropriately when he demands to hear from a (true) prophet of Yahweh (18.6). But then he seems to ignore Micaiah’s warning. Yet again, in Chronicles, Jehoshaphat’s outcry at the attack of the Aramaean army is interpreted as a sign of his piety, in accord with the Chronicler’s doctrine that Yahweh aids those who cry out to him (2 Chron 18.31; cf. 20.9; 32.20–21).19 As Klein has

19 2 Chron 18.31b and 1 Kgs 22.32b share the reading fpçwhy q[zyw. The text in Chronicles continues: ‘and Yahweh helped him and lured (tys) them away from

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observed,20 the Chronicler’s changes and additions, especially at the beginning and end of this story, completely alter its focus from Ahab’s grisly death in fulﬁlment of prophecy in Kings21 to Jehoshaphat’s actions and reactions, both positive and negative, to the battle undertaken in league with Ahab and its aftermath. 1.4. 2 Chronicles 19.4–11 The remainder of chapter 19 recounts legal reforms undertaken by Jehoshaphat. There has been considerable discussion among scholars about the related questions of the Chronicler’s source for this report and its historical veracity, much of it sparked by Albright’s aﬃrmation of the latter.22 The ‘bottom-line’ result of this discussion is that the report is historically plausible.23 However, actual evidence for its historicity is sparse. Klein’s review a decade ago pointed to the appointment of judges in the fortiﬁed cities (2 Chron 19.5) as typologically earlier than laws in Deuteronomy that call for judges in all towns and cities.24 This is the only concrete piece of evidence adduced by Klein for more than the general plausibility of the

him’. W. Lemke, ‘Synoptic Studies in the Chronicler’s History’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Harvard University, 1963), p. 159, has pointed out that the Lucianic recension of Kings reﬂects the ﬁrst two words, ‘and Yahweh helped him’ (ka‹ kÊriow ¶svsen aÈtÒn). Hence, it is possible that the Chronicler found at least the ﬁrst part of this reading already in his Vorlage. 20 Klein, ‘Reﬂections on Historiography’, p. 649. 21 The story of Ahab belongs to the prophecy-fulﬁlment scheme which forms the structure of much of 1–2 Kings (see McKenzie, Trouble with Kings, pp. 81–100). This adds yet more weight to the usual view that the Chronicler borrowed from Kings rather than Auld’s idea that there was a shared source best preserved in Chronicles. 22 W. F. Albright, ‘The Judicial Reform of Jehoshaphat’, in S. Lieberman (ed.), Alexander Marx: Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1950), pp. 61–82, made the case for historical plausibility primarily on the basis of the reform undertaken by the fourteenth century Egyptian ruler, Horemheb. 23 Cf. K. W. Whitelam, The Just King: Monarchical Judicial Authority in Ancient Israel ( JSOTSup, 12; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1979), esp. pp. 185–91, argued that the description of Jehoshaphat’s reform ﬁt between descriptions elsewhere in the Bible of judicial systems in the tenth and eighth centuries. S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), pp. 772–73, contends that there is ‘an inherent historical logic’ that supports the narrative facts about reform during Jehoshaphat’s reign when there was a ‘process of stabilization’ after years of war and the achievement of political balance with the northern kingdom. 24 Klein, ‘Reﬂections on Historiography’, pp. 650–51.

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Chronicler’s account. Yet this datum is far from conclusive and might well lend itself to an alternate explanation.25 The diﬃculty with positing any older source or genuine information from Jehoshaphat’s reign in this account is due to the fact that it evinces such pervasive evidence of the Chronicler’s own hand. The reference to Levites as ‘oﬃcers’ (μyrfç) is unique to Chronicles (19.5; cf. 1 Chron 23.4; 26.29; 2 Chron 34.13). The use of priests and Levites as judges (19.8) reﬂects the program articulated by the Chronicler elsewhere (1 Chron 23.3–4; 26.29) and is likely anachronistic. The speeches that dominate this passage (19.6–7, 9–11) exhibit the typical historiographical technique employed by the Chronicler of composing such speeches. They also display some of his favourite themes and expressions: Yahweh being present and in control, ‘fear of Yahweh’, ‘whole heart’, ‘guilt’, ‘wrath’ and granting fair warning. The name of the chief priest, Amariah (19.11), is common in lists of priests and Levites in Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah, but it is found outside of these books only once in the Bible (Zeph 1.1). Similarly, Zebadiah (and its short form Zabad) occurs only in Chronicles and Ezra. The phrase, ‘heads of the fathers’ houses’ (19.8), is one of the Chronicler’s favourites, and the term nàgîd used in the general sense of ‘leader’ is unique to him (19.11). There are other indications of the late and contrived nature of the reform account. The Chronicler presents Jehoshaphat as renovating the justice system that he describes David as putting into place (1 Chron 26.29–32). Indeed, since the time of Wellhausen it has been recognised that the entire episode is an extended pun on Jehoshaphat’s name, ‘Yahweh judges’.26 The portrait of the king personally going among the people of Judah and even Ephraim, restoring them to Yahweh, is remarkable and highly unrealistic (2 Chron 19.4). The oﬃce of the chief priest, especially as the head legal authority, indicates the postexilic origin of this story. The distinction between civil and religious law reﬂects a time after the end of the monarchy.27

25 For instance, the Chronicler may be retrojecting into the reign of Jehoshaphat an arrangement similar to that evidently in place under Persian rule, whereby Persian oﬃcials exercised judicial functions at garrison cities. 26 J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Israel (repr; Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1973), p. 191. 27 Klein, ‘Reﬂections on Historiography’, p. 651.

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It is impossible to prove conclusively that the Chronicler had no source for this episode—that the story was engendered, as Wellhausen had it, merely by the play on Jehoshaphat’s name. At best, however, any source the Chronicler used must have been ‘a brief, undetailed and basic record of changes in legal administration’ that was ‘ampliﬁed by the Chronicler with an introduction and rhetorical pieces’ and ‘fully integrated into the Chronistic portrait of Jehoshaphat and certain furthers the Chronicler’s interests’.28 Needless to say, it remains a distinct possibility that the Chronicler composed the reform account out of whole cloth. 1.5. 2 Chronicles 20.1–30 A similar situation pertains to the battle account in chapter 20. This passage has a well-known history of interpretation. Noth argued on the basis of place names that the account was based on an invasion by the Nabateans in the third century bce.29 Rudolph accepted Noth’s view of a source behind this narrative but rejected his late dating of it, concluding that it preserved an actual event from Jehoshaphat’s reign and that the Chronicler’s gloss on Hazazon-Tamar (20.2) indicated the written nature of the source.30 Williamson adduced further evidence of source material in the etymology for ‘Berakah Valley’ (20.26), which is the type of aetiology in which an author comments on received material.31 Since this type of aetiology is uncharacteristic of the Chronicler, it may even indicate that his source was composed of more than one stratum.32 The Chronicler may well have employed some source as the foundation or impetus for this narrative. However, the uncertainty about the nature of such a source—its date and that of any historical reality behind it—is obvious from the wide disagreement between Noth and Rudolph. Moreover, the evidence for the existence of such a source is fraught with caveats. First, the idea that the narrative preserves an account of an invasion led by Nabateans or Edomites is

28

Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 772–73. M. Noth, ‘Eine palästinische Lokalüberlieferung in 2 Chr. 20’, ZDPV 67 (1945), pp. 45–71. 30 W. Rudolph, Chronikbücher (HAT, 21; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1955), p. 259. 31 Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 293. 32 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 798. 29

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based on two conjectural emendations: ‘Meunites’ where the MT has ‘Ammonites’ (20.1) and ‘Edom’ where the MT has ‘Aram’ (20.2). While both conjectures are probably correct, especially in light of the reference to Mount Seir (20.10), they highlight the uncertainty of the historical conclusions based upon them. Second, the gloss on Hazazon-Tamar, identifying it (inaccurately)33 with En-gedi (20.2), may just as easily have come from a later glossator as from the Chronicler so that it does not necessarily indicate an earlier source. Third, the kind of aetiology in 20.26, though not characteristic of the Chronicler, is attested elsewhere in his work (1 Chron 11.7, a change from 2 Sam 5.7; 1 Chron 14.11//2 Sam 5.20). Above all, one must not lose sight of the clear extent to which the Chronicler has shaped the present narrative. Jehoshaphat here wages war with prayer. His response to the news that a ‘great multitude’ is coming against Judah exempliﬁes the Chronicler’s ideal of ‘seeking Yahweh’ (20.3), and he gathers the people in Jerusalem to do the same (20.4). His prayer is widely recognised as the Chronicler’s composition as is indicated by its address to ‘Yahweh, God of our ancestors’ (v. 6), a favourite expression of the Chronicler’s (1 Chron 12.17; 2 Chron 11.16; 13.18; 14.4). It consists of a confession of Yahweh’s universal rule (20.6–9) and a cry for help (20.10–12) based on that rule. As is typical of the Chronicler’s work, the prayer draws on several canonical sources including Isa 41.8 (the reference to the ‘descendants of your friend Abraham’ in 20.7) and various texts from Deuteronomy (driving out the inhabitants of the land, also 20.7). In 20.9, Jehoshaphat paraphrases Solomon’s prayer at the temple’s dedication thus acting out the scene that Solomon envisioned of standing before the temple and calling on God for salvation (1 Kings 8; 2 Chronicles 6). The oracle of Jahaziel giving the divine response to Jehoshaphat’s prayer is also the Chronicler’s composition as it stands (20.13–17). In fact, Petersen has argued that the main point of the chapter is to show how Levitical singers, like Jahaziel, took on the role of prophets.34 Thus, the Chronicler replaces the battle story involving Elisha in 2 Kings 3 with the present tale. A signiﬁcant element of

33

See M. C. Astour, ‘Hazazon-Tamar’, ABD 3:86. D. L. Petersen, Late Israelite Prophecy: Studies in Deutero-Prophetic Literature and in Chronicles (SBLMS, 23; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977), pp. 68–77. 34

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Jahaziel’s oracle is the word play involving the name Jeruel in 20.16. This name, meaning ‘God sees’, puns on the Hebrew roots for ‘see’ (har) and ‘fear’ (ary), both of which are used in this oracle (‘do not fear’ in 20.15, 17 and ‘see the victory of Yahweh’ in 20.17). The verb ‘see’ in the sense of ‘provide’ stresses that Yahweh’s intervention gives victory and again alludes to other canonical texts, above all Gen 22.14 and Exod 14.13–14. It is not clear, therefore, that Jeruel has any other origin than the Chronicler’s imagination. But whatever its origin, and that of Ziz in the same verse, the oracle is the Chronicler’s invention. It need hardly be said that the report of the battle’s outcome (20.20–30) is the Chronicler’s composition as well. Judah owes its success in this instance to adherence to the prophetic word (20.20). It is Yahweh who, upon hearing the prayers and the song before the army, routed the invaders (20.21–23). Even if he inherited the aetiology in v. 26, the Chronicler has thoroughly incorporated it within his narrative. After the Judahites despoil their enemies (20.24–25), they return with rejoicing to the sound of musical instruments to the temple (20.27–28)—all favourite interests of the Chronicler. The fear of God upon other nations is a typical sign of divine favour in Chronicles (20.29), and the notice about God giving Jehoshaphat rest round about (20.30) is reminiscent of Solomon’s reign (1 Chron 22.9). These last two verses work with 17.10 to bracket the Chronicler’s account of Jehoshaphat’s reign. As with the previous pericope, then, any source the Chronicler may have had for this episode has been so thoroughly reworked by him that ‘it is no longer possible to determine the source’s extent and hence to judge its likely original date or point of reference’.35 1.6. 2 Chronicles 20.31–37 The Chronicler’s conclusion for Jehoshaphat is borrowed from 1 Kgs 22.41–49 with signiﬁcant changes. He repeats the reference to the high places, neglecting the fact that it contradicts his previous statement that Jehoshaphat removed them (17.6). His remark that the

35 Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 293, who adds, ‘It would not be surprising . . . if once again the Chronicler had taken up an originally fairly insigniﬁcant incident and magniﬁed it for didactic reasons’.

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people had not ‘set their hearts upon the God of their ancestors’ contains two of his preferred expressions. His mention of the Chronicles of Jehu, son of Hanani (20.34), is typical of his prophetic source citations. The episode in 20.35–37 is also based on Kings as indicated by the fact that the Chronicler understood Tarshish not as the type of the ships built by Jehoshaphat but as their destination. This episode has been completely changed to reﬂect the Chronicler’s condemnation for cooperation with a wicked Israelite king and thus his ambivalence about Jehoshaphat. 2. Grounds for Ambivalence It is evident from the preceding survey that the Chronicler’s unusual perspective on Jehoshaphat cannot simply be attributed to extra-biblical source material. Each section of his account about Jehoshaphat is thoroughly endowed with his characteristic vocabulary and ideological perspectives. The Chronicler’s ambivalence about Jehoshaphat stems from his interpretation of Kings through the lens of his own theology. His interpretation here is not too surprising. While the evaluation of Jehoshaphat in the book of Kings is positive overall with no explicit reservations except perhaps for the notice that the high places were not removed, features of its narrative seem readymade for the Chronicler’s interpretation. Kings describes Jehoshaphat’s cooperation with Ahab and his peace with Israel without condemning them. Jehoshaphat is so highly regarded that Elisha responds to an inquiry from the king of Israel only because of his alliance with the Judahite king (2 Kgs 3.14). Kings also reports the wreck of Jehoshaphat’s ships without any explanation for it. For the Chronicler, such an unattributed disaster was a theological impossibility. An explanation for it lay close at hand: Jehoshaphat’s cooperation with the apostate Israelite king. The incident illustrated the danger of aﬃliating with evildoers. Even more seriously in need of adjustment, in the Chronicler’s view, was the set of circumstances surrounding Jehoshaphat’s successors in Judah. Jehoram, Ahaziah and Athaliah were all progeny of Israel’s worst king, Ahab, and his wicked foreign wife, Jezebel. Their reigns were catastrophic for Judah, as they perpetuated the line and misdeeds of their parents. In a real sense, the blame for this catastrophe lay squarely with Jehoshaphat, who had made the

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alliance with Ahab in the ﬁrst place. It was this situation above all that produced the Chronicler’s deeply ambivalent attitude toward Jehoshaphat. On the one hand, he was worthy of the high praise he received in Kings for his adherence to the law, the educational and judicial reforms suggested by his name, and the trust in Yahweh that he exempliﬁed in battle in the Kings account and then elaborated in Chronicles. On the other hand, some reservation about him was required by the damaging relationship with Israel that he had initiated.

THE DEUTERONOMIC HISTORY AND THE BOOKS OF CHRONICLES: CONTEMPORARY COMPETING HISTORIOGRAPHIES Raymond F. Person, Jr. The work of Martin Noth has had a signiﬁcant inﬂuence on the scholarship of Deuteronomy through Kings and Chronicles–Ezra– Nehemiah, including the relationship between these collections.1 One consequence of this inﬂuence has been the generally accepted conclusion that the Deuteronomic History is exilic and the work of the Chronicler is postexilic. This conclusion has further led to a model that explains the linguistic diﬀerence between the Deuteronomic History and the Chronicler’s History as Standard Biblical Hebrew and Late Biblical Hebrew, respectively.2 Recently, however, these conclusions have been challenged from various perspectives, requiring a thorough re-evaluation of the Deuteronomic History, the Chronicler’s History, and their relationship. This essay will explore these challenges and propose that the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah are historiographies from diﬀerent competing, contemporary scribal groups. The topic of this essay is certainly ﬁtting to honour the work of Graeme Auld, since he has been one of the leading scholars challenging Noth’s inﬂuence on the study of Deuteronomy through Kings and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah.

1 M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien I: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft, 18; Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1943). See the excellent discussions of Noth’s inﬂuence in S. L. McKenzie and M. P. Graham (eds.), The History of Israel’s Traditions: The Heritage of Martin Noth ( JSOTSup, 182; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1994) and in the introductions to the translations of Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: M. Noth, The Deuteronomistic History ( JSOTSup, 15; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1981), pp. vii–x and idem, The Chronicler’s History (trans. H. G. M. Williamson; JSOTSup, 50; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 11–26. 2 For a brief discussion of the history of the development of this model and additional bibliographical information, see I. Young, ‘Introduction: The Origin of the Problem’, in idem (ed.), Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology ( JSOTSup, 369; London: T & T Clark International, 2003), pp. 1–6.

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Until recently Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History has been so widely accepted that its justiﬁcation was rarely necessary, even though his thesis has undergone various revisions, especially related to the number of Deuteronomistic redactions. Some scholars are now directly challenging Noth’s thesis, thereby requiring a reassessment of the inﬂuence of Noth upon the study of Deuteronomy through Kings. In this section, I will re-examine Noth’s arguments, focusing on two questions. First, can we still speak of a literary unity called the Deuteronom(ist)ic History? Second, when should this work be dated? I will conclude that (1) Deuteronomy through Kings is a literary unity and there is no compelling reason to abandon the label ‘Deuteronom(ist)ic History’ and (2) the redactional work of the Deuteronomic School spanned the exilic and postexilic periods. 1.1. Is there a Deuteronom(ist)ic History? Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History strove to explain both the literary unity and the diversity he saw in Deuteronomy through Kings. Noth’s understanding of the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings was based on the following types of evidence: linguistic evidence, literary style, a chronological framework spanning Joshua through Kings, and smooth transitions between the books. The ‘linguistic uniformity’ that Noth perceived in ‘a “Deuteronomistic” stratum’ of Deuteronomy through Kings includes ‘vocabulary, diction and sentence structure’, making the Deuteronomistic style ‘the simplest Hebrew in the Old Testament’.3 The most important feature of the literary style that Noth refers to are the ‘speeches of anticipation and retrospection’ ( Joshua 1, Joshua 23, 1 Samuel 12, 1 Kgs 8.14ﬀ.), speeches in which there are clearly allusions to earlier and/or later events narrated in the Deuteronomistic History.4 A chronological framework that spans Deuteronomy to Kings is also evident. In Josh 14.10, Joshua refers to the present as ‘forty-ﬁve years since the time that the LORD spoke this word to Moses’ and in 1 Kgs 6.1 the date for the building of the temple—‘in the four hun-

3 4

Noth, Deuteronomistic History, p. 5. Noth, Deuteronomistic History, pp. 5–6, 9.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 317 dred eightieth year after the Israelites came out of the land of Egypt’— connects Kings with Deuteronomy. Noth also noted the smooth transitions between the individual books. In Deut 3.28 Moses refers to Joshua as his successor and in Deut 34.9 Moses lays hands on Joshua. The book of Joshua begins ‘After the death of Moses’ ( Josh 1.1) and the book of Judges begins ‘After the death of Joshua’ ( Judg 1.1). The book of Judges ends with ‘In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes’ ( Judg 21.25). Samuel is a transitional ﬁgure from the judges to the kings. Such smooth transitions suggest a literary unity to the books. Although Noth argued for a literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings, he did not ignore the diversity within these books. He noted that there were, in fact, diﬀerences between Deuteronomy and Joshua, for example, for this was quite obvious. Therefore, Noth’s thesis allowed for both literary unity and diversity in Deuteronomy through Kings and, as far as I can tell, his insights on these matters still have tremendous inﬂuence even on those who have recently challenged his thesis. These challenges (and the revisions that followed Noth’s work) are not direct challenges of his observation of the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings, but challenge his explanation of how this literary unity was produced. Noth’s explanation for the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings was that this unity was the result of the work of one individual, his Deuteronomistic Historian. The diversity that is obvious between the diﬀerent books stems from the diverse sources that the Deuteronomistic Historian used in order to construct his history. In this way, Noth not only explicated the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings, but provided an explanation for how this unity (with the continuing diversity) came to be—that is, the Deuteronomistic Historian brought diverse sources together into one uniﬁed literary work. The two major revisions of Noth’s thesis—that is, the dual-redaction school of Cross and others and the trito-redaction school of Smend, Dietrich and others—are attempts to explain further the diversity within the Deuteronomistic History.5 Both schools accept the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings and also suggest

5 For a fuller discussion of these schools, see R. F. Person, Jr., The Deuteronomic School: History, Social Setting, and Literature (Studies in Biblical Literature, 2; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), pp. 2–4, 31–34.

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that this unity is the result of an initial redactor who brought together diverse sources into one literary unity (Dtr1 or DtrG/DtrH) as well as at least one later redactor who reworked the entire Deuteronomistic History in a similar style (Dtr2 or DtrP and DtrN). Both schools can therefore provide an additional explanation for the diversity in the Deuteronomistic History. The diversity in each of the redactional levels (especially the earliest) can still be explained by the use of diverse sources, but both schools now can explain the diversity due as well to the theological interests and/or historical circumstances of the diﬀerent redactors (pre-exilic, pro-monarchical versus exilic, antimonarchical; historical versus prophetic versus nomistic). In fact, separating out the redactors according to such diverse interests creates a more uniﬁed initial redaction (Dtr1 and DtrG/DtrH) with each successive redaction having its own literary unity based on the redactional interests of the later redactor(s). Much of the energy in scholarly discussions has been devoted to discerning the diﬀerent Deuteronomistic redactional layers and issues related to this process (for example, dating the pre-exilic redaction or how many nomistic redactors there were). However, additional support for the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings has been gathered. The best example of such additional support is in the work of Moshe Weinfeld, who has provided us with an excellent resource on the ‘linguistic uniformity’ that Noth observed in his appendix on ‘Deuteronomic Phraseology’.6 Weinfeld’s appendix spans 45 pages and includes over 100 phrases that are found in more than one of the books of the Deuteronomic History. For example, the phrase ‘to do that which is evil in the sight of the Lord’ occurs numerous times in Deuteronomy, Judges, Samuel, Kings and the prose sermons in Jeremiah, but occurs rarely elsewhere. Even a causal look at Weinfeld’s appendix reveals signiﬁcant phraseological similarities among the books of the Deuteronomic History, thereby highlighting their literary connections. If Noth’s thesis was an attempt to explain both the literary unity and diversity in Deuteronomy through Kings, then this has also been the case with those scholars who have recently challenged his thesis. As we will see, all of these challenges acknowledge (even if only

6 M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), pp. 320–65.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 319 implicitly) the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings, but emphasise the diversity of the books. They also all arrive at diﬀerent conclusions from Noth concerning what process produced this literary unity. I will discuss three scholars who recently have challenged Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History, taking them in order of what I see as moving further and further from Noth’s original thesis. In his 1994 sketch introducing the collection of his work on the Deuteronomistic History,7 Ernst Würthwein questioned some basic elements of Noth’s thesis. Würthwein argued that the direction of inﬂuence ran the opposite direction—that is, from Kings to Samuel to Judges to Joshua. Since each book was added in front of the other book(s), each book had a certain independence from the others; however, Joshua through Kings still has a literary unity in that each book was written to precede the other(s). Even with this revision Würthwein remained within the Göttingen school by his discussion of later revisions of DtrH by DtrP and DtrN. Würthwein basically accepted Noth’s understanding of a literary unity of Joshua through Kings, but explained the origins of this unity diﬀerently (1) by reversing the direction of inﬂuence among the books (Kings to Joshua), (2) by explaining the diversity by giving each book a more independent development, and (3) by drawing from the revision of Noth’s thesis by the Göttingen school of Smend, Dietrich and Veijola. He did not reject the literary unity of the Deuteronomistic History, even though he did not explicitly discuss the relationship of Deuteronomy to Joshua through Kings. He simply had a diﬀerent explanation for how this unity came to be. In ways quite similar to Würthwein, Graeme Auld critiqued Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History.8 Auld also privileged Kings so

7 E. Würthwein, ‘Erwägungen zum sog. Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk. Eine Skizze’, in idem, Studien zum Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (BZAW, 227; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1994), pp. 1–11. 8 A. G. Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets, or What Makes the Former Prophets Deuteronomistic?’, in L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism ( JSOTSup, 268; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 116–26. See also idem, ‘The Deuteronomists between History and Theology’, in A. Lemaire and M. Saebø (eds.), Congress Volume: Oslo 1998 (VTSup, 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 353–67 (358). In ways similar to Würthwein and Auld, Claus Westermann argues for independent development of each of the books of Joshua through Kings. However, he also allows that a Deuteronomistic redactor may have worked through these individual books. See

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that he saw the literary inﬂuence running from Kings to Deuteronomy as each book is added prior to the following book(s). In this way (like Würthwein), Auld accepted the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings, but rejected Noth’s explanation of the origins of this unity (1) by reversing the direction of inﬂuence among the books (Kings to Deuteronomy) and (2) by explaining the diversity by giving each book a more independent development. Because of his understanding of the origin of this literary unity, Auld rejected the term ‘Deuteronomistic’ as referring to this literary work, noting that Noth’s use of the term was based on his argument that the inﬂuence began with Deuteronomy. However, Auld’s rejection of the term ‘Deuteronomistic’ was not a rejection of the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings based on linguistic and thematic similarities. For example, Auld wrote recently ‘Deuteronomy is intimately connected to Joshua to Kings; but to call these books Deuteronomistic may be to misread the direction of inﬂuence’.9 The recent challenge that most directly questions the validity of Noth’s original thesis is that of Ernst Knauf.10 Knauf did not challenge the observation that there is a linguistic similarity between the books of Deuteronomy through Kings. His argument was not a rejection of this similarity, but a very diﬀerent explanation for it. ‘Dtr’ designates a literary style . . . as well as a group of theological notions such as those of the ‘conquest of the promised land’ and of the ‘covenant’ (that is to say the berit, which means ‘vassal treaty’). This style and this theology are both derived from Assyrian imperialism. . . . Since the Dtr texts have been produced over a long period— from the court of Josiah up to the ﬁnal addition to the book of Jeremiah in the second century bce—Dtr style conceals a vast multiplicity of theological positions.11

If ‘Dtr style’ applies to literature that spans 300 or more years, then Knauf correctly noted that one individual cannot be the author of this material. Another possible explanation—‘a homogeneous group’

C. Westermann, Die Geschichtsbücher des Alten Testaments: Gab es ein deuteronomistisches Geschichtswerk? (TBü, 87; Gütersloh: Christian Kaiser, 1994). 9 Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists between History and Theology’, pp. 362–63. 10 E. A. Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DH) Exist?’, in A. de Pury, T. Römer and J.-D. Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs Its History: Deuteronomistic Historiography in Recent Research ( JSOTSup, 306; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2000), pp. 388–98. 11 Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DH) Exist?’, p. 389.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 321 (that is, the ‘Dtr school’)—Knauf believed is unlikely. Rather, he argued that this literary style was more widespread based on Assyrian inﬂuence on the culture and he could, therefore, conclude that there must have been ‘several “Dtr schools” with their own texts’.12 Therefore, Knauf could account for the unity of this literature based on linguistic similarities by positing that the style was a common style based on Assyrian inﬂuence and used by various scribal schools as well as account for the diversity within the literature as due to various individuals and/or groups in diﬀerent historical periods producing the literature using this common style. In The Deuteronomic School: History, Social Setting, and Literature, I revised Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History, drawing from four diﬀerent perspectives to advance the conversation concerning this literature: (1) the use of text-critical controls for redactional arguments, (2) the contribution of the study of oral tradition to understanding the composition and transmission of biblical texts in ancient Israel, (3) arguments for a postexilic setting for the Deuteronomic History, and (4) the use of comparative material (especially Udjahorresnet and Qumran) to understand scribal guilds in ancient Israel. I argued that, although the Deuteronomic School had its roots in the preexilic bureaucracy of the monarchy, the redaction history of the Deuteronomic History began during the Babylonian exile and continued into the Persian period. Since my understanding of the Deuteronomic History has not changed signiﬁcantly since the publication of this monograph, below I will simply respond directly to Würthwein, Auld and Knauf on the issue as a way of providing further clariﬁcation of my understanding of the Deuteronomic History. Würthwein, Auld and Knauf all accepted that there is a stylistic similarity in Deuteronomy through Kings. Würthwein accepted the label ‘Deuteronomistic’ for the redaction process that produced this similarity; Auld rejected the term ‘Deuteronomistic’ but nevertheless maintains that Deuteronomy through Kings has a literary unity based on a common redactional history; and Knauf argued that the similarities are strictly due to the cultural norms of the various individuals or schools that produced these works, so that they share no redactional history.

12

Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DH) Exist?’, p. 393.

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With Würthwein and Auld, I argue that the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings is due to a common redactional history. I agree with Auld that, if ‘Deuteronomistic’ requires Noth’s understanding of the literary inﬂuence moving from Deuteronomy to Kings, then the term should be rejected. However, I do not think that the term requires this understanding; in the current literature the term already means more than what Noth originally meant by the term. Although I am well aware of the diﬃculty of translating what one scholar’s use of ‘Deuteronomistic’ is versus another scholar’s use,13 I nevertheless think that the term remains useful, even though one must carefully devote signiﬁcant energy, on the one hand, to explicating what one means by the term and, on the other hand, to understanding what others mean by the term. The term does preference the book of Deuteronomy when discussing the books of Deuteronomy through Kings, but I think that this preference can be defended synchronically from the perspective of the present literary work, even if the literary history of the work did not begin with an early form of Deuteronomy. Therefore, although I may have preferred a diﬀerent term if I had some say from the beginning, I nevertheless do not have diﬃculty justifying the continued use of Deuteronomistic or Deuteronomic, when referring to this literature and the group that produced it. However, since I do not share Noth’s clear distinction between ‘Deuteronomic’ and ‘Deuteronomistic’, I prefer to use ‘Deuteronomic’ as the simpler of the two terms to refer to all of the literature and its various redactional layers. Like both Würthwein and Auld, I am not convinced that the inﬂuence among the books ran unilinearly from Deuteronomy to Kings as Noth suggested. Although one may want to give theological privilege to the Mosaic law as presented in Deuteronomy from a synchronic perspective of the present text, this theological privilege certainly does not require an understanding of the redactional history of the written literary work to begin with an early version of the law. The law may have been primarily in oral tradition or the Deuteronomic version of the law may have come later. It is cer-

13 On this problem, see especially R. Coggins, ‘What Does “Deuteronomistic” Mean?’, in J. Davies, G. Harvey and W. G. E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer ( JSOTSup, 195; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1995), pp. 135–48.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 323 tainly possible that, as Würthwein and Auld argue, the literary history began with the material most recent to the authors/redactors, who worked backwards from Kings to Joshua and then prefaced this with their understanding of the law in Deuteronomy. However, my own position is to not give preference to either direction. The redaction history of the Deuteronomic History spanned such a long period of time that I cannot reach an informed opinion about the issue of which of the books were written ﬁrst. As found in all of the extant texts, the Deuteronomic History betrays such a complex intertextuality between the various books that I suspect that the direction of inﬂuence ran in multiple directions over the redaction history of the text in such ways that it is probably impossible to conclude which book was written ﬁrst. This is also the case at the level of phraseology. For example, the phrase ‘to do that which is evil in the sight of the Lord’ is found numerous times in Deuteronomy, Judges, Samuel, Kings and the prose sermons in Jeremiah. All of the occurrences of this phrase could not have been written at the same time, so certainly one occurrence of this phrase must have been the ﬁrst occurrence. However, whenever one reads this phrase wherever it might occur, all of the other occurrences are referenced to some extent; thereby from the perspective of the literature itself which occurrence was written ﬁrst may be inconsequential. Therefore, even though I would like to know which book or which occurrence of a particular phrase was written ﬁrst, this is a modern question that is unanswerable. We must be complacent with the acknowledgement that the literature betrays signiﬁcant intertextual inﬂuences, which may run in various directions. I certainly agree with Knauf that the redaction history of the material associated with what he calls the ‘Dtr style’ spans a long period of time. I also agree that the literature betrays a diversity of theological positions. These two observations together certainly suggest that no one individual was responsible for this material, greatly questioning Noth’s idea of the Deuteronomistic Historian and even the Harvard school’s notion of two individuals (Dtr1 and Dtr2). Interestingly, the current understanding of many scholars in the Göttingen school has so many diﬀerent redactional layers, especially in DtrN, that Knauf ’s criticism seems not to apply as much to the Göttingen school. Although I agree with Knauf on these points, I think he too easily rejected the idea of the Deuteronomic School. In fact his entire argument against this possibility is as follows: ‘it is besides rather

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unlikely that there would have been just one Dtr school’.14 Why is this so unlikely? And what exactly does he mean by ‘just one Dtr school’? If ‘just one Dtr school’ means only one group of scribes, each one of whom were active when all of the redactional work was done on the Deuteronomic literature, then I would agree that this is unlikely for the same reasons that it is unlikely that one individual in one historical period produced this literature. However, if Knauf meant that it is unlikely that some speciﬁc group of scribes were organised in such a way so as to perpetuate their own basic theological concerns expressed with a certain amount of linguistic uniformity over a long span of time, then I must disagree. It seems to me that very few of the ancients could write, so much so that there would rarely be more than one scribal school active in one speciﬁc location, especially within one speciﬁc institution in that location.15 Since the society required the service of this scribal group for recording purposes as well as for the transmission of whatever authoritative texts there may have been, the school would continue for quite some time by protecting its craft and knowledge from those outside the guild through a careful and regimented training routine. Therefore, signiﬁcant changes in scribal groups or schools would occur in the context of signiﬁcant societal change. This certainly diﬀers signiﬁcantly from Knauf ’s notion that there were ‘several “Dtr schools,”’ if by this he means that there are several scribal schools working contemporaneously in the same location. Würthwein, Auld and Knauf correctly identiﬁed some problems with Noth’s thesis of the Deuteronomistic History; however, none of these problems necessarily requires a full rejection of the core of Noth’s thesis—that is, that Deuteronomy through Kings is a literary unity produced by a common redactional process that can be labelled as the Deuteronom(ist)ic History. Therefore, I answer the question ‘Is there a Deuteronom(ist)ic History?’ with an aﬃrmative answer based on signiﬁcant revisions to Noth’s original thesis.

14 15

Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DH) Exist?’, p. 391. See further, Person, Deuteronomic School, pp. 60–63, 98–101.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 325 1.2. When was the Deuteronomic History redacted? Martin Noth dated his ‘Deuteronomistic Historian’ to the exilic period:16 Dtr. wrote in the middle of the sixth century bce when the history of the Israelite people was at an end; for the later history of the postexilic community was a completely diﬀerent matter—both its internal and external conditions were diﬀerent—and it was the Chronicler who ﬁrst thought of explaining it as a linear continuation of the earlier history of the nation.

Noth’s dating—based solely on the assumption that the work was written shortly after the last mentioned event (about 560 bce)—has been widely accepted, even though few scholars today accept his idea that Deuteronomy through Kings is primarily the redactional work of one individual. Those who argue for two redactions (Dtr1 and Dtr2) have accepted Noth’s dating and applied it to their last redaction. Those who argue for three (or more) redactions (DtrG, DtrP, DtrN) have generally accepted his dating and applied it to their ﬁrst two redactions. In other words, both schools’ revisions accepted Noth’s dating, but diﬀer in that one revision postulates an earlier redaction to Noth’s exilic work, while the other postulates two (or more) later redactions. Clearly Noth’s argument for dating the Deuteronomistic History to the exile is inadequate, but few scholars have directly questioned his dating. Two who have are Robert Carroll and Graeme Auld. Carroll wrote:17 it should not be assumed that Deuteronomistic circles operated for a brief period and then disappeared; nor should the possibility of a much later (i.e., ﬁfth-century) date for Deuteronomistic activity be ruled out a priori. The termination of the history with an episode from c. 560 (II Kings 25.27–30; cf. Jer. 52.31–34) does not necessarily date the history to the mid-sixth century. It may simply represent a positive ending of the story of the kings of Israel and Judah with a detail from the life of the last living Judaean king.

Auld, in his characteristically sardonic style, wrote:18 16

Noth, Deuteronomistic History, p. 79. R. P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 1986), p. 67. 18 A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 41–44 (44). 17

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raymond f. person, jr. The fact that Kings ends with the fate of Judah’s last king tells us no more about the date of composition (generally believed exilic) than the fact that the Pentateuch ends with the death of Moses.

In my own work I have presented various arguments dating the Deuteronomic school’s redactional activity not only to the exilic period, but extending into the postexilic period.19 My redactional arguments make extensive use of text-critical evidence, including postLXX additions to the MT of various passages in the Deuteronomic History that contain both Deuteronomic phraseology and evidence of postexilic origins.20 A brief summary of my reconstruction of the Deuteronomic school is as follows: The destruction of Jerusalem and the Babylonian exile produced signiﬁcant social changes that dramatically impacted earlier institutions, including the scribal guilds. The Deuteronomic school grew out of this social restructuring in Babylon based on the remnants of the pre-exilic scribal guilds and their existing literature and began to produce Deuteronomic literature based on these pre-exilic sources. The Deuteronomic school later returned to Jerusalem, probably under Zerubbabel, to provide scribal support for the rebuilding of the temple and continued its redactional activity. In both the exilic period and early restoration period the Deuteronomic school thrived under the support of the exiled Judean bureaucracy and the Persian-supported restoration administrations. However, the hopes of the Deuteronomic school relating to the restoration of Israel symbolised by the idealised past glory under David and Solomon went unfulﬁlled and increasingly the Deuteronomic school’s theology became eschatological. As the Deuteronomic school became increasingly critical of the Persiansupported administration in Jerusalem, the Persian empire needed to respond. The response came in the form of the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah, leading to the social support of the Deuteronomic school being undercut and hence to the school’s demise. Ezra and the scribes who accompanied him certainly would have had a diﬀerent theological perspective, even though they may have had the same

19 See R. F. Person, Jr., Second Zechariah and the Deuteronomic School ( JSOTSup, 167; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993); idem, The Kings-Isaiah and KingsJeremiah Recensions (BZAW, 252; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1997); and, most importantly, idem, Deuteronomic School. 20 See esp. Person, Deuteronomic School, chapters 1–2.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 327 beginnings as the Deuteronomic school. In short, the Deuteronomic school began in the Babylonian exilic community, returned to Jerusalem under Zerubbabel, and declined signiﬁcantly due to Ezra’s imposition of a diﬀerent authoritative literature, especially relating to the law of Moses. This complicated and varied history of the Deuteronomic school over a long period of time would certainly explain the diverse theological perspectives in the literature—that is, this diversity is due to the use of diverse sources from the pre-exilic period and beyond as well as the school’s changing theology in light of dramatic historical and social events, such as the Babylonian exile, the restoration of the Jerusalem temple, and the school’s displacement by Ezra and his scribes. At the same time, the idea that this same school had a long history explains how Deuteronomic language that betrays what Noth saw as a ‘linguistic uniformity’ is used to express these diverse theological perspectives. That is, even though scribes may continue to use the Deuteronomic phraseology that they were taught by their predecessors, these same scribes must respond theologically to their own times, thereby producing theological perspectives that may diﬀer from their predecessors. In this way, I strive to explain both the literary unity of Deuteronomy through Kings and the theological and literary diversity in these same books. 2. The Chronicler’s History Similar to his understanding of the Deuteronomistic History, Noth understood that the books of Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah were a literary unity, the result of the work of a single individual, the Chronicler. The major diﬀerence between the Deuteronomistic History and the Chronicler’s History was temporal—the exilic Deuteronomistic History ended with the mention of Jehoiachin in exile and the Hellenistic Chronicler’s History ended with the mention of the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah.21 In this section, I will re-examine Noth’s arguments, focusing on two questions. First, can we speak of a literary unity called the Chronicler’s History? Second, when should this work be dated? Drawing heavily from the work of other scholars, I will conclude that (1) Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah exhibit a

21

Noth, Chronicler’s History, pp. 69–73.

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degree of literary unity because of their being produced within the same scribal school and (2) that Chronicles probably predates Ezra and Nehemiah. 2.1. Is there a Chronicler’s History? Noth’s thesis of the literary unity of the Chronicler’s History being based on authorship by one individual is still accepted by some scholars;22 however, his thesis has been revised in various ways, including postulating diﬀerent Chronistic redactors23 and by understanding Chronicles as independent of Ezra–Nehemiah.24 Although there are diﬀerent understandings of how many authors are responsible for the books of Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah, there remains agreement that there is a certain degree of literary and theological unity among the books.25 Therefore, although I cannot agree with the thesis that one author was responsible for ‘the Chronicler’s History’, I nevertheless think that discussing Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah as coming from a similar school of thought continues to have credence. In fact, I readily agree with Rainer Albertz when he writes, ‘In my view the literary evidence is best explained by the assumption of several authors in a closed group of tradents who were active over a lengthy period’.26 Although Albertz’s comments concerned simply Chronicles, I would extend them to include all of Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah, postulating a scribal school that produced these diﬀerent works. In this way, I can account for their similarities, but I can also allow for arguments that, on the basis of certain dissimilarities, suggest diﬀerent

22

For example, see S. L. McKenzie, ‘The Chronicler as Redactor’, in M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture ( JSOTSup, 263; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 70–90. 23 For a review of scholarship on multiple redactions of Chronicles, see McKenzie, ‘Chronicler as Redactor’, pp. 71–80. 24 For an excellent summary of this issue, see R. W. Klein, ‘Chronicles, Books of 1–2’, in ABD 1:992–1002 (993). In addition, James VanderKam argues for diﬀerent authors for Ezra and Nehemiah. See J. C. VanderKam, ‘Ezra-Nehemiah or Ezra and Nehemiah?’, in E. C. Ulrich (ed.), Priests, Prophets, and Scribes: Essays on the Formation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp ( JSOTSup, 149; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1992), pp. 55–75. 25 For one recent example, see J. W. Wright, ‘The Fabula of the Book of Chronicles’, in Graham and McKenzie, The Chronicler as Author, pp. 136–55. 26 R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period (trans. J. Bowden; OTL; 2 vols; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994), 2:654, n. 9.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 329 authors for the books and/or diﬀerent redactors within the same book.27 2.2. When were the books of Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah written? Noth’s dating to the Hellenistic period was based on his argument for the literary unity of the Chronicler’s History and what he understood as a somewhat confused use of source materials relating to the mission of Ezra and Nehemiah—that is, the Chronicler was removed far enough from the events described in the source materials that he made certain errors when he combined them.28 Many of those scholars who have argued that Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah have diﬀerent authors have also argued for an earlier date for Chronicles, preferring the late Persian period. That is, when the later historical references to the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah are no longer considered, Chronicles can be dated earlier. In their excellent summaries of the issue of dating Chronicles both Ralph Klein and Kai Peltonen reach the conclusion that the late Persian period is the probable date, but neither are willing to state this with much certainty, allowing reasonable dates to span the late Persian period and the early Hellenistic period.29 My own understanding for the dating of Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah will be discussed in more detail in the next section, but for the moment I will simply state that, due to my understanding of the literary relationship between Chronicles and the Deuteronomic History, Chronicles should be dated to the late Persian period and Ezra and Nehemiah were produced by later authors/redactors in the same scribal tradition.

27

My argument here is certainly analogous to my argument for the Deuteronomic school’s redactional activity over a lengthy period of time. See Person, Deuteronomic School, esp. chapters 3–4. 28 Noth, Chronicler’s History, pp. 69–73. 29 Klein, ‘Chronicles’, pp. 995–96 and K. Peltonen, ‘A Jigsaw without a Model? The Date of Chronicles’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period ( JSOTSup, 317; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 225–71.

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raymond f. person, jr. 3. The Relationship between the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah

Noth’s understanding of the Deuteronomistic History and the Chronicler’s History were very similar. He thought that both historiographic works were primarily the product of one individual, whose work could be dated not too long after the last historical events reported. The primary diﬀerence between these works was due to the time period in which they were written; the Deuteronomistic History was exilic and the Chronicler’s History was postexilic. Since the Chronicler’s History came later, the Chronicler could use the Deuteronomistic History as his primary source for Chronicles.30 With an exilic date for the Deuteronomistic History and the lapse of time between the Deuteronomistic Historian and the Chronicler, Noth argued that the Chronicler used a proto-MT of the Deuteronomistic History, ‘the traditional books of Samuel and Kings in the form that we now know them’.31 Noth’s understanding has been extremely inﬂuential in discussions of historical linguistics for Biblical Hebrew, for his dating scheme for the Deuteronomistic History and the Chronicler is assumed in most studies of Standard Biblical Hebrew and Late Biblical Hebrew. The exilic Deuteronomistic History provides the primary basis for understanding Standard Biblical Hebrew in comparison to the Late Biblical Hebrew of the postexilic Chronicler’s History.32 As demonstrated above, many parts of Noth’s understanding have been challenged and revised. Few scholars think that the Deuteronomic History was primarily produced by one individual and increasingly scholars are dating some Deuteronomic redaction to the postexilic period. Many scholars now question whether Ezra and Nehemiah were written by the same individual as Chronicles. Furthermore, based on knowledge of the Dead Sea Scrolls and a reassessment of the value of the LXX, few scholars would agree with Noth’s assumption that the Chronicler used a proto-MT of the Deuteronomistic History.33 Together these diﬀerent perspectives require a careful re-

30

See esp. Noth, Chronicler’s History, pp. 51–61. Noth, Chronicler’s History, p. 52. 32 For a brief, but excellent, review of the development of this understanding of historical linguistics, see Young, ‘Introduction’. 33 See the summary of this issue in Klein, ‘Chronicles’, pp. 995–96. 31

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 331 examination of Noth’s thesis. In this section, I will summarise two challenges to Noth’s thesis—the work of Graeme Auld and the work of his student, Robert Rezetko—before discussing my own proposal that the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah are contemporary historiographies from competing scribal schools. Graeme Auld has proposed that Samuel–Kings and Chronicles have a common source, what he called ‘the Shared Text’ and the ‘Book of Two Houses’.34 Auld built signiﬁcantly upon text-critical work, especially that of Julio Trebolle and Steven McKenzie, that suggests that MT Samuel–Kings has undergone independent expansive revisions so much so that MT Samuel–Kings could not be the source for Chronicles.35 This allowed him to make the argument that the Chronicler did not omit signiﬁcant sections of text, because the non-synoptic sections in Samuel–Kings can be explained as additions to the common source. When he reconstructed this ‘Shared Text’, he found a historiographical narrative concerning the monarchy in Judah that is, in his judgement, ‘coherent and self-suﬃcient’.36 The idea of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles having a common source itself is not that controversial, for the consensus understanding that MT Samuel–Kings and MT Chronicles are both descended from an earlier redactional form of Samuel–Kings is really also an argument for a common source. The controversial aspects of Auld’s thesis concern how accurately one can reconstruct a common source without using an earlier text-type (e.g., LXX Samuel–Kings) as a control and his rejection of ‘Deuteronomistic’ to apply to the common source (and, in fact, to Deuteronomy through Kings). Although I certainly argue that the Deuteronomic School used earlier sources in its production of the Deuteronomic History and that the authors/ redactors of Chronicles used earlier sources (at least some form of Samuel–Kings), I remain sceptical that we can adequately isolate

34 Auld ﬁrst proposed this thesis in A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets Through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23 (7–8). His fullest development of the thesis is in A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). For excellent bibliographic summary of others who have proposed a common source, Auld’s thesis, and Auld’s response to his critics, see R. Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew: Evidence from Samuel–Kings and Chronicles’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 215–16, nn. 2–3. 35 Auld, Kings without Privilege, pp. 6–9. 36 Auld, Kings without Privilege, p. 40.

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redactional layers and original sources well enough to be able to establish who the authors were or were not for any particular source.37 Because of my scepticism, I do not have adequate information to conﬁrm or discount his thesis that there was a non-Deuteronomistic common source used independently by the individuals that produced both Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. My understanding of the development of the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah allows for either possibility. In his work, Auld ‘summarily answered’ the expected criticism of his thesis on the basis of historical linguistics for biblical Hebrew.38 Some of his critics have used the consensus linguistic model of Samuel–Kings representing pre-exilic Standard Biblical Hebrew and Chronicles representing postexilic Late Biblical Hebrew to reject his thesis altogether and Auld has not given a detailed response to these criticisms. However, Auld’s student, Robert Rezetko, has presented an excellent argument that undercuts these linguistic objections, even though Rezetko himself does not give unqualiﬁed support to Auld’s thesis.39 Rezetko began by summarising various arguments about the diﬃculty of using linguistic evidence for dating biblical texts. He then carefully analysed 16 features of what is generally considered Late Biblical Hebrew and demonstrated that ‘the conventional diachronic explanation is inadequate’.40 For example, one of the 16 features concerns the ﬁrst person pronoun. He wrote:41 it is misleading to claim that ykna in Samuel and Kings is ‘systematically’ replaced by yna in Chronicles ‘wherever’ the former is found. In fact, if one considers synoptic passages, ykna occurs in both Samuel and Chronicles on a single occasion; yna occurs in both Samuel–Kings and Chronicles on eight occasions; ykna occurs in Samuel–Kings and yna occurs in Chronicles on only four occasions. Interestingly, all three situations appear in 2 Samuel 7//1 Chronicles 17. Finally, in the Bible

37 For an excellent discussion of the history of research and current problems in source critical work on Chronicles, see K. Peltonen, ‘Function, Explanation and Literary Phenomena: Aspects of Source Criticism as Theory and Method in the History of Chronicles Research’, in Graham and McKenzie, The Chronicler as Author, pp. 18–69. Peltonen shares my scepticism concerning the identiﬁcation of redactional layers and sources (p. 66). On my own scepticism, see further Person, Deuteronomic School, pp. 24–26. 38 Auld, Kings without Privilege, pp. 9–10. 39 Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’. 40 Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, p. 222. 41 Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, pp. 225–26.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 333 as a whole I am aware of 14 occasions on which both forms occur side by side in the same verse.

He has clearly provided much linguistic data that those who strive to maintain the consensus model of historical linguistics of biblical Hebrew must explain. He then makes some excellent methodological suggestions for how to proceed further in the linguistic study comparing Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. Rezetko has provided some support to Auld’s thesis by undercutting one of the objections made by Auld’s critics; however, this does not mean that his work necessarily supports Auld’s thesis.42 Likewise, his arguments do not necessarily provide support for my arguments for postexilic redactional activity in the Deuteronomic School, but they certainly undercut critics who have rejected my arguments due to their understanding of the historical development of biblical Hebrew. Rezetko’s arguments certainly allow for the possibility of the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles being contemporary works by raising other possible explanations for the diverse language between the two collections (e.g., dialect, diglossia). My reconstruction of the history of the Deuteronomic school, especially the comparative work I have done on scribal schools and the role of literacy in a primarily oral culture,43 have implications upon the relationship of the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles. The Deuteronomic History and Chronicles certainly have a common source between them. This common source, in my opinion, is an early redaction of the Deuteronomic History that was undertaken in the Babylonian exile.44 This would certainly explain the similarities

42 In his doctoral thesis Rezetko discusses how his arguments relate to Auld’s thesis without explicitly aﬃrming or rejecting it. He does, however, provide some suggestions of caution, which undercut Auld’s method to some degree. See R. Rezetko, ‘Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2004), pp. 287–300 (forthcoming as R. Rezetko, Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16 [LHBOTS; London: T & T Clark International, 2007]). 43 Person, Deuteronomic School, esp. chapters 3–4. 44 I prefer to refer to this common source as an early redaction of the Deuteronomic History rather than simply a common source, because, as discussed below, the Deuteronomic History preserves what was closer to the most likely type of Hebrew in this source (that is, Standard Biblical Hebrew) whereas Chronicles reﬂects the later type of Hebrew (Late Biblical Hebrew).

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between the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles. The dissimilarity can be explained simply by the history of the Deuteronomic School that ﬁrst produced this exilic common source—that is, this scribal guild experienced a division when the Deuteronomic School returned to Yehud probably under Zerubbabel. At this time you had two scribal communities with a common origin—the returnees in Jerusalem and those who remained in Babylon. Both scribal schools used this common source, but they continued to revise this source independently of one another, responding to their increasingly diverse social and theological perspectives and including additional source material.45 Over time this produced two diﬀerent historiographical works, the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles, each with its own unique theological perspective. These two diﬀerent works came into contact with each other when Ezra and his accompanying scribes returned to Jerusalem to ‘introduce’ the Mosaic law with Persian support.46 Certainly this ‘introduction’ of the law with any accompanying authoritative literature would have conﬂicted to some degree with the law and authoritative literature in use in Second Temple Jerusalem before Ezra’s mission. Furthermore, the introduction of a competing scribal guild would certainly have undercut the authority of the scribal guild that had been active in the Jerusalem bureaucracy before Ezra. This circumstance provides an excellent explanation as to why the Deuteronomic School declined and eventually ceased to exist and why the scribal school responsible for Chronicles continued and can also be associated with the later books of Ezra and Nehemiah.

45 For example, MT 1 Samuel 16–18 is a conﬂation of two stories of David and Goliath, one preserved in LXX 1 Samuel 16–18 and another story. This conﬂation probably occurred sometime in the early postexilic period. See Person, Deuteronomic School, pp. 37–39. Although I am sceptical about reliable reconstruction of sources without text-critical evidence, I nevertheless think it is quite likely that these two scribal schools also preserved some of the sources of earlier compositions, thereby making them available to future authors/redactors. Therefore, I see no reason to exclude the possibility that some of the non-synoptic sections of the Deuteronomic History and Chronicles were inﬂuenced by such sources, even though I remain an agnostic on the question concerning speciﬁc cases where no text-critical evidence exists. 46 For an excellent discussion of the Persian administration’s possible intervention into local legal issues, see J. Blenkinsopp, ‘Was the Pentateuch the Civic and Religious Constitution of the Jewish Ethnos in the Persian Period?’, in J. W. Watts (ed.), Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (SBLSymS, 17; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), pp. 41–62.

the deuteronomic history and the books of chronicles 335 One of the criticisms of my work has been based on the consensus model of historical linguistics for biblical Hebrew. As we have seen above, Rezetko has presented signiﬁcant diﬃculties with the consensus model’s understanding of the relationship between Samuel– Kings and Chronicles, thereby providing an adequate response to these criticisms. Rezetko’s essay appears in a volume edited by Ian Young. In his concluding remarks, Young summarised the implications of the essays by those contributors that challenged the consensus model with a conclusion that provided a parallel argument for my reconstruction from a linguistic perspective as follows:47 Standard Biblical Hebrew (SBH) and Late Biblical Hebrew (LBH) represent diﬀerent dialects that co-existed during the exilic and early postexilic periods. SBH was the literary language of the monarchy, the Babylonian exile, and the early returnees to Persian Yehud and in this sense represents the ‘western’ dialect. LBH is connected with books that have a decidedly ‘eastern’ emphasis—Esther and Daniel are set in the eastern diaspora, Ezra and Nehemiah concern late returnees from the eastern diaspora, and possibly Chronicles. The ﬁrst appearance of some form of LBH (proto-LBH) occurs in Ezekiel, set in Babylon. In fact, as demonstrated by David Talshir,48 the return of Ezra and his entourage produced a signiﬁcant sociolinguistic change from SBH to LBH in that postexilic books before Ezra (Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi) use SBH and those after Ezra (Ezra, Nehemiah) use LBH. In other words, those who returned to Yehud early continued to use a form of SBH used in pre-exilic times, but those who remained in Babylon much longer developed a Hebrew with more Aramaic inﬂuences (LBH). Young’s reconstruction parallels mine well. The Deuteronomic School produced literature that spanned the exilic and early postexilic periods and that provided the core of what is known as Standard Biblical Hebrew—that is, the Deuteronomic History. When the Persian administration thought that it needed to reassert more control over Jerusalem, Ezra was commissioned to ‘introduce’ the law of Moses and other authoritative literature as developed in the eastern diaspora using LBH, including Chronicles. Thus, the Deuteronomic

47

I. Young, ‘Concluding Remarks’, in idem, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 315–17. D. Talshir, ‘The Habitat and History of Hebrew during the Second Temple Period’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 252–55. 48

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History and Chronicles were contemporary historiographies produced by competing scribal schools that nevertheless had a common origin. Although the Deuteronomic School was the oﬃcial scribal group deﬁning literary standards in the early Persian period, the scribal school associated with Ezra displaced the Deuteronomic School, thereby creating new standards for future literary compositions, including the books of Ezra and Nehemiah.

SWALLOWED BY A SONG: JONAH AND THE JONAH-PSALM THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS Hugh S. Pyper Scholars in a ﬁeld [sc. Biblical Studies] in which evidential control is so largely lacking need Alice’s constant encouragement to ponder the mirror: to ask whether there is quite as much going for the mirror image as is going for what we hold to be reality. Just occasionally, the opposite of our expectations turns out to be not only more exciting but even more convincing.1

With these words, Graeme Auld concludes the introduction to the collection of his essays entitled Samuel at the Threshold. It is in exactly that spirit and as a tribute to Auld’s inspiring example of subversive and rigorous scholarship that the topic of this paper arose. In a nutshell, what I propose to do is to use the mirror to look again at the book of Jonah and more speciﬁcally the psalm in its second chapter ( Jon 2.3–9), the so-called ‘Jonah-psalm’ (a term I shall use as convenient shorthand from now on). Doing so is certainly exciting and seems to me to give a more convincing reading of the present form of the book of Jonah as a uniﬁed inspiration. It may also allow us to make some fresh suggestions on a subject to which Auld has made notable contributions: the nature and origins of the so-called prophetic books. Practically since critical scholarship of Jonah began, scholars have found the need to explain the presence of this psalm within the book. One major problem for many commentators has been its note of triumph which sits ill with the fact that Jonah recites it while he is still in the belly of the great ﬁsh. A second problem is the fact that it makes no mention of the ﬁsh, something that might be expected to be on Jonah’s mind at that moment. Traditional readings which regard the book as a record of a historical event and more critical

1 A. G. Auld, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 3–9 (9).

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readings alike have a problem with these mismatches. There are other points of detail which make the ﬁt between the psalm and the rest of the book rather awkward. Most of the possible moves which could be made to explain this are to be found in the scholarly literature.2 One approach has been to see the psalm as a secondary addition to the book, possibly by another hand. Whether it was composed for the purpose, or had an independent existence has been debated. Other scholars, particularly in the wake of a seminal study by George Landes,3 have argued that the psalm was composed by the author of the prose of Jonah. The discrepancies are then often seen as a product of the book’s more general satirical ﬂavour. In such circles, there is a common view that the psalm is a kind of pastiche composed of familiar, even clichéd expressions and themes from the canonical book of Psalms, but heightened to the point of absurdity in a typical display of parodistic excess. The argument continues. Amongst all these diﬀerent approaches, however, there does seem to be a common assumption, which is that that the prose narrative of Jonah has a literary if not temporal priority. It either had a separate existence before the psalm, or else the psalm was composed or incorporated in the process of the production of the book of Jonah as a whole.4 It is this consensus that I want to challenge in the present paper. Holding a mirror to this account of reality leads us to ask the following question: Does the suggestion that the psalm in Jonah 2 precedes the prose of the book of Jonah and that it was the generative source for the narrative have any mileage? The suggestion is not entirely unprecedented despite the fact that the standard commentaries fail to mention it. One rather unexpected

2

For a concise review of the variety of positions, see J. M. Sasson, Jonah (AB, 27B; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1990), p. 205; H. J. Opgen-Rhein, Jonapsalm und Jonabook: Sprachgestalt, Entstehungsgeschichte und Kontextbedeutung von Jona 2 (SBB, 38; Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1997) provides an exhaustive source for such material. 3 G. Landes, ‘The Kerygma of the Book of Jonah: The Contextual Interpretation of the Jonah Psalm’, Int 21 (1967), pp. 3–31. 4 A succinct yet thorough and up-to-date review of the history of critical scholarship of Jonah and the place of the psalm in particular is to be found in C. Lichtert, ‘Un siècle de recherche à propos de Jonas’, published in two parts: RB 112 (2005), pp. 192–214; RB 112 (2005), pp. 330–54.

swallowed by a song

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source in particular anticipates and sums up the argument I want to propose. It is a verse of a song written by Paul Simon for his ﬁlm ‘One Trick Pony’ and goes as follows: They say Jonah was swallowed by a whale But I say there’s no truth in that tale I know Jonah Was swallowed by a song.

Paul Simon, I shall argue, speaks better than he knows. To cut a long story short, what I see in the mirror is that the book of Jonah is a kind of midrash derived by way of the Jonah-psalm from 2 Kgs 14.23–29. In more metaphorical terms, the Jonah-psalm swallows the prophet Jonah mentioned in 2 Kgs 14.25 and regurgitates him in a critique of a theology of retribution and a narrow view of Israel’s mission. To argue for this as a tenable position, the following questions will need to be addressed: (1) What evidence is there—or could there be—that the prose of Jonah is dependent on the psalm rather than the other way round? (2) Could the Jonah-psalm have had an independent existence? (3) How does the book of Jonah relate to 2 Kings 14? (4) Last but not least, what good does this mirror reading do us as biblical readers? 1. The Psalm Came First Contemporary readings of Jonah are legion, but I know of only one that oﬀers any sustained argument that the prose depends on the psalm. In his ‘Jonah from the Whale: Exodus Motifs in Jonah 2’, Alastair Hunter ends up repositioning the psalm as ‘the heart of the book’, as he puts it.5 His major concern in the paper is with the intertextual links between the Jonah-psalm and other biblical passages. Hunter acknowledges that these are extensive, but goes on to

5 A. Hunter, ‘Jonah from the Whale: Exodus Motifs in Jonah 2’, in J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001), pp. 142–58.

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argue for the integrity of the psalm as something far beyond mere pastiche. He also makes the important point that the structural and linguistic links between the psalm and the prose narrative, which are pointed out particularly by the defenders of compositional unity of Jonah, are in themselves neutral as markers of priority. A wider theory would have to be invoked to establish which of two similar usages came ﬁrst, or whether any question of priority is involved. Hunter makes the further case that the psalm itself has a narrative structure, comparing it in this regard with Psalms 55, 73, 82 and 132. It is, in his view, a combination, and possibly a unique one, of the themes of the river ordeal, as advocated by McCarter,6 and the Exodus. These are reapplied to express an individual’s spiritual experience of death and rebirth. The prose can then been seen as a drama which writes out the narrative structure of the psalm as an allegory. This allegory uses the structures, themes and vocabulary of the Exodus narrative, which is the founding myth for Israel’s claim to uniqueness, to set out a universal view of Israel’s mission as a light to the Gentiles. Hunter’s arguments for the integrity of the psalm seem to me to be convincing. The opposing arguments used by those who regard the psalm as an artiﬁcial pastiche are themselves open to a mirror reading. It is certainly possible to compile a list of the echoes and resonances between the Jonah-psalm and other canonical psalms.7 Surely, however, the same exercise could be carried out starting from almost any psalm with similar results. At the very least, the parallels with the Jonah-psalm could be reversed—any psalm which the Jonah-psalm resembles also resembles the Jonah-psalm. In any case, what conclusions can be drawn from these intertextual links? The existence of exodus motifs in any psalm is hardly proof that it is a pastiche of other exodus psalms. In this connection, Sasson’s reminder that great poets in Israel were not necessarily judged on their novelty is pertinent: Rather, they also include those who can marshal an abundance of metaphors, who can easily manipulate conventions, who can revital-

6 P. K. McCarter, ‘The River Ordeal in Israelite Literature’, HTR 66 (1973), pp. 403–12 (402). 7 See, for instance, T. M. Bolin, Freedom beyond Forgiveness: The Book of Jonah ReExamined ( JSOTSup, 236; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993), pp. 106–17.

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ize worn similes by an unexpected setting, who can split a beloved phrase into opposite lines, who can interrupt an expected cadence to stimulate attention. In brief, Israel’s most beloved bards are also those who creatively exploit the familiar before a savvy audience.8

The crucial question is this: If the Jonah-psalm had been found as an independent composition, or had been included in its present form in the Psalter, would the same questions as to its status have arisen? Would anyone have noticed that this psalm of all psalms was a pastiche? If not, then is it the fact that the psalm is found in Jonah which is the clue? The danger here is that this argument seems a case of assuming what one wishes to prove. The psalm must be a pastiche because it is a product of the satirical author of the book of Jonah who introduces its oddities as part of the exuberance of his parody. However, that is the very assumption that is being questioned here.9 It is also surely questionable at this point to turn the tables and argue from the other direction that it is the distinctive features of the psalm, notably its particular focus on the imagery of drowning, that mark it out as an oddity. Every psalm has features that align it with other psalms and also features that make it unique. Just to take one example almost at random: is Psalm 84 a scurrilous and parodic debunking of the holiness of the Jerusalem temple because of its unique mention that birds nest on the altars, or has a poetic eye seen the birds ﬂitting with impunity around the Holy of Holies and taken this as a metaphor of a common theme of the reverence of creation for the God of Israel and his temple and the extent of his mercy? The combination of shared and unique features is what makes it possible to talk of psalms as a genre. Nothing in the scholarly literature has convinced me that there is something so unique in this psalm’s combination of intertextual references and original features that it could not have been an independent composition.

8

Sasson, Jonah, p. 207. A. Brenner in her ‘Jonah’s Poem out of and within its Context’, in P. R. Davies and D. J. A. Clines (eds.), Among the Prophets: Language, Image and Structure in the Prophetic Writings ( JSOTSup, 144; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993), pp. 183–92 (190), admits that she reaches her verdict that the psalm is a parody because of the clues of parodic intent in the prose of the book. Without these, she writes, ‘I would have been happy to consider the prayer as an imagined sincere expression of a person in distress’. 9

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Intriguingly, one of the earliest historico-critical studies of this chapter of Jonah, J. G. A. Müller’s, ‘Jona, eine moralische Erzählung’ of 1794, also argues for the independence and pre-existence of the psalm and concludes, like Hunter, that it was used as the basis for an allegory of Israel’s mission written at a much later period.10 Müller makes a move, however, which exposes the weakness of any account of the book that seeks to give the psalm priority. He seems to take it for granted that the actual psalm was already linked to the ﬁgure of Jonah. Originally, however, according to Müller, Jonah composed it to express his thanksgiving for his rescue from drowning when he fell in a pond or some such body of water: hence the lack of mention of the great ﬁsh. This may seem farfetched and certainly this sort of reconstructed biography of Jonah is impossible to verify. Müller oﬀers no evidence to justify this link. If the psalm did have some kind of independent existence, it is certainly legitimate to wonder why the author of the prose of Jonah homed in on this psalm, rather than any other, as the basis of his prose narrative. The solution to that problem, insofar as it solvable, will be addressed towards the end of this paper. At this point in the argument it is necessary to answer a preliminary question. What evidence is there, or could there be, that the psalm was a source for the prose? 2. The Psalm as Source Hunter makes an argument for the psalm as a source for the prose based on the narrative structure he has uncovered in it. The theme of ‘going down’ represented by repeated occurrences of the verb dry in the ﬁrst chapter of the book and in the psalm can be read just as easily as a prose expansion of the psalm or as a poeticisation of the prose. In broad terms, I agree with his reading, but we can go further in linking the poem and the prose. Rather than concentrating on reconciling the poem to the prose, it seems to me that there are instances where distinctive or even anomalous features in the prose narrative are most economically explained as a product of the writer’s

10 J. G. A. Müller, ‘Jona, eine moralische Erzählung’, in H. E. G. Paulus (ed.), Memorabilien: Eine philosophisch-theologische Zeitschrift der Geschichte und Philosophie der Religionen, dem Bibelstudium und der morgenländischen Litteratur (8 parts; Leipzig: Siegfried Lebrecht Crusius, 1791–1796), part 6 (1794), pp. 142–50.

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reading of the psalm. The writer has read the psalm, literalising its metaphors.11 In what follows, I shall explore four of these instances. 2.1. The qîqàyôn ( Jonah 4.6) One of the remarkable features of the Jonah-psalm is its mention in 2.5 of the ‘weeds which are wrapped round my head’. More literal commentators have had problems with this, wondering why weeds would be a problem to Jonah in the ﬁsh’s belly at all, let alone a prime cause for complaint. Did the ﬁsh eat Jonah with a side-salad? Whatever the solution, it would seem that other problems would be more pressing from Jonah’s point of view. However, this is not the only reaction to the presence of this expression. It is often taken by literary commentators as an exaggerated literalisation of the metaphor of being overwhelmed by water found in Pss 42.6; 69.1–3; and Lam 3.54.12 Including the literal mention of seaweed is seen as one of the unique oddities of the psalm that suggests a parodic intent.13

11 This insight is to be found in several commentators. As an early example, see Bewer’s comments in J. A. Bewer, H. G. T. Mitchell and J. M. Powis Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi and Jonah (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1912), p. 23, ‘There can be no doubt that he who placed the psalm here interpreted the phrases connected with drowning literally’. Landes also sees the author as interpreting the psalm literally, ‘in contrast to the way it may have been understood when the prayer was used in the cult’ (‘Kerygma’, p. 13, n. 43). It is tantalising to see how such commentators realise the importance of reading and misreading in the fate of the psalm, but do not make the step of wondering whether that reading might have given rise to the prose, rather than making it the mechanism for a rather strained process of incorporating a psalm into pre-existing prose. 12 See also Ps 88.7 and 2 Sam 22.5. 13 For instance, J. R. Miles, ‘Laughing at the Bible: Jonah as Parody’, in Y. T. Radday and A. Brenner (eds.), On Humour and Comic in the Hebrew Bible ( JSOTSup, 92; Bible and Literature Series, 23; Sheﬃeld: The Almond Press, 1990), pp. 203–15 (209) (repr. of J. R. Miles, ‘Laughing at the Bible: Jonah as Parody’, JQR N.S. 65 [1975], pp. 168–81), says of this verse, ‘The detail of v.7, “seaweed wrapped around my head”, extravagant in any setting, has in its present setting the special extravagance of slapstick’. I have no wish to put a damper on this view, but there is, as we have seen, a more sober translation possible. In my view the fun with the weed begins with Jonah setting up his booth and sulking under his magic vomiting tree. For Y. Sherwood, in her fabulous (in both senses) and endlessly fascinating romp through the interpretative tradition in A Biblical Text and Its Afterlives: The Survival of Jonah in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), this verse, in which she follows Mile’s translation, is an example of how the book of Jonah ‘gives demythologisation a comic twist. It is eﬀectively de-demythologisation, de-metaphorisation, that turns demythologised images back into water and ﬂesh’

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In fact, the word πws is by no means unique to this psalm, nor does it have to mean ‘seaweed’. It can be found in Pss 106.7, 9, 22 and 136.13, 15. In these cases, it is always linked to the sea in the expression πwsAμy, the ‘Sea of Reeds’, or Red Sea, in an explicit echo of the use of this term in the account of the crossing of the sea in Exodus (e.g., Exod 13.18; 15.14; and Deut 11.4). Rashi, for one, makes the same link into the Jonah-psalm, following Targum Jonathan, and it is part of Hunter’s argument for the importance of the exodus theme in the psalm.14 What I want to suggest is that the parodic literalisation of this poetic motif is to be found not in the psalm’s innovative but not unprecedented combination of the ﬂood and exodus motifs, but in the prose of Jonah which picks up on this striking, but by no means exceptional, use of the word. The weed crops up in the story of the plant that grows to shade Jonah in 4.6. Weeds are literally wrapped around or covering his head in this strange episode. The need for a plant to shade Jonah when he has already made himself a booth to shade himself has puzzled commentators, but it is more likely that the booth comes into the story as a way to support the plant. The detail that makes this origin of the episode seem plausible is the explicit mention in Jon 4.6 that the shade of the plant is ‘over the head’ of Jonah, reinforced by another explicit mention that the sun strikes the ‘head of Jonah’ in Jon 4.8. That the plant grows out of the poem and the needs of the story is made clearer by its name in Hebrew, ˆwyqyq, (qîqàyôn) a word unique to Jonah 4 in the Hebrew Bible. The name itself echoes the verb ayq used in Jon 2.10 of the ﬁsh’s vomiting out of Jonah. The plant’s name may playfully suggest that it doubly sickens Jonah in its redu-

(p. 256, n. 176). This is a typically suggestive remark, but it only really comes into its own as a way of describing what the prose of Jonah does to the psalm. The present argument is that it is the prose that makes a real plant and a real ﬁsh out of the metaphors of the psalm. In Sherwood’s terms, the book of Jonah is itself part of the interpretative afterlife of the Jonah-psalm. 14 Rashi’s comment on this verse is rather wonderful. Quoting Targum Jonathan, he explains its rendering, ‘The Red Sea hangs over my head’ as follows. ‘For the Holy One, blessed be He, showed him the Reed Sea and how Israel crossed in its midst, for the ﬁsh’s two eyes were like two windows, and he would look and see everything in the sea’. See also J. Limburg, Jonah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press; London: SCM Press, 1993), pp. 104–13, for a fascinating collection of rabbinic interpretations.

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plication of the root. The common botanical identiﬁcations of it as a gourd or a castor oil plant seem the result of casting around by translators and commentators for a plant that would combine the features of rapid growth, desert habitat, rapid withering and an emetic eﬀect, although the plant’s powers of growth surpass anything genetic modiﬁcation could achieve. As it develops from the psalm, it takes up an unusual word from the prose and forms part of the binding between the two elements of the book. 2.2. The Fish Where does the ‘great ﬁsh’ come from? Parallel stories of heroes rescued by dolphins or being swallowed by a sea monster can be found in other literatures and may have suggested the theme,15 but my contention is that the ﬁsh in turn is spawned from the narrative implications of another literalised metaphor, the lwaç ˆfb in Jonah 2. In other places ˆfb is usually translated ‘womb’, but appears to be used more generally of internal organs. Perhaps an anatomically vague expression such as ‘belly’ in English is an appropriate translation in this regard. ‘The belly of Sheol’ is a unique expression in the Hebrew Scriptures but the metaphor of Sheol swallowing its victims is so well-known that it is used in comparisons.16 Given this, it is almost to be expected that the metaphor should be expanded to the idea of Sheol having a belly. After all it has a mouth, swallows people and then holds on to them, so a digestive system with a storage facility is a logical inference. Again, the search for parody in Jonah is misdirected when it latches on to this particular expression as a piece of self-conscious linguistic over-reaching. What I would argue is that this striking, but not unexpected, expression again triggered the imagination of the Jonah-writer as he pored over this increasingly intriguing psalm. The psalm goes further and clearly locates this ‘belly of Sheol’ in the sea. The petitioner in the psalm’s route to the belly of Sheol involves being cast into the deep and sinking through its waves to

15 The ancient parallels are discussed in A. Feuillet, ‘Les sources du livre de Jonas’, RB 54 (1947), pp. 161–86. 16 See, e.g., Prov 1.12; Hab 2.5; Isa 5.14. Intriguingly, Sheol is included in the list in Prov 30.15–16 of four insatiable things and there it is juxtaposed with ‘the barren womb’, although the word ˆfb is not used in this instance.

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the ‘heart of the seas’ ( Jon 2.3). The writer of the prose of Jonah, then, who needs to get his hero into the poem and give him a platform from which to declaim it, is faced with the following riddle posed by the poem’s own account of the location of its speaker: What has a big belly, swallows people, swims in the sea at God’s behest and could play the role of a rescuer while evoking Sheol? Psalm 104.26 gives a clear answer: Leviathan, who sports in the sea as God’s plaything, and who yet in Ps 74.14 is clearly identiﬁed with the destructive power of the sea. Leviathan is the one sent to the rescue. Those not convinced by such an intertextual move might argue that it would have been possible for the prose writer to have named Leviathan if he wished to invoke him here. Arguments over that kind of authorial decision are impossible to settle conclusively, but another (well-known) instance of the replacement of a common name by a description including the word lwdg comes to mind. In Gen 1.16 the sun is never named, but simply referred to as ‘the great light’. The standard explanation for this is that the author of Genesis 1 did not want to give any credence to the divinisation of the heavenly bodies and so adopted this rather dismissive description rather than risking, by a suggestion of the name, that the sun was anything more than mere matter. The tendency, already at work in Psalm 146, to reduce Leviathan from a primeval opponent worthy of God to nothing much more than God’s bath toy could, by analogy, reach a logical culmination in the description of Leviathan as nothing more than a ‘big ﬁsh’. Amos 9.3, which speaks simply of ‘the snake’ which Yhwh will command to bite those who seek to hide themselves from him in the depths of the sea, reinforces this point. At the same time it suggests another possible textual source for the idea of Jonah’s ﬂight to the sea and his encounter with the ﬁsh. To put the matter aphoristically, the belly gives rise to the ﬁsh as a logical narrative outworking of the metaphors of the psalm.17

17 Following A. G. Auld’s injunction to biblical scholars to look to Lewis Carroll’s Alice, and to Through the Looking-Glass in particular, for useful reminders, we might recall here Alice’s rather bewildered remark, ‘Do you know, I’ve had such a quantity of poetry repeated to me to-day . . . and it’s a very curious thing, I think—every poem was about ﬁshes in some way. Do you know why they’re so fond of ﬁshes, all about here?’ (L. Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and what Alice Found There

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In Sherwood’s words, although her point is not quite the same, ‘Jonah simply turns the metaphors into ﬂesh—his Pit/Sheol comes with matching blubber and ﬁns’.18 A potential problem here may actually explain a notorious oddity in the prose account: the fact that the ﬁsh seems to change gender on swallowing Jonah. Could the reason for this be as simple as the anomaly that Leviathan is conventionally male, but this ﬁsh has a ‘be†en’? Although not an anatomically exact term, as we have seen, it is predominantly used of the womb. In terms of the Jonah-psalm considered on its own, Jonah may be in Sheol’s womb just as well as its belly, but the psalmist, unlike the prose writer, does not have to have any kind of plausible account of how Jonah got there. Being swallowed is not a likely route to the womb of the ﬁsh, although the rabbinic tradition does seem to imagine that at times.19 It may be, however, that the competition between the grammatical gender and the metaphorical points that the narrator wants to draw from the psalm’s expression lwaç ˆfb, manifests itself in the ﬁsh’s otherwise odd change of sex. In these two examples a plausible case can be made that an oddity in the narrative portion of the book is best explained as a creative reading, or misreading, of the poem. Trying to explain the poem from the prose, however, is less successful, but is also unnecessary. The poem’s integrity means that it can be satisfactorily explained without resorting to the prose. Its intertextual links are not with the prose of Jonah, but with the other psalms. To bolster the argument, there are two other elements of the narrative that I would suggest can also be explained this way. [London: Macmillan, 1971], p. 188). The mysterious aﬃnity between poetry and ﬁsh may play its part in this development too. 18 Sherwood, A Biblical Text, p. 257. The diﬀerence here is that Sherwood sees a more general metaphorical extravagance and what she calls an ‘over-actualisation of the tradition’ in the book, which aﬀects the psalm as well as the prose, while I am arguing for a speciﬁc act of (over-)actualisation as a reading strategy by the Jonah-writer. 19 With typical ingenuity the rabbinic tradition faces the textual evidence head on and postulates two ﬁsh, male and female (for the sources here, and further discussion, see Limburg, Jonah, p. 110). Jonah is too comfortable in the capacious stomach of the male, so he spits Jonah into the mouth of the female, who is pregnant. The pressure of living in her womb with three hundred and sixty-ﬁve thousand baby ﬁsh ﬁnally brings Jonah to his senses and he calls on God. Are the rabbis here picking up on a vacillation in the author of the prose who wants to take the word both ways?

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2.3. Vows and Sacriﬁces ( Jonah 1.16) That a group of sailors of varied religious aﬃnities should sacriﬁce and make vows to Yhwh is remarkable in itself. However, if we suppose that the writer of Jonah knew of the book of Kings and was aware of the Deuteronomistic school, this element of the narrative has another edge. Deuteronomy is cautious of vows in any circumstances, certainly compared to Numbers, and Deut 12.11 makes it clear that vows, along with all other religious obligations, are to be mediated in ‘the place where the Lord your God will choose, to make his name dwell there’. Its attitude to sacriﬁce anywhere other than Jerusalem, and sacriﬁce made by self-appointed amateurs, is decidedly inhibitory. ‘Take heed that you do not oﬀer your burnt oﬀerings at every place that you see, but at the place which the Lord will choose in one of your tribes, there you shall oﬀer your burnt oﬀerings, and there you shall do all that I am commanding you’ (Deut 12.13). These attitudes shape the theological agenda of the books of Kings and their judgement of the northern monarchy. There is no legal provision in Deuteronomy for a non-Israelite to make acceptable sacriﬁces to the Lord. The situation where a bunch of miscellaneous non-Israelite sailors could make an acceptable sacriﬁce, and, by implication, while still at sea, let alone at an accepted cultic site, is not one that anyone who compiled the legal material of the Hebrew Bible seems to have envisaged. By contrast, the vows and sacriﬁces in the Jonah-psalm are rightly, in this view, centred on the temple in Jerusalem. The sailors however, who seem to be convinced that they are doing the right thing by Yahweh, would ﬁnd themselves in severe trouble under Deuteronomy’s strictures. Their good, indeed commendable, intention to honour Yahweh would be denounced by those guardians of Yahweh’s honour who ﬁnd the form their worship takes unacceptable. Once more, the vows and sacriﬁces and the allusion to the temple ﬁt naturally and unexceptionably into the psalm considered as an independent entity. They re-establish the psalmist’s communication with the God who had seemingly abandoned him. In the prose of Jonah, however, the mention of vow and sacriﬁce takes on the double edge of surprise but also unwitting oﬀence. A writer more concerned with the disposition rather than the ritual purity of his characters could, by this literalisation and displacement of the vow and the sacriﬁce, make a subtle point about the way in which gen-

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tiles sincerely concerned to honour the God of Israel could be rebuﬀed by an over-zealous ideology of purity. 2.4. ‘Those Who Pay Regard to Empty Nothings Forsake Their Faith’ ( Jonah 2.8) This often controversial verse also takes on a diﬀerent aspect, indeed almost becomes a mirror image of itself, depending on whether we interpret it within the bounds of the psalm alone, or within the wider prose context. As part of the psalm, it is a fairly conventional sideswipe at idolaters by a psalmist whose faith in Yhwh as protector has been tested. The temptation to abandon his belief in Yhwh has arisen, but his resolution to remain faithful has ﬁnally been vindicated. In this context, abandoning Yhwh for other gods has occurred to the psalmist as at least a theoretical possibility, but he is now in a position to proclaim it as a futile error. Read in the context of the prose, however, the verse takes on a new colour. The sailors and the Ninevites are unexpected cases of the literal enactment of this verse. They are idolaters who abandon their faith. In both cases, what they unexpectedly abandon is their faith in their idols in favour of a submission to the God of Israel whose power is made evident to them through Jonah, however reluctantly and even inadvertently that happens. A central message of the book, indeed, could be summarised in this unconventional but perfectly possible rereading of what otherwise seems a piece of standard anti-idolatrous polemic in Israel. Again, it is the psalm that provides the commonly accepted formula. It is the prose narrative that dramatises the less conventional and over-literal reinterpretation. These are four instances, I would submit, where a plausible case can be made that the creative misreading of the psalm, often dependent on a literalisation of metaphor, or defamiliarisation of a conventional statement, is the source for the prose of the book of Jonah. The hypothesis of the priority of the psalm oﬀers a more economical and consistent account of them than any of the conventional arguments. 3. Swallowing Jonah We have left dangling the question that Müller’s assumptions brought to our attention: what does Jonah have to do with all of this?

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In this regard, the commentary tradition is rather surprisingly wary of the obvious solution.20 There is only one other mention of Jonah the son of Amittai in the Hebrew Bible, in 2 Kings 14. The obvious move must be to see whether this passage might itself be the ‘point de départ’ for the book, as Eduard Nielsen puts it.21 When we do examine this verse in its context, what comes to the fore is that it is part of one of the summary accounts of an Israelite king’s career which seems to have given the Deuteronomistic compilers a particular theological problem. An attentive reader of Kings, and I hope it is not controversial to suggest that whoever wrote Jonah was eminently capable of very attentive reading, could not fail to notice the oddity of this passage and its subversive message, ironically made all the more obvious by the attempt of the Deuteronomists to smooth over the problem. 1 Kings 14.23–29 recounts the reign of King Jeroboam II of Israel. In typical Deuteronomistic fashion, the verdict on the king is harsh and simple. He did what was evil in the eyes of the Lord by continuing the practices of Jeroboam. The verdict may be clear, but

20 Notable exceptions to this generalisation are Y. Gitay, ‘Jonah the Prophet of Antirhetoric’, in A. B. Beck (ed.), Fortunate the Eyes that See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of his Seventieth Birthday (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 197–206, and E. Ben Zvi in his Signs of Jonah: Reading and Rereading in Ancient Yehud ( JSOTSup, 367; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2003) especially the chapter ‘A Tale of Two Jonahs and Two Accounts’, pp. 40–64. Gitay argues that the Jonah of the book of Jonah took warning from the Jonah of the book of Kings that his mission would be one of mercy, and therefore ﬂed, but this, as Ben Zvi points out, argues a kind of distinction between the two ﬁgures that is hard to sustain. Ben Zvi’s own account is characteristically thorough, but on the matter of 2 Kings 14 as a trigger for the book he is of the opinion that ‘Neither the basic structure of the two accounts, nor their details, nor their respective languages, point to such a trigger or seed’ (Ben Zvi, Signs of Jonah, p. 56). However, he goes on to point out the common theme of ‘a sinner king and divine blessing’ (p. 62) and the theological problem that this might raise. I agree with his verdict that ‘the book of Jonah is not written to be textually reminiscent of the account of Jonah or Jeroboam II in Kings’ (p. 47). That does not rule out the possibility that Kings was generative in some sense of the text nor that rereading 2 Kings 14 in the light of Jonah might shed light on the book of Jonah itself. 21 E. Nielsen, ‘Le message primitive du livre de Jonas’, RHPR 59 (1979), pp. 499–507. Another intriguing, and inﬂuential, reading which takes 2 Kgs 14.25 as the starting point is that by K. Budde, ‘Vermutungen zum “Midrasch des Buches der König”’, ZAW 12 (1892), pp. 37–51. Budde’s hypothesis is that Jonah, along with other odd texts such as Ruth and the Elijah/Elisha cycles, is a remnant of the midrash on Kings mentioned in 2 Chron 24.27. He proposes that the narrative portion of Jonah had its original home after 2 Kgs 14.27.

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there is a problem. Jeroboam managed to hold the throne for fortyone years, one of the longest reigns recorded in Kings. A simple theology of retribution would lead us to expect that this wicked king would quickly meet his deserts. Not only did he survive, but he expanded the boundaries of Israel, in itself a rather questionable virtue in the eyes of the Deuteronomistic writers. More than that, he did this in response to the Lord’s word as spoken by one ‘Jonah son of Amittai, the prophet, from Gath-hepher’ (the Hebrew is ambiguous as to whether Jonah or his father is designated as ‘the prophet’).22 Jonah, then, prophet or simply the son of a prophet, conveys a favourable word from the Lord to an evil king of the heretical northern kingdom which strengthens that kingdom. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that a reader of the book of Kings, troubled by the shrill nationalism and complacent reliance on Israel’s special status that he hears around him, happens on this story. Here he ﬁnds a prophet, or at any rate a messenger of God, whose word encourages the northern king. This is, as often pointed out, a very diﬀerent message about Jeroboam and his kingdom than the one given by Amos. If that has pricked our reader’s interest, the next verse will certainly deepen it. In it, there is an explicit theological apology for this turn of events. The fact that such an account has to be given emphasises the fact that this is not what one would expect. The apology turns on a divine word that, according to the writer of Kings, was not spoken. There was no decree that Israel would be utterly blotted out. Again, parts of Amos seem perilously close to such an unspoken word. The Lord thus used the unsavoury hands of Jeroboam to save Israel. Jonah here is the bearer of an unlikely word of succour to someone that the Deuteronomists at any rate see as an opponent to true belief. Verse 28 is notoriously obscure. Did our ancient reader have the same problems with a text that needs to be read and re-read in the eﬀort to make sense of it? If so, was he struck by the repeated use of the verb byçh, ‘he caused to return’, which could be translated, ‘he caused to repent’, in connection with those archetypically hostile foreign cities, Damascus and Hamath? What ideas would the thought of Jeroboam, of all people, causing Damascus and Hamath

22

LXXB is clear that it is Amittai who is the prophet.

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to repent have evoked? Was he struck by the oddity of the expression larçyb hdwhyl, ‘to/for Judah in/by/with Israel’ as commentators have been ever since? Did it unsettle for him the relationship between Judah and Israel in the text? Did it occur to him that it could be read that Jeroboam caused the cities to repent for Judah by means of Israel?23 Did he notice that only one letter, the d in hdwhy, saves this sentence from the implication that these cities were recovered hwhyl, ‘for Yahweh’, by Israel? Would this have been a theological step too far for a Deuteronomistically inclined editor, who might have chosen the easier but puzzling reading ‘Judah’? These are unanswerable questions, of course, but they reﬂect real diﬃculties in the text and real reading possibilities. If the answer to any of them is yes, then the curious position of Jonah in 2 Kings 14 as the speaker of a prophecy which seems to go against the grain of the Deuteronomistic theology of Kings is emphasised. Immediately, narrative gaps open up. What did Jonah feel about this role? Why do we hear nothing else of him? These connections, it seems to me, are intriguing and bear more weight than they are often given. The Jonah of 2 Kings 14 is a prophetic ﬁgure whose brief appearance crystallises a theological conﬂict between the Lord’s purposes and those of the Deuteronomists. All I would suggest is that the irony of this might appeal to the sensibility of the writer of Jonah, who, whatever else can be said of him, was keenly responsive to irony. All the more so, it might be argued, if his interest in Nineveh is borne in mind. Was he aware of the excoriating triumphalist celebration of Nineveh’s destruction in the book of Nahum? Did he associate this with the apparent rescue, or even repentance, of Damascus and Hamath, both of which appear in Amos, once again

23 J. Gray, I and II Kings (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 2nd edn, 1970), p. 616, following a conjecture of C. F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), pp. 320–21, rewrites what he calls an ‘obviously corrupt’ MT of 2 Kgs 14.28 to read: ‘And as for the rest of the acts of Jeroboam and all that he achieved and his might in war with Damascus, and how he turned away the wrath of Yahweh from Israel [my emphasis], are they not written in the book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel?’. If this emendation is correct, then the role of this evil king in averting Yahweh’s wrath is astonishing, and grist to the Jonah writer’s mill. It depends on the emendation of hdwhy to hwhy which is alluded to above. Even without this emendation, and we have no way of knowing deﬁnitively what text, if any, the writer of Jonah knew, the potential of this incident for expansion into another story of Yahweh’s wrath averted from a known enemy by the action of their evil king is clear.

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the suspiciously missing book in this conversation? Damascus is the subject of Amos’ ﬁrst denunciation in Amos 1.3–6, threatened with ﬁre and exile. In Amos 5, Israel is threatened with exile ‘beyond Damascus’. Hamath, however, appears in Amos 6.2 as a city to which those in Zion and Samaria need to compare themselves to learn humility, and in 6.14, they are threatened with oppression from the gate of Hamath to the Wadi Arabah, an intriguing echo of 2 Kgs 14.25 where the gate of Hamath and the sea of Arabah are the boundaries of the territory which Jeroboam gains in accordance with Jonah’s message from God. These great cities are at one and the same time dangerous enemies and a source of envy, even at times a reminder to those in Zion that God’s writ runs much wider than their parochial concerns. This is a message that the book of Jonah conveys through its satire on Jonah and his narrow sense of what it is appropriate for God to be concerned with. For someone with these concerns in mind, 2 Kgs 14.23–29 is a fertile source of reﬂection. Let us continue to suppose that just such interests induced the imagination of the writer of the book of Jonah to seize on Jonah as an appropriate protagonist for his allegory. The crucial question that remains is what then inspired him to combine this conﬂicted ﬁgure of Jonah with the psalm that became Jonah 2. At this point I might conveniently, and with some justiﬁcation, retire before the mystery of the creative process. What inspired Shakespeare to derive The Tempest from sources as diverse as a letter by the secretary of the Virginia company and Montaigne’s essay ‘Of the Cannibals’, to take but one comparable question? The ability to make unexpected yet fruitful connections is at the heart of the creative process, and the great artist is one who can make extraordinary fruit of the most unlikely or unpromising connection. Second-guessing the result of such a connection is impossible. Like all great works of art, and I have no hesitation in describing the book of Jonah as art of a high order, it is unforeseeable. If the book of Jonah had been lost, I ﬁnd it hard to imagine that anyone would have guessed that ancient Hebrew literature had produced such a work, or anything like it. True though that is, it is of little use as a critical argument as it could justify almost any theory of literary origins. In this particular case, however, there is one shared word between the texts that may have made a tenuous, but perhaps suggestive enough, bridge between these texts: the word μy, ‘sea’. Although a common enough term in

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itself, it so happens that 2 Kgs 14.23 is one of only two verses in 2 Kings, and four in the books of Kings altogether, to mention the sea. An attentive reader already intrigued by this passage might well be struck by this.24 Nor does the verse just mention the sea in a general sense. The speciﬁc sea it mentions, as we have noted, the Sea of the Arabah, hbr[ μy, is mentioned four times elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (Deut 3.17; 4.49; Josh 3.16; 12.3) and on three of these occasions (Deut 3.17; Josh 3.16; 12.3), although not in the present case, it is glossed as the ‘Salt Sea’, i.e., the Dead Sea. The Arabah, otherwise, is the somewhat ambiguous name of various portions of the desert region in the Rift Valley. Intriguingly, the name seems to have particular signiﬁcance for the Deuteronomists. Deuteronomy 1.1 refers to the Arabah to set the geographical location of Moses’ sermon which forms the bulk of the book, and there are other references in Deuteronomy. The ‘Sea of the Arabah’, or as we might translate it, the ‘desert sea’, carries in its name an intriguing hint of oxymoron, just the kind of thing that can spark a certain kind of associative mind to creative thought. 4. Conclusion: The Prophet as Reader At the end of this argument, then, I have proved nothing. What I hope I have done is make a case that the mirror reading of the Jonah-psalm does have something to be said for it as a more economical account of the present form of Jonah, and that there is at least a plausible way of bringing together the psalm and the mention of Jonah in 2 Kings 14 as fuel awaiting the spark of inspiration.25

24 A wilder link might be made through the prophet’s name Jonah, ‘the dove’. It is a dove’s wings that the psalmist longs for in Ps 55.6 as he seeks to escape, but also a dove which is sent by Noah to see if the waters had receded from the earth (Gen 8.8–12). It is a ‘silly dove’ which Hosea sees as running to Assyria (Hos 7.11). A full treatment of this metaphor in relation to the book is to be found in A. Hauser, ‘Jonah: In Pursuit of the Dove’, JBL 104 (1985), pp. 21–37. 25 The sceptical reader might wonder at this point what happened to the psalm if it did have an independent existence. Where did it go? I do not have a deﬁnitive answer to that, but would take my cue from an argument put forward by Stuart to defend the psalm against the charge that it is too general for its present context. Having stated that thanksgiving psalms need to be applicable to a variety of circumstances to be usable by worshippers, he goes on: ‘a psalm so speciﬁc in word-

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But there is another aspect which touches on issues close to the heart of Auld’s scholarly interests. In Jonah we have a ﬁgure commonly regarded as a prophet who is represented as a poet. Jonah is never actually called a prophet in the book, and even the notice in 2 Kgs 14.25 is, as we have seen, ambiguous. Only ﬁve words in Hebrew represent his prophetic message: ‘Yet forty days, and Nineveh will be destroyed’. In contrast to this, the Jonah of the book is represented as giving utterance to eight verses of a psalm. No hint is given in the book that this is a quotation. If the psalm was circulating anyway, the original audience might well have picked up the allusion. For other readers, Jonah is portrayed as an accomplished improviser in the tradition of psalm writing. Whatever the case, however, the writer of Jonah is demonstrated to be a sophisticated reader of his tradition. Hunter’s insight that the psalm may be the heart of Jonah could be the equivalent of a Copernican shift in Jonah studies: placing the psalm at the heart of the work places reading at the heart of the work. Rather than being centred on the prose narrative, the book revolves around the psalm and its creative rereading. If we extend this rather exalted metaphor, the four elements that I have identiﬁed above as oﬀshoots of the psalm could be the equivalent of the four moons of Jupiter which Galileo observed, which gave observational proof that not all heavenly bodies orbit the sun. In themselves, the moons of Jupiter may seem a rather arcane study with little signiﬁcance for daily life, but their existence incites and justiﬁes a radical rethink of the place of humanity in the cosmos. ing as to apply directly and uniquely to Jonah’s rescue would be an anomaly in ancient Israel—an overly speciﬁc psalm, useless except to Jonah!’ (D. Stuart, Hosea – Jonah [WBC, 31; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987], p. 471). My claim would be that the psalm was originally such a universal psalm but becomes a speciﬁcally ‘Jonah’ psalm by its inclusion in the book of Jonah with the consequences Stuart outlines. Once the book appeared, and especially once, in its turn, it became part of the canon of scripture, could the psalm have been included in the book of Psalms? It is presented either as a composition of Jonah’s or at least as appropriate to the speciﬁc and unusual circumstances of his ordeal. Would there not be a problem in including a psalm in the Psalter which would now need the superscription: ‘A Psalm of Jonah; sung when he was in the belly of the great ﬁsh: to the tune of Sailing By’? How applicable is the psalm after Jonah? Sasson ( Jonah, pp. 213–15) gives interesting examples that suggest the psalm’s imagery was later reused in Sirach (51.1–12), at Qumran and in a talisman. None of these reuses mentions Jonah, which might serve to reinforce the point above and indeed does not rule out the further possibility that they are responding to or rewriting a version of the psalm as an independent text.

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Such a result would be a tall order for a paper on Jonah 2, although it would be a happy result for the forthcoming Research Assessment Exercise in the UK. If there is a wider consequence of this rereading of Jonah, it is one that stems from Graeme Auld’s own work on the prophetic books, in particular his seminal paper ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’26 and his response to Robert Carroll, ‘Poets not Prophets: A Response to “Prophets through the Looking Glass”’.27 Carroll takes up Auld’s original suggestion that the canonical ‘prophetic books’ are poetic works which have been redesignated as prophetic at an advanced state of their development. Carroll sees this as a restrictive move which seeks to institutionalise the unconventional and individual poetic traditions of writers such as Amos and Isaiah. Auld, while agreeing with this analysis, also sees the category of prophet being expanded in this process. ‘Prophets are also “Writings”’, Auld reminds us, ‘writings which are redeﬁned as prophetic’.28 What seems to me important is that the prophetic books are also readings. These writings are being ‘read as’ prophets by the later readers, as John Barton has long pointed out.29 Just as important is the fact that they are themselves the product of reading. As I have argued recently in a study of Zechariah and Daniel,30 the so-called ‘prophetic’ writings are shot through with acknowledged and often unacknowledged allusions and borrowings from other biblical books, and Jonah is no exception. The creative impulse for the writers of this literature is that they are ﬁnding it diﬃcult to read their predecessors, at every level, from the construal of a single word to the broad ideological and theological sweep of the texts. The writer of Jonah, as I have depicted him, is just such a troubled reader. He reads something akin to 2 Kings 14 and he reads

26 Auld, Samuel at the Threshold, pp. 45–61. Auld’s original paper and his ‘response to the response’ are combined in this reprinting of these pieces ﬁrst published as A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23 and A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass: A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 41–44. 27 R. P. Carroll, ‘Poets not Prophets; A Response to “Prophets through the Looking Glass”’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 25–31. 28 Auld, ‘Prophets through the Looking Glass’, p. 59. 29 See J. Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (London: Darton, Longman & Todd; New York: Oxford University Press, 1986). 30 H. S. Pyper, ‘Reading in the Dark: Zechariah, Daniel and the Diﬃculty of Scripture’, JSOT 29 (2005), pp. 485–504.

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the psalm—strange, but no stranger than many—that is incorporated in his book. He is struck by their linguistic, metaphorical and theological particularities. Out of that reading, and informed by his knowledge of the wide range of texts that are becoming scripture, he constructs a reading of Israel and prophecy which is original precisely because it depends so closely on the tradition, but holds up a mirror to it. The prose of Jonah is not an inevitable reading of the poem which can be derived mechanically from it by some algorithm. The process is more akin to that by which composers produce sets of variations. Each variation is only one possibility among an almost inﬁnite number of possible variations, but typically works through a particular combination of elements derived recognisably from the theme. The set of variations again marshals a selection of possibilities into a coherent, new work. Nothing is inevitable in this, and presented in isolation to an audience which did not know the original tune, each variation could stand as a coherent and independent piece. In isolation, what would lead us to consider the work a ‘variation’? Put together, however, the set implies a theme. Composers can play on this generic convention by delaying the announcement of the theme. Dohnanyi’s Variations on a Nursery Theme begins with a portentous parody of the heavy-weight virtuoso piano concerto. This introduction is then revealed to be a complex variation of the actual theme, ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star’ when the piano coyly presents it in a kind of musical ‘baby-talk’. As Elgar demonstrates in his Enigma Variations, it is possible to play on the genre and never announce the theme at all, but leave it to be inferred from the variations. It is also possible to work the process backwards, beginning from the variation and then ﬁnally announcing the theme which, baldly stated, emerges transformed by its new context. A case in point is the emergence of Bach’s harmonisation of the chorale Es ist genug at the end of Berg’s violin concerto. Coming towards the end of this dodecaphonic work, it is the usually familiar tonal solidity of Bach’s harmonisation which sounds strange. Yet four notes of the chorale theme have underpinned the dodecaphonic structure of the whole work. There is a double quotation here, as the chorale theme itself is not original to Bach but part of the liturgical repertoire of the Lutheran church, originally composed by J. G. Ahle. Berg here is both acknowledging and unsettling the canonical status of Bach, and drawing on the examples of Bach’s own magisterial ability to absorb and reshape his inherited tradition.

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There is a possible analogy here with Jonah, where the solemn liturgical psalm is unsettled to the point of itself appearing a parody by its setting in a complex web of variations, of which it is itself one progenitor. Jonah is the work of a poet, a rereader of diﬃcult texts, a master of the techniques of serious play with his material, who manages both to acknowledge and satirise the power of the tradition and the misreadings that it spawns. It seems only right to give the ﬁnal word to that masterly rereader of tradition, Lewis Carroll, and his looking-glass. One of Alice’s ﬁrst discoveries in the Looking-glass house is a book written in a script she cannot decipher. She suddenly realises, ‘Why it’s a Looking-glass book, of course! And if I hold it up to a mirror it will all go the right way again’.31 Sadly, when she does so, she ﬁnds she is reading the words of a poem entitled ‘Jabberwocky’ but making no sense of those words. The looking glass has not removed but only clariﬁed the real diﬃculty of the text: ‘It seems very pretty,’ she said when she had ﬁnished it, ‘but it’s rather hard to understand!’ (You see she didn’t like to confess even to herself, that she couldn’t make it out at all.) ‘Somehow it seems to ﬁll my head with ideas—only I don’t exactly know what they are! However, somebody killed something: that’s clear, at any rate—’32

Alice speaks for the writer of Jonah as he puzzles over the ageing texts that are gathering ever more power, ever more interpretations and ever more diﬃculty in his community, his head ﬁlled with ideas. She also speaks for the modern reader of Jonah, and to the modern critic. Could we sum up better the fascination and yet mystery of the book Jonah, its absorption and then regurgitation of other texts and its enigmatic hero with his conﬂicted message, than in a rewriting of Alice’s verdict: ‘However, somebody swallowed something: that’s clear, at any rate’?

31 32

Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, pp. 19–20. Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, p. 22.

STORIES OF FORGIVENESS: NARRATIVE ETHICS AND THE OLD TESTAMENT David J. Reimer In a set of related studies, Graeme Auld has drawn attention to the problematic connections and potential ﬁssures between the notions of sin, guilt, punishment and forgiveness in the stories of Israel and Judah and in associated prophetic texts. The story of David’s census (2 Samuel 24//1 Chronicles 21) has come to hold pivotal importance in these studies. Exploring the language of David’s confession of 2 Sam 24.10 and its ambiguous outcome leads Professor Auld to the episode of Eli’s censure of his sons in 1 Sam 2.25a: ‘If a man sins against a man, God will mediate for him; but if a man sins against the LORD, who can intercede for him?’1 This in turn ﬁnds one response at 3.14, that ‘the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacriﬁce or oﬀering for ever’. Having observed this connection, Professor Auld poses the question: ‘Has the author of Samuel a fundamental objection to the teaching about forgiveness, or is he simply pointing to notable exceptions?’2 This essay pushes beyond the immediate horizon of that question to explore just what ‘the teaching about forgiveness’ in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible might be (part of a larger project to investigate the ethics of interpersonal forgiveness in the Hebrew Bible as a whole).

1

This verse contains a number of diﬃculties, not immediately apparent from the translation. Linguistically, are the two verbs in 2.25a, one piel and the other hithpael, derived from the same pll root, or two diﬀerent roots? What precisely is the deity’s role in 2.25aa? How is the LXX rendering to be explained? In literary terms, why does this rebuke ‘not count’, at least as far as 1 Sam 3.13 is concerned? 2 A. G. Auld, ‘Counting Sheep, Sins, and Sour Grapes: The Primacy of the Primary History?’, in A. G. Hunter and P. R. Davies (eds.), Sense and Sensitivity: Essays on Reading the Bible in Memory of Robert Carroll ( JSOTSup, 348; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2002), pp. 63–72 (70); repr. in A. G. Auld, Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld (SOTS Monographs; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 255–62; cf. idem, ‘Bearing the Burden of David’s Guilt’, in C. Bultmann, W. Dietrich and C. Levin (eds.), Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments: Beiträge zur biblischen Hermeneutik: Festschrift für Rudolf Smend zum 70. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), pp. 69–81 (78). RSV

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Several problems attend such a study.3 From the side of Christian ethics, the witness of the New Testament wholly dominates and thus eﬀectively muzzles that of the Old. Although the Hebrew Bible makes a substantial contribution to the subject of ‘forgiveness’ broadly conceived, it seems reticent to oﬀer much about the nature of interpersonal forgiveness in particular. In framing the question in terms of narrative and human behaviour, it might appear to be a severely limited canvas on which to work. Further, even where interpersonal forgiveness has been in focus, the nature of God comes to deﬁne the nature of human forgiveness. For example, Gregory Jones’s use of the Old Testament is most prominent in (or conﬁned to?) his discussion of ‘the God who forgives’ in relating the Hebrew Bible to the ﬁrst century Judaism of Jesus’ day.4 Likewise, John Kselman’s treatment of Old Testament forgiveness in The Anchor Bible Dictionary— based on word studies—restricts the discussion almost exclusively to divine forgiveness.5 Taking our cue from Auld, and choosing to deal with interpersonal forgiveness, the topic is framed as a problem for human behaviour (i.e., ‘ethics’) and further as an exercise in ‘narrative ethics’. In recent years, the latter has come increasingly into vogue, at least in Anglophone scholarship.6 However, if ethics concerns the study of what constitutes moral behaviour, then the theme of forgiveness must soon arise in the context of Christian ethics, and the question of the contribution of Old Testament narrative to this has importance to those for whom these stories form part of Scripture. Stanley Hauerwas places forgiveness ﬁrmly at the centre of a matrix involving God, community, and scripture:

3 A preliminary and programmatic statement on these issues can be found in D. J. Reimer, ‘The Apocrypha and Biblical Theology: The Case of Interpersonal Forgiveness’, in J. Barton and D. J. Reimer (eds.), After the Exile: Essays in Honour of Rex Mason (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1996), pp. 259–82. 4 G. L. Jones, Embodying Forgiveness: A Theological Analysis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 105–109. 5 J. S. Kselman, ‘Forgiveness: Old Testament’, ABD 2:831–33. 6 G. J. Wenham, Story as Torah: Reading the Old Testament Ethically (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000) provides an example of ‘narrative ethics’ at work; Rodd’s critical evaluation is salutary, although overly negative. Even if ‘the purpose of the narrators was not primarily ethical’, neither is it the case that ‘none of the passages eﬀectively raise moral dilemmas’ (C. S. Rodd, Glimpses of a Strange Land: Studies in Old Testament Ethics [Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001], pp. 282–92 [292]).

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. . . Scripture has authority for Christians because they have learned as a forgiven people they must also be able to forgive. . . . Being a community of the forgiven is directly connected with being a community sustained by the narratives we ﬁnd in scripture, as those narratives do nothing less than manifest the God whose very nature is to forgive. . . . By attending closely to the example of those who have given us our scripture, we learn how to be a people morally capable of forgiveness and thus worthy of continuing to carry the story of God we ﬁnd authorized by scripture.7

Yet even apart from the community of faith, narratives clearly can exert moral inﬂuence. Martha Nussbaum, relating primarily to the Aristotelian ethical tradition, prizes the notion of virtues in the context of particular human actions in reading narrative.8 Nussbaum ﬁnds especially in the novels of Henry James a work of ‘moral imagination’, and that a ‘conception of moral attention and moral vision ﬁnds in novels its most appropriate articulation’.9 Her reading of James’s The Golden Bowl depends on exploring the richness of detail that James provides in the relationships portrayed between his characters. Indeed, in commenting on one scene Nussbaum claims ‘ﬁrst, that no description less speciﬁc than this could convey the rightness of this action; second, that any change in the description, even at the same level of speciﬁcity, seems to risk producing a diﬀerent act’.10 Such reﬂection elicits from the reader an ‘active sense of life’ (using James’s words), so that ‘we become responsive to our own life’s adventure’.11 Thus, imagination and imaginary worlds can impinge on and shape real life in the real world. Although methods of examining biblical narrative have been growing ever more sophisticated, in some ways this has not made the

7 S. Hauerwas, ‘The Moral Authority of Scripture: The Politics of Ethics and Remembering’, in idem, A Community of Character: Toward a Constructive Christian Social Ethic (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), pp. 53–71, 239–46 (68–69). While I cannot claim ﬁrst-hand familiarity with the entirety of Hauerwas’s voluminous output, I have not seen a statement on forgiveness to improve on this one in his more recent works which I have read. 8 Wenham, Story as Torah, pp. 13–14 relates Nussbaum’s work to reading of Old Testament narrative; cf. also J. Barton, Ethics in the Old Testament (London: SCM Press, 1998), pp. 22–25. 9 M. C. Nussbaum, ‘“Finely Aware and Richly Responsible”: Literature and the Moral Imagination’, in idem, Love’s Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), pp. 148–67 (148). 10 Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge, p. 154. 11 Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge, p. 162.

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task of interpretation more secure. The diﬃculties go far beyond the obvious and deep diﬀerences between reading ‘historically’ and ‘ahistorically’.12 Jerome Walsh’s study of the ‘Naboth’s Vineyard’ episode (1 Kings 21) neatly demonstrated that even within diﬀerent synchronic and literary approaches very diﬀerent readings of a narrative can emerge.13 This can be enriching, as much so as is the variety described in the preceding paragraph. This essay, however, cannot aﬀord to carry out the variety of analyses found in Walsh’s study. Here I will use what Walsh calls ‘stylistic analysis’ to examine the surface level of the text in the belief that this approach will give readiest access to the narrator’s point of view.14 1. Stories of Forgiveness Perhaps the most pressing problem for the present interest is that interpersonal forgiveness is virtually absent from the stories of the Hebrew Bible. This fact has been noted before15 but is not, I think, widely recognised.16 The few stories which oﬀer something relevant to the ‘problem’ of interpersonal forgiveness appear to be limited to the stories of the brothers Jacob and Esau (Genesis 32–33), Joseph and his brothers (Genesis 50), and Abigail’s intervention with David (1 Samuel 25). Perhaps some of the other scenes from the David

12 See, e.g., J. Barton, ‘Reading the Bible as Literature: Two Questions for Biblical Critics’, Journal of Literature and Theology 1 (1987), pp. 135–53 and M. Brettler, ‘Never the Twain Shall Meet? The Ehud Story as History and Literature’, HUCA 62 (1991), pp. 285–304. 13 J. T. Walsh, ‘Methods and Meanings: Multiple Studies of 1 Kings 21’, JBL 111 (1992), pp. 193–211. 14 Cf. Walsh’s statement: ‘Stylistic analysis . . . can attend more directly to elements that do not form part of the narrative. The narrator’s asides, for example, are of major importance in this reading, whereas they have little eﬀect on the syntagmatic and paradigmatic studies’ (Walsh, ‘Methods and Meanings’, p. 210). Note the overlap between ‘narrator’ and ‘implied author’ in Wenham’s handling (Wenham, Story as Torah, pp. 14–15). 15 H. P. Smith, ‘Forgiveness (Hebrew)’, in J. Hastings (ed.), The Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics (13 vols; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark; New York: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1908–1926), 6:73–78. 16 The texts noted below were initially identiﬁed in Reimer, ‘The Apocrypha and Biblical Theology’, p. 272; S. Schimmel, ‘Interpersonal Forgiveness and Repentance in Judaism’, in F. N. Watts and L. Gulliford (eds.), Forgiveness in Context: Theology and Psychology in Creative Dialogue (London: T & T Clark International, 2004), pp. 11–28 (14–15) appears to concur with this assessment.

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stories belong here too (David and Saul; David and Absalom). But there seem to be no more beyond these that depict forgiveness granted, and only a couple more that depict forgiveness denied. While the occasions are few, the dynamic in each case appears to be the same. The one holding power has been wronged; this is recognised by both parties; the oﬀending party grovels; reparation is made; life goes on. Morro and Harrison recognise this pattern: ‘in each instance the one requesting pardon is in a position of subservience, and is petitioning for that to which he has no just or natural right’.17 The readings which follow examine each story with the purpose of describing the narrative dynamics of inter-personal forgiveness. Since the story of Jacob and Esau is the most developed of the three, it will be examined at greater length than the other two. It is possible, however, that another ‘forgiveness’ pattern ought to be set alongside the one seen in these three key narratives, and a suggestion about this will be made below. 1.1. Jacob and Esau (Genesis 32–33) The narrative technique of the Jacob cycle has attracted the close scrutiny of scholars.18 However, given the many intriguing scenes that make up the cycle, the depiction of reconciliation between Jacob and his brother Esau has been neglected by comparison despite its many puzzling features. It is not a straightforward matter to discern the boundaries of the story, but I will follow the lead of the Tanak enumeration. The passage from Gen 32.1[31.55 EVV]–33.20 is comprised of three scenes: (1) Jacob’s overtures to Esau through his ‘messengers’ (mal "àkîm; 32.4–22); (2) Jacob’s encounter with the Man ("î “; 32.23–33); and (3) Jacob’s encounter with Esau (33.1–17).19 Two aetiologies are placed as ‘bookends’ around the whole: the theophany at Mahanaim (32.1–3); and the making of the altar ‘El-Elohe-Israel’ at Shechem (33.18–20).

17 W. C. Morro and R. K. Harrison, ‘Forgiveness’, in G. W. Bromiley (ed.), The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia (4 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979–1988), 2:340–44 (341). 18 E.g., J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis: Specimens of Stylistic and Structural Analysis (SSN, 17; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1975) and M. Fishbane, Text and Texture: Close Readings of Selected Biblical Texts (New York: Schocken Books, 1979). 19 I will follow the enumeration of the MT throughout.

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Each of the three scenes has a similar structure and dynamic: they begin with Jacob making preparations for an encounter (A), the encounter takes place (B) which gives rise to the articulation of a demand (C), followed by the separation of the principals (D). Each also contains an aetiology (E), but the functions of these vary from scene to scene. The dynamic of these scenarios gives the story momentum and impels both Jacob and the reader toward the dangerous but inevitable meeting with Esau: this interconnectedness turns these ‘scenes’ into movements. This can be seen in the following schema: SCENE 1—32.1–22

SCENE 2—32.23–33

SCENE 3—33.1–20

A1. Prepare for encounter 32.4–6 Jacob’s instructions to messengers

A2. Prepare for encounter 32.23–24 Jacob’s isolation from family

A3. Prepare for encounter 33.1–3 Jacob’s arrangement of family

B1. Encounter 32.7–9 with Esau, reported by messengers

B2. Encounter 32.25–26 of Jacob with the ‘Man’

B3. Encounter 33.4–7 between Esau (and his men), and Jacob (and his family)

E1. Etiology 32.1–3

C1. Demand C2. Demand 32.10–13 32.27–30 of Jacob to ancestral God of Jacob to ‘Man’

C3. Demand 33.8–11 of Jacob to Esau

D1. Separation D2. Separation 32.14–22 32.31–32 of ‘gift’ from Jacob’s goods of Jacob from ‘Man’

D3. Separation 33.12–17 of Jacob from Esau

E2. Etiology 32.33

E3. Etiology 33.18–20

This triptych resounds with echoes, allusions, premonitions, word play, and more. The patterning in the plot allows us to make closer comparisons between these scenes, and furthermore to see the way in which they are bound together into a narrative whole. My comments then will be limited to observations bearing on the dynamic of reconciliation between the brothers.

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The two aetiologies of 32.1–3 (E1) and 33.18–20 (E3) frame the three scenes and serve to describe the inception and conclusion of Jacob’s ﬁnal separation from Laban. He has, it seems, heeded Yahweh’s call to return to his own land and people (31.3). The journey comes to a satisfactory end despite two perils: one real, the struggle with the Man; and one imagined, the encounter with Esau. As Birch observes, there is an irony here.20 On the basis of 31.3, Yahweh’s command to Jacob to return with its accompanying assurance that ‘I will be with you’ (w e "ehyeh 'immàk), both Jacob and the reader are surprised at the threat implied by Esau’s response to Jacob’s messengers. Thus Jacob protests in prayer for deliverance from Esau, for Yahweh promised ‘I will do you good’ (w e"ê†îbàh 'immàk; 32.10). But the greater surprise is yet to come, for Scene 2 contains a hostile encounter in which the opponent, the ‘Man’, is identiﬁed with God (32.31), ostensibly the same ﬁgure who promised at least presence (31.3) if not also prosperity (32.10, 12). The irony comes ﬁnally in the encounter with Esau in Scene 3. The dreaded moment has arrived, and Jacob is fearful for his own life as well as for the safety of his family. But this presumably hostile opponent who has sworn Jacob’s death years ago (27.41), now meets him with open and welcoming arms. In many ways, Scene 2—the famous encounter at Jabbok—appears to be an intrusion as the various elements of Scene 1 ﬁnd their goal and dénouement in the corresponding episodes of Scene 3. In Scene 1, Jacob initiates an encounter with Esau as mediated through his messengers. The rest of the action takes place in anticipation of the fears that Esau’s seemingly hostile response engenders. These anticipations, however, come to nought. Esau greets his brother with open arms. The purpose of this intrusion has been variously evaluated. Many suggest that as a result of the encounter with the Man-who-is-Elohim, Jacob is now a changed person. An important link is established between the episodes. Genesis 32.31 gives, as the rationale for the name ‘Peniel’, Jacob’s claim that ‘I have seen God face to face [ra"îtî " elòhîm pànîm "el-pànîm] and yet my life is preserved’. This is the strange occurrence which the name commemorates (cf. Deut 4.33;

20 B. C. Birch, Let Justice Roll Down: The Old Testament, Ethics, and Christian Life (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), pp. 59–60.

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5.24–26) and it is this realisation that Jacob carries forward into his next encounter only hours later. This episode provides the impetus for Birch’s claim that this story is one of the better examples of a ‘narrative of transforming power’ in the OT. It is not simply to be dismissed as ‘bizarre’, rather we see in Jacob’s struggle, a risk-taking which leads him to see the face of God, and further to see God’s face in his alienated brother.21 Thus, in spite of the dubious presence of four hundred men (33.1), Jacob is greeted with embraces, kisses, and tears (33.4). When they ﬁnally converse, Jacob insists on Esau’s acceptance of the gifts, ‘for truly to see your face is like seeing the face of God [ra"îtî pàne( y)kà kir "òt penê "elòhîm]—since you have received me with such favour’ (33.10).22 This explicit connection between scenarios suggests that Fishbane is justiﬁed in seeing the Jabbok episode as laying the necessary foundation for the encounter with Esau: ‘. . . the juxtaposition and verbal splicing of the wrestling and reconciliation scenes (chs. 32 and 33) suggest that Jacob’s night strife may be understood as a ﬁgurative preparation for his morning encounter with Esau’.23 Although Fishbane enlarges on this observation in psychological terms with reference to ‘dream-work’, his remark is also suggestive for more simple narrative development: if Jacob’s life can be preserved in a hostile confrontation with Elohim, surely the same can be true of his encounter with Esau. But does this plot-led reading exhaust our moral observations and imaginings on the story? It is worth noting that the narrator’s insights into motivation—the kinds of observations that make him a narrator rather than simply a reporter—are limited to Scene 1 (37.7–8, 21) and a ﬂeeting comment on the Man (32.26). That is, we are given guidance in understanding Jacob’s motives as the story begins, but not as it reaches its climax in the meeting with Esau. On another reading, then, Jacob, who has this divine encounter, goes on in the faceto-face meeting with Esau to manipulate (the presents), mislead (giving excuses, 33.13) and deceive (he has no intention of going with his

21 B. C. Birch, ‘Old Testament Narrative and Moral Address’, in G. M. Tucker, D. L. Petersen and R. R. Wilson (eds.), Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), pp. 75–91 (83). 22 The shift in language from min˙â in v. 10 to beràkâ in v. 11, as noted by Fishbane, Text and Texture, p. 52 adds a further poignancy to the encounter. 23 Fishbane, Text and Texture, p. 52.

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brother!, 33.14), while Esau, who has had no such encounter that we know of, appears welcoming and generous, that is: it seems to be Esau, not his brother, who is a changed person from the dispute of Genesis 27!24 I ﬁnd another puzzle in this story that bears closely on our subject: that is the completely gratuitous nature of Jacob’s overture to Esau. Jacob is returning from the wilds of Laban’s country—northern Mesopotamia. He is at the point of crossing the Jordan when he sends his messengers to Esau. In narrative terms, why does he bother? Esau is well established, it seems, far to the south (32.4). It could be that even this proximity is too close for comfort. At this point it seems one must glance back over the larger Jacob cycle. It was the conﬂict with Esau that impelled Jacob from the home of Isaac and Rebekah (27.41–45). Only with that forced departure does he embark on the journey that will lead to Rachel, Leah, and the spawning of eponymous ancestors. But just as the fraternal conﬂict gives the necessary impetus to Jacob’s career, so too the resolution of this conﬂict gives the necessary conclusion. Ron Hendel has noticed the many echoes between this scene of reconciliation and the earlier scene of conﬂict, chieﬂy to do with the culture/nature contrast between Jacob and Esau.25 The conﬂict comes to a head in Jacob’s ‘space’, the domestic hearth (Genesis 27); their hostility is laid to rest in Esau’s ‘space’, the open plain (Genesis 33). Once the brothers meet and converse, the terms in which Jacob depicts their relationship is noteworthy. Despite the promise that Jacob receives from Isaac of being ‘lord’ (g ebîr only found here [27.29, 37]) over his brothers, he is insistent in this meeting on Esau being ‘lord’ (">dònî, 33.8, 13, 14 [2x], 15) and his being ‘servant’ (33.5, 14). Despite the blessings, the promises, and the tradition, for the purposes of this meeting the elder brother is ﬁrmly perceived as overlord, and the younger as underling. The story of forgiveness and reconciliation then appears to be both necessary and satisfying. It provides for the continued life (and ultimate success) of Jacob and the nation that descends from him.

24 The ambiguities of the scene are nicely caught by Cotter: ‘Esau is shown to be as changed and unchanged as his brother . . .’. See D. W. Cotter, Genesis (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 2003), p. 250. 25 R. S. Hendel, The Epic of the Patriarch: The Jacob Cycle and the Narrative Traditions of Canaan and Israel (HSM, 42; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), pp. 128–31.

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One is impressed both by the initiative of the ‘underling’ and by the generosity of the ‘overlord’. The rightness of Jacob’s rash overture, with all its risk and implications of danger, is conﬁrmed. On the other hand, the ready forgiveness that comes from Esau ﬁnally lays to rest the antagonism that has dogged this fraternal relationship, extending even to the oﬀer of protection for Jacob’s entourage (33.15). Meanwhile, attending more closely to Jacob’s words rather than his actions, we see an unreformed character which seems not to have shifted from the schemer seen earlier in the Genesis story. 1.2. Joseph and his Brothers (Genesis 45; 50.15–21) The story of the ﬁnal resolution between Joseph and his brothers shares many features with the fraternal conﬂict of the previous generation. In narrative terms this includes a lengthy pre-history to the ﬁnal reconciliation. In spite of this, the forgiveness story here is much shorter than the ‘triptych’ described above. However, analysis of the story is hampered by a textual crux that aﬀects the narrative ﬂow. When Jacob dies, Joseph’s brothers are fearful that their past treatment of Joseph will come back to haunt them. They decide to appeal to Joseph, but the language of 50.16 in the MT is obscure: ‘So they commanded [?] Joseph saying . . .’ (wayeßawwû "el-yòsèp lè"mòr . . .). This is an odd action from men fearing for their lives, and the implication is that they themselves appear before Joseph. However, in v. 18 we see the brothers entering Joseph’s presence for the ﬁrst time, or so it seems: ‘And his brothers also came . . .’. Both passages are usually adjusted by modern editors. The Septuagint reading in v. 16, ‘and they approached Joseph’ (ka‹ pareg°nonto prÚw Ivshf), has often been the basis for a ‘correction’ to the MT text. In the notes to BHS Eissfeldt suggested wvgyw, a possibility often noted in the commentaries, but this equivalence is found nowhere in the LXX. Further, if one ‘corrects’ v. 16 in this fashion, then v. 18 must be adjusted to accommodate it, but there is no evidence of textual diﬃculty at this point in v. 18. It seems best, then, to assume (as many do) that something has dropped out of v. 16 which remains unrecoverable. To my mind, the most satisfying way of dealing with this intractable text is to suppose that the brothers commanded some messenger(s) to convey their words to Joseph on their behalf, much as Jacob did when approaching Esau. It is very tempting to make this ‘solution’ part of the narrative reﬂection. However, other important features of this vignette mean

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that we can avoid basing our reﬂection on a speculative text. First, the brothers perceive their situation as a matter of life and death. So worried are they that they put some words into the mouth of their recently-dead father, reporting his instruction that Joseph ought to forgive them. The reader does not have certain knowledge about the truth of this claim, but one is hesitant to accept it at face value!26 In this situation, Joseph appears to hold in his hands the power of life or death. If he forgives, there will be life; if not, then death. When he greets this embassy with tears and words of peace, he dissociates himself from this ‘divine’ role in which his brothers have cast him: ‘Am I in the place of God?’ (v. 20). It seems that he is not, but at the same time his gracious behaviour toward his brothers means that he has granted them life. The generosity of this forgiveness extends also to the well-being of his brothers’ families (v. 21), as Joseph assures his brothers of his care for them as well. Even if Joseph removes himself from a God-like position, his brothers persist in the role of servants to him. They identify themselves as servants in their message (v. 17), a servitude which they reiterate upon meeting Joseph in tears (v. 18). This also provides a strong resonance with the roles of Jacob-as-servant and Esau-as-lord in their story of reconciliation. Despite the terse reporting of this scene, the reader is left with a similar understanding as in Genesis 32–33. Here we wonder at the brothers for their continued suspicion and fear of reprisals from Joseph given their teary embraces in Genesis 45. Nonetheless, there is—as perceived on their part—a life-threatening situation: their ‘evil’ actions (v. 17) against Joseph may end with his vengeance against them. But their abasement is met with further tears and assurances of peace between brothers and well-being for the clan. Again a lifelong situation of conﬂict is brought to ﬁnal resolution with the assurance of life displacing the threat of death. 1.3. David and Abigail (1 Samuel 25) Abigail’s role in the story of her dramatic romance with David has become synonymous with peace-making. As such, it immediately

26 M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1987), p. 379.

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comes to mind when considering the subject of inter-personal forgiveness. But, as we shall see, the nature of the forgiveness has an ambiguity not present in the two stories just examined. In common with them, we see a high degree of narrative artistry27 in a portrayal of a situation of life and death brought about by a breach in a relationship. Like the Jacob/Esau story, we have a ‘triptych’: here the story of Nabal’s churlish refusal to feed David’s hungry band is bracketed by David’s two refusals to kill Saul. Although it has been suggested that 1 Samuel 25 is unconnected with its immediate context,28 the story of David’s encounter with Nabal and Abigail seems as integral to its context as the story of Jacob’s encounter with the mysterious Man (Gen 32.23–33) was seen to be in its setting. Here the narrative juxtaposition provides a contrast between a David who is long-suﬀering and peaceable towards Saul, but vengeful and blood-thirsty towards Nabal. It is the intervention of Abigail that prevents David from acting on his destructive impulse.29 Abigail is equally astute at meeting David and his four hundred men as Jacob was at meeting Esau with his four hundred men. Her actions echo Jacob’s tactics. Abigail sends ahead gifts, abases herself at David’s feet, and speaks of her servanthood in terms even more insistent than Jacob’s to Esau (ﬁve times "àmâ: vv. 24 [2x], 25, 28, 31) to David as lord (nine times ">dònî: vv. 24, 25 [2x], 26 [2x], 27, 28, 29, 31).30 But there is a diﬀerence for Abigail: the provocative action that created the life-threatening situation was not hers. Nonetheless, she claims it ﬁrmly as her own (vv. 24, 28) so as to be able to deal with it.31 McCarter insists that the language used by Abigail is simply ‘courteous’ and has ‘nothing to do with Nabal’s

27 J. D. Levenson, ‘1 Samuel 25 as Literature and History’, CBQ 40 (1978), pp. 11–28; J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. Volume 2: The Crossing Fates (I Sam. 13–31 & II Sam. 1) (SSN, 23: Assen: Van Gorcum, 1986), p. 477. 28 K. Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition: The Form-Critical Method (New York: Scribner, 1969), p. 137. 29 Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, p. 473. 30 I. Fischer ‘Abigajil: Weisheit und Prophetie in einer Person vereint’, in I. Fischer, U. Rapp and J. Schiller (eds.), Auf den Spuren der schriftgelehrten Weisen: Festschrift für Johannes Marböck anlässlich seiner Emeritierung (BZAW, 331; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2003), pp. 45–61 (54) connects this language with that of other ‘free persons’ in the Bible, explicitly that of Jacob and Esau in Genesis 33. 31 Cf. Fischer ‘Abigajil’, p. 54.

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misbehavior or David’s danger of blood-guilt’.32 Fokkelman construes the ﬁrst clause of Abigail’s speech in v. 24 as an ‘optative’ (roughly, ‘May mine alone be the sin’),33 reasoning in part that this best maintains a distance between Abigail and her husband’s folly (cf. v. 25b). However, these readings overlook the pivotal plea for forgiveness in 25.28a: ‘Please forgive the trespass of your handmaid’ (RSV). Further, such readings undervalue the degree of peril in this conﬂict and undermine the process by which Abigail might save both her unfortunate husband from bloody death and David from unnecessarily bloody hands. This is, as it turns out, the only one of our three stories where the threat of death seems likely to be carried out, and where the culprit (or culprits) refuses to act on his own behalf ! David, for his part, also plays a diﬀerent role to that of Esau or Joseph. The latter pair appear ready—indeed, eager—to lay the past to rest. By contrast, David’s blood is running hot and he is in no mood to be gracious. He seems ready, then, to play the role of God when he should not: to take life when it is not his to take (vv. 33–34, 39). Only the competent action and deft words of Abigail deﬂect David from his purpose. David identiﬁes Abigail as Yahweh’s agent (vv. 32, 34) thus reversing the roles seen in the previous two stories. There, the oﬀended party (Esau, Joseph) was cast in a quasi-divine role; here this part falls to Abigail who is standing proxy for Nabal, the oﬀender. In the larger David story there are other narrative twists that add to our appreciation of this particular scene. One of the most pointed is David’s encounter with another beautiful and capable woman, Bathsheba.34 There, however, as Levenson notes, her involvement with David leads to the death of a good man, her husband Uriah, and ultimately plunges David into the spiral of violence and conﬂict that follows him to the grave.35 Such a contrast serves to emphasise the importance of Abigail’s actions at this early stage of David’s career. In eﬀect, she makes possible his rise to the throne (cf. 1 Sam 25.30–31).

32 P. K. McCarter, 1 Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 8; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980), p. 398. 33 Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, pp. 498–99. 34 This story (2 Samuel 11–12) provides the basis for John Barton’s ‘test case’ for linking ethics and narrative. See Barton, Ethics, pp. 19–36. 35 Levenson, ‘1 Samuel’, p. 23.

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Still, this story of inter-personal forgiveness has a diﬀerent ending than the other two. In the two previous stories, reconciliation was complete and resulted in life and good-will. Here, there seems to be a dose of self-interest at work which is absent from the other stories. David does not give up his blood-thirsty mission because of a desire for peace with Nabal, so much as to avoid implicating himself in an even worse guilt. In fact, Nabal’s sudden demise is seen as Yahweh’s action (v. 39) and becomes paradigmatic for David’s relations with Saul.36 On the other hand, the world that forms in the reader’s mind while reﬂecting on this tale has much in common with the other two stories. It is a world in which forgiveness allows life—here, in an extended sense, David’s life and move to the throne, and Abigail’s own eventual arrival in the royal household—by laying aside vengeance. The satisfying match between David and Abigail as the story’s conclusion (strongly suspected from the very beginning) further enhances our judgement that Abigail was as right in her risky attempt to turn aside David’s wrath as David was in abandoning his violent plan. 1.4. Declarations of Forgiveness to Subservient Victims? So far, each of the narratives examined has oﬀered a social relationship between superior/victim in a position to grant forgiveness to a petitioner/oﬀender who is subservient in some way. Such a perception is further reinforced by the presence (at least in the stories from Genesis) of language in which the superior is somehow in the place of the deity. Was it the case that superiors did not grant forgiveness, or were not expected to? There are two incidents in biblical narrative which depict a superior party releasing an inferior from culpability in their dispute using a form of ßdq plus the preposition min.37 In Genesis 38, the domestic dispute between Judah and

36 Cf. 1 Sam 26.10 and R. P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel (OTG; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1984), pp. 64–65. 37 These comments revise my earlier account of these texts in D. J. Reimer, ‘qdx’, in W. A. VanGemeren (ed.), New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (5 vols; Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1997) 3:744–69 (747–48). There may be other examples which should be added to the two discussed below: some see Elihu’s allusion to Job’s words making use of this construction in Job 35.2 (ßidqî mè "èl) = ‘I am more righteous than God’, thus F. Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Book of Job (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 2nd edn, 1869), p. 267; R. Gordis, The Book of Job: Commentary, New Translation and Special Studies (Moreshet

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his daughter-in-law Tamar is ﬁnally resolved after he admits: ‘She is more righteous than I (ßàd eqâ mimmennî ), inasmuch as I did not give her to my son Shelah’ (v. 26). Likewise, Saul releases David (temporarily) from suspicion, confessing ‘You are more righteous than I (ßaddîq "attâ mimmennî ); for you have repaid me good, whereas I have repaid you evil’ (1 Sam 24.18 [evv 24.17]). There are two issues to be considered in assessing the meaning of these confessions: are these somehow ‘forensic’ statements? and what is the precise force of the comparative min? Judah’s statement is often taken to have legal implications, presumably because of the connection to institution of levirate marriage and thus a ‘judicial context’,38 despite the problematic nature of the relationship between the law and the custom.39 Such overtones are not so apparent in the Saul/David conﬂict, with the language of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ emphasising virtuous behaviour (and its lack) between the two protagonists.40 Nor are ßdq terms necessarily forensic. My sense, then, is that forensic force is supplied (if at all) by context rather than the precise formula itself. What, then, of the force of the preposition? The semantic nuance of the comparative min is not always easy to distinguish, as the same text could be construed either as implying preference or degree rather than exclusion. Still, there are some conﬁdent expressions that Judah41 and Saul42 are confessing that ‘right’ belongs to Tamar and David respectively, and not to themselves. Evidence is lacking to decide with ﬁnality between the nuance of exclusion (‘you are in the right and I am not’) or comparison (‘you more in the right than I am’); in either event the expression

Series, 2; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1978), p. 398; J. E. Hartley, The Book of Job (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), p. 463; J. L. Sicre relates Job 35.2 directly to Gen 38.26 and 1 Sam 24.18 (EVV 24.17), but understands the min as exclusive rather than comparative (see below L. Alonso Schökel and J. L. Sicre, Job: Comentario Teológico y Literario [Nueva Biblia Española; Madrid: Ediciones Cristianidad, 1983] pp. 496–97); cf. also Job 4.17; 32.2. Further references which also merit consideration include 1 Kgs 2.32; Jer 3.11; and Hab 1.13. 38 So G. J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (WBC, 2; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1994), p. 369. 39 Cf. C. M. Carmichael, ‘A Ceremonial Crux: Removing a Man’s Sandal as a Female Gesture of Contempt’, JBL 96 (1977), pp. 321–36. 40 Cf. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, p. 469. 41 B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), p. 265; cf. Alonso and Sicre, Job, p. 497. 42 Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, p. 469, n. 47.

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serves to lay the hostilities to rest and to allow life to go on with the breach in relationship mended, even if in the case of Saul and David this is only temporary. 2. Stories of Unforgiveness The most powerful element shared by the stories above is the renewal of life that accompanies reconciliation. The narratives each present this aspect in their own terms, but the relief that comes with death averted and life aﬃrmed, in each case, is tangible. It is not surprising, then, that on the occasions when we can witness the opposite movement—the refusal of forgiveness—the opposite result should obtain: death is the inevitable result. 2.1. Saul and Samuel (1 Samuel 15 [esp. vv. 24–31]) In the tragic story of Saul, the incident which seals his doom creates the image of a pathetic man, bewildered by the events that overtake him. Samuel commissions Saul to utterly destroy the Amalekites according to Yahweh’s express instructions. This is all but done: Saul, however, spares Agag, the Amalekite king (vv. 9, 20); the people spare the best of the livestock (vv. 9, 15, 21). This is enough, however, for Saul to be rejected just as he rejected the instructions of Yahweh (v. 23). When Samuel catches up to Saul to explain this, Saul protests (‘. . . the people spared the best of the sheep and cattle to sacriﬁce to Yahweh your [!] God . . .’, v. 15) until Samuel’s message ﬁnally gets through. Then Saul repents: he begs forgiveness from Samuel regretting that he obeyed the people rather than Yahweh (v. 24). But it is too late: Samuel will not relent, apparently because Yahweh cannot (v. 29). Still Saul persists, and why? So he can worship Yahweh (v. 30; cf. vv. 25, 31)! Now this may be simply Saul’s code for joining in with the people in the victory feast, but in any case it does not alter the result. He is rejected as king; he will die in shame; his son will not succeed him. Here there is no doubt that forgiveness has been sought by the oﬀender and withheld by the oﬀended. But it is not clear the extent to which this is inter-personal in nature. For the purposes of this narrative, the identity of Samuel has all but merged with Yahweh. Samuel seems to greet Yahweh’s rejection of Saul with horror (v. 11; cf. 16.1), and he does seem to want to appease him (v. 31),

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but ultimately this seems to be an episode between Saul and Yahweh, not Saul and Samuel. Still, it is suggestive for our purposes. Samuel’s refusal to grant forgiveness to Saul—a condition which seems to bring Samuel some agony of spirit—means a denial of life and hope to Saul. Perhaps some of that agony stemmed from Samuel’s realisation of what lack of forgiveness would mean for this tragic ﬁgure. 2.2. David and Shimei [?] (2 Sam 16.5–14; 19.16–23; 1 Kgs 2.8–9, 36–46) If the previous story carried some doubt regarding the personal dimension, the sprawling dealings of David and Shimei raise questions concerning the aspect of forgiveness itself. Shimei energetically insults David as he ﬂees from the usurper Absalom. David refuses the counsel of his stalwarts to kill Shimei on the spot. Nonetheless, when David eventually returns to Jerusalem, Shimei comes grovelling, realising that his insulting ways may have jeopardised his life. Again David rejects the advice to kill Shimei, and gives Shimei his oath that he would not die. These decisions by David may suggest that he learned well his lesson from Abigail. But again his decision for life seems to have a self-interested slant: David’s concern is not with Shimei’s well-being, but his own. Thus we are not totally surprised as David’s death-bed advice to Solomon concerning Shimei: David may have sworn his oath, but ‘do not hold him guiltless ("altenaqqèhû) for you are a wise man; you will know what you ought to do to him, and you must bring his gray head down with blood to Sheol’ (1 Kgs 2.9). And this Solomon does. The slight misgivings about the nature of David’s forgiveness in the Nabal story here are fully realised. Although David passes over Shimei’s oﬀence, assuring him of life, the advice to Solomon shows that the oﬀence continues to deﬁne their relationship from David’s point of view. The oﬀence has been carefully registered and is used to bring the culprit to a violent end. This, then, is no forgiveness on David’s part, for while keeping up an appearance of aﬃrming life, Shimei’s death is his ultimate concern. In terms of forgiveness given and withheld, this episode provides the antithesis to the storyformed world seen above.

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So what is forgiveness, at least as it is seen between persons in these stories? Refusal to exact revenge seems to be the common thread. To the extent that the wrongs that would justify the revenge cease to be operative in a relationship, there is forgiveness and with it, life. Otherwise, vengeance is carried out bringing death to the oﬀender, and bloody hands to the avenger. But there is more to these stories than simply the abstraction of this dynamic, and in any case the David stories demonstrate that merely refraining from revenge does not constitute life-aﬃrming reconciliation. Rather, we deal here with stories which invite us into their world, and as we enter it our own world is re-created. The stories build in us a sense of approval of forgiveness, of aﬃrmation of life (or an abhorrence of vengeful death) in a way that the mere articulation of principles cannot do. Although the readings oﬀered above are synchronic, literary exercises, still the interests they display emerge from an ancient Israelite or Judaean perspective. So there is some justiﬁcation for making some observations about some possible ‘historical’ implications of the study. One cannot suppose that in this brief compass we are able to ascertain the moral principles guiding inter-personal forgiveness in ancient Israel as a whole, either through time or across society, nor do I claim that the sketch here is an accurate description of ethical norms in ancient Israel. Rather, this analysis describes the moral landscape glimpsed through the window that these writings open onto that world.43 It is noteworthy that all these episodes of forgiveness turn on matters of life and death. Even Nabal’s merely callous refusal of food immediately escalates to a situation where David has committed himself to killing every male in Nabal’s considerable household. We do not catch glimpses of how smaller breaches in relationships were mended, and one begins to wonder if they were. Again, we must resist the urge to ﬁx on those aspects that are absent, but it seems that writers of the stories that make up the Bible felt no need to attend to the smaller crises of life. Thus when we look at these stories they carry an urgency that is alien to the world of many modern readers.

43

Deliberately echoing Rodd’s 2001 title, Glimpses of a Strange Land.

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The predominant pattern of a superior party pardoning an inferior was noted above. Usually, the one who has caused the breach in the relationship is in a position of subservience, while the oﬀended party is in a position of power. Schimmel describes the pattern in this way: In these stories the forgiver is someone in power who shows mercy towards an oﬀender whom he could have put to death. There are no instances of a powerful oﬀender requesting forgiveness from, or being forgiven by, a weak victim of his, or of someone forgiving an oﬀender no more, or less, powerful than the victim. These narratives enhance the reputation of the powerful party who ‘pardons’ and acts mercifully towards an oﬀender who is in a temporary or permanent position of weakness.44

These stories give no sense that the oﬀended is under any obligation to forgive. Indeed, in the case of Jacob and Esau it comes as a surprise to see Esau’s generosity. Something like this happens too in the story of Joseph and his brothers. The reader knows that Joseph has laid the oﬀences aside, but the brothers—the culprits—do not share this assumption. And again, Shimei is convinced that his treachery has earned him a sudden and violent death; his gratitude that this does not immediately take place is palpable. However, there is room to moderate the blanket claim that the forgiver invariably holds a more powerful social status. The admissions of Judah and Saul at least demonstrate that there was a form of words available for a superior to seek reconciliation with an inferior, even if this situation is not well attested in the Hebrew Bible. Beyond the narrators’ interests, the formation of ideals in the mind of the reader also has importance, especially for the later faith communities that look to the Bible as scripture. Barton has commented: ‘The ethical interest of the stories . . . lies in the interplay of [general moral] principles with the ﬂawed characters of the protagonists in the stories, producing complex actions in which we can recognise our own moral dilemmas and obligations’.45 This examination of the stories of forgiveness represents one attempt in this direction. In informing imagination, they oﬀer a world where the withholding of forgiveness leads to death, while the gracious action of forgetting an

44 45

Schimmel, ‘Interpersonal Forgiveness’, pp. 14–15. Barton, Ethics, p. 36.

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oﬀence, of not allowing the oﬀence to impair normal relations, leads to life. In this dynamic there is more than simply the forgiveness granted by the injured party. It is vital that both parties move toward the other: there must be a double movement of oﬀender to injured, as well as injured towards oﬀender. Only this double movement permits a resumption of life released from the threat of death on the one hand, and from the urge to violence on the other. This gives us both more and less than modern conceptions of forgiveness often allow. It is less in the sense that we see no obligations laid down, and the breach needs to be a major one (it seems) to be considered at all. Otherwise, it seems, one simply gets on with life. On the other hand, there is something more going on here, for not only are the stakes higher, but the results are more permanent. Forgiveness is not continuously reiterated: it is enacted and with it comes the aﬃrmation of life. Along side this life-aﬃrming quality is the realisation that there may be occasions when forgiveness may be denied. Here our stories, while not denying this possibility, give us an ominous sense about what this might mean, for to deny forgiveness raises in us the foreboding of denying life at the same time. Here, then, communities which ‘own’ these stories ﬁnd their notions of forgiveness enriched and sustained.46 To learn for ourselves how to be moral people as far as forgiveness is concerned means not simply to follow through certain obligations, but to allow our actions and our understanding of the world to be shaped by the Bible’s stories of forgiveness as aﬃrmation of life. It is an honour to contribute this essay to a volume celebrating Graeme Auld, whose collegial wisdom and friendship I have come to value highly during these past years together in Edinburgh.

46

Cf. Hauerwas, A Community of Character, cf. n. 7 above.

‘LATE’ COMMON NOUNS IN THE BOOK OF CHRONICLES1 Robert Rezetko 1. Introduction Previously I surveyed the books of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles with reference to the chronology of biblical Hebrew.2 I looked generally at presuppositions and methodology and I examined speciﬁcally ﬁfteen linguistic features of these books for which the conventional diachronic explanation is inadequate. Additionally I oﬀered preliminary observations on the vocabulary of Chronicles.3 Here I will give the data which support my earlier observations and also oﬀer additional thoughts on the use of vocabulary for dating BH (‘Biblical Hebrew’) texts. The main conclusions of this essay are: (1) Chronicles ‘late’ common nouns amount to a trivial percentage of the book’s total vocabulary. (2) Chronicles ‘late’ common nouns rarely substitute for ‘early’ counterparts. In contrast, Chronicles shows a fusion of (mostly) ‘early’ and (occasionally) ‘late’ vocabulary. (3) Chronicles’ ‘late’ common nouns are seldom late absolutely as shown by extra-biblical attestation. For example, Chronicles’ ‘late’ μytlxm is attested in ‘early’ Ugaritic mßltm. (4) Chronicles’ ‘late’ common nouns are habitually explainable by recourse to non-chronological interpretations. Backed by text-critical evidence and/or literary analysis, many occurrences of ‘late’ words in Chronicles can be shown to be orderly and purposeful rather than haphazard and inescapable. Rather than belabour again certain reservations about diachronic lexicographical analysis of BH,4 I begin by brieﬂy discussing several

1 I thank Ian Young (Sydney), Martin Ehrensvärd (Copenhagen), Timothy H. Lim (Edinburgh) and W. Brian Aucker (St. Louis) who remarked on an earlier draft of this essay. 2 R. Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew: Evidence from Samuel–Kings and Chronicles’, in I. Young (ed.), Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology ( JSOTSup, 369; London: T & T Clark International, 2003), pp. 215–50. 3 Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, pp. 237–38. 4 These relate to the limited vocabulary of BH, the large overlap in vocabulary

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important issues. First, common nouns are the most productive part of speech in BH which has over 3,000 unique common nouns with 100,000 plus total occurrences. Also, Chronicles is the main source for LBH (‘Late Biblical Hebrew’), making up about half of the undisputed LBH corpus. Therefore, by coming to grips with the body of common nouns in Chronicles we will have a good understanding of the vocabulary of a ‘late’ book and of LBH. Turning to numbers, Chronicles has some 700 unique common nouns with about 8,000 total occurrences. Of these, 91 of 700 are absent from the Pentateuch and Former Prophets. These are the main focus of this essay. Genesis–Kings as an initial point of comparison may seem arbitrary, but regardless of one’s view on the composition of these books, scholars characterise their language as EBH (‘Early Biblical Hebrew’ = CBH [‘Classical . . .’]/SBH [‘Standard . . .’]), rather than the LBH of Esther–Chronicles and other books. Here I will also explore several verb forms used as substantives, some common noun phrases and proper names, and alleged cases of semantic development among the 600 common nouns which are found in Genesis–Kings and Chronicles. Second, besides bringing the data together in one place, another objective is to practically evaluate two of the three methodological criteria which Avi Hurvitz uses for identifying ‘late’ texts.5 Here I am concerned with the principles of (1) frequency, concentration or accumulation and (2) contrast or opposition. How prevalent is ‘late’ vocabulary in Chronicles and how diﬀerent is it to EBH vocabulary? Hurvitz’s third principle, external sources or extra-biblical attestation, is not my concern here. My discussions are neither comprehensive nor intended to replace lexica and other LBH resources.6 On one hand, space keeps me from giving extra-biblical data related to over a hundred lexical items. On the other hand, Ian Young and

between EBH and LBH, and the factors aﬀecting a language’s lexicon, especially random attestation in written language. In the earlier essay I also broadly addressed signiﬁcant problems in research on Samuel–Kings and Chronicles: generalised impressions rather than comprehensive investigations, unwarranted literary assumptions, and explanations restricted to chronology and authorship when equal weight should be given to non-chronological and editorial and scribal factors. See Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, pp. 238–49. 5 I mention Hurvitz because he is the most signiﬁcant scholar of LBH. However, others have adopted his methodology (e.g., Bergey, Rooker). 6 See, e.g., Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, p. 221.

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I have written elsewhere on the pitfalls of using Hebrew inscriptions, Aramaic, Ben Sira, Qumran Hebrew (QH), Mishnaic Hebrew (MH) and Persian and Greek loanwords for dating BH texts.7 Lastly, a note of warning: BDB routinely calls words ‘late’, ‘P and late’, ‘poetic and late’ and ‘P, poetry and late’, often modifying these labels with ‘chieﬂy’, ‘mostly’, ‘almost wholly’, ‘especially’, ‘only’, etc. My research suggests that these labels should be taken with a grain of salt, since generally they assume already which texts are ‘early’ or ‘late’ or they relate to the occurrence or frequency of a word in Aramaic or postbiblical Hebrew. Third, sometimes a common noun in Chronicles is unattested in EBH but a related item is in EBH or other early texts (e.g., Ugaritic). Can we assume that the existence of a cognate stem or word in EBH implies the existence of the noun in question?8 On one hand, Hurvitz says the verb πxr should not be used in discussions of hpxr, since ‘linguistic observations valid for one category do not necessarily apply to the other’,9 and Schoors disallows the cognate verb as evidence that the noun πws is ‘early’.10 On the other hand, Driver uses the verb lçm as evidence that hlçmm is ‘early’,11 and Rendsburg uses Ugaritic and Phoenician evidence for the root glp to show that

7

I. Young and R. Rezetko, Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts: An Introduction to Approaches and Problems (Bible World; London: Equinox, 2007). Also see: on Hebrew inscriptions: I. Young, ‘Late Biblical Hebrew and Hebrew Inscriptions’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 276–311; idem, Diversity in Pre-Exilic Hebrew (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1993), pp. 97–121; on Aramaic: A. Hurvitz, ‘Hebrew and Aramaic in the Biblical Period: The Problem of “Aramaisms” in Linguistic Research on the Hebrew Bible’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 24–37; G. A. Rendsburg, ‘Hurvitz Redux: On the Continued Scholarly Inattention to a Simple Principle of Hebrew Philology’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 104–28; Young, Diversity, pp. 54–63; on loanwords: M. Eskhult, ‘The Importance of Loanwords for Dating Biblical Hebrew Texts’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 8–23; Young, Diversity, pp. 66–72; idem, ‘Late Biblical Hebrew’, pp. 284–85. 8 Young, Diversity, p. 71, responds in the aﬃrmative, citing a publication by Yamauchi. 9 A. Hurvitz, ‘Continuity and Change in Biblical Hebrew: The Linguistic History of a Formulaic Idiom from the Realm of the Royal Court’, in S. E. Fassberg and A. Hurvitz (eds.), Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives (Publications of The Institute for Advanced Studies, 1, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, Magnes Press; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), pp. 127–33 (132, n. 12). 10 A. Schoors, The Preacher Sought to Find Pleasing Words: A Study of the Language of Qoheleth, Part II: Vocabulary (OLA, 143; Leuven: Peeters, 2004), pp. 339–40. 11 S. R. Driver, ‘On Some Alleged Linguistic Aﬃnities of the Elohist’, The Journal of Philology 11 (1882), pp. 201–36 (215–16).

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twglp is also ‘early’.12 Scholars in our discipline seem not to have explicitly addressed my question. However, several factors suggest that often a LBH common noun probably was available for EBH writers when the latter employ other forms of the root, especially verbs. For example, as GKC indicates, most roots (‘stems’) developed into nominal and verbal forms, and comparative evidence suggests that items unattested in BH were probably available in the living language.13 Aside from its drawbacks, BDB’s historical approach to lemmatisation, tracing and organising BH vocabulary according to authentic or abstracted tri-consonantal roots, suggests page after page that many if not most attested BH verbs are matched by one or several common nouns. Also, we know that BH’s 8,000 lexemes are a small part of the vocabulary in regular use in spoken and written ancient Hebrew.14 Therefore, the distribution of vocabulary in BH represents attestation rather than availability. Additional evidence is adducible, but minimally ‘no proof for the absence of a certain feature in the spoken language can be derived from negative evidence’.15 However, generally I will not mention words (usually verbs) in EBH which correspond to common nouns attested only in LBH; but silence should not suggest absence of related EBH evidence. Fourth, I will not address collective nouns construed as plurals; nouns and noun phrases which are usually or always plural in LBH (e.g., ≈ra, tyb, dsj, rpsm, hyl[, jsp, ≈rah μ[, ≈rah bçwy); noun phrases which usually or always occur in a diﬀerent order in LBH (e.g., ˚lmh dwd, πskw bhz); and other specialised phrases (e.g., μwyb μwy, l[ μwlç, çarh ˆhk).16

12

Rendsburg, ‘Redux’, pp. 124–25. GKC §30 (p. 99); §79 (p. 221). 14 J. Barr, Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968), pp. 224–27; J. F. Elwolde, ‘Developments in Hebrew Vocabulary between Bible and Mishna’, in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde (eds.), The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira: Proceedings of a Symposium Held at Leiden University 11–14 December 1995 (STDJ, 26; Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 17–55 (52–53 and nn. 100–102). 15 J.-W. Wesselius, ‘The Language of the Hebrew Bible Contrasted with the Language of the Ben Sira Manuscripts and of the Dead Sea Scrolls’, in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde (eds.), Sirach, Scrolls, and Sages: Proceedings of a Second International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Ben Sira, and the Mishnah, Held at Leiden University, 15–17 December 1997 (STDJ, 33; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 338–45 (344). 16 Ehrensvärd, Young and I discuss some of these in Young’s Biblical Hebrew. 13

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2. Uncontroversial Common Nouns Sixty common nouns are ‘unproblematic’ although Genesis–Kings do not attest them. Generally various factors determined my decision to place a word here: it appears elsewhere in EBH (e.g., I Isaiah); it has an EBH cognate; it has a signiﬁcant early extra-biblical cognate; it fails to substitute for an EBH word; it has no similar EBH context; it is a hapax legomenon; it is a technical term; it is a Kulturwort;17 it is in a proper name; it is Kethiv (K) with an EBH Qere (Q ); it is an orthographical (consonantal or vocalic) variant of an EBH word; or evidence is simply lacking. Authorities generally do not call these words ‘late’. I cite all occurrences in Chronicles; however, references to other biblical texts and secondary literature, both here and in following sections of this essay, mostly aim to reinforce my doubt that these are ‘late’ vis-à-vis Genesis–Kings. (1) hrwa: ‘stable’: 2 Chron 32.28; cf. hwra here and in 1 Kgs 5.6// 2 Chron 9.25. (2) rka: ‘farmer’: 2 Chron 26.10; cf. Jer 14.4; 31.24; 51.23; Amos 5.16.18 (3) μwgla: ‘almug timber’; 2 Chron 2.7; 9.10, 11; cf. μygmla in // 1 Kgs 10.11, 12.19 (4) πsa: ‘storeroom’; 1 Chron 26.15, 17.20 (5) hkwra: ‘healing’; 2 Chron 24.13; cf. Jer 8.22; 30.17; 33.6. (6) hydg: ‘bank (of river)’; 1 Chron 12.16; cf. hdg in Josh 3.15, 16; Isa 8.7. (7) μdh: ‘footstool’; 1 Chron 28.2.21 (8) hrdh: ‘adornment’; in çdqAtrdh; 1 Chron 16.29; 2 Chron 20.21.22 Also, I look brieﬂy at the noun aﬀormative tW– (e.g., twklm) (Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, p. 224). 17 P. V. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew (HSS, 47; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), pp. 7–8. 18 Observe that this is an Akkadian trans-Aramaic borrowing (Mankowski, Akkadian, pp. 32–33). 19 R. Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew: Toward an Historical Typology of Biblical Hebrew Prose (HSM, 12; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1976), p. 126; W. G. E. Watson, ‘Archaic Elements in the Language of Chronicles’, Bib 53 (1972), pp. 191–207 (192). 20 Mankowski, Akkadian, pp. 36–38. 21 BDB, p. 13: ‘only in poet. and late writings’; but cf. Eskhult, ‘Importance’, p. 20. 22 G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10 –29: A New Translation with Introduction and

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(9) h[wz: ‘a trembling’; 2 Chron 29.8; Isa 28.19; Jer 15.4; 24.9; 29.18; 34.17 (all K, except Q hw[z in Isa 28.19); cf. hw[z in Deut 28.25; Ezek 23.46. (10) π[z: ‘rage’; 2 Chron 16.10; 28.9; cf. Isa 30.30; Mic 7.9.23 (11) tbj: ‘ﬂat cake’; 1 Chron 9.31. (12) yzwj: ‘seer’; in proper name; 2 Chron 33.19. (13) twOzj}: ‘vision’; in proper name; 2 Chron 9.29. “ :, ‘strength’; 2 Chron 12.1; 26.16; cf. Isa 8.11; EBH hq;zj“ .; 24 (14) hq;zj (15) hQ;luj:} ‘part’; 2 Chron 35.5; cf. EBH/LBH hq;l]j., (16) twçpj: ‘separateness’; 2 Chron 26.21, K/Q; cf. tyçpj in //2 Kgs 15.5.25 (17) çrj: ‘forest’: 2 Chron 27.4; cf. Isa 17.9; Ezek 31.3. (18) ayxy: ‘coming forth’; 2 Chron 32.21, K/Q; cf. wynb in 2 Kgs 19.37 [Q]; Isa 37.38. (19) çbk: ‘footstool’; 2 Chron 9.18.26 (20) rpk: ‘village’; 1 Chron 27.25; cf. proper name in Josh 18.24. (21) tkphm: ‘stocks’; 2 Chron 16.10; cf. Jer 20.2, 3; 29.26.27 (22) ds;Wm: ‘foundation’; 2 Chron 8.16; cf. Isa 28.16; Ugaritic msd. (23) hr:B]j'm:] ‘clamp’; 1 Chron 22.3; 2 Chron 34.11; cf. tr
Commentary (AB, 12A; New York: Doubleday, 2004), pp. 638–39; Polzin, Late, p. 134; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 193. 23 BDB, p. 277: ‘poet. and late’. 24 Polzin, Late, pp. 137–38. 25 Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 193. 26 BDB, p. 461: ‘late’; but cf. S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), p. 641; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 194. 27 BDB, p. 246: ‘mentioned rather late’. 28 BDB, p. 584: ‘= hn:m,; chieﬂy late’.

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(30) μr[m: ‘nakedness’; 2 Chron 28.15.29 (31) hglpm: ‘division’; 2 Chron 35.12.30 (32) h[çpm: ‘seat’; 1 Chron 19.4; cf. μhytwtç in //2 Sam 10.4.31 (33) hrwxm: ‘fortiﬁcation’; 2 Chron 11.10, 11, 23; 12.4, 5; 21.3; cf. Isa 29.3; Nah 2.2; EBH/LBH rwxm I and II, also 2 Chron 11.5; 32.10. (34) hpxm: ‘watch-tower’; 2 Chron 20.24; cf. Isa 21.8. (35) hqxwm: ‘pipe’; in wtqxm μyqwxy; 2 Chron 4.3; cf. wtqxyb μyqxy in //1 Kgs 7.24. (36) hwqm: ‘hope’; 1 Chron 29.15; cf. Jer 14.8; 17.13; 50.7. (37) jqm: ‘a taking’; 2 Chron 19.7. (38) t/hrfqm: ‘incense-altar’; 2 Chron 30.14. (39) aprm: ‘healing’; 2 Chron 21.18; 36.16; cf. Jer 8.18; 14.19 (2x); 33.6. (40) t[çrm: ‘wickedness’; 2 Chron 24.7. (41) aoCm': ‘lifting up (face) = partiality’; 2 Chron 19.7. (42) jwn: ‘resting place’: 2 Chron 6.41; textual error?; cf. hjwnm in //Ps 132.8. (43) hbsn: ‘turn of aﬀairs’; 2 Chron 10.15; cf. hbs in //1 Kgs 12.15. (44) μynytn: ‘temple servants’; 1 Chron 9.2; cf. μyn(w)tn in Numbers.32 (45) bx,[:‡o ‘pain’; 1 Chron 4.9; cf. Isa 14.3. (46) hmr[: ‘ruin’; 2 Chron 31.6 (2x), 7, 8, 9; cf. Jer 50.26; Ugaritic ©rmn. (47) hnwp: ‘corner’; in proper name; 2 Chron 25.23; cf. hnp in //2 Kgs 14.13. (48) hglp: ‘division’; 2 Chron 35.5.33 (49) μy[wx[x: ‘images’; in μy[wx[x hç[m; 2 Chron 3.10; cf. ˆmçAyx[ in //1 Kgs 6.23.34 (50) tpx: ‘plated capital’; 2 Chron 3.15.35 (51) hdspr: ‘raft’; 2 Chron 2.15; cf. twrbd in //1 Kgs 5.23. (52) hfyjç: ‘slaughter’; 2 Chron 30.17.

29

Polzin, Late, p. 144. Rendsburg, ‘Redux’, pp. 124–25. 31 E. Y. Kutscher, A History of the Hebrew Language (ed. R. Kutscher; Jerusalem: Magnes Press; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1982), pp. 84–85. 32 Watson, ‘Archaic’, pp. 204–205. 33 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 1049; Rendsburg, ‘Redux’, pp. 124–25. 34 Polzin, Late, p. 149. 35 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 557; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 196. 30

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(53) çyç: ‘marble’; 1 Chron 29.2.36 (54) jlç: ‘javelin’; 2 Chron 23.10; 32.5; 2 Sam 18.14, μyjlç conjectured for μyfbç; cf. Ugaritic “l˙.37 (55) fwpç: ‘judgement’; 2 Chron 20.9. (56) fqç: ‘quietness’; 1 Chron 22.9. (57) hqrç: ‘hissing’; 2 Chron 29.8; cf. Jer 19.8; 25.9, 18; 29.18; 51.37; Mic 6.16. (58) hswbt: ‘downfall’; 2 Chron 22.7.38 (59) rwt: ‘turn’; in μdah rwtk; 1 Chron 17.17; cf. μdah trwt in 2 Sam 7.19; Ugaritic tr.39 (60) ˆwnjt: ‘supplication’; 2 Chron 6.21; cf. Jer 3.21; 31.9; hnjt in //1 Kgs 8.30. 3. Common Noun Phrases Several common noun phrases are eliminated since their individual lexemes and concepts are not ‘late’: hnwxyjh hkalmh (1 Chron 26.29); qwrm tçjn (2 Chron 4.16); μyçrgm yr[ (1 Chron 13.2); twml[Al[ (1 Chron 15.20); jmrw tnx (or related phrases: 1 Chron 12.9, 25; 2 Chron 11.12; 14.7; 25.5); hrwbqh hdç (2 Chron 26.23). (61) XAtyb (‘house of X’): μyhlah tyb appears 55 times in BH: once each in Qoh 4.17 and Dan 1.2; nine times each in Ezra–Nehemiah; 34 times in Chronicles; and once in EBH Judg 18.31 for Shiloh’s ‘house of God’. Polzin calls this phrase LBH claiming it replaces ‘older’ hwhy tyb or tybh.40 First, see in section 4 below on proper names. Second, similar phraseology occurs outside the Writings: μyhla tyb (Gen 28.17, 22; Judg 17.5; cf. 2 Chron 34.9); yhla tyb ( Josh 9.23; cf. 1 Chron 29.2, 3 [2x]); wnyhla tyb ( Joel 1.16); μkyhla tyb ( Joel 1.13; cf. 2 Chron 24.5); wyhla tyb (Hos 9.8; cf. 2 Chron 32.21); μhyhla tyb ( Judg 9.27; Amos 2.8; cf. 1 Chron 10.10); bq[y yhla tyb (Isa 2.3; Mic 4.2). Third, in MT on a dozen plus occasions μyhlah tyb in Chronicles is parallel with Kings’ hwhy tyb;

36 Y. Muchiki, Egyptian Proper Names and Loanwords in North-West Semitic (SBLDS, 173; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), pp. 256–57. 37 BDB, p. 1019: ‘late’; but cf. Polzin, Late, p. 150. 38 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 822; H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982), p. 312. 39 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 678. 40 Polzin, Late, p. 130.

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however, ‘early’ hwhy tyb appears 255 times in BH, often in Chronicles (95 times), followed by Kings (77 times) and Jeremiah (33 times).41 Evidence suggests that these were alternative expressions in the Second Temple period.42 (62) XAtyb (‘house of X’): Hurvitz examined seven terms/epithets related to the temple that are attested in Chronicles and increasingly in postbiblical literature.43 These are lhahAtyb (1 Chron 9.23); jbzAtyb (2 Chron 7.12); trpkhAtyb (1 Chron 28.11); hjwnmAtyb (1 Chron 28.2); çdqm(h) tyb (2 Chron 36.17); çdq(h) tyb (1 Chron 29.3); μyçdqhAçdqAtyb (2 Chron 3.8, 10). He concludes: The inescapable conclusion, therefore, is that the linguistic nature— and historical setting—of the seven terms discussed in our study cannot be properly evaluated if examined by innerbiblical considerations alone. Terms that may appear at ﬁrst glance to be idiosyncratic expressions of the Chronicler’s peculiar style or ad hoc formulations, turn out, on a closer examination, to be an organic part of the general linguistic picture underlying the Second Temple Period as a whole . . .44

However, looking beyond the Chronicler’s linguistic and historical milieu, this unique terminology was not inevitable, so that its role should also be sought in the book’s literary phenomena.45 Furthermore, Hurvitz argued that Chronicles (and other postbiblical literature) ‘attests to a gradual linguistic process in which the ancient term rybd was ultimately replaced by the more recent phrases μyçdqhAçdqAtyb

41 hwhy tyb also appears in Josh 6.24 (LXX yhsaurÚn kur¤ou); Judg 19.18 (LXX tÚn o‰kÒn mou); 1 Sam 1.7, 24; 3.15; 2 Sam 12.20 (LXX tÚn o‰kon toË yeoË). The

textual variation here, and elsewhere with respect to μyhla and hwhy, is signiﬁcant from the standpoint of editorial intervention in biblical texts. The phrase ‘house of Yahweh God’ occurs a dozen times in BH, including ˚yhla hwhy tyb in Exod 23.19; 34.26; Deut 23.19. 42 H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), pp. 46–47; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 193; Young, ‘Late’, p. 287. See further R. Rezetko, Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16 (LHBOTS; London: T & T Clark International, 2007). 43 A. Hurvitz, ‘Terms and Epithets Relating to the Jerusalem Temple Compound in the Book of Chronicles: The Linguistic Aspect’, in D. P. Wright, D. N. Freedman and A. Hurvitz (eds.), Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), pp. 165–83. He also gives a dozen plus XAtyb phrases ﬁrst appearing in postbiblical literature. 44 Hurvitz, ‘Terms’, pp. 182–83. 45 See, e.g., on trpkhAtyb, Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 495.

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and trpkhAtyb’.46 The terminology in P is either çdqh (Lev 4.6; 16.2 [tybm çdq], 3, 16, 17, 20, 23, 27) or μyçdqhAçdq (Exod 26.33, 34), the latter continuing in Kings and Chronicles (1 Kgs 6.16; 7.50; 8.6; 1 Chron 6.34; 2 Chron 4.22; 5.7) side-by-side with rybd (1 Kgs 6.5, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 31; 7.49; 8.6, 8; 2 Chron 3.16; 4.20; 5.7, 9). In Kings and Chronicles we ﬁnd: 6.5 6.16 6.19 6.20 6.21 6.22

rybdh μyçdqh çdq rybd rybd rybd rybdh rybdh

1 Kgs 6.23 1 Kgs 6.31

rybdh rybdh

1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1

Kgs Kgs Kgs Kgs Kgs Kgs

Kgs Kgs Kgs Kgs

7.49 rybdh 7.50 μyçdqh çdq 8.6 μyçdqh çdq tybh rybd 8.8 rybdh

//

μyçdqh çdqAtyb μyçdqh çdqAtyb

rybdh // rybdh // μyçdqh çdq // μyçdqh çdq tybh rybd // rybdh

2 Chron 3.8 2 Chron 3.10 2 2 2 2 2

Chron Chron Chron Chron Chron

3.1647 4.20 4.22 5.7 5.9

It is diﬃcult to conclude rybd ‘fell into disuse during the post-classical period’. (63) μjl rkk (‘round of bread’): rkk (1 Chron 16.3) perhaps was substituted for hlj (2 Sam 6.19), but against some claims,48 the modiﬁcation is unrelated to BH chronology, e.g., Exod 29.23 has . . . tja ˆmç μjl tlhw tja μjl rkkw. Elsewhere, μjl tlj occurs in Lev 6.13; 8.26 and μjl rkk in Judg 8.5; 1 Sam 2.36; 10.3; Jer 37.21; Prov 6.26.49 (64) tkr[m (‘row’): The issue is not the lexeme which Lev 24.6, 7 also use. BH has related terminology (cf. verb ˚r[; nouns ˚r[, ˚r[m, hkr[m). The issue is LBH’s ‘replacement’ of EBH μynp(h) μjl (‘bread of presence’; Exod 25.30; 35.13; 39.36; 1 Sam 21.7 [evv 21.6]; 1 Kgs 7.48//2 Chron 4.19) with LBH phrases: μjl tkr[m

46 A. Hurvitz, A Linguistic Study of the Relationship Between the Priestly Source and the Book of Ezekiel: A New Approach to an Old Problem (CahRB, 20; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1982), p. 140; cf. Hurvitz, ‘Terms’, pp. 171–72. 47 Hurvitz neglects this independent rybd. 48 E.g., J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), p. 184. 49 Cf. Rezetko, Source. rkk is also attested in Ugaritic kkr.

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(2 Chron 13.11); dymt tkr[m (2 Chron 2.3 [evv 2.4]); tkr[mh μjl (1 Chron 9.32; 23.29; Neh 10.34); tkr[mh (twn/ˆjlç) (1 Chron 28.16; 2 Chron 29.18). First, Chronicles shares μynph μjl with 1 Kgs 7.48. Second, Chronicles’ terminology assumes elements found in P: dymt (Exod 25.30; Num 4.7); ˆjlç(h) (Exod 25.30; Num 4.7); tkr[mh (Lev 24.7). Third, the terminology is inconsistent in EBH: ˚r[ (Exod 40.4); μjl (˚r[) (Exod 40.23); μjlh (Lev 24.7); dymth μjl (Num 4.7); çdq μjl (1 Sam 21.5); çdq (1 Sam 21.7); (μj) μjl (1 Sam 21.7). (65) bybs bybs (‘all around’): The substantive bybs often serves as an adverbial or preposition. It is doubled in Ezekiel (26 times) and 2 Chron 4.3: μybbws bybs bybs (//μybbs bybs in 1 Kgs 7.24). BDB says ‘sometimes doubled, for the sake of emphasis’.50 The word appears singly in 1 Sam 31.9//1 Chron 10.9; 1 Chron 28.12 (nonsynoptic); 1 Kgs 7.23//2 Chron 4.2; 1 Kgs 7.24//2 Chron 4.3 (after the doubled form); 2 Kgs 11.8//2 Chron 23.7; 2 Kgs 11.11//2 Chron 23.10. Chronicles’ use of the single and doubled forms does not conﬁrm that the issue is ‘of a diachronic nature, distinguishing earlier BH from later BH’.51 (66) larçy tyraç (‘Israel’s remnant’): This appears in 1 Chron 12.39 (larçy [sic] tyrç); 2 Chron 34.9 (larçy tyraç); Isa 46.3 (larçy tyb tyraç); Jer 6.9; 31.7; Ezek 9.8; 11.13; Mic 2.12; Zeph 3.13 (cf. larçy raç in Isa 10.20; Neh 11.20). This concept’s absence in Genesis–Kings is understandable although it is clearly attested in ‘early’ BH. 4. Proper Names (67) Chronicles has no decrease in hwhy related to an increasing μyhla associated with developments in Israelite/Judaic religion.52

50

BDB, p. 687. Hurvitz, Linguistic, p. 87. 52 Contra e.g., M. Rose, ‘Names of God in the OT’, ABD 4:1001–11 (1002, 1010). Cf. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 338; S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (trans. A. Barber; BEATAJ, 9; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997), pp. 30–37; Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 115–16; cf. Rezetko, Source. 51

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(68) The view that ˆfç means ‘Satan’ rather than ‘adversary’ in 1 Chron 21.2 is doubtful together with the idea that Chronicles’ text has a late dualistic concept of the divine.53 (69) Hurvitz argues that qçmrd and qçmrdAμra are typologically later spellings of qçmd and qçmdAμra. Forms without resh are used 38 times in Genesis, Samuel, Kings, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Amos, but also in Zech 9.1 and Cant 7.5. The ‘later’ spelling was a matter of choice even in the Persian period.54 The forms with resh appear in 1 Chron 18.5, 6 (cf. //2 Sam 8.5, 6); 2 Chron 16.2; 24.23; 28.5, 23.55 It is interesting to compare scholarly attitudes on qçmwd (followed shortly afterward by qçmd) in 2 Kgs 16.10: The spelling of the name of the city in MT as dwm≤q is unique and some manuscripts read the regular form dm≤q or indicate that this is the qere. dwm≤q is likely an erroneous copying of the postexilic, dissimilated form of the name . . .56 Probably an error for the form qçoe,m,r“D', which appears in Chr., and is regular in Syriac, and in the Targum of Pseudo-Jonathan.57

5. Semantic Development in Common Nouns Determining semantic change is diﬃcult such that ‘. . . between preexilic and postexilic Hebrew there is practically no semantic change whatsoever that Angel Sáenz-Badillos can point to in his 50-page account of Hebrew in the period of the Second Temple. . .’.58 In addition to my previous comments:59 (1) Semantic shifts in meaning

53 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 374–75; Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, pp. 744, 751; contra, e.g., Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 143. 54 Similarly, whereas 1QIsaa has qçmrd, CD and 4Q266 have qçmd. 55 HALOT 1:227 has references; cf. A. Hurvitz, The Transition Period in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Post-Exilic Hebrew and its Implications for the Dating of Psalms (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1972), pp. 17–18; Kutscher, History, p. 94; E. Y. Kutscher, The Language and Linguistic Background of the Isaiah Scroll (1 Q Isaa) (STDJ, 6; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1974), pp. 3–4; Polzin, Late, pp. 133, 155. 56 M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 11; New York: Doubleday, 1988), p. 189. But observe also that some medieval mss of Chronicles have qçmd in 1 Chron 18.5, 6 (cf. //2 Sam 8.5, 6). 57 C. F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), p. 326. 58 D. J. A. Clines, ‘Comment’, AusBR 43 (1995), pp. 72–74 (73). Elwolde, ‘Developments’, p. 52, n. 99 cites this approvingly. 59 Rezetko, ‘Dating Biblical Hebrew’, pp. 245–49.

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tend to be vague or fuzzy due to polysemy and overlap. (2) One must distinguish change of meaning from change of referent. In most suggested cases of change Chronicles has the particular word with both EBH and LBH ‘meanings’ (i.e., ‘from X meaning . . . to Y meaning’, below). This is problematic. (3) Two common types of semantic change are restriction (broadening) and specialisation (narrowing). ‘Curiously, specialization appears to be far more frequent than generalization’.60 Therefore, ‘girl’ formerly meant young person of either sex but now it denotes only a young female person. This means that diverse ‘meanings’ in Chronicles could, for example, precede uniform ‘meaning’ in P. (70) hmça: From the consequential meaning ‘penalty, reparation’ (1 Chron 21.3; 2 Chron 28.10, 13 [3x]; 33.23) to sin against God = ‘sacrilege’ (2 Chron 24.18). Milgrom makes this distinction.61 However, for Chronicles he cites 2 Chron 24.18 alone with the ‘later’ usage. Presumably the other six instances of hmça reﬂect the ‘earlier’ usage. In any case, scholars have long struggled to distinguish nuances of hmça. (71) dwdg: From ‘raiding band’ (1 Chron 7.4; 2 Chron 25.9, 10, 13; 26.11) to ‘army troop’ (1 Chron 12.19, 22; 2 Chron 22.1). Cf. also Chronicles’ lyj, μ[ and abx for the latter topic. (72) ˆwmh: From ‘multitude’ (2 Chron 13.8; 14.10; 20.2, 12, 15, 24; 32.7) to ‘great number’ (1 Chron 29.16; 2 Chron 11.23; 31.10).62 (73) hzj: From ‘seer’ (1 Chron 21.9; 29.29; 2 Chron 9.29; 12.15; 19.2; 29.25; 33.18) to temple singer as ‘seer’ (1 Chron 25.5; 2 Chron 29.30; 35.15).63 (74) hkçl: From religious ‘hall’ to temple ‘storeroom’ (1 Chron 9.26, 33; 23.28; 28.12; 2 Chron 31.11).64 (75) hlsm: From ‘highway’ to ‘gateway’ (1 Chron 26.16, 18; MT 2 Chron 9.11, textual error?; cf. 1 Kgs 10.12 d[sm).65

60

R. L. Trask, Historical Linguistics (London: Arnold, 1996), p. 42 (cf. 37–47). Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, p. 12. 62 L. R. Tyler, ‘The Language of Ecclesiastes as a Criterion of Dating’ (PhD thesis, The University of Texas at Austin, 1988), pp. 207–209; Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 787: ‘One wonders whether the term hàmòn may designate not only great numbers, but also the manner of their attack – a ‘horde’ (thus NEB) rather than an organized military array’. 63 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 850. 64 Williamson, Israel, p. 44. 65 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 638; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 204. 61

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(76) l[m: In hl[ml, from ‘above’ (1 Chron 23.27; 2 Chron 4.4; 5.8; 31.16, 17; 34.4) to ‘greatly’ (1 Chron 14.2; 22.5; 23.17; 29.3, 25; 2 Chron 1.1; 16.12; 17.12; 20.19; 26.8).66 (77) tybrm: From ‘interest’ to ‘greatness’ (1 Chron 12.30; 2 Chron 9.6; 30.18).67 (78) aC;m:' From levitical ark ‘portage’ (2 Chron 35.3; cf. 17.11; 20.25) to levitical ‘lifting’ of the voice (1 Chron 15.22 [2x], 27).68 (79) dygn: From political ‘ruler’ (1 Chron 5.2; 11.2; 17.7; 28.4; 29.22; 2 Chron 6.5; 11.22) to cult oﬃcial (1 Chron 9.11; 2 Chron 31.13; 35.8) or leader in some other capacity (1 Chron 9.20; 12.28; 13.1; 26.24; 27.4, 16; 2 Chron 11.11; 19.11; 28.7; 31.12; 32.21). (80) hlgs: From Israel as Yahweh’s ‘special possession’ (theological) to the secular ‘treasure’ of kings (1 Chron 9.23).69 (81) rç: From the secular (mostly civil or military) ‘leader’ (80 times in Chronicles) to the representative leader of family or tribe (1 Chron 27.1, 22; 28.1; 29.6; 2 Chron 24.23) or to the priest and/or Levite as religious leader (1 Chron 15.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 16, 22, 27; 24.5 [2x]; 2 Chron 35.9; 36.14). (82) r[wç: From city ‘gatekeeper’ to ‘gatekeeper’ of a religious ediﬁce, usually the temple (1 Chron 9.17, 18, 21, 22, 24, 26; 15.18, 23, 24; 16.38; 23.5; 26.1, 12, 19; 2 Chron 8.14; 23.4, 19; 31.14; 34.13; 35.15).70 (83) Jacob Milgrom outlined his view of the ‘semantic history’ of trmçm (15 times in Chronicles). He argued that the word means ‘guarding’/‘custody’ in the ‘earliest sources’, that the meaning ‘service’/‘duty’ ‘is strictly the Deuteronomist’s coinage . . . and is elsewhere only attested in the later literature’, and that ‘[t]he ﬁnal evolution of trmçm into “service unit” is not found in the Bible at all!’.71 However, two decades later he said ‘The evolution of mi“meret from “guard duty” to postbiblical “service unit” is barely detectable

66 S. Japhet, ‘The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemia Investigated Anew’, VT 18 (1968), pp. 330–71 (357–58); Polzin, Late, pp. 140–41. 67 Polzin, Late, p. 145. 68 Chronicles’ text is problematic. See Rezetko, Source. 69 A. E. Hill, ‘The Book of Malachi: Its Place in Post-Exilic Chronology Linguistically Considered’ (PhD thesis, University of Michigan, 1981), p. 122; Schoors, Preacher, pp. 405–406, 500; Tyler, ‘Ecclesiastes’, pp. 120–22. 70 Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 197. 71 J. Milgrom, Studies in Levitical Terminology, I: The Encroacher and the Levite, The Term 'Aboda (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970), p. 12, n. 44.

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in Scripture. This later meaning is found only in Nehemiah (Neh 12:9, 24 [sic—v. 45]; 13:30 . . .) and Chronicles (1 Chr 25:8) . . . But it is not even adumbrated in any of P’s forty-three [sic] attestations . . .’.72 But more recently he said ‘Sometimes the usual meaning “guard duty” is adopted, as in 1 Ch. 9:27; 25:8. In other texts it has a more general meaning such as “service” or “duty” (Neh. 12:45 . . .) . . . In [Neh] 12:9; 13:30, the context does not permit any certain conclusions about the word’s semantic valence’.73 Determining parameters of development in the meaning of trmçm is diﬃcult.74 (84) A term ‘of weightier import’ for Milgrom is hdb[ (45 times in Chronicles, sometimes hdwb[). He argued that, instead of the general gloss ‘service’ in all BH strata, the word’s meaning developed from ‘physical labour’ or ‘work service’ (pertaining to the Levites) in EBH to ‘cultic service’ (pertaining to the priests) in LBH.75 Here the exceptions concern me. Originally Milgrom said ‘Above all, all occurrences of the word hdb[ in accounts dealing with the Temple [in Chronicles] seem to refer to cultic service, and the exceptions are easily explicable’.76 Accordingly, the ‘late’ meaning ‘cult service’ is absent from the underlined passages: 1 Chron 4.21; 6.17, 33; 9.13, 19, 28; 23.24, 26, 28 (2x), 32; 24.3, 19; 25.1 (2x), 6, 8, 30; 27.26; 28.13 (2x), 14 (4x), 15, 20, 21 (2x); 29.7; 2 Chron 8.14; 10.4; 12.8 (2x); 24.12; 29.35; 31.2, 16, 21; 34.13 (2x); 35.2, 10, 15, 16.77 However, addressing exceptions in the context of temple construction and repair, he says these ‘can be explained as being copied by the Chronicler from the older sources before him rather than being his own idiom’.78 However, more recently Milgrom said ‘. . . in postexilic texts (even

72

Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, p. 7. J. Milgrom, L. Harper and H.-J. Fabry, ‘tr<m,v]m’i , in TDOT 9:72–78 (77). 74 See, by date of publication: Milgrom, Studies, pp. 12–16; J. Milgrom, Numbers (The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1989), pp. xxxii, 341–42, 513; idem, Leviticus 1–16, p. 7; Milgrom, Harper and Fabry, ‘tr<m,v]m’i , pp. 72–78. I ﬁnd a similar diﬃculty with Milgrom’s description of the supposed intermediate phase of development, when trmçm means ‘duty’, ‘duties’, ‘course of duty’, ‘service’. 75 Milgrom, Studies, pp. 60–87; idem, Numbers, pp. xxxii, 343–44, 513; idem, Leviticus 1–16, pp. 7–8; J. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 3; New York: Doubleday, 2000), p. 1363; cf. idem, ‘The Levitical 'Aboda’, JQR 61 (1970), pp. 132–54. 76 Milgrom, Studies, p. 82. 77 Milgrom, Studies, p. 82, nn. 305–306; cf. p. 87, n. 322. 78 Milgrom, Studies, p. 82, n. 306. 73

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when they cite pentateuchal passages) it means “cultic service”’79 but also ‘[t]hese two meanings can never have been used simultaneously because they contradict each other’80 and ‘[n]o postexilic writer could have used '>bòdâ in its earlier sense of “physical labor” when it ﬂatly contradicted the meaning it had in his own time’.81 Again, determining parameters of semantic development in hdb[ is diﬃcult.82 (85) The noun hzja (‘possession’) is used 66 times: Genesis (9 times); Leviticus (20 times); Numbers (9 times); Deut 31.49; Joshua (6 times); Ezekiel (15 times); Ps 2.8; Neh 11.3; 1 Chron 7.28; 9.2; 2 Chron 11.14; 31.1. Hurvitz argued for ‘a certain terminological discrepancy between P and the late sources’.83 He said: M. Paran has observed a remarkable diﬀerence between the use of "a˙uzzâ in P and in Neh-Chr. In P, the term "a˙uzzâ = »possessed land, dwelling place« regularly has a rural, agricultural connotation and is accompanied by ≈ra or hdc, not by ry[. . . . [Lev 27.16, 24; Num 32.4–5; Deut 32.49; Josh 21.12] . . . In contrast, in Neh and Chr hzja and ry[ form a collocation. [Neh 11.3; 1 Chron 9.2; 2 Chron 31.1] . . . Obviously, then, we are dealing here with an innovation reﬂecting a remarkable departure from the conventional and established manner in which "a˙uzzâ is employed in the Priestly texts of the Pentateuch and Joshua alike. . . . [B]oth in form (use of prepositions) and meaning (semantic range) P and Neh-Chr represent entirely diﬀerent linguistic milieux.84

Hurvitz cites four exceptions: (1) ‘Deut 32, 49 [sic, = 32.49, with hzja and ≈ra] . . . is considered the work of a Priestly hand’.85 On the contrary: ‘. . . critical scholarship presumes that most, if not all, of this paragraph [Deut 32.48–52] was composed, on the model of Numbers 27, by a post-Deuteronomic editor . . .’.86 (2) ‘The only exception

79

Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, p. 7. Milgrom, Numbers, p. 344. 81 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, p. 8. 82 Cf. Elwolde, ‘Developments’, pp. 52–53 and n. 100; Williamson, Israel, p. 57; U. Rüterswörden, H. Simian-Yofre and H. Ringgren, ‘db'[’; , in TDOT 10:376–405 (403–404). 83 A. Hurvitz, ‘Dating the Priestly Source in Light of the Historical Study of Biblical Hebrew a Century after Wellhausen’, ZAW 100 (1988), pp. 91–97 (94). 84 Hurvitz, ‘Dating’, pp. 95–97. 85 Hurvitz, ‘Dating’, p. 91, n. 14. 86 J. Tigay, Deuteronomy (The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1996), p. 518 (emphasis added); cf. ry[ and hljn in Deut 20.16. 80

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in P is Lev 25,32 – 34 where "a˙uzzâ is directly joined to ry[, in connection with the residence of the Levites . . . But this is dictated by the special circumstances of this unique case’.87 (3) ‘This conclusion is further supported by other verses in Chr which also employ "a˙uzzâ in an unprecedented way [1 Chron 7.28; 2 Chron 11.14]’,88 without ry[. (4) ‘A noteworthy deviation from the accepted usage of the Priestly "a˙uzzâ is also found in Ez. . . . [Ezek 45.6, 7 (2x); 48.20, 21, 22] . . .’,89 where hzja is joined to ry[. Hurvitz overlooks ﬁve other exceptions. To the ‘unique case’ of hzja, ry[ and the Levites, should be added: Num 35.2, 7–8 (P) with hzja and ry[; Josh 21.40–41 with hzja and ry[; and MT Ezek 45.7–8 with hzja, ry[ and ≈ra.90 Also, Josh 21.12 joins hzja with ry[h hdç. Finally, the referent of wntljn tzja in Num 32.32 (P) becomes in v. 33 the kingdoms of Sihon and Og, in apposition to ‘the land and its towns, with the territories of the surrounding towns’ (bybs ≈rah yr[ tlbgb hyr[l ≈rah). MT is somewhat obscure. Milgrom translates ‘the land with its various cities and the territories of their surrounding towns’.91 The format varies, but regarding the terminology, straightforward distribution or clear development in ‘meaning’ is uncertain. 6. Persian Loanwords Young has commented on these in several publications92 and we examine other issues in our book on dating BH. The following points are relevant here. (1) Six of Chronicles’ 2,300 lexemes are generally considered Persian loanwords. These constitute nine of the total 35,000 words in the book.93 Remarkably, few Persian loanwords are found in the book of Chronicles which was most likely composed in the latter part of the Persian period. (2) Two words are unique to

87

Hurvitz, ‘Dating’, p. 95, n. 34. Hurvitz, ‘Dating’, p. 96, n. 38. 89 Hurvitz, ‘Dating’, p. 97, n. 41. 90 Cf. W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 25– 48 (trans. J. D. Martin; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), pp. 466–67. 91 Milgrom, Numbers, p. 274; cf. LXX tØn g∞n ka‹ tåw pÒleiw sÁn to›w ır¤oiw aÈt∞w pÒleiw t∞w g∞w kÊklƒ. 92 See the references to Young’s publications in n. 7 (‘loanwords’). 93 In addition, the verb lbrkm in 1 Chron 15.27 may be a Persian loanword, but this is controversial. See Rezetko, Source. 88

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Chronicles, three are used elsewhere in LBH, and one is used in a synoptic EBH passage. (3) Excluding rbrp, Chronicles uses EBH synonyms of three of the other ﬁve words. Only with ˆdn and lymrk could we speak of ‘replacement’. (4) Hypothetically Chronicles’ author(s)/editor(s) could have adopted other Persian words, e.g., td, ˆmz or μgtp, but he/they did not. These points suggest that Persian words were not inevitable in Chronicles, or for that matter, in other biblical literature of the Persian period. One certainly cannot speak of ‘penetration’ or ‘accumulation’ in Chronicles. Finally, as we will see, perhaps the author consciously used Persian vocabulary for speciﬁc reasons. (86) μynwkrda (‘darics’; prosthetic a): This word is found in Ezra 8.27 and 1 Chron 29.7. A similar word, μyn(w)mkrd (‘drachmas’), appears in Ezra 2.69; Neh 7.69, 70, 71.94 Is μynwkrda merely an anachronism impersonating fact? Chronicles uses ‘talents’ (rkk) or ‘shekels’ (lqç) of gold (1 Chron 20.2; 21.25; 22.14; 29.4, 7; 2 Chron 3.8, 9; 8.18; 9.9, 13; 36.3). μynwkrda in David’s parting speech may colourfully highlight his and the people’s prodigious generosity in preparation for temple construction.95 (87) ˚zng (‘treasury’): This loanword in 1 Chron 28.11 is either Persian or perhaps Aramaic with a Persian aﬀormative (cf. zng in Est 3.9; 4.7; Ezra 5.17; 6.1; 7.20). It is considered a ‘late’ equivalent of rxwa. The latter occurs in all BH strata, 79 times total, and most often in Chronicles (23 times). Observe, especially, 1 Chron 28.11–12: Then David gave his son Solomon the plan of the vestibule of the temple, and of its houses, its treasuries (wykzngw), its upper rooms, and its inner chambers, and of the room for the mercy seat; and the plan of all that he had in mind: for the courts of the house of the LORD, all the surrounding chambers, the treasuries (twrxal) of the house of God, and the treasuries (twrxalw) for dedicated gifts (nrsv).

94 Cf. H. G. M. Williamson, ‘Eschatology in Chronicles’, TynBul 28 (1977), pp. 115–54 (123–26). On the textual issues in 1 Chron 29.7 see Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10 –29, pp. 946–47. In this passage, for example, LXXAB have xrusoËw mur¤ouw for MT wbr μynkrda. 95 Cf. W. Johnstone, 1 and 2 Chronicles: Volume 1: 1 Chronicles 1–2 Chronicles 9, Israel’s Place Among the Nations ( JSOTSup, 253; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1997), pp. 283–86.

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‘Treasuries’ in v. 11 refers to interior temple treasuries rather than the exterior treasuries of v. 12.96 The diﬀerent terms could be stylistic but they might serve to refer to similar but distinct entities. Chronicles’ detail is unsurprising considering that ‘treasuries’ are an important thematic element in the book.97 (88) ˆz (‘kind’): This term, found in Ps 144.13; Aramaic Dan 3.5, 7, 10, 15; and 2 Chron 16.14, is a trans-Aramaic Persian loanword and a ‘late’ equivalent of ˆym (30 times in Genesis, Leviticus and Deuteronomy; Ezek 47.10). However, Watson comments: ‘The assumption may need reconsideration, for the word (found also in Phoenician) has been connected with Ugaritic ≈nt, occurring with “storax” and “honey” in an obscure liturgical text’.98 (89) lymrk (‘crimson’): This word is used in 2 Chron 2.6 [evv 2.7], 13 [evv 2.14]; 3.14, and some emend lmrk to lymrk in Cant 7.6 (// ˆmgra). EBH equivalents are: ynç Gen 38.28, 30; Josh 2.18, 21; 2 Sam 1.24; Isa 1.18; Jer

4.30; Prov 31.21; Cant 4.3.99 [lwt Isa 1.18; Lam 4.5.100 t[lwt(h) ynç Lev 14.4, 6, 49, 51, 52; Num 19.6. ynç(h) t[lwt Exod 25.4; 26.1, 31, 36; 27.16; 28.5, 6, 8, 15; 35.6, 23, 25, 35; 36.8, 35, 37; 38.18, 23; 39.1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 24, 29; Num 4.8.

Kings, whose temple narrative is largely non-synoptic (1 Kings 5–8//1 Chronicles 2.1–7.10), lacks this terminology. The materials used for the tabernacle (Exod 25.3–7//35.5–9) and temple (2 Chron 2.6–7, 13, 15) vary greatly due to the issue of portability versus permanency; however, Chronicles’ description clearly depends on and extensively alters the construction materials of Exodus (metals, fabrics/skins, stones, wood). lymrk is likely a Persian loanword. Does it describe

96

Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 495: ‘The second stage of the plan [vv. 12–13] consists of elements outside the main building . . .’. 97 Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, pp. 883–90. 98 Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 194; cf. M. Ellenbogen, Foreign Words in the Old Testament: Their Origin and Etymology (London: Luzac & Company, 1962), pp. 71–72 considers the word ‘Old Persian’. 99 The latter two references are notable. See the remark on Prov 31.22 in the discussion below of ≈wb (#94). 100 Cf. [lt in Nah 2.4.

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a particular hue of purple or a colour derived from a particular geographic region or animal source (insect, shellﬁsh)?101 (90) ˆdn (‘sheath’): This word is found in non-synoptic 1 Chron 21.27 (twice) and in Aramaic Dan 7.15. hndn in the latter is metaphorical and uncertain.102 r[t is the ‘early’ synonym. The word means ‘razor’ in Num 6.5; 8.7; Isa 7.20; Jer 36.23; Ezek 5.1; Ps 52.4; and ‘sheath’ in 1 Sam 17.51; 2 Sam 20.8; Jer 47.6; Ezek 21.8, 9, 10, 35. First, the ‘earlier’ r[t is found in QH: hr[t la brjk (1QH13.15). Second, 1 Sam 17.51 has hr[tm hplçyw wbrjAta jqyw // ¶laben tØn =omfa¤an aÈtoË (LXXB). One expects koleÒw for r[t but it is absent.103 LXXB lacks the clause which suggests that hr[tm hplçyw is secondary. The textual variety and observable revisions in LXX mss show this to be the case. Consequently, this is an example of late revision in Hebrew in EBH style.104 (91) rbrp (‘colonnade’): The precise meaning of this Persian loanword is uncertain. It is found in 2 Kgs 23.11 (rwrp)//1 Chron 26.18 (twice). It is gratuitous to simply call the word in Kings a ‘late’ or ‘postexilic’ adjustment.105

101 The dictionaries/translations vary signiﬁcantly over the secondary/intermediate colours of blue–red (‘purple’) to which these terms refer: carmine, crimson, scarlet, vermillion, violet, etc. The issue may not be resolvable: ‘. . . it is impossible to attain certainty as to the precise hue that an ancient author had in mind in a particular text . . .’ (F. W. Danker, ‘Purple’, ABD 5:557–60 [557]). 102 See BDB, p. 1102; HALOT 5:1926–27. The word is emended to hnd by, for example, J. J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1993), p. 275. Cf. LXX ¶frijen tÚ pneËmã mou §n tª ßjei mou. 103 See 2 Sam 20.8; Jer 47.6 (LXX 29.6); Ezek 21.8, 9, 10; 1 Chron 21.27. 104 Cf. Rezetko, Source. On 1 Samuel 17 cf. R. F. Person, Jr., The Deuteronomic School: History, Social Setting, and Literature (Studies in Biblical Literature, 2; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature; Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 127–30; and A. G. Auld and C. Y. S. Ho, ‘The Making of David and Goliath’, JSOT 56 (1992), pp. 19–39; A. G. Auld, ‘The Story of David and Goliath: A Test Case for Synchrony Plus Diachrony’, in W. Dietrich (ed.), David und Saul im Widerstreit – Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit. Beiträge zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuchs (OBO, 206; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), pp. 118–28. 105 E.g., S. R. Driver, ‘Parbar’, in J. Hastings (ed.), Dictionary of the Bible (5 vols; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1898–1904), 3:673; Polzin, Late, p. 149. The Persian origin of the word is doubted by C. L. Seow, ‘Linguistic Evidence and the Dating of Qoheleth’, JBL 115 (1996), pp. 643–66 (648).

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7. Other Common Nouns (92) trga (‘letter’): Found in Est 9.26, 29; Neh 2.7, 8, 9; 6.5, 17, 19; 2 Chron 30.1, 6; and Aramaic Ezra 4.8, 11; 5.6, this loanword is trans-Aramaic Akkadian.106 Hurvitz says: ‘. . . there is clear justiﬁcation to categorize trga as a late “Aramaism” within BH . . . which encroached on the CBH word rps (‘letter’) in the Second Temple period’.107 The distribution in BH is unambiguous: 13 times in four LBH books. However, the noun is attested in Aramaic already in the seventh century bce.108 Moreover, regarding the criterion of opposition, LBH trga is used alongside EBH terminology. Hurvitz says: ‘. . . what we have is a clear-cut distribution pattern which may be accounted for satisfactorily only in chronological terms. This is evident from the fact that "iggeret is employed exclusively in post-exilic writings—i.e., in “Late BH”—whereas its standard counterpart sèper is invariably functioning in “Classical BH”’.109 This is slightly oﬀ target. Beside the fact that rp,se appears 49 times in Esther–Chronicles we ﬁnd the following terminology for oﬃcial ‘letter’ in BH:110 rps 2 Sam 11.14, 15; 1 Kgs 21.8, 9, 11; 2 Kgs 5.5, 6 (2x), 7; ˆwtçn h/trga btk btkm

106

10.1, 2, 6, 7; 19.14 (//Isa 37.14); 20.12 (//Isa 39.1); Jer 29.1, 25, 29; Est 1.22; 3.13; 8.5, 10; 9.20, 25, 30; 2 Chron 32.17. Ezra 4.7, 18, 23; 5.5; 7.11. Aramaic Ezra 4.8, 11; 5.6; Neh 2.7, 8, 9; 6.5, 17, 19; Est 9.26, 29; 2 Chron 30.1, 6. 2 Chron 2.10 (evv 2.11). 2 Chron 21.12.

Mankowski, Akkadian, pp. 22–25. Hurvitz, ‘Hebrew’, p. 35. Early remarks on trga are found in Hurvitz, Transition, pp. 21–22. More recently cf. A. Hurvitz, ‘The Historical Quest for “Ancient Israel” and the Linguistic Evidence of the Hebrew Bible: Some Methodological Observations’, VT 47 (1997), pp. 301–15 (311–14). Also, Kofoed takes trga as one of the most signiﬁcant pieces of lexical evidence for LBH versus EBH. See J. B. Kofoed, Text and History: Historiography and the Study of the Biblical Text (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), pp. 161, 163; idem, ‘Using Linguistic Diﬀerence in Relative Text Dating: Insights from other Historical Linguistic Case Studies’, HS 47 (2006) (forthcoming). 108 Eskhult, ‘Importance’, p. 13, n. 7; Mankowski, Akkadian, p. 24. 109 Hurvitz, ‘Historical’, p. 313. 110 In both EBH and LBH, rps is used for ‘book, scroll’ and other documents, and btk and btkm serve for ‘writing’ (‘handwriting, script, letter, character, text’) and other documents (‘inscription, register, enrolment, edict, enactment, regulation’). hlgm and rps tlgm, absent from Chronicles, are not considered here. 107

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First, clearly there is NOT ‘a clear-cut distribution pattern’. Second, numerically Esther prefers rps over trga, and alternates in using them in chapter 9. Third, Chronicles uses four lexemes for ‘letter’ in four non-synoptic passages: 2 Chron 2.10 (evv 2.11): In a ‘letter’ (btk), King Huram of Tyre aﬃrmatively answers King Solomon about his request for building materials and labourers. 2 Chron 21.12: In a ‘letter’ (btkm), the prophet Elijah denounces the wicked behaviour of King Jehoram and announces Yahweh’s coming judgement. 2 Chron 30.1, 6: In ‘letters’ (twrga), King Hezekiah calls the ‘Israelite’ people to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. 2 Chron 32.17: In ‘letters’ (μyrps), King Sennacherib of Assyria discourages the ‘Israelite’ people by disparaging their God Yahweh.

Is this terminology and distribution coincidental? As for trga Bergey gave us the answer: rps in Esther and Chronicles is a political document whereas trga has a socio-religious concern, Purim and Passover, respectively.111 (93) ˆwgra (‘purple cloth’): This word appears in 2 Chron 2.6; cf. Aramaic Dan 5.7, 16, 29. The word ˆmgra is found in Exodus (26 times); Num 4.13; Judg 8.26; Jer 10.9; Ezek 27.7, 16; Prov 31.22; Cant 3.10; 7.6; Est 1.6; 8.15; 2 Chron 2.13; 3.14. Eskhult, citing Mankowski, says ‘This word made two entrances into Hebrew. The form ˆmgra is on a par with common Akkadian and Ugaritic, whereas the variant ˆwgra is an Aramaism and mirrors the Babylonian intervocalic change [m] > [w] . . .’112 However, Esther uses the ‘early’/

111

R. Bergey, ‘The Book of Esther: Its Place in the Linguistic Milieu of PostExilic Biblical Hebrew Prose: A Study in Late Biblical Hebrew’ (PhD thesis, Dropsie College for Hebrew and Cognate Learning, 1983), p. 149. Contrast 2 Chron 30.1, 6 with 32.17 and also, for example, Est 9.26, 29 with 9.20, 25, 30. As far as I can tell, Samuel, Kings, Isaiah and Jeremiah do not attest letter-writing in a socio-religious context. Thus we cannot discount that they would have used trga if the opportunity had presented itself. As for Ezra–Nehemiah, trga is used for oﬃcial correspondence, to/from King Artaxerxes and King Darius (Ezra 4.8, 11; 5.6; Neh 2.7, 8, 9) and to/from ‘governor’ Nehemiah or Judean ‘nobility’ and their ‘opponents’ Sanballat and Tobiah (Neh 6.5, 17, 19). Finally, Bergey cites Lieberman and Parpola, who think trga refers to a speciﬁc type of document or tablet, and concludes: ‘The contrast with rps can be questioned if this distinction is maintained in LBH’ (p. 149, n. 2). Cf. also ‘egirtu’ in E. J. Gelb et al., The Assyrian Dictionary, Volume 4 (Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 1958), pp. 45–46. 112 Eskhult, ‘Importance’, pp. 13, 19–20; Mankowski, Akkadian, pp. 38–39; cf. Ellenbogen, Foreign, pp. 38–39.

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‘western’ form twice and Chronicles uses both forms close together in non-synoptic material. (94) ≈wb (‘byssus’): This word is in Ezek 27.16; Est 1.6; 8.15; 1 Chron 4.21; 15.27 (cf. 2 Sam 6.14, minus); 2 Chron 2.13; 3.14; 5.12. Hurvitz wrote the classic study, arguing that ≈wb, late and of north-eastern provenance (e.g., Est 8.15), superseded early çç (‘ﬁne linen’) with its southern origin (e.g., Gen 41.42).113 çç appears in Gen 41.42; Exodus (33 times); Ezek 16.10, 13; 27.7; Prov 31.22. Hurvitz and Rooker attribute Ezekiel’s use of both words to the author’s transitional period in BH history. They stress occurrences of ≈wb in postbiblical Hebrew. However, as Young pointed out . . . Hurvitz discounts the signiﬁcance of non-Hebrew evidence when it appears to contradict the chronological development in Hebrew (e.g., ≈wb . . .) . . . Hesitation is caused in this case by the appearance of the SBH form in the poem about the good wife in Prov. 31.22, which is often considered ‘late’ on other grounds . . ., and the appearance of the LBH form in the Phoenician Kilamuwa inscription (l. 12/13), securely dated to the ninth century bce . . .114

(95) hzb (‘spoil’): This noun appears in Est 9.10, 15, 16; Dan 11.24, 33; Ezra 9.7; Neh 3.36; 2 Chron 14.13; 25.13; 28.14. Some argue that LBH hzb replaced EBH zb, hsçm and/or llç. However, LBH uses all three ‘early’ words (e.g., Isa 42.22, 24; 53.12), and among other observations Chronicles has llç (10 times) and EBH and LBH occur side-by-side in 2 Chron 14.12–13; 28.14–15 (cf. Dan 11.24).115 (96) hryb (‘fortress’): Chronicles has this word four times (1 Chron 29.1, 19; 2 Chron 17.12; 27.4). Elsewhere Esther–Nehemiah have it 15 times (including once in Aramaic Ezra 6.2). This is an Akkadian loanword which supposedly entered Hebrew via Aramaic mainly because of its restriction to LBH.116 In 2 Chron 17.12; 27.4, twynryb (LXX oﬁkÆseiw) refers to ‘fortresses’ in Judah. In these texts hryb does not function in lieu of ‘earlier’ terminology for ‘fortiﬁed cities’ (cf. ry[ +

A. Hurvitz, ‘The Usage of vv and ≈wb in the Bible and Its Implication for the Date of P’, HTR 60 (1967), pp. 117–21; cf. M. F. Rooker, Biblical Hebrew in Transition: The Language of the Book of Ezekiel ( JSOTSup, 90; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1990), pp. 159–61. 114 Young, ‘Biblical Hebrew’, p. 277, n. 3; 283; cf. Rezetko, Source. 115 Bergey, ‘Esther’, omits this word, presumably because he did not consider it a LBH replacement of EBH llç since the book also has the latter (3.13; 8.11). 116 Mankowski, Akkadian, pp. 46–47; cf. Polzin, Late, p. 130 (‘deﬁnitely LBH’). 113

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rwxm/hrwxm; 2 Chron 11.10, 11, 23; 12.4; 14.5; 17.19 [non-synoptic]; 21.3). The situation is diﬀerent in 1 Chron 29.1, 19. Here the singular hrybh refers somewhat awkwardly to the temple. The term does not substitute for tyb(h), XAtyb or lkyh, which Chronicles uses regularly, the ﬁrst two, for example, in non-synoptic 1 Chronicles 29, and the latter eight times in 2 Chronicles.117 LXXB lacks MT’s hrybh in 1 Chron 29.1 and MT’s ytwnykhArça hrybh twnblw in v. 19 stands parallel to LXXB’s ka‹ toË §p‹ t°low égage›n tØn kataskeuØn toË o‡kou sou. Additionally, ˆwk is a thematic word in Chronicles, appearing already seven times in MT 1 Chronicles 28–29, but only here does LXXB lack it.118 We cannot be sure that hryb in MT 1 Chron 29.1, 29 left the Chronicler’s pen. What is certain is that the word was not unavoidable, and moreover, it may well function within David’s speech to stress the grandness of the task set before Solomon.119 The story refers to tyb in vv. 2, 3 (3x), 4, 7, 8, 16, but the framework has hryb, in David’s ﬁrst line to the assembly (v. 1) and in the last line of his prayer (v. 19). (97) μyrwrb (‘chosen ones’): The verb rrb occurs outside LBH (2 Sam 22.27; Jer 4.11) but the G passive participle is limited to Zeph 3.9 (EBH!); Job 33.3; Neh 5.18; 1 Chron 7.40; 9.22; 16.41. The usage in these passages is dissimilar. Chronicles’ usage is substantival. Polzin considers the word LBH120 but the root does not replace rWjB; in similar contexts (1 Chron 19.10; 2 Chron 11.1; 13.3; 13.17; 25.5; 36.17; cf. ryjiB] in 1 Chron 16.13).121 (98/99) rçb and raev] (‘ﬂesh’), rty and ra;v] (‘remnant’):122 First, Hurvitz argued that raev] (‘ﬂesh’; 16 times) gave way to LBH rçb 117

Contra Polzin, Late, p. 130. This and the satisfactory translation of hryb in 2 Chron 17.12; 27.4 suggest that the translator did not fail to understand the meaning of hryb in the present passage (cf. abira in Neh 1.1 and bira in Neh 7.2). 119 Cf. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 950; Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 183–84. 120 Polzin, Late, p. 131. 121 Did ryjiB] in 1 Chron 16.13 promote dissimilation from μyrwjb to μyrwrb in v. 41? 122 The nominal morphology lf;q] (q^tàl) is normally attributed to Aramaic inﬂuence. However, several nouns of this type also occur in EBH: rqy ( Jer 20.5); dxm ( Judg 6.2; 1 Sam 23.14, 19; 24.1; Isa 33.16; Jer 48.21; 51.30); qn[ ( Judg 8.26); txq (Exod 37.8; 38.5; 39.4); brq (2 Sam 17.11; textual error?); drç (Exod 31.10; 35.19; 39.1, 41); raç (Isa 10.19, 20, 21, 22; 11.11, 16; 14.22; 16.14; 17.3; 21.17; 28.5). See GKC §84an (pp. 231–32); §93ww (p. 274); P. Joüon, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (trans. and rev. T. Muraoka; SubBi, 14; 2 vols; Rome: Editrice Pontiﬁcio Istituto 118

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(273 times; 1 Chron 11.1; 2 Chron 32.8).123 He clariﬁed that EBH has ‘late’ rçb. In other words, EBH uses both words, but only rçb made it into LBH. Second, Bergey argued that rty (95 times; 1 Chron 19.11; 2 Chron 13.22; 20.34; 25.26; 26.22; 27.7; 28.26; 32.32; 33.18; 35.26; 36.8) gave way to ra;v] (‘remnant’; 38 times; 1 Chron 11.8; 16.41; 2 Chron 9.29; 24.14).124 Here however the scenario diﬀers. EBH has only rty while in LBH ra;v] (‘remnant’) began to encroach but could not displace rty. Therefore Chronicles has ra;v] (‘remnant’; four times) and rty (11 times). Yet ‘late’ ra;v] (‘remnant’) is attested in ‘early’ Ugaritic “ir. Several additional observations cast further doubt on the replacement view. Of 36 biblical books, 19 address both ‘ﬂesh’ and ‘remnant’, 11 address only one of these, and six address neither one. Seven books use both rçb and raev] (‘ﬂesh’). Six books use both rty and ra;v] (‘remnant’). Eleven EBH/LBH books use three of these four words: rçb and rty and either raev] (‘ﬂesh’) or ra;v] (‘remnant’). However, no biblical book uses both consonantal homographs, raev] (‘ﬂesh’) and ra;v] (‘remnant’). Regardless of their relationship in meaning, these never occur together even in ‘transitional’ books or books ‘of questionable date’. This is most likely a case of stylistic rather than chronological variation. Biblical writers/editors looked to avoid confusion (cf. jwr raçw in Mal 2.15).125 (100) hpwg (‘corpse’): 1 Chron 10.12 has hpwg (twice) instead of hywg (1 Sam 31.12). Kutscher considers hpwg an Aramaic loanword.126 However, hpwg is used only here, and its synonyms hywg and rgp appear in both EBH and LBH. Some believe rare hpwg is from the Vorlage.127 (101) hwdj (‘joy’): This word appears in 1 Chron 16.27; Neh 8.10; and in Aramaic Ezra 6.16. The domain ‘joy’ occurs mainly in the Latter Prophets and Writings ( hlyg, çwçm, ˆwçç, etc.). Even hjmç, used Biblico, 1991), 1:§88Cg (p. 245); §88Ef (p. 250); §96Dd (pp. 308–309); Kutscher, History, pp. 74–75. 123 Hurvitz, Linguistic, pp. 71–74. 124 Bergey, ‘Esther’, 142–44. 125 Cf. A. E. Hill, Malachi: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 25D; New York: Doubleday, 1998), p. 245. MT has jwr ra;v] (‘a residue of spirit’) but most prefer to emend the text to jwr raev] making the word pair ‘body’/‘spirit’. 126 Kutscher, History, p. 83. 127 Polzin, Late, p. 132; S. L. McKenzie, The Chronicler’s Use of the Deuteronomistic History (HSM, 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 59–60. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10 –29, p. 519 thinks 1 Samuel 31.10 inﬂuenced 31.12.

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94 times in BH, only appears in seven verses in Genesis–Kings. hwdj is probably not a ‘late’ equivalent for hjmç nor a substitute in Ps 96.6//1 Chron 16.27. First, Chronicles (12 times) follows only Isaiah and Psalms in uses of hjmç. Second, EBH has the verb hdj (Exod 18.9).128 Third, Chronicles has trapt elsewhere (1 Chron 22.5; 29.11, 13; 2 Chron 3.6) so the writer probably did not change trapt in Ps 96.6 to hwdj in 1 Chron 16.27. The word may have come from the Vorlage.129 (102) ˆwbçj (‘device’130): ˆwObV;ji appears in 2 Chron 26.15 and Qoh 7.29. Related ˆwOBv]j, (‘account’) is found in Qoh 7.25, 27; 9.10. Schoors discusses both, calling them LBH, but also showing that Chronicles’ usage is diﬀerent than both of Qoheleth’s terms.131 The root bçj (verb, noun, hbçjm) is productive throughout BH. Ugaritic has ˙Δbn (‘account’).132 This evidence and Chronicles’ technical usage rule out certainty.133 (103) rwpk (‘bowl’): There are six occurrences in 1 Chron 28.17, two in Ezra 1.10 and one in Ezra 8.27. Polzin calls rwpk a ‘probable LBH word, a synonym of earlier [hr[q] . . . and [qrzm] . . .’134 But [ybg and hr[q appear in the Pentateuch and Jeremiah (only [ybg) whereas EBH and LBH have hlg, qrzm and πs. Chronicles has hlg and qrzm (1 Chron 18.17; 2 Chron 4.8, 11, 12, 13, 22). rwpk is doubtfully a ‘late’ synonym of ‘earlier’ qrzm since both are together in 1 Chron 28.17. Talshir and Watson cite Hillers who connected the Chronicler’s word with the inscriptional kprt on an alphabetic cuneiform tablet from Taanach.135

128 For this reason Polzin, Late, p. 137 has reservations about the lateness of the word. On the basis of graphic similarity, parallelism, and LXX xarÆsontai, many read wdjy (‘together’) in MT Jer 31.13 as ‘they will be merry’. 129 Williamson, Israel, pp. 47–48. 130 Cf. R. B. Dillard, 2 Chronicles (WBC, 15; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), pp. 209–10. 131 Schoors, Preacher, pp. 445–47; contrast Polzin, Late, pp. 138–39. 132 S. Gevirtz, ‘Of Syntax and Style in the “Late Biblical Hebrew”—“Old Canaanite” Connection’, JANES 18 (1986), pp. 25–29 (26, n. 7). 133 BDB lacks ‘late’! 134 Polzin, Late, p. 139. 135 D. Talshir, ‘A Reinvestigation of the Linguistic Relationship between Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah’, VT 38 (1998), pp. 165–93 (187, n. 69); Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 195. They cite D. R. Hillers, ‘An Alphabetic Cuneiform Tablet from Taanach (TT 433)’, BASOR 173 (1964), pp. 45–50. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 496, says: ‘The term is probably late, referring either to a new object or, more possibly, a new deﬁnition of an existing one’.

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(104) btk (‘writing’): Many think btk (Ezek 13.9; 1 Chron 28.19; 2 Chron 2.10; 35.4; 25 times in Esther–Nehemiah) is ‘late’ and ‘equivalent’ to EBH rps and btkm.136 Inscriptional evidence raises doubts about the chronology.137 Also, non-synoptic Chronicles has the EBH terms: ‘writing’ (1 Chron 28.19); ‘directions’ (2 Chron 35.4; also btkm); ‘letter’ (2 Chron 2.10; cf. btkm in 2 Chron 21.12; rps in 2 Chron 32.17). (105) ˆybm (‘teacher’): The H participle of ˆyb meaning ‘teacher’ appears only in Ezra 8.16; 1 Chron 25.7, 8; 26.5 (cf. 15.22; 27.32). Similar terminology is hrwm (Isa 30.20; Hab 2.18; Prov 5.13; Job 36.22) and μydmlm (Ps 119.99; Prov 5.13). Some instances of rpeso may relate (cf. Ezra 7.6, 11; Neh 8.1, 4, 9, 13; 12.26, 36; 1 Chron 27.32). (106) [dm (‘knowledge’): This word appears also in Qoh 10.20; Dan 1.4, 17. Chronicles has [dm(h)w hmkj(h) (2 Chron 1.10, 11, 12// 1 Kgs 3.9, 11, 12). Kings’ shifting terminology and Chronicles’ repetition suggest that Chronicles revised the Vorlage. [dm joins hmkj in Dan. 1.4 (with noun t[d and verbs lkç, [dy and ˆyb) and 1.17 (with verbs lkç and ˆyb). The root [dy is productive in many BH forms. LBH [dm does not usurp related terminology. For example, hnyb in 1 Chron 12.33; 22.12; 2 Chron 2.11, 12, is also in EBH Deut 4.6; Isa 11.2; 27.11; 29.14, 24; 33.19; Jer 23.20. Chronicles has neither h[d or t[d but both are in EBH and the latter also in LBH books.138 (107) çrdm (‘story’): The verb çrd occurs 41 times in Chronicles (1/4th of all BH occurrences). Consequently it is unsurprising that çrdm, a distinctive hallmark of Rabbinic literature, should appear in this book only. The phrases wd[ aybnh çrdm (2 Chron 13.22; cf. 1 Kgs 15.7) and μyklmh rps çrdm (2 Chron 24.27) are technical designations in which çrdm means ‘story, commentary, annotation, record, writing’ rather than postbiblical ‘study, research, investigation, interpretation, exegesis, exposition, homily’.139 Polzin concludes:

136

E.g., Rooker, Transition, pp. 139–41. Young, ‘Late’, p. 288. 138 Tyler, ‘Ecclesiastes’, pp. 256–57. 139 Cf. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 699–700, 854; Williamson, Israel, pp. 17–19, 255, 326. Hurvitz has discussed çrdm together with the verb çrd arguing that the latter with ‘God’s commandments’ in Ezra 7.10 (çrd + hrwt) and 1 Chron 28.8 (çrd + rmç + twxm) is a late semantic development. However, he omits the predominant EBH usage (mostly non-synoptic): çrd + μyhla/hwhy: 1 Chron 10.14; 137

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‘. . . we would refrain from making any judgment on its chronological usage’.140 (108) lçmm (‘dominion’): Abstract ‘dominion’ (Dan 11.3, 5) functions for ‘rulers’ (μylçmmh) in 1 Chron 26.6. The root lçm is productive in all BH strata. Here, the noun is absent from the LXX, which reads toË prvtotÒkou ÑRvsa¤ (LXXB) or t“ prvtotÒkƒ ÑRvsa¤ (LXXAN). Revision toward MT is seen in LXXL. Most commentators think MT should be emended to μylçm μh or μylçmh. μylçmmh in MT 1 Chron 26.6 may not be the Chronicler’s word.141 (109) jxnm (‘overseer’): The D participle of jxn as a substantive occurs three times in Chronicles (μyjxnm; 2 Chron 2.1 [evv 2.2], 17 [evv 2.18]; 34.13), 55 times in Psalm superscriptions and similarly in Hab 3.19. The meaning of the technical expression jxnm outside Chronicles is uncertain. The D inﬁnitive is found in Ezra 3.8, 9; 1 Chron 15.21; 23.4; 2 Chron 34.12; the HtD participle in Dan 6.4; and the N participle in Jer 8.5. The related noun jxn is usually found in LBH but also in EBH. The phrase μ[hAta dyb[hl μyjxnm in 2 Chron 2.17 (evv 2.18) is parallel to rça hmlçl μybxnh yrç hkalmhAl[ in 1 Kgs 5.30 (evv 5.16). The textual history is uncertain, but in any case Chronicles uses rç far more often than other biblical books. (110) br[m (‘west[ward]’): br[m (14 times), related to br[ (‘evening’), is considered a ‘late’ synonym of μy and awbm. The opposite notion, jrzm (‘east[ward]’, 74 times), is related to jrz (‘dawn’), but axwm rarely has this nuance (Hos 6.3; Ps 75.7; cf. Ps 19.7; 65.9). br[m is found in non-synoptic 1 Chron 7.28; 12.16; 26.16, 18, 30; 2 Chron 32.30; 33.14; and also in Isa 43.5; 45.6; 59.19; Pss 75.7; 103.12; 107.3; Dan 8.5. Chronicles also has the ‘earlier’ synonyms: 1 Chron 9.24 (hmy); 1 Kgs 7.25 (hmy)//2 Chron 4.4 (hmy); 2 Chron 20.2 (μyl rb[m).142 Furthermore, ‘transitional’ Ezekiel is monolithic, using only EBH μy/μyh/hmy (21 times). Additionally, μy and awbm occur occasionally in LBH: Isa 49.12 (μym); Zech 8.7 (çmçh awbm); Zech 14.4 (hmy); Dan 8.4

16.11//; 21.30; 22.19; 28.9; 2 Chron 12.14; 14.3, 6 (2x); 15.2, 12, 13; 16.12; 17.4; 18.7//; 19.3; 20.3; 22.9; 26.5 (2x); 30.19; 31.21; 34.3, 21//, 26//; rmç + rbd/μyqj/twxm/μyfpçm/twd[/hrwt: 1 Chron 10.13; 22.12, 13; 29.19; 2 Chron 7.17//; 34.21//, 31//. 140 Polzin, Late, p. 142. 141 Cf. in general Driver, ‘Alleged’, pp. 215–16. 142 Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 294.

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common nouns in the book of chronicles

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(hmy; cf. br[m in 8.5).143 br[m is hardly ‘late’ as shown by Ugaritic m'rb. Ehrensvärd is correct that ‘it is doubtful that the word was not an option also in EBH’.144 (111) μytlxm (‘cymbals’): This instrument appears in Ezra 3.10; Neh 12.27; 1 Chron 13.8; 15.16, 19, 28; 16.5, 42; 25.1, 6; 2 Chron 5.12, 13; 29.25 (13 times total). Most consider it a late equivalent for μylxlx, mostly due to 2 Sam 6.5 (μylxlx)//1 Chron 13.8 (μytlxm). This is problematic. First, both terms are technical expressions and μytlxm may have a diﬀerent referent than μylxlx. Second, in MT 2 Sam 6.5//MT 1 Chron 13.8, much more than simple substitution is involved; the textual evidence is complicated.145 Third, Samuel’s μylxlx occurs elsewhere in Ps 150.5 (twice). This doxology is generally considered postexilic. Fourth, Ugaritic mßltm disproves a ‘late’ beginning for Chronicles’ μytlxm.146 (112) trfqm (‘censer’): This noun arises in Ezek 8.11; 2 Chron 26.19. Rooker argued that trfqm replaced EBH htjm, which is found in P (18 times) and in 1 Kgs 7.50; Jer 52.19; 2 Kgs 25.15// 2 Chron 4.22. However, Rooker ruled out the occurrence in Chronicles, calling it borrowing.147 But the Chronicler elected not to replace the EBH term, as he often does, so once again the grounds for protest are unwarranted. Why then did the Chronicler decide to use trfqm in the story about the leprosy and death of Uzziah (2 Kgs 15.4–7// 2 Chron 26.16–23)? Japhet remarks: ‘This verse concludes the theme of “burning incense” with the words “censer” [trfqm, v. 19], “burn incense” [ryfqjl, vv. 16, 18 (2x), 19] and “altar of incense” [jbzm trfqh, vv. 16, 18], bringing the total of the repetitions of the root q†r in the pericope to seven’.148 Is ‘seven’ coincidental?149 Chronicles (26 times) follows only Leviticus (38 times) and Exodus (28 times) in uses

Cf. ˆwrjah μyhAla in Joel 2.20, Zech 14.8; μhyrjaAla in Zech 6.6. M. Ehrensvärd, ‘Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 164–88 (181). However, on his reasoning cf. R. M. Wright, Linguistic Evidence for the Pre-Exilic Date of the Yahwistic Source (LHBOTS, 419; London: T & T Clark International, 2005), p. 100, n. 93. Wright discusses a possible dialect connection (p. 98, n. 84; p. 100, n. 93). 145 Rezetko, Source. 146 Gevirtz, ‘Syntax’, p. 26, n. 7; Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 195. 147 Rooker, Transition, pp. 132–33. 148 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 887. 149 For example, Kalimi discusses 1 Chron 2.13–15, where the writer makes Jesse’s sons into ‘seven’. See I. Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), pp. 365–68. 143 144

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of the root rfq. It has a positive connotation in the narratives of David, Solomon and Abijah (1 Chron 6.34 [evv 6.49]; 23.13; 28.18; 2 Chron 2.3 [evv 2.4], 5 [evv 2.6]; 13.11), but suddenly in 2 Chron 25.14 the concept refers to cultic transgression in the Chronicler’s dealing with ‘the theological problem of Amaziah’s defeat’.150 Following 2 Chron 26.16–23, the concept rotates from the context of cultic transgression by Ahaz (2 Chron 28.3, 4, 25), on to cultic reform by Hezekiah (2 Chron 29.7; 30.14; 32.12), and back again to cultic transgression by the people, resulting in Yahweh’s announcement of future judgement on Judah (2 Chron 34.25). Remarkably, in 2 Chron 26.16–23, the Chronicler begins to stress the key theme l[m in relation to the evil kings and eventual end of Judah.151 2 Chron 26.16–23, with rfq (vv. 16, 18, 19) and l[m (vv. 16, 18), seemingly highlights the reason for the beginning of the end. trfqm in 2 Chron 26.19 entails more than linguistic chronology. (113) μyrrwçm (‘singers’): The polel participle of ryç is used 35 times in Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah. Some think the term substitutes for the G participle μyrç. First, ‘singers’ appear in EBH only in 2 Sam 19.36 [evv 19.35] and 1 Kgs 10.12. Second, μyrrwçm may be a technical expression for certain singers in LBH. In addition, the polel rather than the D may have a diﬀerent nuance.152 Third, LBH μyrç is used in Qoh 2.8 (twrçw μyrç). Elsewhere, μyrç is only found in Ezek 40.44; Pss 68.26; 87.7; Prov 25.20. Fourth, 1 Kgs 10.12//2 Chron 9.11 share μyrçh. Fifth, 2 Sam 19.35 and 2 Chron 35.25 have twrçw μyrç. (114) hawbn (‘prophecy’): This word appears in 2 Chron 9.29 (but cf. LXX t«n lÒgvn); 15.8; Neh. 6.12; and Aramaic Ezra 6.14. Many consider hawbn a ‘late’ synonym of rbd and ˆwzj. However, rbd is regularly used for this concept in Chronicles, and ˆwzj, rare even in EBH (only 1 Sam 3.1 in Genesis–Kings), appears in the Latter Prophets (17 times) and Writings (17 times), including 1 Chron 17.15 and 2 Chron 32.32.153 (115) πws (‘end’): This noun appears in Joel 2.20; Qoh 3.11; 7.2; 12.13; Aramaic Dan 4.8, 19; 6.27; 7.26, 28; 2 Chron 20.16. Many

150

Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 867. 1 Chron 2.7; 5.25; 9.1; 10.13 (2x); 2 Chron 12.2; 26.16, 18; 28.19 (2x), 22; 29.6, 19; 30.7; 33.19; 36.14. 152 HALOT 4:1480. 153 The root hzj in its diverse manifestations is remarkably uncommon in EBH. 151

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common nouns in the book of chronicles

409

consider πws a ‘late’ equivalent of EBH tyrja, ≈q and hxq.154 EBH has the verb πws in Jer 8.13; Amos 3.15 (cf. Isa 66.17; Zeph 1.2, 3; Ps 73.19; Est 9.28; Dan 2.44; 4.30).155 The distribution of the synonymous terminology is interesting.156 (1) Both EBH/LBH terms: Qoheleth: πws (3.11; 7.2; 12.13); tyrja (7.8; 10.13); ≈q (4.8, 16; 12.12); Daniel: πws (4.8, 19; 6.27; 7.26, 28); tyrja (8.19, 23; 10.14; 11.4; 12.8); ≈q (8.17, 19; 9.26; 11.6, 13, 27, 35, 40, 45; 12.4, 6, 9, 13); txq (1.2, 5, 15, 18; 2.42; 4.26, 31); Chronicles: πws (2 Chron 20.16); ≈q (2 Chron 8.1; 18.2; 21.19). (2) Only EBH terms: Ezekiel: tyrja (23.25; 38.8, 16); ≈q (7.2, 3, 6; 21.30, 34; 29.13; 35.5); hx;q; (15.4); hx,q; (3.16; 25.9; 33.2; 39.14; 48.1); II–III Isaiah: tyrja (41.22; 46.10; 47.7); hx;q; (40.28; 41.5, 9); hx,q; (42.10; 43.6; 48.20; 49.6; 56.11; 62.11); Job: tyrja (8.7; 42.12); ≈q (6.11; 16.3; 22.5; 28.3); hx;q; (26.14; 28.24); Esther: ≈q (2.12); Nehemiah: ≈q (13.6); hx,q; (1.9); txq (7.69). (116) rps (‘census’): 2 Chron 2.16 (evv 2.17) uses this word together with the verb rps (twice; very rarely doubled): ‘Then Solomon took a census (rpsyw) of all the aliens who were residing in the land of Israel, after the census (rpsh) that his father David had taken (μrps); and there were found to be one hundred ﬁfty-three thousand six hundred’ (nrsv). Census taking is generally described by the verbs hnm, açn, rps or dqp (sometimes with çar/tlglg). Often rpsm and/or dqpm serves for the ‘number’ or ‘count’ of a census. For example: 2 1 2 1

154

Sam 24.2 Chron 21.2 Sam 24.9 Chron 21.5

// μ[h rpsm ta yt[dyw μ[hAta wdqpw . . . μrpsmAta h[daw . . . larçyAta wrps . . . //. . . μ[hAdqpm rpsmAta . . . . . . μ[hAdqpm rpsmAta . . .

Hurvitz cites post-biblical Aramaic and Hebrew evidence for the lateness of

πws; however, he also says: ‘It must be admitted, that – for one reason or another – πwOs does not seem to be attested in extra-biblical Aramaic documents dated to the Persian period’ (p. 298, n. 10). See A. Hurvitz, ‘rb;D:AvaOr and rb;D: πwOs: Reﬂexes of

Two Scribal Terms Imported into Biblical Hebrew from the Imperial Aramaic Formulary’, in M. F. J. Baasten and W. Th. van Peursen (eds.), Hamlet on a Hill: Semitic and Greek Studies Presented to Professor T. Muraoka on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (OLA, 118; Leuven: Peeters, 2003), pp. 281–86. 155 Jeremiah and Zephaniah are uncertain. Cf. M. Saebø, ‘πwOs’, in TDOT 10:188–90 (188). Several cite the ‘early’ verb as evidence: D. C. Fredericks, Qoheleth’s Language: Re-evaluating Its Nature and Date (Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies, 3; Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1988), pp. 204, 233; Tyler, ‘Ecclesiastes’, pp. 163–69; Young, Diversity, pp. 153–54. 156 The following nouns are not used identically, but there is much overlap in their use for concepts of time and space.

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rpsh was not inevitable in 2 Chron 2.16. Regardless of any change in nuance, the writer chose not to use rpsm. (117) hrz[ (‘court, enclosure’): This word appears in Ezek 43.14 (3x), 17, 20; 45.19; 2 Chron 4.9; 6.13. Many consider hrz[ a ‘late’ equivalent of rxj. Hurvitz argued that (1) P’s antiquity is evidenced by the absence of hrz[ in the tabernacle description; (2) Ezekiel’s hrz[ (‘[any] enclosure’) represents a transitional stage in the temple description; and (3) Chronicles’ hrz[ (‘[temple] court’) has a meaning unknown to both P and Ezekiel. Furthermore, Chronicles’ description of the temple vis-à-vis Kings is tendentiously anachronistic. Hurvitz concluded that Chronicles’ hrz[ replaced ‘functionally’ and ‘linguistically’ earlier rxj.157 First, scholars agree that the Israelite temple(s) was not a static architectural entity. Furthermore, the buildings’ and precincts’ precise layout has been much debated but details are still obscure. Second, the origin of hrz[ is uncertain, and Chronicles’ usage and the word’s frequent appearance in postbiblical literature do not demonstrate the lexeme’s ‘late’ origin. Third, Hurvitz pointed out the diﬃculty in discussing hrz[ with reference to the portable tabernacle and the permanent temple.158 Fourth, it is necessary to distinguish functional from linguistic equivalents. That the lexeme hrz[ does not replace the lexeme rxj linguistically in Chronicles is certain: hlwdgh hrz[hw μynhkh rxj ç[yw (2 Chron 4.9; cf. 1 Chron 23.8; 28.6, 12; 2 Chron 7.7; 20.5; 23.5; 24.21; 29.16; 33.5). Fifth, Hurvitz gave a parallel layout of synoptic passages: 1 Kgs 7.38–40//2 Chron 4.6–11; 1 Kgs 8.22–23//2 Chron 6.12–14. His point was that Chronicles introduced the word in interpretative expansions absent from Kings. However, Hurvitz misread several relevant verses in Kings.159 1 Kings 7.9 and v. 12 speak about the hlwdgh rxjh. Japhet says: The last items here are the ‘court of the priests’ [μynhkh rxj] and the ‘great court’ [hlwdgh hrz[hw], and their doors. In Kings, three courts are mentioned: ‘the inner court’ (I Kings 6.36; 7.12), ‘the great court’ (7.12, [hlwdgh rxh]), and the outer court’ (7.8), probably a part of the

157

A. Hurvitz, ‘The Evidence of Language in Dating the Priestly Code: A Linguistic Study in Technical Idioms and Terminology’, RB 81 (1974), pp. 24–56 (41–43); idem, Linguistic Study, pp. 78–81. 158 Hurvitz, ‘Evidence’, p. 43, n. 34. 159 Hurvitz, Linguistic, p. 80, n. 82 cites 1 Kgs 7.12 in passing.

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common nouns in the book of chronicles

411

complex of palace buildings. The court mentioned in 8.64 (II Chron. 7.7), ‘the court that was before the house of the Lord’, is probably identical with ‘the inner court’. Of all the texts from I Kings just cited as referring to the courts, not one is repeated in Chronicles; this verse is in fact the only reference to the courts in the building context of Chronicles. It would seem that the architectural picture is the same, with the two courts having somewhat diﬀerent designations: ‘the court of the priests’ (which may refer to the ‘inner court’), and ‘the great court’ [hlwdgh hrz[hw].160

Sixth, among others Dillard and Williamson argue that 2 Chron 6.13 was probably in the Vorlage.161 (118) dm[ (‘standing post, station’): This noun is used eight times as dm[Al[ + suﬃxed pronoun (Dan 8.18; 10.11; Neh 8.7; 9.3; 13.11; 2 Chron 30.16; 34.31; 35.10) and once in Daniel as ydm[ lxa (Dan 8.17). Some suggest that dm[Al[ + suﬃx is a ‘late’ substitute for tjt + suﬃx. For example, referring to Neh 9.3, BDB says ‘later equiv. ; T] ’' .162 Now, if μdm[Al[ wmwqyw, ‘and they stood up in their place’, of μT;t (1) means ‘and they stood up where they happened to be prostrate at that particular moment’, then EBH and LBH have many similar examples using tjt with a suﬃx163; (2) but if the clause means ‘and they stood in their appropriate or respective station’,164 then passages with an exact equivalent to ‘standing post, station’ where one normally stands are very few. Isa 22.19 has ˚dm[mmw (‘and from your post’) but 1 Chron 23.28 has μdm[m (‘their station’) and 2 Chron 35.15 has μm[mAl[ (‘in their place’).165 (119) rypx (‘he-goat’): This noun occurs in Dan 8.5 (twice), 8, 21; Aramaic Ezra 6.17; 8.35; 2 Chron 29.21. Usually it is called a ‘late’ synonym of ry[ç.166 The latter appears in Gen 37.31, Leviticus– Numbers (47 times), Ezekiel (3 times) and 2 Chron 29.23. Speciﬁcally,

160

Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 567 (emphasis added); cf. Kalimi, Reshaping, pp. 277–78. 161 Dillard, Chronicles, pp. 46, 48 (cf. 36–37); Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 217–18 (cf. 211). These do not, of course, speculate on the detailed form or content of the verse in the Vorlage. 162 BDB, p. 765. 163 E.g., μtjt wbçyw in Deut 2.12, 21, 22, 23; μhytjt wbçyw in 1 Chron 4.41; 5.22. 164 In my view, 2 Chron 30.16; 35.10; and probably 34.31, have this meaning. 165 Polzin, Late, p. 148, would also add dm[m to the ‘early’ synonyms of dm[. See the diﬀerent nuance of dm[m in 1 Kgs 10.5//2 Chron 9.4. 166 çyt is not used in sacriﬁcial contexts (Gen 30.35; 32.15; Prov 30.31; 2 Chron 17.11).

robert rezetko

412

μyz[ ry[ç occurs in Gen 37.31, Leviticus (4 times), Numbers (21 times total, once as μyz[ yry[ç) and Ezekiel (twice). In contrast, LBH has: μyz[h rypx (Dan 8.5, 8); ˆyz[ yrypx (Ezra 6.17); μyz[ yrypx (2 Chron 29.21). Non-synoptic Chronicles has interesting variation: 2 Chron 29.21 (tafjl h[bç μyz[ yrypx); 2 Chron 29.23 (tafjh yry[ç). An obvious explanation for the variation is lacking. The noun’s origin is uncertain. Several have proposed that klb ßpr in KTU 1.14 iii 19 reﬂects the lexeme but others ﬁnd in ßpr an equivalent to Hebrew rwpx (‘bird’).167 However r“p ßprm in the Phoenician inscription of Azatiwada (ca. 700 bce) should probably be rendered ‘Re“eph of the stags’ (2.12).168 Finally, ‘early’ ry[ç, but not rypx, is found in QH (e.g., 11Q19–20). (120) ˚rx (‘need’): This word, found only in 2 Chron 2.15, is considered a late Aramaism. However, Polzin omitted this term. Kutscher said: ‘In the past, scholars assumed that these two roots ˚rx and rvk were Aramaic. Today this seems much less probable since their form in Aramaic should have been ˚r[* and rtk*. The ﬁrst root appears as ˚rx in Ugaritic (and the second as ròtk?). Therefore, these roots might have belonged to a Hebrew or Canaanite dialect’.169 The root rsj in EBH/LBH generally expresses ‘lack, need, want’. Cf. ˚xpjAlk in 1 Kgs 5.22. (121) lhq (‘congregation’): Many think hd[ is ‘old’ and that lhq gradually overtook and completely supplanted the ‘earlier’ term in LBH.170 Chronicles has the root lhq twice as often as any other book (40 times; cf. Numbers, 21 times). However, about 40% of the root’s manifestations are found in Genesis–Kings. In summary: Gen Exod

167

0 hd[/4 lhq 15 hd[/2 lhq

Josh Judg

15 hd[/1 lhq 5 hd[/3 lhq

Jer Ezek

2 hd[/4 lhq 0 hd[/15 lhq

HALOT 3:1047–48. K. L. Younger, ‘The Phoenician Inscription of Azatiwada: An Integrated Reading’, JSS 43 (1998), pp. 11–47 (18, 32). 169 Kutscher, History, p. 83; cf. J. Barr, ‘Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek in the Hellenistic Age’, in W. D. Davies and L. Finkelstein (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism, Volume Two: The Hellenistic Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 79–114 (81): ‘. . . these are essential features of later diction, for which Biblical Hebrew has no real equivalent’; also cf. D. Talshir, ‘The Habitat and History of Hebrew during the Second Temple Period’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 251–75 (273). 170 E.g., Hurvitz, Linguistic, pp. 65–67, 145–46; Rooker, Transition, pp. 143–46; cf. Rezetko, Source. 168

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Lev Num Deut

common nouns in the book of chronicles

12 hd[/5 lhq 83 hd[/12 lhq 3 hd[/11 lhq

Sam Kgs

0 hd[/1 lhq 2 hd[/6 lhq

413

Ezra 0 hd[/5 lhq Neh 0 hd[/5 lhq Chron 1 hd[/33 lhq

This mixture in both EBH and LBH is further appreciated by comparing synonymous expressions: (1) larçy tdañAlkÑ: Exod 12.3, 6 (larçy tda lhq lk), 19, 47; Lev 4.13; Num 16.9; 32.4; Josh 22.18, 20; 1 Kgs 8.5//2 Chron 5.6; (2) larçy lhqAlk: Lev 16.17; Deut 31.30; Josh 8.35; 1 Kgs 8.55; 12.3; 1 Chron 13.2; 2 Chron 6.13; 1 Kgs 8.14 (twice)//2 Chron 6.3 (twice); 1 Kgs 8.22//2 Chron 6.12. Milgrom’s explanation of Deuteronomy’s lhq, Rooker’s of Chronicles’ hd[, and Hurvitz’s of the preference in QH for hd[ fall short.171 Finally, Young says ‘while it is claimed that the term hd[ for “congregation” is not used in Persian period Hebrew, for instance Chronicles . . ., it is attested a number of times in Elephantine texts . . . A full study seems called for’.172 (122) wbr (‘myriad’): wbr in 1 Chron 29.7 (twice) is considered a later Aramaising synonym of hbbr. However: (1) ñaÑwbr: Hos 8.12 (K); Jon 4.11; Ps 68.18; Aramaic Dan 7.10; 11.12; Ezra 2.64, 69; Neh 7.66, 70, 71; 1 Chron 29.7 (2x); (2) hbbr: Gen 24.60; Lev 26.8; Num 10.36; Deut 32.30; 33.2, 17; Judg 20.10; 1 Sam 18.7, 8; 21.12; 29.5; Ezek 16.7; Mic 6.7; Ps. 3.7; 91.7; Cant 5.10. Landes comments: . . . that wbr came into Hebrew for the ﬁrst time in the post-exilic era under Aramaic inﬂuence is by no means certain. . . . Since we have no evidence for wbr in pre-exilic Aramaic, it is more likely that it came into Hebrew as a (poetic?) variant for hbbr from Canaanite-Phoenician. Whether it is directly descended from Ugaritic rbt is not wholly clear, but possible.173

(123) hpxr (‘paved ﬂoor’): This word occurs in Ezek 40.17 (2x), 18 (2x); 42.3; Est 1.6; non-synoptic 2 Chron 7.3. It is deemed a ‘late’

171

Hurvitz, Linguistic, p. 66, n. 33; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, p. 5; Rooker, Transition, p. 143, n. 61. 172 Young, ‘Late’, p. 280, n. 5; cf. P. R. Davies, ‘Biblical Hebrew and the History of Ancient Judah: Typology, Chronology and Common Sense’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 150–63 (159–60). 173 G. M. Landes, ‘Linguistic Criteria and the Date of the Book of Jonah’, in B. A. Levine and A. Malamat (eds.), Harry M. Orlinsky Volume (ErIsr, 16; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society—Hebrew Union College, 1982), pp. 147*–70* (154*); cf. R. Meyer, Hebräische Grammatik (4 vols; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1992), 2:§42.5 (p. 42).

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equivalent of tpxrm (2 Kgs 16.17) and [qrq (Num 5.17; 1 Kgs 6.15 [2x], 16, 30; 7.7 [2x]; Amos 9.3). Hurvitz discussed this item, summarising the BH prostration formula and arguing that the distribution of hpxr in ‘late’ texts and its usage in postbiblical Hebrew show that ‘the apparently redundant component . . . represents a distinctively late linguistic element’.174 He stresses that this is a ‘terminological innovation’ regardless of other factors that might have motivated its appearance in ‘late’ texts. However, Hurvitz gave a good reason for the inclusion of hpxr in Chronicles. He said: ‘The episode in 2 Chr 7:3 takes place in the presence of God; kneeling in prayer hpxrh l[ (“solid/paved ﬂoor”) might well have been regarded as more suitable than casting oneself down hxra μypa or [qrqh l[* – the primary connotation of both ≈ra and [qrq being “earth/ ground”’.175 First, Hurvitz’s remark is well taken. Excluding [qrq in Num 5.17 (‘the dust on the ﬂoor of the tabernacle’) and Amos 9.3 (‘the bottom of the sea’), the terminology in Kings, Ezekiel and Esther is purely descriptive of architectural phenomena. Second, hpxr l[ does not replace or explain the typical phrase hxra μypa which occurs here but also in 1 Chron 21.21 and non-synoptic 2 Chron 20.18. These points suggest that hpxr l[ in 2 Chron 7.3 is not haphazard or redundant or stylistic or a modernisation. Third, the temple narratives diﬀer in many details in 1 Kings 5–8//1 Chronicles 2.1–7.10, especially following Solomon’s lengthy prayer and before the oﬀering of sacriﬁces: 1 Kgs 8.54–61 reports Solomon’s blessing of the people whereas 2 Chron 7.1–3 relates Yahweh’s response in ﬁre (ça, twice) and glory (dwbk, twice) and the people’s profound reaction to this revelation. Many remark that 2 Chron 7.1–3 repeats and augments 1 Kgs 8.10–11//2 Chron 5.13–14 (‘chiasm’, ‘framework’, ‘inclusio’, ‘resumptive repetiton’; cf. Ps 136.1 citations). In addition: ‘This conﬂagration is not only the ﬁnal conﬁrmation of all the steps so far taken by David and Solomon, but also accentuates the continuity between the wilderness tabernacle and the temple’.176 Alongside this typological parallel, Chronicles highlights the assembly’s response (wwjtçyw hpxrhAl[ hxra μypa w[rkyw) both in comparison with the

174

Hurvitz, ‘Continuity’, p. 132. Hurvitz, ‘Continuity’, p. 133, n. 17. He discounted other ‘non-chronological’ factors. 176 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 609. 175

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prostration formula in general and with the Israelites’ response in Chronicles’ model passage in particular: μhynpAl[ wlpyw (Lev 9.23–24).177 Regardless of the linguistic environments of the writers—and Kings’ milieu of composition is debatable—Chronicles’ wording of the prostration formula and the book’s inclusion of the passage in which the formula occurs, are entirely explainable from a narrative perspective.178 (124) dymlt (‘student’): This noun appears in 1 Chron 25.8. The parallelism in the verse (dymltAμ[ ˆybm lwdgk ˆfqk) suggests that the word means ‘pupil, student, apprentice, learner’ (nab, nasb, niv, nrsv, etc.) rather than ‘master, scholar’ (asv, jps, kjv, njb, etc.). dymlt is usually taken as a trans-Aramaic Akkadian loanword. However, as observed by Mankowski, ‘Neither phonology nor semantics prevent dymil]T' from being an independent borrowing in BH’.179 Ugaritic has tlmdm in reference to draught animals (KTU 4.384 8).180 The closest synonym of dymlt is the adjective dwml (Isa 8.16; 50.4; 54.13; Jer 2.24; 13.23). 8. Conclusion Quantity: The 91 ‘late’ common noun lexemes in Chronicles constitute 13% of the 700 common noun lexemes in the book. Further, the 160 total occurrences of these in Chronicles constitute 2% of the 8,000 total occurrences of all common nouns. However, from the start I would not deem 1–60 ‘late’ so consequently the percentages become 4% and 1%, respectively. In short, we may generalise by saying that the vocabulary of LBH Chronicles is virtually identical to the vocabulary of EBH.181 Elwolde arrived independently at this same conclusion.182 177

All commentators acknowledge the textual relationship. See also Exod 20.18; 24.16–17; 40.34–38; Deut 5.23–26; 1 Kgs 18.38–39; 1 Chron 21.26, 30 (cf. //2 Sam 24.25). 178 Lydie Kucová’s contribution to the present volume shows that acts of prostration can involve much more than immediately meets the eye. 179 Mankowski, Akkadian, p. 151. 180 Watson, ‘Archaic’, p. 197. 181 For argument’s sake I would grant that this linguistic continuity was due in part to the synopticity of Chronicles with EBH texts, but since 60% of Chronicles is non-synoptic, these ﬁgures would not vary tremendously. However, I am unconvinced that non-synoptic material better represents the writer’s language. His ‘literary’ hands were never tied behind his back. 182 Elwolde, ‘Developments’, pp. 51–52.

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Distribution: The ‘late’ vocabulary discussed in sections six and seven is distributed evenly throughout the book. Only a few chapters are sprinkled with multiple ‘late’ words: 1 Chronicles 15, 16, 25, 26, 28, 29; 2 Chronicles 2. This is very minimal ‘accumulation’ or ‘penetration’. Semantic categories: The ‘late’ vocabulary includes nearly equal numbers of abstract ideas and concrete items. Many words relate to the ‘cultic-religious’ sphere, and quite a few refer to materials for the construction and function of the temple, many of which are technical. Some themes are repeated, e.g.: division (hglpm, hglp), footstool (μdh, çbk), health (hkwra, hl,j}m,' ywljm), lifting (aC;m,' aoCm'), numbers (ˆwmh, tybrm, rps), part (hQ;luj,' tnm), prophecy (twOzj}, hzj, hawbn), writing (trga, btk, çrdm). Relation to LBH: LBH is not monolithic or uniform. Chronicles’ language is diﬀerent than the language of Ezra–Nehemiah. 183 Additionally, Bergey’s study illustrates LBH diversity. For example, he discussed 15 LBH common noun lexemes in Esther. Of these, once Chronicles uses neither word, twice Chronicles uses the LBH word only (≈wb, hpxr), three times Chronicles uses both the EBH and LBH words (LBH trga, btk, raç), and nine times Chronicles uses the EBH word only (e.g., dwbk rather than rqy). Conversely, some ‘late’ books hardly have ‘late’ language. Ehrensvärd argued that the language of books like II Isaiah, Joel, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 and Malachi is EBH rather than being close to EBH.184 These factors suggest that ‘late’ language is an escapable aspect of ‘late’ books. Linguistic ‘merger’?: What accounts for Chronicles’ ‘variegated’ EBH– LBH landscape?185 First, regarding the principle of frequency (concentration, accumulation), ‘new’ or ‘late’ common nouns in Chronicles are infrequent. Second, regarding the principle of contrast (opposition),

183 A. Kropat, Die Syntax des Autors der Chronik verglichen mit der seiner Quellen (BZAW, 16; Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1909); Japhet, ‘Supposed’; Polzin, Late; Williamson, Israel; M. A. Throntveit, ‘Linguistic Analysis and the Question of Authorship in Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah’, VT 32 (1982), pp. 201–16; Talshir, ‘Reinvestigation’; cf. Elwolde, ‘Developments’, pp. 53–54, n. 102; Young, Diversity, p. 84; idem, ‘Late’, pp. 313–14. 184 Ehrensvärd, ‘Linguistic’; M. Ehrensvärd, ‘Why Biblical Texts Cannot be Dated Linguistically’, HS 47 (2006) (forthcoming). On their language he cites Hurvitz among others. 185 Frequent adjectives for Chronicles’ LBH language are ‘late, new, artiﬁcial, dead, blended, mixed, plural, impure, erratic, deteriorated, dependant, imitative, neological, innovative, inventive, pseudo-classical, post-classical, non-classical’, etc.

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Chronicles uses EBH and LBH terminology. The cases where a LBH common noun completely ‘replaces’ or ‘supplants’ an EBH word are rare, and even several of these are doubtful (≈wb, ?hpwg, ˆz, lymrk, ?μytlxm, ˆdn, wbr). Regarding common nouns, the most productive part of speech in BH, Chronicles is mostly EBH with some LBH lexical elements sprinkled here and there.186 It should also be stressed that writers’ and editors’ occasional choice for ‘late’ terminology, sometimes with a detectable objective in mind, undermines the hypothesis that the issue is ‘linguistic’ rather than ‘literary’. A new perspective: (1) Rather than ‘early’ and ‘late’ language I prefer terms such as ‘conservative’ or ‘traditional’ and ‘liberal’ or ‘nonconservative’ or ‘non-traditional’. The diﬀerence between the Chronicler and his EBH counterparts was his openness to draw slightly more often from the broad linguistic reservoir at his and their disposal. Furthermore, he was not haphazard, but purposeful in his methodology. (2) With respect to Chronicles and Samuel–Kings we should think in terms of diﬀerent regional schools or scribal traditions of biblical composition and redaction. Several scholars have suggested that this is the path to follow.187 I agree.

186 Therefore, I disagree with the idea that the Chronicler’s writing was archaistic or imitative or pseudo-classical, as stated by, e.g., J. Joosten, ‘Pseudo-Classicisms in Late Biblical Hebrew, in Ben Sira, and in Qumran Hebrew’, in Muraoka and Elwolde, Sirach, pp. 146–59 (149); cf. Hurvitz, ‘Evidence’, p. 33, n. 19. Perhaps Chronicles’ ‘mixed’ language should incite us to shift the ‘transitional’ period in BH from the 6th (Ezekiel; Hurvitz, Rooker) to the 5th (Ezra–Nehemiah; Driver, Talshir) to the 4th (Chronicles) century bce? However, in my opinion, the notion of ‘transitional Hebrew’ in BH should be abandoned altogether. 187 Davies, ‘Biblical’, p. 162; J. Naudé, ‘A Perspective on the Chronological Framework of Biblical Hebrew’, JNSL 30 (2004), pp. 87–102 (96–97); Person, Deuteronomic School, pp. 142–44; cf. his contribution to the present volume; Talshir, ‘Habitat’, pp. 262–64, 269; I. Young, ‘Concluding Reﬂections’, in Young, Biblical Hebrew, pp. 312–17 (314–17); idem, ‘Biblical Texts Cannot be Dated Linguistically’, HS 46 (2005), pp. 341–51. See also A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), pp. 9–10.

ISRAEL’S SOJOURN IN THE WILDERNESS AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE BOOK OF NUMBERS1 Thomas Christian Römer 1. Introduction The lack of any consensus is probably the ﬁrst thought that comes to mind when one tries to describe the current state of historical and critical Pentateuchal research. A growing number of authors, especially in Europe, have given up the traditional documentary hypothesis, which by the way is still popular in textbooks and publications for larger audiences. The idea that a tenth century Yahwist created the narrative structure of the Pentateuch (or Hexateuch) starting with the creation of the world and ending with Israel’s entrance into the Promised Land, or that he even inherited this structure in an oral form, has become a very diﬃcult and dubious assumption. Archaeological, socio-historical and literary reasons no longer allow one to locate the edition of the ﬁrst ‘Pentateuchal narrative’ at the beginning of Israelite monarchy. It is not my concern in this context to provide an overview of every issue in the current debate. We will restrict ourselves to the question of the origin of the Pentateuchal or Hexateuchal narrative. This question may also be formulated in the following way: When were all the so-called major themes of the Pentateuch or Hexateuch (primeval history, the Patriarchal narratives, the epic of the exodus, the lawgiving on mount Sinai, the sojourn of Israel in the wilderness, the conquest of the land) combined for the ﬁrst time? This debate will open new perspectives on the formation of the book of Numbers.

1 This paper was given at the SOTS meeting, January 2005, in Birmingham under the presidency of Professor A. G. Auld. It is my pleasure to oﬀer these thoughts to an esteemed colleague and a very good friend.

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Despite the apparent lack of consensus, there is a general agreement that the second half of the Persian period saw the birth of the Torah and of Judaism as a Torah-related religion. But where did the conception of the narrative structure of this Torah originate? A number of scholars still postulate a Yahwistic document as the nucleus of the Pentateuch. Given the fact that von Rad’s idea of a Yahwist writing in the time of a chimeric ‘Solomonic enlightenment’ is no longer tenable, some authors return to Wellhausen’s view of J (or JE) as a work from the monarchical period (thus in particular Nicholson, Seebass).2 Martin Rose follows the intuitions of H. H. Schmid’s book on the ‘so-called Yahwist’, who had emphasised the deuteronomistic inﬂuence on the vocabulary and ideology of the texts, which Noth had attributed to J.3 Rose transforms J into a Deuteronomist of the second or third generation, and considers his work in Genesis to Numbers as a prologue and, simultaneously, a ‘theological amendment’ to the Deuteronomistic History.4 This approach is quite close to the distinction, in the Pentateuch, between a D-composition prefacing the Deuteronomistic History and a P-composition, as postulated by E. Blum and others.5 Quite similarly, John Van Seters considers the Yahwist as a later expansion of the Deuteronomist’s work.6 But in 2

E. W. Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998); H. Seebass, ‘Pentateuch’, TRE 26:185–209. 3 H. H. Schmid, Der sogenannte Jahwist: Beobachtungen und Fragen zur Pentateuchforschung (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1976). 4 M. Rose, Deuteronomist und Jahwist: Untersuchungen zu den Berührungspunkten beider Literaturwerke (ATANT, 67; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1981); for the same approach see F. H. Cryer, ‘On the Relationship between the Yahwistic and the Deuteronomistic Histories’, BN 29 (1985), pp. 58–74. 5 E. Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch (BZAW, 189; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1990); see also W. Johnstone, ‘The Deuteronomistic Cycles of “Signs” and “Wonders” in Exodus 1–13’, in A. G. Auld (ed.), Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honour of George Wishart Anderson ( JSOTSup, 152; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1993), pp. 166–85; F. García López, ‘Deut 34, Dtr History and the Pentateuch’, in F. García Martínez et al. (eds.), Studies in Deuteronomy: In Honour of C. J. Labuschagne on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (VTSup, 53; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), pp. 47–61. 6 J. Van Seters, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1992); see also idem, The Life of Moses: The Yahwist as Historian in Exodus–Numbers (Kampen: Kok Pharos; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994). For the primeval history, Van Seters suggests that J is directly dependent on the Babylonian version of the Flood, which is conserved in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

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contrast to the Yahwist of Rose and the D composition of Blum, Van Seters’ Yahwist is above all an antiquarian historian who freely composes his work. J is a contemporary of Second Isaiah and close to his universal perspective. Christoph Levin7 also locates J in the exilic period, later than the book of Deuteronomy, but nevertheless earlier than the Deuteronomistic History. J represents the perspective of a more popular type of religiosity, as well as the concerns of the Diaspora; as such, he defends the diversity of cultic places where Yahweh may be worshipped contra the authors of Deuteronomy. According to Levin, J is foremost a collector and a redactor; he is the ﬁrst to organise his older sources into a narrative, which covers (more or less) the extent of the Pentateuch.8 Levin actually combines in his description of the work of the Yahwist a fragment theory with a supplementary theory, since more than half of the non-priestly texts of the Pentateuch are supplements added to the Yahwistic work by numerous redactors. The problem of all these Yahwists (or ‘Deuteronomists’) is that they tend to become very elusive after the exodus story. The recent reconstruction of the Yahwistic history by Levin reveals that a concentration of 82% of the J document is found in Genesis. The J-text after the arrival in the wilderness is limited (after Exodus 16–18*) to Exod *19.2–3; 24.18; 34.5, 9a, 28a; Num 10.12, 29–31, 33; 11.2, 4, 11, 23, 31–32; 20.1; 22.1–8, 12, 21–22, 36, 41; 23.2; 24.1, 3–6, 9–11, 25; 25.1; Deut 34.5–6.* The concentration of the so-called Yahwist to the book of Genesis is nothing new. Since the nineteenth century, the entire documentary hypothesis, including the notion of a Yahwistic document, was indeed essentially elaborated through analyses of the book of Genesis. Signiﬁcantly, and for all the diﬀerences in the various conceptions of J in a little more than two centuries, it appears that up to now the book of Genesis remains the basis for the study of J. One may

7 C. Levin, Der Jahwist (FRLANT, 157; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993). 8 In a recent article Levin still argues, as in his book, that the end of J may be lost, cf. C. Levin, ‘Das israelitische Nationalepos: Der Jahwist’, in M. Hose (ed.), Große Texte alter Kulturen: Literarische Reise von Gizeh nach Rom (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004), pp. 63–86 (74). However, in a recent reconstruction of J, which Prof. Levin kindly sent to me, he identiﬁes the end of J in Num 25.1 and Deut 34.5–6*.

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therefore wonder whether the so-called Yahwist should not be limited to Genesis, as was already suggested by Winnett9 and, more recently, by Kratz.10 Such an idea (if one wishes to keep the siglum ‘J’, which is not really necessary) would gain support from another new trend in the current research on the Torah: the emphasis on the ideological and literary gap between the Patriarchs and Exodus. In a recent study, Konrad Schmid,11 building on earlier works of Winnett, de Pury and others,12 has argued that the literary link between Genesis and Exodus was only created by the Priestly document. According to Schmid the earliest literary links between the Patriarchal narratives and the Exodus story belong to P, especially Genesis 17 and Exodus 6. The debate is, of course, open,13 but there is nevertheless a trend to

9 F. V. Winnett, The Mosaic Tradition (Near and Middle East Series, 1; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1949). 10 R. G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments: Grundwissen der Bibelkritik (Uni-Taschenbücher für Wissenschaft, 2157; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), pp. 249–330. Kratz limits J to Genesis 1–36*; he labels ‘E’ the original Exodus story running from Exodus 1* to Joshua 12*. 11 K. Schmid, Erzväter und Exodus: Untersuchungen zur doppelten Begründung der Ursprünge Israels innerhalb der Geschichtsbücher des Alten Testaments (WMANT, 81; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1999). 12 F. V. Winnett, ‘Re-examining the Foundations’, JBL 84 (1965), pp. 1–19; A. de Pury, ‘Las dos leyendas sobre el origen de Israel ( Jacob y Moisés) y la elaboración del Pentateuco’, EstBíb 52 (1994), pp. 95–131; idem, ‘Abraham: The Priestly Writer’s “Ecumenical” Ancestor’, in S. L. McKenzie, T. Römer and H. H. Schmid (eds.), Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible: Essays in Honour of John Van Seters (BZAW, 294; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2000), pp. 163–81; T. Römer, Israels Väter: Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition (OBO, 99; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990); idem, ‘Deuteronomy in Search of Origins’, in G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study, 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), pp. 112–38. That the Patriarchal narratives and the Exodus story represent two competing origin traditions was already argued by W. Staerk, Studien zur Religions- und Sprachgeschichte des alten Testaments (2 vols; Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1899) and K. Galling, Die Erwählungstraditionen Israels (BZAW, 48; Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1928). But for these authors both traditions were already linked in the time of the Jehovist or even earlier. 13 For P as creator of the link between Genesis and Exodus see also J. C. Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung: Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch (FRLANT, 186; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999); E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumsrahmens (FAT, 30; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). For a critical evaluation see G. Davies, ‘The Final Redaction of the Pentateuch’, SOTS Summer Meeting 2001 (http://www.trinity-bris.ac.uk/sots/conferences2001.html).

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underline the literary and theological diﬀerences between Genesis and the following books of the Torah. This is, for instance, the case of E. Blum, who has modiﬁed his former hypothesis about the Pentateuch as a compromise between a ‘D composition’ and a ‘P composition’. He now argues that the D composition started with the story of Moses and did not include the Genesis traditions.14 And even among scholars who do not agree with the idea of P as the ﬁrst document to link Patriarchs and Exodus there is a growing tendency to consider this link as not original and ‘late’.15 The present debate on the Yahwist and the link between Patriarchs and Exodus clearly reveals that it is very diﬃcult to maintain the idea of a pre-priestly document which would have constituted a kind of Proto-Pentateuch, comprising all of its major themes. Should one therefore return to Martin Noth’s claim that Pg (the ﬁrst edition of the Priestly document) constitutes the skeleton of the Pentateuch?16 But this statement also raises a number of problems. 3. The Problem of a Priestly Pentateuch For Noth and many other scholars there was no doubt that P ended in Deut 34.1aa . . . 7–9.17 Nevertheless, this opinion does not match

14 E. Blum, ‘Die literarische Verbindung von Erzvätern und Exodus: Ein Gespräch mit neueren Forschungshypothesen’, in J. C. Gertz, K. Schmid and M. Witte (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW, 315; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2002), pp. 119–56. 15 See for instance D. M. Carr, ‘Genesis in Relation to the Moses Story: Diachronic and Synchronic Perspectives’, in A. Wénin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction and History (BETL, 155; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2001), pp. 273–95; W. Johnstone, ‘The Use of Reminiscences in Deuteronomy in Recovering the Two Main Literary Phases in the Production of the Pentateuch’, in Gertz, Abschied vom Jahwisten, pp. 247–73; R. Albertz, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. (trans. D. E. Green; Studies in Biblical Literature, 3; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003); E. Aurelius, Zukunft jenseits des Gerichts: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie zum Enneateuch (BZAW, 319; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2003). 16 M. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (trans. B. W. Anderson; Englewood Cliﬀs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972; repr.: Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981). For a recent defence of Noth’s position with some modiﬁcations see C. Frevel, Mit Blick auf das Land die Schöpfung erinnern: zum Ende der Priestergrundschrift (Herders Biblische Studien, 23; Freiburg: Herder, 1999). 17 Noth, Pentateuchal Traditions, pp. 16–19. According to Noth, the redactor omitted P’s report of Moses’ death because he wanted to keep the older account in vv. 4–6*.

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the function and the style of these verses. The emphasis on Joshua as Moses’ successor does not sound like a conclusion, but an indication that the story will move on to the conquest. As to the vocabulary and expressions of 34.7–9, Lothar Perlitt has convincingly shown that these verses cannot be attributed to the original priestly document; they reveal a mixture of priestly and deuteronomistic expressions and conceptions, which can be found in the latest layers of the Pentateuch.18 If Pg cannot be detected in Deuteronomy 34, where did it end? Some scholars try to rehabilitate the idea that the priestly document did cover a Hexateuchal narrative and postulate its ending either in Josh 18.1 (‘the whole congregation of the Israelites assembled at Shiloh, and set up the tent of meeting there. The land lay subdued before them’) or in 19.51 (‘. . . So they ﬁnished dividing the land’).19 It is often argued that such a conclusion would buttress the fulﬁlment of P’s presentation of God’s initial order to mankind in Gen 1.28 (to subdue the earth). But Gen 1.28 is directed to humanity in its entirety and has nothing to do with Israel’s occupation of the land20 and P’s presentation of God’s revelation in three steps (elohim for all mankind, el shadday for Abraham’s descendants, and yhwh for Israel whose mediator is Moses) clearly shows that Pg’s main interest resides

18 L. Perlitt, ‘Priesterschrift im Deuteronomium?’, ZAW 100 (Supplement 1988), pp. 65–88 = Deuteronomium-Studien (FAT, 8; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), pp. 123–43; see also P. Stoellger, ‘Deuteronomium 34 ohne Priesterschrift’, ZAW 105 (1993), pp. 26–51. 19 See Seebass, ‘Pentateuch’, p. 192; E. A. Knauf, ‘Die Priesterschrift und die Geschichten der Deuteronomisten’, in T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL, 147; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2000), pp. 101–18; N. Lohﬁnk, ‘The Priestly Narrative and History’, in N. Lohﬁnk, Theology of the Pentateuch: Themes of the Priestly Narrative and Deuteronomy (trans. L. M. Maloney; Edinburgh: T&T Clark; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994), pp. 136–72; J. Blenkinsopp, The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible (ABRL; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992), p. 237. 20 According to Pg, the initial order of Gen 1.28 is perverted in Gen 6.11–12 and restored in a modiﬁed way after the Flood. One should also underline that the root kb“ (niphal) also occurs in Num 32.22, 29 (in the same way as in Josh 18.1) but the verses in Numbers are commonly considered post-P. So it would be better to ascribe Josh 18.1 to the same late redactional level (see for instance R. Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch [Beihefte der Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte, 3; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 2003], p. 386).

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in God’s revelation to his people and not in Israel’s occupation of the land.21 If neither Deuteronomy 34 nor the end of Joshua oﬀers a comprehensive conclusion for Pg, the end of the original priestly writing must be looked for somewhere earlier. The book of Numbers can easily be excluded:22 the so-called priestly texts of this book diﬀer in style and ideology from those commonly ascribed to the original priestly document: the rebellion stories conﬂict with the priestly anthropology according to which human beings cannot act against the divine will; the presentation of Israel as an ecclesia militans does not ﬁt well with the so-called paciﬁsm of P.23 Given the fact that there are no clear traces of Pg in the book of Numbers its conclusion should be located in God’s revelation to Israel on Mount Sinai. Thomas Pola put this idea forward;24 he reconstructed the ﬁnal scene of the priestly document in Exod 40.16–17a, 33b. Even if one may question Pola’s literary-critical operations on the Sinai-pericope,25 his idea that Yhwh’s dwelling in his mobile sanctuary is a ﬁtting conclusion is now accepted by a growing number of scholars, even if there are some discrepancies as to the exact ending of Pg.26 Indeed, Exodus 40 constitutes a convincing

21 R. W. Klein, ‘The Message of P’, in J. Jeremias and L. Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten: Festschrift für Hans Walter Wolﬀ zum 70. Geburtstag (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), pp. 57–66; M. Köckert, ‘Das Land in der priesterlichen Komposition des Pentateuch’, in D. Vieweger and E.-J. Waschke (eds.), Von Gott reden: Beiträge zur Theologie und Exegese des Alten Testaments: Festschrift für Siegfried Wagner zum 65. Geburtstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995), pp. 147–62; M. Bauks, ‘“Une histoire sans ﬁn”: L’impasse herméneutique de la notion de pays dans œuvre sacerdotale (Pg)’, ETR 78 (2003), pp. 255–68. 22 Some scholars nevertheless try to discover P’s end in Numbers. Ska ( J.-L. Ska, Introduction à la lecture du Pentateuque. Clés pour l’interprétation des cinq premiers livres de la Bible [Le livre et le rouleau, 5; Bruxelles: Lessius, 2000], pp. 210–15) and García López (F. García López, El Pentateuco. Introducción a la lectura de los cinco primeros libros de la Biblia [Introducción al estudio de la Biblia, 3a; Estella: Verbo Divino, 2003], pp. 332–33) postulate Numbers 27; but may the announcement of Moses’ death and the installation of Joshua as his successor be considered as a ﬁtting end? 23 See on this point E. Aurelius, Der Fürbitter Israels: Eine Studie zum Mosebild im Alten Testament (ConBOT, 27; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1988), pp. 187–202. 24 T. Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift: Beobachtungen zur Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte von P g (WMANT, 70; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995). 25 Pola only considers about two (!) percent of the present text of Exodus 25–40 as belonging to Pg, which seems quite implausible. 26 According to E. Otto, P g ended at Exod 29.42b–46 (‘Forschungen zur Priesterschrift’, TRu 62 [1997], pp. 1–50); for Exod 40.34b as an ending see

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ending of the priestly story that started in Genesis 1:27 that the creation and construction of a sanctuary belong together is attested in Near-eastern parallels,28 and the installation of Israel’s cult is certainly a main concern of P. One may ask if, in this case, the consecration of Israel’s ﬁrst priests in Lev 9.23–24 would not even be a better ending,29 but for our present purposes this debate may be left open. The consequence of the current trend of Pentateuchal research is therefore that neither the so-called Yahwist nor the original Priestly document contains a narrative strand that comprises the whole Pentateuch (or Hexateuch). On the one hand there is a priestly ‘Tritoteuch’, which covers the narrative from creation of the world to the installation of Israel’s worship; on the other hand we have the book of Deuteronomy, which is closely related in style and ideology to the Former Prophets, either as a prologue of a ‘Deuteronomistic History’ or for having underwent analogue deuteronomistic redactions as the books of Joshua to Kings.30

M. Bauks, ‘La signiﬁcation de l’espace et du temps dans “l’historiographie sacerdotale”’, in Römer, The Future of the Deuteronomistic History, pp. 29–45; C. Levin, Das Alte Testament (C. H. Beck Wissen in der Beck’shen Reihe, 2160; Munich: C. H. Beck, 2001), p. 80; and Kratz, Komposition, p. 108. 27 See Blenkinsopp, Pentateuch, p. 218, for parallels between Gen 1.1//Exod 39.43; Gen 2.1//Exod 39.43; Gen 2.2//Exod 40.33; Gen 2.3//Exod 39.43. 28 M. Weinfeld, ‘Sabbath, Temple and the Enthronement of the Lord – The Problem of the Sitz im Leben of Genesis 1:1–2:3’, in A. Caquot and M. Delcor (eds.), Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Henri Cazelles (AOAT, 212; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), pp. 501–12. 29 This solution is advocated by E. Zenger, ‘Priesterschrift’, TRE 27:435–46. The problem with this solution is that Lev 9.23 presupposes Exod 40.35a, which is often considered an interpolation. Maybe one could follow Kratz, Komposition, p. 116, who argues that most texts in Leviticus 1–16* were added to P before P was combined with the other textual traditions. For Leviticus 16 as a possible end of Pg see now C. Nihan, ‘From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch’ (ThD thesis, University of Lausanne, to be published in FAT). 30 I cannot take up, in this context, the debate of the existence of the so-called Deuteronomistic History. Even if it has become fashionable to deny the existence of such a construct, there is in my view no better explanation for the fact that the books from Deuteronomy to Kings all underwent (in several stages) deuteronomistic redactions; see T. Römer, ‘The Form-Critical Problem of the So-Called Deuteronomistic History’, in M. A. Sweeney and E. Ben Zvi (eds.), The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 240–52. For the opposite view, see especially A. G. Auld, ‘The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets, or What Makes the Former Prophets Deuteronomistic?’, in L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of PanDeuteronomism ( JSOTSup, 268; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999), pp. 116–26.

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This brings us to the book of Numbers, which is the least easily characterised of the ﬁve books of the Torah. There is no trouble in indicating the structure and the arrangement of the books of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy. But if one tries to do the same with Numbers the task is more diﬃcult; Numbers is indeed the only book of the Pentateuch where commentators need several pages to justify their idea of the structure of the book and to refute others. Numbers apparently has no obvious arrangement; this may be explained by the fact that Numbers was the last book of the Torah, which came into existence at a time when Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus on the one hand and Deuteronomy on the other hand were already shaped. This means that the book of Numbers was created to integrate the latest texts of the Torah. The redactional model explaining the formation of the book of Numbers may therefore be diﬀerent from those applied to the other books of the Pentateuch. Before sketching some preliminary thoughts about the formation of Numbers in regard to the wilderness traditions, some further indications on the proto-midrashic31 character of the book seem to be appropriate. 4. The Book of Numbers as a Forerunner of Midrashic Literature Martin Noth made two important statements on the book of Numbers. The ﬁrst is the oft quoted observation in the introduction of his commentary on Numbers: Were we to ‘take the book of Numbers on its own, then we would think not so much of “continuous sources” as of an unsystematic collection of innumerable pieces of tradition of very varied content’.32 The second statement is the assertion that almost all texts in Numbers 27–36 are post-priestly texts, added

31 I am aware of the often unreﬂective use of ‘midrashic’ by biblical scholars. It is certainly right that this term should be limited to rabbinical literature and not be used as a fancy term for ‘interpretation’. Nevertheless, I am quite convinced that the construction of Numbers foreshadows in a certain way the latter idea of ‘oral Torah’. See now T. H. Lim, ‘The Origins and Emergence of Midrash in Relation to the Hebrew Scriptures’, in J. Neusner and A. J. Avery-Peck (eds.), Encyclopedia of Midrash: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 595–612. Therefore I feel authorised to speak about ‘proto-midrashic’ writing in relation to the book of Number. 32 M. Noth, Numbers: A Commentary (trans. J. D. Martin; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968), p. 4.

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successively one after the other.33 This idea of a rolling corpus, which is characterised by the observation that pre-existing texts or traditions trigger exegesis or commentary, advocated by William McKane to explain the formation of the book of Jeremiah,34 may also apply to other parts of the book of Numbers. First of all it is interesting to look at the opening and the conclusion of Numbers and to compare these with the opening and concluding verses of Leviticus: Lev 1.1:

‘He called Moses. Yhwh spoke to him from the tent of meeting, saying’. Lev 27.34: ‘These are the commandments that Yhwh commanded to Moses for the Israelites on Mount Sinai’. Num 1.1: ‘Yhwh spoke to Moses in the desert of Sinai, in the tent of meeting . . . saying’. Num 36.12: ‘These are the commandments and the ordinances that Yhwh commanded through Moses to the Israelites in the plains of Moab by the Jordan at Jericho’.

Numbers 1.1 clearly takes up the beginning and ending of Leviticus, nevertheless introducing an important diﬀerence:35 the commandments in Numbers are revealed no longer on Mount Sinai, but in the desert of Sinai. This is a hint that the editors of Numbers understood the laws in Numbers as not having directly emerged from God’s revelation on Mount Sinai, but as supplements given later, still in relation with ‘Sinai’ but located in the ‘desert’ and not on Yhwh’s mountain. Is there a better way to indicate that the laws collected in Numbers are supplements to the ‘original’ priestly and deuteronomistic revelation of the Law? A short overview of Numbers 1–10 conﬁrms this observation. Most of the prescriptions in these chapters would have better ﬁt into the books of Exodus, Leviticus instead of Deuteronomy; apparently it was impossible to interpolate them in these books, which were already more or less closed to important additions. The ordeal in Numbers

33 Noth, Numbers, p. 8; see already M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgessellschaft, 3rd edn, 1967), pp. 192–217. 34 W. McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah (ICC; 2 vols; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1986, 1996), 1:l–lxxxiii. 35 See also D. T. Olson, The Death of the Old and the Birth of the New: The Framework of the Book of Numbers and the Pentateuch (BJS, 71; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), p. 49.

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5 would better stand together with the laws on adultery in Deut 22.13–15; the law on the Nazirite in Numbers 6 is a general supplement, since Nazirites appear in the Former and Later Prophets ( Judg 13.5, 7; 16.17; 1 Sam 1.22 [4QSama]; Amos 2.12), but their ‘legal situation’ is not clariﬁed elsewhere; Numbers 7 contains a supplement to the inauguration of the sanctuary, which relates to the end of Exodus (Num 7.1 even contains an explicit reference to Exodus 40). The prescriptions for the lamp in Num 8.1–4 would stand better after Exod 25.13–15 or 37.12–14. The consecration of the Levites in Num 8.5–7 was apparently written as a supplement to Leviticus 8–9. Numbers 9 contains additional prescriptions for the celebration of Passover, which clarify the prescriptions of Exodus 12. The same holds true for the prescriptions at the end of the book. Numbers 27 openly states that a certain number of problems linked to the question of heritage are not yet resolved by the existing laws. Interestingly, the ﬁnal chapter of Numbers (36) adds a supplement and commentary to Numbers 27 (!). The laws about oﬀerings for daily use and on the occasion of festivals (Numbers 28–29) supplement the prescriptions of Leviticus 23.36 The regulations concerning vows in Numbers 30 should be understood as actualisation of Deut 23.22–24. The war against the Midianites in Numbers 31 is clearly inspired by the foregoing chapters 22–25, and may also be conceived as antipode to Saul’s failure in 1 Samuel 15.37 The geographical chapters Numbers 32 and 34–35 have parallels in the book of Joshua; they were possibly taken over from Joshua when the ﬁnal decision for a Pentateuch (against the alternative Hexateuch) was taken.38

36 This was already observed by Kuenen, who argued that these chapters are at the wrong place: they should belong after Leviticus 23, see A. Kuenen, A HistoricalCritical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch (trans. P. H. Wicksteed; London: Macmillan, 1886), p. 99. 37 For 1 Samuel 15 as source text for Numbers 31 see E. A. Knauf, Midian: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr (Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästinavereins; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1988), p. 167. The inﬂuence of the book of Samuel on Numbers is emphasised by A. G. Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, in Gertz, Abschied vom Jahwisten, pp. 233–46. 38 Numbers 32//Joshua 13; Numbers 34//Joshua 15; Numbers 35//Joshua 21. Achenbach, Vollendung, pp. 557–59 attributes the texts in Numbers to theocratic redactors located in the fourth century bce. For the alternative Pentateuch versus Hexateuch in the Persian period see T. Römer and M. Z. Brettler, ‘Deuteronomy 34 and the Case for a Persian Hexateuch’, JBL 119 (2000), pp. 401–19.

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The introductory and concluding chapters of Numbers can therefore plausibly be understood as belonging to the very latest texts of the Torah. The same is true for the narrative kernel of the book, especially the theme of never ending rebellions in the wilderness. We will attempt to demonstrate this in what follows. 5. The Origins of the Wilderness Tradition Outside the Pentateuch, Israel’s sojourn in the desert is mentioned in some ‘historical’ Psalms and summaries (especially Josh 24.7; Neh 9.19–21; Pss 78.15–41; 95.8–11; 105.40–41; 106.13–1539) as well as in some prophetic books (especially Hosea, Amos, Jeremiah, Second Isaiah, Ezekiel). The oldest allusions to the wilderness tradition can possibly be found in Hosea, notwithstanding the complicated history of redaction which this book underwent.40 Hosea 9.10 states that Yhwh did ﬁnd Israel in the wilderness, like grapes or the ﬁrst fruit on a ﬁg tree. This image clearly evokes a positive relation between Yhwh and Israel’s fathers in the wilderness. The problems arose, according to this text, only after Israel entered the cultivated land in Baal-Peor. In a quite similar way, Hos 2.16–17, which belongs to a later redactional stage of the book, announces Israel’s restoration with the idea of a return to the desert. Here again the desert symbolises the positive beginnings of Israel’s election by Yhwh. A similar vision appears in Jer 2.1–3. This oracle, at the onset of the collection of Jeremiah 2–6, describes the desert time as an experience of taintless love: ‘Thus says Yhwh: I remember the aﬀection of your youth, your love as a bride, how you followed me in the

39 For these psalms see A. H. W. Curtis, ‘La mosaïque de l’histoire d’Israël: Quelques considérations sur les allusions “historiques” dans les Psaumes’, in D. Marguerat and A. H. W. Curtis (eds.), Intertextualités: La Bible en échos (MdB, 40; Genève: Labor et Fides, 2000), pp. 13–29. Curtis also mentions Pss 135.10–11 and 136.16–20 as containing allusions to Israel’s sojourn in the wilderness. Interestingly, these texts mention Israel’s victory over the Transjordanian kings without a foregoing period of life in the desert. 40 See for instance A. A. Macintosh, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Hosea. (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997) and the presentation of recent research in S. Rudnig-Zelt, ‘Die Genese des Hoseabuches: Ein Forschungsbericht’, in K. Kiesow and T. Meurer (eds.), Textarbeit: Studien zu Texten und ihrer Rezeption aus dem Alten Testament und der Umwelt Israels: Festschrift für Peter Weimar zur Vollendung seines 60. Lebensjahres (AOAT, 294; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2003), pp. 351–86.

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wilderness, in an uncultivated land’ (2.2). Robert Carroll perfectly summed up the ideology of this verse with the following statement: ‘The honeymoon was wonderful but the marriage—a complete failure!’41 These texts clearly indicate that the original tradition of Israel’s sojourn in the desert was a positive tradition.42 The desert appeared as the theatre for the ﬁrst encounter between Yhwh and Israel. The authors of the quoted texts in Hosea and Jeremiah do not refer to the wilderness traditions of the Torah, as it is often argued. The contrary may be the case: the wilderness stories in Exodus and especially in Numbers should be understood as reinterpretations of a former positive tradition.43 Such a reinterpretation can be detected in the ﬁrst wilderness stories of the book of Exodus. 6. From Manna to Complaint and Rebellion (Exodus 16) Exodus 16 relates the discovery of the manna, which coincides with the discovery of the Sabbath. On the seventh day there is no manna to gather, no work to do. This rhythm that God ﬁxed during the creation, according to Gen 2.1–3, is revealed, after the exodus, to Israel. This link makes it plausible to consider Exodus 16 (or at least parts of it) as belonging to the priestly document.44 The priestly writer may have taken over an older aetiology of the manna, which hypothetically can be found in 16.1*, 4a, 13b–14ba, 15, 21, 31.45 If one accepts such a reconstruction it appears that this aetiology did not

41

R. P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1986), p. 119. 42 Amos 5.25 as well as 2.10 were written by a late redactor, as shown by the theme of 40 years. Interestingly even here the wilderness time is not presented in a negative way (on this see M. Álvarez Barredo, Relecturas Deuteronomísticas de Amós, Miqueas y Jeremías [Publicaciones del Instituto Teológico Franciscano, Serie Mayor, 10; Murcia: Editorial Espigas, 1993], p. 74). The assertion that during this time Israel did not oﬀer sacriﬁces to Yhwh (see also Jer 7.22) is either a reminiscence of the pre-priestly wilderness tradition or polemical against the priestly location of the sacriﬁcial laws into the time of the wilderness. 43 See more details in T. B. Dozeman, ‘Hosea and the Wilderness Wandering Tradition’, in McKenzie and Römer, Rethinking the Foundations, pp. 55–70. 44 See E. Ruprecht, ‘Stellung und Bedeutung der Erzählung vom Mannawunder (Ex 16) im Aufbau der Priesterschrift’, ZAW 86 (1974), pp. 269–307; W. Johnstone, Exodus (OTG; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press 1990), pp. 82, 110. 45 As suggested by Levin, Jahwist, pp. 77, 352–55.

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contain any mention of a rebellious people. The same absence can be detected in the mention of the manna in Deut 8.3, 16 (here the gift of manna is linked with the idea of a divine pedagogy).46 But even in the priestly version of Exodus 16, there is no rebellion and no divine punishment. P is solely interested in emphasising the importance of the Sabbath for Israel. According to Exod 16.22–24, Moses exhorts the people to make provisions for the seventh day, ‘the holy Sabbath for Yhwh’. When the Sabbath has come, Moses urges the people to eat the provisions, because ‘today you will not ﬁnd anything in the ﬁeld’ (vv. 25–26). Nevertheless, according to v. 27, ‘on the seventh day some of the people went out to gather, and they found nothing’. Verse 30 relates the logical consequence: ‘So the people rested on the seventh day’. In the present text this link between verses 27 and 30 is interrupted by the interpolation of v. 28 (and v. 29):47 ‘Yhwh said to Moses: How long will you refuse to keep my commandments and instructions?’. This insertion, which reﬂects deuteronomistic terminology and concerns, transforms the priestly explanation of the Sabbath into a story of rebellion, as do verses 2–3 and 6–12, which emphasise the complaining of the people against Moses and Aaron and which should be also attributed to later redactors.48 According to this analysis even the original priestly document (which contained approximately Exod 16.1, 4aba, 13b, 15–17, 21–27, 30–31) was unaware of the idea of ongoing rebellion in the wilderness. The priestly writer apparently took over a positive wilderness tradition close to the one attested in Hosea and Jeremiah. This hypothesis gets some further support from the analysis of Exod 15.22–27 undertaken by Erik Aurelius. In its present form this text is clearly the work of a post-priestly49 redactor. According to Aurelius an earlier form of this story, which provided an aetiology

The idea of testing the people also appears in Exod 16.4bb, which is probably a late attempt to harmonise this story with the deuteronomistic conception of the manna. 47 See Ruprecht, ‘Stellung’, pp. 273–74. 48 It is possible that one should distinguish several post-priestly redactions in this chapter. 49 W. Johnstone, ‘From the Sea to the Mountain, Exodus 15,22–19,2: A Case Study in Editorial Techniques’, in M. Vervenne (ed.), Studies in the Book of Exodus: Redaction – Reception – Interpretation: Proceedings of the 44th Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense (BETL, 126; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 1996), pp. 245–63 (250), speaks of a composite text which mixes D- and P-material. 46

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for Marah, contained only verses 15.22–23 and 27. The interpolation of vv. 24–25a transformed the aetiology into a story of complaints; verses 25b–26 state that Yhwh already gave commandments and instruction before the revelation on Mount Sinai. This interpolation, which has often caused astonishment among scholars, is in fact necessary to prepare the insertion in Exod 16.28 and may well stem from the same redactor. If the original stories in Exod 15.22–24 and Exodus 16 did not contain the topic of complaint and rebellion one may ask if the same should not also be envisaged for Exodus 17. It is quite clear that the complaint story, which concludes in 17.7 with the aetiology of Massa and Meriba, is inserted in an older context, since 17.8 locates the following story again in Rephidim where the people arrived in 17.1.50 The original story would therefore contain a positive account of how Yhwh, after food, provided water in the wilderness (this account can tentatively be reconstructed in 17.1, 3aa, 5–6*). In sum, the few wilderness narratives in the book of Exodus were originally positive accounts of Yhwh’s care for his people in the desert, revealing the same ideology as the allusions to the wilderness in Hosea and Jeremiah. This view is also represented by the priestly document. Post-priestly redactors transformed these positive accounts into stories of a complaining people. The invention of a ‘cycle of rebellion’ in the book of Numbers presupposes this transformation and radicalises the negative view of Israel’s sojourn in the wilderness. 7. The Cycle of Rebellions in Numbers 11–20 It has already been mentioned that the structure of Numbers is a matter of debate.51 Space does not allow me to take up this discussion. It may be enough to keep in mind Olson’s seminal work,52 rightly emphasising that chapters 1 and 26, which relate two censuses of the tribes, organise the book according to the idea of two generations:

50 Johnstone, ‘Sea’, p. 258, is arguing the other way round and asserts that Rephidim in v. 7 must be secondary, because of Massah and Meribah. 51 See especially O. Artus, Etudes sur le livre des Nombres: Récit, Histoire et Loi en Nombres 13,1–20,13 (OBO, 157; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), pp. 1–40, and W. W. Lee, Punishment and Forgiveness in Israel’s Migratory Campaign (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 7–46. 52 Olson, Death, pp. 83–128.

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the ﬁrst which must die in the wilderness and the second which has the possibility to conquer the land. Inside the ﬁrst part one may distinguish three sections: 1.1–10.36 describing the organisation of the camp and the supplementary prescriptions given before the departure from Sinai; 11.1–20.13 which are situated in the wilderness; 20.14 opens the stories about the occupation of Transjordanian territories. Numbers 25 constitutes an important caesura since Israel’s apostasy at Baal-peor marks the end of the ﬁrst generation. According to this division the sojourn in the wilderness (11.1–20.13) is almost entirely characterised by stories of ongoing conﬂicts. One may distinguish seven of those stories. Num 11.1–3 (inspired by Judg 2.6–8, the deuteronomistic introduction of the book of Judges)53 functions as an introduction to the whole cycle suggesting a scheme for the following stories: the people complain; Yhwh becomes angry and dispatches punishment; Moses intervenes and the punishment is attenuated. Let us recall that there is no divine punishment after the complaints of the people that have been inserted in Exodus 15–17 (the ﬁrst divine punishment occurs in Exodus 32 in the story of the golden calf ). Numbers 11–20 expresses therefore, a more radical view than the wilderness accounts in Exodus. The second story in Num 11.4–35 is more complex as suggested by the introduction in 11.1–3: the story combines the people’s complaint about the manna and Moses’ complaint against Yhwh, whom he accuses for having lain on him the whole weight of the people. At the outcome, the people are punished and Moses discharged. This story clearly presupposes and combines Exodus 16 and 18. The third narrative (Numbers 12) contains a denial of Moses’ authority by Miriam and Aaron, who also criticise him because of his foreign wife; Miriam is punished whereas Moses’ exceptional status is conﬁrmed. The fourth story in Numbers 13–14, which is the pivot of the whole cycle, describes the rebellion of the people against the conquest. The plan to return to Egypt provokes Yhwh’s anger, who decides the total annihilation of the people. It is only because of Moses’ intervention that the punishment is modiﬁed: the ﬁrst generation has to remain in the desert, whereas the second generation gets the chance to conquer the land. Before the ﬁfth narrative, chapter

53 The presentation of the wilderness in Numbers 11–20 presupposes the deuteronomistic book of Judges.

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15 deals with cultic concerns, as do Numbers 18–19. These three chapters frame the two stories, which are concerned with rebellions against the priestly authority. The narrative in 16.1–17.5 combines rebellions of the diﬀerent groups (Korah and his band, Dathan and Abiram) who oppose Moses and Aaron, claiming the universal priesthood which Yhwh had promised in Exod 19.3–8. In this story Moses does not prevent Yhwh from achieving his punishment. Korah and his followers perish through ﬁre from heaven, and the Sheol swallows Dathan and Abiram. The sixth story in 17.6–27 is closely related to this account. The people accuse Moses and Aaron of bringing about the divine punishment and criticise the Aaronide priesthood. Again Yhwh’s punishment brings death to an important number of rebels. The seventh narrative in Num 20.1–13, which takes up Exodus 17, opens again with a complaint from the people due to the absence of water; but this time the story explains why Moses and Aaron are excluded from entering into the Promised Land. This story provides an answer to a question that remained open in Numbers 13–14. Even if the reason for the divine punishment remains somewhat obscure, it nevertheless appears that Aaron and Moses have to die outside the land because of an individual fault.54 One may detect a concentric structure in the organisation of these narratives.55 If one excludes the introduction, then 11.4–35 and 20.1–13 are related to each other by the theme of food and beverage; furthermore in both texts Moses is revolting against Yhwh; Numbers 12 deals with the contestation of Moses’ authority whereas Numbers 16–17 reject the denial of Aaron’s authority. Numbers 13–14 appears as the central contestation: here the people indeed reject the whole divine project of the exodus. This deliberate organisation does not mean that all these stories should be attributed to the same authors. As already mentioned,

54 This is a correction of a statement that occurs in Deut 1.37 and 3.36 where Moses is excluded from entering the land because of the fault of the people for whom he is in charge. 55 11.1–3: introduction 11.4–35: food; Moses’ rebellion against Yhwh 12: rebellion against Moses 13–14: rebellion against the exodus 16–17: rebellion against Aaron 20.1–13: beverage; Moses’ (and Aaron’s) rebellion against Yhwh

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Numbers 20 is certainly later than the ﬁrst version of 13–14, and it has always been noticed that most of the stories have also undergone successive redactions. The task now is to determine the redactional model that applies to these wilderness stories. There is no doubt that all of them are later than the priestly document and the main edition of the Deuteronomistic History, both of which took place during the sixth century bce. Recently Achenbach has argued for a late date of the wilderness narratives in Numbers.56 Following Otto, he attributed most of these texts to two main redactions which edited some older traditions: a Hexateuch-redaction and a Pentateuch-redaction which were supplemented at the end of the fourth century bce by ‘theocratic redactors’. Even though I agree with Achenbach on the late date of the material in Numbers, I am less convinced that one should analyse the whole book with the idea of two thoroughgoing redactions. We mentioned already Noth’s insight that the formation of Numbers 27–36 is best explained by successive supplementation; this idea may also apply, at least partially, to Numbers 11–20. An analysis of Numbers 11–12 points in the direction of a ‘rolling corpus’.57 8. Numbers 11–12 and the Idea of a ‘Rolling Corpus’ Numbers 11.4–35 is a composite text, which combines the complaint of the people about the manna and a complaint of Moses about his sole responsibility for the people. The people’s complaint has a double achievement. Yhwh sends quail, but the quail cause the death of those who did complain. Moses complaint provokes the gift of Moses’ spirit to 70 representatives of the people who become then ‘prophets like Moses’. Because of this combination of themes, scholars have often tried to isolate two originally separated documents,58

56

Achenbach, Vollendung, passim. What follows sums up and supplements my earlier work on these chapters. See T. Römer, ‘Nombres 11–12 et la question d’une rédaction deutéronomique dans le Pentateuque’, in M. Vervenne and J. Lust (eds.), Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic Literature: Festschrift C. H. W. Brekelmans (BETL, 133; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 1997), pp. 481–98, and idem, ‘Das Buch Numeri und das Ende des Jahwisten: Anfragen zur “Quellenscheidung” im vierten Buch des Pentateuch’, in Gertz, Abschied vom Jahwisten, pp. 215–31. 58 See for instance G. B. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers (ICC; 57

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but without much success.59 The root "sp, which is the key word of the chapter, occurs in both topics (vv. 4, 16, 22, 24, 30, 32 [twice]) and the quite Pauline opposition between ‘ﬂesh’ and ‘spirit’ also presuppose the combination of the demand of the people and Moses’ complaint.60 The author of Num 11.4–35 oﬀers a re-reading of Exodus 16 and 18 (or Deut 1.9–18) from the perspective of postexilic prophecy. The story displays numerous allusions to prophetic texts from the Persian period. The people’s lament at the beginning of the story: ‘our life is dried up’ takes over a complaint which is quoted in Ezekiel’s vision of the dried bones: ‘They say: our bones are dried up’ (Ezek 37.11). Yhwh’s question to Moses: ‘Is Yhwh’s hand too short?’ (Num 11.23) is the same as in Isa 50.2: ‘Is my hand too short?’ (cf. 59.1). The theme of the gift of the spirit as well as Moses’ wish in 11.29 ‘Would that all of Yhwh’s people were prophets, and that Yhwh would put his spirit on them!’, is also a prominent theme in postexilic prophetic literature (Isa 44.3; 46.3; 63.1161; Ezek 36.37; 37.1–5; 39.29; Joel 3.1). The comparison of Yhwh with a mother, which appears in Moses’ complaint, is also a common feature of Second Isaiah (Isa 42.14; 46.3; 49.19; 66.13). These facts indicate without any doubt that Num 11.4ﬀ. shares a preoccupation of postexilic prophecy. Frank Crüsemann has pointed out that the Torah, as a priestly-deuteronomistic document of compromise, almost excludes prophecy.62 Numbers 11.4–35 is one of the rare texts in which, at the end of the formation of the Pentateuch, some space was given to a prophetic, charismatic voice. For the prophetic author of this story, the desert also foreshadows Yhwh’s ﬁnal judgement on the rebels. To some degree the divine judgement

Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1912), p. xxxi, and E. W. Davies, Numbers (NCB; London: Marshall Pickering; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), p. 101. 59 On the intentional complexity of the story see also B. D. Sommer, ‘Reﬂecting on Moses: The Redaction of Numbers 11’, JBL 118 (1999), pp. 601–24. 60 Rua˙ in the sense of ‘spirit’ (and fem.) occurs in the episode of the gift of Moses’ spirit in vv. 17, 25, 26, 29, whereas it occurs in the sense of ‘wind’ (masc.) in the quail story in v. 31. 61 As Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, p. 242, n. 30, rightly emphasises, this parallel is especially interesting since it obviously alludes to the time of the wilderness. 62 F. Crüsemann, ‘Le Pentateuque, une Tora: Prolégomènes à l’interprétation de sa forme ﬁnale’, in A. de Pury and T. Römer (eds.), Le Pentateuque en question: les origines et la composition des cinq premiers livres de la Bible à la lumière des recherches récentes (MdB, 19; Genève: Labor et Fides, 3rd edn, 2002), pp. 339–60 (357).

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in Numbers 11 comes close to the announcement of Yhwh’s judgement at the end of the book of Isaiah: ‘For by ﬁre will Yhwh execute his judgement, and by his sword all ﬂesh and those slain by Yhwh will be many . . . and they shall go out and look at the dead bodies of the people who have rebelled against me’ (Isa 66.16, 24).63 Besides this transposition of Yhwh’s judgement into the desert, the author of Numbers 11 also emphasises an anti-deuteronomistic view of prophecy. As Graeme Auld has emphasised, the story ‘revisits the theme, explored also (and probably already) in Exodus and Deuteronomy, of devolving some of Moses’ authority on associates’.64 But whereas in Exod 18.13–27 and in Deut 1.9–18 the issue was on sharing jurisprudential responsibility, the theme of Numbers 11 is about ‘democratising’ prophecy. According to the deuteronomistic ideology (taken here in a broad sense), there is a prophetic succession that runs from Moses (who according to Deuteronomy 18 is Israel’s ﬁrst prophet) to Jeremiah; the succession from Elijah to Elisha insists on the transfer of the prophetic spirit to the next prophet (2 Kgs 2.9, 15–16).65 In the view expressed in Numbers 11 the whole people represented by the 70 elders, is invested with the prophetic spirit, even those who seem to be marginal, such as Eldad and Medad. Against Joshua, who represents in Numbers 11 the (deuteronomistic) orthodox view, Moses himself legitimates prophets who do not depend on him. Such an idea clearly contradicts Deut 18.9–11.66 The idea of the 70 elders is taken over from Exod 24.9–11, a postpriestly and post-deuteronomistic text.67 Whereas in Exodus 24 these ‘privileged’ ones seem to contemplate Yhwh, in Numbers 11 they obtain the privilege of an ongoing prophetic charisma. This was the original idea of Num 11.25, a verse that should be read ‘They did

63 One ﬁnds the idea of judgement by ﬁre, which is expressed in Num 11.1, and the insistence on ‘ﬂesh’ as in Num 11.4. Isaiah 66.16 presents some text-critical problems: LXX adds after ni“pàt ‘the whole earth’; BHS suggests that be˙arbô (‘by his sword’) is an error from bà˙ar bà (‘he will examine’). 64 Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, p. 240. 65 The author of Numbers 11 was certainly familiar with this story. On the relation between this text and Numbers 11 again see Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist-Question’, pp. 241–42, who further indicates interesting allusions in Numbers 11 to Samuel and also to Isa 11.2. 66 H. Seebass, Numeri (BKAT 4/2.1–5; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), p. 52. 67 J.-L. Ska, ‘Le repas d’Ex 24,11’, Bib 74 (1993), pp. 305–27.

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not stop’ (swp), which was later understood and vocalised as ‘they did not go on’ ( ysp).68 Numbers 11 seems to suggest that Moses has no more privileges than the 70 elders; he is even depicted a little ambiguously. Since he expresses doubts on Yhwh’s ability to provide meat for the people in vv. 11–1569 he resembles a rebellious Job, and apparently accuses Yhwh of wickedness.70 These statements about Moses and a ‘liberated’ prophecy did not encounter general agreement. They even triggered the redaction of Numbers 12 as a response and a correction of the views expressed in Numbers 11. Like Numbers 11, Numbers 12 also combines two types of rebellion: a rebellion against Moses as the unique recipient of Yahweh’s word (vv. 2–9) and a denigration of Moses’ Cushite wife (v. 1 and vv. 10–15). The rebels are Miriam, representing the prophets, and Aaron representing the priests.71 Contrary to Numbers 11, Num 12.6–8 highlights the fact that no human being compares to Moses. He alone sees the temunah of Yhwh, and he stands above all other prophets. This assertion contradicts the idea of Exod 24.9–11 and Num 11.24–30 and goes further than Deut 4.12 and 15; according to these verses the people did not see any temunah of Yhwh during his revelation. Numbers 12.8 separates Moses from the people and brings him into a strong proximity with Yhwh, which is also suggested in Deut 34.10–12 (these verses belong to one of the last redactional layers of the Pentateuch): ‘never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom Yhwh knew face to face . . .’. Moses’ incomparability is also expressed by Yhwh’s statement that Moses is ‘entrusted with all his house’. Moses is here presented as the ideal king, as shown by parallels from the book of Samuel (esp. 1 Sam 22.14) and Near Eastern royal ideology.72 The assertion made

68

Blum, Studien, p. 80; see also Seebass, Numeri, p. 31. On these verses see especially G. J. Wenham, Numbers: An Introduction & Commentary (TOTC, 4; Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press, 1981), p. 108 and W. Riggans, Numbers (DSB; Edinburgh: Saint Andrew Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983), pp. 90–91. 70 For this understanding of the Tiq. Soph. in v. 15 see Aurelius, Fürbitter, pp. 183–84. 71 Verse 1 and vv. 10–15 suggest that Miriam was the main agent of this second rebellion. 72 On the parallels with Samuel see Auld, ‘Samuel, Numbers, and the Yahwist69

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in Num 12.3 that ‘the man Moses was very humble’ can also be understood as a reaction to the presentation of a somewhat choleric Moses in Num 11.11–15. This defence of Moses’ privileged status was complemented by the defence of mixed marriages.73 The fact that Miriam is punished because of her attack against Moses’ marriage with a Cushite woman reveals an opposition to late deuteronomistic ideology as expressed in Deuteronomy 7, and also in Ezra 9. The author of this story may represent the ideology of a ‘liberal’ Diaspora Judaism,74 which in the Pentateuch is also reﬂected in the Story of Joseph. Interestingly, this second theme in Numbers 12 not only legitimates marriages with foreign women by a reference to the ‘founder’ of Judaism; it also insists, like the ﬁrst theme, on Moses superiority to all other mediators. In vv. 10–15, while Aaron is able to diagnose Miriam’s disease,75 he is unable to indicate any remedy. He must refer to Moses who intercedes on Miriam’s behalf and announces the quarantine to be respected, which is normally done by the priest. In sum, Numbers 12 presents Moses as the incomparable mediator between Yhwh and Israel to whom the priestly as well as the prophetic functions are clearly subordinated. The author of Numbers 12 tries to correct ideas expressed in Numbers 11, by responding directly to the main assertions of the foregoing chapter. Therefore, it seems impossible to imagine the same redactional level for both chapters although this is done quite often. The fact that Numbers 12 should be understood as a Fortschreibung of Numbers 11 does not mean that the following chapters are necessarily later. The redaction

Question’, pp. 243–44; on the Near Eastern context see C. Uehlinger, ‘“Hat YHWH denn wirklich nur mit Mose geredet?”: Biblische Exegese zwischen Religionsgeschichte und Theologie, am Beispiel von Num 12’, BZ 47 (2003), pp. 230–59. In the Deuteronomistic History, the title ‘Yhwh’s servant’ is used mainly for Moses and David. Num 12.7 can also be understood as a positive resumption of Num 11.11. 73 In ‘Nombres 11–12’ I argued that v. 1 and vv. 10–15 were added by a later redactor. The introduction of the original story in vv. 2–9 would then have been lost or reworked by the later redactor. I concede that it is also possible to imagine that one late author linked both themes, as argued by U. Rapp, Mirjam: Eine feministisch-rhetorische Lektüre der Mirjamtexte in der hebräischen Bibel (BZAW, 317; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2002). 74 B. J. Diebner, ‘“For he had married a Cushite woman” (Num 12,1)’, Nubica 1/2 (1990), pp. 499–504 thinks that the text may reﬂect the revendications of the Jews from Elephantine. 75 Numbers 12 seems to presuppose Leviticus 13–14.

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of Numbers cannot be explained by the simple idea of a continuous process of addition of chapters. At the present stage of investigation it is impossible to present a comprehensive model for the whole book.76 In the following paragraph I simply try to present, very speculatively, some provisional ideas about the formation of Numbers 11–20. 9. Some Speculations about the Formation of Numbers 11–20 If one looks at Deuteronomy 1–3, the only rebellion story mentioned in the wilderness is the refusal to conquer the land. Deuteronomy 1.9–40*, which was probably written before the ﬁrst edition of Numbers 13–14,77 is apparently based on an older spy story, which cannot be reconstructed in its original form.78 This spy story originated in a negative way, perhaps as a reworking of Josh 7.2–5 and 18.3–10,79 in order to demonstrate (as also does the author of Ezekiel 20) that the ﬁrst conquest of the land had to fail because of the ancestors’ stubbornness. In Deuteronomy 1–3, the spy story is immediately followed by narratives about Israel’s entry into the Transjordanian territories. This might be an indication that the story behind Numbers 13–14* was originally conceived as an introduction to the Transjordanian campaign and only later became the kernel of a ‘rebellion cycle’. The ‘prophetic’ text of Num 11.4–35 may perhaps be linked with Num 20.1–13*. Both accounts take over stories from the book of Exodus. As in Numbers 11, Moses also appears in Numbers 20 in a rather ambiguous way. The explanation that Yhwh denied Moses

76 The recent work of Achenbach is, as already mentioned, very impressive, but in my view one should allow for more complexity; one should equally insist on the speciﬁcity of Numbers compared to the other books of the Pentateuch. For another recent hypothesis see W. Johnstone, ‘Recounting the Tetrateuch’, in A. D. H. Mayes and R. B. Salters (eds.), Covenant as Context: Essays in Honour of E. W. Nicholson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 209–34. 77 Deuteronomy 1 does not know of any intercession of Moses; for more arguments for the anteriority of Deuteronomy 1 see Blum, Studien, pp. 177–81. 78 See the recent tentative proposals of Otto, Deuteronomium, pp. 26–86 and R. Achenbach, ‘Die Erzählung von der gescheiterten Landnahme von Kadesch Barnea (Numeri 13–14) als Schlüsseltext der Redaktionsgeschichte des Pentateuchs’, ZABR 9 (2003), pp. 56–123. Both obtain fragments, but not a continuous story. 79 The author of the original spy story probably also knew a tradition about the clan of Caleb.

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and Aaron entrance into the land because of their disobedience to a divine order answers a question left open by Numbers 13–14 and meets an important concern of postexilic prophecy; namely, the insistence on individual responsibility (Ezekiel 18; Jer 31.29–30). According to our interpretation, the priestly class as represented by Aaron, is subordinated to Moses in Numbers 12. Numbers 16–17 could then roughly80 be understood as a reaction to Numbers 12, as an attempt to enhance the status of the Aaronide priesthood. Numbers 17 is also related to Leviticus 10, underlining, despite the fault of Aaron’s sons, the holiness of the Aaronides. The rebellion of Dathan and Abiram from the tribe of Ruben could be read as an interpretation of the Transjordanian conquest, as an attempt to explain why (according to the deuteronomistic perspective) these territories are not part of the Promised land.81 Given the above considerations it is possible to imagine the growth of Numbers 11–20 in the following way: (1) Numbers 13–14; (2) Num 11.4–35 and 20.1–13. Here we encounter for the ﬁrst time the idea of a wilderness time characterised by rebellions of Israel and its leaders. This stage possibly coincides with the transformation of Exodus 15–17 into rebellion accounts; (3) Num 12.2–9 and 12.1, 10–15. Perhaps, the author of these stories also created Num 11.1–3 as an introduction, which like Numbers 12 but against 11.4–35, insists on Moses’ intercession. The same author might perhaps also be detected in Num 21.4–9 (the story of the snake plague): here again Moses and Yhwh are almost presented as a ‘couple’ (see esp. Num 21.5, 7: ‘the people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned by speaking against Yhwh and against you . . .”’) and again all depends on Moses’ intercession;82 (4) Numbers 16–17, in several stages and probably together with Numbers 15 and 18–19. All these stages belong to the Persian period. The authors or redactors (it is sometimes not easy to decide which expression ﬁts better) of Numbers 11–20 use the sojourn in the desert as a pretext to sit-

80

There is no doubt that Numbers 16–17 has grown in two or three stages. According to U. Schorn, ‘Rubeniten als exemplarische Aufrührer in Num 16–17*/Deut 11’, in McKenzie and Römer, Rethinking the Foundations, pp. 251–68, the texts about Datan and Abiram are altogether very late, post-deuteronomistic and post-priestly. 82 That Num 21.4–9 belongs to the very last layers of the Pentateuch is convincingly argued by Aurelius, Fürbitter, p. 152. 81

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uate their own claims. As argued previously, the time in the desert was also extended because the foregoing books, as well as Deuteronomy, were more or less closed when the book of Numbers started to grow. Despite their ideological diﬀerences, all texts in Numbers 11–20 agree on the idea that Israel’s sojourn in the wilderness was a time of ongoing rebellions and conﬂicts. In this sense Mary Douglas is certainly right when she claims that the book of ‘Numbers complements the other books [of the Pentateuch] by presenting a coherent mythic background for Judah’s political situation after the exile’.83 In the Deuteronomistic History, Israel’s rebellion that led to destruction and exile mainly started after the conquest (see for instance 2 Kings 17); for the book of Numbers there was already continuous rebellion before the entry into the land. This is perhaps linked to the fact that when Deuteronomy was cut oﬀ from the following books, the so-called Deuteronomistic History came to stand outside of the ‘Torah’. Since ‘exile’ (in a mythical sense) and life outside the land had become important aspects of the ‘Jewish identity’ which originated during the Persian period, there was the need to strengthen life outside the land in the Pentateuch and to foreshadow the divine judgement, which was necessary for the ‘new identity’ of Israel. And this was the origin of the book of Numbers. 10. Some Concluding Remarks and an Invitation to an Ongoing Debate ‘Israel’s sojourn in the wilderness’ was not one of the traditional themes which gave rise to the Pentateuch. On the contrary, the idea of a long period characterised by numerous conﬂicts and rebellions is a late invention, linked with the creation of the book of Numbers. The present debate about the formation of the Pentateuch has shown that it has become very diﬃcult to postulate a Yahwist, or a D-composition, or even a P-document that would have covered the totality of the present narrative structure of the Pentateuch. The idea of the Torah as a compromise between a priestly and a ‘deuteronomistic’ group still remains a valuable thesis. But this compromise

83 M. Douglas, In the Wilderness: The Doctrine of Deﬁlement in the Book of Numbers ( JSOTSup, 158; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1993), p. 98.

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started perhaps in other ways than often argued. To my mind there was a confrontation between a priestly document comprising Genesis–Leviticus84 and the Deuteronomistic History. At a ﬁrst stage, there was agreement to separate Deuteronomy from the following books. As a matter of pure speculation one could even imagine that Deuteronomy was ﬁrst attached at the end of Leviticus. This would present at least a quite smooth transition, which avoids some ‘doublets’ between Numbers and Deuteronomy. The fact that the ﬁrst and the last parts of Numbers contain laws and other texts, which would have ﬁt better in Exodus, Leviticus or Deuteronomy indicates that the scroll of Numbers was created at the very end of the process of canonisation of the Torah when the need was felt to integrate some new laws and also narratives. If this idea has some pertinence it would have a double consequence. First, one should ask if there is any need that one model should apply for the formation of all books of the Pentateuch. Deuteronomy, for instance, is best explained by the model of successive redactions, whereas Exodus 1–15 suggests the model of two independent accounts that were later combined. Numbers, I have argued, needs the model of a rolling corpus combined with the search for ‘ﬁnal’ redactors of the Pentateuch. Second, we probably need to reinvestigate the commonly shared assumption that the separation of the Torah into ﬁve books happened at the very end of its formation. Each book of the Torah, Numbers excepted, has its speciﬁc proﬁle, which is not just due to the opening and concluding verses. Therefore one should allow for the idea that books such as Genesis85 or Deuteronomy did circulate as independent scrolls before becoming part of the Torah, as Joseph Blenkinsopp has rightly emphasised: ‘Since we do not know the circumstances in which any of the biblical books, including the Pentateuch, were ﬁrst written, we cannot

84 One should also recall the testimony of Hecateus of Abdera, who seems to refer to a ‘Torah’ that possibly ended with Lev 27.34. See for instance L. L. Grabbe, ‘Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period ( JSOTSup, 317; European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 3; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 129–55 (131–33). 85 The organisational technique of the toledot is limited to the book of Genesis. This may indicate that the priestly authors or redactors themselves wanted to underline the speciﬁc character of this book, even if they saw it as the ﬁrst part of a history which continued in Exodus.

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assume that the Pentateuchal narrative existed in continuous form and was then, for whatever reasons broken up into ﬁve sections’.86 This idea would also explain why some parts of the Pentateuch were apparently ‘stable’ earlier than others and why there was a need to create the book of Numbers as a theatre of scribal interpretations and discussions, which will come to their zenith in Mishna and Talmud.

86 Blenkinsopp, Pentateuch, p. 45. For the process of writing and canonisation see especially P. R. Davies, Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of Hebrew Scriptures (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1998) and J. Barton, ‘Canons of the Old Testament’, in A. D. H. Mayes (ed.), Text in Context: Essays by Members of the Society for Old Testament Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 200–22.

THE NOTION OF JERUSALEM AS A HOLY CITY Margreet L. Steiner In 1990 Graeme Auld and I met at the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem—now the Kenyon Institute—when we both attended the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology. On this occasion Graeme invited me to join him in writing a book on Jerusalem for the series ‘Cities in the Biblical World’.1 As biblical scholar and archaeologist we worked together on what turned out to be a very enjoyable project. During our stay in Jerusalem we explored the city and recorded its ancient ruins and monuments. There was more to see. As always I noticed tourists walking around in shorts and undershirts. It was then (and still is) a familiar sight: visitors of the holy places, touring the city showing a lot of naked ﬂesh. And as usual I was a little shocked, not because I found it inherently bad or indecent, but because it was disrespectful. Jerusalem was a holy city, and in my perception you simply do not walk around in shorts in a holy city. In my naiveté I had hit upon some fundamental concepts governing the notion of the holy city: it is home to one or more holy places, but not every city with churches or mosques is a holy city. According to a widely used deﬁnition: ‘a holy city exists only when in the (literary) traditions of the community some beliefs or rituals can be shown in which there is an obligation to respect the sanctity not only of the shrine itself, but of the whole of the urban space or part of it’.2 This means a (literary) tradition exists that states that the concepts of holiness extend to the whole city. The holiness of

1 A. G. Auld and M. L. Steiner, Jerusalem I: From the Bronze Age to the Maccabees (Cities of the Biblical World; Cambridge: Lutterworth Press; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1996). 2 K. D. Jenner and G. A. Wiegers, ‘De Heilige Stad als onderzoeksobject in de klassieke en moderne godsdienstwetenschap’, in K. D. Jenner and G. A. Wiegers (eds.), Jeruzalem als heilige stad: religieuze voorstelling en geloofspraktijk (Leidse studiën van de godsdienst; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), pp. 14–28.

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the main sanctuary ﬂows over to the settlement where it resides, and ceremonial directions apply not only to the shrine or temple, but to the area around it as well. Jerusalem is a holy city, it is said over and over again. A bibliography on Jerusalem containing more than 6,000 titles is not called: ‘Bibliography of Jerusalem’, but ‘The Holy City, a Bibliography’.3 Jerusalem is holy to Jews, Christians and Muslims. But when did the city become holy? When was the ﬁrst time the inhabitants of the town called their residence ‘holy’? Texts from the Hellenistic period onwards conﬁrm that not only the rebuilt temple was considered ‘holy’ then but the settlement around it as well.4 Was this notion a new inspiration, or was it a continuation of ideas formed in an earlier period? And if the latter is the case, from which period did the notion stem that Jerusalem as a whole was holy? What was the situation in Old Testament times, or more speciﬁcally, in the period of the monarchy, the Iron Age? The temple was considered holy, but was the settlement considered holy as well? Basically, my paper focuses on the question whether you could walk around in shorts in Iron Age Jerusalem. Several years ago a book was published in Holland which took up the question of the holiness of Jerusalem (again). The volume was called (in Dutch): Jerusalem as a Holy City.5 In it diﬀerent views were expressed. Karel van der Toorn compared the position of Jerusalem with that of the Mesopotamian cities.6 He stated that in Sumer every city with a temple dedicated to the city god was ‘holy’ in the sense that it belonged to this god. This holiness distinguished the city (which had a temple) from the surrounding countryside. The same applied to the later Mesopotamian cities, although there was more variety, and besides holy cities there were profane cities. Babylon was holy because Marduk had chosen this city to reside in. According to Van der Toorn the central issue was thus whether an important

3 J. D. Purvis, Jerusalem, The Holy City: A Bibliography (ATLA Bibliography Series, 20; Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1988). 4 D. R. Schwartz, ‘Temple or City: What did Hellenistic Jews see in Jerusalem?’, in M. Poorthuis and Ch. Safrai (eds.), The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), pp. 114–27. 5 Cf. Jenner and Wiegers, Jeruzalem. 6 K. van der Toorn, ‘Een pleisterplaats voor de goden. Het verschijnsel “heilige stad” in het Oude Nabije Oosten’, in Jenner and Wiegers, Jeruzalem, pp. 38–52.

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deity inhabited the city. According to him Jerusalem can be considered to be a holy city during the Iron Age because the important deity JHWH had his temple there. Van der Toorn found conﬁrmation for this idea in the book of Psalms. So Jerusalem became holy when the temple was built there in the Iron Age. Jan Tromp, however, stated that the idea that the whole city was holy is expressed in the Bible in postexilic sources only—particularly in the book of Isaiah, more speciﬁcally in Deutero-Isaiah (Isaiah 40–55), dating from the second half of the sixth century bce.7 Several verses in Isaiah indicate that the holiness of the temple extended over the surrounding area. In Isa 48.1–2 and 52.1 Jerusalem is explicitly called ‘holy city’. According to Tromp this means that the regulations for the temple, which is not to be entered by unauthorised or unclean people, applied to the whole settlement. Thus the idea of the city as holy started to take root in the exilic period and became common in the Persian period. I think that more issues have to be explored before we can answer the question of when Jerusalem became a holy city. F. E. Peters gives a wider deﬁnition of a holy city. He states: What constitutes a holy city . . . is the presence in the city of a sacrum, or perhaps several, of such an order of importance or allure that the cultus connected with it exercises an attraction not merely on the city’s immediate hinterland, but over an extended network. Or: the cult centres attract to the city people who would not normally resort there. . . . One may approach the holy city then, as a distinct urban type from either of two directions: from the presence, shape and extent of the ‘pilgrimage network’ from which it draws its extraordinary number of visitors, or more directly from an inspection of what appears to constitute its particular urban morphology.8

In other words: a holy city has a particular urban morphology with an important central sanctuary, and is the centre of an extended pilgrimage network. So, to identify whether Jerusalem was a holy city in the Iron Age we have to analyse not only the literary tradition, but also the centrality of the sanctuary—Jerusalem’s ﬁrst temple—the existence

7

Joh. Tromp, ‘Jeruzalem als heilige stad in het jodendom van de Perzische, Hellenistische en Romeinse periode’, in Jenner and Wiegers, Jeruzalem, pp. 74–93. 8 F. E. Peters, Jerusalem and Mecca: The Typology of the Holy City in the Near East (New York University Studies in Near Eastern Civilization, 11; New York: New York University Press, 1986), pp. 3–4.

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of a pilgrimage network, and the morphology, function and centrality of the town during that period. 1. The Temple of Jerusalem The centrality of Jerusalem’s temple is of crucial importance for the question of when Jerusalem became a holy city. When was it built, and when did it become the central sanctuary of ancient Israel? The problem is that archaeologically no trace of this temple has been found. Not one stone or object can be traced back to this ediﬁce, which in literature and tradition has become the most glorious building of ancient times. When the queen of Sheba saw the wonders of Jerusalem, it left her breathless.9 Only one extra-biblical reference to the temple is known from the Iron Age. In ostracon 18 from Arad, dating from ca. 600 bce, the ‘House of JHWH’ is mentioned. Most interpretations and reconstructions of the temple are based on descriptions in the Bible. The dating of its construction ranges from the tenth century bce (‘the time of king David and Solomon’) to the late eighth century bce, when Jerusalem was growing and changing into a large metropolis.10 Notwithstanding the fact that not only the temple but also the ﬁgures of David and Solomon are rather elusive outside biblical texts, some arguments can be given for the building of the temple in the beginning of Iron Age II, be it the tenth or ninth century bce. A new town was then built in Jerusalem as the seat of a local ruler (see below). It is very probable that a temple was constructed in this new town. Temples have indeed been found in other regional administrative centres dating to that period, such as Megiddo and Hazor (see below). On the other hand, it is very well possible that the expansion of the town and the growing importance of Jerusalem in the eighth century bce were the incentive for the construction of an important shrine in the town. We simply have no way of establishing a ﬁrm date for the construction of the temple. The only certainty is that by the end of the Iron Age Jerusalem had a temple, as evidenced by the Arad ostracon and the persistent biblical tradition.

9

1 Kgs 10.4–7. D. W. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and Schools in Monarchic Judah: A Socio-Archaeological Approach (SWBA, 9; JSOTSup, 109; Sheﬃeld: Almond Press, 1991). 10

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How central was Jerusalem’s temple in the Iron Age? In the beginning of Iron Age II it was certainly not the only temple for JHWH in the region. Traces of several other temples or cultic complexes have been found which were large enough to function as city temples.11 In the northern kingdom of Israel the large cult centre of Tel Dan was in use from the tenth until the eighth century bce. A possible temple complex has also been discovered in Hazor, attributed to Stratum XI of the early tenth century bce. Indirect evidence for temples comes from Megiddo, where altar horns made of stone have been found belonging to two large altars and a cult room (room 340), which may have been part of a temple. These ﬁnds belong to Strata IV and V dating from the tenth to eighth centuries bce. In Tel Kedesh, a corner of what may have been a temple was excavated, dating to the eighth century bce. One or more temples can also be expected to have existed in Samaria, where according to the prophet Hosea a golden calf was erected,12 and possibly in Bethel.13 In Judah the fortress of Arad housed a temple, in use during the ninth and eighth centuries bce, but this was not a city temple. In Beersheba an altar was found which may be seen as indirect evidence for a temple of the tenth to early eighth centuries bce.14 Of course many more temples may have existed which simply have never been excavated. In conclusion, one can say that in the tenth to eighth centuries bce, before the disastrous Assyrian campaigns against the country, several temple complexes were in use in the main towns of Israel and Judah. Of possibly eight urban temple complexes (in Tel Dan, Hazor, Megiddo, Samaria, Tel Kedesh, Bethel, Beersheba and Jerusalem) only the temple in Jerusalem remained in use during the seventh and early sixth centuries bce. The other temples were either destroyed by the Assyrians or dismantled by the local governments. So it was only in the seventh and sixth centuries bce that the temple

11 In this I follow the terminology of Zevit, who distinguishes between temples and temple complexes on the one hand and cult complexes on the other. The latter are generally smaller and include cult corners at gates and cult rooms inside larger buildings. See Z. Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches (London: Continuum, 2001), p. 123. 12 Hos 8.5. 13 Amos 7.13–14. 14 For descriptions of the architecture see Zevit, Religions of Ancient Israel, pp. 153–247.

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in Jerusalem was the central shrine, serving the followers of JHWH in what was left of the state of Judah as well as those living elsewhere in the region. 2. Pilgrimage Network When a sanctuary serves as the central shrine for a large community, regular pilgrimages become an important aspects of the cult of the shrine. A pilgrimage network establishes itself, with public institutions and facilities for the pilgrims: hostels, restaurants, shops, priests and scribes. Archaeological traces of an extended pilgrimage network have not been found in Jerusalem in the later Iron Age. However, some biblical texts do seem to point to the existence of pilgrimages. According to the book of Chronicles it was during the reigns of kings Hezekiah and Josiah that celebrations of Passover, including a pilgrimage to the temple in Jerusalem for ‘all of Israel’, were established.15 Both kings initiated religious reforms, the exact content of which is still being debated, but which included a more intensive concentration of the cult on the temple of Jerusalem. These reforms would thus have taken place at the end of the eight and in the seventh centuries bce. It is good to dwell shortly on the kind of society in which Jerusalem’s temple was functioning. At the end of the Late Bronze Age the great empires of Assyria, Mittani, Egypt and Hatti came to an end, and with them the system of Canaanite city states. Some centuries later extra-biblical texts give evidence of the rise of new polities in what was formerly the Land of Canaan. Along the coast the harbours of Phoenicia and Philistia functioned as ports of trade, while inland several regional states were established. The kingdoms of Israel, Judah, Moab, Ammon and Aram-Damascus were states in their formative stages. These early states did not (yet) show the characteristics of large empires or full-blown states, which functioned as class-based hierarchical societies, with a centralised bureaucracy, standing armies, taxes and laws. Early states are more simply organised.16 There is

15

2 Chronicles 30; 34.29–32; chapter 35. See, for instance, H. J. M. Claessen and P. Skalnik (eds.), The Early State (New Babylon, Studies in the Social Sciences, 32; The Hague: Mouton, 1978). 16

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no need to elaborate on this question here, except to address two issues. In early states taxes are generally not levied on a regular basis, but only when the sovereign needs an extra ‘cash ﬂow’ to pay tribute or buy oﬀ an enemy. And both in early states and in fullblown states, temples were built by the sovereign of the state. In early states, however, these temples did not have a large professional class of priests serving the temple, although some (semi-)professional functionaries may have been attached to the temple. It is the growth of the temple and its importance which gives rise to a class of professional priests, serving in the temple and dependant on the temple for their living. When this happens (and only then), a kind of tax has to be levied to sustain this group. One may expect that in an important central shrine serving a large community, such as the temple of Jerusalem in the seventh century bce, a professional class of priests was functioning. For this group a kind of tax will have been levied. The biblical text may testify to this occurrence: in the book of Chronicles (again) Hezekiah ordered the people of Jerusalem to give part of their agricultural produce, a tithe, to the priests of the temple.17 The term ‘tithe’ is also mentioned elsewhere in the Bible as a tax meant for the priests of the temple.18 Interestingly enough, there may also be archaeological evidence for the levying of this tax. During Kenyon’s excavations a complete ostracon was discovered in the foundation of a house. Its three lines were translated by André Lemaire as:19 two hundred one has counted 18 to give a tithe

As far as I know this is the ﬁrst occurrence of the term ‘tithe’ in an extra-biblical text, and it dates from the end of the eighth or the beginning of the seventh century bce. (Please note that this tithe is not ten percent, but only nine percent—18 from 200.) With some reservation this ﬁnd may be considered as indirect evidence for the

17

2 Chron 31.4–12. See, for instance, Lev 27.30–33 and Deut 12.6. 19 A. Lemaire, ‘Les Ostraca Paleo-Hebreux des Fouilles de l’Ophel’, Levant 10 (1978), pp. 156–60. 18

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levying of taxes for the temple and thus for the existence of a professional class of priests. So at the end of the eighth and in the seventh centuries there is some (with the emphasis on ‘some’) evidence for the characteristics of a holy city like that which Peters mentioned: a central sanctuary serving a large community, the existence of a pilgrimage network and of a primary service industry of professional priests. 3. Centrality of the Town On the morphology, function and status of the town we have much more information. For a recent survey of ideas and opinions on Jerusalem in the Iron Age I refer to the recent volume edited by Vaughn and Killebrew.20 I have extensively published my own analysis of the available archaeological material and so I will only summarise it here.21 In the beginning of Iron Age II, be it the tenth or ninth century bce, a settlement was built on the south-eastern hill of Jerusalem, now called the City of David. There is an ongoing debate concerning whether this settlement was a large fortiﬁed town, an unfortiﬁed village or a small fortiﬁed administrative centre.22 I interpret the archaeological remains as belonging to a small fortiﬁed centre. Excavated from that period are the stepped stone structure and a fragment of a casemate wall running north from the stepped stone

20 A. G. Vaughn and A. E. Killebrew (eds.), Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology: The First Temple Period (SBLSymS, 18; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). See also T. L. Thompson (ed.), Jerusalem in Ancient History and Tradition ( JSOTSup, 381; Copenhagen International Seminar, 13; London: T & T Clark International, 2003); and also Z. Kafaﬁ (ed.), Jerusalem before Islam (forthcoming). 21 M. L. Steiner, ‘Jerusalem in the Tenth and Seventh Centuries bce: From Administrative Centre to Commercial City’, in A. Mazar and G. Mathias (eds.), Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan ( JSOTSup, 331; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001), pp. 280–88; idem, Excavations by Kathleen M. Kenyon in Jerusalem, 1961–1967. Vol. 3, The Settlement in the Bronze and Iron Ages (Copenhagen International Series, 9; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2001); idem, ‘Expanding Borders: The Development of Jerusalem in the Iron Age’, in Thompson, Jerusalem, pp. 68–79; idem, ‘The Evidence from Kenyon’s Excavations in Jerusalem: A Response Essay’, in Vaughn and Killebrew, Jerusalem, pp. 347–64; idem, ‘Jerusalem in the 10th/9th centuries bc’, on the website ‘The Bible and Interpretation’ (www.bibleinterp.com; August, 2004). 22 A. E. Killebrew, ‘Biblical Jerusalem: An Archaeological Assessment’, in Vaughn and Killebrew, Jerusalem, pp. 329–46.

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structure. Ashlar masonry was found in its vicinity as well as the largest proto-aeolic capital of ancient Israel. Just south of the temple mount, part of an imposing citadel was found with a four-chambered entrance gate whose dimensions were almost identical to those of the palace gate 1567 in Megiddo of Stratum VA–IVB. Adjacent to this gate, part of a building ‘of royal character’ was excavated. The ﬁrst phase of these buildings was dated to the ninth centuries bce, although admittedly the evidence for dating it is very scant.23 The stepped stone structure and the casemate wall protected a modest town with some public buildings and a small residential area. Its size will not have exceeded 12 hectares, and it may have housed 1,000 to 2,000 inhabitants. This settlement can be described as an administrative centre rather than as a residential city. This settlement was very similar to contemporary towns such as Hazor, Megiddo, Beth Shemesh and Lachish in that it featured monumental architecture with ashlar masonry and proto-aeolic capitals, and had little room for residential areas. However one interprets the political situation of that time (‘United Kingdom’ or not), Jerusalem was one of the many fortiﬁed centres, and thus not very diﬀerent or special. It may or may not have housed a temple for the God of Israel (see above). During the following centuries this town slowly expanded. At the end of that period Jerusalem began to change enormously. As a result of the Assyrian campaigns against the kingdom of Israel in the years 734 to 720 bce, many refugees must have found their way to the southern kingdom of Judah, and to Jerusalem. All around the old town new extra-mural quarters with houses had sprung up. The Assyrian threat induced the kings of Judah to build new fortiﬁcation walls around their town as well as sophisticated water works. The new city walls were built to incorporate these new quarters. The result was that by the end of the eighth century bce the town had grown to 40 or 50 hectares within its fortiﬁcations, and may have housed up to 10,000 inhabitants. Whenever it was built, one may assume that in that period the temple was securely situated on what is now called the Haram esh-Sheriﬀ.

23 E. Mazar, B. Mazar and Y. Nadelman, Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem (Qedem, 29; Jerusalem: The Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University, 1989).

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Jerusalem was the capital of Judah, and the most important town of a hierarchically structured settlement system. This system consisted of administrative and residential towns as well as fortresses, villages and isolated farms and it reﬂected the economic and political system in Judah. The many settlements were connected by their economic and political relationships: the agricultural and craft products of the farms and small villages were apparently processed and stored in the larger towns, while some ‘cash crops’ such as olive oil and grain will have been exported through interregional trade contacts concentrated in Jerusalem. The larger towns functioned as administrative centres for the various regions. The wording of the Taylor Prism mirrors back this settlement pattern. Sennacherib noted: ‘As for Hezekiah the Judean, who did not submit to my yoke, 46 of his strong, walled cities, as well as the small cities in their neighbourhood, which were without number, [. . .] I besieged and took’. In the beginning of the seventh century bce, the Assyrian campaigns put an end to this system. The Assyrians destroyed not only most of Judah’s towns, but its complete urban infrastructure. Only Jerusalem escaped the destructions wrought by the Assyrians, as if by miracle. And not only was the town saved, it actually continued to thrive. In the seventh century bce Jerusalem’s political and economic position seemed to be completely diﬀerent from the situation in the ninth and eighth centuries bce. Jerusalem was left as the only city in Judah. Many destroyed towns never recovered from the damages wrought by the Assyrians. In most towns the destroyed town walls were not repaired, while new habitation on those sites was either on a much smaller scale or completely absent. At Lachish new fortiﬁcations were built, but occupation within those walls was limited, and the administrative buildings were never used again. Important towns such as Gezer were given over to the Philistines by the Assyrians. Jerusalem was no longer positioned at the top of a settlement system which also included many other fortiﬁed and unfortiﬁed towns engaging in all kinds of activities. On the contrary, Jerusalem was now the only real town, and all those functions must have been centred in it. Much more than before Jerusalem was the central city of Judah. Economically Jerusalem bloomed. New town quarters were laid out for the rich traders and artisans with spacious dwellings, underground drainage channels and stone toilet seats. Luxury goods were imported: wood for furniture, ivory, decorative shells, ﬁne pottery

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bowls, scarabs and bronze. Food was brought in from afar: wine from Greece or Cyprus and ﬁsh from the Nile. Foreign traders may have lived in the town; three names in South Arabian script were found incised on local Judean pottery. Exported were grain and olive oil. Jerusalem was a rich and thriving ‘metropolis’. It seems that notably in the second half of the seventh century bce, when the Assyrian domination waned, Judah experienced a period of economic prosperity. Everywhere new settlements were built, and new regions were exploited for the ﬁrst time. In the Judean desert new agricultural estates were developed and the coastal regions of the Dead Sea and the Jericho oasis were used for the large-scale cultivation of balsam trees and date palms and the winning of salt and bitumen. New fortresses were erected, and a luxurious palace was built at Ramat Rachel near Jerusalem. Jerusalem was exceptionally large—at least for the region in that period. Some 50 hectares were encompassed by its fortiﬁcations, and there may have been additional occupancy outside the city walls. Comparing Jerusalem’s size with that of other fortiﬁed towns in the region puts this in perspective. Most of the towns in the region did not exceed 6 hectares, while only Ekron with 20 hectares was larger than that. Towns larger than 50 hectares are only known in ancient Palestine from the Middle Bronze Age, when Hazor reached a size of 84 hectares and Ashkelon of 55 hectares. Even these sites were small, however, compared to Mesopotamian sites. Nineveh in its heyday measured 700 hectares and Babylon 1,000 hectares. But in ancient Israel Jerusalem can be seen as an immense metropolis. As Jerusalem was much larger than all other towns and the only real city in Judah, it was the place where all economic, political and social power was concentrated. Geographers call this a ‘primate city’. The annals of King Nebuchadnezzar illustrate this special position beautifully. Here there are no references to the ‘many strong-walled cities’. The Babylonian Chronicle states simply: ‘In the seventh year, the month of Kislev, the king of Akkad mustered his troops, marched to the Hatti-land and encamped against the city of Judah, and on the second day of the month of Adar, he seized the city and captured the king’.

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It is diﬃcult to underestimate the changes Jerusalem experienced at the end of the eighth century bce under pressure of the Assyrian threat—and especially after 701 bce, when the town had withstood the Assyrian attacks, as one of the few towns in the whole region. With the inﬂux of refugees from the northern kingdom and from Judah itself and the elimination of rivalling towns in the region, Jerusalem had grown to a size almost unprecedented in the Levant, especially in the Iron Age. All economic and political power of the small but ‘independent’ state of Judah seems to have been centred in Jerusalem. The temple of Jerusalem had survived the ordeal and was now the only temple in the whole region dedicated to JHWH, and thus the central shrine of that religion. If we follow the biblical texts, religious reforms had focused the cult even more on the temple of Jerusalem. There are also indications that the practice of pilgrimage for Passover was established then and that a professional class of priests was forming. My thesis, then, is that the notion that Jerusalem was a holy city may thus have taken root in the seventh century bce. And yes, in that city decent garb was expected.

BILITERAL EXEGESIS OF HEBREW ROOTS IN THE SEPTUAGINT?1 Emanuel Tov 1. Background The ﬁrst step in any translational activity is the attempt to identify the form and meaning of each word in the source language, without which the translating procedure is not feasible. In the absence of auxiliary tools such as lexicons and concordances, ancient biblical translators thus had to rely on their own knowledge of the Hebrew/Aramaic languages, the context of the words in the source language, and exegetical traditions. Reliance on the context is an important source of information for any translator. In the hands of the ancients, however, such reliance often amounts to what we would consider conjectural renderings (‘guessing’), even though the boundary between adaptation to the context and guessing is very vague. A case can often be made that translators produced conjectural renderings on the basis of the context when a Hebrew word is rendered in completely diﬀerent ways in accordance with the diﬀerent contexts in which it appears.2 Another type of conjectural rendering involves a translation that disregards some of the letters of the Hebrew word.3 Some aspects of

1 I am very grateful to my student N. Mizrahi for oﬀering judicious remarks on this manuscript. Some of his suggestions are mentioned below in his name. 2 For examples of conjectural renderings, see E. Tov, ‘Did the Septuagint Translators Always Understand Their Hebrew Text?’, in A. Pietersma and C. E. Cox (eds.), De Septuaginta: Studies in Honour of John William Wevers on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Mississauga, Ontario: Benben Publications, 1984), pp. 53–70; rev. edn in E. Tov, The Greek and Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays on the Septuagint (VTSup, 72; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 203–18. For a diﬀerent view of the nature of guessing, referring mainly to the issue of vocalisation, see J. Barr, ‘“Guessing” in the Septuagint’, in D. Fraenkel et al. (eds.), Studien zur Septuaginta, Robert Hanhart zu Ehren: Aus Anlass seines 65. Geburtstages (MSU, 20; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), pp. 19–34. 3 Two examples of such conjectural renderings follow:

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the translators’ lexical and grammatical knowledge, especially in the realm of verbal forms, are discussed in this paper. As we focus in this study on some of the deﬁciencies of the translators, we should probably ﬁrst remark that the Greek translators were often surprisingly well informed with regard to rarely occurring words or forms in Scripture. In the analysis of the translators’ lexical sources, some unusual sources are also encountered. Thus, some striking resemblances between translation equivalents in the LXX and words in Akkadian4 and Arabic5 (often misleadingly called ‘Arabisms’) may imply that the translators drew on lexical information for Hebrew that was known in their time but subsequently lost. The translators’ reliance on the Aramaic language is a diﬀerent situation. Aramaic was a living language when the translation was

(1) 2 Chron 35.13 twjlxbw μydwdbw twrysb wlçb ‘they boiled in pots, in cauldrons, and in pans’

¥chsan §n to›w xalke¤oiw ka‹ §n to›w l°besin. ka‹ eÈod≈yh

‘they boiled in the copper vessels and in the pots, and it succeeded’ hj;l;x´ (‘pan’) of MT is a hapax legomenon while the related tjLx occurs three times in the Hebrew Bible and tyjlx occurs once. The word was probably unknown to the translator, who derived it from the known root jlx (‘to succeed’), disregarding both the internal division of the verse and the preﬁx and suﬃx of the word. The translation, which does not suit the context, was based on a cluster of consonants in which the translator recognised the meaning ‘to succeed’ without entering into details regarding the precise form of the word. hnwrdsmh dwha axyw (2) Judg 3.23 ‘and Ehud left towards the ˆwrdsm’ ka‹ §j∞lyen toÁw diatetagm°nouw LXXB ‘and he removed (?) the arranged soldiers (?)’ The hapax ˆwrdsm (BDB, p. 690, ‘colonnade?’) is rendered as if it were μyrdsm(h) (‘those who are arranged’). Cf. hrdç—diãtajiw in 1 Kgs 6.9 (MSS A . . .) and hryds— tetagm°nh in Sir 10.1. This understanding required the translator to conceive of axyw and §j∞lyen as transitive verbs (not evidenced in Greek according to LSJ). In the rendering of hnwrdsm the translator thus identiﬁed a word cluster consisting of the consonants rds, while disregarding the exact form of the word. 4 For some examples, see G. R. Driver, ‘L’Interprétation du texte masorétique à la lumière de la lexicographie hébraïque’, ETL 26 (1950), pp. 337–53. 5 For examples and a discussion, see Z. Frankel, Vorstudien zu der Septuaginta (Historisch-kritische Studien zu der Septuaginta, nebst Beiträgen zu den Targumim, 1; Leipzig: F. C. W. Vogel, 1841; repr. edn: Farnborough: Gregg, 1972), pp. 201–22; G. R. Driver, ‘Studies in the Vocabulary of the Old Testament. VII’, JTS 35 (1934), pp. 380–93; idem, ‘Studies in the Vocabulary of the Old Testament. VIII’, JTS 36 (1935), pp. 293–301; D. W. Thomas, ‘The Language of the Old Testament’, in H. W. Robinson (ed.), Record and Revelation: Essays on the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1938), pp. 374–402; J. Barr, Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), pp. 238–45.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 461 made, and the translators were probably equally familiar with that language as with Hebrew. The translators possibly based themselves more on Aramaic than Hebrew, but because of the close resemblance between these two languages one cannot distinguish between the translators’ diﬀerent sources. However, when the LXX agrees with an Aramaic root that has a meaning diﬀerent from its Hebrew counterpart, such inappropriate reliance on Aramaic can be established easily.6 Other mishaps occurred when the translator chose a wrong translation on the basis of postbiblical rather than biblical Hebrew.7 Finally, the Greek Pentateuch often served as a source of lexical information for later translators.8 The main source of lexical information for the translators thus was their living knowledge of the Hebrew and Aramaic languages, which allowed them to determine the semantic content of words in their Vorlagen. However, before that information could be utilised, the translators had to analyse the morphological nature of the word being translated in order to determine, for example, whether it was a noun or a verb. Furthermore, if it was a verb, we wonder whether the translator took further steps in his analysis. In accordance with the grammatical concepts that developed from medieval times onwards,

6 For examples and an analysis, see J. Joosten, ‘On Aramaising Renderings in the Septuagint’, in M. F. J. Baasten and W. Th. van Peursen (eds.), Hamlet on a Hill: Semitic and Greek Studies Presented to Professor T. Muraoka on the Occasion of his SixtyFifth Birthday (OLA, 118; Leuven: Peeters, 2003), pp. 587–600. For an earlier analysis, see E. Tov, The Text-Critical Use of the Septuagint in Biblical Research ( Jerusalem Biblical Studies, 8; Jerusalem: Simor, 2nd rev. edn, 1997), pp. 249–50. 7 For many examples and an analysis, see the valuable studies by J. Joosten, ‘The Knowledge and Use of Hebrew in the Hellenistic Period: Qumran and the Septuagint’, in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde (eds.), Diggers at the Well: Proceedings of a Third International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira (STDJ, 36; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 115–30; idem, ‘On the LXX Translators’ Knowledge of Hebrew’, in B. A. Taylor (ed.), X Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Oslo, 1998 (SBLSCS, 51; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), pp. 165–79; idem, ‘Biblical Hebrew as Mirrored in the Septuagint: The Question of Inﬂuence from Spoken Hebrew’, Text 21 (2002), pp. 1–19; idem, ‘Linguistic Innovations in the Hebrew of the Hellenistic Period: Qumran and the Septuagint’, Meghillot 2 (2004), pp. 151–55 (Hebrew). See further: Frankel, Vorstudien, p. 201; J. Blau, ‘Zum Hebräisch der Übersetzer des AT’, VT 6 (1956), pp. 98–100. 8 See E. Tov, ‘The Impact of the LXX Translation of the Pentateuch on the Translation of the Other Books’, in P. Casetti, O. Keel and A. Schenker (eds.), Mélanges Dominique Barthélemy (OBO, 38; Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), pp. 577–92; rev. edn in Tov, The Greek and Hebrew Bible, pp. 183–94.

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the translators may have had to determine the root of the verb, as well as its conjugation (binyan), aspect, and tense. How else would a translator be able to distinguish between such homographic consonantal forms as the Pi'el wayedabber (‘he spoke’) and the Hiph'il wayadber in Pss 18.48 and 47.4 (‘he subdued’; correctly rendered by the LXX with forms of Ípotãssv)? However, it seems that the translators did not have to go through all these analytical stages. It need not be assumed that the translators were aware of such abstractions as ‘roots’ or conjugations when identifying meaningful elements in verbs. They possibly had only a vague understanding of such abstractions as conjugations, which included the distinction between the Qal, Hiph'il, and Hitpa'el forms of the same root. It suﬃced for the translators to distinguish between a form reﬂecting ‘something like the Qal ’ and a form incorporating ‘something like the Hiph'il ’. In all likelihood, together with that base knowledge of meaningful patterns in the Hebrew/Aramaic verbs, the translators probably recognised clusters of meaningful elements or word patterns that allowed them to identify the essence of the Hebrew verb. After all, it suﬃced to distinguish between wydbr 1 (= wayedabber) carrying meaning 1 and wydbr 2 (wayadber) carrying meaning 2. The translation was thus based on the understanding of the semantic content of clusters of consonants (letters) in Hebrew/ Aramaic, and the actual reading or pronunciation (‘vocalisation’ in later times) and parsing are not a necessary part of the translation process.9 The search for these determinative clusters of consonants in the source language is part and parcel of the procedure of etymological exegesis.10 Thus, traçm (‘kneading trough’) in Deut 28.5, 17 was

9 Obviously, the understanding by the translators of the meaningful elements of a word sometimes diﬀers from that of MT and/or modern understanding. Anachronistically, these diﬀerent understandings are sometimes described as diﬀerences in vocalisation. For analyses, see J. Barr, ‘Vocalization and the Analysis of Hebrew among the Ancient Translators’, in W. Baumgartner, Hebräische Wortforschung: Festschrift zum 80. Geburstag von Walter Baumgartner (VTSup, 16; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1967), pp. 1–11; idem, ‘Reading a Script without Vowels’, in E. Pulgram and W. Haas (eds.), Writing without Letters (Mont Follick Series, 4; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1967), pp. 71–100; Tov, Text-Critical Use, pp. 159–74. See further Barr, ‘Guessing’. 10 Various aspects of this assumed etymological procedure and its implications for the type of translation and the nature of the Greek of the LXX have been discussed by U. Rapallo, Calchi ebraici nelle antiche versioni del “Levitico” (Studi Semitici, 39; Rome: Istituto di studi del Vicino Oriente, Università di Roma, 1971); J. Barr,

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 463 taken as a noun related to the verb rùùaç (‘to remain’). The next step for the translator was to locate an equivalent Greek noun, in this case one derived from its Greek counterpart (§g)katale¤pv, viz. §gkatãleimma. This etymological translation was based on the formal relation between the noun traçm and the root rùùaç, regardless of the fact that §gkatãleimma is not used in Greek as ‘kneading trough’,11 but only as ‘that which was left’. Etymological exegesis lies at the base of all ancient translations, be it in its simple form, as in the example given above, or in more complex forms. This paper focuses on one aspect of this procedure, namely exegesis involving a biliteral understanding of Hebrew words, especially verbs. 2. Biliteral Exegesis? Although most semantic identiﬁcations of verbs by the LXX translators are ‘correct’, and most of them refer to triliteral Hebrew verbs, it does not necessarily follow that the translators adhered to a system of triliteral roots. The evidence merely shows that the translators were able to draw on various sources, enabling them to obtain the necessary semantic information. Triliteral verbs usually formed the basis for these identiﬁcations; for most of them (e.g., rùùmç, dùùb[), all three letters were necessary for the identiﬁcation, while in some cases two letters suﬃced. In the weak verbs (patterns aùùp, yùùp, nùùp, aùù[, [ùù[, ywùù[, aùùl, hùùl), often only two radicals were needed for semantic identiﬁcation. Thus for the rendering of μjyc[ the translator merely needed to identify the radicals c[ as relating hùùc[, since the roots, *ac[, *cw[, *cc[, *c[y, etc. do not exist and other options are therefore irrelevant. This is

The Typology of Literalism in Ancient Biblical Translations (MSU, 15; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), pp. 318–22. 11 Accordingly, when LSJ ascribes to this word a meaning ‘kneading trough’ on the basis of its occurrence in the LXX of Deuteronomy, it creates a meaning that did not exist at the time of the LXX translation. On this and other misconceptions with regard to the LXX in this otherwise excellent lexicon, see G. B. Caird, ‘Towards a Lexicon of the Septuagint’, JTS 19 (1968), pp. 453–75; 20 (1969), pp. 21–41. Some of these imprecisions have been corrected in E. A. Barber, A GreekEnglish Lexicon: A Supplement (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968); P. G. W. Glare, A Greek-English Lexicon: Revised Supplement (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996).

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not a problematic case, nor are the translations of forms of bùùbs, since *bùùsy, *bùùsa, *bùùws, *bùùsn, *hùùbs are not evidenced. These forms could be identiﬁed on the basis of the letters bs without taking a third radical into consideration. However, other instances are more complex since the opposition between verbs aùùl and hùùl, such as in the case of anq (‘to envy’) and hnq (‘to acquire’), necessitates either the examination of the third radical or reliance on the context. For an inappropriate choice in the nq group, see below. This description implies that the translators could make a shortcut by relying on merely two of the root letters. At the same time, it is not easy to substantiate this assumption for the LXX since the semantic information of most Hebrew verbs is correctly identiﬁed, and one needs to make a strong case proving that the translation of certain verbal forms was based on only two letters. Nevertheless, there are such instances, since mistaken renderings suggest that in some cases two letters suﬃced for the semantic identiﬁcation of verbal forms. We take our clue from assumed shortcuts by the translators in the identiﬁcation process. For some verbs, a cluster of two letters suﬃced for identiﬁcation, but if that abbreviated cluster was the key for two diﬀerent verbs, mishaps could occur, as, for example, in the case of ar pointing to both the hùùl verb hùùar (‘to see’) and the yùùp verb aùùry (‘to fear’): (1) Forms of hùùar and aùùry were frequently interchanged in Hebrew sources because of their similarity. These forms also must have puzzled translators on occasion. Thus, a homograph such as wary required the translator to decide whether it is derived from the root r"h (‘to see’) or yr " (‘to fear’), represented in the Tiberian vocalisation as War“yI (‘they will see’ [passim in the Bible]), Wary: (‘they feared’ [passim]), or Wary“ (‘fear!’ [e.g., Ps 34.10]). The same decision had to be made regarding aryw which may be derived from either r"h (ar“Y"w" [‘and he saw’]) or yr " (ar:YIw" = ar:yYIw" [‘and he feared’]). Likewise, arwm (‘terror’), an intrinsically unproblematic word related to yr " (‘to fear’), was often12 linked by the LXX to the root r "h (‘to see’): Deut 4.34

μyarwmbw

ka‹ §n ırãmasin (= V visiones, TOJ

ˆynzj)

12 Contrast the derivation of arwm from yr" (‘to fear’) by the same translator in Deut 11.25, ˆty μkarwmw μkdjp—tÚn trÒmon Ím«n ka‹ tÚn fÒbon Ím«n §piyÆsei and the appropriate equivalents hary—trÒmow, fÒbow occurring elsewhere in the LXX.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 465 Deut 26.8

ar:mobw

ka‹ §n ırãmasin (cf. TOJ

anwzj)

Jer 32(39).21 arwmbw

ka‹ §n ırãmasin

Guided by the respective contexts,13 the translators associated ar(w)m with the cluster ar, which they linked with r "h (‘to see’) rather than yr" (‘to fear’). At the same time, it is hard to deﬁne a boundary between the etymological procedure described above, which does not involve the possibility of a variant reading, and the assumption of a variant reading as may be suggested by the reading μyarmbw of the Samaritan Pentateuch in Deut 4.34 and harmbw in the same text in Deut 26.8.14 The confusion between the two roots is also visible in the occasional translation of arwn as §pifanÆw: Hab 1.7

awh ar:wOnw“ μúya…

( 6 tÚ ¶ynow tÚ pikrÚn . . . tÚ poreuÒmenon §p‹ tå plãth t∞w g∞w toË kataklhronom∞sai skhn≈mata oÈk aÈtoË) foberÚw ka‹ §pifanÆw §stin

Within Habakkuk’s harsh description of the enemy in 1.5–10 (11?), the Chaldeans are described in the LXX of v 7 as foberÚw ka‹ §pifanÆw. In this context it is understandable that the Chaldean people should be called foberÒw (‘frightening’, ‘terrible’), but what does the next word, §pifanÆw, mean in this context? Are the people ‘conspicuous’, ‘evident’, or ‘famous’? Or should we rather take §pifanÆw as the opposite of its main meaning, that is, ‘infamous’? However, the solution to this question lies in a diﬀerent area. Against the sense of the passage, the translator derived arwn from hùùar, and somehow adapted the rendering to the context. Joel 2.11 dam arwnw hwhy μwy lwdg yk

diÒti megãlh ≤ ≤m°ra toË kur¤ou, megãlh ka‹ §pifanØw sfÒdra

In this verse (cf. also 3.4), ‘the day of the Lord’ is seemingly described as ‘glorious’, but the real meaning of §pifanÆw is ‘conspicuous’, as the Hebrew was derived from hùùar (‘to see’).15 E.g., Deut 4.34 μyldg μyarwmbw hywfn [wrzbw hqzj dybw. Likewise, in the Passover Haggadah, ldg ar:mo (Deut 26.8) is explained as the ‘revelation of God’s presence’, probably on the basis of harm. 15 The same rendering occurs in Judg 13.6A (as opposed to B foberÒn); Mal 13 14

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(2) The frequent translation of r[´wm (lha) (‘[tent] of meeting’) on the basis of r[´ (‘witness’) as (≤ skÆnh) toË martur¤ou is based on its last two consonants,16 although other verses were possibly echoed in the translators’ ears.17 In the great majority of the instances described below, the biliteral exegesis pertains to weak verbs, such as the patterns aùùp, yùùp, etc. In some instances, however, such exegesis pertains to strong verbs, such as dùùrm (‘to rebel’) and hmrm (‘deceit’) explained from rm (‘bitter’), μùùlk (‘to humiliate’) explained from aùùlk (‘to prevent’) through lk, ˆmd (‘dung’) explained from hùùmd (‘to resemble’) through md, etc. In several examples below, a quiescent aleph is involved. The translators’ biliteral renderings should be seen in the light of an internal analysis of the LXX, but Hebrew variations in MT and the Qumran scrolls, developments in Rabbinic Hebrew, and medieval Jewish grammatical theories should be taken into consideration as well. These aspects will be analysed in the third section of this paper. In the following non-exhaustive collection of samples, the heading mentions in bold characters the two-letter basis for the exegesis, followed (from right to left) by (1) the root of the biblical word according to modern understanding and (2) the root, letters, or word reﬂected by the LXX. Thus in the ﬁrst example, vna/vya is a Niph'al form of vay, but the translators derived the word from vna/vya. The two understandings have the letters va in common. va çna, çya/çùùay Jer 2.25

vawn (yrmatw) ‘(But she said:) “Desperate”’ éndrioËmai

‘I will strengthen myself ’

In MT, the adulteress says: ‘Desperate. (“No, I love the strangers, and I must go after them”)’, while in the LXX she says: ‘I will

1.14; 3.22; Zeph 3.1; and 1 Chron 17.21. For an analysis of this rendering, see E. Tov, ‘Greek Words and Hebrew Meanings’, in T. Muraoka (ed.), Melbourne Symposium on Septuagint Lexicography (SBLSCS, 28; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 83–125; rev. edn in Tov, The Greek and Hebrew Bible, pp. 109–28. 16 Also when occurring alone, d[wm has been rendered as martÊrion (1 Sam 9.24; 13.11; etc.). 17 Both dùù[y and dùùw[ are used in connection with the ‘tent of meeting’ (see Exod 30.36). See further twd[ (lha) in Exod 30.36; Num 9.15; 17.22; 18.2.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 467 strengthen myself (for she loved strangers, and went after them)’. The translation of vawn, which is based on vna/vya rather than vay, yields a completely diﬀerent, though not necessarily impossible, meaning from that in MT.18 In Jer 18.12 also, the Greek translation creates a new context opposed to that of MT: Jer 18.12

vawn (wrmaw) ‘But they will say: “It is no use”’ ka‹ e‰pan éndrioÊmeya

‘But they said: “We will strengthen ourselves”’

rb rùùrb/rbrb 1 Kgs 5.3

μyswba μyrbrbw

(4.23)

‘and fatted geese’ . . . ka‹ Ùrn¤yvn §klekt«n siteutã ‘and choice birds, fatted’

rbrb (‘goose’?), a hapax legomenon in the Bible, is derived here from rùùrb (cf. [r]ù rb—§kl°gv, §klektÒw elsewhere in the LXX). See also the next example of an equivalent occurring earlier in the same verse. (r)ù rb/ayrb 1 Kgs 5.3

μyairb rqb hrç[w ‘and ten fattened oxen’

(4.23)

ka‹ d°ka mÒsxoi §klekto¤

‘and ten choice calves’

vb vùùby/vùùab Isa 50.2

(μym ˆya μtgd) vabt ‘(their ﬁsh) stink (because of lack of water)’ ka‹ jhranyÆsontai (= 1QIsaa çbyt) ‘and (they) will dry out’

In the LXX, in which the aleph was conceived of as a mute letter, only the letters vb were taken into consideration. However, it is not impossible that the LXX reﬂects a diﬀerent reading also found in 1QIsaa.19

The translators of 1 Sam 27.1; Isa 57.10; Job 6.26 identiﬁed çawn correctly. See E. Y. Kutscher, The Language and Linguistic Background of the Isaiah Scroll (1 Q Isaa) (STDJ, 6; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1974), p. 241. 18

19

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rg rùùga/rùùgn Jer 18.21

(brj ydy l[) μrghw ‘and mow them down (by the sword)’ ka‹ îyroison aÈtoÊw

‘and assemble them’

In rendering μrghw, only the middle two letters rg were taken as determinative for the identiﬁcation, with the understanding that a quiescent aleph was lost (i.e., μrgahw). The same phenomenon must have taken place in the next example in which the translator understood his Vorlage to read μyrg: or μyrg:m¨ reﬂecting his understanding μyrg(a)(m). Jer 20.10

rùùga/(rùùwg) rwgm (bybsm) rwgm (μybr tbd yt[mç) ‘(I heard the whispers of the crowd—) terror (all around)’ sunayroizom°nvn

‘of those who assemble’

md hùùmd/ˆmd Jer 8.2

(wyhy hmdah ynp l[) ˆmdl ‘(they shall become) dung (upon the face of the earth)’ eﬁw parãdeigma

‘an example’

This rendering, based on the root hùùmd, recurs in Jer 9.22 (21); 16.4. For the same equivalent, see Dan 2.5. Also cf. Ps 17.12 wnymd, rendered by Aquila as ımo¤vsiw aÈt«n (reconstructed from Syh ˆwhlyd aymwd).

Mic 1.12

lj lùùlj/hùùlj (twrm tbçwy bwfl) hlj ‘(the inhabitant[s] of Maroth) hoped for (good)’ t¤w ≥rjato

‘who started?’

lùùlj/lùùyj Ps 10.5

(t[ lkb wykrd) wlyjy ‘(his ways) prosper (at all times)’

(9.26)

bebhloËntai

‘are deﬁled’

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 469 The various confusions of renderings of the lj group in the LXX have been analysed extensively by Weissert.20 In the examples listed here, the translators created completely new contexts diﬀering from those of MT. See further below, n. 32.

Jer 17.17

sj sùùwj/(hùùsj) hsjm (h[r μwyb) hta ysjm ‘you are my refuge (in a day of calamity)’ feidÒmenÒw mou

‘. . . sparing me’ Joel 4.16

(wm[l) hsjm (hwhyw) ‘(and the Lord) will be a shelter (to his people)’ fe¤setai

‘he will be merciful’

Although the roots sùùwj and hùùsj are semantically close to one another, they represent diﬀerent ideas. fe¤domai usually reﬂects forms of sùùwj.

ry hrwh/rwa In two verses in 2 Kings, forms of hrwh (‘to instruct’) have been rendered as if related to rwa (‘light’): 2 Kgs 12.3, whrwh; 17.28, hrwm (in both cases: fvt¤zv based on rwa—f«w passim in the LXX).21 Likewise, in Hab 2.18, 19 hrwm and hrwy were rendered as fantas¤a as if from rwa. The etymological interpretation behind these renderings should be compared with the textual variation between (˚yfpçm) wrwy in MT Deut 33.10 and 4QTest (4Q175) 17, wryayw.22 This example shows that the boundary between etymological exegesis and the assumption or presence of a variant is very subtle.

20 D. Weissert, ‘Alexandrian Analogical Word-Analysis and Septuagint Translation Techniques: A Case Study of lwj – ylj – llj’, Text 8 (1974), pp. 31–44. 21 The two renderings occur in sections ascribed to kaige-Th, and similar renderings occur passim in Aquila’s translation that was based on kaige-Th. See M. Smith, ‘Another Criterion for the ka¤ge Recension’, Bib 48 (1967), pp. 443–45. 22 First publication: J. M. Allegro, Discoveries in the Judean Desert of Jordan: Qumrân Cave 4, I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD, 5; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), pp. 57–60; cf. 4QpIsad (4Q164) 5, μyryam fpçmk.

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lk hùùlk/μùùlk 23

1 Sam 20.34

(wyba) wmlik]h ‘(his father) had humiliated him’ sunet°lesen §p' aÈtÒn

‘he had completed upon him’

aùùlk/μùùlk 1 Sam 25.7

μwnm]lækh… ‘we humiliated them’ épekvlÊsamen aÈtoÊw

‘we prevented them’ 1 Sam 25.15

wnm]læk]h… al ‘we were not humiliated’ oÈk épek≈lusan ≤mçw

‘they did not prevent us’

The Greek translation created contexts completely diﬀerent from those in MT. lùùlk/lùùwk, lùùyk Jer 6.11

lykh ytyaln ‘I cannot hold it in’

ka‹ §p°sxon ka‹ oÈ sunet°lesa aÈtoÊw

‘and I held (it) and I did not complete them’ Ezek 23.32

lykhl (hbrm) ‘it holds (so much)’ toË suntel°sai

‘to complete’

lùùka/hùùlk Hab 3.17

(ˆax) hlkimm (rz:g): ‘(the ﬂock was cut oﬀ from) the sheepfold’ (§j°lipon) épÚ br≈sevw (prÒbata) ‘from the food’

2 Chron 30.22 (r[wmh ta) wlkayw ‘they ate the (food of the festival)’ ka‹ sunet°lesan

‘and they completed’

23 On the confusion of kol and kalah in the LXX, see F. H. Polak, ‘The Interpretation of húLKu/hl;K; in the LXX: Ambiguity and Intuitive Comprehension’, Text 17 (1994), pp. 57–77.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 471 In all these cases, the Greek translation created contexts completely diﬀerent from those in MT. In Habakkuk, hlkm was derived by the translator from lùùka. For a similar rendering, see Isa 3.6: tazh hlçkmhw—tÚ br«ma §mÒn (‘my food’). The wording of this verse in Greek has much in common with the next one, and may have been inﬂuenced by it; at the same time, the translator of Isaiah may have had the root lùùka in mind (cf. 1 Kgs 5.25, tlkm, ‘food’). rm

(r)ù rm/hùùrm Deut 31.27

hwhy μ[ μtyh μyrmm ‘you have been rebellious against the Lord’ parapikra¤nontew ∑te prÚw tÚn yeÒn

‘you have been embittering (in your conduct) toward God’

Words of the hùùrm group have often been rendered as parapikra¤nv (‘to embitter’), a verb that is related to the adjective pikrÒw, ‘bitter’ (usually reﬂecting rm). This frequent LXX equivalence was apparently inﬂuenced by its ﬁrst occurrence in the Greek Pentateuch, in the present verse.24 (r)ù rm/dùùrm Ezek 2.3

yb wdrm rça μydrwmh (μywg la) larçy ynb la ‘. . . to nations of rebels who have rebelled against me’ prÚw tÚn o‰kon toË Israhl toÁw parapikra¤nontãw me

‘to the house of Israel, them that embitter me’

This example transcends the boundaries of the group of weak verbs. Ps 10.7

(r)ù rm/hmrm ˚tw twmrmw alm whyp hla

(9.28)

o érçw tÚ stÒma aÈtoË g°mei ka‹ pikr¤aw ka‹ dÒlou

‘his mouth is ﬁlled with cursing, deceit and oppression’ ‘whose mouth is full of cursing, and bitterness and fraud’

24

See Tov, ‘Impact’. See further the thorough discussion of this word by P. Walters, The Text of the Septuagint: Its Corruptions and Their Emendation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), pp. 150–53, as well as earlier studies: M. Flashar, ‘Exegetische Studien zum Septuagintapsalter’, ZAW 32 (1912), pp. 185–89; R. Helbing, Die Kasussyntax der Verba bei den Septuaginta: ein Beitrag zur Hebraismenfrage und zur Syntax der Koine (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1928), pp. 101–103. N. Mizrahi (oral communication) suggests that the Greek rendering in Deuteronomy was created by haplography from μyrmm to μyrm.

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jn jùùwn/hùùjn/μùùjn These three roots have diﬀerent base meanings (μùùjn = ‘to comfort, relent’; hùùjn = ‘to lead’; jùùwn = ‘to rest’), yet in the translations they are often interchanged because of their similarity, sometimes producing homographic forms. (μjnh actually produced forms from all three roots in the various witnesses, as in 1 Sam 22.4; 1 Kgs 10.26; 2 Kgs 18.11; Prov 11.3.) The close relationship between the roots is evident already in the MT of Genesis, where the name of Noah is explained from μùùjn (Gen 5.29). The present study focuses on forms that are derived from one of the three roots, but are rendered by another one. Isa 1.24

yrxm μjna ywh ‘Ah, I will get satisfaction from my foes’ (NJPS) oÈ paÊsetai gãr mou ı yumÚw §n to›w Ípenant¤oiw

‘For my wrath shall not cease against my adversaries’ paÊomai (‘to cease’) and its composites frequently reﬂect jùùwn in the LXX. μùùjn is also rendered as paÊomai in Jer 26(33).3, 13, 19; 31(38).15; 42(49).10. Isa 63.14

wnjynt hwhy jwr ‘the spirit of the Lord gave them rest’

pneËma parå kur¤ou. ka‹ »dÆghsen aÈtoÊw

‘the spirit from the Lord, and guided them (wnj,ntæ)’

Jer 23.31

mn μùùwn/μùùan μan wmanyw μnwçl μyjqlh (. . . μaybnh l[ ynnh) ‘(behold, I am against the prophets . . .), who use their tongue and deliver a speech’

LXX88 L’ La-w toÁw §klambãnontaw (LXXrel §kbãllontaw) profhte¤aw gl≈sshw ka‹ nustãzontaw nustagmÚn aÈt«n

‘. . . who put forth prophecies of (their) tongue and slumber their sleep’

The translator derived μan wmanyw from μùùwn (‘to slumber’), as if the text read μwn wmwnyw, for which cf. the frequent spelling of μan in 1QIsaa as μawn/μwan/μwn.25

25

Kutscher, Isaiah Scroll, pp. 498–500.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 473 ps πùùsa/πùùsy Jer 7.21

(μhyjbz l[) wps (μkytwl[) ‘add (your burnt oﬀerings to your other sacriﬁces)’ sunagãgete

Isa 29.1

‘assemble’ (hnç l[ hnç) wps ‘add (year to year)’ sunagãgete (genÆmata §niautÚn §p' §niautÒn) ‘assemble (produce year by year)’

To these renderings, cf. the interchange: MT hpsaw/1QIsaa hpsyw in Isa 37.31.26 πùùsa/hùùps Isa 13.15

Exod 23.16

(brjb lwpy) hpsnh lkw ‘(whoever) is caught (will fall by the sword)’ ka‹ o·tinew sunhgm°noi eﬁs¤n (similarly S πswttnd) ‘and all the assembled’

πùùws/πùùsa (hdçh ˆm ˚yç[m ta) ˚psab (hnçh taxb) πysah gjw ‘(you shall observe) the Festival of Ingathering (at the end of the year), when you gather in (from the ﬁeld the fruit of your labour)’

ka‹ •ortØn suntele¤aw (§pÉ §jÒdou toË §niautoË) §n tª sunagvgª (t«n ¶rgvn sou t«n §k toË égroË sou)

‘. . . and the Feast of Finishing (at the end of the year) in the gathering in (of your fruits out of your ﬁeld)’ Lev 23.39

(≈rah tawbt ta) μkpsab ‘when you have gathered (the yield of the land)’ ˜tan suntel°shte tå genÆmata t∞w g∞w

‘when you have completed (the fruits of the land)’

The context in Exodus (hnçh taxb, ‘at the end of the year’) probably inﬂuenced the present rendering involving the representation of πysah on the basis of πùùws. Interestingly enough, the translator rendered the root πùùsa twice diﬀerently in this verse. The following two examples illustrate the complexity of the renderings of the ps group involving the representation of πùùsy as πùùsa in MT:

26

See Kutscher, Isaiah Scroll, p. 220.

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πùùsy/πùùsa ttl ˆwpsat al

Exod 5.7

‘you shall not continue to give’ oÈk°ti prosteyÆsetai didÒnai

‘you shall no longer give’

The translator rightly derived ˆwpsat from πùùsy.27 πùùsa/πùùsy 2 Sam 6.1

rwjb lk ta dwd dw[ πsyw ‘(David) again gathered (all the chosen men)’ ka‹ sunÆgagen ¶ti (Dauid pãnta nean¤an) ‘(David) again gathered (every young man)’

The translator rightly derived πsyw from πùùsa. Cf. Ps 104.29, MT πst, and 1QpHab V 14, whpsyw, reﬂecting Hab 1.15 whpsayw (‘he gathered them’). The following examples show the interaction between πùùws and πùùsa within MT. Formally speaking, the second word in each example is derived from πùùws, but the biblical authors artistically combined the two roots (cf. the third section of this paper). The translator of Jeremiah derived the two forms from πùùsa, while in Zephaniah the two forms were derived from πùùws (probably by the same individual). Jer 8.13

μpeysia πsoa; ‘I will make an end of them’ ka‹ sunãjousi (tå genÆmata aÈt«n) ‘and they will collect (their produce)’

Zeph 1.2

(lk) πs´´a; πsoa; ‘I will sweep (everything) away’ §kle¤cei §klip°tv (pãnta) ‘he must abandon (everything) completely’

xp ≈ùùpn/≈ùùwp Jer 23.1

. . . yty[rm ˆax ta μyxpmw ‘. . . and who scatter the sheep of my pasture’ ka‹ épollÊontew tå prÒbata t∞w nom∞w mou

‘. . . and who destroy the sheep of my pasture’

27

See BDB, p. 415.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 475 Ezek 34.21

(hntwa) μtwxyph rça ‘until you scattered (them)’ ka‹ §jeyl¤bete

‘and you cruelly treated’

Both Greek translations, based on ≈ùùpn, present a context diﬀering from that of MT. A reverse picture is reﬂected in the following renderings of ≈ùùpn, which are based on ≈ùùwp. Jer 51.20

ytxpnw . . . yl hta ≈pm ‘you are my war club . . . and I will smash’

(28.20)

diaskorp¤zeiw sÊ moi . . . ka‹ diaskorpi«

‘you are scattering for me . . . and I will scatter’

For similar renderings, see Jer 13.14, 51(28).21, 22, 23, as well as Dan 12.7 Th. rx rùùrx/rùùxn Jer 4.16

(μyab) μyrxn ‘watchers (come)’ sustrofa¤ cf. S amm[d açnk ‘bands/crowds’

For the translation equivalent, cf. rùùrx—sustrofÆ in Hos 4.19; 13.12; Prov 30.4.28

rùùxy/rùùxn Prov 24.12

˚çpn rxnw ‘he who keeps watch over your soul’ ı plãsaw pnoÆn

‘he that formed breath’

Isa 11.11

nq hùùnq/aùùnq (wm[ raç ta) twnql (wdy tynç ynda πyswy) ‘(the Lord will extend his hand yet a second time) to redeem (the remnant of his people)’ toË zhl«sai

‘to be zealous for’

28

See the analysis by C. Rabin, ‘Noßrim’, Text 5 (1966), pp. 44–52.

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476

The translator derived twnql (‘to acquire’) from aùùnq (‘to be zealous’) (cf. v. 13 anqy—zhl≈sei). For the close connection between forms of the two roots, see the artistic use in Ezek 8.3, hnqmh hanqh lms. See the third section of this paper.

ar hùùar/arwn, arwm See the discussion above on p. 464–65.

Ps 2.9

[r hùù[r/[ùù[r (lzrb fbçb) μ[rot ‘you shall break them (with a rod of iron)’ poimane›w aÈtoÊw

= S ˆwna a[rt

‘you shall shepherd them’

μ[rot of MT ﬁts the parallel stitch (μxpnt rxwy ylkk, ‘you will dash them in pieces as a potter’s wheel’), and hence the understanding of the Greek translator, possibly inﬂuenced by Mic 7.14, ˚fbçb ˚m[ h[r,29 is inappropriate.

Jer 49.2

vr va/wr / vùùry wyv;r“úy ta (larçy çrúyw) ‘(and Israel shall dispossess) those who dispossessed him’

(30.2)

tØn érxØn aÈtoË

‘its government’

bv bùùvy/bùùbv Jer 3.6, 8, 12

larçy hb(w)çm ‘that faithless one, Israel’ ≤ katoik¤a toË Israhl

‘the house of Israel’

Similarly: Hos 11.7; 14.5. The Greek rendering, based on bùùvy (cf. the translation of bçwm with katoik¤a in Ezek 34.13), is unusual, since there is no apparent reason in the context for this understanding. Elsewhere in Jeremiah,

29

This suggestion was made to me by N. Mizrahi.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 477

hbwçm is rendered from bùùbç ( Jer 2.19; 3.11, 22) or bùùwç (see the next item). The combination of a noun from the root bùùvy and larçy occurs in Exod 12.40. Jer 8.5

bùùwv/bùùbv (tjxn) hbçm . . . hbbwç ‘is rebellious . . . (with perpetual) rebellion’ ép°strecen

. . . épostrofÆn

‘turned away . . . turning away’

The same rendering recurs in Jer 5.6.

bùùvy/bùùwv Ezek 29.14

μta ytiboçih}w ‘I will bring them back’ ka‹ katoik¤sv aÈtoÊw

‘I will cause them to dwell’

For the closeness of bùùwv and bùùvy, see Jer 42.10, wbçt bwç (cf. the third section of this paper). mv μùùmv/μùùva Hos 10.2

wmvay ‘they must bear their guilt’ éfanisyÆsontai

‘they will be destroyed’

This translation recurs in Hos 14.1 and Joel 1.18. See also Isa 24.6 T; Ezek 6.6 (cf. Sym, S, T); Ps 34.22 (cf. S).

Jer 46.27

nv ˆùùvy/ˆùùnav (dyrjm ˆyaw) ˆnavw fqvw ‘and he will have calm and quiet (and no one shall trouble him)’

(26.27)

ka‹ ≤suxãsei ka‹ Ípn≈sei

‘and he will have calm and will sleep’

The Greek translation of ˆnavw is probably based on an assumed connection between ˆnavw (ˆnavy?) and ˆùùvy (‘to sleep’) involving a quiescent aleph.

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478

rv rùùvy/rùùrv Jer 9.13

μbl twrrv yrja wklyw ‘who stubbornly follow their own will’

éllÉ §poreÊyhsan Ùp¤sv t«n érest«n t∞w kard¤aw aÈt«n t∞w kak∞w

‘but they went after the pleasing things of their evil heart’

The Greek translation is based on the equivalence rvy—érest-, occurring often in the LXX (Exod 15.26; Deut 6.18; 12.8, 25, 28; etc.). The same rendering recurs in Jer 16.12; 18.12.30 Jer 15.11 K

(˚ytyrv Q) ˚twrv al μa ‘I have surely set you free’ (K) kateuyunÒntvn aÈt«n

‘while they succeed’

The verb kateuyÊnv often renders words from the root rùùvy (Ps 5.8; Prov 1.3; 9.15; etc.). 3. Some Conclusions The data adduced in this paper illustrate several aspects of the translators’ etymological exegesis, especially their turning to clusters of two letters that provide the minimal information needed for semantic identiﬁcation. This technique was invoked in the case of several weak verbs as well as a few strong verbs, but it is hard to know how widespread this procedure was since it comes to light only from the recognition of occasional errors in identiﬁcation. The cases illustrated here show that for some verbs a cluster of two letters could suﬃce for semantic identiﬁcation, but if that cluster was the key for two diﬀerent verbs, mishaps could occur as in the case of ar pointing to both hùùar and aùùry. Renderings of this type do not necessitate the assumption that the translators adhered to a biliteral root theory.31 Nor is there suﬃcient 30 For the same etymological derivation, see Sym in Jer 11.8, éreske¤a; Th in Jer 11.8; 13.10, eÈyÊthw. 31 Besides, the translators created identical meanings for diﬀerent roots, while at the root of biliteral exegesis lies the assumption of diﬀerent, though slightly similar, Hebrew roots sharing two of the three consonants, such as, dùùrp, jùùlp, gùùlp, rùùrp, hùùrp, xùùrp, sùùrp, çùùrp.

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 479 evidence for assuming that the translators’ Hebrew ‘word-analysis’ was inﬂuenced by a comparison with the Greek verbal system, as analysed by Alexandrian grammarians.32 These renderings probably reﬂect unsystematic ad hoc exegesis in the identiﬁcation process. The translators experienced many diﬃculties in analyzing Hebrew forms, so that by necessity they sometimes turned to improvisations. Similar improvisations are visible in the renderings described in n. 3 as well as some partial translations. (Sometimes some of the letters of the word in the Vorlage were disregarded in the translation because the translator did not know how to render them.)33 The assumption that the translators based themselves on the close relationship between certain roots may be supported by the way this closeness was regarded in Scripture itself. Some biblical authors ‘played on’ these related roots.34 Thus two prophets ( Jer 8.13; Zeph 1.2) skilfully combined πùùws and πùùsa (see above) as well as bùùwç and bùùçy ( Jer 42.10, wbçt bwç), etc. The close proximity between the weak verbs sometimes created a mixture of verbal forms that was part and parcel of biblical Hebrew (BH). Thus yùùp forms were sometimes mixed with ywùù[ (for example, bùùwf/bùùfy), nùùp forms with ywùù[ (≈ùùwp/≈ùùpn, lùùwm next to lùùmn/lùùlm, Gen 17.11), [ùù[ forms with ywùù[ (for example, çùùçm/çùùwm), and verbs aùùl with hùùl.35 As a result, the school-type distinction between the verb patterns often can no longer be upheld. Thus tçbwh in 2 Sam 19.6 (and elsewhere) reﬂects çùùwb, not çùùby, rightly translated as ‘you have

32 Thus Weissert (see n. 20). This attractive theory would be even more attractive if it could be proven that the translators compared Hebrew linguistic phenomena with equivalent Greek features in other aspects also. The theory assumes sophistication from the side of the translators, whereas perhaps ignorance and lack of experience guided their actions. (See the examples in this paper and see my paper quoted in n. 2.) Further, Weissert’s assumed rules of analogy used in the various translation units in the LXX are problematic as they presuppose either unity of translation or constant interaction between the translators. 33 Beyond the examples in n. 3, see mishpetayim in Judg 5.16, which is explained as sapah and ßa'ßu'im in 2 Chron 3.10 from two letters only ('eß). See Tov, TextCritical Use, chapter 5. 34 The phrase is used by A. Sperber, A Historical Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1966), p. 596, who provided many examples, not all of them relevant. 35 See GKC §75qq-rr and Ezek 8.3, hnqmh hanqh (lms), quoted above (where the second word, formally reﬂecting hùùnq, carries the meaning of aùù nq). In fact, according to Sperber, Hebrew Grammar, p. 595, these two patterns form one rather than two groups.

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humiliated’ in the translations, including the LXX.36 All these phenomena are recorded in the lexicons and grammars.37 These developments were accelerated in MH, resulting in greater contamination. There are new ywùù[ forms next to yùùp (for example, qùùwn/qùùny, ≈ùùwq/≈ùùqy), there are new instances of [ùù[ forms next to yùùw[ (for example, lùùwz/lùùlz), and there is additional assimilation between aùùl and hùùl forms. All these phenomena are well illustrated in the grammars.38 Since mixture and confusion between various word patterns frequently took place in BH and MH, it is not surprising that similar manuscript variations were created in all periods. Some of these manuscript variations were mentioned above, occasionally coinciding with the LXX. Thus, for Isa 50.2 (μym ˆyam μtgd) vabt, the reading of the LXX ka‹ jhranyÆsontai may be based on 1QIsaa çbyt. The interchanges between MT hpsaw/1QIsaa hpsyw in Isa 37.31 and between MT Hab 1.15 whpsayw (‘he gathered them’)/1QpHab V 14 whpsyw parallel the yùùp/aùùp interchanges between the LXX and MT recorded above (ps group). In addition, the detailed description by Kutscher of 1QIsaa provides ample illustration of the interchanges of weak verbal forms between MT and the scroll unrelated to the LXX (e.g., lùùjy/lùùjn, rùùws/rùùsy, hùùrs/rùùrs).39 The translators may have been aware of these phenomena and developments in earlier times as well as in their own times. However, we should be very careful not to ascribe reﬁned grammatical understanding to the translators, since lack of linguistic understanding is widespread. Furthermore, there is a very basic diﬀerence between the translators’ exegesis and the developments taking place in the Hebrew language. The developments within the language took place in a natural way, without distorting the message of the texts or the

36 Likewise, in 2 Sam 6.1 πsyw, what looks like a yùùp form actually represents πsayw through the omission of the quiescent aleph, and reversely in Exod 5.7 where what appears to be a aùùp form ttl ˆwpsat al actually represents ˆwpswt. 37

See, for example, GKC. See M. H. Segal, A Grammar of Mishnaic Hebrew (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1927), §§185, 189; G. Haneman, The Morphology of Mishnaic Hebrew According to the Tradition of the Parma Ms. (De-Rossi No. 138) (Texts and Studies in the Hebrew Language and Related Subjects, 3; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1980), especially pp. 422–31. 39 Kutscher, Isaiah Scroll, pp. 265, 268, 269, respectively, for the examples. 38

biliteral exegesis of hebrew roots in the septuagint? 481 meanings of words. Thus when a aùùl form was represented in Ezek 8.3 as a hùùl form (hnqmh hanqh lms), it nevertheless carried the meaning of aùùnq; the author produced the word and the reader probably understood. However, when the LXX of Isa 11.11 rendered twnql according to the aùùl pattern, he created a completely diﬀerent meaning and context.40 It would therefore be hard to describe this development as natural, and would probably be closer to the truth to consider this and most of the renderings recorded here as reﬂecting lack of linguistic reﬁnement.41 We therefore noted sometimes that the translator created a completely new context. In sum, the LXX translators, as other biblical translators in antiquity,42 often turned to a cluster of two letters providing suﬃcient information for the translation process, especially in weak verbal forms. This approach was borne out of the translators’ diﬃculties in identifying words, rather than any biliteral theory.43 Such a theory

40 Therefore, in his summarising remarks on the interchanges between roots in MT and 1QIsaa, Kutscher, Isaiah Scroll, pp. 296–315, probably reads too much into the external similarities between this scroll and the versions: ‘. . . the Versions make use of the same methods as the Scr.’ (p. 306); ‘In all these instances, the exegesis of one or another of the medieval Jewish commentators—who of course read = MT—is in accord with the “emendation” of the versions and the Scr.’s reading’ (p. 306); ‘Actually, the Versions are of great value to us for a diﬀerent reason: they help us to understand what the Scr.’s scribe had in mind when he changed the text’ (p. 308). 41 At the same time, some of the renderings may have been inﬂuenced by phonetic developments, as in the cases of ps, rg, and mn (a suggestion given by N. Mizrahi). 42 For some examples from the Targumim, see L. Prijs, Jüdische Tradition in der Septuaginta (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1948), p. 83, n. 3. For the Peshitta, see H. Heller, Untersuchungen über die Peschîttâ: zur gesamten hebräischen Bibel (Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1911), pp. 45–47. 43 Another view was espoused by G. R. Driver, ‘Confused Hebrew Roots’, in B. Schindler (ed.), Occident and Orient: Being Studies in Semitic Philology and Literature, Jewish History and Philosophy and Folklore in the Widest Sense, in Honour of Haham Dr. M. Gaster’s 80th Birthday (London: Taylor’s Foreign Press, 1936), pp. 73–83. According to Driver, it was not the translator who sometimes mistakenly derived a verbal form from a closely related root, but the roots themselves were closely related. Thus Driver believes that lùùba, ‘was dried up, mourned’, lùùbn, ‘dropped, faded, languished’, and perhaps also hùùlb, ‘was worn out, wasted away’, were ‘cognate roots developed from bl as a common base’ (p. 75), as, e.g., in Jer 12.4, bç[w ≈rah lbat ytm d[ çbyy hdçh lk, where lùùba should be taken as ‘was dried up’ as in T bwrjt. According to Driver, this claim is supported by the versions, in which, in another instance, forms of μùùça are rendered as if from μùùmç (see the examples above), both deriving from a common root μùùça = μùùmç. Regardless of the merits of Driver’s speculation, support from the versions is very questionable.

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was developed much later by some medieval Jewish grammarians,44 and revived in the scholarly literature from the eighteenth century onwards.45

44 Menahem Ibn Saruq (tenth century) and Judah ben David Hayyuj (c. 945–1000). In the prologue to his lexicon, the Mahberet, Menahem Ibn Saruq developed the theory that all triliteral roots were ultimately biliteral, even uniliteral. See the editions of H. Filipowskius, Antiquissimum linguae hebraicae et chaldaecae lexicon ad sacras scripturas explicandas A Menahem Ben Saruck hispaniensis . . . (London: Typis H. Filipowskius, 1854) and A. Sáenz Badillos, Mahberet/Menahem Ben Saruq: edición crítica (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1986); see also Y. Blau, ‘Menahem ben Jacob Ibn Saruq’, in C. Roth (ed.), Encyclopaedia Judaica (16 vols; Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1971), 11:1305–1306. 45 For an analysis and bibliography, see S. Moscati, ‘Il biconsonantismo nelle lingue semitiche’, Bib 28 (1947), pp. 113–35; G. J. Botterweck, Der Triliterismus im Semitischen: erläutert an den Wurzeln GL KL KL (BBB, 3; Bonn: Peter Hanstein Verlag, 1952), pp. 11–30; S. Moscati (ed.), An Introduction to the Comparative Grammar of the Semitic Languages: Phonology and Morphology (Porta linguarum orientalium, N.S. 6; Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz, 1969), pp. 72–75. See further GKC §30f-o.

KINGS (MT/LXX) AND CHRONICLES: THE DOUBLE AND TRIPLE TEXTUAL TRADITION1 Julio Trebolle The present paper re-examines the book by Graeme Auld Kings without Privilege. It is a tribute to the author for his valuable contribution to the study of the historical books of the Hebrew and Greek Bible.2 Auld advances a new model of analysis of the relationships between the books of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. Against the traditional theory, according to which Chronicles is a re-elaboration of Samuel–Kings, Auld proposes that these two groups of books constitute two literary developments of a previous ‘source’. The books of Samuel–Kings, like those of Chronicles, are also a ‘commentary’ on this common source. The text shared by Samuel–Kings and Chronicles presents a clear and coherent structure. The common source consisted of the two stories of Solomon’s visions, the templespeech and a brief account of its building. The ‘supplementary’ material added to Kings underscores the political aspects of Solomon’s reign and at the same time criticises the ﬁgure of a king who was unworthy of his father, David. Auld positions himself against the common opinion, according to which Chronicles suppressed this ‘supplementary’ material in order to clean Solomon’s image which appeared tainted in the book of Kings. 1. The Mention of Moses in 1 Kgs 8.9//2 Chron 5.10; 2 Kgs 14.6//2 Chron 25.4; and 2 Kgs 21.8//2 Chron 33.8 The ﬁrst part of this paper alludes to the subtitle of the book, David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings. From the 3rd century bce to the 1st century ce the Hebrew Old Testament text was in a

1 I thank Dr Andrés Piquer (Berkeley) for the English translation of the original Spanish text. 2 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994).

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situation of textual ﬂuidity, propitious to textual emendations,3 especially as they are related to the diﬀerent polemics between Jewish groups, or in the midst of the multiple exegetical tendencies and interpretations. The study of the transmission of the biblical text has to be carried out in connection with the history of the Jewish religion.4 Thus, one can speak of a process of ‘Mosaitisation’ and also of ‘Davitisation’, characteristic of the late redaction level of the Psalter.5 The Hebrew text of 1–2 Kings underwent a similar process, as the analysis of 1 Kgs 8.9; 2 Kgs 14.6 and 21.8; 1 Kgs 2.4 and 8.23–26 indicate.6 All of them show a growing number of references to Moses and, to a lesser extent, to David, in the literary and textual tradition of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. They also show a tendency of the latest biblical tradition to insert references or quotations taken from the book of Deuteronomy. To analyse adequately the phenomena which belong to the editorial phase of the book of Kings one must use a combination of textual criticism and literary criticism. (1) In 1 Kgs 8.9 (//2 Chron 5.10) an addition in the Old Greek, ‘the tablets of the Covenant’, and a possible ellipsis of the term ‘a covenant’ of the MT seem to be the only textual diﬃculties: ‘There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone [LXX + the tablets of the Covenant] that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites’ (nrsv). The plus of the Greek version, ‘the tablets of the Covenant’ (plãkew t∞w diayÆkhw), corresponds to a Hebrew reading, tyrbh twjl, which 3 E. Tov, ‘Correction Procedures in the Texts from the Judean Desert’, in D. W. Parry and E. Ulrich (eds.), The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations, New Texts and Reformulated Issues (STDJ, 30; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 232–63. 4 A. Rofé, ‘The History of Israelite Religion and the Biblical Text: Corrections Due to the Uniﬁcation of Worship’, in S. M. Paul, R. A. Kraft, L. H. Schiﬀman and W. W. Fields (eds.), Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (VTSup, 94; Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 759–93. 5 E. Zenger, ‘Der Psalter im Horizont von Tora und Prophetie. Kanongeschichtliche und Kanonhermeneutische Perspektiven’, in J.-M. Auwers and H. J. De Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (BETL, 163; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2003), pp. 111–34 (129). 6 M. Fishbane speaks of nomicisation through the interpolation of ‘Torahistic’ values, precepts, or regulations, as in Josh 1.6–9 and 1 Kgs 2.2–4, or frequently in Chronicles (e.g., 1 Chron 15.12–15 or 2 Chron 12.1), in M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), p. 426. Similarly, on nomicising revisions in the LXX at 1 Kgs 18.45b, 20.16, and 21.27–9, see D. W. Gooding, ‘Ahab According to the Septuagint’, ZAW 76 (1964), pp. 269–80.

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485

forms a double reading together with the preceding μynbah twjl, ‘the tablets of stone’: tyrbh twjl μynbah twjl. The successive editions of Biblia Hebraica indicate that tyrbh twjl is to be read after v. 9a. But, according to the Preliminary and Interim Report on the Hebrew Old Testament Text Project, this indication has led many authors into error, as if the words ‘the tablets of the Covenant’, placed before the second relative rça, belonged to the Hebrew Vorlage of LXX.7 The double reading tyrbh twjl μynbah twjl corresponds to the double relative pronoun rça . . . rça. The articulation between these elements and, especially, between the second relative and its antecedent is, according to Burney and Barthélemy, ‘vague’ and ‘lâche’.8 The fact seems to be that MT and LXX reproduce in two diﬀerent ways an interpolation in the text. MT and the Vorlage of the LXX of Kings could reﬂect two diﬀerent and juxtaposed readings: ‘the stone tablets which Moses deposited . . .’ and ‘the tablets of the Covenant, which Yahweh established . . .’. The second reading is a quotation of Deut 9.9: μkm[ hwhy trk rça tyrbh tjwl μynbah tjwl tjql, which refers to ‘two’ tablets (v. 10), as it is also noted in 1 Kgs 8.9. The reference to Moses in the ﬁrst relative ‘which Moses deposited there in Horeb’ (brjb hçm μç jnh rça) constitutes a gloss and at the same time a new quotation or allusion to Deut 10.5: ‘I deposited the tablets in the ark which I made and there they still stay’ (μç wyhyw ytyç[ rça ˆwrab tjlh ta μçaw). In contrast with the verb used in Deut 10.5, μyç, the verb in 1 Kgs 8.9, jwn, shows traces of secondariness. The new quotation intends to indicate that the tablets were in the ark still in the time of Solomon and while the Solomonic temple endured. The presence of the locative μç in Kings, missing in Chronicles but to restore with LXX and Targum,9 confers into the gloss a stronger mark of quotation of Deut 10.5. In sum, the presence of ‘Moses’ in 1 Kgs 8.9//2 Chron 5.10 belongs to what seems to be a gloss, consisting of a reference to Deut 10.5.

7 D. Barthélemy (ed.), Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, 1. Josué, Juges, Ruth, Samuel, Rois, Chroniques, Esdras, Néhémie, Esther (OBO, 50/1; Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), p. 349. 8 C. F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), p. 109. 9 W. Rudolph, Chronikbücher (HAT, 21; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1955), p. 211.

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(2) 2 Kgs 14.6 and its parallel in 2 Chron 25.4 relate that, after putting to death those who had made an attempt against his father, Amaziah of Judah did not extend his revenge to the rebels’ children, ‘according to what is written in the Book of the Law of Moses, where the Lord commanded, “The parents shall not be put to death for the children, or the children be put to death for the parents”’ (nrsv). The Hebrew text does not seem to pose any text-critical diﬃculties. Nevertheless, a comparison between the MT and the LXX together with the Chronicles parallel oﬀers meaningful data. The text of Chronicles adds yk before bwtkk, what is usually considered as a probable case of dittography.10 The Greek text of Kings presents kay≈w as corresponding to k and presents again …w instead of the Hebrew relative pronoun rça as if in fact it were reading rçak. The repetition kay≈w . . . …w . . . = . . . yk . . . yk lets one suppose that we are before a case of resumptive formula (Wiederaufnahme), caused by the insertion of a gloss. The text of this gloss corresponds to the formula which introduces a biblical quotation: ‘according to what is written in the Book of the Law of Moses’. The presence in Chronicles of the particle yk, which authors explain away as a mere dittography given that no function can be found for it, would conﬁrm the fact that an insertion in the text has taken place. This particle is the leftover from a previous text, free of the gloss: ‘he did not put them to death, according to what Yahweh commanded, saying . . .’ (hwx rçak tymh al). The present text seems to be laden with formulae to introduce a biblical citation: hwx rçak, bwtkk and rmal.11 The Greek text of Chronicles operates through an even larger accumulation of formulae: ka‹ toÁw uﬂoÁw aÈt«n oÈk ép°kteinen katå tØn diayÆkhn toË nÒmou kur¤ou kayΔw g°graptai (+ LXXL §n nÒmƒ Moush) …w §nete¤lato kÊriow l°gvn. (3) 2 Kgs 21.8b//2 Chron 33.8 oﬀers a new case of double reading, only detectable through a comparison with the Antiochene Greek text of Kings. The MT reads: ‘I will not cause the feet of Israel to wander any more out of the land that I gave to their ancestors, if only they will be careful to do according to all that I have commanded them, and according to all the law that my servant Moses commanded them’ (nrsv).

10

Rudolph, Chronikbücher, p. 278. See Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, p. 106, on the relationship between 2 Kgs 14.5–6 and Deut 24.16, cf. p. 341. 11

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles LXXL Kings

LXXB Kings

plØn §ån

˜itinew

ékoÊsvsi

fulãjousin

katå pãnta ì

pãnta ˜sa

§neteilãmhn aÈto›w

§neteilãmhn

MT Kings

487 MT Chronicles

qr μa

qr μa

wrmçy twç[l

wrmçy twç[l

rça lkk μytywx

rça lk ta μytywx

w

ka‹ fulãjvntai

lkl hrwth

katå pãnta

katå pasçn

tÚn nÒmon

tØn §ntolÆn

˘n

∂n

rça

§nete¤lato

§nete¤lato

hwx μta

aÈto›w ı pa›w mou

ı doËlÒw mou

Mvs∞w

Mous∞w

ydb[ hçm

lkl hrwth μyqjhw μyfpçmhw

dyb hçm

The MT verb wrmçy corresponds to the LXXB (kaige text) fulãjousin. The Old Greek, as attested by the proto-Lucianic reading ékoÊsvsi (OL audierunt), knew a Hebrew w[mçy in accordance with w[mç alw (v. 9a). The Antiochene text oﬀers afterwards ka‹ fulãjvntai, which opens a new sentence. Other diﬀerences between the Massoretic, mainstream Greek and Antiochene Greek are not pertinent to this discussion. Amongst them it is to be underscored that MT twç[l has no correspondence in the versions (except for Hexaplaric readings). Also, the MT particle (lk)k, ignored by LXXB pãnta ˜sa . . . is translated in LXXL as katå pãnta ë; the MT conjunction (lkl)w is unknown in LXXB; the Antiochene Greek presents this conjunction before the verb, ka‹ fulãjvntai. The fact that Chronicles omits the conjunction (which precedes lkl) may be added evidence on how here an abrupt juxtaposition of two independent expressions has been conducted. The disparity between variants does not allow for a detailed reconstruction of the underlying texts. However, it is possible

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to identify two juxtaposed readings, the second of which seems to be secondary: (a) w[mç alw [. . .] μytywx rça lk (ta) w[mçy μa qr (‘only if they will hear all that I commanded them . . ., and did not hear’). (b) hçm ydb[ μta hwx rça hrwth lkk wrmçyw (‘and they will observe the whole Teaching that commanded them my servant Moses’).

The secondary sentence is exactly that which refers to the Law and to Moses. The juxtaposition of 1st person (ytywx) and 3rd person (hwx, with Moses as the subject) references, stresses the composite character of the text and reminds one of the Temple Scroll which attributes directly to Yahweh discourses that the canonical Pentateuch puts in the mouth of Moses. (4) In 1 Kgs 2.4 BHS indicates the omission of the second rmal in the Antiochene text and in the Vulgate, as well as in a medieval Hebrew manuscript. It suggests that this second rmal must therefore be omitted. Nevertheless, the reading of MT and of many witnesses of the LXX preserve here a remarkable editorial element: the expression which often introduces a quotation or biblical reference. The repetition of the expression rmal corresponds with the biblical quotation which is introduced by each of them: ‘with the aim that Yahweh keeps the word he pronounced about me, saying (1) “If your children keep their way, walking loyally in my presence, with all their heart and all their soul”, saying (2) “You shall not be deprived of a male upon the throne of Israel”’. The ﬁrst quotation corresponds to Deut 6.5; the second constitutes a generic reference, but, clear, to 2 Samuel 7 (cf. v. 25). The ﬁrst quotation, taken from Deut 6.5, also appears in 2 Kgs 23.25, without any formula or other introductory expression, but together with the concluding reference ‘according to Moses’ Torah’. All of it constitutes an interpolation which has dissociated the correlative elements within the sentence: ‘Before him there was not such a king, and none like him came after him’. Würthwein attributes the whole v. 25 to the Deuteronomistic redactor of the last period, known as the ‘nomist’ (DtrN).12 The reference to Deut 6.5 and the formula hçm trwt lkk seem to answer, nevertheless, to the intervention of an editor in a period later than that of the Deuteronomistic 12 E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön 25 (ATD, 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), p. 461.

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles

489

redaction. Similar references to Moses’ Torah appear in 1 Kgs 2.3a and in Josh. 1.7, whose discussion will not be treated here. The expression in 1 Kgs 2.4, which introduces both quotations from Deut 6.5 and 2 Samuel 7 also appears in 1 Kgs 8.25 as the introduction and closing of a double quotation, similar to that in 1 Kgs 2.4. (5) The Hebrew and Greek textual tradition of 1 Kgs 8.23–26 is extremely complex. According to MT, Solomon addresses Yahweh in these terms: ‘(23) [Yahweh, God of Israel] . . ., (24) who have kept for your servant David, my father, what you had told him; you spoke through your mouth and with your hand you have fulﬁlled [it], as today. (25) Now, so, Yahweh, God of Israel, keep for your servant David, my father, what you told him, saying: “You will not be deprived of a male . . .”. (26) Now thus, (Yahweh), God of Israel, conﬁrm, please, your word, that which you told to your servant David, my father . . .’. LXX omits the words from v. 24a wl trbd rça ta, ‘what you had told him’.13 These same words reappear in v. 25a. The repetition has in fact deeper consequences. It encompasses the whole sentence: ‘keep for your servant David my father what you had told him’ (wl trbd rça ta yba dwd ˚db[l rmç/trmç). The MT also oﬀers other repetitions. In v. 26 there is a phrase similar to that previously mentioned, with just a simple word-order inversion: ‘that which you had told to your servant David, my father’ (yba dwd ˚db[l trbd rça). LXX does not know anything of it except the reference to t“ Dauid t“ patr¤ mou. In addition, the opening expression in v. 25, which indicates a transition in discourse, ‘Now, then, Yahweh, God of Israel . . .’ (ht[w larçy yhla hwhy), appears again in the beginning of v. 26. Also the sentence of MT v. 23b opens with the verb rmç in participle form, the same which appears in v. 25aa as an imperative. MT and LXX present, also, meaningful diﬀerences in the text of vv. 23b and 24a.

13

According to Stade, the clause omitted in LXX is indispensable for the text. Cf. B. Stade et al., The Books of Kings: Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text Printed in Colors Exhibiting the Composite Structure of the Books (The Sacred Books of the Old Testament, 9; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1904), p. 104. The omission probably took place, according to Montgomery, ‘through mistranslation of rça I° with ë’. Cf. J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh, T. & T. Clark, 1951), p. 202.

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MT speaks in plural of ‘your servants, which walk before you with a whole heart’. Conversely, LXX refers in the singular to ‘your servant which walks before Me with a whole heart’. Also, MT and LXX make the same reference to ‘your servant David, my father’ (v. 24a). The transition between vv. 23b and 24a is made in diﬀerent ways in each text. MT connects the relative rça to Yahweh. In contrast, in LXX the relative does not represent the subject of the phrase, but its object (ì §lãlhsaw), as if it were reading rça ta. This is connected to the reading and omission of the words wl trbd rça ta. These constitute in MT the object or complement of the sentence. In LXX they are completely unnecessary in the position they take. The sentence in MT v. 24a applies to David the general statement already established in the previous sentence (v. 23b). In LXX both sentences merely repeat the same idea, without the latter contributing anything new beyond the former. It is possible to ask whether LXXB constitutes here the text of the Old Greek. The Antiochene Greek exhibits meaningful variants. In v. 23b it adds Dauid t“ patr¤ mou, which anticipates the reading in v. 24a yba dwd ˚db[l, but here LXXL omits t“ doÊl“ sou. Furthermore, it oﬀers the reading §lãlhsaw, which cannot but correspond to trbd rça ta, as the correspondence between the Greek and Hebrew texts in v. 25aa demonstrates. The Antiochene text seems to have known the MT reading wl trbd rça ta (v. 24a). In order to shed some light on these tangled texts it is necessary to identify the fundamental elements which constitute this passage. These elements are the same as those found in 1 Kgs 2.4: (a) A formula which makes reference to what Yahweh said and its expected fulﬁlment: v. 25a, ‘keep for your servant, David, my father, what you told him’ (wl trbd rça yba dwd ˚db[l rmç), repeated under a very similar formulation in v. 24a, ‘that you have kept for your servant, David, my father, what you had told him’ (˚db[l trmç wl trbd rça ta yba dwd). These references correspond with 1 Kgs 2.4. (b) An expression which introduces one or more quotations: v. 25, rmal. (c) A ﬁrst quotation, alluding to David’s oﬀspring: v. 25, ‘You shall not be deprived of a male which sits in my presence on the throne of Israel’, larçy ask l[ bçy ynplm çya ˚l trky al. This quotation is parallel to that in 1 Kgs 2.4: larçy ask l[m çya ˚l trky al. (d) A second quotation, relative to the rightful walking before Yahweh as a condition for the fulﬁlment of what Yahweh said:

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles

491

v. 25b, ‘as long as your children keep their way walking in my presence like you walked before me’, ynpl tkll μkrd ta ˚ynb wrmçy μa ynpl tklh rçak. This reference is parallel to the quotation of Deut 6.5 in 1 Kgs 2.4: μbbl lkb tmab ynpl tkll μkrd ta ˚ynb wrmçy μa μçpn lkbw. Some elements from this quotation also appear in v. 23b, in the words wbl lkb ˚ynpl ˚lhh, ‘who walks (plural in the MT) before you with a whole heart (plural in the MT)’. If it were not already clear enough how these words constitute or repeat a quotation like that in v. 25b, the Antiochene Greek text shows here the more complete expression §n élhye¤& (§n ˜lª kard¤& aÈtoË), which matches exactly the quotation in 1 Kgs 2.4 (in singular, not in plural, as in MT). These words in v. 23b are interpolated between others which belong to the ﬁrst element amongst the four which constitute this passage: rça wbl lkbw tmab ˚ynpl ˚lhh ˚db[l dshhw tyrbh rmç wl rbd rça ta ˚db[l rmç. It is possible that before the interpolation of the words ‘who walks before you (in truth and) with his whole heart’, the original contiguous text of vv. 23–25 was ‘Yahweh, God of Israel . . ., who keeps the Covenant and the grace for your servant David, my father, according to what you told him’. The continuation in v. 24b insists on the fulﬁlment of what Yahweh said ‘as in this day’. 1 Kgs 2.4 and 8.23–26 also juxtapose two references or citations from Deut 6.5 and 2 Samuel 7. Without David’s or Moses’ name appearing in one or the other case, it is easy to appreciate that the literary and textual traditions point towards a progressive increase in the references to passages allusive to David and Moses. In conclusion, the mention of Moses which appears in the three passages from the text shared by Kings and Chronicles (1 Kgs 8.9// 2 Chron 5.10; 2 Kgs 14.6//2 Chron 25.4; and 2 Kgs 21.8//2 Chron 33.8) belongs to elements incorporated at a late stage in the editorial process of the book of Kings. The incorporation of such elements into the text has left traces in the textual transmission itself. This phenomenon is to be related to Qumran citation formulas in which the name of a book is substituted with Moses’ or David’s name, for example, ‘as David said’ (Catenaa [4Q177] 12–13+15+19.7), ‘and Moses said’ (CD v. 8), ‘[whic]h Moses spoke’ (Ordinancesa [4Q159] 5.3), or ‘as You spoke by the hand of Moses, saying’ (1QM x.6).14 14 M. Bernstein, ‘Scriptures: Quotation and Use’, in L. H. Schiﬀman and J. C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 839–42.

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Also, CD 6.3 introduces the citation Num 21.18 with the words ‘as Moses said’ though this formula is omitted in the CD version of 4Q266 3 ii 19 and 4Q267 2 9, as well as in the Cairo Genizah text. The ‘Words of the Heavenly Luminaries’ (4Q504 1 iii 12–13) speaks of punishments ‘of which Moses and your servants the prophets wrote’; in this case, however, no quotation is given. Also without a speciﬁc citation, 4Q266 18 v. 6 (a CD fragment = 4Q270 11 i 20) refers to ‘all the statutes found in the Torah of Moses’. The Apocryphon of Moses C (4Q377 2 ii 2) refers to matters learned ‘in the statutes of Moses’. The more usual expression ‘in the book of Moses’ (hçm rpsb) is used several times in the halakhic letter (4QMMT, C 11 = 4Q398 frag. 1 5) and in the Florilegium text (4Q174) introducing Exod 15.17–18.15 2. The Composition of the Solomon Narrative: 1 Kings 3–10 MT/LXX and 2 Chronicles 1–9 Auld establishes the Shared Text of Kings and Chronicles through a synoptic comparison of the sequence of the literary units which integrate those two works. Nevertheless, a more detailed comparison has to be performed on the basis of the text of LXX 3 Kingdoms which preserves in its main text the oldest available layout of the text of Kings. Chronicles knew a text of Samuel–Kings diﬀerent from that of the MT in these books and similar to that attested by 4QSama (4Q51), the Old Greek, the Old Latin and Josephus (Cross, Ulrich).16 The Greek translation of Chronicles (Paraleipomena) reﬂects this textual tradition. Therefore, variants that were ascribed to the author(s) of Chronicles, particularly historical or theological changes, are rather to be explained as elements proper to the textual tradition of Samuel– Kings represented by the LXX. A case in point is that of the order of the text after 1 Kgs 10.26 where LXX immediately places the text which corresponds with MT 15

J. E. Bowley, ‘Moses in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Living in the Shadow of God’s Anointed’, in P. W. Flint (ed.), The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), pp. 159–81. 16 F. M. Cross, ‘The Fixation of the Text of the Hebrew Bible’, From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), pp. 206–18, esp. 214; E. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM, 19; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1978).

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles

493

5.1. 2 Chronicles (9.25–26) presents the same order of materials as LXX 3 Kingdoms (10.26; 5.1). 2 Chronicles and LXX 3 Kingdoms also coincide in not knowing the MT addition at the beginning of 10.26 (μyçrpw bkr hmlç πsayw). In 5.1a17 the reading of Chronicles, μyklmh lkb, coincides with that of LXX 3 Kingdoms in the same location (5.1 after 10.26), pãntvn t«n basil°vn, and also with that of LXX 2.46k, §n pçsin to›w basileËsin, against MT 5.1, twklmmh lkb, which coincides with LXX 2.46b. The half verse 5.1b appears only in MT, a text which coincides with the supplement of LXX 2.46b: wyyj ymy lk hmlç ta μydb[w hjnm μyçgm = prosf°rontew d«ra ka‹ §doÊleuon t“ Salvmvn pãsaw tåw ≤m°raw t∞w zv∞w aÈtoË. The text of LXX 3 Kingdoms represents an older textual form than that which was transmitted by MT Kings and Chronicles. Proof of this is that it does not include additions of Chronicles which have made their way into MT Kings, like those present in 1 Kgs 8.1–6. The LXX version reﬂects a Hebrew text of Kings which did not know such inﬂuence of Chronicles.18 Orlinsky’s statement is not restricted to the glosses from Chronicles: ‘. . . wherever the Masoretic text has an excess over the LXX, it is most frequently the former that underwent expansion in post-LXX days, rather than a case of contraction in the latter’.19 The text represented by LXX Kingdoms is closer to this common source than MT Kings and Chronicles. Without going into detail, the text of 1 Kings 3–10//2 Chronicles 1–9, which has been the subject of recent studies, is analysed below.20 17 1 Kgs 5.1a appears at the same time in bold and italics (cf. following table), as it appears in LXX after 10.26, where it has a parallel in 2 Chron 9.26. 18 Cf. Montgomery and Gehman, Books of Kings, p. 185; J. Gray, I and II Kings (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press; London: SCM Press, 2nd edn, 1970), p. 43. Similarly, G. Braulik, ‘Spuren einer Neubearbeitung des deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerkes in 1 Kön 8,52–53.59–60’, Bib 52 (1971), pp. 20–33. M. Noth was sceptical regarding such a conclusion on the literary level based on the shorter text of LXX (Könige [BKAT, 9/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1968], pp. 171, 174). 19 H. M. Orlinsky, ‘The Kings-Isaiah Recensions of the Hezekiah Story’, JQR 30 (1939–1940), pp. 33–49 (40). 20 F. H. Polak, ‘The Septuagint Account of Solomon’s Reign: Revision and Ancient Recension’, in B. A. Taylor (ed.), X Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Oslo, 1998 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series, 51; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), pp. 139–64; A. Schenker, Septante et texte massorétique dans l’histoire la plus ancienne du texte de 1 Rois 2–14 (CahRB, 48; Paris: J. Gabalda, 2000); Z. Talshir, ‘The Reign of Solomon in the Making: PseudoConnections between 3 Kingdoms and Chronicles’, VT 50 (2000), pp. 233–49; P. S. F. van Keulen, Two Versions of the Solomon Narrative: An Inquiry into the Relationship between MT 1 Kgs. 2–11 and LXX 3 Reg. 2–11 (VTSup, 104; Leiden: Brill, 2005).

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Within this material, four blocks of text can be distinguished, represented diﬀerently in each textual tradition. The ﬁrst one is composed of the materials common to the three textual traditions. These common materials constitute the near totality of the text of 1 Kings 3–10//2 Chronicles 1–9 (bold texts). The second is formed by the passages common to LXX and MT Kings: the story of Solomon’s judgement (3.16–28), the lists of governors (4.1–6) and provinces (4.7–19) and the description of the palace (7.1–12), as well as other references to Solomon’s wisdom and to the temple (5.7–8; 5.9–10; 5.11–14; 5.28; 5.32b; 6.1a; 6.4–10) (underlined ). 2 Chronicles

LXX Kings Main Text

MT Kings

>

3.1a 3.1b 3.2–3 3.4–15 3.16–28 4.1 4.2–6 4.7–19 4.20 5.1a 5.1b 5.2–4 5.5 5.6=10.26 5.7–8

LXX Kings Supplement 2.46l

Bamot Vision 1 Judgement

1.3–13

List 1 List 2

3.2–3 3.4–15 3.16–28 4.1 4.2–6 4.7–19 >

9.26 Provisions

> 1.14; 9.25

Wisdom Pharaoh’s daughter Hiram Workmen

2.1–15 2.16 2.17

Temple

3.1–4

> > 5.7–8 5.2– 4 5.9–10 5.11–14 3.1b 9.16–17a 5.15–26 5.27 5.28 5.29–30 5.32b 6.1a > 5.31–32a 6.37–38a 6.2–3 6.4–10

5.9–10 5.11–14

2.35ca

(2.46l) (2.46h) 2.46a 2.46b*/k 2.46efga 2.46gb 2.46i 2.35a.b (2.35ca) (2.35i)

5.15–26 5.27 5.28 5.29–30 5.31–32a 5.32b 6.1a 6.1b 6.2–3 6.4–10

2.35d(h)

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles

495

Table (cont.) 2 Chronicles

3.4b–14*

LXX Kings Main Text > > 6.15–36 >

Palace Hiram Cultic objects

(2.12–13) 3.15–17* 4.1–5.2

Dedication Vision 2

5.3–7.10 7.11–22

Hiram Buildings and corvée

8.1–2

Pharaoh’s daughter Altar Fleet Sheba Wealth

Wisdom Chariots Silver Chariots

8.3–6* 8.6*–9 8.10 8.11 8.12 8.17–18 9.1–12 9.13–21

9.22–24 9.25/1.14 9.26 9.27/1.15 9.28*/1.16 1.17

7.13–14 7.15–21 7.22–51 7.1–12 ch. 8 9.1–9 9.24a 9.10–14

> > > 9.26–28 10.1–13 10.14–22 9.15a.b 9.17b–18 9.19 –22 10.23–25 10.26 5.1a 10.27 10.28 10.29

MT Kings 6.11–13 6.14 6.15–36 6.37–38a 6.38b 7.1–12 7.13–14 7.15–21.22 7.22–51

LXX Kings Supplement 2.35cb 2.35cb

ch. 8 9.1–9 9.10–14 9.15a 9.15b 9.16–17a 9.17b–18* 9.19–22 9.23 (5.30) 9.24a 9.24b 9.25 9.26–28 10.1–13 10.14–22

10.23–25 10.26 (5.6)

2.35k* 2.35i 2.35i 2.35h 2.35f 2.35f 2.35g

2.46i* 2.46k(46b)

10.27 10.28 10.29

As for the rest of the materials, some are also common to MT Kings/LXX 3 Kingdoms but with diﬀerent placements in MT and LXX ( passages in italics): 3.1b; 5.1a; 5.2–4; 5.31–32a; 6.37–38a; 7.1–12; 9.15a.b; 9.16–17a; 9.17b–18*; 9.19–22; 9.24a. Of these, the following have correspondences with the text of the supplements: 31b = 2.35c; 5.1a = 2.46b*/k; 5.2–4 = 2.46efga; 9.15a = 2.35k*; 9.17b–18* = 2.35i; 9.24ª = 2.35f. The remaining have no correspondence in the supplements.

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Finally, some materials are exclusive to MT, with no match in the LXX: 3.1a; 4.20; 5.1b; 5.5; 5.6 (10.26); 6.1b; 6.11–13; 6.14; 6.38b; 9.23; 9.24b; 9.25. In my opinion, composition criticism is to be carried out before redaction criticism (Deuteronomistic or sapiential) and also before the analysis of the possible exegetical tendencies underlying MT or the Hebrew reﬂected by LXX. The study of the composition of the text is centred, on the one side, on the literary seams between the various units which integrate the composition and, on the other, in the correspondence between the materials of MT/LXX (main text) and that of the supplements of LXX (2.35a–k; 2.46a–l). The most stable and oldest textual tradition is that attested by the three textual traditions (texts in boldface). The texts common to LXX and MT Kings, missing in 2 Chronicles, are not necessarily more recent because of this. They can also be ancient, although of a diﬀerent provenance (passages underlined and in italics). The texts of MT Kings absent from the main text of LXX 3 Kingdoms correspond in a large proportion with materials present in the supplements of LXX. Three sections can be diﬀerentiated in which these correspondences seem to concentrate: (1) The materials of MT in 4.20–5.6 correspond to those of the supplement of LXX 2.46a.b*/k.e.f.g.(h).i. In MT they interrupt the literary unit formed by 4.7–19 and 5.7–8.2–4. The immense majority of critics acknowledge that LXX here represents an older form than that transmitted by MT.21 (2) Also, the materials of MT 9.15 to 9.25 correspond with those of LXX 2.35k*.i.h.f.g. In this case, the insertion of this material in MT interrupts the literary unit composed of 9.10–14 and 9.26–28, and centred on the trade relationships between Solomon and Hiram of Tyre, with references to the gold which Solomon received from this trade (vv. 9.14 and 9.28). The text of LXX keeps together the elements which integrate this unit. It is remarkable and diﬃcult to

21 J. Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2nd edn, 1899), p. 271; H. Hroznÿ, Die Abweichungen des Codex Vaticanus vom hebräischen Texte in den Königsbüchern (Leipzig: W. Drugulin, 1909), p. 27; D. W. Gooding, Relics of Ancient Exegesis: A Study of the Miscellanies in 3 Reigns 2 (SOTSMS, 4; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), pp. 40–42; Polak, ‘The Septuagint Account of Solomon’s Reign’, p. 150.

kings (mt⁄ lxx) and chronicles

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explain the fact that Chronicles contains here part of this material (2 Chron 8.3–12 and also 9.26). (3) In the MT the description of the construction of the palace is found inserted in the middle of the account of the construction of the temple (7.1–12). The LXX ﬁrst presents the narrative of the construction and decoration of the temple and only later makes reference to the palace. This diﬀerent order in MT and LXX is connected to the diﬀerent placement in either text of 5.31–32a and 6.37–38a. In my opinion the MT has transposed these materials together with 7.1–12.22 The ‘main text’ of the LXX constitutes the oldest identiﬁable form of 1 Kings 3–10//2 Chronicles 1–9. Chronicles shows that the MT additions which coincide with the ‘miscellanies’ are secondary in the text, even those of the text of Chronicles itself (8.3–12 = 3 Kgdms 2.35i.h.f.g). The ‘miscellanies’ formed two collections more or less structured around the topic of Solomon’s wisdom and his secular politics. The Hebrew edition represented by the LXX placed these collections at a more suitable point within its own literary structure (at the beginning of the narrative on Solomon). The second edition transmitted by the MT scattered the material of these collections through chapters three to ten, placing every piece in a more suitable context according to its own content. Chronicles did not know the second collection (2.46a–l) and a great part of the ﬁrst (2.35a–n). As observed by Graeme Auld, the earliest biblical tradition of 1 Kings was centred around the temple of Jerusalem. Only later, by the insertion of the ‘miscellanies’, the biblical tradition—as represented diﬀerently by the MT and LXX—took on a more sapiential and profane aspect. But the sapiential character does not seem completely absent from an old form of the text, prior to the triple textual tradition. The most stable and oldest material of Kings, in fact, has to be looked for in the texts of the triple and double tradition. F. H. Polak sustains that the ancient Solomon narrative is represented by the following pericopes: 4.1 (similar to LXX 2.46l); 4.2–19; 5.7–8; 5.2–4; 5.14a–b LXX (corresponding to 3.1; 9.16 MT); 5.15–30; 5.31–32

22 J. Trebolle Barrera, ‘Redaction, Recension, and Midrash in the Books of Kings’, in G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study, 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), pp. 475–92. For a diﬀerent opinion see Polak, ‘The Septuagint Account of Solomon’s Reign’, p. 153.

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(= 6.1a–b LXX); 6.37–38 (corresponding to 6.1c–d LXX); 6.2–36 (except 6.11–14); 7.1–51; 9.10b (corresponding to 9.1; 8.1 LXX); 9.11–14; 9.26–28; 10.11–12; 10.14*; 9.15b, 18–19; 10.26, 28–29; 11.1a, 3a. All these texts are common to MT and LXX, some of them are also present in Chronicles and others are placed in diﬀerent contexts of MT and LXX. They probably constitute the ancient stock of Kings, somewhat more extensive than what is represented by Chronicles. Polak assigns to a ‘wisdom redaction’ the passages: 3.4–15; 3.16–28; 5.9–10, 11–14, 21; 9.15a, 19b–23, 25; 10.1–10, 11–15*, 21–22, 23–25, 27.23 The material is heterogeneous, encompassing as it does texts from the triple tradition (3.14–15; 5.21; 10.1–10; 10.11–15*, 21–22, 23–25, 27) together with others attested by MT and LXX (3.16–28; 5.9–10, 11–14 and verses present in diﬀerent locations: 9.15a, 19b–23, 25, the last [v. 25] absent from LXX). Nevertheless, among the ancient stock there was already material of a sapiential theme like 3.4–15; 5.9–10, 11–14. It does not seem possible to reconstruct a ‘wisdom redaction’ with materials of such a heterogeneous textual attesting. 3. Old Elements of the Textual and Literary Tradition of Samuel–Kings With the modiﬁcations previously proposed, the model of study advanced by G. Auld may be valid for 1 Kings 3–10 MT LXX// 2 Chronicles 1–9 and in particular for the story of the vision in Gibeon (1 Kgs 3.4–15//1 Chron 1.6b–13).24 It does not seem to be, nevertheless, for the rest of 1 Kings and 2 Kings, which do not only imply other sources,25 but also other models of analysis. The comparative study of MT/LXX Samuel–Kings and Chronicles can contribute to advance the debate around the composition history of Samuel–Kings. Research after Martin Noth has been centred in the study of the Deuteronomistic redaction, neglecting the study of the composition of the book, as well as the history of the text and textual criticism. Biblical manuscripts from Qumran, concretely those

23

Polak, ‘The Septuagint Account of Solomon’s Reign’, pp. 162–63. A. G. Auld, ‘Solomon at Gibeon: History Glimpsed’, in S. A˙ituv and B. A. Levine (eds.), Avraham Malamat Volume (ErIsr, 24; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1993), pp. 1*–7*. 25 Auld, Kings without Privilege, p. 148. 24

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of historical books (4QJosha, 4QJudga and 4QSama) and of Jeremiah, which have experienced the inﬂux of Deuteronomistic redactors, show that the order of composition units has also a history to be reconstructed, as it is fundamental for the understanding of the aﬀected book. A comparison of the triple textual tradition of MT/LXX Kings and Chronicles could contribute to the recovery of recent and old elements of the textual and literary tradition of Samuel–Kings. Here, I will brieﬂy mention two of them. The ﬁrst one is related to the division of the books of Samuel–Kings, which knows of a diﬀerent textual evidence in the diﬀerent texts. Chronicles starts its account of the biblical history using as a source 2 Samuel up to 11.1 (2 Samuel 5.1–11.1//1 Chronicles 11.1–20.1). At this point it omits the story of David and Bathsheba, 2 Samuel 11.2–12.25, as well as the rest of the ‘history of succession’, 2 Samuel 13–20; 1 Kings 1–2.26 The same verse 11.1, closes the non-kaige section of the LXX text (1 Samuel 1.1–2 Samuel 11.1) and opens the kaige section that runs as far as 1 Kgs 2.11 (LXXL). The division of the text according to the kaige recension corresponds probably to a similar division in the original. This could suggest that the text delimited by this recension, 1 Samuel 11.1–2 Kings 2.11, could have formed a separate scroll.27 The textual and literary cut in 11.1 seems due to the phenomena pertaining to the composition and editing of 2 Samuel. Chronicles reproduces in 20.1–3 the text of 2 Sam 11.1* + 12.26, 30–31, without the interposed story of David and Bathsheba. In 2 Samuel a linking repetition (Wiederaufnahme), ‘attacked and conquered . . . attacked and conquered’, marks the addition of vv. 27–29a.

26

After 2 Sam 11.1 Chronicles continues with the accounts that form part of the ‘Appendix’ of 2 Samuel 21–24 (1 Chron 20.4–8 = 2 Sam 21.18–22 and 1 Chronicles 21 = 2 Samuel 24). Chronicles follows a text of Samuel in which the materials of the Appendix were closely connected to those prior to 2 Sam 11.1. On the diﬀerent deﬁnitions and characterisations of the ‘history of succession’ see, W. Dietrich, Von David zu den Deuteronomisten: Studien zu den Geschichtsüberlieferungen des Alten Testament (BWANT, 156; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2002), pp. 32–57. 27 Both the omission in Chronicles of the stories following 2 Sam 11.1 as well as the kaige division of the Greek text at this same point have been ascribed to the wish to avoid texts that compromise David’s character, such as the immediately following account concerning David, Bathsheba and Uriah. Cf. S. L. McKenzie, The Chronicler’s Use of the Deuteronomistic History (HSM, 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 37, 72.

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This insertion ascribes to Joab the wish to leave to David the honour of having conquered the city of Rabbah. As a result the same verbs ‘attacked and conquered’ ﬁrst have Joab as their subject (12.26) and then David (12.29b). In 1 Chron 20.1, instead, Joab is the only protagonist: ‘Joab led the troops . . . reduced Rabbah and destroyed it’. Chronicles reproduces a text that did not know 2 Sam 12.26–29. 1 Chron 20.1 reproduces 1 Sam 11.1 in line with its own Vorlage, which represents here a form earlier than that of MT. Joab was the protagonist throughout the account of the campaign against the Ammonites (2 Sam 10.1–14 + 11.1 + 12.30–31//2 Chron 19.1–15 + 20.1–3). David’s role is reduced to sending Joab into battle and collecting the booty at the end of the battle. Joab is also the protagonist in the conquest of Jerusalem (1 Chron 11.4–9). Josephus (Ant. VII 63–64) also ascribes to Joab the taking of the city, in an account similar to the one in Chronicles. Instead, in 2 Sam 5.6–10 it is David who takes the fortress and builds the Milloh, without any reference to Joab.28 The second element of the ancient literary tradition of Samuel–Kings which can be recovered through a comparison with Chronicles is the reference to Saul and Gibeon which is exclusive to Chronicles. This reference derives from its Vorlage of Samuel–Kings or from other sources. Chronicles includes the genealogy of Saul and extends it as far as the Exile and even duplicates its text in 1 Chron 8.29–40// 9.35–44. Saul’s dynasty has its roots in Gibeon (1 Chron 8.29–33// 9.35–39). The results of ‘the battle of Gibeon’ (2 Sam 2.12–32) are recorded later (2 Sam 3.30). David defeats the Philistines ‘from Gibeon to the entrance of Gezer’ (2 Sam 5.25 = 1 Chron 14.16). The ark which was ‘on the heights of Gibeon’ is transported to Jerusalem (2 Sam 6.1–19//1 Chron 13.6–14; 15.25–16.3). The followers of Zeba and of David meet in Gibeon (2 Sam 20.8). David leaves priests ‘on the height of Gibeon’ (1 Chron 16.39), ‘the main sanctuary’ to which Solomon comes at the beginning of his reign (1 Kgs 3.4–13//2 Chron 1.1–13). The Chronicles account makes Solomon return ‘from the height of Gibeon’ to Jerusalem (2 Chron 1.13, a reference absent in 1 Kings 3). The altar of holocausts was

28 S. K. Bietenhard, Des Königs General: Die Heerführertraditionen in der vorstaatlichen und frühen staatlichen Zeit und die Joabgestalt in 2 Sam 2–20; 1 Kön 1–2 (OBO, 163; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998).

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‘on the height of Gibeon’, as Chronicles notes at the end of the story of the census, the plague and the construction of the altar (2 Sam 24.21–28//1 Chron 21.1–28). This narrative about the building of the altar points to that of the building of the Jerusalem temple. Chronicles makes this relationship explicit in 1 Chronicles 21.28–22.19, as does LXX 2 Sam 24.25, ka‹ pros°yhken Salvmvn §p‹ tÚ yusiastÆrion §pÉ §sxãtƒ ˜ti mikrÚn ∑n §n pr≈toiw, a sentence missing from MT. Chronicles seems, therefore, to attest (Northern) traditions that contained more references to Saul and to Gibeon than what can be distinguished in Samuel–Kings.

THE ‘SHARED TEXT’ OF SAMUEL–KINGS AND CHRONICLES RE-EXAMINED John Van Seters In 1983 Graeme Auld and I, quite independently of each other, put forth the proposal that the so-called ‘Court History’ or ‘Succession Narrative’ of 2 Samuel 9–20; 1 Kings 1–2, was not a source for the Deuteronomist but a much later supplement to the original narrative.1 However, as Auld has more recently pointed out, the implications of this observation led us into quite diﬀerent directions.2 Whereas I saw the Court History as a clearly deﬁned literary work that was added to the DtrH, Auld saw it as merely part of a large mass of plusses that were added to a much smaller literary corpus, the ‘shared text’, which was deﬁned as being only that part of the Hebrew text of Samuel–Kings that it has in common with Chronicles.3 It was the absence of such a large block of text as the Court History, as well as the great body of material dealing with the Northern Kingdom of Israel, that led Auld to suggest this much more limited original ‘shared text’ held in common by both the author/editor of Samuel– Kings as it now exists and the Chronicler. Consequently, the rest of the text of Samuel–Kings not found in Chronicles consists of later additions unknown to the Chronicler and all these additions may be roughly dated as late as the Chronicler’s own additions. Therefore, Samuel–Kings has no priority over that of Chronicles as ﬁrst

1 A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets Through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 3–23 (16); J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 277–91. 2 A. G. Auld, ‘Samuel and Genesis: Some Question’s of John Van Seters’s “Yahwist”’, in S. L. McKenzie, T. Römer and H. H. Schmid (eds.), Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible: Essays in Honour of John Van Seters (BZAW, 294; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2000), pp. 23–32 (23). 3 A. G. Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994).

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suggested by de Wette4 and followed by critical scholarship ever since.5 While Auld is ready to acknowledge that the ‘shared text’ may consist of diﬀerent literary strata and the plusses of Samuel–Kings may likewise be stratiﬁed, as reﬂected in the notion of multiple Deuteronomists, the Chronicler’s additions seem to make up a single, homogeneous supplement by one author. Auld rejects the criterion of characteristic language and theological concepts that were used to identify the scope and limits of the Deuteronomist(s) because these clearly overlap between his ‘shared text’ and the plusses. In his view this common language in the plusses may simply derive from, and imitate, the language and themes of the ‘shared text’. When the argument is put in this way, then it is diﬃcult to see what would count as a reasonable case against his hypothesis. This radical thesis strikes at the very basis of historical criticism of the Pentateuch and historical books as inaugurated by de Wette. Hence it is a thesis that warrants very close scrutiny. It would appear that the best way to fairly debate this hypothesis of the ‘shared text’ is ﬁrst to look again at the question of whether or not the Chronicler knew of the Court History of David as part of his source and chose to delete it from his own portrait of David to counter the Court History’s presentation of the Davidic monarchy and replace it with a quite diﬀerent idealisation. This is doubly important if one holds, as I do, that the Court History was a later addition to DtrH, because if the Chronicler did know of the Court History, this would mean that the Chronicler also had access to the DtrH in the rest of Samuel–Kings as well. As I have argued elsewhere, the Court History shows complete awareness of the DtrH, both the Book of Judges and the early part of Samuel as well as the later part of Kings, including the story of Ahab and the history of the Northern Kingdom.6 Thus, if it could be shown that the

4 On de Wette’s treatment of Chronicles, see M. P. Graham, The Utilization of 1 and 2 Chronicles in the Reconstruction of Israelite History in the Nineteenth Century (SBLDS, 116; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 9–34. 5 See M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2nd edn, 1957), pp. 131–43. This classic treatment of the problem of sources is followed with slight modiﬁcations in most critical commentaries. 6 J. Van Seters, ‘The Court History and DtrH’, in A. de Pury and T. Römer (eds.), Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids: Neue Einsichten und Anfragen (OBO, 176; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 2000), pp. 70–93.

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Chronicler knew the Court History, then the basic evidence for the ‘shared text’ hypothesis would be seriously undermined. The second way to assess the likelihood of this thesis is to look at the ‘shared text’, or at least a part of it as reconstructed by Auld, to see if it makes any coherent sense without the larger context provided by the present text of Samuel–Kings. Space does not permit us to look at the whole reconstructed ‘shared text’ but only that which has to do with the reign of David and Solomon and particularly the Chronicler’s use of the books of Samuel and the early part of Kings.7 These two tests do not by any means exhaust all the issues or questions raised by Auld’s provocative study, but they should be suﬃcient to decide upon the merits of the proposal. The initial challenge to Auld’s thesis was already raised by Hugh Williamson when the proposal was ﬁrst put forward in 1983, as to whether or not the Chronicler knew the Court History, and he concluded that the Chronicler did know a version of Samuel that included the Court History.8 He points speciﬁcally to the Chronicler’s account of the Ammonite campaign in 1 Chron 20.1–3 where it seems clear that the Chronicler has merely taken the initial verse in 1 Sam 11.1 indicating the start of the campaign and spliced it together with the ending in 1 Sam 12.26, 30–31 which reports the eventual overthrow of the city of Rabbah without the report of the aﬀair with Bathsheba. But in doing this the Chronicler has created a serious contradiction, for in 1 Chron 20.1 it is reported that David remained behind in Jerusalem, which in Samuel is prelude to the adultery with Bathsheba, while in vv. 2–3 David is now in the ﬁeld at Rabbah, claiming the victory and ﬁnally returning with the people to Jerusalem. How David got to Rabbah after Joab’s victory is explained in Samuel, but is missing in Chronicles. Auld defends his ‘shared text’ as the original and glosses over this contradiction, but this is hardly convincing.9 The list of the oﬀspring of David in 1 Chron 3.1–9 has closely parallel material in Samuel,10 found in the two quite separate genealogies

7

Auld sets out this part of the ‘shared text’ in Kings without Privilege, pp. 42–67. H. G. M. Williamson, ‘A Response to A. G. Auld’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 33–39 (35–37). 9 A. G. Auld, ‘Prophets Through the Looking Glass: A Response to Robert Carroll and Hugh Williamson’, JSOT 27 (1983), pp. 41–44. 10 See also S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), pp. 94–97. 8

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of 2 Sam 3.2–5 and 5.13–16. The second of these is made part of Auld’s ‘shared text’,11 but the ﬁrst is not, for the obvious reason that it is imbedded in the Court History and plays a vital role within that work. The second group of Jerusalem oﬀspring, however, are said to be in addition to those born in Hebron. It could, of course, be argued that this was information drawn from a third source, but given the other clues that suggest the Chronicler’s dependence upon the Court History, this seems rather unlikely. This is conﬁrmed by the fact that the Chronicler adds to the genealogy as a whole three additional pieces of information. The one is the dating of David’s reign of seven and a half years in Hebron and 33 years in Jerusalem. Auld includes this information in his ‘shared text’ so we may set this aside for the moment. A second piece of information is that Bathshua the daughter of Ammiel is the mother of the ﬁrst four children, including Solomon. The list of names in 2 Sam 5.13–15 mentions no names of mothers so it is very likely that the Chronicler merely derived the name from the story of Bathsheba in 2 Samuel 11–12 and added it after Solomon’s name as the mother of the ﬁrst four children. The Chronicler makes her the daughter of Ammiel, whereas 2 Sam 11.3 makes her the daughter of Eliam, who in 2 Sam 23.34 (the ‘shared text’) is given as the son of Ahithophel, the traitor in the revolt of Absalom. This would give Solomon a dubious pedigree so perhaps the Chronicler altered the names to avoid any such suspicion. (Ammiel is just the transposition of the two elements in the name Eliam.) The name is also omitted from the heroes of David in the Chronicler. The third addition to the genealogy is the reference to ‘Tamar, their sister’ (1 Chron 3.9). Since the ‘shared text’ of 2 Sam 5.13 indicates that there were more daughters of David, the fact that special attention is given to this one must relate to the story of Tamar in 2 Samuel 13. The reference seems to assume that this story is well known and therefore it is part of his source in Samuel. As Sara Japhet points out, the inclusion of Tamar means that ‘all of David’s family known to the Chronicler from the book of Samuel are assembled, to complete the list of royal oﬀspring’.12 The generally accepted limits for the Court History of 2 Samuel 9–20; 1 Kings 1–2, which Auld also uses, include the account of

11 12

Auld, Kings without Privilege, p. 44. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 97.

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the Ammonite war in 2 Samuel 10, which Auld chooses to overlook. In Rost’s treatment of the Succession Narrative or Court History, he does try to make the case that a substantial part of this battle account belongs to an older ‘archival’ source contemporary with the events.13 I would strongly dispute the existence of any such archival sources,14 but that is not our concern here. However, Rost would also argue that at the very least 2 Sam 10.1–6 does belong to the Court History and has all the characteristics of that work. I would go much further and say that the whole chapter is a ﬁction created by the author of the Court History together with the continuation of the Ammonite war in 2 Samuel 11–12.15 The fact that 2 Sam 10.1–6 portrays David as having been a friend of Nahash, who in 1 Samuel 11 is represented as such a bitter enemy of Israel and the one over whom Saul won such a great victory to make him king over Israel, is part of the cynical treatment of David and the monarchy characteristic of the Court History.16 Rost, in his presentation of the Succession Narrative, also makes the case for including in this work the scene in the conclusion of the ark narrative between David and Michal in 2 Sam 6.16, 20–23.17 He identiﬁes the characteristics and basic elements of this unit with the theme of the Court History and this moves him further to see it as dependent upon the ark narrative, on the one hand, and as establishing a vital link with the subsequent episode of the promise to David in 2 Samuel 7, on the other. In the Chronicler’s greatly embellished version of the recovery of the ark in 1 Chronicles 15–16, the unpleasant scene of 2 Sam 6.20–23, which clearly reﬂects badly on David, is omitted, but the Chronicler does retain v. 16 (1 Chron 15.29), perhaps because when treated in isolation it reﬂects badly on

13 L. Rost, The Succession to the Throne of David (trans. M. D. Rutter and D. M. Gunn; Sheﬃeld: Almond Press, 1982), pp. 57–62. 14 See Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 299–301. Furthermore, Rost’s comparison of the account of the Ammonite war with the Assyrian royal inscriptions ignores the fact that in no case do they recount the activity of the military generals in the ﬁeld while the king remains in the palace. It is always the victorious king conducting a holy war at the forefront of his troops that is presented in these inscriptions. See Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 60–68. 15 2 Sam 10.15–19 is of quite a diﬀerent character from the rest and may have originally been part of the source in 2 Samuel 8. See Van Seters, In Search of History, p. 283, n. 157. 16 Van Seters, In Search of History, p. 290. 17 Rost, Succession, pp. 85–90; also Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 280–81.

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the house of Saul.18 However, if it is part of the ‘shared text’, then it remains as a curious fragment without explanation. Michal is identiﬁed as the daughter of Saul, but nowhere does the ‘shared text’ suggest that she is the wife and queen of David. So we do not know that she is looking out of the palace window, nor why this remark should interrupt the sequence of actions that bring the ark to its resting place. The explanation becomes entirely clear only with its complement in 2 Sam 6.20–23, which is not part of Auld’s ‘shared text’ or the text of Chronicles. If, therefore, this remark about Michal is part of the text that the Chronicler used, it means that not only the Court History but also much else about David’s early history must be part of the Chronicler’s Vorlage. The omissions reﬂect the Chronicler’s ideological bias, not the limitations of his source. There is, likewise, good reason for the Chronicler to omit all the derogatory history that follows in 2 Samuel 13–20, but as Williamson again points out,19 the Chronicler does include, in revised form, the narrative in 2 Samuel 24 on David’s census, which has always been viewed as part of a late supplement (2 Samuel 21–24) that interrupts the Court History, which continues in 1 Kings 1–2. The account of Solomon’s succession to the throne of David in 1 Kings 1–2 has been completely and radically revised by the Chronicler in 1 Chronicles 23–29. Now it should be noted that the Court History’s version of the succession is itself an addition to the older DrtH treatment which is very brieﬂy stated in 1 Kgs 2.1–4, containing an exhortation by David to Solomon, followed by David’s death and the quite uncontested succession of Solomon in 2 Kgs 2.10–12. There is no hint in DtrH that Solomon was made king before David’s death and indeed 2 Sam 7.12 makes clear that it would only happen after David’s death. It is the Court History that creates the episode of the struggle between David’s sons and the palace intrigue that puts Solomon on the throne before David’s death, and it is this innovation that the Chronicler seeks to revise and whitewash. Now it is at this point that Auld seems to have considerable trouble in reconstructing his ‘shared text’.20 He begins with the

18

H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982), p. 127; Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 307–308. 19 Williamson, ‘Response’, pp. 36–37. 20 Auld, Kings without Privilege, pp. 54–55.

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common statement ‘When David was old and full of days . . .’ (1 Chron 23.1), which is very similar to 1 Kgs 1.1a: ‘When King David was old and advanced in years . . .’. However, Auld completes the statement: ‘he made Solomon his son king over Israel out of all his sons’. This follows 1 Chron 23.1b except that the words that I have emphasised are not found in Chronicles and are only suggested in a much later text in 1 Chron 28.5. The statement in 1 Kings 1 is completed in an entirely diﬀerent fashion: ‘they covered him with clothes but he could not get warm’. This hardly reﬂects the common text that Auld has reconstructed. The next part of Auld’s ‘shared text’ is part of the exhortation in 1 Kgs 2.1–4, which begins in Auld’s reconstruction ‘When his time to die drew near . . .’. This is very close to the King’s text, except that the latter includes David’s name: ‘When David’s time to die grew near . . .’. There is no comparable introduction in Chronicles. Now when we set these two introductory statements of 1 Kgs 1.1a next to v. 2a as they are in the ‘shared text’ with only a very brief remark between them, the complete redundancy of the second is obvious and the reason why Auld has omitted David’s name in the second sentence. That the ‘shared text’ would have had such a completely redundant statement so close to the ﬁrst one is very unlikely. The reason why two such similar statements appear in Kings is because the one belongs to the Court History and the other to the Deuteronomist. The charge by David in the ‘shared text’ follows that of Kings except that it is greatly abbreviated to remove the most obvious references to Deuteronomy (‘keeping his statutes, his commandments, his ordinances and his testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses’). There is nothing very similar to Auld’s text in Chronicles except the vague exhortation in 1 Chron 28.7–8. This kind of prejudicial reconstruction of the ‘shared text’ does not inspire conﬁdence in the theory. In place of the Court History’s account of how Solomon became king, the Chronicler has David assemble all the oﬃcials of the realm in order to set before them his own choice of Solomon from among his many sons as the future king. After many speeches and prayers, ‘they made Solomon the son of David king [the second time],21 and

21 I am inclined to follow Japhet, I and II Chronicles, p. 514, in thinking that “ènît is a secondary scribal addition inﬂuenced by 1 Chron 23.1. Cf. Williamson, 1 and

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they anointed him as Yahweh’s prince (nàgîd), and Zadok as priest’ (1 Chron 29.22b). The term nàgîd is used several times in DtrH with the meaning of Yahweh’s specially designated leader of his people and sometimes also anointed by a prophet (Saul: 1 Sam 9.16; 10.1; David: 1 Sam 13.14; 25.30; 2 Sam 5.2; 7.8; see also 1 Kgs 14.6 and 16.2). The Court History imitates this usage in 2 Sam 6.21; and 1 Kgs 1.35, only in this last instance it is David, not Yahweh, who designates Solomon to be nàgîd over Israel, a signiﬁcant departure from Dtr’s usage.22 The Chronicler repeats two instances connected with David in 1 Chron 11.2 and 17.7 and uses it again of David in 2 Chron 6.5 in imitation of the other Dtr passages. However, the use of nàgîd in 1 Chron 29.22b, cited above, appears to be dependent on the Court History’s reference to David’s designating Solomon as nàgîd in 1 Kgs 1.35, followed by Zadok’s anointing of Solomon in v. 39. This dependence upon the Court History seems to be conﬁrmed by additional details: the mention of great celebrations on the occasion in both cases, the reference to the anointing of Zadok as priest together with Solomon, and the emphasis that all of the leaders and the other sons of David pledge allegiance to Solomon in sharp contrast to the struggle for power between the two sons and their respective parties of leaders. It seems very unlikely that the Chronicler was ignorant of the Court History. The transition to the reign of Solomon in 1 Kgs 2.10–12, which is certainly in the pattern of DtrH, is taken over by Auld into his ‘shared text’. However, even though Chronicles uses this transition formula in 1 Chron 29.26–28, which he embellishes in v. 28a, there are some signiﬁcant diﬀerences. 1 Kings 2.12a states that after David’s death and burial, ‘Solomon sat upon the throne of David his father, and his kingdom was ﬁrmly established’. This follows closely the language of 2 Sam 7.12. Chronicles, however, merely says that after David’s death ‘Solomon, his son reigned in his stead’ without suggesting that he only came to the throne after his father’s death. Likewise his remark about the establishment of the kingdom is postponed to the beginning of the next episode after the remark about the sources for David’s reign: ‘Solomon the son of David established

2 Chronicles, p. 187; G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10 –29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 12A; New York: Doubleday, 2004), p. 948. 22 See Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 275, 288.

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himself in his kingdom’ (2 Chron 1.1a). Now this statement resembles much more closely the form of the statement that concludes the Court History in 1 Kgs 2.46b: ‘The kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon’, which sums up how Solomon conﬁrmed his control of the kingdom against his opponents.23 From the fragments of the Court History that still remain in Chronicles and are part of the ‘shared text’ of Auld, as well as all the additional clues presented above, it would appear that the Court History was a part of the text of Samuel–Kings that was used by the Chronicler. And since Auld and I are in agreement that the Court History was not an early source for the DtrH but a late supplement, it follows that something very close to the present text of Samuel–Kings was the major source for the Chronicler’s history. This also means that the older view of Chronicles, which was questioned by Auld, namely that the Chronicler revised the DtrH by removing those parts of it that were not in agreement with his ideology, still provides the best explanation for the literary facts present in the text. We now turn to the task of looking brieﬂy at the ‘shared text’ to see if it is a coherent, self-contained text. Again, we will be concerned only with the ﬁrst part of the text as it relates to the parallel text in Samuel and the early chapters of Kings. The ‘shared text’ begins with the conclusion of Saul’s ﬁnal battle with the Philistines in which he and his sons are killed. This may serve the Chronicler’s purpose of providing an introduction to David’s reign, but it is hardly likely that it existed without the rest of the account of the campaign, as related in Samuel, or indeed an account of the reign of Saul as a whole. It is quite inappropriate as the beginning of the earliest history of Israel. Not a part of Auld’s ‘shared text’ are the remarks in 1 Chron 10.13–14 which indicate that Saul died because ‘he did not keep the command of Yahweh, and also consulted a medium, seeking guidance’ and as a consequence ‘Yahweh killed him, and turned the kingdom over to David the son of Jesse’. This remark is, of course, directly dependent upon the account of Saul’s visit to the medium of Endor in 1 Samuel 28 and the judgement announced by the ghost of Samuel to Saul that his kingdom has been given by Yahweh to

23

See also Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 183.

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David because he did not obey the command of Yahweh to exterminate the Amalekites (cf. 1 Samuel 15) and this disobedience will lead to the death of himself and his sons.24 This is further supported by the Chronicler’s statement that the anointing of David as king over Israel was done ‘according to the word of Yahweh by Samuel’ (1 Chron 11.3), which again harks back to the episode reﬂected in 10.13–14 and 1 Samuel 28. It is scarcely possible to believe, therefore, that the Chronicler did not have the whole of this account of the ﬁnal campaign before him. Furthermore, since there is good reason to believe that this episode involving the medium of Endor, together with the related episode in 1 Samuel 15 is a secondary addition to the DtrH,25 it was the latest form of Samuel that the Chronicler had in front of him. From this episode on the fate of Saul and his kingdom in the far north of Israel, the scene in the ‘shared text’ shifts radically to David in Hebron (2 Sam 5.1–3; 1 Chron 11.1–3), where all the tribes of Israel come to make him king. This shift does not have the beneﬁt of the explanation in 1 Chron 10.13–14 but comes in the remarks of the Israelites in 1 Chron 11.2 in which we learn that David had a military career under Saul, such as is reﬂected in 1 Samuel. No explanation is given as to why David as the leader of Saul’s forces was not involved in the northern campaign but instead is stationed in Hebron, which is not even his hometown. The way in which the approach to David is made immediately following the death of Saul suggests that David’s reign over Israel began at this time. The ‘shared text’ as printed by Auld contains the transition formula in 2 Sam 5.4–5: ‘David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years. At Hebron he reigned over Judah seven years and six months; and at Jerusalem he reigned over all Israel and Judah thirty-three years’. This statement is omitted by the Chronicler at this point in his work, for the obvious reason that it contradicts his view that David immediately became king over all Israel. The more abbreviated formula in 1 Kgs 2.3, ‘The time that David reigned over Israel was forty years; he reigned seven years in Hebron, and thirty-three years in Jerusalem’, is repeated by the Chronicler in

24 See also Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 94–96; Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 229–30. 25 Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 258–64.

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1 Chron 29.27, but with the addition in v. 26 that this statement applies to ‘all Israel’. The Chronicler also adds a similar statement about the duration of David’s reign to his genealogy in 1 Chron 3.4 as a conclusion to the ﬁrst set of sons: ‘Six were born to him in Hebron where he reigned seven years and six months’. This is followed by the statement ‘He reigned thirty-three years in Jerusalem’, which then introduces the second genealogy that lists his oﬀspring in Jerusalem. There is no hint in the Chronicler that he recognises any distinction between the reigns over Judah alone and over both Judah and Israel. This theme of a single ‘all Israel’ rule is again picked up by the Chronicler in 1 Chronicles 12, which suggests that a large part of Israel deserted Saul at the time of the ﬁnal battle against the Philistines and came to David in Hebron to make him king. Judah only appears as a small part of this whole contingent.26 This certainly suggests a vigorous revision of the history in 2 Samuel 1–4 and not something that could develop out of the ‘shared text’. The account of the bringing of the ark up to Jerusalem in 2 Sam 6.1–20; 1 Chron 15.1–16.3, 43 is another instance that requires some knowledge of prior events to make the account intelligible. If the ark was a well-known cultic object whose rightful place was in the temple, then it is completely mystifying why the ark needed to be retrieved from some obscure location on the borders of Judah and from under the care of those who obviously did not belong to the Jerusalem priesthood. An explanation is even more pressing when the past history of the ark is recounted in the Nathan oracle of 2 Sam 7.6–7; 1 Chron 17.5–6. This oracle also alludes to other times and events, such as the period of the judges, the reign of Saul and especially his rejection in favour of David, and the early career of David. This rehearsal of a summary of these facts would strongly suggest that they were part of a prior account. The fact that the Chronicler speciﬁcally mentions ‘Samuel the seer’ (1 Chron 29.29) as one of his sources surely means that he is aware of the material in 1 Samuel covering the life of this prophet. The very title of ‘the seer’ strongly suggests a reference to the story of Saul’s lost donkeys and his secret anointing by Samuel in 1 Sam 9.1–10.16.

26 See the recent discussion and critical review of 1 Chronicles 12 by Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, pp. 572–78.

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The reign of Solomon may be treated much more simply in terms of the reconstructed ‘shared text’. Apart from the problems of the transition of the reigns from David to Solomon, which we have already discussed above, the Chronicler takes over the major portion of the account of Kings, in revised form, having to do with the vision at Gibeon (1 Kgs 3.4–15); the building and dedication of the temple (5.15–25; chapters 6–8); Solomon’s second vision in Jerusalem (9.1–9); his other building activities (9.10–28); and the visit of the queen of Sheba and Solomon’s great wealth (10.1–28). The omission of the judgement story regarding the two babies in 1 Kgs 3.16–28 and the administration of the realm in chapter 4 does not seriously aﬀect the coherence of the account. They are probably late additions to Dtr’s account of Solomon’s reign, in any event. The exclusion of Solomon’s apostasy through his marriage to many foreign women, which is basic to DtrH was omitted by the Chronicler for obvious ideological reasons, although Auld would dispute this and see it as Dtr’s addition to the ‘shared text’. There is, however, a signiﬁcant clue to the Chronicler’s treatment of the text of Kings that Auld has overlooked. This has to do with Solomon’s wife, the daughter of Pharaoh. The mention of the marriage to this Egyptian princess is made in 1 Kgs 3.1–2 as the seal of an alliance with Pharaoh, and it is closely related to his building activity. It is also mentioned again in conjunction with the building of Solomon’s palace, at which time he also built a house for her (1 Kgs 7.8). In the account of Solomon’s construction of Hazor, Megiddo and Gezer there is a statement about how Pharaoh captured and destroyed Gezer and then gave it as a dowry to his daughter, the wife of Solomon (1 Kgs 9.15–16). Rather belatedly, 1 Kgs 9.24 mentions that Pharaoh’s daughter ﬁnally took up residence in the palace built for her by Solomon. In 1 Kgs 11.1 the daughter of Pharaoh is put at the head of the list of foreign women who led Solomon into apostasy. As I have tried to show elsewhere, all these references to the Egyptian queen are later additions to Dtr’s treatment of the reign of Solomon.27 The Chronicler omits mention of some of these for obvious ideological reasons, but he does repeat one of them: ‘Solomon

27 See my discussion of these texts in ‘Israel and Egypt in the “Age of Solomon”’, in E. B. Banning (ed.), Walls of the Prince: Egypt and Canaan in Antiquity: Papers in Honour of John S. Holladay Jr. (Toronto: Benben Publications, forthcoming).

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brought up Pharaoh’s daughter from the city of David to the house which he had built for her’ (2 Chron 8.11a), which is quite similar to 1 Kgs 9.24, but then he adds: ‘for he said, “My wife shall not live in the house of David king of Israel, for the places to which the ark of the Lord has come are holy”’ (v. 11b). This, of course, ignores the fact that according to Kings the Egyptian queen had been in residence in the city of David alongside the ark for over twenty years. The reason for including this reference to Pharaoh’s daughter and ignoring the others seems to be the Chronicler’s urge to put a special spin on the construction of a separate palace for the Egyptian queen. However, all of the references to the Egyptian wife of Solomon in Kings belong together as a single source and are a late addition to DtrH, which again argues for the Chronicler’s use of a late and expanded edition of Samuel–Kings. In conclusion, I think it is safe to say that the Chronicler did use a text of Samuel–Kings that largely corresponds to the present text, including its Deuteronomistic composition and various later additions, such as the Court History. The challenge that Auld has given to this viewpoint has merit in so far as it forces us to re-examine the relationship of the two major historical works to each other. However, it does not change the judgement ﬁrst expressed by de Wette and conﬁrmed by Wellhausen and Noth, that the Chronicler’s work is largely derivative of the earlier history with the omissions and revisions motivated by ideological concerns quite diﬀerent from those of the earlier history.

ONCE UPON A TIME . . .? H. G. M. Williamson The ﬁrst book of Samuel, on which Graeme Auld is an expert, begins çya yhyw, whereas the book of Job begins hyh çya. Several suggestions have been made about what the diﬀerence might be. Clines, for instance, dismisses the suggestion of Gordis that the form in Job is indicative of ‘a tale and not actual history’1 and prefers to follow König’s explanation that ‘the subsequent narrative has no link with any stage in the course of Israel’s history’.2 The purpose of the following article is to set this discussion in the context of a slightly wider range of evidence than has been customary. It is oﬀered to Graeme as a token of long-standing friendship and collegiality, not least in association with the former British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem (now renamed the Kenyon Institute). In discussion of this issue, it seems to be usual to refer for parallels to 2 Sam 12.1 and Est 2.5, in both of which a form of çya is followed by the qatal of hyh; indeed, Clines goes so far as to say that ‘the only genuine parallels [to Job 1.1] occur at the beginnings of Nathan’s parable (2 Sam 12:1) and of Joash’s fable (2 Kgs 14:9)’. This must be questioned, however, both in respect to further evidence to be cited below and in respect to the reference to Joash’s fable, which certainly begins x-qatal, but without having either word in common. As we shall see, it is the use speciﬁcally of hyh which may prove signiﬁcant, whereas the use of x-qatal generally, if not

1 R. Gordis, The Book of Job: Commentary, New Translation and Special Studies (Moreshet Series, 2; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1978), p. 10. Gordis in turn (rightly) dismisses the suggestion that the form in Job is late. He attributes this view to E. Dhorme, Le livre de Job (ÉBib; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1926 = trans.: A Commentary on the Book of Job [trans. H. Knight; London: Thomas Nelson, 1967]), but without mentioning a page reference. I have been unable to locate where Dhorme says this, and indeed it seems incompatible with his positive explanation of the phrase ad loc. 2 D. J. A. Clines, Job 1–20 (WBC, 17; Dallas: Word Books, 1989), p. 9; cf. E. König, Historisch-Comparative Syntax der hebräischen Sprache (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrich, 1897), §365g (p. 511).

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particularly common, is certainly paralleled in a number of other passages; Gross, for instance, refers to Josh 2.2 and 2 Kgs 1.6 for this construction at the start of a speech (as in 2 Kgs 14.9).3 A further limiting factor in the history of research is that, for understandable reasons, scholars interested in syntax have generally conﬁned themselves to prose narrative, rightly observing that in many respects poetry has its own separate syntactical conventions, not least with respect to the verb and its ‘tenses’. Consequently, without claiming to have undertaken a comprehensive survey of the literature, I observe that several of the passages which ought to be considered are not mentioned at all, or if they are only very much in passing, in such recent studies as Niccacci, Revell, Goldfajn,4 and so on. So long as the discussion is limited to the strictly syntactical, this may be acceptable, but there are other considerations which should also play a role, not least the idiom associated with a speciﬁc genre (as in English ‘Once upon a time. . .’); in such cases, there is no good reason to limit the analysis to prose narrative, so long, of course, as it is reasonable to expect that the postulated genre might also appear in poetry. The form at the beginning of 1 Samuel is common; it is the form in Job that is initially more interesting. Rather than discussing xqatal forms generally, however, it would seem at least worthwhile to

3 W. Gross, ‘Syntaktische Erscheinungen am Anfang althebräischer Erzählungen: Hintergrund und Vordergrund’, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume: Vienna 1980 (VTSup, 32; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1981), pp. 131–45 (134). (Gross’s earlier study, ‘Zur Funktion von qatal: Die Verbformen in neueren Veröﬀentlichungen’, BN 4 [1977], pp. 25–38, is unfortunately not available to me.) Other examples may be found in: P. Joüon, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (trans. and rev. T. Muraoka; SubBi, 14; 2 vols; Rome: Editrice Pontiﬁcio Istituto Biblico, 1991), 2:§155nd (pp. 581–82); and at various points in A. Niccacci, The Syntax of the Verb in Classical Hebrew Prose ( JSOTSup, 86; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1990); and idem, ‘Finite Verb in the Second Position of the Sentence: Coherence of the Hebrew Verbal System’, ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 434–40. 4 Niccacci, Syntax; E. J. Revell, ‘The System of the Verb in Standard Biblical Prose’, HUCA 60 (1989), pp. 1–37; T. Goldfajn, Word Order and Time in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998); J.-M. Heimerdinger, Topic, Focus and Foreground in Ancient Hebrew Narrative ( JSOTSup, 295; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1999). Although they treat both prose and poetry, R. Bartelmus, HYH: Bedeutung und Funktion eines hebräischen »Allerweltswortes« — zugleich ein Beitrag zur Frage des hebräischen Tempussystems (ATSAT, 17; St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag, 1982), and B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), similarly make no reference to our topic.

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survey occurrences of x (where x is a noun or proper noun acting as the subject) + hyh (or, if appropriate, of course, htyh or wyh; naturally, second and ﬁrst person forms are not at issue5). I am not aware that the material has been previously collected and considered together; the results are modest in terms of number, but interesting when considered together as a group. In order to clarify the terms of our search, the following are excluded for the reasons stated. The ﬁrst word should not have the conjunction preﬁxed to it, as this invites confusion with the regular circumstantial clause (which in certain conditions leads to the qatal verb being the equivalent of a pluperfect6). Examples of this construction abound in all studies of Hebrew syntax. Nor should the initial word be a pronoun; it must be a noun or proper name (so not hyh awh as at Gen 4.21). The use of a pronoun automatically means that the sentence has a previous referent, so that it does not ﬁt the conditions of our opening example. For the same reason, there must not be a pronominal suﬃx in the immediate context (so not whypb htyh tma trwt at Mal 2.6). Clearly, the verb hyh needs to be a simple predicate of existence, not an auxiliary verb (so not h[r hyh . . . πswy at Gen 37.2), and similarly it should not be followed by the preposition l to give the sense of ‘become’ (so not μygysl hyh ˚psk, Isa 1.22). Finally, by extension of this consideration, a case such as Gen. 6.9 also falls away from consideration: wytrdb hyh μymt qydx çya jn; the ﬁrst and the second set of three words are eﬀectively independent clauses, so that hyh is not immediately governed by a noun: ‘Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his generation’. So far as I can see, there are six passages which survive this screening process, as follows (translations from NRSV, without prejudice to the following discussion): 2 Sam 12.1

tja ry[b wyh μyçna ynç There were two men in a certain city

1 Kgs 21.1

yla[rzyh twbnl hyh μrk

Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard 5 A case such as Deut 6.21 wnyyh μydb[ does not come into consideration, of course, because μydb[ here is not the subject of hyh but the predicate, no doubt fronted for emphasis. The examples listed by Gross, ‘Syntaktische Erscheinungen’, p. 132, n. 3, do not observe this diﬀerentiation. 6 Cf. Z. Zevit, The Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew (SBLMS, 50; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998).

h. g. m. williamson

520 Isa 5.1

ydydyl hyh μrk My beloved had a vineyard

Job 1.1

≈w[ ≈rab hyh çya

There was once a man in the land of Uz Cant 8.11

ˆwmh l[bb hmlçl hyh μrk

Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-hamon Est 2.5

hrybh ˆçwçb hyh ydwhy çya

Now there was a Jew in the citadel of Susa

Three of these relate to çya, and have already featured in the discussion. The other three concern a vineyard. I start with the latter group, as they have not been previously considered in this connection. At ﬁrst sight, the three references come from very diﬀerent literary contexts: history, prophecy (in the guise of a song), and love poetry. But appearances can be deceptive. The passage which seems to stand out from the remainder is 1 Kgs 21.1, the opening of the story of Naboth’s vineyard. Unlike the other two, the clause in question follows the standard narrative introduction, hlah μyrbdh rja yhyw and in addition it introduces a story which has been generally understood as historical, as witness its frequent citation in histories of the development of Israelite society and of its judicial system. Most commentators, on the other hand, agree that the introductory statement is to be ascribed to a late stage in the redaction of the following passage when it was set in its present context. Its equivalent is absent from the Greek translation, in which, in addition, 1 Kings 21 follows chapters 17–19. There must thus be the strong suspicion that the clause was added to the Hebrew in conjunction with the present ordering of the material.7 This conclusion may ﬁnd some support from Niccacci’s observation that after an initial yhyw clause, the continuation only very occasionally takes the form x-qatal.8 Though

7 This position is adopted, for instance, by such recent commentators as G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; 2 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), 2:352; E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17—2. Kön 25 (ATD, 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), p. 247; M. Cogan, 1 Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 10; New York: Doubleday, 2001), p. 476. That the above probably represents an oversimpliﬁcation of the process is acknowledged by J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1951), p. 333. 8 Niccacci, Syntax, p. 52; similarly, S. R. Driver dubbed it ‘exceedingly rare’ in A Treatise on the Use of the Tenses in Hebrew and Some Other Syntactical Questions (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 3rd edn, 1892), p. 90.

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not a strong argument, it might also be added that it is not a particularly good match with what follows, for the ‘apodosis’ relates to a state of aﬀairs (Naboth had a vineyard) rather than an action, as might be expected. I conclude that at an earlier stage the story simply began with the words cited above, bringing it closer into line from a literary point of view with the other two passages concerning vineyards. Less frequently discussed is the fact that there is an alternative account of the death of Naboth in 2 Kgs 9.25–26. In an earlier study, quite independent of the present concern, I sought to bolster the arguments of those who have argued that these two accounts are irreconcilably contradictory and that it is the 2 Kings 9 version which is more likely to be closer to whatever historical event lies behind these texts.9 I cannot here repeat all those arguments, but would simply reﬂect on the consequences for the nature of 1 Kings 21. It seems most likely that the story of the unjust killing by royal instigation of an innocent man and his family (so 2 Kgs 9.25–26) was taken up by a later writer to compose a vivid narrative with scarcely concealed ethical concerns about the nature of traditional Israelite society and its values in contrast to the more ‘modern’ style of rule under an absolute monarch.10 It might almost be called a parable (except that parables are not supposed to refer to known individuals). It certainly bears comparison with the book of Job, which is also a literary creation as a forum for a profound discussion of pressing theological concerns, and which in all probability was also based on the knowledge of an archetypical righteous ﬁgure (cf. Ezek 14.14 and 20). 9 H. G. M. Williamson, ‘Jezreel in the Biblical Texts’, TA 18 (1991), pp. 72–92, following in particular I. L. Seeligmann, ‘Die Auﬀassung von der Prophetie in der deuteronomistischen und chronistischen Geschichtsschreibung (mit einem Exkurs über das Buch Jeremia)’, in J. A. Emerton et al. (eds.), Congress Volume: Göttingen 1977 (VTSup, 29; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1978), pp. 254–84 (repr. in I. L. Seeligmann, Gesammelte Studien zur Hebräischen Bibel [ed. E. Blum; FAT, 41; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004], pp. 265–92), and A. Rofé, ‘The Vineyard of Naboth: The Origin and Message of the Story’, VT 38 (1988), pp. 89–104. 10 It is sometimes claimed that the purpose of the story was rather to add to the viliﬁcation of Jezebel and her culture. That seems to be only half right. It is true that she plays a pivotal role in the narrative, but only to underline what I take to be its main point, as indicated above. Her question in v. 7 is telling: ‘Do you now govern Israel?’ (NRSV); in my view, it is ironic that she cannot even express herself at this point in good Hebrew (larçy l[ hkwlm hç[t ht[ hta): the ‘foreignness’ of what is going on in Israelite society is thus nicely underlined.

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The study of the opening verses of Isaiah 5, the so-called Song of the Vineyard, has been immeasurably complicated by the failure of scholars in the past to come to any sort of agreement over the passage’s form or genre. Order began to be brought to this confusion by Willis, who in 1977 surveyed no less than twelve possible deﬁnitions of its genre.11 While criticisms can certainly be raised against some aspects of his study,12 it nevertheless served the valuable purpose of categorising a great many suggestions (which need not, therefore, be repeated here) and of eliminating at least some of the more outlandish proposals from the ﬁrst part of the twentieth century from further consideration. Willis’s own preferred solution was ‘a parabolic song of a disappointed husbandman’ (which of course is neither a form- nor a genre-deﬁnition as such). Things have not stood still since Willis’s article, however, and there have been noteworthy contributions in the meantime by at least another dozen scholars.13 It is diﬃcult to escape the impression that, even though some of these were seeking to build on or otherwise to reﬁne the suggestions of those who preceded them, there must be some fundamental problem with the method, or at least its application, that can produce such diverse results.14 The following factors need to be kept in mind.

11

J. T. Willis, ‘The Genre of Isaiah 5:1–7’, JBL 96 (1977), pp. 337–62. See, for instance, R. Bartelmus, ‘Beobachtungen zur literarischen Struktur des sog. Weinberglieds ( Jes 5,1–7)’, ZAW 110 (1998), pp. 50–66. 13 E.g. A. Graﬀy, ‘The Literary Genre of Isaiah 5,1–7’, Bib 60 (1979), pp. 400–409; W. S. Prinsloo, ‘Isaiah 5:1–7: A Synchronic Approach’, OTWSA 22–23 (1979–1980), pp. 183–97; G. A. Yee, ‘A Form-Critical Study of Isaiah 5:1–7 as a Song and a Juridical Parable’, CBQ 43 (1981), pp. 30–40; G. T. Sheppard, ‘More on Isaiah 5:1–7 as a Juridical Parable’, CBQ 44 (1982), pp. 45–47; C. A. Evans, ‘On the Vineyard Parables of Isaiah 5 and Mark 12’, BZ N.F. 28 (1984), pp. 82–86; H. Niehr, ‘Zur Gattung von Jes 5,1–7’, BZ N.F. 30 (1986), pp. 99–104; A. J. Bjørndalen, Untersuchungen zur allegorischen Rede der Propheten Amos und Jesaja (BZAW, 165; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1986), pp. 293–343; M. C. A. Korpel, ‘The Literary Genre of the Song of the Vineyard (Isa. 5:1–7)’, in W. van der Meer and J. C. de Moor (eds.), The Structural Analysis of Biblical and Canaanite Poetry ( JSOTSup, 74; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1988), pp. 119–55; K. Nielsen, There is Hope for a Tree: The Tree as Metaphor in Isaiah ( JSOTSup, 65; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1989), pp. 90–100; H. Irsigler, ‘Speech Acts and Intention in the “Song of the Vineyard” Isaiah 5:1–7’, OTE 10 (1997), pp. 39–68; Bartelmus, ‘Beobachtungen’; F. Fechter, ‘Enttäuschte Erwartungen: Die Sprache der Bilder in Jesaja 5,1–7’, BN 104 (2000), pp. 69–82. 14 See generally the useful collection of essays in M. A. Sweeney and E. Ben Zvi (eds.), The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003). 12

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Form and genre are not the same thing, though they are all too frequently confused. Form should apply to the shape, structure or outline of a passage which may be laid alongside and compared with others that are similar. They need not be identical, but they should at least have a suﬃcient number of elements in common to allow one to speak of a ‘form’ at all. Genre, on the other hand, concerns the literary type of the passage. Secondly, there will obviously be diﬀerences of deﬁnition according to how much text is under analysis: in principle it is possible to discuss the genre of a whole book (e.g. ‘prophetic book’) all the way down to a brief passage within it. And ﬁnally, it is rather clear that even within the present short passage there are diﬀerent elements to which justice needs to be done if the analysis is to be faithful to the text. In my opinion, we may ﬁrst agree without diﬃculty that there are two small genres included within the passage (this is not to be confused with the question of the genre of the passage as a whole), namely a song (in narrative form, which seems acceptable)15 in vv. 1b–2, as clearly stated in v. 1a, and a lawsuit in vv. 3–6.16 These elements are clearly contributing to a more extensive whole, however, so that it would be foolish to divide the text up on this basis alone. Secondly, so far as the form of the passage is concerned, the closest parallels are those tabulated by Graﬀy and Niehr,17 namely 2 Sam 12.1–7a; 14.1–20; and 1 Kgs 20.35–42 (Graﬀy adds Jer 3.1–5),18 and on this

15 Cf. R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985), pp. 27–61. Bartelmus, ‘Beobachtungen’, seems to me to be confused on this point. He is correct to observe that vv. 1b–2 take the form of narrative (note especially the use of waw-consecutive forms, which do not recur in the following verses), but wrong, in my opinion, to deny that this can at the same time be poetic. The passage in the Song of Songs to be discussed below is suﬃcient indication. 16 Cf. H. J. Boecker, Redeformen des Rechtslebens im Alten Testament (WMANT, 14; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1964), pp. 81–83; Nielsen, There is Hope for a Tree, pp. 92–94, and idem, ‘Das Bild des Gerichts (rib-pattern) in Jes. i–xii’, VT 29 (1979), pp. 309–24 (317–19); P. Bovati, ‘Le langage juridique du prophète Isaïe’, in J. Vermeylen (ed.), The Book of Isaiah (BETL, 81; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 1989), pp. 177–96 (191–94). 17 Pace P. Höﬀken, ‘Probleme in Jesaja 5,1–7’, ZTK 79 (1982), pp. 392–410. 18 The diﬀerences in the order of the constituent elements, as well as some omissions, may be explained as contextual adaptations; they do not justify Sheppard’s conjectures (‘More on Isaiah 5:1–7’) about material misplaced from 3.13–15, concerning which there are considerable diﬃculties on other grounds as well.

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basis the term ‘juridical parable’ (or ‘anklagende Gerichtsparabel’) has become popular as a designation.19 Finally, so far as genre properly speaking is concerned, the main discussion with regard to the passage as a whole has been whether parable is appropriate or whether it should be classiﬁed rather as an allegory (so, especially Bjørndalen, who has been followed by Korpel and Sweeney).20 The principal objection to the designation as parable has been the view that a parable should have only one moral, whereas the present passage is open to more than one application and its goal or intention is not a moral. This conclusion may be overly restrictive, however, and seems to be based upon an understanding of New Testament parables which nowadays would not be so rigidly applied. Conversely, in an allegory each element of the story represents something in the real world, but there is no suggestion that each of the vineyard owner’s actions in vv. 1b–2 is meant to be interpreted as descriptive of Israel’s past history.21 Applying these considerations to our formula at the start of the song in v. 1b, we may therefore say that it is important to focus on the use of our particular construction within the minor genre of vv. 1b–2 and not to confuse that with the results of an analysis of vv. 1–7 as a whole. Within this restriction, it is used to introduce a narrative song which is then used as the parable within a wider context which includes the application of the parable (and which therefore cannot itself be labelled a parable). Rather as with 1 Kings 21, it introduces a narrative, which only turns out subsequently to be told with ulterior motives. The third passage which begins hyh μrk is Cant 8.11. Commentators seem to be agreed that it too marks the start of a new section in the text, but they agree about little else! Among the reasons for this unsatisfactory situation are uncertainty about the identiﬁcation of the speaker and whether he, she or they remain the same in both vv. 11 and 12, about the extent to which the language is metaphorical,

19 Here the inﬂuence of Simon’s study should be acknowledged, even though he was not dealing with our particular passage: U. Simon, ‘The Poor Man’s EweLamb: An Example of a Juridical Parable’, Bib 48 (1967), pp. 207–42. 20 M. A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL, 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), p. 126. 21 So correctly J. Vollmer, Geschichtliche Rückblicke und Motive in der Prophetie des Amos, Hosea und Jesaja (BZAW, 119; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1971), pp. 149–55, who points to the similar situation in 1.2–3.

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and about the right way to interpret the references to money (‘pieces of silver’). The brevity of the passage is one of the main causes of so much disagreement.22 Despite all these uncertainties, it seems clear that ‘Solomon’s vineyard’, regardless of its great monetary value, is being compared unfavourably with ‘my vineyard’ in v. 12. That is obviously a surprising outcome to a ﬁrst-time reader. When starting to read in an independent poem that ‘Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-hamon’, s/he expects the narrative to continue about that topic. The emphatic ﬁrst person singular suﬃxes at the start of v. 12 (ynpl ylç ymrk) reverse that expectation, however, so that it is only retrospectively that one may pick up the clues to a less-than-straightforward approach to v. 11, such as the likelihood that, whether or not there was such a place in ancient Israel, Baal-hamon should now be understood (in Goulder’s memorable rendering) as ‘own-a-lot’. Such a re-reading does not quite make the passage into a parable,23 but it is certainly a narrative with ulterior motives. Indeed, that is a conclusion which it seems could be applied to all three passages which are introduced by hyh μrk. ‘Once upon a time’ will not do as an English equivalent, because that at once betrays the fact that the narrative is ﬁctitious, if not a fairy tale. Clearly, in the case of Isa 5.1 it would undermine the rhetoric of the passage if that were to be made clear from the start; its whole force resides in the way that the implied audience is lulled into thinking ﬁrst that they are listening to a song, and then to a situation in which they are asked to adjudicate about strangers.24 To give the

22

I have consulted the following as representative, I trust, of current opinion: W. Rudolph, Das Buch Ruth. Das Hohe Lied. Die Klagelieder (KAT, 17/1–3; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1962); M. H. Pope, Song of Songs: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 7C; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977); M. D. Goulder, The Song of Fourteen Songs ( JSOTSup, 36; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1986); R. E. Murphy, The Song of Songs: A Commentary on the Book of Canticles or the Song of Songs (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990); J. G. Snaith, Song of Songs (NCB; London: Marshall Pickering; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993); O. Keel, The Song of Songs: A Continental Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994); T. Longman, Song of Songs (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001); D. Garrett in D. Garrett and P. R. House, Song of Songs/Lamentations (WBC, 23B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2004). 23 Pace M. V. Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs (Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1985), p. 174. 24 Cf. G. R. Williams, ‘Frustrated Expectations in Isaiah v 1–7’, VT 35 (1985), pp. 459–65.

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game away at the start would ruin this eﬀect. And in the other two cases there are not dissimilar considerations. Nevertheless, it is equally clear that there is slightly more to this form of introduction than a simple narrative opening. The audience or reader is certainly being invited to attend to what follows with critical care. Precisely the same applies to two of the three passages which use a form of çya. 2 Sam 12.1b has often been compared with Isa 5.1b, because both are thought to introduce a ‘juridical parable’, and with good reason. The rhetorical device is the same, and the same considerations obviously apply about not betraying the fact that this is a ﬁctitious narrative while at the same time needing to engage the careful attention of the implied audience (David). The case of Job is not quite in the same category, but its similarity in intent to the Naboth incident means that it belongs squarely in the same bracket. This leaves only Est 2.5 to be considered. At ﬁrst sight, this would seem to be the exception that proves the rule, for it occurs during the course of what purports to be historical narrative, and even if modern scholars have diﬃculty in accepting that designation, such a consideration should not aﬀect our analysis of the ancient writer’s presentation of genre markers. Self-evidently it does not ﬁt Clines’s explanation of Job 1.1, for the following passage (vv. 5–6) ‘anchors the story in Jewish history’25 as strongly as it can: we are told of Mordecai’s family and tribal aﬃliation as well as the fact that he (or his great-grandfather; the text is not fully clear on who is referred to here26) had been ‘carried away from Jerusalem among the captives carried away with King Jeconiah of Judah, whom King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon had carried away’. It is diﬃcult to think of any more emphatic way of demonstrating that the present narrative is to be taken indeed as a continuing part of the national history. Clines therefore dismisses the relevance of this passage for his discussion with the explanation

25 M. V. Fox, Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther (Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament; Columbia: University of South Carolina, 1991), p. 28; see too S. B. Berg, The Book of Esther: Motifs, Themes and Structure (SBLDS, 44; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979), pp. 103–104: Mordecai’s ‘genealogy suggests the long history of the Jewish people’. 26 See the discussion in D. J. A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), p. 287, and A. Berlin, Esther (The JPS Bible Commentary; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2001), pp. 24–25.

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that ‘the similar [for which we might substitute ‘identical’] word order simply marks a shift of focus’. So it may, but there are also other ways of doing that, so that it hardly amounts to an explanation of what we have seen to be a somewhat rare construction.27 Should we then conclude that this is indeed an exception? Such a conclusion would not necessarily undermine our previous analysis, for the rules of grammar and syntax are not immutably written in the heavens but are merely our observation of how people customarily express themselves in a given language. Such rules cannot, therefore, be ‘broken’ as if they were legally binding, but rather particular speakers or writers may choose for whatever reason, conscious or more usually unconscious, to say or write things a little diﬀerently. Nevertheless, I wonder whether it is in fact necessary to appeal to that in the present instance. It may be remembered ﬁrst that our clause introduces a short paragraph (Est 2.5–7) which from a narrative point of view interrupts the smooth sequence from 2.4 to 2.8.28 In addition, its emphasis on Mordecai, with Esther introduced only secondarily in v. 7, is contrary to the following verses, where Esther is the character whom we need ﬁrst to know about (cf. v. 8), and where Mordecai appears only subsequently and, for the time being, only in a supportive role. And thirdly it gives us more information than is strictly necessary to understand the developments which will unfold in the next few scenes of the book. This applies in particular to Mordecai’s genealogy: ‘. . . son of Shimei son of Kish, a Benjaminite’. Commenting on this last point, Moore echoes the opinion of many commentators from antiquity to the present when he writes: Mordecai’s genealogical origins (vs. 5) are of no little concern to the author, for he wishes to establish that Mordecai is a descendant of Kish, whose son, Saul, conducted an inconclusive campaign to exterminate all the Amalekites (see 1 Sam xv). Haman, the villain of the

27

Similar considerations apply to the suggestion that the construction is merely to mark the start of a new narrative; so, for instance, G. Gerleman, Esther (BKAT, 21; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), p. 76, with reference to C. Brockelmann, Hebräische Syntax (Neukirchen: Verlag der Buchhandlung des Erziehungsvereins, 1956), §§48, 122n. 28 Cf. L. B. Paton, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Esther (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1908), p. 172; Fox, Character, p. 29: ‘this passage sticks out by its parenthetical character (note how v. 8 follows naturally upon v. 4)’.

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How far this parallel is taken varies from one commentator to another,30 but few, if any, deny that there is something in it. Elsewhere, Clines has written that ‘[i]t is an alert reader who at the ﬁrst mention of Haman sees that the most important word in 3.1 is “the Agagite” and casts the plot that is yet to develop as a re-working of the old traditions of Israelite animosity toward the Amalekites’.31 If the case being presented here is correct, the ‘alert reader’ needs to be on duty already at 2.5–6 but has been helped to start looking out by the author’s provision of a syntactical pointer. I conclude, therefore, that of all the ways in which classical Hebrew narrative may begin, the use of an absolute x + hyh is restricted to those where the reader is being alerted to watch out, because there is more in what follows than meets the eye. Its use at least twice in what may loosely be called ‘a juridical parable’ means that it cannot be the equivalent of ‘once upon a time’, since that would ruin the rhetorical force of the passage. Equally, it need not necessarily point to the fact that what follows is not historical, in the popular use of that term, though in fact in my view that characterisation would ﬁt each of the six passages where the construction occurs. Rather, the element which seems to unite all six is that there is an unexpected twist or development in what follows, requiring a heightened, quizzical attention by the reader. That does not, of course, mean that such attention may not also be required where the construction is absent (as Graeme’s many studies of Hebrew narrative have amply demonstrated), but its occurrence immediately has the eﬀect of raising our expectations. There is no equivalent that I know of in any modern language, but that is a conclusion that could be writ large over much of the richness of classical Hebrew style and syntax.

29

C. A. Moore, Esther: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB, 7B; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971), p. 26. 30 For a full discussion, see Berg, The Book of Esther, pp. 64 –70; see too W. McKane, ‘A Note on Esther ix and 1 Samuel xv’, JTS N.S. 12 (1961), pp. 260–61; E. Bickerman, Four Strange Books of the Bible (New York: Schocken Books, 1967), pp. 196–98. 31 D. J. A. Clines, The Esther Scroll: The Story of the Story ( JSOTSup, 30; Sheﬃeld: JSOT Press, 1984), p. 14.

GIDEON: A NEW MOSES? Gregory T. K. Wong In his 1989 article, ‘Gideon: Hacking at the Heart of the Old Testament’, Professor A. Graeme Auld argues from the numerous links forged between the Gideon narrative and other Old Testament traditions that the Gideon narrative in Judges 6–8 must have been an example of late biblical narrative.1 Among the Old Testament traditions noted is the exodus tradition, and particularly the narrative of Moses’ call. Although the interest of the present author is not speciﬁcally to prove the lateness of the Gideon narrative, this article nevertheless represents an attempt to follow up on one of Professor Auld’s arguments by further exploring the literary relationship between the exodus tradition and the Gideon narrative. It will be argued that similarities between the two, especially between the call narrative of Moses in Exodus 3–4 and the call narrative of Gideon in Judges 6, are indeed similarities by design, and that the latter was in fact consciously crafted to allude to the former for speciﬁc rhetorical purposes. That Gideon’s call narrative in Judges 6 bears a remarkable resemblance to Moses’ call narrative in Exodus 3–4 is something that has not escaped the notice of scholars. From the mid-1950s to the early 1970s, form critical scholars have especially used these two narratives as the basis for postulating a kind of narrative type-scene known as the call narrative.2 Similarities between call narratives are thus

1

VT 39, pp. 257–67. See, for example, E. Kutsch, ‘Gideons Berufung und Altarbau Jdc 6,11–24’, TLZ 81 (1956), pp. 75–84; N. Habel, ‘The Form and Signiﬁcance of the Call Narrative’, ZAW 77 (1965), pp. 297–323; W. Richter, Die sogenannten vorprophetischen Berufungsberichte: Eine literaturwissenschaftliche Studie zu 1 Sam 9,1–10,16, Ex 3f. und Ri 6,11b–17 (FRLANT, 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970). In fact, Habel, ‘Form and Signiﬁcance’, p. 316, goes as far as to suggest that classical prophetic call narratives are actually appropriated and developed from the call traditions reﬂected in the structure of the calls of Moses and Gideon. He thus identiﬁes the six main structural components to such call narratives as 1) the divine confrontation, 2) the introductory word, 3) the commission, 4) the objection, 5) the reassurance and 6) the sign. 2

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explained in terms of their using the same basic underlying literary structure. This explanation has since been so widely accepted that even today scholars continue to explain the similarities between the call narratives of Moses and Gideon in terms of their belonging to the same type-scene.3 However, there are also others who without necessarily addressing the type-scene hypothesis hint at a more direct relationship between the two call narratives. Beyerlin, for example, argues that the original Gideon story has been worked over by a later redactor to transform it into a typical example of salvation history based on the exodus tradition.4 Similarly, Boling sees Gideon’s call narrative as a deliberate allusion to the call of Moses, with the promise of YHWH’s presence in Judges 6.16 being no less than a direct quote from Exodus 3.12.5 A further variation of this view is most recently represented by Schneider who while agreeing with Boling nonetheless sees the allusion to Moses and the exodus tradition as ironic and intending to highlight the degree to which Gideon and his generation have strayed from YHWH.6 Since Beyerlin sees the allusion to Moses as essentially casting a positive light on the Gideon narrative, Schneider’s understanding of the purpose of the allusion is thus almost directly opposite to that of Beyerlin. Faced with so many interpretive options, how does one determine which is most credible in terms of explaining the similarities between the call narratives of Gideon and Moses? As the following consideration of some signiﬁcant similarities between the call narratives of

3

See, for example, Auld, ‘Gideon’, p. 258; B. Webb, The Book of Judges: An Integrated Reading ( JSOTSup, 46; Sheﬃeld: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 1987), p. 148; R. H. O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (VTSup, 63; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), p. 148; D. I. Block, Judges, Ruth (NAC, 6; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), pp. 253, 257. 4 W. Beyerlin, ‘Geschichte und heilsgeschichtliche Traditionsbildung im Alten Testament: ein Beitrag zur Traditoinsgeschichte von Richter vi–viii’, VT 13 (1963), pp. 1–25. 5 R. G. Boling, Judges: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (AB, 6A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), p. 132. 6 T. J. Schneider, Judges (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 2000), pp. 105–106. This view may also be hinted at by C. J. McCann, Judges (IBC; Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 2002), p. 64, who after noting the enormous expectations raised about Gideon’s tenure as judge and deliverer through parallels with other Old Testament worthies such as Moses comments that the Gideon story will not end on as high a note as it begins.

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Gideon and Moses will show,7 the correspondences are on the whole far too close to be explained simply by appealing to the same type-scene. (1) The calls of both Moses and Gideon are presented in the immediate context as a response to Israel’s distress because of foreign oppression. Immediately prior to the narrative of Moses’ call, the Israelites are said in Exod 2.23 to have cried out to God (wq[zyw) under Egyptian oppression. The same crying out (wq[zyw) to YHWH by the Israelites under Midianite oppression is also seen in Judg 6.6 shortly before the narrative of Gideon’s call. It should be noted that in none of the other call narratives in Hebrew Scripture is the call of the protagonist presented as a direct response to the distress of God’s people under oppression. (2) At the beginning of the respective call narratives in Exod 3.2 and Judg 6.11–12, Moses and Gideon are met by the angel of YHWH (hwhy ˚alm), who is said in both cases to appear to the protagonist in question (wyla aryw). As Auld has pointed out, other than in Judg 13.3, hwhy ˚alm aryw plus the preposition la is found in Hebrew Scripture only in the two call narratives being considered.8 In fact, in none of the other call narratives does the hwhy ˚alm even play a role at all. This again seems to point to a unique literary relationship between these two particular call narratives. (3) Not only do the call narratives of Moses and Gideon have in common the appearance of the angel of YHWH, but in both cases, a switch between the angel of YHWH and YHWH within the narrative can also be discerned, so that by the time the commission is given, it is YHWH himself and not the angel who is presented as carrying on the dialogue with the respective protagonists. In the so-called J strand of the Exodus narrative, the switch takes place in Exod 3.4a, while in the Gideon narrative, 7 It should be noted that other similarities between the two narratives not discussed below have also be suggested. For example, Webb, Book of Judges, p. 148, mentions the presence in both accounts of a ﬁre theophany that induces fear in the one called. But since the ﬁre theophany in Moses’ call narrative takes place before Moses’ encounter with YHWH and functions as a means to draw Moses closer to the burning bush, while the ﬁre theophany in the Gideon narrative takes place towards the end of Gideon’s encounter with YHWH and functions as a conﬁrmation of YHWH’s identity, to this author, the two theophanies are not suﬃciently similar to be included in the following discussion. 8 Auld, ‘Gideon’, p. 258.

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the switch comes in Judg 6.14.9 While a certain degree of merging of identity between the angel of YHWH/God10 and YHWH/ God is also found elsewhere within Hebrew Scripture, it is noteworthy that only in the call narratives of Moses and Gideon does this merging of identity take place overtly at the level of narration.11 In other instances, this merging of identity is more subtle, such that it is discernable only through the reported speeches of the angel or the protagonists. In Gen 22.11–18, for example, it is consistently the angel of YHWH who carries on a dialogue with Abraham at the level of narration. It is only through the sudden use of the ﬁrst person pronoun in the angel’s reported speech in 22.12 that one becomes aware that the angel may be none other than YHWH himself.12 Similarly, in Genesis 31.10–13, as Jacob recounts his encounter with the angel of God in a dream, it is the angel who spoke to him at the level of narration. It is only through the angel’s direct self-disclosure as the God of Bethel in 31.12–13 that one becomes aware that the angel is God himself. In Judg 13.2–23 too, it is consistently the angel of YHWH/God

9 Note that the LXX actually reads ı êggelow kur¤ou in 6.14 while the MT only has hwhy. But the LXX reading is probably due either to an inadvertent carry-over from 6.11 or 6.12, or to an attempt at harmonisation. In either case, the more diﬃcult MT reading is to be preferred. 10 In the following discussion, the angel of God (μyhla[h] ˚alm) is basically considered functionally equivalent to the angel of YHWH. 11 It should be noted that not all are convinced that a merging of identity between the angel and YHWH has taken place in the Gideon narrative. Indeed, Boling, Judges, p. 131, speaks of Gideon as unknowingly carrying on a three-way conversation with both the angel and YHWH, suggesting therefore that the angel and YHWH are distinct characters who were both present and speaking with Gideon at the same time. But such an understanding is problematic on several counts. First, if the angel was visible to Gideon while, according to Boling, YHWH remained invisible, then how could Gideon not know that a three-way conversation was taking place since it would be obvious that there was a voice speaking to him that did not belong to the angel? And in what sense can the narrator actually speak in 6.14 of an invisible YHWH turning towards someone (wyla ˆpyw) to speak to him? And ﬁnally, if Gideon had indeed been speaking directly with the invisible voice of YHWH for the greater part of the conversation, then why should he seem more awed in 6.22 about having seen the largely silent angel of YHWH face to face? As it is, these problems would easily be solved if one sees some kind of a merging of identity between the angel of YHWH and YHWH in this narrative, such that the two are presented as the same character. 12 Compare the direct speech in Gen 22.12 with that in 22.15–19, where the use of the ﬁrst person pronouns is clariﬁed by the phrase ‘declares YHWH’ (hwhyAμan), thus turning the direct speech of the angel eﬀectively into a reported speech conveyed on behalf of YHWH. But such a clariﬁcation is missing in 22.12.

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who twice appears and speaks to Manoah and his wife at the level of narration. That this angel may be YHWH/God himself is only presented as Manoah’s recognition in 13.22. The same is again true in Gen 16.7–14. At the narrative level, it is consistently the angel of YHWH who carries on a dialogue with Hagar. Although one can argue that it is also the narrator who speaks of the angel as YHWH at the beginning of 16.13, it seems that this reference to the angel as YHWH is only in anticipation of Hagar’s perspective as the narrator immediately reports Hagar naming the well according to her understanding of her experience as having directly involved YHWH himself. In other words, in most instances where there appears to be a merging of identity between the angel of YHWH/God and YHWH/God himself in a narrative,13 this merging is usually introduced through reported direct speeches either as a self-disclosure by the angel or as a recognition by the protagonists. It is thus only in the call narratives of Moses and Gideon that this merging of identity is directly introduced by the narrator at the level of narration as the angel and YHWH are presented as essentially the same person appearing and speaking with the protagonist. From a literary perspective, this increases the likelihood that literary dependence is at play in the crafting of the two call narratives in question. (4) The protagonists in both cases appear to be tending to their father or father-in-law’s business when the angel appeared to them. In Moses’ case, he was tending his father-in-law’s ﬂock (Exod 3.1), while in Gideon’s case, he was threshing wheat in a winepress under an oak belonging to his father ( Judg 6.11) when the angel appeared. (5) Both father ﬁgures seem to be connected to non-YHWHistic cults. While Moses’ father-in-law Jethro was a priest of Midian

13 In a few other instances where the angel of YHWH/God and YHWH/God appear together in the same narrative, the two are indeed to be understood as separate and distinct characters since one either speaks to the other or refers to the other in the third person. These include Gen 21.17–19; 2 Sam 24.16; 1 Chron 21.11–30; Zech 1.8–17; 3.1–10. The same may also be true of Num 22.21–38, since 22.31 speaks of YHWH opening Balaam’s eyes so that he sees ‘the angel of YHWH’ rather than simply ‘him’. Thus, although in Num 22.35, it is the angel who tells Balaam to speak only what he tells him, while in 22.38, Balaam tells Balak that he can only speak what God puts in his mouth, this may simply reﬂect the fact that Balaam understood the angel to be essentially a representative of God.

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(Exod 3.1), Gideon’s father Joash apparently owned an altar to Baal and an Asherah pole ( Judg 6.25). (6) In both commissioning scenes, the verbs ‘to go’ (˚lh) and ‘to send’ (jlç) are present. But since these two verbs occur almost idiomatically in most call narratives,14 their presence in the call narratives of Moses and Gideon is in itself insuﬃcient to suggest any direct literary relationship. What is interesting, however, is that it is only in these two call narratives that the speciﬁc commission is repeated almost exactly in the objection of the protagonists. In Exod 3.10, YHWH commissions Moses to go to Pharaoh and bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt (ym[Ata axwhw h[rpAla μyrxmm larçyAynb). Yet in Moses’ objection, it is exactly his suitability to be the one to go to Pharaoh to bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt (μyrxmm larçy ynbAta ayxwa ykw h[rpAla) that he questions in 3.11. Similarly, in Judg 6.14, YHWH speciﬁcally commissions Gideon to go and deliver Israel (larçyAta t[çwhw) from the hands of Midian. Yet in 6.15, it is exactly his ability to deliver Israel (larçyAta [yçwa hmb) that Gideon questions. In this respect, it is only in the call narratives of Moses and Gideon that the objection of the protagonist corresponds almost wordfor-word to the commission just given. In other call narratives such as Isaiah’s and Jeremiah’s, the objections raised by the protagonists (Isa 6.11; Jer 1.5–6) do not involve any restatement of their speciﬁc commission at all. (7) In both cases, YHWH immediately counters the protagonists’ objections with a promise of his presence. Furthermore, it is the identical ‘For I will be with you’ (˚m[ hyha yk) that opens YHWH’s response, with further assurances to follow. The fact that within Hebrew Scripture these are the only two times the exact clause ˚m[ hyha yk is found15 is probably what prompted Boling to argue for literary dependence of the Gideon narrative on Moses’ call narrative and to claim that Judg 6.16 is a direct quote of Exod 3.12.

14 Habel, ‘Form and Signiﬁcance’, pp. 299, 304, 308, 311, speciﬁcally highlights the occurrence of both verbs not only in Exod 3.10 and Judg 6.14, but also in Isa 6.8–10 and Jer 1.7. 15 Admittedly, without the introductory yk, the clause ˚m[ hyha is also found in Gen 26.3 as YHWH’s promise to Isaac; in Gen 31.3 as YHWH’s promise to Jacob; and in Deut 31.23; Josh 1.5; 3.7 as YHWH’s promise to Joshua. However, none of these are considered call narrative type-scenes, and in none of these does the clause open a speech of YHWH in response to an objection by the protagonist.

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From the above observations, it seems clear that the correspondences between the call narratives of Moses and Gideon are far closer than what one would normally expect from independent narratives that merely follow the same underlying form for a speciﬁc type-scene. To be sure, the two narratives do share the same literary structure common to call narrative type-scenes, but further correspondences such as matching settings (points 1, 4, 5 above), unique phrasings (points 2, 7 above), and a similar handling of narrative details (points 3, 6 above) seem clearly to point towards one of the two having been consciously crafted to serve as a parallel to the other. Therefore, the real question concerning the relationship between the two narratives should really be one of direction of dependence. Fortunately, the answer to this question seems neither diﬃcult nor controversial. All evidence suggests that Moses’ call narrative is prior, and that the author of the Gideon narrative was consciously alluding to the account of Moses’ call. This is seen in the following ways. First, the author of the Gideon narrative openly refers to the exodus tradition in Judg 6.8–9, 13. What is noteworthy here is that even if one dismisses Judg 6.7–10 as a much later addition to the narrative,16 there is still Judg 6.13, where Gideon makes a comparison between Israel’s present situation and the deliverance he heard about in the exodus tradition. In fact, given the similarities between the two call narratives already noted, one cannot help but wonder if Gideon’s overt reference to the exodus tradition may not represent the author’s subtle invitation to his readers to continue making comparisons between the present deliverer and the one who once brought Israel out of Egypt. Second, other parallels to Moses and the exodus tradition outside Moses’ call are also present in the larger context of the Gideon narrative. At the end of Gideon’s encounter with the angel in Judg 6.22, for example, Gideon realises in fear that he has seen the angel of YHWH face to face (μynpAla μynp hwhy ˚alm ytyar ˆkAl[Ayk). 16

See, for example, J. A. Soggin, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 2nd edition, 1987), p. 112; Auld, ‘Gideon’, p. 263. But Schneider, Judges, p. 102, arguing from a literary standpoint, considers Judg 6.7–10 relevant to the Gideon narrative because the placement of these verses contextualises and to some extent counteracts Gideon’s later statement. In any case, as will be shown in subsequent discussion, even if these verses are a late addition, they may still have been incorporated by the ﬁnal redactor to serve a very speciﬁc rhetorical purpose, namely, to strengthen the book’s overall progressively deteriorating scheme.

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Admittedly, the closest parallel to this statement is in Gen 32.31, where Jacob declares that he had seen God face to face (ytyarAyk μynpAla μynp μyhla) and yet his life was spared. Yet the phrase ‘face to face’ (μynpAla μynp) also has a special connection with Moses because it is twice used to describe Moses’ close relationship with YHWH in Exod 33.11 and Deut 34.10. Given that Moses is associated with two of the ﬁve times that the phrase occurs in Hebrew Scripture,17 one can argue that Judg 6.22 may in fact be aiming to link Gideon with Moses rather than with Jacob.18 If so, this would add weight to the argument that the author of the Gideon narrative may have been consciously trying to shape his portrayal of Gideon after Moses because parallels from traditions associated with Moses outside his call narrative have also been incorporated. Moreover, further parallels in the Gideon narrative with wider exodus traditions can also be found. As will be discussed later, the description of the Midianite oppressors as locusts in Judg 6.4–5; 7.12 reminds one of the plague of locusts upon the Egyptians in Exod 10.1–20. In addition, Gideon’s eventual manufacturing of the golden ephod that ensnared Israel in Judg 8.24–27 also seems to echo Aaron’s manufacturing of the golden calf in Exod 32.1–6. What all of this shows is that even within the larger Gideon narrative, signiﬁcant parallels exist that link the narrative with various traditions concerning Israel’s exodus out of Egypt. While one can still insist that the Gideon narrative is prior and that it is the author of Exodus who shaped his account after the Gideon narrative, given the centrality of the exodus tradition in the shaping of Israel’s national identity, and the fact that Gideon’s deliverance is at best of marginal historical signiﬁcance, it is hard to see why the author of Exodus would want to pattern the call of Moses, the nation’s founding father, after that of a ﬂawed deliverer such as Gideon, who only played a minor role in the nation’s history. By patterning the call of Gideon after that of Moses, however, the author of the Gideon narrative would immediately be able to reap deﬁnite rhetorical beneﬁts. For

17 The phrase is used once more in Ezek 20.35 to describe YHWH executing judgement on Israel face to face. 18 Boling, Judges, p. 134, actually argues further that the reason the author of the Gideon narrative has Gideon seeing YHWH’s envoy face to face is ‘so that Gideon’s invisible Lord may enter into direct negotiations with Gideon, as he had with Moses’.

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as his audience began noticing the various parallels with Moses, their expectations would immediately be raised concerning their protagonist, so that attention would now be directed at discovering whether or not Gideon would turn out to be a new Moses for the nation. So, does Gideon live up to the expectations placed on him through the manner of his introduction? The answer to this question is perhaps what diﬀerentiates the view of Beyerlin from that of Schneider. For while Beyerlin sees Gideon being portrayed essentially as Moses’ successor,19 Schneider sees mainly irony in the comparison. For Schneider, the irony basically centres around the fact that, while Moses’ response to the angel was appropriate since the deﬁning act of salvation for the nation was still unfolding, a similar response on the part of Gideon was no longer appropriate since he already had Moses and the exodus tradition as precedent. Thus, for Schneider, the greatest irony is found in the fact that Gideon and his generation had to be reminded by a prophet of how YHWH had led their forefathers out of Egypt,20 and that even so, Gideon still considered that event to be so old as to demand further proof of YHWH’s power and role for his generation.21 But a careful examination of the text reveals at least two further signiﬁcant ironic contrasts22 that Schneider has not emphasised.

19 Beyerlin, ‘Geschichte und heilsgeschichtliche Traditionsbildung’, pp. 9–10, 24. For a similar view, see also Block, Judges, p. 257. 20 Schneider, Judges, pp. 106–107. 21 Schneider, Judges, p. 105. 22 Actually, some see yet another ironic contrast that involves the giving of signs in the two call narratives. After all, although form critics generally cite the giving of signs as a signiﬁcant feature of call narrative type-scenes, among call narratives, it is only in the calls of Moses and Gideon that the word twa actually appears. In Exod 3.12; 4.8, 9, 17, twa appears four times, while Judg 6.17 represents the only time twa occurs in Judges. But while in the call narrative of Moses, YHWH takes the initiative to provide Moses with signs, in Gideon’s case, it is Gideon who takes the initiative to seek a sign. Since within the Gideon narrative, Gideon’s repeated need for supernatural signs to reassure him of YHWH’s promised victory (for example, Judg 6.36–40 and 7.9–15, which speciﬁcally states that the reassurance is needed only if Gideon is afraid) is generally seen as an indication of a lack of faith, one can argue that Gideon’s taking the initiative to ask for a sign thus contrasts his faith with that of Moses. But there may be a slight problem in this interpretation. For although the ﬁrst sign YHWH oﬀers Moses in Exod 3.12 is indeed for Moses’ personal beneﬁt, the fulﬁlment of that sign would only take place after Moses has successfully completed his commission. Therefore the sign as such does not function to provide Moses with the necessary assurance to embark upon his commission. As for the following set of signs given to Moses in Exod 4.2–9 and mentioned again in 4.17, although at ﬁrst glance, these were given speciﬁcally for those who

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First, as Schneider has in fact noticed, while the Midianites are apparently on friendly terms with Moses in Exod 2.15–22; 3.1, providing refuge for him when he ﬁrst ﬂed Egypt, they have become Israel’s enemy and oppressor in the Gideon narrative.23 Now if Beyerlin is right in his assertion that Gideon’s eventual victory over them was rooted in historical reality,24 then the fact that the Midianites happen to play a role in both narratives may simply be a matter of historical coincidence. But even so, from a literary standpoint, one can still argue that the author’s portrayal of the Midianites in the Gideon narrative represents an attempt to capitalise on the presence of the Midianites in both narratives to draw a contrast between two diﬀerent situations. For not only is the belated hostility of the Midianites now explained in Judg 6.1 as a punishment from YHWH for the evil Israel did in his eyes, the repeated description of the oppressors as swarms of locusts in Judg 6.3–5; 7.12 may also be a calculated reminder of the plague of locusts YHWH sent upon Egypt in Exod 10.14–15. To begin with, although no less than ten words are used in Hebrew Scripture to refer to various kinds of locusts and grasshoppers,25 it is hbra that appears in both the Moses and Gideon narratives. In fact, Exod 10.4, 12, 13, 14, 19 and Judg 6.5; 7.12 are the only times hbra or any reference to locusts are found in either book.

might not believe Moses or listen to him, yet they were also given in response to Moses’ concern that he would not be taken seriously. In this regard, one can actually say that although the signs seem to have been given for others’ beneﬁt, they are at the same time also for Moses’ beneﬁt, to reassure him that he would indeed be taken seriously. Thus, although it is true that Moses has not speciﬁcally asked for signs in so many words, inasmuch as the signs were given in response to his expressed concern so as to provide him with the necessary assurance to embark upon his commission, they may not be all that diﬀerent in nature from the sign Gideon requested. 23 Schneider, Judges, p. 105. Actually, according to Judg 6.3, 33; 7.12, the oppressors also include the Amalekites and other eastern people. But as the narrative unfolds, the focus seems to have fallen primarily on the Midianites. 24 Beyerlin, ‘Geschichte und heilsgeschichtliche Traditionsbildung’, pp. 24–25. 25 These include hbra in Exod 10.4, 12, 13, 14, 19; Lev 11.22; Deut 28.38; Judg 6.5; 7.12; 1 Kgs 8.37; 2 Chron 6.28; Job 39.20; Pss 78.46; 105.34; 109.23; Prov 30.27; Jer 46.23; Joel 1.4; 2.25; Nah 3.15,17; qly in Ps 105.34; Jer 51.14, 27; Joel 1.4; 2.25; Nah 3.15, 16; lysj in 1 Kgs 8.37; 2 Chron 6.28; Ps 78.46; Isa 33.4; Joel 1.4; 2.25; bgj in Lev 11.22; Num 13.33; 2 Chron 7.13; Qoh 12.5; Isa 40.22; μzg in Joel 1.4; 2.25; Amos 4.9; ybg in Amos 7.1; Nah 3.17; lxlx in Deut 28.42; μ[ls in Lev 11.22; lgrj in Lev 11.22; and bg in Isa 33.4.

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In addition, although hbra is the most common term for locusts and references to locusts are indeed frequently associated with divine judgement, in the majority of cases, these references are very brief and contain little or no descriptive detail. But such is not the case in the Moses and Gideon narratives. In fact, not only are the descriptions of the onslaught of real locusts in Exodus and of the locustlike Midianites in Judges among the most elaborate,26 even the way they are described is very similar. For example, while in Exod 10.14, the locusts are described as advancing against (l[ hl[) and settling down (jwn) in all Egypt, in Judg 6.3–4, the locust-like Midianites are also described as advancing against (l[ hl[) and camping out (hnj) on the land. Here, it is especially worth noting that other than in Joel 1.6, these are the only two times in Hebrew Scripture that locust or locust-like invaders are spoken of in military terms as advancing against (l[ hl[) a land. Furthermore, in both narratives, the report of this invasion is immediately followed by a description of the settling down of the invaders (jwn in Exod 10.14 and hnj in Judg 6.4). This is then followed by a detailed description of the damages each swarm did, with the greatness of their number also being emphasised (Exod 10.14–15; Judg 6.4–5). In this regard, it is signiﬁcant that such a sequence of descriptive detail is found in no other report of locust or locust-like invasion within Hebrew Scripture except in the two narratives in question. Moreover, even the description of the damages each swarm did bears a certain resemblance. While the locusts are said in Exod 10.15 to have devoured all the vegetation until ‘nothing was left of the greenery on the trees and on the plants of the ﬁeld in all the land of Egypt’, the locust-like Midianites are said in Judg 6.4 to have ruined the crops and ‘not spared a living thing in Israel, neither sheep nor cattle nor donkey’. Here it should be noted that each of the above descriptions begins with a verb of destruction (lka in Exod 10.15 and tjç in Judg 6.4) and has a general term for vegetation (bç[ in Exod 10.15 and lwby in Judg 6.4) as its direct object. The completeness of the destruction is then emphasised in the following clause in which a verb connoting some form of sparing is categorically negated (rtwnAalw in Exod 10.15 and wryaçyAalw in Judg 6.4). The speciﬁc items not spared are then also listed in detail. 26 Perhaps it is only in the book of Joel that one can ﬁnd a more elaborate description of a locust or locust-like invasion.

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Given the almost meticulous structural parallels in the description of the two invading forces, one can certainly argue that the author of the Gideon narrative was consciously equating Israel’s Midianite oppressors with the locusts sent by YHWH against Egypt. If so, what the author of the Gideon narrative may be subtly pointing out is that, unlike in the exodus tradition, where YHWH sends locusts upon Israel’s oppressors in order to save his people, in the Gideon narrative, Israel’s locust-like oppressors, also sent by YHWH, are now directed against his own people as a punishment for their apostasy. This implies that in Gideon’s case, true deliverance from Israel’s oppressors must involve more than just dealing with the oppressors themselves, but that, at some level, the apostasy that is the root cause of oppression must also be dealt with. Otherwise Israel would never be able to truly rid herself of oppressors, as the cycles of oppression already documented earlier in the book clearly show. This leads to the second ironic contrast between the two narratives. In the call narrative of Moses, the principal task to which Moses is commissioned in Exod 3.10 is to bring the Israelites out of Egypt. But after this commission has been given, in 3.16–22, YHWH continues to issue a series of speciﬁc commands to Moses that seem to represent speciﬁc steps to bring about the ultimate fulﬁlment of that commission. The ﬁrst of these commands, given in 3.16–17, requires Moses to return to Egypt27 in order to assemble the elders of Israel, so that the words of YHWH can be conveyed to them. Signiﬁcantly, at the end of the call scene when Moses’ dialogue with YHWH is ﬁnally over, what is immediately reported in Exod 4.18–20, 29–30 is Moses’ exact fulﬁlment of the ﬁrst of YHWH’s speciﬁc instructions. Furthermore, one sees in 4.31 that the reception Moses received from the elders is entirely positive, just as YHWH had earlier foretold in 3.18a. In the Gideon narrative, after Gideon received his commission to deliver Israel in his encounter with YHWH, on that same night, he also received a second command to demolish his father’s idolatrous

27 The speciﬁc command to return to Egypt is actually not reported in Exod 3.16–17, but only mentioned in retrospect in Exod 4.19. But since the elders were still being enslaved in Egypt at the time, implicit in the command of 3.16–17 to go and assemble them is the need for Moses to ﬁrst return to Egypt.

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altar and cultic object and to build a proper altar on which to oﬀer acceptable oﬀerings to YHWH ( Judg 6.25–26). Although the inclusion of the following episode arising from this command has always been thought of as having been motivated either by aetiological interest in the name Jerub-Baal or by a desire to preserve an ancient tradition about how a Canaanite sanctuary had become Israelite,28 a case can nonetheless be made that this episode is actually rhetorically signiﬁcant within the overall narrative in its current form. For if the earlier assertion concerning the likening of the Midianites to locusts truly does function to further emphasise the fact that the oppression Israel had to face was punishment from God for their apostasy, then it is only to be expected that the apostasy which is the root cause of the oppression and whose presence is made unmistakably clear in Judg 6.29–36 must somehow be dealt with before the desired deliverance would come. Against such a necessity, one might object that the oppressions mentioned earlier in the book are equally attributed to apostasy, yet none of the earlier judges had to ﬁrst deal with apostasy before they delivered Israel. However, it should also be pointed out that even though apostasy as a root cause for oppression has indeed been introduced in Judg 2.10–15 and is repeatedly reiterated in each of the early judge cycles, until the Gideon cycle, this perspective has not received signiﬁcant emphasis. For in the early cycles, apostasy as a root cause for oppression is only brieﬂy mentioned in an introductory statement to each cycle, but has otherwise not been brought up again within those narratives. It is only from the Gideon narrative onwards that a greater emphasis is put on apostasy as a real problem that needs to be dealt with. After all, in the current canonical form of the book, it is in the Gideon cycle that Israel’s cry of distress is for the ﬁrst time not immediately met with the raising up of a deliverer, but rather with an unexpected prophetic rebuke focusing on the nation’s repeated apostasy. In fact, this increased emphasis on continuing apostasy posing an obstacle to Israel’s deliverance is also found in the following cycle, where Israel’s cry is again met by another rebuke for

28 For further discussion of these options, see B. Lindars, ‘Gideon and Kingship’, JTS 16 (1965), pp. 315–26; H. Haag, ‘Gideon-Jerubbaal-Abimelek’, ZAW 79 (1967), pp. 305–14; J. A. Emerton, ‘Gideon and Jerubbaal’, JTS 27 (1976), pp. 291–312.

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her apostasy, this time not just by a prophet, but by YHWH himself, who is no longer willing even to accept Israel’s initial show of repentance.29 This suggests that the increasing emphasis on apostasy as a real problem may well be a signiﬁcant rhetorical device that reinforces the overall progressively deteriorating scheme inherent in the ﬁnal form of the book.30 While in the initial cycles, the emphasis is on YHWH’s gracious intervention on Israel’s behalf in spite of her apostasy, as it becomes apparent after a few cycles that deliverances through the various judges would only give way to renewed apostasy, the emphasis subtly begins to shift, so that Israel is increasingly being forced to reckon with the fact that she must somehow deal with her apostasy if indeed she desires deliverance from her oppressors. If this is the case, then the prophetic rebuke, as well as the portrayal of the Midianite oppressors as locusts, may actually function to draw attention to this particular need, as does YHWH’s nocturnal instructions to Gideon. Thus, to the extent that the instructions Gideon received to demolish his father’s idolatrous altar and cultic object and to build a proper altar on which to oﬀer acceptable oﬀerings to YHWH represent a symbolic ﬁrst step in dealing directly with Israel’s apostasy, these instructions parallel the instructions Moses received in Exod 3.16–18 in that both represent the necessary ﬁrst step towards the ultimate fulﬁlment of their respective commissions. But it is here that a subtle contrast is hinted at. For if Moses is presented as having carried out those ﬁrst steps impeccably, the same cannot be said of Gideon. To be sure, Gideon did go and do as

29 Admittedly, this emphasis on apostasy as a real problem does not seem to have been present overtly in the ﬁnal cycle involving Samson. But if Samson’s repeated dalliance with foreign women is indeed to be understood at one level as symbolic of Israel’s repeated apostasy, as Gros Louis and Greenstein have suggested, then rather than disappearing in the ﬁnal cycle, the emphasis on apostasy as the root cause of Israel’s trouble may actually have suﬀused the entire Samson narrative. See K. R. R. Gros Louis, ‘The Book of Judges’, in K. R. R. Gros Louis, J. S. Ackerman and T. S. Warshaw (eds.), Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives (The Bible in Literature Courses; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1974), pp. 141–62, and E. L. Greenstein, ‘The Riddle of Samson’, Proof 1 (1981), pp. 237–60. 30 This deteriorating scheme has been noticed by numerous scholars. See, for example, J. P. U. Lilley, ‘A Literary Appreciation of the Book of Judges’, TynBul 18 (1967), pp. 94–102; D. M. Gunn, ‘Joshua and Judges’, in R. Alter and F. Kermode (eds.), The Literary Guide to the Bible (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), pp. 102–21; and J. C. Exum, ‘The Centre Cannot Hold: Thematic and Textual Instabilities in Judges’, CBQ 52 (1990), pp. 410–31.

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YHWH told him, but the narrator immediately qualiﬁes his report by disclosing that Gideon only carried out YHWH’s instructions under the protection of the night instead of during the day, because he feared his family and the men of the town. In fact, in the following scene where the townsfolk discover in the morning what has been done and demand retribution, Gideon is strangely absent. It is rather his father, Joash, who speaks up on his behalf and gets him out of trouble. Therefore, even though Gideon was admittedly obedient to the instructions he was given, unlike Moses, who braved mortal danger to return to Egypt, Gideon’s obedience is presented as lacking in conviction and somewhat compromised, as he is apparently reluctant to risk his personal safety to take an open stand for YHWH against the rampant idolatry of his day. This therefore sets up a certain tension as one wonders whether Gideon will in the end live up to his potential as a Moses-like deliverer who would deliver Israel in a way his predecessors in the book could not. But one actually does not need to wait for the onset of the next cycle to ﬁnd this out, for even before the Gideon narrative comes to an end, the issue of apostasy is once again brought into focus. In this way, the unspoken question the author sets up at the beginning of the narrative is almost directly answered. As it turns out, even though YHWH did use Gideon to bring about a military victory against Israel’s current oppressors, that deliverance was destined to be short-lived. For after the Midianites have been routed and their leaders executed, Gideon suddenly took on the role of an Aaron who led Israel into apostasy. This connection with Aaron is seen in that the manufacturing of the golden ephod by Gideon in Judg 8.24–27 bears a deﬁnite resemblance to the manufacturing of the golden calf by Aaron in Exod 32.1–6.31 After all, Aaron’s golden calf and Gideon’s golden ephod are the only two cultic objects mentioned in Hebrew Scripture that are speciﬁcally said to be made from gold earrings (bhzh ymzn),32 and in both cases, these are gold earrings that Israelites willingly contributed upon the request of their leaders. Unfortunately, in both cases, the cultic

31

This has also been noted by O’Connell, Rhetoric of the Book of Judges, pp. 162–63; McCann, Judges, p. 70; and G. J. Wenham, Story as Torah: Reading the Old Testament Ethically (Old Testament Studies; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000) p. 126. 32 In fact, Exod 32.2–3 and Judg 8.24, 26 are the only incidents where bhz(h) ymzn appear in either book.

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object in question also turns out to be a source of idolatry for the people. But within the Gideon narrative, the report of this act of apostasy is signiﬁcant not only in itself, but also in relationship to Gideon’s introduction. For not only does this incident bring the narrative back full circle to show that Gideon is, after all, not a new Moses, but just an old Aaron, and Aaron at his worst, in hindsight, one can also see how his initial reluctance to openly take a stand against apostasy may foreshadow his eventual succumbing to apostasy as well.33 Moreover, to the extent that the golden ephod he manufactured is said in 8.27 not only to have ensnared himself and his family, but also to cause all Israel to prostitute herself after it, it is abundantly clear that whatever deliverance Gideon managed to bring about against the Midianites was not a deliverance that would last. For since Gideon ended up leading Israel down the same path that prompted YHWH to allow the Midianites to oppress Israel in the ﬁrst place, it would thus only be a matter of time before YHWH brings another oppressor onto the scene to punish his people for their new-found apostasy. In summary, it has been argued in this essay that similarities between the call narratives of Moses and Gideon are best accounted for by conscious literary dependence rather than by appealing to the same type-scene. Furthermore, all evidence seems to point to the priority of the exodus tradition, so that it is the author of the Gideon narrative who alluded to that tradition as he constructed his narrative about Gideon. That this is so is further substantiated by the fact that a deﬁnite rhetorical purpose for alluding to Moses is readily discernible. For by shaping Gideon’s call after that of Moses, the author was immediately able to create suspense and focus the audience’s attention on the question of whether or not Gideon would turn out to be a new Moses. However, being a skilful storyteller, this author also took care to leave subtle clues that would hint at the ﬁnal outcome. By portraying Israel’s Midianite oppressors in a similar fashion as the locusts YHWH sent upon the Egyptians in Moses’ day,

33 Webb, Book of Judges, p. 153, thinks it is ironic that the one who initially championed against Baal ended up presiding over national apostasy. But in support of the view that Gideon’s initial reluctance actually foreshadows his ultimate failure, see O’Connell, Rhetoric of the Book of Judges, pp. 152–53.

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the author tried to draw attention to the root cause of Israel’s current problem: apostasy. And by showing Gideon as less than wholehearted in his ﬁrst assignment to deal with that very apostasy, the author actually anticipated Gideon’s own downfall and ultimate failure truly to deliver his people. As it turns out, Gideon was no new Moses.

THE SEVENTY SONS OF ATHIRAT, THE NATIONS OF THE WORLD, DEUTERONOMY 32.6B, 8–9, AND THE MYTH OF DIVINE ELECTION N. Wyatt This paper, a short one for so long a title, is oﬀered with great pleasure to Graeme Auld, who has proved a stimulating colleague and friend over many years, always alerting me to the fact that there are many ways of telling a story, not least among historians who sometimes wonder whether there is a story to tell. In the Ugaritic text KTU 1.4 vi 46 the poet Ilimilku refers to ‘the seventy sons of Athirat’ (“b'm bn aΔrt). This is the only reference so far appearing in Ugaritian tradition concerning the ‘precise’ number of the gods. None of the extant pantheon lists1 remotely approaches seventy deities in number, and while considerable numbers of divine epithets have been isolated,2 we would be hard-pressed even to ﬁnd seventy diﬀerent divine persons. It seems likely that the number is rhetorical, and is intended to represent the idea of totality (10 x 7): it is in eﬀect, perhaps, a literary or rather arithmetical ﬁgure for ‘all the gods’,3 as in the comparable designations in Ugaritic bn il(m), ‘the sons of El’ (or more prosaically, ‘the gods’) or dr bn il (‘the family of the sons of El’, or more prosaically, ‘the family of the gods’). The terms ‘sons’ and ‘gods’ in these formulae probably denote ‘children’ and ‘gods and goddesses’ or ‘deities’, rather than restricting themselves to male ﬁgures. Whether the Ugaritic expression “b'm bn aΔrt conveyed any political overtones, such as the cosmological idea of all the nations of the world, which we may discern in the Hebrew

1 On the structure of the so-called ‘canonical lists’ see N. Wyatt, ‘Understanding Polytheism: Structure and Dynamic in a West Semitic Pantheon’, Journal of Higher Criticism 5 (1998), pp. 24–63. 2 J. C. de Moor, ‘The Semitic Pantheon of Ugarit’, UF 2 (1970), pp. 187–228. For Baal’s epithets see N. Wyatt, ‘The Titles of the Ugaritic Storm-God’, UF 24 (1992), pp. 403–24. 3 The ‘Enneads’ of Egypt may serve as analogues: inspired in all probability by the Ennead of Heliopolis, which itself underwent modiﬁcation over time, they vary in number from city to city, but always serve to group a local pantheon in a ‘total’ form.

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usage to be discussed below, we have no means of knowing on presently available evidence. It is a possibility. The interpretation of the number seventy as having some sense of ‘totality’ is not without further justiﬁcation from the texts from Ugarit. At KTU 1.6 i 18–28, Anat oﬀers seventy sacriﬁces in each of a number of categories: bulls, oxen, stags, mountain-goats and antelopes, at Baal’s funeral obsequies; KTU 1.12 ii 48–49 refers to Baal’s ‘seventy brothers . . . eighty . . .’, where the ‘eighty’ is the b term in the numerical progression, balancing ‘seventy’ as the a term; while at KTU 1.15 iv 5, Keret summons his ‘seventy commanders . . . eighty leaders . . .’, 4 using the same ﬁgure. In the former case this is, as it were, an Ugaritian equivalent to the Greek hecatomb, while in the latter instances, the parallel ‘eighty’ is for rhetorical purposes only, the ‘seventy’ here being dominant, controlling the thrust of the idiom. The number seventy comes up again in a biblical context, but this time by implication only, in the famous crux in Deuteronomy 32. Since this appears to be concerned with the number of deities in a pantheon, in this case a set of divine world-rulers, it is not inappropriate to link it provisionally with the idiom of KTU 1.4 vi 46, or at any rate to suggest that the two idioms may be conceptually associated, and that one may perhaps elucidate the other. But let us not prejudge the issue, since other possibilities have been entertained in the history of interpretation, as we shall see. The relevant verses (Deut 32.6b, 8–9) read as follows, with prosodic analysis to the right: 6b halô"-hû" "àbîkà *qonekà hû" 'à≤ ekà wayekònenekà 8

behan˙èl 'elyôn gôyim behaprîdô benê "àdàm yaßßèb gebulòt 'ammîm lemispar benê yi≤rà"èl

Is he not your father, your progenitor? He made you and begot you . . .

abcd bcd

When The Most High dispersed the nations, when he scattered the sons of Adam,

abcd

he set up the boundaries of the nations in accordance with the number of the sons of X.

abc de

a(b)cd

4 N. Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit (The Biblical Seminar, 53; London: Sheﬃeld Academic Press, 2nd edn, 2002) pp. 130, 167 and 214 respectively. The second of these possibly refers back to the number of Athirat’s oﬀspring, construed as the ‘brothers’ of Baal.

the seventy sons of athirat kî ˙èleq yhwh 'ammô

9

But the allotment of Yahweh was his kinsman, Jacob the portion of his inheritance.

ya'aqòb ˙ebel na˙alàtô

549 abcd db(c)

There has long been a division of opinion concerning the meaning of these lines, in particular the precise implications of verses 8 and 9, where I have thus far avoided a decision on the precise reading of the ﬁnal word in the earlier verse by leaving it untranslated (‘sons of X’). I have cited v. 6b as germane to the issue, and shall begin by oﬀering a commentary on key terms in the text. 1. Verse 6ba, MT qanekà The term is perhaps better read as participial qònê (with suﬃx qonekà), in internal parallelism with "àbîkà. The two terms are best seen as synonymous rather than merely complementary, the two titular forms then balanced and explicated by the following two ﬁnite verbal forms. The basis for this judgement may seem subjective, but is essentially stylistic: rather than one nominal form balanced by three verbal forms (thus MT), on my analysis we have two substantives balanced by two verbs, each colon containing four elements. The repointing also allows a further assonance to operate (the ﬁnal term of each colon in v. 6). This balance also tells in favour of taking the second hû" with the second colon, resuming its use in the ﬁrst. To the form qònê cf. Gen 14.19, 22, reﬂecting an old Northwest Semitic title *qny arß, preserved in the Hittite divine name Elkunir“a, both forms denoting El’s paternal role as ‘El, generator of the world (or: earth)’. On the sexual nuance of 3qny (qnh), which may well be disputed by some readers, we should compare the designation of Athirat in Ugarit as qnyt ilm, ‘mother of the god(s)’.5 While in this designation the gods are generally taken to be plural, so that it is precisely the equivalent to the formula of KTU 1.4 vi 46 discussed above, it is possible that, given the royal aspect of the cult of Athirat, analogous to that of Asherah in Israel, we should read the ilm as singular with enclitic, so that we have in eﬀect the Ugaritic equivalent of the Greek title YeotÒkow. At any rate, the Ugaritic demonstrates the possibility that the term qònê can have a reproductive sense.

5

KTU 1.4 i 22; 1.4 iii 30.

550

n. wyatt 2. Verse 6bb, MT wayekònenekà

The same internal parallelism applies here: 'à≤ ekà, ‘made’ is parallel to yekònenekà, ‘begot you’. The latter term surely has this procreative sense rather than ‘established you’ or the like.6 The assonance between qonekà and y ekòn eneka is noteworthy, as is the use of no less than four synonymous terms for ‘father’ ("àbîkà, qonekà, 'à≤ ekà, and yekòneneka, where the straightforward term, "àbîkà is expanded in all possible permutations with recherché and poetic terms). Thus enormous emphasis is placed on the parental relationship of the deity to Israel, and it is further enhanced by the rhetorical device whereby this (but how much of this?) is a question (demanding the answer ‘yes!’) addressed directly to the son. The reader naturally identiﬁes himself with this son. The language of divine sonship belongs in the context of royal ideology, and here the member of the community of Israel is an extension of the king’s persona, which represents the nation, on a pars pro toto basis. The same royal metaphor for the nation is found in Hos 11.1. We may reasonably ask whether the halô"-hû" of the ﬁrst colon (6ba) is not to be construed as doing double duty, echoed in the hû"

6 Cf. N. Wyatt, ‘The Theogony Motif in Ugarit and the Bible’, in G. J. Brooke, A. H. W. Curtis, and J. F. Healey (eds.), Ugarit and the Bible (UBL, 11; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1994), pp. 395–419 (414, and n. 62) = N. Wyatt, ‘There’s Such Divinity Doth Hedge a King’: Selected Essays of Nicolas Wyatt on Royal Ideology in Ugaritic and Old Testament Literature (SOTS Monographs; London: Ashgate, 2005), pp. 85–101 (97, and n. 62). The later Christian creedal distinction between ‘begotten’ and ‘made’ would be meaningless in this intellectual context. Cf. too the language of Isa 44.2, a text alluded to below, in which we have the following formulation: kòh-"àmar yhwh Thus says Yahweh: 'ò≤ekà your maker, yea, the one who fashioned you from the womb, weyòßerkà mibbe†en your sustainer . . . ya'zerekà This is the language, not of ‘making’, as at ﬁrst glance to the unwary reader, but of ‘begetting’. It should be remembered that the ideological background to this kind of discourse is Egyptian royal ideology, which ﬁnds many echoes in biblical passages on kingship. In Egyptian texts and iconography, the king is both begotten as a natural son by the high god Amun on the queen, and at the same time is fashioned along with his Ka on the potter’s wheel of Khnum, the ram-god of Elephantine. The latter concept is echoed in the biblical use of the terms yàßar and yòßer. The juncture of the two metaphors comes out particularly clearly in Genesis 2 and also in Jer 1.5, a passage which is close in formulation to the above. See further N. Wyatt, ‘Echoes of the King and his Ka: an Ideological Motif in the Story of Solomon’s Birth’, UF 19 (1987), pp. 399–404 = Wyatt, ‘There’s Such Divinity’, pp. 49–53.

the seventy sons of athirat

551

of the second colon (6bb), in which case the entire bicolon constitutes the question, rather than being a question posed in a which is then answered in b. We could then propose the following modiﬁed translation of v. 6b: Is he not your father, your progenitor? Did he not make you and beget you?

Such a sense certainly contains more dynamism than the rather lame question and answer of the former construal.7 The repetition of the question almost reinforces the implicit answer, which the reader is invited to supply. 3. Verse 8aa, MT behan˙èl: lit. ‘sieved out’ (hiphil) For this understanding see the appeal to parallelism by G. R. Driver.8 This is to see han˙èl as derived from 3n¢l rather than from 3n˙l. The latter form, ‘inheritance’, appears in v. 9, and no doubt the poet plays deliberately on the similarity of the terms for diﬀerent concepts. They are undoubtedly related etymologically, but the diﬀerentiation between them is best preserved as in Driver’s suggestion. The two gutturals, appearing as ¢ and ˙ in Arabic and Ugaritic, were assimilated to the one form ˙ in Hebrew. It is preferable to recognise a word-play in the Hebrew, rather than to assimilate the two forms. It is uncertain whether there is here a covert allusion to the Babel tradition, which referred to the dispersal of the inhabitants of the city. Perhaps, if we are to read it thus, Babel may stand for Jerusalem as well as for Babylon, as it undoubtedly does in Genesis 11, being perhaps an allusion to exile.9 In this case we are to read the passage as postexilic, deliberately alluding to Genesis, and explaining ﬁrstly the fact of dispersion (sc. of Judah), and secondly

7 See already S. R. Driver, Deuteronomy (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1895), p. 350. 8 G. R. Driver, ‘Three Notes’, VT 2 (1952), pp. 356–57. 9 Cf. the similar ‘double-take’ of the narratives of Jacob’s dream in Genesis 28, where Jacob’s pillow serves as both the Jerusalem omphalos and as the ziggurat in Babylon (see N. Wyatt, ‘Where did Jacob Dream his Dream?’, SJOT 2 [1990], pp. 44–57); and Moses’ vision in Exodus 3 (see N. Wyatt, ‘The Signiﬁcance of the Burning Bush’, VT 36 [1986], pp. 361–65 = N. Wyatt, The Mythic Mind: Essays on Cosmology in Ugaritic and Old Testament Literature [BibleWorld; London: Equinox, 2005], pp. 13–17), where the desert location signiﬁes exile, while the bush evokes the temple menorah.

n. wyatt

552

Yahweh’s election of the righteous among them. However, such thoughts are strictly speculative, if attractive to a full hermeneutic. 4. Verse 8aa, MT 'elyôn This term, in this form (e.g., Ps 82.6) or the divine name "èl 'elyôn, El Most High’, occurs both in the Bible (e.g., Gen 14.18–22, where he is identiﬁed with Yahweh) and in the wider ancient Near Eastern context.10 In Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelicae 1.10.15 the two parts of the divine title appear as separate deities. ‘

5. Verse 8ab, MT behaprîdô This term is quite forceful in its emphasis on the separation and isolation of people from one another, and geographical dispersal. 11 It conﬁrms the approach taken by Driver with respect to behan˙èl in 8aa, whereas the usual understanding ‘give (as) inheritance’ ( JPS ‘gave . . . their homes’) lacks any coherence in the context. 6. Verse 8ba, MT as above Targum adds ‘seventy’. 7. Verse 8bb, MT reads yi≤rà"èl, ‘Israel’ LXX reads égg°lvn YeoË, ‘the angels of God’, which presupposes the Hebrew *benê "èlîm or benê (hà)"elòhîm, ‘the sons of El’ or ‘the sons of God’. The Qumran Deuteronomy fragment from Cave 4 (bny "lhym),12 Old Latin, Symmachus and Syrohexapla all support this

10 See M. H. Pope, El in the Ugaritic Texts (VTSup, 2; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1955), pp. 55–57; R. Rendtorﬀ, ‘The Background of the Title ˆwOyl][, in Gen xiv’, in Fourth World Congress of Jewish Studies ( Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1967), pp. 167–70; F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973), pp. 50–52; M. S. Smith, The Early History of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2nd edn, 2002), p. 56, n. 106. 11 HALOT 3:962b–963a. 12 See Smith, Early History, p. 32, n. 43, with bibliography.

the seventy sons of athirat

553

reading.13 The former of the two Hebrew proposals, with paternity ascribed to El rather than Elohim, is the more plausible original, echoing the Ugaritic formula describing the gods as bn il, ‘sons of El’. The apparent ﬁnal mimation of *"èlîm is neither a problem nor a plural: the form is an old genitive singular, with an enclitic mem (rather than mimation) surviving in a ﬁxed idiom. ‘Seventy sons (or: children) of El’ would harmonise the Hebrew and Ugaritian conceptions of the pantheon as an inclusive body, the progeny of El. This is more in keeping with the concept of El’s divine paternity, and the community of the pantheon as divine family, than the alternative sense that has been read, ‘the sons of gods’, which is incoherent. So long as the single reference of (hà)"elòhîm was maintained, there is no serious problem in the shift from *"èlîm, part of a shift in the usage of the latter, whose original syntax would have become opaque. Retaining MT, we identify the number of nations as equivalent to the number of Jacob’s sons. These are either the original twelve (e.g., Gen 46.27; 49.28), which however would oﬀer no close parallel to ‘seventy nations’, or the extended family of seventy (as in Exod 1.5), which would correspond nicely with this idea. Following LXX etc., we identify them in accordance with the size of the angelic host, which continues to preserve the old Ugaritian enumeration. T. Naph. (Latin) 8.4–5; 9.4 reﬂects this view, reading as follows: Do not forget the Lord your god, the god of your fathers; who was chosen by our father Abraham when the nations were divided in the time of Phaleg (= Peleg: cf. Gen 10.25). For at that time the Lord, blessed be he, came down from his highest heavens, and brought down with him seventy ministering angels, Michael at their head. He commanded them to teach the seventy families which sprang from the loins of Noah seventy languages . . . But the holy language, the Hebrew language, remained only in the house of Shem . . . . . . and every nation chose its own angel, and none of them mentioned the name of the Lord, blessed be he . . .14

The number seventy as a symbolic ﬁgure for the pantheon already occurs in Ugaritian thought (as we saw above). The ‘table of nations’

13 14

BHS apparatus. See also Sir 17.17.

554

n. wyatt

of Genesis 10 is generally understood to contain a list of seventy ‘nations’ (though the ﬁgures may need to be juggled a bit). But it will be noticed that the idea of seventy nations descended from Noah’s sons (sc. Shem, Ham and Japheth) is an alternative construction to the seventy descendants of Jacob. 8. Verse 9a, MT kî ˙èleq yhwh 'ammô Is Yahweh here one of the (gods >) angels (thus many commentators), or is he, quite distinct from the (gods >) angels of the Gentile nations, to be identiﬁed with El 'Elyon, as in Genesis 14, so that we have here a mythic account of election? Such expressions of divine choice (commonly expressed in kinship terms: cf. v. 6) are widespread. See also Gen 19.30–38, where both Ammonites and Moabites claim descent from a deity, 'Am and Ab respectively. These are both designations of the moon-god.15 If Yahweh is to be construed as one of the gods (numbering seventy), it follows that he is regarded as subordinate to El 'Elyon. In my view this is a serious misconstruction of the verse, in which it is precisely Yahweh’s absolute supremacy, and his exclusion from the ‘seventy sons . . .’, which is itself a ﬁgure for Israel’s exclusion from the seventy nations, which would ﬁt a postexilic date, and a growing isolationism, particularly well. Pursuing the analogy of Ammon and Moab, it is signiﬁcant that they too trace their eponymous descent from the high god himself, in all probability to be identiﬁed with the mysterious Lot.16 Kings too, fathers of their nation, trace their descent back directly to the high god (as in Ugarit, where gods and kings are alike bn il[m]), rather than to one of his subordinates. They may themselves have been assimilated in some manner with the subordinates (such as with Baal or Athtar at Ugarit), but the issue of paternity is not to be confused with that of fraternity. Were this alternative interpretation to be endorsed, the idea that we have here a mythic account of the election of Israel would be seriously compromised. For it would, in insisting on the distinction

15 See discussion of this, with references, in N. Wyatt, Myths of Power: A Study of Royal Myth and Ideology in Ugarit and Israel (UBL, 13; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1996), pp. 232–35. 16 Suggested in Wyatt, Myths of Power, p. 235; Wyatt, ‘There’s Such Divinity’, p. 94.

the seventy sons of athirat

555

between El 'Elyon and Yahweh, imply that the original choice was made not by Yahweh, but by El 'Elyon himself, who merely delegated control of the people to Yahweh; it would thus negate the insistence of various texts on the choice by Yahweh of Israel . 17 It might be argued that such a doctrine was the outcome of a historical process to which the present text bears witness at an intermediate, or even a culminating stage, but in view of the diﬃculty in dating any of these passages relative to one other, it is hardly cogent. Hebrew 'ammô. The conventional translation is ‘his people’. The present translation, ‘his kinsman’, is in better accord with the prosody, since it oﬀers a better parallel to ‘Jacob’. Jacob may indeed represent a nation, but he does so in eponymous form, as an individual. The idea of the deity as kinsman of the patriarch ﬁts the metaphor of Adam and the king as ‘son of God’. See Gen 31.42, where God is called pa˙ad yißhàq, which JB translates as ‘Kinsman of Isaac’.18 9. Verse 9b, MT ya' aqòb ˙ebel na˙alàtô In the prosodic analysis above, in the right hand column, the bracketed elements are suﬃxes paralleling the divine names. Thus the suﬃx of na˙alàtô refers back to Yahweh. There is no need to discuss the main problem at further length. The key elements have emerged clearly in this analysis of the text. We may summarise the issues. Firstly, the number seventy may be obtained by two genealogical speculations: either by looking at the sons of Jacob, which may have been the biblical strategy, whether or not it was the original author’s own view, or by considering the seventy nations descended from Noah, which may also have been a biblical strategy, though the numbers need adjustment, and was evidently the line taken by the author of the Testament of Naphtali. Alternatively, it may have had a theological reference, which is supported by the presuppositions of the LXX and Qumran readings. I ﬁnd this more probable on comparative grounds.

17 E.g., Deut 4.37; 7.6–8; 10.15; 14.2; 1 Kgs 3.8; Isa 14.1; 41.8–9; 44.2; Pss 33.12; 135.4. 18 Pa˙ad II means ‘thigh’ [euphemism?] in Arabic, Aramaic and in Palmyrene, ‘sub-tribe’, i.e., ‘congenital’.

556

n. wyatt

Secondly, two approaches may be taken to the problem of Yahweh’s relation to El 'Elyon. Yahweh may be a subordinate deity, as supposed by perhaps the majority of modern commentators, and possibly supported by late traditions (or perhaps late versions of older traditions) such as the pseudepigraphical literature. Alternatively, it is possible that he should be identiﬁed with El, and thus considered external to the seventy. This, I suspect, is the oldest line that was taken, and is supported, incidentally, by the conception (no pun intended) of kings and eponyms as sons of the deity. The conception of the king of Ugarit as bn il (perhaps prosaically ‘divine’, but mythologically ‘son of El’) is strictly equivalent, in terms of historical development, to Hebrew ‘son of Yahweh’, the idea implicit in such royal Psalms as 2, 8, 19 and 110. It seems then that the equivalence of Yahweh and El 'Elyon in the Deuteronomy passage was its original sense. It has perhaps been subject to alternative explanations with the passage of time, but if these are to be read legitimately in the text (as distinct from being read illegitimately into it) they are to be seen as evidence of a progressive failure to understand the original author’s theological strategy. I mention one ﬁnal problem merely in passing: who was the god of the exodus? Conventional wisdom identiﬁes him as Yahweh, without qualiﬁcation. But any detailed perusal of the exodus traditions shows that it is not nearly so clear-cut as this suggests. Three voices have stood out against the consensus: C. F. A. Schaeﬀer, N. Wyatt and M. S. Smith.19 We have all argued that according to important pieces of information in the tradition, a case can be made for El as the saviour god.20

19 C. F. A. Schaeﬀer, ‘Nouveaux témoignages du culte de El et de Baal à Ras Shamra et ailleurs en Syrie-Palestine’, Syria 43 (1966), pp. 1–19; N. Wyatt, ‘Of Calves and Kings: the Canaanite Dimension of Israelite Religion’, SJOT 6 (1992), pp. 68–91 = Wyatt, The Mythic Mind, pp. 72–91; M. S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 146–48. 20 My own take on the relation between the two deities (or, in my view, one deity, and the growth in the use of one particular epithet for him) is summed up in Wyatt, ‘Of Calves and Kings’, and for philological considerations in N. Wyatt, ‘Near Eastern Echoes of Aryan Tradition’, SMSR 55 (N.S. 13) (1989), pp. 5–29 (21–27).

CONTRIBUTORS W. Brian Aucker Westminster Christian Academy St. Louis, Missouri, USA John Barton Oriel College, University of Oxford Oxford, England, UK George J. Brooke Department of Religions and Theology, University of Manchester Manchester, England, UK Ronald E. Clements King’s College (Emeritus) London, England, UK David J. A. Clines Department of Biblical Studies, University of Sheﬃeld (Emeritus) Sheﬃeld, England, UK Adrian H. W. Curtis Department of Religions and Theology, University of Manchester Manchester, England, UK Philip R. Davies Department of Biblical Studies, University of Sheﬃeld (Emeritus) Sheﬃeld, England, UK John Day Lady Margaret Hall, University of Oxford Oxford, England, UK Mary Douglas Department of Anthropology, University College (Emeritus) London, England, UK Lester L. Grabbe Department of Theology, University of Hull Hull, England, UK

558

contributors

A. Peter Hayman New College, School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh (Emeritus) Edinburgh, Scotland, UK Alastair G. Hunter Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Glasgow Glasgow, Scotland, UK William Johnstone Divinity and Religious Studies, University of Aberdeen (Emeritus) Aberdeen, Scotland, UK Gary N. Knoppers Department of Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies, Pennsylvania State University University Park, Pennsylvania, USA Lydie Kucová Independent Scholar Prague, Czech Republic Timothy H. Lim New College, School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh Edinburgh, Scotland, UK James R. Linville Department of Religious Studies, University of Lethbridge Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada Steven L. McKenzie Department of Religious Studies, Rhodes College Memphis, Tennessee, USA Raymond F. Person, Jr. Department of Philosophy and Religion, Ohio Northern University Ada, Ohio, USA Hugh S. Pyper Department of Biblical Studies, University of Sheﬃeld Sheﬃeld, England, UK David J. Reimer New College, School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

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559

Robert Rezetko Independent Scholar Guadalajara, Jalisco, México Thomas Christian Römer Faculté de Théologie et des Sciences des Religions, Université de Lausanne Lausanne, Switzerland Margreet L. Steiner Independent Scholar Leiden, The Netherlands Emanuel Tov Department of Bible, Hebrew University Jerusalem, Israel Julio Trebolle Departamento de Hebreo y Arameo, Facultad de Filología, Universidad Complutense Madrid, Spain John Van Seters Department of Religious Studies, University of North Carolina (Emeritus) Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA H. G. M. Williamson Christ Church, University of Oxford Oxford, England, UK Gregory T. K. Wong Independent Scholar Edinburgh, Scotland, UK Nicolas Wyatt New College, School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh (Emeritus) Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

INDEX OF NAMES Abrams, D. 178n.11, 179n.14, 180 Achenbach, R. 424n.20, 429n.38, 436, 436n.56, 441n.76, n.78 Ackerman, S. 15, 15n.45, n.46, n.47, 16n.48, 542n.29 Aharoni, Y. 99n.17 A˙ituv, S. xvii, 132n.58, 498n.24 Ahlström, G. W. 99n.16, 229n.18, 243n.5, 285n.8 Aitken, K. T. 86, 86n.18, 87, 87n.21, n.22, n.23 Albertz, R. 167n.33, 328, 328n.26, 423n.15 Albright, W. F. 115n.10, 125n.37, 308, 308n.22 Alfrink, B. 121n.28 Allegro, J. M. 469n.22 Alonso Schökel, L. 373n.37, n.41 Alt, A. 99n.17, 105n.28, 113n.4 Alter, R. 256n.33, 523n.15, 542n.30 Álvarez Barredo, M. 431n.2 Amit, Y. 4n.13, 10, 10n.30, n.31, n.32, 110n.43 Anbar, M. 237n.37 Anderson, A. A. 192, 192n.12, 252n.23 Anderson, B. W. 423n.16 Anderson, F. I. 274 Anderson, G. W. xiii, xiv, xvi, xxi, 1, 1n.4, 420n.5 Andiñach, P. R. 289, 289n.24, n.26 Arnold, B. T. xx Arnold, P. M. 124, 124n.35, 133, 133n.66 Artus, O. 433n.51 Astour, M. C. 228n.16, 311n.33 Aucker, W. B. ix, xiv, 2n.7, 244n.7, 379n.1 Auld, A. G. xi–xxiii, 1, 1n.2, 8, 8n.24, 29, 29n.8, 30, 35, 36, 36n.4, n.6, 38, 39, 39n.16, 49, 49n.1, 50, 50n.4, 52, 52n.10, 65, 67, 81, 81n.1, 93, 93n.1, n.2, n.3, 99n.17, 108, 108n.38, n.40, 113, 122n.30, 131n.58, 132, 132n.58, n.59, 139, 139n.1, 140, 140n.5, n.6, 143, 144, 144n.15, 148, 148n.18, 149, 150, 150n.19, 173, 175, 187n.1, 207,

207n.1, n.3, 208n.5, 223n.1, 239, 239n.45, 241, 241n.1, 242n.2, n.3, 247n.16, 257n.36, 258, 258n.38, 261n.1, 283, 283n.3, 284, 284n.4, 297, 297n.52, 298, 299n.1, 305, 305n.12, n.13, n.15, 306, 306n.16, n.17, 308n.21, 315, 319, 319n.8, 320, 320n.9, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 325n.18, 331, 331n.34, n.35, n.36, 332, 332n.38, 333, 333n.42, 337, 337n.1, 346n.17, 355, 356, 356n.26, n.28, 359, 359n.2, 360, 378, 398n.104, 417n.187, 419n.1, 420n.5, 426n.30, 429n.37, 437n.61, 438, 438n.64, n.65, 439n.72, 447, 447n.1, 483, 483n.2, 492, 497, 498, 498n.24, n.25, 503, 503n.1, n.2, n.3, 504, 505, 505n.7, n.8, n.9, 506, 506n.11, 507, 508, 508n.20, 509, 510, 511, 512, 514, 515, 517, 529, 530n.3, 531, 531n.8, 535n.16, 547 Aurelius, E. 423n.15, 425n.23, 432, 439n.70, 442n.82 Auwers, J.-M. 484n.5 Avery-Peck, A. J. 427n.31 Baasten, M. F. J. 409n.154, 461n.6 Badcock, G. D. xvii Bächli, O. 99n.17 Bailey, R. C. 245n.11 Baker, D. W. 115, 115n.9, n.10, 121n.27 Bal, M. 282n.48 Ball, E. xviii Banning, E. B. 514n.27 Barber, A. 238n.39, 389n.52 Barber, E. A. 463n.11 Barclay, A. 241n.1 Bar-Efrat, S. 255, 255n.29 Barnes, W. E. 7n.23 Barr, J. 382n.14, 412n.169, 459n.2, 460n.5, 462n.9, n.10 Bartelmus, R. 518n.4, 522n.12, n.13, 523n.15 Barthélemy, D. 461n.8, 485, 485n.7 Barton, J. xix, 40n.20, 285n.7, 286, 286n.12, 287, 287n.15, n.17, 288, 288n.18, 290n.31, 293n.42, 294,

562

index of names

294n.46, 295n.48, 297, 297n.51, 356, 356n.29, 360n.3, 361n.8, 362n.12, 371n.34, 377, 377n.45, 445n.86 Bauckham, R. J. 262, 262n.7, 263, 263n.9, n.11, n.12, n.13, 264, 264n.14, n.16, 269, 281 Bauks, M. 425n.21, 426n.26 Baumgartner, W. xxvi, 246n.14, 292n.35, 462n.9 Beattie, D. R. G. 279, 279n.45 Beck, A. B. 350n.20 Becker, H.-J. 180n.16 Becking, B. 17n.51, 232n.29 Beentjes, P. C. 232n.28 Behâ ed-Dîn 113, 113n.1 Beit-Arié, M. 178, 179, 179n.12, n.13 Ben Zvi, E. 110n.43, 229n.18, 237n.38, 297n.53, 350n.20, 426n.30, 522n.14 Ben-Dov, J. 46n.42 Ben-Isaiah, A. 219n.35 Benzinger, I. 224n.7, 229n.17 Berg, S. B. 526n.25, 528n.30 Bergen, W. J. 1, 1n.3, 7, 7n.22, 8, 8n.27, 24n.80 Bergey, R. 380n.5, 400, 400n.111, 401n.115, 403, 403n.124, 416 Bergler, S. 288, 289, 289n.23 Berlin, A. 526n.26 Bernstein, M. J. 40n.22, 280, 280n.46, 491n.14 Beuken, W. A. M. 65n.23 Bewer, J. A. 343n.11 Beyerlin, W. 530, 530n.4, 537, 537n.19, 538, 538n.24 Bianchi, U. 14n.40, 23n.78 Bi‘, M. 292n.38, 293n.43 Bickerman, E. 528n.30 Bietenhard, S. K. 500n.28 Bigger, S. xvii Bin-Nun, S. R. 156, 156n.6 Biran, A. xvii Birch, B. C. 365, 365n.20, 366, 366n.21 Bjørndalen, A. J. 522n.13, 524 Black, J. S. 535n.44 Blau, J. 461n.7, 482n.44 Bledstein, A. J. 264, 264n.15 Blenkinsopp, J. 98n.14, 100n.19, 110, 110n.44, 111, 111n.47, 115n.10, 121n.26, 122n.30, 123, 123n.31, n.32, 126n.38, 128, 128n.45, 129, 129n.47, 130n.52, 133n.67, 140n.3,

212n.13, 258n.36, 328n.24, 334n.46, 424n.19, 426n.27, 444, 445n.86 Block, D. I. 530n.3, 537n.19 Blum, E. 420, 420n.5, 421, 423, 423n.14, 439n.68, 441n.77 Boecker, H. J. 523n.16 Bolin, T. M. 340n.7 Boling, R. G. 530, 530n.5, 532n.11, 534, 536n.16 Botterweck, G. J. xxix, 482n.45 Boulton, J. T. 179n.15 Bovati, P. 523n.16 Bowden, J. S. 51n.8, 126n.38, 213n.15, 328n.26 Bowley, J. E. 492n.15 Boyce, R. N. 5n.16 Braulik, G. 493n.18 Brekelmans, C. H. W. 436n.57 Brenner, A. 264n.15, 266, 266n.23, n.24, n.25, 267n.26, 268, 268n.27, n.28, 269, 273n.33, 282, 282n.48, 341n.9, 343n.13 Brettler, M. Z. 229n.19, 230n.21, n.22, 239, 239n.43, 362n.12, 429n.38 Briend, J. 130n.52 Briggs, C. A. xxv, 193n.17 Brink, A. 262, 262n.8, 263n.9, n.10 Brockelmann, C. 527n.27 Bromiley, G. W. 363n.17 Bronner, L. 6n.18 Brooke, G. J. 40n.20, 41n.23, 42n.30, 47n.45, n.46 Brown, F. xxv Brown, W. P. 209n.7 Broyles, C. C. 193, 193n.15 Brueggemann, W. 4n.13, 7n.23, 27n.1 Bruno, A. 123n.31, 126n.38 Budde, K. 350n.21 Buhl, F. 76n.12 Buis, P. 2, 3, 3n.10, n.11 Bultmann, C. xvii, 359n.2 Burney, C. F. 18n.55, 224n.7, 229n.17, 352n.23, 390n.57, 485, 485n.8 Burstein, S. M. 160n.20, 170n.36 Bush, F. 274, 274n.38, 277n.44, 278 Buttenwieser, M. 193n.17 Caird, G. B. 463n.11 Campbell, A. F. 156, 156n.8, 162n.28, 224n.7, 245n.10 Campbell, E. F. 274, 274n.36, 277n.44

index of names Campbell, J. G. 43n.32 Caquot, A. 426n.28 Carlson, R. A. 257n.36 Carmichael, C. M. 373n.39 Carr, D. M. 423n.15 Carroll, L. 283, 283n.2, 291n.33, 292n.36, 346n.17, 358, 358n.31, n.32 Carroll, R. P. xvii, xix, xxii, 99n.15, 258n.36, 283n.3, 325, 325n.17, n.18, 356, 356n.26, n.27, 359n.2, 431, 431n.41, 505n.9 Carter, C. 100n.19 Casetti, P. 461n.8 Caspari, C. P. 211n.12 Cazelles, H. 126, 127, 127n.41, 426n.28 Ceuppens, P. F. 120n.24 Chazon, E. G. 42n.30, 45n.38, n.39 Cheyne, T. K. 126n.38 Childs, B. S. 211n.13, 213, 213n.17, 219n.31, 366n.21 Claassen, W. T. 291n.32 Claessen, H. J. M. 452n.16 Clark, G. R. 277n.44 Clements, R. A. 42n.30, 45n.39 Clements, R. E. xviii, 50n.3, 58n.18, 63n.22, 122n.30 Cliﬀord, R. J. 190n.5 Clines, D. J. A. xx, xxvi, 66n.23, 76n.13, 286, 286n.11, 341n.9, 390n.58, 517, 517n.2, 526, 526n.26, 528, 528n.31 Coats, G. W. 8n.28 Cogan, M. 4n.14, 6n.17, 8n.25, 224n.5, 228n.14, n.15, 229n.19, 230n.22, 234n.32, 390n.56, 520n.7 Coggins, R. J. xvii, 225n.9, 285n.7, 322n.13 Cohen, C. 39n.18, 116n.13, 212n.13 Cohn, R. L. 11, 11n.33, 12n.36, 13n.39, 20, 20n.67, 21, 21n.69, 227n.13, 233n.30 Cole, D. 134, 134n.68 Collins, A. Y. 262n.6 Collins, J. J. 398n.102 Coote, R. B. 1n.3 Cotter, D. W. 367n.24 Cowley, A. E. xxvi, 116 Cox, C. E. 459n.2 Coxon, P. W. 276n.41 Craigie, P. C. xvi Crenshaw, J. L. 191n.8, 286, 286n.12, 287, 287n.16, 290n.31, 292n.34, 293, 293n.40, n.42, n.44, 294n.45

563

Cross, F. M. 29n.6, 36, 36n.5, n.7, 37, 37n.9, n.10, 51, 51n.7, 99n.17, 130n.50, 246n.13, 317, 492, 492n.16, 552n.10 Crown, A. D. 238n.41 Crüsemann, F. 437, 437n.62 Cryer, F. H. 420n.4 Curtis, A. H. W. 85n.15, 430n.39, 550n.6 Dadon, M. 130n.54, 131 Dahood, M. 192n.9, 201n.30 Danker, F. W. 398n.101 Davidson, R. xiv, xvii Davies, E. W. 281n.47, 437n.58 Davies, G. I. 114n.5, 422n.13 Davies, J. xvii, 178n.11, 322n.13 Davies, P. R. xvii, xix, xxi, xxii, 109n.42, 110n.43, 297n.53, 341n.9, 359n.2, 413n.172, 417n.187, 445n.86 Davies, W. D. 412n.169 Davila, J. R. 180n.16 Day, J. 51n.5, 125n.37, 213n.15 Dearman, J. A. 111n.45, 123n.31 Deist, F. E. 290, 291, 291n.32, 295n.49, 296 Delcor, M. 426n.28 Delitzsch, F. 197n.22, 200n.26, 372n.37 Demsky, A. 114n.8, 124n.33 Deutsch, R. R. 290n.28 Dever, W. G. 15n.45 De Vries, S. J. 50n.3 Dhorme, E. 517n.1 Diebner, B. J. 440n.74 Dietrich, M. xxvii Dietrich, W. xix, xx, 29n.7, 317, 319, 359n.2, 398n.104, 499n.26 Dijk-Hemmes, F. van 17n.51, 266, 266n.23, n.24, n.25, 267, 267n.26, 268, 268n.27, n.28, 269, 282 Dijkstra, M. 17n.51 Dillard, R. B. 404n.130, 411, 411n.161 Dimant, D. 42n.30, 44n.36 Dobbs-Alsopp, F. W. 114n.5 Douglas, M. xvii, 140n.4, 443, 443n.83 Dozeman, T. B. 431n.43 Driver, G. R. 460n.4, n.5, 481n.43, 551, 551n.8, 552 Driver, S. R. xxv, 20n.68, 381, 381n.11, 398n.105, 406n.141, 417n.186, 520n.8, 551n.7

564

index of names

Dunn, J. D. G. xx, 95n.10, 96n.10, 247n.16 Dus, J. 121n.26 Eaton, D. 197n.22 Edelman, D. V. 94n.7, 100n.19, 101n.20, 106n.36, 111, 111n.45, 123, 123n.31, 124, 124n.34, 128, 128n.46 Edenburg, C. 106n.35 Ehrensvärd, M. 379, 382n.16, 407, 407n.144, 416, 416n.184 Eissfeldt, O. 368 Ellenbogen, M. 397n.98, 400n.112 Ellens, D. L. 50n.3 Ellens, J. H. 50n.3 Elliger, K. xxv, 77n.16 Elwolde, J. F. 382n.14, n.15, 390n.58, 394n.82, 415, 415n.182, 416n.183, 417n.186, 461n.7 Emerton, J. A. xvi, 51n.5, 518n.3, 521n.9, 541n.28 Eshel, E. 45n.39 Eshel, H. 41n.27 Eskhult, M. 381n.7, 383n.21, 399n.108, 400, 400n.112 Eslinger, L. xvi Evans, C. A. 522n.13 Even-Shoshan, A. 18n.58, 19n.62 Exum, J. C. xix, xx, 65n.23, 542n.30 Eynikel, E. xvi, xx, 224n.7 Fabry, H.-J. 393n.73, n.74 Fassberg, S. E. 381n.9 Faü, J.-F. 238n.41 Fechter, F. 522n.13 Fensham, F. C. 85, 85n.16, 291n.32 Feuillet, A. 345n.15 Fewell, D. N. 256n.31, 275, 275n.41, 276n.41 Fields, W. W. 484n.4 Filipowskius, H. 482n.44 Finkelstein, I. 110n.43 Finkelstein, L. 412n.169 Fischer, I. 370n.30, n.31 Fishbane, M. 363n.18, 366, 366n.22, n.23, 484n.6, 486n.11 Flashar, M. 471 Flint, P. W. 40n.19, 42, 42n.29, 193n.15, 492n.15 Fokkelman, J. P. 246n.12, 247n.17, 363n.18, 370n.27, n.29, 371, 371n.33, 373n.40, n.42 Foster, B. R. 158n.16

Fox, M. V. 525n.23, 526n.25, 527n.28 Fraine, J. de 121n.28 Fraenkel, D. 459n.2 Frankel, Z. 460n.5, 461n.7 Fredericks, D. C. 409n.155 Freedman, D. N. xxv, 133n.66, 169n.34, 304n.11, 350n.20, 387n.43 Fretheim, T. E. 17n.53 Frevel, C. 423n.16 Friedman, R. E. 225n.8 Fritz, V. xvii, 7n.23, 57, 57n.14, 157n.13, 225n.7, 230n.23 Frolov, S. 258n.36 Fuchs, E. 262n.6 Fujimoto, S. xv Gakuru, G. 52n.12 Galil, G. xix, 232n.29 Galling, K. 422n.12 García López, F. 420n.5, 425n.22 García Martínez, F. 420n.5 Garrett, D. 525n.22 Garrone, D. xvii Gaster, M. 481n.43 Gaster, T. H. 120n.23 Geddes, A. xx, 207n.1 Gehman, H. S. 7n.23, 156n.4, 239n.42, 489n.13, 493n.18, 520n.7 Gelb, E. J. 400n.111 Gerbrandt, G. E. 14n.41 Gerleman, G. 527n.27 Gertz, J. C. xix, 208n.5, 422n.13, 423n.14, n.15, 429n.37, 436n.57 Gesenius, W. xxvi, 76n.12, 292, 292n.37 Gevirtz, S. 404n.132, 405n.146 Gibson, J. C. L. xiv, 83, 83n.9, 87, 87n.21, 88n.24 Gibson, S. 124n.36 Gitay, Y. 350n.20 Glare, P. G. W. 463n.11 Glassner, J.-J. 158n.16, n.17, 159n.18, n.19 Glessmer, U. 46n.42 Glueck, N. 277n.44 Goeje, M. J. de 211n.12, 214n.20 Goethe, J. W. von 261, 261n.4 Goitein, S. D. 261n.3, 267, 268 Goldfajn, T. 518, 518n.4 Goldstein, J. 43n.31 Gooding, D. W. 484n.6, 496n.21 Gordis, R. 372n.37, 517, 517n.1 Gordon, C. H. 135n.73

index of names Gordon, R. P. xxi, 119, 119n.22, 130, 130n.51, 372n.36 Görg, M. 116, 116n.13 Goulder, M. D. 31n.10, 525, 525n.22 Grabbe, L. L. 35n.2, 109n.42, 157n.14, 158n.15, 169n.35, 287n.14, 329n.29, 444n.84 Graﬀy, A. 522n.13, 523 Graham, M. P. 36n.6, 106n.33, 111n.45, 123n.31, 305n.12, 315n.1, 328n.22, n.25, 332n.37, 504n.4 Gray, G. B. 436n.58 Gray, J. 4n.14, 82, 82n.4, 156n.4, 224n.7, 229n.17, 352n.23, 493n.18 Grayson, A. K. 158n.16 Green, D. E. 167n.33, 423n.15 Greenﬁeld, J. C. 16n.49, 41n.26 Greenstein, E. L. 261n.4, 542n.29 Gros Louis, K. R. R. 257n.34, 542n.29 Gross, W. 518, 518n.3, 519n.5 Grottanelli, C. 6n.19, 7, 7n.20, n.21, 14, 14n.40, 15n.45, 23n.78, 24, 25n.81, n.82 Gruenwald, I. 177, 177n.8, 178n.11, 180, 183n.22 Guillaume, P. 106, 106n.32, n.34, 111, 111n.46 Gulliford, L. 362n.16 Gunkel, H. 28, 28n.4, 261, 261n.4 Gunn, D. M. 251n.21, n.22, 275, 275n.41, 276n.41, 507n.13, 542n.30 Haag, H. 541n.28 Haas, W. 462n.9 Habel, N. 529n.2, 534n.14 Hagedorn, A. 7n.23, 57n.14, 157n.13, 225n.7 Halbe, J. 119n.19 Hallo, W. W. 84n.12, 126n.40 Halpern, B. 156, 156n.6, n.9, 162n.28, 165n.30 Handy, L. K. 229n.18 Haneman, G. 480n.38 Hanhart, R. 459n.2 Haran, M. 129, 129n.48, 135n.72, 155n.3, 156, 166, 166n.31, 167, 167n.39 Harper, L. 393n.73 Harrington, D. J. 17n.53, 234n.33 Harrison, R. K. 363, 363n.17 Hartley, J. E. 373n.37 Harvey, G. 178n.11, 322n.13 Hastings, J. 362n.15, 398n.105

565

Hauerwas, S. 360, 361n.7, 378n.46 Hauser, A. 354n.24 Hayes, J. H. xviii, 57n.13, 58n.18, 104n.24 Hayman, A. P. xiv, 176n.5, n.6, 177n.7, 178n.10, n.11, 180n.17, 181n.18, 182n.19, n.20, 183n.21, n.22, 184n.23, n.24, 185n.25 Healey, J. F. 550n.6 Heger, P. 215n.22, 218n.29 Heimerdinger, J.-M. 518n.4 Helbing, R. 471n.24 Heller, H. 481n.42 Heller, J. 121n.26 Hendel, R. S. 367, 367n.25 Hertzberg, H. W. 126n.38 Hill, A. E. 392n.69, 403n.125 Hillers, D. R. 404, 404n.135 Hjelm, I. 238n.41 Ho, C. Y. S. xxiii, 258n.37, 398n.104 Hobbs, T. R. 6n.17, 7n.23, 15n.43, 24n.79 Höﬀken, P. 523n.17 Hoﬀmeier, J. K. 121n.27, 226n.10 Hoﬀner, H. A. 135n.73 Hoftijzer, J. 255n.30, 256n.31 Holladay, J. S. 121, 121n.27, 514n.27 Holladay, W. L. 98n.15, 99n.16, 202n.31 Holloway, S. W. 229n.18 Hornblower, S. 142n.11 Hose, M. 421n.8 Hossfeld, F.-L. 221n.38 Hostetter, E. C. 116, 116n.15 Houlden, J. L. xvii House, P. R. 525n.22 Houtman, C. 217n.26 Hroznÿ, H. 496n.21 Humbert, P. 274, 274n.39 Hunter, A. G. xix, 193n.16, 197n.22, 201n.28, 203n.33, 339, 339n.5, 340, 342, 344, 355, 359n.2 Hurtado, L. W. xvi Hurvitz, A. 39n.18, 116n.13, 212n.13, 304n.11, 380, 380n.5, 381, 381n.7, n.9, 387, 387n.43, n.44, 388n.46, n.47, 389n.51, 390, 390n.55, 394, 394n.83, n.84, n.85, 395, 395n.87, n.88, n.89, 399, 399n.107, n.109, 401, 401n.113, 402, 403n.123, 405n.139, 409n.154, 410, 410n.157, n.158, n.159, 412n.170, 413, 413n.171, 414,

566

index of names

414n.174, n.175, 416n.184, 417n.186 Hyatt, J. P. 191n.8 Irsigler, H. 522n.13 Jack, A. M. xvi Jacoby, F. 160n.20, 161n.22 Jacquet, L. 190, 190n.6, 192n.9 Jamieson-Drake, D. W. 450n.10 Japhet, S. 238n.39, 303n.9, 308n.23, 310n.28, n.30, 384n.26, 385n.33, n.35, 386n.38, 387n.45, 389n.52, 390n.53, 391n.62, n.65, 392n.66, 397n.96, 404n.135, 405n.139, 407, 407n.148, 408n.150, 410, 411n.160, 414n.176, 416n.183, 505n.10, 506, 506n.12, 508n.18, 509n.21, 512n.24 Jenner, K. D. 447n.2, 448n.5, n.6, 449n.7 Jepsen, A. 108n.39, 156, 156n.5, 158n.17 Jeremias, J. 425n.21 Jobling, D. 96n.11 Johnson, A. R. 192, 193n.14 Johnstone, W. xx, 207n.1, 208n.5, 215n.24, 219n.30, 222n.40, 396n.95, 420n.5, 423n.15, 431n.44, 432n.49, 433n.50, 441n.76 Jones, D. R. 202n.31 Jones, G. H. 1, 1n.5, 7n.23, 156n.4, 170n.37, 224n.7, 225n.8, 520n.7 Jones, G. L. 360, 360n.4 Jones, H. S. xxvii Jonge, H. J. de 484n.5 Joosten, J. 417n.186, 461n.6, n.7 Joüon, P. 263n.11, 270, 270n.30, 273, 273n.34, 277n.42, 402n.122, 518n.3 Jung, K. N. 250, 250n.20 Kafaﬁ, Z. 454n.20 Kaiser, O. 122n.30 Kalimi, I. 50n.3, 407n.149, 411n.160 Kallai, Z. xix, 99n.17, 232n.29 Kapelrud, A. S. 126, 126n.41 Karst, J. 170n.36 Kautzsch, E. xxvi Kearney, P. J. 119n.21 Keel, O. 461n.8, 525n.22 Kenik, H. A. 131n.57 Kenyon, K. M. 453, 454n.21 Kermode, F. 542n.30 Keulen, P. S. F. van 493n.20 Kiesow, K. 430n.40

Killebrew, A. E. 454, 454n.20, n.21, n.22 Kippenberg, H. G. 225n.9 Klein, R. W. 245n.10, 304n.11, 307, 308, 308n.20, n.24, 309n.27, 328n.24, 329, 329n.29, 330n.33, 425n.21 Knauf, E. A. 106, 106n.32, 320, 320n.10, n.11, 321, 321n.12, 323, 324, 324n.14, 424n.19, 429n.37 Knierim, R. P. 50n.3 Kooij, A. van der 38n.13 Knoppers, G. N. 35n.2, 38n.12, 40, 40n.21, 41, 41n.24, 43, 43n.33, 46n.43, 57n.16, 132, 132n.60, 238n.39, 383n.22, 386n.39, 390n.53, 391n.63, 396n.94, 397n.97, 402n.119, 403n.127, 422n.12, 497n.22, 510n.21, 513n.26 Koch, K. 370n.28 Köckert, M. 425n.21 Koehler, L. xxvi, 246n.14, 292n.35 Kofoed, J. B. 399n.107 König, E. 517, 517n.2 Korpel, M. C. A. 522n.13, 524 Kraemer, R. S. 265, 266n.22 Kraft, R. A. 484n.4 Kratz, R. G. 51n.8, 57, 57n.15, 213n.15, 214n.18, 221n.38, 422, 422n.10, 426n.26, n.29 Kraus, H.-J. 191n.8 Krause, G. xxix Kroll, W. 161n.22 Kropat, A. 416n.183 Kselman, J. S. 360, 360n.5 Kucová, L. 415n.178 Kuenen, A. 429n.36 Kugler, R. A. xx Kuhrt, A. 160n.20 Kuiper, M. ix Kutsch, E. 529n.2 Kutscher, E. Y. 385n.31, 390n.55, 403, 403n.122, n.126, 412, 412n.169, 467n.19, 472n.25, 473n.26, 480, 480n.39, 481n.40 Kutscher, R. 385n.31 Labahn, A. 62n.21 Lacoque, A. 277n.44 Lagrange, M. J. 130n.52 Landes, G. 338, 338n.3, 343n.11, 413, 413n.173 Laperrousaz, E.-M. 130n.52 Lapp, N. L. 125n.37

index of names Lawrence, D. H. 179, 179n.15 Leary, L. G. 115n.10 Lee, W. W. 433n.51 Lefkowitz, M. 265, 265n.19, n.20, n.21, 269 Lemaire, A. ix, xviii, 50n.4, 116, 116n.13, 319n.8, 453, 453n.19 Lemke, W. 308n.19 Lerberghe, K. van 226n.10 Levenson, J. D. 62, 62n.20, 370n.27, 371, 371n.35 Levin, C. xix, 359n.2, 421, 421n.7, n.8, 426n.26, 431n.45 Levin, Y. 93n.5, 103n.22 Levine, A.-J. 265n.19, 266n.22 Levine, B. A. xvii, 132n.58, 135n.73, 136n.76, 413n.173, 498n.24 Levine, N. 4n.13, 5, 5n.16 Levinson, B. M. 213, 213n.15, n.18, 215n.22, 216n.25, 217n.26, 218n.28, n.29, 219n.31, 221n.38 Liagré Böhl, F. M. T. de 58n.18 Lichtert, C. 338n.4 Liddell, H. G. xxvii Lieberman, S. 308n.22, 400n.111 Liebes, Y. 175n.2 Lilley, J. P. U. 542n.30 Lim, T. H. ix, xiv, xvi, 1n.1, 241n.1, 379n.1, 427n.31 Limburg, J. 344n.14, 347n.19 Lindars, B. 541n.28 Linville, J. R. 235n.34, 287n.14 Lipschits, O. 98n.14, 100n.18, n.19, 110n.43, 123n.31 Liverani, M. 82, 82n.7, 157n.10 Lohﬁnk, N. 119n.21, 424n.19 Long, B. O. 2, 2n.9, 11, 11n.33, 235n.35, 254n.27, 256n.32 Longman, T. 525n.22 Loretz, O. xxvii, 288, 288n.22, 289 Lowenthal, D. 141, 141n.10 Lundbom, J. R. 202n.31 Lust, J. 38n.13, 436n.57 Lyke, L. L. 251n.21 Macchi, J.-D. 106n.32, n.33, 239n.44, 320n.10 Macintosh, A. A. 430n.40 Maclaren, A. 193, 194n.18, 197n.22, 198, 199, 199n.23, 200n.26 Magen, Y. 130n.54, 131 Maier III, W. 16n.49 Malamat, A. xvii, 26, 126n.39, 132n.58, 413n.173, 498n.24

567

Maloney, L. M. 424n.19 Mandel, P. 43n.32 Mandell, S. 169n.34 Mankowski, P. V. 383n.17, n.18, n.20, 399n.106, n.108, 400, 400n.112, 401n.116, 415, 415n.179 Marböck, J. 370n.30 Margalith, O. 116, 116n.14 Marguerat, D. 430n.39 Márquez Rowe, I. 88, 88n.27, 89, 90 Marsh, J. 1n.1 Martin, J. D. 395n.90, 427n.32 Marx, A. 308n.22 Mason, R. 285n.7, 360n.3 Mathias, G. 454n.21 Mayes, A. D. H. 63n.22, 119, 119n.21, n.22, 441n.76, 445n.86 Mazar, A. 134, 134n.69, 454n.21 Mazar, B. 455n.23 Mazar, E. 455n.23 McBride, S. D. 286n.9, McCann, C. J. 530n.6, 543n.31 McCarter, P. K. 127, 127n.42, 245n.10, 252n.23, 340, 340n.6, 370, 371n.32 McCarthy, D. J. 52n.9 McConville, J. G. 57n.16, 422n.12, 497n.22 McDonough, J. T. 241n.1 McKane, W. xxii, 99n.15, 428, 428n.34, 528n.30 McKay, H. A. 286n.11 McKenzie, S. L. xviii, xix, 2n.8, 36n.6, 51, 51n.7, 106n.33, 224n.7, 230n.20, 258n.36, 305n.12, n.14, 308n.21, 315n.1, 319n.8, 328n.22, n.23, n.25, 331, 332n.37, 403n.127, 422n.12, 426n.30, 431n.43, 442n.81, 499n.27, 503n.2 Mead, J. K. 14n.42 Meer, W. van der 522n.13 Meij, H. van der ix Mendenhall, G. E. 116, 116n.13 Menzies, A. 535n.44 Mettinger, T. N. D. 213n.17, 219n.34 Meurer, T. 430n.40 Meyer, E. 115n.11 Meyer, R. 413n.173 Meyers, C. 273, 273n.33 Meyers, E. M. xviii Miles, J. R. 343n.13 Milgrom, J. 146n.16, 304n.11, 387n.43, 388n.48, 391, 391n.61, 392, 392n.71, 393, 393n.72, n.73,

568

index of names

n.74, n.75, n.76, n.77, n.78, 394n.79, n.80, n.81, 395, 395n.91, 413, 413n.171 Millard, A. R. 121n.27, 226n.10 Miller, J. M. 57n.13, 58n.18, 104n.24, 111n.45, 123n.31, 124, 124n.35, 306, 306n.18 Miller, P. D. 193n.15 Mitchell, G. T. 343n.11 Mizrahi, N. 459n.1, 471n.24, 476n.29, 481n.41 Moﬀatt, J. 67n.2, n.3, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80n.24, n.25 Möhlenbrink, K. 117n.16 Montgomery, J. A. 7n.23, 156n.4, 239n.42, 489n.13, 493n.18, 520n.7 Moor, J. C. de xix, 1n.2, 225n.7, 285n.6, 339n.5, 522n.13, 547n.2 Moore, C. A. 527, 528n.29 Moore, R. D. 19n.64 Morro, W. C. 363, 363n.17 Moscati, S. 482n.45 Mowinckel, S. xiii, 28, 28n.5, 81, 126n.41 Muchiki, Y. 386n.36 Muenchow, C. A. 286n.9 Müller, G. xxix Müller, J. G. A. 342, 342n.10, 349 Muraoka, T. 273, 273n.34, 382n.14, n.15, 402n.122, 409n.154, 417n.186, 461n.6, n.7, 466n.15, 518n.3 Murphy, R. E. 525n.22 Mutius, H. G. von 180n.16 Myers, J. M. 273, 274, 274n.35 Na’aman, N. 109, 109n.42, 110, 110n.43, 156, 156n.10, 166, 167, 167n.32, 170, 170n.38 Nadelman, Y. 455n.23 Nash, K. S. 288, 288n.21 Naudé, J. 417n.187 Neﬀ, R. W. 8n.28 Negev, A. 124n.36 Nelson, R. D. 5n.17, 7n.23, 29n.6, 119n.19, 224n.7 Neuberg, F. J. 191, 191n.7 Neusner, J. 427n.31 Niccacci, A. 518, 518n.3, n.4, 520, 520n.8 Nicholson, E. W. 51n.6, 63n.22, 119n.22, 207, 207n.2, 208n.5, 221n.39, 420, 420n.2, 441n.76 Nicol, G. G. 254, 254n.28, 255n.30, 256n.32

Niditch, S. 275, 275n.40 Niehr, H. 522n.13, 523 Nielsen, E. 350, 350n.21 Nielsen, K. 522n.13, 523n.16 Nihan, C. xxii, 426n.29 North, R. 115n.10 Noth, M. xi, xiii, 27, 27n.2, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 50, 50n.2, 51, 51n.6, 53, 99n.17, 106n.33, 108, 108n.39, 155, 155n.1, n.2, n.3, 224n.7, 229n.17, 230n.23, 310, 310n.29, 315, 315n.1, 316, 316n.3, n.4, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 325n.16, 327, 327n.21, 328, 329, 329n.28, 330, 330n.30, n.31, 331, 420, 423, 423n.16, n.17, 427, 427n.32, 428n.33, 436, 493n.18, 498, 504n.5, 515 Nougayrol, J. 89 Nussbaum, M. C. 361, 361n.8, n.9, n.10, n.11 Oates, J. C. 261, 261n.2, 264, 264n.17, n.18 O’Brien, D. P. 11n.34, 17n.52, 18, 18n.56, n.58, 19n.63, n.65, 20n.67, 21, 21n.70, 22n.72 O’Brien, M. A. 156n.8, 224n.7, 229n.17 O’Connell, R. H. 530n.3, 543n.31, 544n.53 O’Connor, M. 68n.4, 373n.41, 518n.4 Oded, B. 226n.10, 229n.19 Ogden, G. S. 290, 290n.28, n.29, n.30, 297 Ogden Bellis, A. 287n.14 Olson, D. T. 428n.35, 433, 433n.52 Ono, K. xi Opgen-Rhein, H. J. 338n.2 Orlinsky, H. M. 413n.173, 493, 493n.19 Otto, E. 213n.15, n.16, 216n.26, 217n.26, 422n.13, 425n.26, 436, 441n.78 Otto, S. 2n.8, 22, 22n.73 Overholt, T. W. xxii Palmer, A. S. 121n.28 Paran, M. 394 Pardee, D. 84, 84n.12 Parpola, S. 400n.111 Parry, D. W. 37n.9, 130n.50, 246n.13, 484n.3

index of names Paton, L. B. 527n.28 Paul, S. M. 39n.18, 116n.13, 212n.13, 484n.4 Paulus, H. E. G. 342n.10 Peltonen, K. 329, 329n.29, 332n.37 Perlitt, L. 424, 424n.18, 425n.21 Person, R. F. 317n.5, 324n.15, 326n.19, n.20, 329n.27, 332n.37, 333n.43, 334n.45, 398n.104, 417n.187 Peters, F. E. 449, 449n.8, 454 Petersen, A. R. 81, 81n.2, n.3, 82, 82n.7, 90 Petersen, D. L. 311, 311n.34, 366n.21 Pettinato, G. 91n.28 Peursen, W. Th. van 409n.154, 461n.6 Pfeiﬀer, R. H. 2n.6 Philonenko, M. 266 Phythian-Adams, W. J. 120, 120n.24 Pietersma, A. 459n.2 Piquer, A. 483n.1 Pococke, R. 113, 113n.1 Poels, H. A. 126n.38 Pola, T. 425, 425n.24, n.25 Polak, F. H. 470n.23, 493n.20, 496n.21, 497, 497n.22, 498, 498n.23 Polzin, R. 245n.9, 252, 252n.24, n.25, 383n.19, 384n.22, n.24, 385n.29, n.34, 386, 386n.37, n.40, 390n.55, 392n.66, n.67, 398n.105, 401n.116, 402, 402n.117, n.120, 403n.127, 404, 404n.128, n.131, n.134, 405, 406n.140, 411n.165, 412, 416n.183 Poorthuis, M. 448n.4 Pope, M. H. 525n.22, 552n.10 Porteous, N. W. xxiii Preminger, A. 261n.4 Prijs, L. 481n.42 Prinsloo, W. S. 287n.16, 522n.13 Pritchard, J. B. 114, 114n.5, n.6, n.7, 118n.17, 126n.40, 130n.52, 131n.55, n.56, 133, 133n.62, n.64, n.65, 137n.77 Puech, E. 44, 44n.37 Pulgram, E. 462n.9 Pummer, J. R. 238n.41 Purvis, J. D. 448n.3 Pury, A. de 106n.32, n.33, 258n.36, 320n.10, 422, 422n.12, 437n.62, 504n.6 Pyper, H. S. 356n.30

569

Rabin, C. 475n.28 Rad, G. von 23n.79, 24n.79, 27, 27n.3, 28, 29, 30, 32, 420 Radday, Y. 1, 2n.6, 24, 343n.13 Rapallo, U. 462n.10 Rapp, U. 370n.30, 440n.73 Rappoport, U. 44n.36 Redford, D. B. 160n.22, 161n.23, 162, 162n.26, n.27 Reid, J. 121n.28 Reid, S. B. 297n.53 Reimer, D. J. 285n.7, 360n.3, 362n.16, 372n.37 Reiser, W. 23, 23n.75, n.76, 24n.79 Rendsburg, G. A. 381, 381n.7, 382n.12, 385n.30, n.33 Rendtorﬀ, R. xx, 552n.10 Revell, E. J. 518, 518n.4 Reventlow, H. G. 23n.75 Rezetko, R. ix, xiv, 1n.1, 258n.37, 331, 331n.34, 332, 332n.39, n.40, n.41, 333, 333n.42, 335, 379n.2, n.3, 380n.4, n.6, 381n.7, 383n.16, 387n.42, 388n.49, 389n.52, 390n.59, 392n.68, 395n.93, 398n.104, 401n.114, 407n.145, 412n.170 Richardson, M. E. J. xxvi, 86n.17, 88n.26 Richter, W. 105, 105n.30, 529n.2 Ricks, C. B. 141, 141n.7, n.8, n.9 Riggans, W. 439n.69 Ringgren, H. 13n.38, 191n.11, 394n.82 Roberts, J. J. M. 114n.5 Robertson, E. 213n.17, 214, 214n.19 Robinson, E. 113, 113n.3, 133, 133n.63 Robinson, G. L. 115n.10 Robinson, H. W. 460n.5 Robinson, J. 7n.23 Rodd, C. S. 360n.6, 376n.43 Rofé, A. 5n.15, 22, 22n.71, 37n.11, 39, 39n.18, 484n.4, 521n.9 Rogerson, J. xx, 247n.16 Römer, T. C. xix, xxii, 106n.32, n.33, 258n.36, 305n.13, 320n.10, 422n.12, 424n.19, 426n.26, n.30, 429n.38, 431n.43, 436n.57, 437n.62, 442n.81, 503n.2, 504n.6 Roncace, M. 4n.12 Rooker, M. F. 380n.5, 401, 401n.113, 405n.136, 407, 407n.147, 412n.170, 413, 413n.171, 417n.186 Rooy, H. F. van 225n.7 Rose, M. 389n.52, 420, 420n.4, 421

570

index of names

Rosenblum, K. E. 13, 13n.37 Rost, L. 257n.36, 507, 507n.13, n.14, n.17 Roth, C. 482n.44 Rothenbusch, R. 222n.41 Rowley, H. H. 121n.28, 135n.71 Rudnig-Zelt, S. 430n.40 Rudolph, W. xxv, 237n.38, 293n.43, 295n.48, 310, 310n.30, 485n.9, 486n.10, 525n.22 Ruprecht, E. 431n.44, 432n.47 Rüterswörden, U. 394n.82 Rutter, M. D. 507n.13 Saebø, M. xviii, 50n.4, 319n.8, 409n.155 Sáenz-Badillos, A. 390, 482n.44 Safrai, Ch. 448n.4 Sakenfeld, K. D. 245n.11, 277n.44 Saldarini, A. J. 17n.53, 234n.33 Saley, R. J. 37n.9, 130n.50 Salters, R. B. 63n.22, 119n.22, 441n.76 Sanmartín, J. xxvii Sasson, J. M. 274n.37, 277, 277n.43, n.44, 279, 281, 338n.2, 340, 341n.8, 355n.25 Satran, D. 45n.39 Satterthwaite, P. E. 9n.29, 16n.51 Sawyer, J. F. A. xvii, 121n.25, 178n.11, 322n.13 Sayce, A. H. 116, 116n.14 Schaeﬀer, C. F. A. 82n.4, 215n.23, 556, 556n.19 Schäfer, P. 180, 180n.16 Schäfer-Lichtenberger, C. 119, 119n.20 Schaper, J. 213n.18 Schearing, L. S. xviii, 319n.8, 426n.30 Schenker, A. 244n.6, 461n.8, 493n.20 Schiele, F. M. 28n.4 Schiﬀman, L. H. 35n.1, 41n.23, 484n.4, 491n.14 Schiller, J. 370n.30 Schimmel, S. 362n.16, 377, 377n.44 Schindler, B. 481n.43 Schlüter, M. 180n.16 Schmid, H. H. xix, 420, 420n.3, 422n.12, 503n.2 Schmid, K. xix, 208n.5, 422, 422n.11, 423n.14 Schmitt, G. 117n.16 Schnabel, P. 160n.20

Schneider, T. J. 530, 530n.6, 535n.16, 537, 537n.20, n.21, 538, 538n.23 Schniedewind, W. 133, 133n.66 Schoors, A. 226n.10, 381, 381n.10, 392n.69, 404, 404n.131 Schorn, U. 442n.81 Schunck, K.-D. 93, 93n.4, n.5, n.6, 99n.17, 100, 102n.21, 123n.31 Schwartz, D. R. 448n.4 Schwienhorst-Schönberger, L. 212n.15 Scott, R. xxvii Sed-Rajna, G. 183n.21 Seebass, H. 420, 420n.2, 424n.19, 438n.66, 439n.68 Seeligmann, I. L. 521n.9 Sefrit, J. 1n.1 Segal, M. H. 480n.38 Seow, C. L. 114n.5, 398n.105 Shaath, S. 228n.16 Shalom Brooks, S. 125n.37, 128, 128n.45 Sharfman, B. 219n.35 Shenkel, J. D. 306, 306n.18 Sheppard, G. T. 522n.13, 523n.18 Sherwin-White, S. 160n.20 Sherwood, Y. 343n.13, 344n.13, 347, 347n.18 Shields, M. 8n.28 Shiloh, Y. 99n.15 Showalter, E. 267 Sicre, J. L. 373n.37, n.41 Siebert-Hommes, J. 16n.51 Silberman, L. H. 15n.45 Simian-Yofre, H. 394n.82 Simkins, R. A. 286, 286n.13, 288, 288n.20, 289, 289n.25, 290n.31, 293n.41 Simon, U. 524n.19 Simons, J. 99n.17, 130n.53 Simpson, J. A. xxviii Ska, J.-L. 425n.22, 438n.67 Skalnik, P. 452n.16 Slotki, I. W. 204, 204n.34 Small, I. 179n.15 Smelik, K. A. D. 15n.44, 17n.51, 18n.54, 19n.65 Smend, R. xiii, xix, xxiii, 29n.7, 317, 319, 359n.2 Smith, D. 115n.12 Smith, H. P. 362n.15 Smith, J. M. P. 343n.11 Smith, M. 469n.21

index of names Smith, M. S. 552n.10, n.12, 556, 556n.19 Smith, W. R. 127, 127n.43, 211, 211n.12, 214n.20, 219n.31 Snaith, J. G. 525n.22 Soards, M. L. 96n.10 Soggin, J. A. xvii, 105n.28, 120n.23, 130n.53, 535n.16 Sommer, B. D. 62, 62n.21, 437n.59 Speiser, E. A. 115, 115n.10 Sperber, A. 479n.34, n.35 Stade, B. 224n.7, 229n.17, 489n.13 Staerk, W. 422n.12 Stalker, D. M. G. 23n.79, 27n.3 Stamm, J. J. xxvi Stec, C. 180 Steiner, M. L. xvi, 447n.1, 454n.21 Steins, G. 44n.36 Stern, E. 114n.5 Stern, M. 161n.25 Sternberg, M. 369n.26 Stoellger, P. 424n.18 Stone, M. E. 45n.38, n.39 Strange, J. 104n.24 Strübind, K. 300n.5 Stuart, D. K. 286, 286n.10, 289, 289n.24, 290, 290n.27, 294n.47, 297, 354n.25, 355n.25 Sutherland, J. S. 126n.38 Swanson, D. D. 44, 44n.36 Sweeney, M. A. 52n.11, 122n.29, 426n.30, 522n.14, 524, 524n.20 Tadmor, H. 4n.14, 6n.17, 8n.25, 120n.23, 224n.5, 228n.14, n.15, 229n.19, 230n.22, 234n.32, 390n.56 Talmon, S. 46n.42, 225n.8 Talshir, D. 335, 335n.48, 404, 404n.135, 412n.169, 416n.183, 417n.187 Talshir, Z. 493n.20 Tarragon, J.-M. de 82, 82n.5, n.6 Taylor, B. A. 461n.7, 493n.20 Taylor, G. xvi Thenius, O. 130, 130n.49 Thiel, W. 23, 23n.75, n.76, n.77 Thomas, D. W. 76n.14, 460n.5 Thompson, D. 281n.47 Thompson, T. 281n.47 Thompson, T. L. 454n.20, n.21 Thorion, Y. 43n.34 Throntveit, M. A. 416n.183 Tigay, J. H. 212n.13, 214n.19, 394n.86

571

Todd, J. 261n.2 Toorn, K. van der 38n.13, 448, 448n.6, 449 Tov, E. 45n.38, 459n.2, 461n.6, n.8, 462n.9, 466n.15, 471n.24, 479n.33, 484n.3, n.4 Trapp, T. H. 122n.29 Trask, R. L. 391n.60 Trebolle Barrera, J. 35n.1, 38n.15, 39n.17, 40, 331, 497n.22 Tregelles, S. P. 292n.37 Trible, P. 262n.5 Troilo, F. F. von 113, 113n.2 Tromp, J. 449, 449n.7 Tucker, G. M. 297n.53, 366n.21 Tyler, L. R. 391n.62, 392n.69, 405n.138, 409n.155 Uehlinger, C. 440n.72 Ulrich, E. C. 36, 36n.5, 37n.8, n.9, 38n.15, 130n.50, 270n.29, 328n.24, 484n.3, 492, 492n.16 Urbach, E. E. 183n.21 Vanderhooft, D. S. 156, 156n.9, 162n.28, 165n.30 VanderKam, J. C. 35n.1, 40n.19, 41n.23, 42, 42n.29, 328n.24, 491n.14 VanGemeren, W. A. 372n.37 Van Seters, J. xix, 168, 169n.34, 213n.15, 217n.26, 219, 219n.33, 220n.37, 221n.38, 257n.36, 258n.36, 420, 420n.6, 421, 422n.12, 503n.1, n.2, 504n.6, 507n.14, n.15, n.16, n.17, 510n.22, 512n.25 Vaughn, A. G. 454, 454n.20, n.21, n.22 Vaux, R. de xiii, 115, 115n.12 Veijola, T. 29n.7, 245n.10, 319 Vermaseren, M. J. 14n.40, 23n.78 Vermeylen, J. 523n.16 Vervenne, M. 432n.49, 436n.57 Vieweger, D. 425n.21 Vincent, L. H. 129n.47 Viviano, P. A. 235n.35 Vollmer, J. 524n.21 Waddell, W. G. 161n.22, n.24 Wagner, S. 425n.21 Walsh, J. T. 225n.7, 229n.19, 362, 362n.13, n.14 Walsh, M. 179n.15 Walters, P. 471n.24

572

index of names

Waltke, B. K. 68n.4, 373n.41, 518n.4 Walton, J. H. 121, 121n.27 Warshaw, T. S. 542n.29 Waschke, E.-J. 425n.21 Wasserstrom, S. M. 175n.3 Watson, W. G. E. xvii, 88n.27, 178n.11, 322n.13, 383n.19, 384n.22, n.25, n.26, 385n.32, n.35, 387n.42, 391n.65, 392n.70, 397, 397n.98, 404, 404n.135, 405n.146, 407n.146, 415n.180 Watts, F. N. 362n.16 Watts, J. D. W. 122n.29, 334n.46 Webb, B. 530n.3, 531n.7, 544n.33 Weidner, E. F. 57n.13 Weimar, P. 430n.40 Weinberg, J. P. 136n.74 Weiner, E. S. C. xxviii Weinfeld, M. xix, 39n.18, 57n.16, n.17, 116n.13, 120n.23, 212n.13, 224n.6, 232n.29, 233n.31, 235n.35, 318, 318n.6, 426n.28 Weinstock, I. 180, 183, 183n.22 Weippert, H. 156, 156n.7, 162n.28 Weiser, A. 192n.9 Weissert, D. 469, 469n.20, 479n.32 Wellhausen, J. xxiii, 30, 30n.9, 106n.31, 128, 128n.44, 130, 130n.49, 213n.15, 309, 309n.26, 310, 394n.83, 420, 420n.2, 496n.21, 515 Wenham, G. J. 360n.6, 361n.8, 362n.14, 373n.38, 439n.69, 543n.31 Wénin, A. 423n.15 Wesselius, J.-W. 142, 142n.12, n.13, 143n.14, 169n.34, 382n.15 Westermann, C. 319n.8, 320n.8 Wette, W. M. L. de 128n.44, 504, 504n.4, 515 Wevers, J. W. 459n.2 Whitaker, R. E. 114n.5 Whitelam, K. W. 252, 252n.26, 308n.23 Whybray, R. N. 286n.11 Wiegers, G. A. 447n.2, 448n.5, n.6, 449n.7 Wildberger, H. 122n.29 Willey, P. K. 256n.31 Willi, T. 238n.39 Williamson, H. G. M. xx, xxii, 46n.44, 66n.23, 114n.8, 124n.33, 133n.61, 135n.73, 136n.74, 238n.39, 258n.36, 283n.3, 303n.8, 310, 310n.31, 312n.35, 315n.1, 325n.18, 356n.26, 386n.38, 387n.42, 389n.52,

390n.53, 391n.64, 394n.82, 396n.94, 402n.119, 404n.129, 405n.139, 406n.142, 411, 411n.161, 416n.183, 505, 505n.8, n.9, 508, 508n.18, n.19, 509n.21, 511n.23, 512n.24, 521n.9 Willis, J. T. 191n.8, 192, 192n.10, n.13, 522, 522n.11 Wilson, R. A. 105n.28, 120n.23, 122n.30 Wilson, R. R. 99n.16, 366n.21 Winnett, F. V. 422, 422n.9, n.12 Wiseman, D. J. 8, 8n.26 Wissowa, G. 161n.22 Witte, M. 208n.5, 423n.14 Wolﬀ, H. W. 27, 27n.1, n.3, 28, 30, 286n.9, 288, 288n.19, 292n.39, 293, 293n.43, 294n.47, 295n.48, 425n.21 Worthen, J. 179n.15 Wright, D. F. xvii Wright, D. P. 304n.11, 387n.43 Wright, G. E. 99n.17, 192 Wright, J. E. 15n.45 Wright, J. W. 328n.25 Wright, R. M. 407n.144 Wright, W. 211n.12 Würthwein, E. 224n.5, 229n.17, 319, 319n.7, n.8, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 488, 488n.12, 520n.7 Wyatt, N. 82, 82n.8, 83, 83n.10, n.11, 84n.13, 86, 87n.19, 88, 88n.25, n.27, 91, 92n.29, 243n.5, 547n.1, n.2, 548n.4, 550n.6, 551n.9, 554n.15, n.16, 556, 556n.19, n.20 Yadin, Y. 44, 44n.35, 45, 45n.41 Yamauchi, E. M. 381.n8 Yee, G. A. 522n.13 Yeivin, S. 243n.5 Young, I. 315n.2, 330n.32, 331n.34, 335, 335n.47, n.48, 379n.1, n.2, 380, 381n.7, n.8, 382n.16, 387n.42, 395, 395n.92, 401, 401n.114, 405n.137, 407n.144, 409n.155, 412n.169, 413, 413n.172, 416n.183, 417n.187 Younger, K. L. 84n.12, 126n.40, 226n.10, 412n.168 Zadok, R. 136n.75 Zakovitch, Y. 277n.44 Zeidel, M. 231, 231n.26 Zenger, E. 426n.29, 484n.5 Zevit, Z. 451n.11, n.14, 519n.6 Zimmerli, W. xxi, 58n.18, 395n.90

SUPPLEMENTS TO VETUS TESTAMENTUM 2. Pope, M.H. El in the Ugaritic texts. 1955. ISBN 90 04 04000 5 3. Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East. Presented to Harold Henry Rowley by the Editorial Board of Vetus Testamentum in celebration of his 65th birthday, 24 March 1955. Edited by M. Noth and D. Winton Thomas. 2nd reprint of the first (1955) ed. 1969. ISBN 90 04 02326 7 4. Volume du Congrès [international pour l’étude de l’Ancien Testament]. Strasbourg 1956. 1957. ISBN 90 04 02327 5 8. Bernhardt, K.-H. Das Problem der alt-orientalischen Königsideologie im Alten Testament. Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Geschichte der Psalmenexegese dargestellt und kritisch gewürdigt. 1961. ISBN 90 04 02331 3 9. Congress Volume, Bonn 1962. 1963. ISBN 90 04 02332 1 11. Donner, H. Israel unter den Völkern. Die Stellung der klassischen Propheten des 8. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. zur Aussenpolitik der Könige von Israel und Juda. 1964. ISBN 90 04 02334 8 12. Reider, J. An Index to Aquila. Completed and revised by N. Turner. 1966. ISBN 90 04 02335 6 13. Roth, W.M.W. Numerical sayings in the Old Testament. A form-critical study. 1965. ISBN 90 04 02336 4 14. Orlinsky, H.M. Studies on the second part of the Book of Isaiah. — The so-called ‘Servant of the Lord’ and ‘Suffering Servant’ in Second Isaiah. — Snaith, N.H. Isaiah 40-66. A study of the teaching of the Second Isaiah and its consequences. Repr. with additions and corrections. 1977. ISBN 90 04 05437 5 15. Volume du Congrès [International pour l’étude de l’Ancien Testament]. Genève 1965. 1966. ISBN 90 04 02337 2 17. Congress Volume, Rome 1968. 1969. ISBN 90 04 02339 9 19. Thompson, R.J. Moses and the Law in a century of criticism since Graf. 1970. ISBN 90 04 02341 0 20. Redford, D.B. A Study of the Biblical Story of Joseph. 1970. ISBN 90 04 02342 9 21. Ahlström, G.W. Joel and the Temple Cult of Jerusalem. 1971. ISBN 90 04 02620 7 22. Congress Volume, Uppsala 1971. 1972. ISBN 90 04 03521 4 23. Studies in the Religion of Ancient Israel. 1972. ISBN 90 04 03525 7 24. Schoors, A. I am God your Saviour. A form-critical study of the main genres in Is. xllv. 1973. ISBN 90 04 03792 2 25. Allen, L.C. The Greek Chronicles. The relation of the Septuagint I and II Chronicles to the Massoretic text. Part 1. The translator’s craft. 1974. ISBN 90 04 03913 9 26. Studies on prophecy. A collection of twelve papers. 1974. ISBN 90 04 03877 9 27. Allen, L.C. The Greek Chronicles. Part 2. Textual criticism. 1974. ISBN 90 04 03933 3 28. Congress Volume, Edinburgh 1974. 1975. ISBN 90 04 04321 7 29. Congress Volume, Göttingen 1977. 1978. ISBN 90 04 05835 4 30. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Studies in the historical books of the Old Testament. 1979. ISBN 90 04 06017 0 31. Meredino, R.P. Der Erste und der Letzte. Eine Untersuchung von Jes 40-48. 1981. ISBN 90 04 06199 1 32. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume,Vienna 1980. 1981. ISBN 90 04 06514 8 33. Koenig, J. L’herméneutique analogique du Judaïsme antique d’après les témoins textuels d’Isaïe. 1982. ISBN 90 04 06762 0

34. Barstad, H.M. The religious polemics of Amos. Studies in the preachings of Amos ii 7B-8, iv 1-13, v 1-27, vi 4-7, viii 14. 1984. ISBN 90 04 07017 6 35. Kraàovec, J. Antithetic structure in Biblical Hebrew poetry. 1984. ISBN 90 04 07244 6 36. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Salamanca 1983. 1985. ISBN 90 04 07281 0 37. Lemche, N.P. Early Israel. Anthropological and historical studies on the Israelite society before the monarchy. 1985. ISBN 90 04 07853 3 38. Nielsen, K. Incense in Ancient Israel. 1986. ISBN 90 04 07702 2 39. Pardee, D. Ugaritic and Hebrew poetic parallelism. A trial cut. 1988. ISBN 90 04 08368 5 40. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Jerusalem 1986. 1988. ISBN 90 04 08499 1 41. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Studies in the Pentateuch. 1990. ISBN 90 04 09195 5 42. McKenzie, S.L. The trouble with Kings. The composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History. 1991. ISBN 90 04 09402 4 43. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Leuven 1989. 1991. ISBN 90 04 09398 2 44. Haak, R.D. Habakkuk. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09506 3 45. Beyerlin, W. Im Licht der Traditionen. Psalm LXVII und CXV. Ein Entwicklungszusammenhang. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09635 3 46. Meier, S.A. Speaking of Speaking. Marking direct discourse in the Hebrew Bible. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09602 7 47. Kessler, R. Staat und Gesellschaft im vorexilischen Juda. Vom 8. Jahrhundert bis zum Exil. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09646 9 48. Auffret, P. Voyez de vos yeux. Étude structurelle de vingt psaumes, dont le psaume 119. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09707 4 49. García Martínez, F., A. Hilhorst and C.J. Labuschagne (eds.). The Scriptures and the Scrolls. Studies in honour of A.S. van der Woude on the occasion of his 65th birthday. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09746 5 50. Lemaire, A. and B. Otzen (eds.). History and Traditions of Early Israel. Studies presented to Eduard Nielsen, May 8th, 1993. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09851 8 51. Gordon, R.P. Studies in the Targum to the Twelve Prophets. From Nahum to Malachi. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09987 5 52. Hugenberger, G.P. Marriage as a Covenant. A Study of Biblical Law and Ethics Governing Marriage Developed from the Perspective of Malachi. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09977 8 53. García Martínez, F., A. Hilhorst, J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten, A.S. van der Woude. Studies in Deuteronomy. In Honour of C.J. Labuschagne on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10052 0 54. Fernández Marcos, N. Septuagint and Old Latin in the Book of Kings. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10043 1 55. Smith, M.S. The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume 1. Introduction with text, translation and commentary of KTU 1.1-1.2. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09995 6 56. Duguid, I.M. Ezekiel and the Leaders of Israel. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10074 1 57. Marx, A. Les offrandes végétales dans l’Ancien Testament. Du tribut d’hommage au repas eschatologique. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10136 5 58. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, C. Josua und Salomo. Eine Studie zu Autorität und Legitimität des Nachfolgers im Alten Testament. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10064 4 59. Lasserre, G. Synopse des lois du Pentateuque. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10202 7 60. Dogniez, C. Bibliography of the Septuagint – Bibliographie de la Septante (1970-1993). Avec une préface de Pierre-Maurice Bogaert. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10192 6 61. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Paris 1992. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10259 0 62. Smith, P.A. Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah. The Structure, Growth and Authorship of Isaiah 56-66. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10306 6

63. O’Connell, R.H. The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10104 7 64. Harland, P. J. The Value of Human Life. A Study of the Story of the Flood (Genesis 6-9). 1996. ISBN 90 04 10534 4 65. Roland Page Jr., H. The Myth of Cosmic Rebellion. A Study of its Reflexes in Ugaritic and Biblical Literature. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10563 8 66. Emerton, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Cambridge 1995. 1997. ISBN 90 04 106871 67. Joosten, J. People and Land in the Holiness Code. An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10557 3 68. Beentjes, P.C. The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew. A Text Edition of all Extant Hebrew Manuscripts and a Synopsis of all Parallel Hebrew Ben Sira Texts. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10767 3 69. Cook, J. The Septuagint of Proverbs – Jewish and/or Hellenistic Proverbs? Concerning the Hellenistic Colouring of LXX Proverbs. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10879 3 70,1 Broyles, G. and C. Evans (eds.). Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition, I. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10936 6 (Vol. I); ISBN 90 04 11027 5 (Set ) 70,2 Broyles, G. and C. Evans (eds.). Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition, II. 1997. ISBN 90 04 11026 7 (Vol. II); ISBN 90 04 11027 5 (Set ) 71. Kooij, A. van der. The Oracle of Tyre. The Septuagint of Isaiah 23 as Version and Vision. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11152 2 72. Tov, E. The Greek and Hebrew Bible. Collected Essays on the Septuagint. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11309 6 73. García Martínez, F. and Noort, E. (eds.). Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism. A Symposium in honour of Adam S. van der Woude on the occasion of his 70th birthday. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11322 3 74. Kassis, R.A. The Book of Proverbs and Arabic Proverbial Works. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11305 3 75. Rösel, H.N. Von Josua bis Jojachin. Untersuchungen zu den deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbüchern des Alten Testaments. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11355 5 76. Renz, Th. The Rhetorical Function of the Book of Ezekiel. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11362 2 77. Harland, P.J. and Hayward, C.T.R. (eds.). New Heaven and New Earth Prophecy and the Millenium. Essays in Honour of Anthony Gelston. 1999. ISBN 90 04 10841 6 78. Kraàovec, J. Reward, Punishment, and Forgiveness. The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in the Light of Greek and Modern Views. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11443 2. 79. Kossmann, R. Die Esthernovelle – Vom Erzählten zur Erzählung. Studien zur Traditionsund Redaktionsgeschichte des Estherbuches. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11556 0. 80. Lemaire, A. and M. Sæbø (eds.). Congress Volume, Oslo 1998. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11598 6. 81. Galil, G. and M. Weinfeld (eds.). Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography. Presented to Zecharia Kallai. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11608 7 82. Collins, N.L. The library in Alexandria and the Bible in Greek. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11866 7 83,1 Collins, J.J. and P.W. Flint (eds.). The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception, I. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11675 3 (Vol. I); ISBN 90 04 12202 8 (Set ). 83,2 Collins, J.J. and P.W. Flint (eds.). The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception, II. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12200 1 (Vol. II); ISBN 90 04 12202 8 (Set ).

84. Cohen, C.H.R. Contextual Priority in Biblical Hebrew Philology. An Application of the Held Method for Comparative Semitic Philology. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11670 2 (In preparation). 85. Wagenaar, J.A. Judgement and Salvation. The Composition and Redaction of Micah 2-5. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11936 1 86. McLaughlin, J.L. The Marz¿aÈ in sthe Prophetic Literature. References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12006 8 87. Wong, K.L. The Idea of Retribution in the Book of Ezekiel 2001. ISBN 90 04 12256 7 88. Barrick, W. Boyd. The King and the Cemeteries. Toward a New Understanding of Josiah’s Reform. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12171 4 89. Frankel, D. The Murmuring Stories of the Priestly School. A Retrieval of Ancient Sacerdotal Lore. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12368 7 90. Frydrych, T. Living under the Sun. Examination of Proverbs and Qoheleth. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12315 6 91. Kessel, J. The Book of Haggai. Prophecy and Society in Early Persian Yehud. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12368 7 92. Lemaire, A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Basel 2001. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12680 5 93. Rendtorff, R. and R.A. Kugler (eds.). The Book of Leviticus. Composition and Reception. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12634 1 94. Paul, S.M., R.A. Kraft, L.H. Schiffman and W.W. Fields (eds.). Emanuel. Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13007 1 95. Vos, J.C. de. Das Los Judas. Über Entstehung und Ziele der Landbeschreibung in Josua 15. ISBN 90 04 12953 7 96. Lehnart, B. Prophet und König im Nordreich Israel. Studien zur sogenannten vorklassischen Prophetie im Nordreich Israel anhand der Samuel-, Elija- und ElischaÜberlieferungen. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13237 6 97. Lo, A. Job 28 as Rhetoric. An Analysis of Job 28 in the Context of Job 22-31. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13320 8 98. Trudinger, P.L. The Psalms of the Tamid Service. A Liturgical Text from the Second Temple. 2004. ISBN 90 04 12968 5 99. Flint, P.W. and P.D. Miller, Jr. (eds.) with the assistance of A. Brunell. The Book of Psalms. Composition and Reception. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13842 8 100. Weinfeld, M. The Place of the Law in the Religion of Ancient Israel. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13749 1 101. Flint, P.W., J.C. VanderKam and E. Tov. (eds.) Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint. Essays Presented to Eugene Ulrich on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13738 6 102. Meer, M.N. van der. Formation and Reformulation. The Redaction of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Oldest Textual Witnesses. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13125 6 103. Berman, J.A. Narrative Analogy in the Hebrew Bible. Battle Stories and Their Equivalent Non-battle Narratives. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13119 1 104. Keulen, P.S.F. van. Two Versions of the Solomon Narrative. An Inquiry into the Relationship between MT 1 Kgs. 2-11 and LXX 3 Reg. 2-11. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13895 1 105. Marx, A. Les systèmes sacrificiels de l’Ancien Testament. Forms et fonctions du culte sacrificiel à Yhwh. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14286 X 106. Assis, E. Self-Interest or Communal Interest. An Ideology of Leadership in the Gideon, Abimelech and Jephthah Narritives ( Judg 6-12). 2005. ISBN 90 04 14354 8 107. Weiss, A.L. Figurative Language in Biblical Prose Narrative. Metaphor in the Book of Samuel. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14837 X

108. Wagner, T. Gottes Herrschaft. Eine Analyse der Denkschrift (Jes 6, 1-9,6). 2006. ISBN 90 04 14912 0 109. Lemaire, A. (ed.). Congress Volume Leiden 2004. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14913 9 110. Goldman, Y.A.P., A. van der Kooij and R.D. Weis (eds.). Sôfer Mahîr. Essays in Honour of Adrian Schenker Offered by Editors of Biblia Hebraica Quinta. ISBN 90 04 15016 1 111. Wong, G.T.K. Compositional Strategy of the Book of Judges. An Inductive, Rhetorical Study. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15086 2 112. Høyland Lavik, M. A People Tall and Smooth-Skinned. The Rhetoric of Isaiah 18. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15434 5 113. Rezetko, R., T.H. Lim and W.B. Aucker (eds.). Reflection and Refraction. Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14512 5

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