A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. Vanderkam (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism)

A Teacher for All Generations

Supplements to the

Journal for the Study of Judaism Editor

Benjamin G. Wright, III Department of Religion Studies, Lehigh University Associate Editors

Florentino García Martínez Qumran Institute, University of Groningen

Hindy Najman Yale University and Department and Centre for the Study of Religion, University of Toronto Advisory Board

g. bohak – j.j. collins – j. duhaime – p.w. van der horst – a.k. petersen – m. popoviĆ – j.t.a.g.m. van ruiten – j. sievers – g. stemberger – e.j.c. tigchelaar – j. magliano-tromp VOLUME 153/I

A Teacher for All Generations Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam Volume One

Edited by

Eric F. Mason (general editor) Samuel I. Thomas (lead volume editor) Alison Schofield Eugene Ulrich

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2012

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A teacher for all generations : essays in honor of James C. Vanderkam / edited by Eric F. Mason . . . [et al.]. v. cm. — (Supplements to the Journal for the study of Judaism ; v. 153) Includes index. “This collection of essays honors James C. VanderKam on the occasion of his sixty-fifth birthday and twentieth year on the faculty of the University of Notre Dame”—ECIP data view. ISBN 978-90-04-21520-7 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Dead Sea scrolls. 3. Qumran community. 4. Judaism—History—Post-exilic period, 586 B.C.–210 A.D. 5. Ethiopic book of Enoch—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 6. Book of Jubilees—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 7. Bible. N.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. VanderKam, James C. II. Mason, Eric Farrel. III. Title. IV. Series. BS1171.3.T43 2012 220.092—dc23 2011030949 Brill has made all reasonable efforts to trace all rights holders to any copyrighted material used in this work. In cases where these efforts have not been successful the publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters.

ISSN 1384-2161 ISBN 978 90 04 21520 7 (set) 978 90 04 21535 1 (vol. I) 978 90 04 21536 8 (vol. II) Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, 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 Koninklijke Brill NV 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.

CONTENTS Volume One Introduction ...................................................................................... Acknowledgments ............................................................................ List of Contributors ......................................................................... Abbreviations ................................................................................... James C. VanderKam—A Teacher for All Generations ........... Publications of James C. VanderKam (Through 2010) ............ Ph.D. Dissertations Directed by James C. VanderKam (Through 2010) ............................................................................

xi xvii xxi xxv xxxv xli lxix

PART ONE

THE HEBREW BIBLE AND THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies ..................................... Hindy Najman The Relevance of Textual Theories for the Praxis of Textual Criticism ....................................................................................... Emanuel Tov Sea, Storm, Tragedy, and Ethnogenesis: Living the Blues and (Re)Building Community in Post-Katrina America and Early Israel .................................................................................... Hugh R. Page, Jr. Cain’s Legacy: The City and Justice in the Book of Genesis ..... Sejin (Sam) Park The Biblical Manumission Laws: Has the Literary Dependence of H on D Been Demonstrated? ........................ John S. Bergsma

3

23

37

49

65

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contents

The History of Pentecontad Time Units (I) .................................. Jonathan Ben-Dov

93

The Egyptian Goddess Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9: Reassessing Their Relationship .......................... Steven Schweitzer

113

From Name to Book: Another Look at the Composition of the Book of Isaiah with Special Reference to Isaiah 56–66 .......... J. Todd Hibbard

133

LXX Isaiah or Its Vorlage: Primary “Misreadings” and Secondary Modifications .............................................................. Donald W. Parry

151

Isaiah and the King of As/Syria in Daniel’s Final Vision: On the Rhetoric of Inner-Scriptural Allusion and the Hermeneutics of “Mantological Exegesis” ................................ Andrew Teeter

169

The Parallel Editions of the Old Greek and Masoretic Text of Daniel 5 ........................................................................................... Eugene Ulrich

201

Daniel and the Narrative Integrity of His Prayer in Chapter 9 ........................................................................................ Kindalee Pfremmer De Long

219

PART TWO

QUMRAN AND THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS Qumran: Caves, Scrolls, and Buildings .......................................... Sidnie White Crawford

253

Digital Qumran: Virtual Reality or Virtual Fantasy? .................. Jodi Magness

275

Seven Rules for Restoring Lacunae ................................................ James Hamilton Charlesworth

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Collecting Psalms in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls ..................... Armin Lange

297

L’épilogue de 4QMMT revisité ........................................................ Émile Puech

309

Identifying Reuse of Scripture in the Temple Scroll: Some Methodological Reflections .......................................................... Molly M. Zahn

341

Biblical Antecedents of the Kinship Terms in 1QSa ................... Richard J. Bautch

359

Leviticus Outside the Legal Genre .................................................. Sarianna Metso

379

The Interpretation of Scriptural Isaiah in the Qumran Scrolls: Quotations, Citations, Allusions, and the Form of the Scriptural Source Text .................................................................. Peter W. Flint The Status and Interpretation of Jubilees in 4Q390 ..................... Todd R. Hanneken

389

407

Runner, Staff, and Star: Interpreting the Teacher of Righteousness through Scripture ................................................ Kelli S. O’Brien

429

Who is the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns? Re-Examining the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis Fifty Years Later .......................... Angela Kim Harkins

449

Re-Placing Priestly Space: The Wilderness as Heterotopia in the Dead Sea Scrolls ...................................................................... Alison Schofield

469

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contents Volume Two

Abbreviations .....................................................................................

xi

PART THREE

EARLY JUDAISM Tobit as Righteous Sufferer .............................................................. Gary A. Anderson

493

The Growth of Belief in the Sanctity of Mount Gerizim ............ Hanan Eshel ‫ז״ל‬

509

Peton Contests Paying Double Rent on Farmland (P.Heid.Inv. G 5100): A Slice of Judean Experience in the Second Century b.c.e. Herakleopolite Nome ......................................... Rob Kugler Ascents to Heaven in Antiquity: Toward a Typology ................. Adela Yarbro Collins Eternal Writing and Immortal Writers: On the Non-Death of the Scribe in Early Judaism .................................................... Samuel I. Thomas The Rabbis’ Written Torah and the Heavenly Tablets ............... Tzvi Novick Demons of Change: The Transformational Role of the Antagonist in the Apocalypse of Abraham ................................ Andrei A. Orlov Sefer Zerubbabel and Popular Religion .......................................... Martha Himmelfarb

537

553

573

589

601

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PART FOUR

STUDIES ON ENOCH AND JUBILEES Enmeduranki and Gilgamesh: Mesopotamian Figures in Aramaic Enoch Traditions .......................................................... Ida Fröhlich

637

The Parables of Enoch and the Manuscripts from Qumran ...... George W. E. Nickelsburg

655

The Social Setting of the Parables of Enoch ................................. Leslie W. Walck

669

1 Enoch 73:4–8 and the Aramaic Astronomical Book ................. Henryk Drawnel

687

Reflections on Sources behind the Epistle of Enoch and the Significance of 1 Enoch 104:9–13 for the Reception of Enochic Tradition ......................................................................... Loren T. Stuckenbruck On the Importance of Being Abram: Genesis Apocryphon 18, Jubilees 10:1–13:4, and Further Thoughts on a Literary Relationship .................................................................................... Daniel A. Machiela The Genre of the Book of Jubilees .................................................. John J. Collins A Note on Divine Names and Epithets in the Book of Jubilees ............................................................................................. James Kugel

705

715

737

757

Revisiting the Rebekah of the Book of Jubilees ............................ John C. Endres

765

Judah and Tamar in Jubilees 41 ...................................................... Devorah Dimant

783

Enoch and Jubilees in the Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church ............................................................................................. Leslie Baynes

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contents PART FIVE

THE NEW TESTAMENT AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY Aspects of Matthew’s Use of Scripture in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls ....................................................................................... George J. Brooke

821

Surprises from Law and Love: In Tribute to Dr. James C. VanderKam .................................................................................... John P. Meier

839

The Meaning of Εὐαγγέλιον in the Inscriptiones of the Canonical Gospels ......................................................................... David E. Aune

857

One Ethiopian Eunuch is Not the End of the World: The Narrative Function of Acts 8:26–40 ................................... Curt Niccum

883

“Sit at My Right Hand”: Enthronement and the Heavenly Sanctuary in Hebrews ................................................................... Eric F. Mason

901

Christians and the Public Archive .................................................. William Adler

917

Three Apocryphal Fragments from Armenian Manuscripts ...... Michael E. Stone

939

Index of Ancient Sources ................................................................. Index of Modern Authors ................................................................

947 992

INTRODUCTION This Festschrift is the result of the work of many individuals who wish to celebrate colleague, teacher, and mentor James C. VanderKam, known to many simply as “Jim.” As these two volumes honor Jim on the occasion of his sixty-fifth birthday (and twentieth year on the faculty at the University of Notre Dame), we observe that the study of ancient Israel and of Judaism and Christianity in antiquity has developed in so many respects in the course of the last sixty-five years. From the time of the 1940s, scholarly work in biblical studies (from ancient Israel to early Judaism and Christianity) has been transformed by various discoveries as well as by methodological advances. The Dead Sea Scrolls, Nag Hammadi library, and numerous excavations in the Levant and Mediterranean world have provided new data expanding the perspectives of those who study antiquity. Moreover, study of the Bible has been irrevocably changed by insights gleaned from JewishChristian dialogue in the wake of the Shoah and by further deliberation on methodologies employed in the readings of scriptural texts. Jim’s career has coincided with many of these extraordinary changes, and, as the footnotes in these essays will attest, his work has been not only prolific but also wide-ranging. While each contributor was encouraged to submit an essay of his or her choice, most have attempted to interact with Jim’s scholarship in one way or another (in so many cases it cannot be ignored!), on topics extending from ancient Near Eastern calendars to the modern Ethiopian Orthodox scriptural canon. Indeed, Jim’s contributions to our discipline are difficult to measure. Jim’s groundbreaking work on Jubilees, the writings associated with Enoch, and the Dead Sea Scrolls—the latter especially in terms of his work as editor of several volumes of the Discoveries of the Judaean Desert series—has critically advanced our understanding of these texts and their historical contexts. At the same time, as his biography, bibliography, and record of mentoring graduate students demonstrate, Jim’s research, publications, and guidance concern a variety of areas that might well be identified as or seen as relating to the Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament, ancient Near Eastern studies, early Judaism, the Dead Sea Scrolls, apocalyptic literature, Second Temple period traditions, Pseudepigrapha, and early Christianity. It is no surprise, then, that colleagues and former students have contributed to this Festschrift

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essays that represent a similar range of cognate areas, areas that speak to biblical studies and the examination of religion and civilizations in the ancient world. While Jim’s scholarship has certainly made an impact on our studies, his contributions to the academy and the leadership roles he has held at, for example, North Carolina State University, the University of Notre Dame, and the Journal of Biblical Literature, have ensured that many would have a chance to interact and work with him. Jim is respected and appreciated by scholars from around the world, and there is no doubt that if not for space limitations there would be many more who would have happily contributed to this Festschrift. The contents of these volumes suggest the breadth and scope of Jim’s own work and influence on the academy. In Volume 1, the essays in Part I take up topics related to the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, and essays in Part II concern Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Volume 2 is arranged in three parts: Part III, Early Judaism; Part IV, Studies on Enoch and Jubilees; and Part V, the New Testament and Early Christianity. Some have observed that the Festschrift is a curious genre that communicates something important about one’s scholarly circle. In the case of Jim VanderKam, it should be clear that his circle of admirers is extensive. Contributors to the Festschrift come from a number of institutions in Austria, Canada, Hungary, Israel, Poland, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Moreover, there were several supporters of this Festschrift, again of an international scope, who wished to celebrate Jim even if they were not able to contribute essays here. Likewise, those who have studied with Jim, having flourished under his guidance, were enthusiastic about the occasion to honor and remember Jim’s important contributions to their professional development. These former students have progressed in their careers such that they teach, research, and serve at a wide range of institutions; they make their own contributions to the academy while continuing the legacy of their mentor and advisor. All this is to say that Jim’s Bekanntenkreis is not confined to a particular region but is widespread and representative of scholars in our field today, both established and emerging. Jim’s scholarly contributions, of the highest quality, ensure that future students of the Bible, early Judaism, and Christianity will benefit also from his work. From our perspective, invoking purposefully the title of one of his works (the book Enoch—A Man for All Generations), Jim is indeed a scholar and teacher for all generations, and it is our

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privilege to offer this Festschrift honoring his many gifts to us and to the academy. While the essays in these two volumes concern themes familiar to many readers of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, other essays explore texts and traditions that are less well known but nonetheless important for our reconstructions of Israelite religion and Judaism and Christianity in antiquity. In many respects, the scope of this Festschrift mirrors well the trajectory of Jim’s own scholarship. Jim has invested a good portion of his life in knowing (in fact, commanding) the “classics”; for many of us in biblical studies, the “classics” might be considered the Hebrew Bible, New Testament, and rabbinic literature, writings of great antiquity that have also been deemed authoritative by generations of religious communities. At the same time, a strength of Jim’s scholarship has been his quest to understand coterminous texts that also shed light on the “canonical” ones. As Jim has shown us through his research, those who would want to understand Israelite religion, early Judaism and Christianity, and the history of these communities must not neglect these additional windows into the past. Thus, our contributors follow Jim’s lead. Many explore with depth and care biblical texts or topics related to the Hebrew Bible, New Testament, or rabbinic literature, illuminating new aspects of or advancing our understanding of these writings; others consider texts and traditions associated with early Judaism and Christianity that are outside these collections of authoritative texts, again to profitable ends. From text criticism to the study of genre, the Dead Sea Scrolls have significantly advanced our understanding of biblical texts and at least some of the communities who preserved them. Similarly, Jubilees and texts associated with the figure Enoch teach us much about diverse traditions within the Second Temple period and how religious communities responded differently to texts Jews and Christians would come to know as Scripture. Likewise, late antique Christian writings also teach us much about the reception and preservation of scriptural texts. Indeed, as many of the essays in these volumes will attest, the importance of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ancient literature and traditions outside of canonical collections, and late antique texts extends beyond the light they shed on canonical writings. The editors and the contributors know—and as Jim has shown through his own scholarship—that the study of Scripture benefits from robust engagement with context, history, and community, and with writings outside of contemporary canonical collections.

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In some respects the scope of these two volumes represents a snapshot of our discipline as it is being construed in the second decade of the twenty-first century. The editors note that there are different ways that these essays could be arranged and put into conversation with each other. The editors struggled, in fact, with how to divide the essays into two volumes and what alternative arrangements might suggest about how we understand our discipline. For example, should one group together essays on the Hebrew Bible and New Testament into one volume that would resemble to some extent the Christian canon (acknowledging, of course, that the Tanak differs from the Old Testament, and that Christians of varying denominations have Old Testaments that differ from one another)? Would such an arrangement suggest that the Dead Sea Scrolls or other ancient writings are peripheral and unimportant to our understanding of ancient Israel, early Judaism, and early Christianity (even though so many of the Qumran scrolls are themselves biblical manuscripts)? Or, given that so many pseudepigraphical texts seem to build on figures and stories of ancient Israel, would it be good to group certain texts (such as Jubilees and 1 Enoch) with those of the Hebrew Bible? Or, since many of the writings of the Dead Sea Scrolls are apocalyptic in orientation, should these have been grouped with similar writings from the early church that are focused on eschatology or messianism? There are other arrangements that could be justified as well, and each would imply certain presuppositions about the ways in which related areas illumine one another. Our subheadings in these volumes pose challenges much like the labels that we often arbitrarily assign to ancient texts. These labels, no doubt, affect how we evaluate or assess the place of texts in the ancient world, a matter still of investigation for scholars. For example, although some essays in Volume 2 were placed in a section on “Early Judaism,” in truth, a majority of the essays in both volumes could easily merit placement under such a rubric. While there might have been fewer disagreements as to what constitutes the “Bible” and less anxiety about terms like “Apocrypha” and “Pseudepigrapha” (as uncertain as these expressions are) a hundred years ago, in the early years of the twenty-first century scholars consider how our previous categories may say more about our most immediate scholarly predecessors or religious heritage and less about our ancient subjects. We know better how our canonical collections have developed, and thanks to the Dead Sea Scrolls and other discoveries,

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we understand more fully the different versions or editions of texts, order of texts in collections, and range of texts that could be considered authoritative in antiquity. Thus, the subheadings and the arrangement of essays in each volume have not been selected naively by the editorial team but rather with the awareness that the current ordering of essays offers one way among many to serve as a vantage point into our discipline at this juncture. Further, while many subheadings do not capture fully the significance and place of various writings and traditions vis-à-vis their own contexts, the editors made use of such headings especially in order to lend structure to the volumes. In the end, these headings provide some basic guidance to the reader, who is encouraged to enjoy all of the rich contributions in these two volumes. To Jim, we wish a happy sixty-fifth birthday and we look forward to celebrating with you and your family for many years to come. Kelley Coblentz Bautch

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Publication of any book is a significant undertaking, but completion of a project with the size and scope of this Festschrift certainly would not have been possible without the numerous contributions of many people eager to honor James C. VanderKam. Though these volumes are thick and the essays are numerous, they constitute only a small expression of our gratitude to Jim as we celebrate his sixty-fifth birthday and twentieth anniversary as a faculty member in the Department of Theology at the University of Notre Dame. Indeed, the project that produced A Teacher for All Generations has its origins in two fledgling efforts to honor Jim that independently began formulating plans in the early months of 2009. Leaders of the groups became aware of the others’ intentions that summer, and fortuitously each group had concentrated thus far on different components for such a project. Quickly a combined editorial team took shape, and the synergy of our efforts provided us a significant leap forward, so much so that less than a month after the merger we were able to extend invitations to potential contributors in August 2009 with firm plans in place. At seven members, our editorial team was large but never unwieldy. We labored together united by our common appreciation for Jim’s formative influence on our lives and careers, and in the process we formed strong bonds between different “generations” of Jim’s graduate students. Several people made vital contributions early on, without which this project would not have been possible. Florentino García Martínez was an early champion of the Festschrift. As editor (in some capacity) for multiple relevant series, he suggested the Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism series (Brill) as the one most appropriate given the broad scope of Jim’s own work and the expected articles in the collection. Though circumstances did not allow him to contribute an essay to the collection personally, its existence nevertheless owes much to Florentino’s eagerness to see this tribute to Jim succeed. Likewise, Hindy Najman, the series editor at that time and Jim’s former colleague at Notre Dame, enthusiastically embraced the project and authorized its inclusion in the series. Machiel Kleemans, then Brill’s editor for the series, provided invaluable guidance on matters

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acknowledgments

far too numerous to list, and the fruit of his sage advice is evident throughout the final product; we wish him only the best in his new endeavors. Indeed, we are deeply indebted to everyone at Brill for this esteemed publisher’s commitment to scholarship on Second Temple Judaism in general and specifically to this project. Despite transitions in the series editorship and Brill’s staff, the support for this Festschrift remained firm, and in its latter stages series editor Benjamin Wright and Brill’s Peter Buschman, Mattie Kuiper, and Suzanne Mekking have skillfully guided it to completion. A two-volume Festschrift likely is not the easiest project to inherit, but they have done so with aplomb and their leadership has been much appreciated. Numerous people at Notre Dame have also made significant contributions to this project. Monica Brady, who completed her dissertation with Jim, co-edited multiple volumes in the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert series, and continues to work with him as editorial assistant for the Journal of Biblical Literature, advised us on numerous matters early in the process. Later, Dr. J. Matthew Ashley, chair of the Department of Theology, and Dr. Gregory E. Sterling, dean of the Graduate School, provided vital support. Behind the scenes, Jim’s wife Mary VanderKam made invaluable contributions. In many ways this Festschrift is also a tribute to her, and like Jim she is beloved, respected, and admired by all who know her. Others have provided assistance at various stages. We are grateful to Aminah Hassoun, a student at California Lutheran University, whose keen reading during the editing stage improved the final state of the manuscript of volume 1. Similarly, we express appreciation to Dr. Robert E. Wallace, Judson University, for his help with file format conversions. We are very indebted to April Favara of the University of Denver and Iliff School of Theology, Joe L. Ruiz of St. Edward’s University, and especially Jonathan Trotter of the University of Notre Dame for their preparation of the indices. This was made possible in part by support from the Institute for Scholarship in the Liberal Arts, College of Arts and Letters, University of Notre Dame. We also express thanks to Brad Bechler, Susan Swartwout, and Michelle Ailene True for granting permission for our inclusion of quotations from their poems in the contribution by Hugh R. Page, Jr. in volume 1. Attempts to contact rights holders for other works quoted in that article were unsuccessful. A longer version of the article by Adela Yarbro Collins in volume 2 of this collection is forthcoming in David E. Aune and

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Frederick Brenk, eds., Biblical and New Testament Genres and Themes in the Context of Greco-Roman Literature (Brill). Finally, the editors express appreciation to our families for their support and patience during the many hours spent planning, writing, and editing. Jim’s influence and kindness extend far beyond just his students and colleagues, and these volumes are by extension also expressions of our families’ gratitude to him. While this collection includes fifty-one contributions from Jim’s students and colleagues, this reflects only a small portion of those impacted by his scholarly contributions and influence on their own lives and work. The editorial team faced many difficult decisions in narrowing down the invitation list for articles, both due to Jim’s wideranging scholarly interests and the high regard in which so many hold him. Unfortunately some invited contributors were unable to participate due to health issues or other pressing commitments, and we frequently were asked about the possibility of including a list of other friends and colleagues expressing congratulations to Jim. The editors decided against including the latter because by necessity it would have been very incomplete, and we trust that the present collection serves as a testament to the high regard with which Jim is held in the international academic community. Eric F. Mason for the editorial team

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS William Adler North Carolina State University Gary A. Anderson University of Notre Dame David E. Aune University of Notre Dame Richard J. Bautch St. Edward’s University (Texas) Leslie Baynes Missouri State University Jonathan Ben-Dov University of Haifa John S. Bergsma Franciscan University of Steubenville George J. Brooke University of Manchester James H. Charlesworth Princeton Theological Seminary Kelley Coblentz Bautch St. Edward’s University (Texas) John J. Collins Yale University Adela Yarbro Collins Yale University

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Sidnie White Crawford University of Nebraska—Lincoln Kindalee Pfremmer De Long Pepperdine University Devorah Dimant University of Haifa Henryk Drawnel The John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin John C. Endres Jesuit School of Theology of Santa Clara University (in Berkeley) Hanan Eshel ‫ז״ל‬ Bar-Ilan University Peter W. Flint Trinity Western University Ida Fröhlich Pázmány Péter Catholic University Todd R. Hanneken St. Mary’s University (Texas) Angela Kim Harkins Fairfield University J. Todd Hibbard University of Detroit Mercy Martha Himmelfarb Princeton University James Kugel Bar-Ilan University

list of contributors Rob Kugler Lewis & Clark College Armin Lange University of Vienna Daniel A. Machiela McMaster University Jodi Magness University of North Carolina—Chapel Hill Eric F. Mason Judson University (Illinois) John P. Meier University of Notre Dame Sarianna Metso University of Toronto Hindy Najman Yale University and University of Toronto Curt Niccum Abilene Christian University George W. E. Nickelsburg University of Iowa Tzvi Novick University of Notre Dame Kelli S. O’Brien Regis University (Colorado) Andrei A. Orlov Marquette University

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list of contributors

Hugh R. Page, Jr. University of Notre Dame Sejin (Sam) Park Donald W. Parry Brigham Young University Émile Puech Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, Paris—École Biblique et Archéologique Française, Jérusalem Alison Schofield University of Denver Steven Schweitzer Bethany Theological Seminary (Indiana) Michael E. Stone Hebrew University of Jerusalem Loren T. Stuckenbruck Princeton Theological Seminary Andrew Teeter Harvard University Samuel I. Thomas California Lutheran University Emanuel Tov Hebrew University of Jerusalem Eugene Ulrich University of Notre Dame Leslie W. Walck Colfax Lutheran Church, Colfax, Wisconsin Molly M. Zahn University of Kansas

ABBREVIATIONS In general the essays in this volume follow the conventions of The SBL Handbook of Style, edited by Patrick H. Alexander, John F. Kutsko, James D. Ernest, Shirley A. Decker-Lucke, and David L. Petersen (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999). General Abbreviations AASOR Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research AB Anchor Bible ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York, 1992 ADAJ Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums AHw Akkadisches Handwörterbuch. Edited by W. von Soden. 3 vols. Wiesbaden, 1965–1981 AnBib Analecta biblica ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. Princeton, 1969 ANF Ante-Nicene Fathers ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972– ANTC Abingdon New Testament Commentaries AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament AOS American Oriental Series AR Archiv für Religionswissenschaft ArBib The Aramaic Bible ASP American Studies in Papyrology ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch BA Biblical Archaeologist BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research

xxvi BDAG

abbreviations

Bauer, W., W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, and F. W. Danker. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 2d ed. Chicago, 1979 BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium BGU Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. 15 vols. Berlin, 1895–1983 BHT Beiträge zur historischen Theologie BI Biblical Interpretation Bib Biblica BibOr Biblica et orientalia BibS(F) Biblische Studien (Freiburg, 1895–) BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester BJS Brown Judaic Studies BN Biblische Notizen BO Bibliotheca orientalis BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament BZABR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago, 1956– CAH Cambridge Ancient History CahRB Cahiers de la Revue biblique CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series CC Continental Commentaries CEJL Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature ConBNT Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series CP Classical Philology CPJ Corpus papyrorum judaicorum. Edited by V. Tcherikover. 3 vols. Cambridge, 1957–64 CRINT Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum

abbreviations CSCO

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Corpus scriptorium christianorum orientalium. Edited by I. B. Chabot et al. Paris, 1903– DDD Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst. Leiden, 1995 [2d ed., 1999] DSD Dead Sea Discoveries EDSS Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by Lawrence Schiffman and James C. VanderKam. 2 vols. Oxford, 2000 EncJud Encyclopedia Judaica. 16 vols. Jerusalem, 1972 EvQ Evangelical Quarterly ETL Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses ExpTim Expository Times FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GCS Die griechische christliche Schriftsteller der ersten [drei] Jahrhunderte HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament HS Hebrew Studies HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HTR Harvard Theological Review HUBP Hebrew University Bible Project HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual ICC International Critical Commentary IEJ Israel Exploration Journal Int Interpretation JAAS Journal of Asia Adventist Seminary JANESCU Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JCT Jewish and Christian Texts JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies

xxviii JEOL JETS JJS JNES JNSL JQR JRT JSJ JSNT JSNTSup JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSQ JSS JTS KAT KEK KHC KS LCL LHBOTS LNTS LSTS MBPF MVAG NCBC NICOT NIDB NovT

abbreviations Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex oriente lux Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religious Thought Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer-Kommentar) Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Kirjath-Sepher Loeb Classical Library Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Library of New Testament Studies Library of Second Temple Studies Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtgeschichte Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-ägyptischen Gesellschaft. Vols. 1–44. 1896–1939 New Century Bible Commentary New International Commentary on the Old Testament The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville, 2006–2009 Novum Testamentum

abbreviations NovTSup NTL NTOASA NTS OBO OBT OCD OLA OrNS OTL OtSt PAAJR PCPS PEFQS PMLA PO PRSt PTSMS RAC RB RechBib REJ RelSoc RES RevQ (RdQ) RHR RSR SAOC SB SBLABS SBLDS SBLEJL SBLMS

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Novum Testamentum Supplements New Testament Library Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus Series Archaeologica New Testament Studies Orbis biblicus et orientalis Overtures in Biblical Theology Oxford Classical Dictionary. Edited by S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth. 3d ed. Oxford, 1996 Orientalia lovaniensia analecta Orientalia (Nova Series) Old Testament Library Oudtestamentlische Studiën Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statement Publications of the Modern Language Association Patrologia orientalis Perspectives in Religious Studies Princeton Theological Seminary Monograph Series Reallexicon für Antike und Christentum. Edited by T. Kluser et al. Stuttgart, 1950– Revue Biblique Recherches bibliques Revue des etudes juives Religion and Society Revue des etudes sémitique Revue de Qumran Revue de l’histoire des religions Recherches de science religieuse Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations Sources bibliques Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series

xxx SBLRBS SBLSP SBLSymS SBLTT SBLWAW SBM SBT ScrHier SDSSRL SEÅ SJLA SNTSMS SOTSMS SP SSAP SSEJC STDJ StPatr StPB SUNT SVTP TBN TDNT

TLOT

TLZ TQ Transeu TSAJ TU UF VT VTSup WBC WMANT

abbreviations Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Society of Biblical Literature Texts and Translations Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Stuttgarter biblische Monographien Studies in Biblical Theology Scripta hierosolymitana Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature Svensk exegetisk årsbok Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Society for Old Testament Studies Monograph Series Sacra pagina Series of Studies on the Ancient Period Studies in Early Judaism and Christianity Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studia patristica Studia post-biblica Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigraphica Themes in Biblical Narrative Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids, 1964–76 Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by E. Jenni, with assistance from C. Westermann. Translated by M. E. Biddle. 3 vols. Peabody, Mass., 1997 Theologische Literaturzeitung Theologische Quartalschrift Transeuphratène Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Texte und Untersuchungen Ugarit-Forschungen Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplements Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament

abbreviations WUNT YCS ZA ZAW ZDMG ZDPV ZPE

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Yale Classical Studies Zeitschrift für Assyriologie Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik Editions of the Dead Sea Scrolls

The following editions of the Dead Sea Scrolls are cited in these volumes. DJD 1

Barthélemy, D. and J. T. Milik. Qumran Cave 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 1. Oxford: Clarendon, 1955. DJD 3 Baillet, M., J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux. Les ‘petites grottes’ de Qumrân. 2 vols. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 3. Oxford: Clarendon, 1962. DJD 4 Sanders, J. A. The Psalms Scroll of Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 4. Oxford: Clarendon, 1965. DJD 6 de Vaux, R. and J. T. Milik. Qumrân grotte 4.II. I Archéologie, II. Tefillin, Mezuzot et Targums (4Q128–4Q157). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 6. Oxford: Clarendon, 1977. DJD 9 Skehan, P. W., E. Ulrich, and J. E. Sanderson. Qumran Cave 4.IV: Palaeo-Hebrew and Greek Biblical Manuscripts. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 9. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992. DJD 10 Qimron, E. and J. Strugnell. Qumran Cave 4.V: Miqsat Ma‘ase ha-Torah. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 10. Oxford: Clarendon, 1994. DJD 13 Attridge, H. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam. Qumran Cave 4.VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 13. Oxford: Clarendon, 1994. DJD 15 Ulrich, E. et al. Qumran Cave 4.X: The Prophets. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 15. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997.

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abbreviations

DJD 16 Ulrich, E. et al. Qumran Cave 4.XI: Psalms to Chronicles. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 16. Oxford: Clarendon, 2000. DJD 18 Baumgarten, J. M. Qumran Cave 4.XIII: The Damascus Document (4Q266–273). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 18. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. DJD 22 Brooke, G. J. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam. Qumran Cave 4.XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 22. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. DJD 23 García Martínez, F., E. J. C. Tigchelaar, and A. S. van der Woude. Qumran Cave 11.II: 11Q2–18, 11Q20–31. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 23. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. DJD 25 Puech, É. Qumran Cave 4.XVIII: Textes hébreux (4Q521–528, 4Q576–579). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 25. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. DJD 28 Gropp, D. Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri for Wadi Daliyeh; Schuller, E., et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam and M. Brady. Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII: Miscellanea, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 28. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 29 Chazon, E. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam and M. Brady. Qumran Cave 4.XX: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 29. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. DJD 30 Dimant, D. Qumran Cave 4.XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 30. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 31 Puech, É. Qumrân Grotte 4.XXII: Textes araméens, première partie, 4Q529–549. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 31. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 32 Ulrich, E. and P. W. Flint, Qumran Cave 1.II: The Isaiah Scrolls. 2 vols. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 32. Oxford: Clarendon, 2011. DJD 36 Pfann, S. J. Qumran Cave 4.XXVI: Cryptic Texts; Alexander, P. S. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam and M. Brady. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 36. Oxford: Clarendon, 2000. DJD 37 Puech, É. Qumrân Grotte 4.XXVII: Textes araméens, deuxième partie, 4Q550–575, 580–582. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 37. Oxford: Clarendon, 2009.

abbreviations DJD 39

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Tov, E., ed. The Texts from the Judaean Desert: Indices and an Introduction to the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Series. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 39. Oxford: Clarendon, 2002. DJD 40 Newsom, C., H. Stegemann, and E. Schuller. Qumran Cave 1.III: 1QHodayota, with Incorporation of 4QHodayota-f and 1QHodayotb. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 40. Oxford: Clarendon, 2008. DSSR Parry, D. W. and E. Tov. The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. 6 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2004. DSSSE García Martínez, F. and E. J. C. Tigchelaar. The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. 2 vols. Leiden and Grand Rapids: Brill and Eerdmans, 1999. PTSDSSP 2 Charlesworth, James H., ed. Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 2. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995. PTSDSSP 3 Charlesworth, James H., ed., with Henry W. L. Reitz, along with J. M. Baumgarten. Damascus Document Fragments, Some Works of the Torah, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005. PTSDSSP 4A Charlesworth, James H. and Henry W. L. Reitz, eds. Pseudepigraphic and Non-Masoretic Psalms and Prayers. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 4A. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997. PTSDSSP 6B Charlesworth, James H., ed. Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 6B. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002. PTSDSSP 7 Charlesworth, James H., ed. Temple Scroll and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 7. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010.

JAMES C. VANDERKAM—A TEACHER FOR ALL GENERATIONS “Let us now sing the praises of famous men!” begins Ben Sira’s hymn for the venerable ancestors of Israel. It is indeed fitting to stop occasionally for reflection upon, and celebration of, the lives of those worthy of emulation. Such is the life of our dear friend and colleague James VanderKam. The present Festschrift is ample testimony to the caliber and impact of Jim’s scholarship; it seems unnecessary to belabor a point so obvious. It is also, however, a witness to the fact that he is far more than the sum of his bibliography. Jim is a wonderful person who has touched many lives for the better, inside and outside of the academic contexts in which he has proven so influential. This brief biography is an attempt to paint some of the broad strokes of Jim’s life. As such, it is part historiography and another part first-hand knowledge and reflection by someone who spent six years studying formally under Jim’s guidance. I should especially like to thank Jim’s wife Mary for her help in recounting his younger days. I should also say that I make no attempt to document comprehensively Jim’s scholarly breadth and accomplishments, to the great relief of many trees. To get a sense of these attainments the reader is directed to the bibliography included in this volume. James Claire VanderKam entered this world in the small, northern Michigan town of Cadillac on February 15, 1946. The second child of Henry and Elaine VanderKam (Dekker), he is one of five children along with two brothers (Henry and David) and two sisters (Terri and Judy). Jim’s father was a pastor in the Christian Reformed Church (a historically Dutch Calvinist denomination) and, as such pastors are wont to do, he moved his family in order to serve new churches every so often: first there was Prosper Christian Reformed Church (Falmouth, Michigan), then Second Christian Reformed Church (Pella, Iowa), followed by 12th Avenue Christian Reformed Church (Jenison, Michigan), and finally Grace Christian Reformed Church (Kalamazoo, Michigan). It was during the Jenison years that something momentous happened to Jim: he met his future wife, Mary Vander Molen. This meeting took place at Jenison Christian School, in the 7th grade, and Jim’s

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life undoubtedly took a turn for the better as a result. After graduating from Unity Christian High School in 1964 (Jim was the president of student council that year), he proceeded to study at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan (1964–68). Here Jim excelled as a major in Classics, and with one year of college remaining he and Mary were married in 1967. Following completion of his B.A. degree, Jim enrolled in Calvin Theological Seminary with the intention of entering the pastorate (1968–71). While at seminary, however, a growing interest in biblical studies and archeology developed into a pursuit of further graduate studies in these areas. In the end, Jim was not ordained as a “Minister of Word and Sacrament” due to this change of direction, though he did serve churches over three summer assignments during his time at seminary. Here I must mention that Jim’s bright future as an archeologist was unexpectedly derailed. He and Mary were planning to participate in an excavation in Jordan over the summer of 1970, but due to unrest in Jordan related to the airplane hijackings of that year and other tensions with the Palestinians living in Jordan, their entry to that country was not possible. The couple decided to make the most of this turn of events by travelling across Europe for three months in a pup-tent on a strictly regulated budget of $5 per day. It is indeed profound to consider how those tragic world events impacted study of the book of Jubilees, and perhaps, too, some forlorn Middle Eastern tell. With several graduate admissions offers on the table, Jim chose next to enter the Th.D. program at Harvard Divinity School, due in part to the support of Dr. Bastiaan (Bas) Van Elderen, who taught courses at Calvin Seminary and was himself a respected biblical scholar and archeologist. Harvard would have to wait, however, for Jim had also received a one-year Fulbright fellowship to study at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland (1971–72). It was here that their first child, Jeff, was born. Rumor also has it that Jim was a commanding presence on the basketball court during his stay in St. Andrews (Jim has hinted that he was 6’ 6” tall and 230 pounds in those days). Upon returning from Scotland, studies at Harvard commenced (1972–76). Although Jim began in the Th.D. program, he eventually requested to transfer into the Ph.D. track, where he would work under the co-supervision of Frank Moore Cross and John Strugnell—both giants in their generation of Dead Sea Scrolls research. As most readers of this biography will already know, Jim eventually settled on the book of Jubilees for his dissertation topic, a version of which was pub-

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lished in 1977 under the title Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees. The book of Jubilees would comprise a major (though by no means the only) focus of Jim’s academic career, up to the present day with his ongoing Jubilees Hermeneia commentary project. It was also his expertise in Jubilees that led to Jim’s benchmark Ethiopic edition and translation of that book in the esteemed Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium series in 1989; here Jim incorporated the previous labors of Dutch scholars Rochus Zuurmond and Willem Baars, who had collected lists and copies of many Ethiopic manuscripts. In 1976 Jim was offered a job in the Department of Philosophy and Religion at North Carolina State University in Raleigh, North Carolina, where he and his family lived and worked until 1991. Jim and Mary’s second child, Laura, was born in 1978, and along with their two children they left for another stint at St. Andrews in 1981. Here Jim worked closely with Matthew Black, and he made such a good impression that Black asked him to be the literary executor of his commentary on 1 Enoch. Though Jim never had to fulfill this duty, he did end up transcribing and translating all of the Ethiopic for the project. In this, the birthplace of modern golf, Jim was also able to cultivate an avid and longstanding (he might add longsuffering) interest in that game. After returning from Scotland, life continued on in Raleigh, punctuated by the birth of Dan, their third child (1984), and another academic leave to the University of California, San Diego, during the fall of 1987. By this time Jim had published his second book, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (1984), prefacing an important body of work in the Enochic literature and traditions (yet another Hermeneia volume on this front, co-authored with George Nickelsburg, scheduled to appear in late 2011). In due time, the University of Notre Dame Department of Theology came calling. Jim answered, accepting a position there as full professor in 1991, and in 1998 he was elevated to an endowed chair as John A. O’Brien Professor of Hebrew Scriptures. The move to South Bend, Indiana, offered a context in which Jim could expand the borders of his research and teaching in exciting new ways. For instance, Jim was able to team up with Eugene Ulrich to make Notre Dame a center of Dead Sea Scrolls research, the North American hub of editorial work on the official publication project of the Scrolls, the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert series (for which Jim was a prominent editor), published by Oxford University Press. This contributed to Notre Dame’s

xxxviii james c. vanderkam—a teacher for all generations rise to prominence as a place for the study of early Judaism and its integration into the wider field of biblical studies. Further—and here is where I and most editors of these volumes have felt his impact the greatest—Jim was now able to take on graduate students and to help mentor a new generation of scholars. His ongoing contributions in this respect are impressive, and we can say from personal experience that Jim exemplifies for his students the very best balance of hard work, thoroughness, attention to detail, generosity, patience, and especially kindness and graciousness. While at Notre Dame Jim has also helped to shape his discipline by serving on the editorial boards of nearly every esteemed journal and series in his field, through his terms as a founding editor of Dead Sea Discoveries and chief editor of the Journal of Biblical Literature, and by assuming leading roles in professional organizations such as the Society for Biblical Literature. Jim does not seek the spotlight for himself, but it nevertheless finds him because of the quality of his work and his commitment to the field. To this day Jim continues to be a vital, formative member of the Department of Theology at Notre Dame, with connections of friendship and scholarship stretching across the globe. In addition to all these things, Jim and Mary have seen five grandchildren added to their family during the years at Notre Dame (with a sixth now on the way). Although Jim’s academic career is as distinguished as one could imagine, recounting these achievements does not do him full justice. For one thing, Jim has long been and remains a man of sport. He is an avid fan of basketball, baseball, and American football, and he has plied himself at various stages to basketball, running, golf, and softball, to name just a few. The church softball team (both men’s and co-ed) has been a summer staple for Jim throughout his time in South Bend, a good-humored token of his role being the name one of these teams bore for a number of years: The Grateful Dead Sea Scrolls (the shirt was tie-dyed and had Jim’s portrait on the front)! This leads naturally to the prominent, dedicated roles that Jim and Mary have played in their various church communities over the years. At South Bend Christian Reformed Church Jim has held almost every role conceivable for a layperson, from head of Church Council as an elder to middle school catechism teacher. Anyone who walks into Jim’s office will quickly notice something in addition to the shelves of books and journals. The box of toys in

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the corner, the electric train set in the office next door, the children’s drawings scotch-taped to the front of Jim’s desk, the Hawaiian leis and tiki torches left by a raiding band of graduate students, and the many pictures of grandchildren and others who are part of his and Mary’s lives—all of these point to Jim’s highest priorities and aspirations. A lovely, parting illustration is Jim’s faithful practice of reading every week during the academic year with first-grade schoolchildren who need extra help at the nearby Tarkington Elementary School. This, from a man who is otherwise as busy and productive as many of us could only dream. “Let us now sing the praises of famous men!” James VanderKam may be famous because of his excellent, insightful, and influential scholarship, but this is only one of the reasons we sing his praises through this collection of essays. Daniel A. Machiela

PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES C. VANDERKAM (THROUGH 2010) 1973 “The Theophany of Enoch i, 3b–7, 9,” Vetus Testamentum 23, 129–50. 1977 “Bhl in Ps 2:5 and Its Etymology,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 39, 245–50. “A Typological Analysis of Intertestamental Pronouncement Stories.” Pages 279–84 in Society of Biblical Literature: Seminar Papers. Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press. Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees. Harvard Semitic Monographs 14. Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press. Review of D. Gowan, Bridge Between the Testaments in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 39, 559–61. 1978 “The Textual Affinities of the Biblical Citations in the Genesis Apocryphon,” Journal of Biblical Literature 97, 45–55. “Enoch Traditions in Jubilees and Other Second-Century Sources.” Pages 229–51 in Society of Biblical Literature: Seminar Papers. Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press. Review of H. R. Moeller, The Legacy of Zion in The Banner 113, 27. Review of E. M. Laperrousaz, Qoumrân: L’établissement essénien des bords de la Mer Morte. Histoire et archéologie du site in Journal of Biblical Literature 97, 310–11. Review of B. Z. Wacholder, Essays on Jewish Chronology and Chronography in Journal of the American Oriental Society 98, 517–19. 1979 “The Origin, Character, and Early History of the 364-Day Calendar: A Reassessment of Jaubert’s Hypotheses,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 41, 390–411. “The Poetry of 1 Q Ap Gen XX, 2–8a,” Revue de Qumran 37, 57–66. Review of C. A. Moore, Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions in Journal of Biblical Literature 98, 434–36. Review of S. Lund and J. A. Foster, Variant Versions of Targumic Traditions Within Codex Neofiti 1 in Journal of Biblical Literature 98, 465.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of J. M. Baumgarten, Studies in Qumran Law in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 41, 669–70.

1980 “Old Problems Revisited: Inerrancy, Princeton, and Orthodoxy,” Reformed Journal 30, 18–21. “The Righteousness of Noah.” Pages 13–32 in Ideal Figures in Ancient Judaism: Profiles and Paradigms. Edited by George W. E. Nickelsburg and John J. Collins. Septuagint and Cognate Studies 12. Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press. “Davidic Complicity in the Deaths of Abner and Eshbaal: A Historical and Redactional Study,” Journal of Biblical Literature 99, 521–39. Review of P. von der Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial: traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Dualismus in den Texten aus Qumran in Religious Studies Review 6, 72. Review of J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 in Journal of the American Oriental Society 100, 360–62. Review of E. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus in Journal of Biblical Literature 99, 599–601. 1981 “2 Maccabees 6,7a and Calendrical Change in Jerusalem,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 12, 52–74. “Intertestamental Pronouncement Stories.” Pages 65–72 in Pronouncement Stories. Edited by Robert Tannehill. Semeia 20. “The Putative Author of the Book of Jubilees,” Journal of Semitic Studies 26, 209–17. Review of J. C. H. LeBram, Lijden en redding in het Antieke Jodendom in Religious Studies Review 7, 82. Review of C. V. Newsom, The Roots of Christianity in Religious Studies Review 7, 69. Review of Eretz-Israel 14: H. L. Ginsberg Volume in Religious Studies Review 7, 64. Review of J. Fitzmyer and D. Harrington, A Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts in Journal of Biblical Literature 100, 142–43. Review of D. W. Suter, Tradition and Composition in the Parables of Enoch in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 49, 489–90. Review of H. Lichtenberger, Studien zum Menschenbild in Texten der Qumrangemeinde in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 43, 447–49.

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Review of M. Hengel, Jews, Greeks and Barbarians in Interpretation 35, 428–29. Review of L. Hartman, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5 in Journal of Biblical Literature 100, 641–42. Review of M. A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments in Journal of the American Oriental Society 101, 412–14. 1982 “Some Major Issues in the Contemporary Study of 1 Enoch: Reflections on J. T. Milik’s The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4,” MAARAV 3, 85–97. “A 28-Day-Month Tradition in the Book of Jubilees?” Vetus Testamentum 32, 504–6. Review of F. M. Cross, Jr., The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies in Calvin Theological Journal 17, 102–5. Review of M. K. H. Peters, An Analysis of the Textual Character of the Bohairic of Deuteronomy in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44, 493–94. 1983 “1 Enoch 77, 3 and a Babylonian Map of the World,” Revue de Qumran 42, 271–78. “The 364-Day Calendar in the Enochic Literature.” Pages 157– 65 in Society of Biblical Literature: Seminar Papers. Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press. Review of M. Küchler, Frühjüdische Weisheitstraditionen in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 45, 111–13. Review of B. E. Thiering, The Gospels and Qumran: A New Hypothesis in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 45, 512–14. Review of B. E. Thiering, The Gospels and Qumran: A New Hypothesis in Religious Studies Review 9, 283. Review of K. Berger, Das Buch der Jubiläen in Religious Studies Review 9, 283–84. 1984 Enoch and the Growth of An Apocalyptic Tradition. Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 16. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Biblical Association of America. “Recent Studies in ‘Apocalyptic,’ ” Word and World 4, 70–77. “Sensitive Conservatism,” Reformed Journal 34, 24–27. “Studies in the Apocalypse of Weeks,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 46, 511–23.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of Melvin K. H. Peters, ed., A Critical Edition of the Coptic (Bohairic) Pentateuch, vol. 5: Deuteronomy in Religious Studies Review 10, 170. Review of F. du Toit Laubscher, “Aharît hajjamîm” in die Qumran-Geskrifte in Religious Studies Review 10, 187–88. Review of R. Eisenman, Maccabees, Zadokites, Christians, and Qumran: A New Hypothesis of Qumran Origins in Religious Studies Review 10, 405. Review of B. Z. Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 46, 803–4.

1985 The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch. By Matthew Black, in consultation with James C. VanderKam, with an Appendix on the ‘Astronomical’ Chapters (72–82) by Otto Neugebauer. Leiden: Brill. “Zadok and the SPR HTWRH HḤ TWM in Dam. Doc. V, 2–5,” Revue de Qumran 44, 561–70. “The Book of Jubilees.” Pages 111–44 in Outside the Old Testament. Edited by M. de Jonge. Cambridge Commentaries on the Writings of the Jewish and Christian World 200 BC to AD 200, vol. 4. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Review of J. Ziegler, ed., Iob in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 47, 153–54. Review of M. Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.III (4Q482–4Q520) (DJD VII) in Journal of Biblical Literature 104, 327–29. Review of J. Goldstein, II Maccabees in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 53, 134–35. Review of B. Z. Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran in Biblical Archaeologist 48, 126–27. Review of E. Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung in Religious Studies Review 11, 84. Review of J. Neusner, Ancient Judaism: Debates and Disputes in Religious Studies Review 11, 85. Review of J. H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1 in Interpretation 39, 302–4. Review of R. Eisenman, Maccabees, Zadokites, Christians and Qumran: A New Hypothesis of Qumran Origins in Journal of the American Oriental Society 105, 798–99. 1986 “The Prophetic-Sapiential Origins of Apocalyptic Thought.” Pages 163–76 in A Word in Season: Essays in Honour of

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William McKane. Edited by James D. Martin and Philip R. Davies. JSOT Supplement Series 42. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Review of G. J. Brooke, Exegesis at Qumran: 4 Q Florilegium in its Jewish Context in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 48, 554. Review of J. J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 54, 140–41. Review of M. Himmelfarb, Tours of Hell in Theology Today 42, 526–27. Review of M. E. Stone, ed., Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum, Section 2, vol. 2) in Interpretation 40, 194–95. Review of A. van der Lingen, David en Saul in I Samuel 16–II Samuel 5: verhalen in politiek en religie in Journal of Biblical Literature 105, 136–37. Review of J. H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 2 in Theology Today 43, 147. Review of F. E. Greenspahn et al., eds., Nourished With Peace: Studies in Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 48, 766–67. Review of K. Bringmann, Hellenistische Reform und Religionsverfolgung in Judäa in Religious Studies Review 12, 306. 1987 “Hanukkah: Its Timing and Significance According to 1 and 2 Maccabees,” Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 1, 23–40. “The Textual Base for the Ethiopic Translation of 1 Enoch.” Pages 247–62 in “Working With No Data”: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin. Edited by David M. Golomb. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Review of J. Neusner and E. S. Frerichs, eds., “To See Ourselves as Others See Us”: Christians, Jews, “Others” in Late Antiquity in Religious Studies Review 13, 271. Review of H. Engel, Die Susanna-Erzählung: Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar zum Septuaginta-Text und zur Theodotion-Bearbeitung in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 49, 638–39. Review of M. K. H. Peters, A Critical Edition of the Coptic (Bohairic) Pentateuch, vol. 2: Exodus in Religious Studies Review 13, 342–43. Review of J. Maier, The Temple Scroll in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 49, 153–54.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of M. Knibb, Het Boek Henoch in Religious Studies Review 13, 172. Review of E. Stern, Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian Period 538–332 B.C. in Religious Studies Review 13, 164–65. Review of H. W. Hollander and M. de Jonge, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Commentary in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 49, 669–71. Review of D. S. Russell, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: Patriarchs & Prophets in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 1, 115–16. Review of D. N. Freedman and K. A. Mathews, The PaleoHebrew Leviticus Scroll (11 Q paleo Lev) in Journal of Biblical Literature 106, 520–21. Review of S. Fraade, Enosh and His Generation in Jewish Quarterly Review 78, 172–73.

1988 “Jubilees and the Hebrew Texts of Genesis-Exodus,” Textus 14, 71–85. “Jubilees and the Priestly Messiah of Qumran,” Revue de Qumran 13 (J. Carmignac memorial volume), 353–65. Review of H. F. D. Sparks, ed., The Apocryphal Old Testament in Bible Review 4, 7–9. Review of D. E. Gowan, Eschatology in the Old Testament in Bible Review 4, 9–10. Review of E. M. Schuller, Non-Canonical Psalms from Qumran in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 50, 335–36. Review of A. Dupont-Sommer and M. Philonenko, eds., La Bible: Écrits Intertestamentaires in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 2, 113–15. Review of M. Barker, The Older Testament in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 2, 115–17. 1989 The Book of Jubilees. 2 vols. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 510–511. Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88. Leuven: Peeters. “The Temple Scroll and the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 211–36 in Temple Scroll Studies: Papers presented at the International Symposium on the Temple Scroll, Manchester, December 1987. Edited by George J. Brooke. Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series 7. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989.

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Review article on R. A. Kraft and G. W. E. Nickelsburg, eds., Early Judaism and Its Modern Interpreters in Religious Studies Review 15, 327–33. Review of K. W. Niebuhr, Gesetz und Paränese: Katechismusartige Weisungsreihen in der frühjüdischen Literatur in Journal of Biblical Literature 108, 514–16. Review of R. Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and its Background in Early Judaism in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 4, 119–21. Review of B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History [title of review: “The Historians of Israel and their Craft”] in Interpretation 44, 293–95. 1990 “John 10 and the Feast of the Dedication.” Pages 203–14 in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins. Edited by Harold |W. Attridge, John J. Collins, and Thomas H. Tobin, S. J. College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America. “People and High Priesthood in Early Maccabean Times.” Pages 205–25 in The Hebrew Bible and its Interpreters. Edited by William H. Propp, Baruch Halpern, and David N. Freedman. Biblical and Judaic Studies l. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Review of E. Ullendorff, Ethiopia and the Bible: The Schweich Lectures 1967 in Religious Studies Review 16, 263. Review of P. Höffken, Elemente Kommunikativer Didaktik in frühjüdischer und rabbinischer Literatur in Religious Studies Review 16, 166. Review of G. Delling, Die Bewältigung der Diasporasituation durch das hellenistische Judentum in Religious Studies Review 16, 164. Review of H. Leene, De vroegere en de nieuwe dingen bij Deuterojesaja in Journal of Biblical Literature 109, 129–30. 1991 “The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Essenes or Sadducees?” Bible Review 7/2, 42–47. “The Qumran Residents: Essenes not Sadducees!” The Qumran Chronicle 213, 105–8. [excerpts by the editor, Zdzislaw J. Kapera, from “The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Essenes or Sadducees?”]

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publications of james c. vanderkam “Implications for the History of Judaism and Christianity.” Pages 18–38 in The Dead Sea Scrolls After Forty Years. Symposium at the Smithsonian Institution October 27, 1990. Washington, D.C.: Biblical Archaeology Society. (and J. T. Milik) “The First Jubilees Manuscript from Qumran Cave 4: A Preliminary Publication,” Journal of Biblical Literature 110, 243–70. “Congreso Internacional Sobre Los Manuscritos der Mar Muerto,” Biblical Archaeologist 54, 108–9. [report on the congress, held in El Escorial, Spain, March 18–21, 1991] “Jewish High Priests of the Persian Period: Is the List Complete?” Pages 67–91 in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel. Edited by Gary A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 125. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Translations of and cross references, exegetical notes, and textual notes to Psalms 37, 79, 80, 81, 83, and 110 in The Revised Psalms of the New American Bible. New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company. “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Early Christianity, Part One: How Are They Related?” Bible Review 7, 14–21, 46–47. “Joshua The High Priest and the Interpretation of Zechariah 3,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53, 553–70. Review of A. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees in Palestinian Society in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53, 147–49. Review of H. Burgmann, Die essenischen Gemeinden von Qumrân und Damaskus in der Zeit der Hasmonäer und Herodier (130 ante–68 post) in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53, 317–18. Review of M. P. Graham, The Utilization of 1 and 2 Chronicles in the Reconstruction of Israelite History in the Nineteenth Century in Interpretation 45, 308. Review of E. Tov, The Greek Minor Prophets Scroll from Naḥ al Ḥ ever (8Ḥ evXIIgr) in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 9, 118–19.

1992 (editor) “No One Spoke Ill of Her”: Essays on Judith. Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and its Literature 2. Atlanta: Scholars Press. “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Early Christianity, Part Two: What They Share,” Bible Review 8, 16–23, 40–41.

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(and J. T. Milik) “A Preliminary Publication of a Jubilees Manuscript from Qumran Cave 4: 4QJubd (4Q219),” Biblica 73, 62–83. “The Book of Jubilees,” The Missouri Review 15, 57–82. “Ancient Scrolls, Modern Controversies,” Perspectives 7, 14–16. “The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Real Deception,” The Banner 127, 16–17. “The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Essenes or Sadducees?” Pages 50–62 in Understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by Hershel Shanks. New York: Random House. [reprint of article of the same name in Bible Review 7 (1991)] “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Christianity.” Pages 181–202 in Understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by Hershel Shanks. New York: Random House. [reprint of “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Early Christianity” parts one and two in Bible Review 7 (1991)] “Achior (Person).” Page 55 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday. “Ahikar/Ahiqar (Person).” Pages 113–15 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “Ahiqar, Book of.” Pages 119–20 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “Calendars, Ancient Israelite and Early Jewish.” Pages 814–20 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “Dedication, Feast of.” Pages 123–25 in vol. 2 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “Jubilees, Book of.” Pages 1030–32 in vol. 3 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “Weeks, Festival of.” Pages 895–97 in vol. 6 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. “The Birth of Noah.” Pages 213–31 in Studies Offered to Józef Tadeusz Milik, Part I: Intertestamental Essays in honour of Józef Tadeusz Milik. Edited by Zdzislaw J. Kapera. Qumranica Mogilanensia 6. Kraków: The Enigma Press. “Righteous One, Messiah, Chosen One, and Son of Man in 1 Enoch 37–71.” Pages 169–91 in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity: The First Princeton Symposium on Judaism and Christian Origins. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. Minneapolis: Fortress.

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publications of james c. vanderkam “Ezra-Nehemiah or Ezra and Nehemiah?” Pages 55–75 in Priests, Prophets and Scribes: Essays on the Formation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp. Edited by Eugene Ulrich, John W. Wright, Robert P. Carroll, and Philip R. Davies. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 149. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. “The Jubilees Fragments from Qumran Cave 4.” Pages 635–48 in vol. 2 of The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid 18–21 March, 1991. Edited by Julio Trebolle Barrera and Luis Vegas Montaner. 2 vols. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 11. Leiden: Brill. Review of L. H. Schiffman, ed., Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 54, 397–98. Review of M. Stone, Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia) in Interpretation 46, 322, 324. Review of G. Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. in Shofar 11, 152–54. Review of G. Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. in Bible Review 8/4, 59. Review of L. H. Schiffman, The Eschatological Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Study of the Rule of the Congregation in Journal of Religion 72, 99–100.

1993 “The Care and Keeping of Scrolls,” Comparative Civilizations Review 28, 152–61. “The Scrolls, the Apocrypha, and the Pseudepigrapha,” Hebrew Studies 34, 35–47. “Biblical Interpretation in 1 Enoch and Jubilees.” Pages 96–125 in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation. Edited by James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans. Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series 14. Studies in Early Judaism and Christianity 2. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Review of P. R. Davies and R. T. White, eds., A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55, 193–95.

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Review of J. Naveh, On Sherd and Papyrus: Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from the Second Temple, the Mishnaic and Talmudic Periods [Hebrew] in Religious Studies Review 19, 274. Review of P. R. Davies, ed., Second Temple Studies: 1, Persian Period in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55, 626–27. Review of M. Fishbane et al., eds., “Sha‘arei Talmon”: Studies in the Bible, Qumran and the Ancient Near East Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon in Hebrew Studies 34, 129–31. 1994 The Dead Sea Scrolls Today. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. (editor with Eugene Ulrich) The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 10. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press. “Messianism in the Scrolls.” Pages 211–34 in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls. (editor) Qumran Cave 4.VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XIII. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (and J. T. Milik) “Jubilees.” Pages 1–185 in Qumran Cave 4.VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1. “Calendrical Texts and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scroll Community.” Pages 371–86 (discussion 386–88) in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects. Edited by Michael O. Wise, Norman Golb, John J. Collins, and Dennis G. Pardee. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722. New York: The New York Academy of Sciences. (and J. T. Milik) “4QJubileesg (4Q222).” Pages 105–14 in New Qumran Texts & Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992. Edited by George J. Brooke. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 15. Leiden: Brill. “Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Encyclopedia Americana 8.552–55. (and J. T. Milik) “4QJubc (4Q218) and 4QJube (4Q220): A Preliminary Edition,” Textus 17, 43–56. “Putting Them in Their Place: Geography as an Evaluative Tool.” Pages 46–69 in Pursuing the Text: Studies in Honor of Ben Zion Wacholder on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday. Edited by John C. Reeves and John Kampen. Journal for the

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publications of james c. vanderkam Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 184. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. “Genesis 1 in Jubilees 2,” Dead Sea Discoveries 1, 300–21. (with J. T. Milik) “QJubf (4Q221): A Preliminary Edition,” Hebrew Annual Review 14, 233–61. “The Granddaughters and Grandsons of Noah,” Revue de Qumran 16/63, 457–61. “The Theology of the Temple Scroll,” Jewish Quarterly Review 85 (1994) 129–35. Review of R. Eisenman and M. Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered: The First Complete Translation and Interpretation of 50 Key Documents Withheld for Over 35 Years in Religious Studies Review 20, 149–50. Review of L. Grabbe, Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian in Interpretation 48, 291–93. Review of A. Momigliano, Essays on Ancient and Modern Judaism (edited and with an Introduction by Silvia Berti) in IOUDAIOS Review 4.023. [ftp://ftp.lehigh.edu/pub/listserv/ioudaios-review/4.1994/momigliano.vanderkam.023]. Review of F. García Martínez, Textos de Qumrán in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 56, 546–47. Review of J. S. McLaren, Power and Politics in Palestine: The Jews and the Governing of their Land 100 BC–AD 70 in Critical Review of Books in Religion 6, 142–44.

1995 Manoscritti del Mar Morto. Rome: Città Nuova Editrice. [Italian translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] Dødehavs rullerne—teorier og kendsgerninger. Frederiksberg: Forlaget ANIS. [Danish translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] Os Manuscritos do Mar Morto Hoje. Rio de Janeiro: Editora Objetiva LLtda. [Portugese translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] Shikai Bunsho no Subete. Tokyo: Seidosha. [Japanese translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] “Das chronologische Konzept des Jubiläenbuches,” Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 107, 80–100. Enoch—A Man for All Generations. Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament. Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press.

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(editor) M. Broshi, et al., Qumran Cave 4.XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XIX. Oxford: Clarendon Press. “Simon the Just: Simon I or Simon II.” Pages 303–18 in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom. Edited by David P. Wright, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. (with Eugene Ulrich) “Sacred Challenge,” Notre Dame Magazine 24, 15–17. “Prophecy and Apocalyptics in the Ancient Near East.” Pages 2083–94 in vol. 3 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Edited by Jack M. Sasson. 4 vols. New York: Scribner’s. (with Eugene Ulrich and Catherine Murphy) “Piecing Together the Past: The Dead Sea Scrolls,” Humanities 16/6, 14–18, 42–45. 16 short articles in Encyclopedia of Catholicism. Edited by Richard P. McBrien. San Francisco: HarperCollins. “Adam” 14; “covenant” 374; “deuterocanonical books” 412–13; “Diaspora” 415; “Eve” 494; “Exodus” 502; “Holy Land” 619; “Moses” 894–95; “Pentateuch” 983–84; “pseudepigrapha” 1065; “Sadducees” 1152; “scribes” 1171; “Solomon” 1208; “Temple” 1244; “Yahweh” 1343; “Zealots” 1344.

Review of Y. (L.) Schiffman, Halakhah, Halikhah, umeshihiyut bekat midbar Yehudah [Hebrew] in Dead Sea Discoveries 2, 120–23. Review of S. Aalen, Heilsverlangen und Heilsverwirklichung: Studien zur Erwartung des Heils in der apokalyptischen Literatur des antiken Judentums und im ältesten Christentum in Journal of Ecumenical Studies 32, 139–40. Review of É. Puech, La croyance des Esséniens en la vie future: Immortalité, résurrection, Vie Éternelle? Histoire d’une croyance dans le Judaïsme Ancien (2 vols.) in Journal of Biblical Literature 114, 320–22. Review of M. Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses in Journal of Biblical Literature 114, 323–24. Review of K. Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität: Beschneidung, Passa und Sabbat in der Priesterschrift in Journal of Biblical Literature 114, 493–95.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.V: Miqṣat Ma‘aśê Ha-Torah (DJD X) in The Journal of Religion 75, 548–50. Review of A. Steudel, Der Midrasch zur Eschatologie aus der Qumrangemeinde (4QMidrEschata.b) in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 57, 576–77.

1996 (editor with William Adler) The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity. Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum III.4. Assen: van Gorcum/Minneapolis: Fortress. “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature.” Pages 33–101 in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity. (editor) G. J. Brooke et al., Qumran Cave 4.XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXII. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Manuskrypty znad Morza Martwego. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Cyklady. [Polish translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] “Jubilees’ Exegetical Creation of Levi the Priest,” Revue de Qumran 17 (Hommage à Józef T. Milik), 359–73. 19 short articles in Dictionary of Judaism in the Biblical Period 450 B.C.E. to 600 C.E. Edited by Jacob Neusner and William S. Green. New York: Simon & Schuster MacMillan. “astronomy” 64; “calendar” 110–11; “covenant renewal” 137; “cult” 140; “election” 187; “Enoch” 194; “firstfruits” 228; “free will” 235–36; “Israel, Land of, 1. in Second Temple literature” 322–23; “Israel. People of, 1. in Second Temple times” 323–24; “Jubilees, Book of ” 344; “Moses” 437–38; “name” 448; “predestination” 499; “remnant” 524; “sacrifices and offerings” 540); “temptation” 627; “tribes, ten” 648–49; “tribes, twelve” 649.

Review of R. Fenn, The Death of Herod: an essay in the sociology of religion in Critical Review of Books in Religion 7, 470–71. Review of J. C. Campbell, The Use of Scripture in the Damascus Document 1–8, 19–20 in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 58, 503–504. Review of G. Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (4th ed.) in Dead Sea Discoveries 3, 214–17. Review of J. Neusner, Israel After Calamity: The Book of Lamentations in Calvin Theological Journal 31, 589–90.

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1997 “The Calendar, 4Q327, and 4Q394.” Pages 179–94 in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Published in Honour of Joseph M. Baumgarten. Edited by Moshe Bernstein, Florentino García Martínez, and John Kampen. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 23. Leiden: Brill. “The Aqedah, Jubilees, and PseudoJubilees.” Pages 241–61 in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders. Edited by by Craig A. Evans and Shemaryahu Talmon. Biblical Interpretation Series 28. Leiden: Brill. “Exile in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature.” Pages 89–109 in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions. Edited by James M. Scott. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 56. Leiden: Brill. “Mantic Wisdom in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Dead Sea Discoveries 4, 336–53. “The Origins and Purposes of the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 3–24 in Studies in the Book of Jubilees. Edited by Matthias Albani, Jörg Frey, and Armin Lange. Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum 65. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Review of C. T. R. Hayward, Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis in Journal of Semitic Studies 42, 160–62. Review of B. Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry in Bibliotheca Orientalis 54, 475–76. Review of H.-J. Fabry et al., eds., Qumranstudien in the Catholic Biblical Quarterly 59, 413–15. Review of D. Parry and S. Ricks, editors, Current Research and Technological Developments on the Dead Sea Scrolls in Dead Sea Discoveries 4, 226–29. 1998 Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time. The Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls. London: Routledge. (volume editor) É. Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4.XVIII: Textes Hébreux (4Q521–4Q528, 4Q576–4Q579). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXV. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Monica Brady) E. Eshel et al., Qumran Cave 4.VI: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XI. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Peter Flint) The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, vol. 1. Leiden: Brill.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Einführung in die Qumranforschung: Geschichte und Bedeutung der Schriften vom Toten Meer. UTB für Wissenschaft: UniTaschenbücher 1998; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998. [German translation of The Dead Sea Scrolls Today] “Apocalyptic Literature.” Pages 305–22 in The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation. Edited by John Barton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. “Messianism and Apocalypticism.” Pages 193–228 in Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, vol. 1 The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Early Christianity. Edited by John J. Collins. New York: Continuum. “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Dead Sea Discoveries 5 (Qumran Studies Presented to Eugene Ulrich on His Sixtieth Birthday), 382–402. “The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Svensk Exegetisk Arsbok 63, 129–46. Review of A. Lange, Weisheit und Prädestination: Weisheitliche Urordnung und Prädestination in den Textfunden von Qumran in Jewish Quarterly Review 88, 366–68. Review of D. Bryan, Cosmos, Chaos and the Kosher Mentality in Jewish Quarterly Review 89, 253–54. Review of E. Meyers, ed., The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East (5 volumes) in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 17, 123–24.

1999 (editor with Monica Brady) E. Chazon et al., Qumran Cave 4.XX: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXIX. Oxford: Clarendon Press. “The Angel Story in the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 151–70 in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the International Symposium of the Orion Center, 12–14 January 1997. Edited by Esther Chazon and Michael Stone. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 31. Leiden: Brill, 1999. “Isaac’s Blessing of Levi and His Descendants in Jubilees 31.” Pages 497–519 in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations, New Texts, and Reformulated Issues. Edited by Donald W. Parry and Eugene C. Ulrich. Leiden: Brill, 1999.

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“The Judean Desert and the Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 159–71 in Antikes Judentum und Frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Bernd Kollmann, Wolfgang Reinbold, and Annette Steudel. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 97. Berlin: de Gruyter. “Calendars and Calendrical Information in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Revue Xristianskij Vostok 7, 207–33. “Les manuscrits de la mer Morte et le Nouveau Testament,” Jésus au regard de l’histoire (Dossiers d’Archéologie 249) 142–49. “Charles, Robert Henry (1855–1931).” Page 176 in vol. 1 of Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation. Edited by John H. Hayes. 2 vols. Nashville: Abingdon. “Jubilees, Book of.” Pages 632–35 in vol. 1 of Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation. “Vos, Geerhardus (1862–1949). Pages 615–16 in vol. 2 of Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation. (editor with Peter Flint) The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, vol. 2. Leiden: Brill. “Identity and History of the Community.” Pages 487–533 in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, vol. 2. “Studies on ‘David’s Compositions’ (11QPsa 27:2–11),” in EretzIsrael 26 (Frank Moore Cross Volume), 212–20*. Review of M. Wise, M. Abegg, and E. Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation in Dead Sea Discoveries 6, 103–8. Review of L. Cansdale, Qumran and the Essenes: A Re-evaluation of the Evidence in Religious Studies Review 25, 205. Review of J. Reeves, Heralds of That Good Realm: SyroMesopotamian Gnosis and Jewish Traditions in Journal of the American Oriental Society 119, 159–60. Review notes on Qumran Cave 4.VII: Genesis to Numbers (DJD XII) and Qumran Cave 4.VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1 (DJD XIII) in Journal of Biblical Literature 118, 379. Review of B. Metzger, Reminiscences of An Octogenarian in Journal of Presbyterian History 77, 67–68. Review of L. T. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran: Texts, Translation, and Commentary in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 20, 139–41.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of G. Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 20, 141–44.

2000 From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 62. Leiden: Brill. (editor in chief, with Lawrence Schiffman) Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 10 articles in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. “Apostolic Fathers” 44–45 (with Robert Kraft); “covenant” 151– 55; “festivals” 290–92; “Jubilees, Book of ” 434–38; “Passover” 637–38; “Ro’sh ha-Shanah” 790–91; “Scrolls research” 844–51 (with George Brooke and Lawrence Schiffman); “Shavu‘ot” 871– 72; “Sukkot” 903–5; “Yom Kippur” 1001–3.

(editor with Monica Brady) S. J. Pfann, Qumran Cave 4.XXVI: Cryptic Texts and P. S. Alexander et al., Miscellanea, Part 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXXVI. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Monica Brady) J. H. Charlesworth et al., Miscellaneous Texts From the Judaean Desert. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXXVIII. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Lawrence Schiffman and Emanuel Tov) The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After Their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum. “Covenant and Biblical Interpretation in Jubilees 6.” Pages 92–104 in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After Their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997. “Learning from the Legacy of Jewish Apocalyptic Literature in the Second Temple Period.” Pages 46–68 in Apocalypticism and Millennialism: Shaping a Believers Church Eschatology for the Twenty-First Century. Edited by Loren L. Johns. Studies in the Believers Church Tradition. Kitchener, Ont.: Pandora Press. “Sabbatical Chronologies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature.” Pages 159–78 in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their Historical Context. Edited by Timothy H. Lim. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. “Apocalyptic Tradition in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Religion of Qumran.” Pages 113–34 in Religion in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by John J. Collins and Robert A. Kugler. Studies

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in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “Studies on the Prologue and Jubilees 1.” Pages 266–79 in For a Later Generation: The Transformation of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism and Early Christianity. Edited by Randal A. Argall, Beverly A. Bow, and Rodney A. Werline. Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International. “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” Dead Sea Discoveries 7, 378–93. “Jubilees.” Pages 600–603 in Dictionary of New Testament Background. Edited by Craig A. Evans and Stanley E. Porter. Downers Grove, Ill./Leicester: InterVarsity Press. “Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Near Eastern Archaeology 65, 164–67. Review of R. Hendel, The Text of Genesis 1–11: Textual Studies and Critical Edition in Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 318, 90–91. Review of E. Herbert, Reconstructing Biblical Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Method Applied to the Reconstruction of 4QSama in Journal of Biblical Literature 119, 558–60. 2001 An Introduction to Early Judaism. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. The Book of Jubilees. Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. (editor with Monica Brady) É. Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4.XXII: Textes Araméens Première Partie 4Q529–549. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXXI. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Monica Brady) D. M. Pike et al., Qumran Cave 4.XXIII: Unidentified Fragments. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXXIII. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (editor with Monica Brady) D. Gropp, Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh and E. Schuller et al., Qumran Cave 4 Miscellanea, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXVIII. Oxford: Clarendon Press. “368. 4QApocryphal Pentateuch A” and “377. 4QApocryphal Pentateuch B.” Pages 131–49 and 205–17 in Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh and Qumran Cave 4 Miscellanea, Part 2. “When Archeology Conflicts With the Bible,” The Banner 136.7, 16–19.

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publications of james c. vanderkam “The Interpretation of Genesis in 1 Enoch.” Pages 129–48 in The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation. Edited by Peter Flint. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “Foreword.” Pages xi–xxv in the reprint of A. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach. Biblical Resource Series. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans/Livonia, Mich.: Dove. “Greek at Qumran.” Pages 175–81 in Hellenism in the Land of Israel. Edited by John J. Collins and Gregory E. Sterling. Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 13. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame. “Questions of Canon Viewed Through the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Bulletin for Biblical Research 11, 269–92. “The Qumran Community,” Calliope 12, 28–32. “The Scrolls and the New Testament,” Calliope 12, 46–48. “Foreword.” Pages xiii–xv in Bruce K. Gardner, The Genesis Calendar: The Synchronistic Tradition in Genesis 1–11. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America.

2002 (volume consultant with Monica Brady) E. Tov, ed., The Texts From the Judaean Desert: Indices and An Introduction to the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Series. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXXIX. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (with Peter Flint) The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Paperback edition of From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature. Leiden: Brill. Translation of the Ethiopic text of The Apostolic Tradition in The Apostolic Tradition. Edited by Paul Bradshaw, Maxwell Johnson, and L. Edward Phillips. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. (with Robert Kugler) “A Note on 4Q225 (4Qpseudo-Jubilees),” Revue de Qumran 77, 109–16. “The Wording of Biblical Citations in Some Rewritten Scriptural Works.” Pages 41–56 in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries. Edited by Edward D. Herbert and Emanuel Tov. London: The British Library & Oak Knoll Press in Association with The Scriptorium: Center for Christian Antiquities.

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“Questions of Canon Viewed Through the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 91–109 in The Canon Debate. Edited by Lee Martin McDonald and James A. Sanders. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson. “Covenant and Pentecost,” Calvin Theological Journal 37, 239–54. “Viewed from Another Angle: Purity and Impurity in the Book of Jubilees,” Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 13, 209–15. [appeared in 2004] Review of G. Anderson, The Genesis of Perfection: Adam and Eve in Jewish and Christian Imagination in Catholic Studies: An On-line Journal. [http://www.catholicbooksreview.org/ 2002/anderson.htm] Review of I. Hjelm, The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis in Journal of the American Oriental Society 122, 172–73. 2003 “Those Who Look for Smooth Things, Pharisees, and Oral Law.” Pages 465–77 in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov. Edited by Shalom M. Paul, Robert A. Kraft, Lawrence H. Schiffman, and Weston W. Fields. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 94. Leiden: Brill. “The Demons in the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 339–64 in Demons: The Demonology of the Israelite-Jewish and Early Christian Literature in Context of their Environment. Edited by Armin Lange, Hermann Lichtenberger, and K. F. Diethard Römheld. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. “Anthropological Gleanings from the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 117–31 in Der Mensch vor Gott: Forschungen zum Menschenbild in Bibel, antikem Judentum und Koran. Festschrift für Hermann Lichtenberger zum 60. Geburtstag. Edited by Ulrike Mittmann-Richert, Friedrich Avemarie, and Gerbern S. Oegema. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. “Enoch’s Vision of the Next World,” Bible Review 19/2, 32–36, 46, 48. “Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 27–31 in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Catalog of the Exhibition of Scrolls and Artifacts from the Collections of the Israel Antiquities Authority, Public Museum of Grand Rapids. Edited by Ellen M. Herron. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Associate Editor, New Interpreter’s Study Bible, responsible for pages 1357–1744, “The Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books of the Old Testament.” Nashville: Abingdon. “The Additions to Daniel,” New Interpreter’s Study Bible, 1537–49. “Culture and Religion Among the Ancient Israelites,” New Interpreter’s Study Bible, 2274–79. Response to George Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 1–36; 81–108. Pages 379–86 in vol. 2 of George W. E. Nickelsburg in Perspective: An Ongoing Dialogue of Learning. Edited by Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-Peck. 2 vols. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 80. Leiden: Brill. Review of J. H. Charlesworth et al., eds., Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents (The Dead Sea Scrolls 6B) in The Journal of Hebrew Studies 4. [http://www.arts. ualberta.ca/JHS/reviews/review088.htm] Review of M. Knibb, Translating the Bible: The Ethiopic Version of the Old Testament in Journal of Religion 83, 431–32. Review of S. Talmon, J. Ben-Dov, and U. Glessmer, eds., Qumran Cave 4 XVI Calendrical Texts (DJD XXI) in Dead Sea Discoveries 10, 448–52.

2004 From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile. Minneapolis: Fortress. (with George Nickelsburg) 1 Enoch: A New Translation. Minneapolis: Fortress. (with Peter Flint). The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. [paperback version] Korean translation of An Introduction to Early Judaism. Seoul: KCBS. “Open and Closed Eyes in the Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 85–90).” Pages 279–92 in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel. Edited by Hindy Najman and Judith Newman. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 83. Leiden: Brill. “Pesher Nahum and Josephus.” Pages 299–311 in vol. 1 of When Christianity and Judaism Began: Essays in Memory of Anthony J. Saldarini. Edited by Alan J. Avery-Peck, Daniel J. Harrington, and Jacob Neusner. 2 vols. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 85. Leiden: Brill.

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“The Festival of Weeks and the Story of Pentecost in Acts 2.” Pages 185–205 in From Prophecy to Testament: The Function of the Old Testament in the New. Edited by Craig A. Evans. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson. “Scripture in the Astronomical Book of Enoch.” Pages 89–103 in Things Revealed: Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone. Edited by Esther G. Chazon, David Satran, and Ruth A. Clements. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 89. Leiden: Brill. One of ten participants whose answers to questions are published in B. Bioul, Qumrân et les manuscrits de la mer Morte: Les hypothèses, le débat. Paris: François-Xavier de Guibert. Review of J. van Ruiten, Primaeval History Interpreted: The Rewriting of Genesis 1–11 in the Book of Jubilees in Jewish Quarterly Review 94, 164–66. 2005 “Sinai Revisited.” Pages 44–60 in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran. Edited by Matthias Henze. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. (with Alison Schofield) “Were the Hasmoneans Zadokites?” Journal of Biblical Literature 124, 73–87. “Response: Jubilees and Enoch.” Pages 162–70 in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “Too Far Beyond the Essene Hypothesis?” Pages 388–93 in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection. “Il contributo dei manoscritti di Qumran allo studio delle origini del cristianesimo.” Pages 195–200 in Il Messia tra memoria e attesa. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini. Biblia Enoch Seminar. Brescia: Morcelliana. Review of L. Grabbe, Judaic Religion in the Second Temple Period: Belief and Practice from the Exile to Yavneh in Review of Biblical Literature March 2005. [http://www.bookreviews .org/bookdetail.asp?TitleId=1368&CodePage=6271,2459,15 32,1793,7545,4911,7984,1368,4226,4616] Review of G. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins: Diversity, Continuity, and Transformation in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, 155–57. Review of M. Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom of 4QInstruction in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, 117–18.

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publications of james c. vanderkam Review of J. Trever, The Dead Sea Scrolls in Perspective in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, 543–44.

2006 Wprowadzenie do wczesnego judaizmu. Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Cyklady. [Polish translation of An Introduction to Early Judaism] (editor with Peter Flint and Emanuel Tov) Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 101. Leiden: Brill. “To What End? Functions of Scriptural Interpretation in Qumran Texts.” Pages 302–20 in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich. (editor with Harold W. Attridge) Presidential Voices: The Society of Biblical Literature in the Twentieth Century. Society of Biblical Literature Scholarship in North America 22. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. “Jaubert’s Solution to the Passion Chronology,” Revue Xristianskij Vostok n.s. 4/10 (Mémorial Annie Jaubert), 536–50. “Daniel 7 in the Similitudes of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71).” Pages 291–307 in Biblical Traditions in Transition: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb. Edited by Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 111. Leiden: Brill. “1 Enoch 80 Within the Book of the Luminaries.” Pages 333–55 in From 4QMMT to Resurrection: Mélanges qumraniens en homage à Émile Puech. Edited by Florentino García Martínez, Annette Steudel, and Eibert Tigchelaar. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 61. Leiden: Brill. “The Scriptural Setting of the Book of Jubilees,” Dead Sea Discoveries 13, 61–72. “The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha at Qumran.” Pages 469– 91 in vol. 2 of The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community. The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Princeton Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls. 3 vols. Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press. “Jozef Tadeusz Milik 1922–2006.” SBL Forum. May. [http:// www.sbl-site.org/publications/article.aspx?ArticleId=535] “Bitter Herbs.” Pages 474–75 in vol. 1 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon.

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“Calendar.” Pages 521–27 in vol. 1 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Review of G. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah (2nd edition) in Biblical Archaeology Review 32/3, 72. Review of J. Neusner, The Vitality of Rabbinic Imagination: The Mishnah against the Bible and Qumran in Review of Rabbinic Literature 9, 217–20. Review of J. Scott, On Earth as in Heaven: The Restoration of Sacred Time and Sacred Space in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 15, 233–37. 2007 “The Scrolls and Early Christianity: How They Are Related and What They Share.” Pages 62–81 in The Dead Sea Scrolls. Washington, D.C.: Biblical Archaeology Society/Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. [re-publication of “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Early Christianity,” Bible Review 7/6 (1991) 14–21, 46–47, and 8/1 (1992) 16–23, 40–41] “The Pharisees and the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 225–36 in In Quest of the Historical Pharisees. Edited by Jacob Neusner and Bruce Chilton. Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press. “The Book of Parables within the Enoch Tradition.” Pages 81–99 in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “The End of the Matter? Jubilees 50:6–13 and the Unity of the Book.” Pages 267–84 in Heavenly Tablets: Interpretation, Identity and Tradition in Ancient Judaism. Edited by Lynn R. LiDonnici and Andrea Lieber. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 119. Leiden: Brill. “Mapping Second Temple Judaism.” Pages 1–20 in The Early Enoch Literature. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 121. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins. Leiden: Brill. “Adam’s Incense Offering,” Meghillot 5–6, 141–56*. “1 Enoch 73:5–8 and the Synchronistic Calendar.” Pages 433–47 in Flores Florentino: The Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez. Edited by Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122. Leiden: Brill.

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publications of james c. vanderkam “Essenes.” Pages 315–16 in vol. 2 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon. “Feasts and Fasts.” Pages 443–47 in vol. 2 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. “Harvest.” Page 738 in vol. 2 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Six articles for the Encyclopedia of Religious and Philosophical Writings in Late Antiquity: Pagan, Judaic, Christian. Edited by Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-Peck. Leiden: Brill. “Calendrical Works (Qumran)” 58–59; “Dead Sea Scrolls” 85–87; “Genesis Apocryphon” 138; “Jubilees” 196–97; “Noah, Books of ” 255–56; “Shem, Treatise of ” 386–88.

“Jubilees, Book of.” Page 303 in Encyclopaedia Aethiopica 3. Edited by Siegbert Uhlig. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. “The Dead Sea Scrolls: How They Changed My Life,” Biblical Archaeology Review 33/5, 63–66. Review of J. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 69, 324–26. Review of R. Hanhart, Text und Geschichte des 2. Esrabuches in Theologische Literaturzeitung 132, columns 769–72. Review of E. Regev, The Sadducees and their Halakhah: Religion and Society in the Second Temple Period [Hebrew] in Henoch 29, 397–400. 2008 “Recent Scholarship on the Book of Jubilees,” in Currents in Biblical Research 6/3, 405–31. “Sources for the Astronomy in 1 Enoch 72–82.” Pages 965–78 in vol. 2 of Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday. Edited by Chaim Cohen et al. 2 vols. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. “Judaism.” Pages 424–35 in vol. 3 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon. “Leaven.” Page 627 in vol. 3 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Review of D. N. Freedman and P. Fox Kuhlken, What Are the Dead Sea Scrolls and Why Do They Matter? in Biblical Archaeology Review 34/1, 78, 80.

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Review of R. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Hermeneia) in Journal for the Study of Judaism 39, 414–15. Review of J. A. Fitzmyer, The One Who Is To Come in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 70, 600–601. 2009 (editor with Monica Brady) C. Newsom et al., Qumran Cave 1.III 1QHodayota with Incorporation of 1QHodayotb and 4QHodayota–f. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XL. Oxford: Clarendon Press. “The Aramaic Astronomical Book and the Ethiopic Book of the Luminaries.” Pages 207–21 in With Wisdom as a Robe: Qumran and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Ida Fröhlich. Edited by Károly Dániel Dobos and Miklós Kőszeghy. Hebrew Bible Monographs 21. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. “Jaubert’s Solution to the Passion Chronology.” Pages 179–94 in L’Église des deux Alliances. Mémorial Annie Jaubert (1912– 1980). Edited by Basil Lourié, Andrei Orlov, and Madeleine Petit. Orientalia Judaica Christiana 1. Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias. “The Manuscript Tradition of Jubilees.” Pages 3–21 in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “The Oath and the Community,” Dead Sea Discoveries 16, 416–32. “Enoch and the Canon of the Old Testament,” Near East Archaeological Bulletin 54, 1–9. “New Moon.” Pages 264–65 in vol. 4 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon. “New Year.” Pages 267–68 in vol. 4 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. “Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread.” Pages 388–92 in vol. 4 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. “Pentecost.” Pages 438–40 in vol. 4 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. “Seasons.” Page 146 in vol. 5 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon. “Unleavened Bread.” Pages 714–15 in vol. 5 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible.

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publications of james c. vanderkam “Week.” Pages 828–29 in vol. 5 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. “Weeks, Feast of.” Pages 829–31 in vol. 5 of The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Review of R. T. Beckwith, Calendar, Chronology and Worship: Studies in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity in Dead Sea Discoveries 16, 117–18. Review of L. Schiffman, The Courtyards of the House of the Lord: Studies on the Temple Scroll in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 71, 927–29.

2010 The Dead Sea Scrolls Today. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. El significado de los rollos del Mar Muerto: Su importancia para entender la Biblia, el judaísmo, Jesús, y el cristianismo. Madrid: Editorial Trotta. [Spanish translation of The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls] “Jubilees 46:6–47:1 and 4QVisions of Amram,” Dead Sea Discoveries 17, 141–58. “Moses Trumping Moses: Making the Book of Jubilees.” Pages 25–44 in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts. Edited by Sarianna Metso, Hindy Najman, and Eileen Schuller. Studies in the Texts of the Desert of Judah 92. Leiden: Brill. “Reflections on Early Jewish Apocalypses,” Analecta Biblica Lublinensia 6, 13–28. “The Book of Enoch and the Qumran Scrolls.” Pages 254–77 in the Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by Timothy Lim and John J. Collins. Oxford: Oxford University Press. “Judaism in the Land of Israel.” Pages 57–76 in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism. Edited by John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. “Enoch, Astronomical Book (1 Enoch 72–82).” Pages 581–83 in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism. “High Priests.” Pages 739–42 in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism. Review of A. Yarbro Collins and J. J. Collins, King and Messiah as Son of God: Divine, Human, and Angelic Messianic Figures in Biblical and Related Literature in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 72, 191–92.

PH.D. DISSERTATIONS DIRECTED BY JAMES C. VANDERKAM (THROUGH 2010) Titles reflect the published version or the dissertation, with date of graduation in brackets. 1. Robert A. Kugler. From Patriarch to Priest: The Levi-priestly Tradition from Aramaic Levi to Testament of Levi. Early Judaism and Its Literature 9. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996. [1994] 2. Daniel C. Harlow. The Greek Apocalypse of Baruch (3 Baruch) in Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity. Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigraphica 12. Leiden: Brill, 1996. [1994; co-directed with John J. Collins] 3. Leslie W. Walck. The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch and in Matthew. Jewish and Christian Texts 9. New York: T&T Clark, 2011. [1999] 4. Catherine M. Murphy. Wealth in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Qumran Community. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 40. Leiden: Brill, 2002. [1999; co-directed with Harold W. Attridge] 5. Monica L. W. Brady. “Prophetic Traditions at Qumran: A Study of 4Q383–391.” [2000] 6. Kelli S. O’Brien. The Use of Scripture in the Markan Passion Narrative. Library of New Testament Studies 384. London: T&T Clark, 2010. [2001] 7. Kelley Coblentz Bautch. A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19: “No One Has Seen What I Have Seen.” Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 81. Leiden: Brill, 2003. [2001] 8. C. Shaun Longstreet. “Native Cultic Leadership in the Empire: Foundations for Achaemenid Hegemony in Persian Judah.” [2003] 9. Jonathan D. Lawrence. Washing in Water: Trajectories of Ritual Bathing in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature. Academia Biblica 23. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006. [2003] 10. Angela Y. Kim (Harkins). “Signs of Editorial Shaping of the Hodayot Collection: A Redactional Analysis of 1QHa–b and 4QHa–f.” [2003]

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11. John S. Bergsma. The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 115. Leiden: Brill, 2007. [2004] 12. Steven J. Schweitzer. Reading Utopia in Chronicles. Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 442. New York: T&T Clark, 2007. [2005] 13. Eric F. Mason. ‘You Are a Priest Forever’: Second Temple Jewish Messianism and the Priestly Christology of the Epistle to the Hebrews. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 74. Leiden: Brill, 2008. [2005] 14. Alison Schofield. From Qumran to the Yaḥ ad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 79. Leiden: Brill, 2009. [2006] 15. Sejin (Sam) Park. Pentecost and Sinai: The Festival of Weeks As a Celebration of the Sinai Event. Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 342. New York: T&T Clark, 2008. [2006] 16. Samuel I. Thomas. The “Mysteries” of Qumran: Mystery, Secrecy, and Esotericism in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Early Judaism and Its Literature 25. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009. [2007] 17. Daniel A. Machiela. The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon: A New Text and Translation with Introduction and Special Treatment of Columns 13–17. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 79. Leiden: Brill, 2009. [2007] 18. Todd R. Hanneken. The Subversion of the Apocalypses in the Book of Jubilees. (monograph in preparation) [2008] 19. Molly M. Zahn. Rethinking Rewritten Scripture: Composition and Exegesis in the 4QReworked Pentateuch Manuscripts. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 95. Leiden: Brill, 2011. [2009] 20. Christina Brinks Rea. “The Thematic, Stylistic, and Verbal Similarities between Isaiah 40–55 and the Book of Job.” [2010]

PART ONE

THE HEBREW BIBLE AND THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST

CONFIGURING THE TEXT IN BIBLICAL STUDIES Hindy Najman Introduction I begin with a well-known diary entry from Søren Kierkegaard, which I will take the liberty, for the purposes of this paper, of rewriting: “Philosophy is perfectly right in saying that life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other clause—that it must be lived forwards.”1 In order to broaden the point’s significance, I propose to rewrite Kierkegaard’s first sentence as follows: “Historical approaches are perfectly right in saying that life must be understood backwards.” After all, the philosophy Kierkegaard has in mind is the Hegelian variety, which takes a historical approach. There is no reason why the point should be essentially about philosophy. And, in order to apply the point more concretely to a specific historical approach of crucial importance to biblical studies, I propose a second rewriting: “Philology is perfectly right in saying that texts must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other clause—that texts are both products and constituents of lives lived forwards.” Now I am in a position to raise two pairs of questions. First: Must philology understand texts backwards? Can it not also understand texts forwards, in the process of their formation? Second: Are the lives of which texts are both products and constituents always lived forwards? Can they not, in some way, be lived backwards, in relation to a past that can be remade? Here, I want to sketch a new project that investigates the connections between (1) the formation of texts, corpora and discourses; (2) the formation of the concept of the personality to whom these textual units come to be ascribed; and (3) the formation of the personality of the reader of these textual units. Biblical philology (which has traditionally been understood to mean textual and historical criticism) has sought, for the most part, to understand backwards. It has focused on reconstructing and undoing 1 Søren Kierkegaard, Diary of Søren Kierkegaard (ed. P. Rohde; trans. G. Anderson; New York: Philosophical Library, 1960), 111.

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the formation of textual units, in search of the authentic original that is assumed to lie buried beneath layers of error and accretion. Meanwhile, ascriptions of biblical and parabiblical texts have been treated mainly as pseudo-historical claims about the origination of these texts, or occasionally as exegesis that is posterior to the existence of the texts. The linkage between ascription and text formation—not to mention the connection between these two and the formation of readers—has been almost entirely neglected in recent work. However, a brilliant classical philologist anticipated the idea of such a connection in the nineteenth century. His innovation remained without impact for a century and, to this day, its impact on biblical studies remains small. This is something I should like to change. To this end, I will argue, first, that textual formation need not only be understood backwards. It may also be understood forwards. I will then explore the almost forgotten nineteenth-century suggestion that textual formation is connected to the formation of authorial personalities. Finally, I will illustrate the reciprocal dynamic between textual formation and authorial formation, along with its significance for reader formation, by considering two important figures: Moses and Ezra. Part I: Text Formation Current approaches to textual formation in biblical studies remain deeply indebted to major developments that occurred between 1780 and 1850. It is worth noting that, in this period, philology crossed boundaries between sacred and secular, and between antiquity and the middle ages. What connected biblical and classical studies in particular was the sense that both continued to play central roles in the formation and self-understanding of the modern West. If the Hebrew Bible, along with the New Testament, was the sacred source of religious self-understanding, the Homeric corpus was nonetheless a secular source of both aesthetic and ethical norms (so much so that it sometimes seemed to give rise to a new paganism, as we see in the case of Goethe). Today these boundaries are treated far too often as impassable. But we still have a deep investment in finding fruitful relations to both biblical and classical pasts, and there is still fertile ground for cross-pollination between the disciplines. The late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century developments in philology were typically retrospective. They sought to understand texts

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backwards in a quest for the originals. However, I believe that these developments can be separated from this retrospective orientation. While a quest for original texts is perfectly legitimate, this is not the only legitimate approach. Just as textual formation is lived forwards, it can also be understood forwards.2 In the late eighteenth century, two scholars, both trained in philology at Göttingen, set out in quest of the original texts underlying the Hebrew Bible (or the Old Testament) and the Homeric corpus. Their quests did not succeed. But they found something else of great importance along the way: the history of the text in antiquity, a history that can be understood not only backwards but also forwards. Johann Gottfried Eichhorn (1753–1827) blazed the trail. Employing an extensive knowledge not only of the Septuagint, but also of rabbinic and masoretic sources, as well as information about the material conditions of writing in antiquity, he reached the pessimistic conclusion that it was impossible to reconstruct the original text: the compilers of our canon, who brought to their labors neither the inspiration of the Holy Spirit nor the aids of critical skill, have delivered to us not merely the materials they were in possession of, but also the shape of those materials; must not then faults occur in the original exemplar [Originalexemplar], from which our copies are derived, for which there is no longer any remedy? In short, our critical apparatus where unnecessary is superfluously abundant, and elsewhere poor and remediless where we are in the greatest need of its assistance.3

Friedrich August Wolf (1759–1824) followed Eichhorn’s lead. In what was intended as a prolegomenon to a new edition of Homer, Wolf used recently published scholia of the Alexandrian grammarians, where Eichhorn had used the rabbinic and masoretic notes. Like Eichhorn— and unlike Villoison, who published the scholia—Wolf reached the pessimistic conclusion that the original text rests beyond our reach. The pessimism of Eichhorn and Wolf did not, of course, signal the impossibility of understanding textual formation backwards. By 1850,

2 Of course, we must seek this understanding from our own moment in history. So we cannot help the fact that our understanding is to some extent always also backwards, and we must constantly challenge ourselves to overcome the pitfalls of anachronism. 3 Johann Gottfried Eichhorn, Introduction to the Study of the Old Testament (trans. C. G. Reeve; London: Spottiswood, 1888), 232 = Einleitung in das Alte Testament (4th ed.; Göttingen: Rosenbusch, 1823), 1:383–84.

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a number of scholars had helped to formulate a new, attainable goal for the reconstruction of ancient texts, along with what came to be called “Lachmann’s method.”4 If one could not reach the Urtext, one might nevertheless reconstruct what Eichhorn had called the “original exemplar, from which our copies are derived”—what came to be called the archetype. Setting aside some technical issues that need not concern us here, we may follow Ronald Hendel in characterizing the archetype as “the earliest inferable textual state.”5 Whether there is one such archetype or many is an empirical question depending on the particular case. The crucial point, for my purposes, is that only a relatively late, if still quite ancient archetype was seen to be within reach: the Homer of the Alexandria in the third to second century b.c.e.; the masoretic Hebrew Bible of the early middle ages; the New Testament of the fourth century c.e.6 In any event, it remains true that textual criticism remains retrospective in orientation. We understand backwards. In Hendel’s words, “A critical text attempts to turn back the hands of time, a nostalgic gesture perhaps, but one that restorers of other works of human hands will recognize.”7 Must we understand backwards? Is it not also possible to understand the history of textual formation forwards? One obstacle preventing such a reorientation is the assumption that textual variations are all to be regretted. We find this assumption, for example, in the following sentence by Frank Moore Cross: “The sole way to improve a text, to ferret out error, is to trace the history of readings, to determine an archetype which explains or makes transparent the introduction of error or corruption.”8 From this perspective, the history of readings is a history of errors and corruptions. 4 In fact, as Sebastiano Timpanaro showed, it is questionable whether this is strictly speaking a method, since it hardly renders judgment redundant; and it is in any event not the product of Karl Lachmann alone, or even principally. See Timpanaro, The Genesis of Lachmann’s Method (trans. and ed. G. W. Most; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). 5 Ronald Hendel, “The Oxford Hebrew Bible: Prologue to a New Critical Edition,” VT 58 (2008): 324–351. 6 It is important to note here that textual criticism of the Hebrew Bible has been transformed by the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Ronald Hendel’s project of the Oxford Hebrew Bible is not a diplomatic edition based on the MT, but a critical edition that takes the scrolls findings into account. 7 Hendel, “The Oxford Hebrew Bible: Prologue to a New Critical Edition,” 335. 8 Frank Moore Cross, “Problems of Method in the Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible,” in The Critical Study of Sacred Texts (ed. W. D. O’Flaherty; Berkeley, Calif.: Graduate Theological Union, 1979), 50.

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Another assumption that goes with an exclusively retrospective approach is the assumption that there is a sharp and irreversible distinction between textual formation and textual transmission. If this is the case, then we may make an equally sharp and irreversible distinction: between textual criticism, which aims to regress to the point of textual fixation, and the history of interpretation, which seeks to understand forwards, but only—on this view—from the point of textual fixity. But we are not forced to adopt these two assumptions. To be sure, they seem well suited to cases of medieval manuscript copying. It is perhaps no accident that Jakob Bernays and Karl Lachmann worked out their methods for reconstructing archetypes in relation to manuscripts of Lucretian poetry. But it is not at all obvious that the assumptions in question are compulsory when it comes to the Hebrew Bible or other ancient texts. Thus Hendel agrees with James Kugel and others in seeing some variation as interpretation rather than corruption: Interpretive phenomena such as harmonizations, explications, linguistic modernizations, and exegetical revisions open a window onto scribal interpretation in the period prior to the textual stabilization of the various biblical books. These types of variants ought not to be seen as mere “corruptions”—as in the older text-critical nomenclature—but rather as evidence of the process of scripturalization, i.e., the conceptual shifts by which texts became Scripture.9

Hendel retains a distinction between textual formation and textual transmission. But Hendel does not see the distinction as sharp and irreversible. Instead, he sees “a historical transition from major to minor textual intervention, rather than a change from all to none.”10 And he also regards this transition as reversible: Some scribes became major partners once again, when the changes were so thoroughgoing as to create a new edition. In these cases, new textual production occurs after the period of textual transmission has begun.11

In my view, once we abandon the assumptions that make a retrospective approach compulsory, we should stop thinking in terms of compositional processes that culminate in the production of fixed texts. Instead, we should think in terms of what I call traditionary processes 9 10 11

Hendel, “The Oxford Hebrew Bible: Prologue to a New Critical Edition,” 327. Ibid., 327. Ibid., 327.

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that encompass both textual formation and textual interpretation, as well as a variety of text-involving practices, individual and communal. From these traditionary processes, texts of more or less fixity sometimes precipitate out, just as, in chemistry, separable solids sometimes form within a medium that remains liquid. Once we think in terms of traditionary processes, we are free to understand them either backwards or forwards. We may take a retrospective approach, seeking to reconstruct an archetypal text or family of texts, and this is a very valuable pursuit. Or, we may take a prospective approach, studying the interpretive, religious and cultural developments that precede, succeed and intervene in the formation of texts. Part II: Author Formation Far less well known than the story of the development of the historiography of the text, which has been told by Sebastiano Timpanaro12 and Anthony Grafton13 among others, is the story of a further nineteenth century development, initiated in 1869—some 80 years after Eichhorn’s groundbreaking work—by a twenty-four year old who, in a highly unusual step, had been appointed to a professorship in classical philology at the University of Basel. This precocious youth was none other than Friedrich Nietzsche. While Eichhorn and Wolf, along with Bernays and Lachmann, crystallized the idea of understanding the formation of the text backwards, Nietzsche articulated the idea of understanding the formation of the author and, indeed, of understanding this formation forwards. Only a century later, in 1969, would this idea begin to become more widely appreciated, thanks to Michel Foucault. For his inaugural lecture at Basel, Nietzsche chose as his topic, “The Homeric Question.” This was understood—and is still understood by many scholars—to comprise two questions: (1) How are we to identify and reconstruct the original Homeric text? (2) How are we to identify and contextualize Homer himself, the original author?14 12

Timpanaro, The Genesis of Lachmann’s Method. Anthony Grafton, Glenn W. Most, and James E. G. Zetzel, F. A. Wolf: Prolegomena to Homer, 1795: Translated with Introduction and Notes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1985). 14 This combined quest for both original text, Urtext and original writer, Urschriftsteller is, of course, found in biblical studies, too. Hence the search for the ipsissima verba of Isaiah or Jeremiah in the history of research on the prophetic books. 13

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Bernays and Lachmann may have arrived at a practical response to the pessimism of Eichhorn and Wolf with respect to the question of the Urtext. But this did nothing whatsoever for the question of the Urschrifsteller. Here, Nietzsche took the decisive step, though he was derided for it at the time, by asking: “Was the person created out of a concept, or the concept out of a person? This is the real ‘Homeric question,’ the central problem of personality.”15 Nietzsche proceeded to suggest three stages in the development of both the Homeric collection and the Homeric personality. What interests me here is not whether Nietzsche is correct. Of course, the details are still hotly contested by Homer scholars, who tend to ignore Nietzsche in any event. What interests me is the sort of story Nietzsche tells—the way he links textual and authorial formation—and ultimately the question of whether this sort of story can be told in biblical studies. In specifying the three stages, Nietzsche went backwards in time. His ultimate point, however, was to vindicate a prospective approach.16 The first stage in Nietzsche’s discussion is, then, the latest, chronologically speaking. At this stage, The Alexandrian grammarians [e.g., Zenodotus of Ephesus in the third century b.c.e. and Aristarchus in the second] . . . conceived the Iliad and the Odyssey as the creations of one single Homer; they declared it to be psychologically possible for two such different works to have sprung from the brain of one genius . . . in contradiction to the Chorizontes [attributing the two works to different authors], who represented the extreme limit of the skepticism of a few detached individuals of antiquity rather than antiquity itself considered as a whole.17

Here the textual unity of the collection went together with the unity of the author’s personality: To explain the different general impression of the two books on the assumption that one poet composed them both, scholars sought assistance by referring to the seasons of the poet’s life, and compared the poet of the Odyssey to the setting sun.18

15 Friedrich Nietzsche, “Homer and Classical Philology” (inaugural lecture, Basel University, May 28, 1869). Published in The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (ed. O. Levy; trans. J. McFarland Kennedy; Edinburgh and London: T. N. Foulis, 1910), 3:155. 16 Nietzsche, “Homer and Classical Philology,” in The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche, 3:145–170. 17 Ibid., 3:152–53. 18 Ibid., 3:153.

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This assumption of a unitary collection along with a unitary authorial personality lasted, Nietzsche thought, until his own day: the personality of Homer is treated seriously; that a certain standard of inner harmony is everywhere presupposed in the manifestations of the personality; and that, with these two excellent auxiliary hypotheses, whatever is seen to be below this standard and opposed to this inner harmony is at once swept aside as un-Homeric. . . . Individuality is ever more strongly felt and accentuated; the psychological possibility of a single Homer is ever more forcibly demanded.19

Only Wolf, Nietzsche thinks, opened up the possibility of a different view, but he did not explore this other possibility. If we go back before the Alexandrian grammarians to a second stage, however, we do not find—or so Nietzsche argues—the same emphasis on Homeric personality. Instead, we find, as we go back before the Alexandrian conquest to Aristotle and his predecessors in the fifth and fourth centuries b.c.e., that the inability to create a personality is seen to increase; more and more poems are attributed to Homer; and every period lets us see its degree of criticism by how much and what it considers to be Homeric. In this backward examination, we instinctively feel that away beyond Herodotus [in the fifth century b.c.e.] there lies a period in which an immense flood of great epics has been identified with the name of Homer.

And if we go still further back to a third stage, before the time of Pisistratus (the mid-sixth century b.c.e. Athenian tyrant, sometimes said to be responsible for a “recension” of Homeric poems), then we find according to Nietzsche that, at this earliest stage, “Homer” was a name attached, not to a personality, but rather to a genre or to an epic tendency: The only path which leads back beyond the time of Pisistratus and helps us to elucidate the meaning of the name Homer, takes its way on the one hand through the reports which have reached us concerning Homer’s birthplace: from which we see that, although his name is always associated with heroic epic poems, he is on the other hand no more referred to as the composer of the Iliad and the Odyssey than as the author of the Thebais or any other cyclical epic. On the other hand, again, an old tradition tells of the contest between Homer and Hesiod, which proves that when these two names were mentioned people instinctively thought

19

Ibid., 3:154.

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of two epic tendencies, the heroic and the didactic; and that the signification of the name “Homer” was included in the material category and not in the formal.20

In other words, the ancient Alexandrian grammarians had assumed that there had been an actual poet called Homer, and that on the basis of his personality, a concept of the poet had been formed. This assumption was still dominant in Nietzsche’s own day. As in the case of the text, the philologist’s goal—attainable or not—was to strip away the representational layers, until the original person, existing at a particular time in a particular place, was exposed. However, if we suspend the assumption that personality came first, and if we look at the textual evidence, then we find according to Nietzsche that, prior to the Alexandrian grammarians, there was very little conception of Homer’s personality, and many texts were associated with his name. At the earliest discernible stage, it would seem that all heroic epics were ascribed to Homer, and all didactic epics to Hesiod. So, Nietzsche suggests, what came first was not the personality, but rather the concept and in particular, the concept of a certain genre. In the first place, the name of Homer stood, not for a concrete person, but rather for the heroic epic. To ascribe a work to Homer was to say that it was a heroic, rather than a didactic epic. Later, however, some of these texts were excluded, since they were not of the highest quality, and they were imperfect instances of the genre. Only gradually, as some of the higher quality texts came to be read as a unit and at least partially harmonized, did the name of Homer come to stand for an author who had, in representation, a distinct personality. This personality both reflected the unity of the texts in question, and also served as an idea guiding further harmonization and, perhaps, further text production. Ultimately, this gave rise to a text collection and, at some point, to an ancient edition of this collection. Nietzsche concluded: We believe in a great poet as the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey— but not that Homer was this poet. . . . And the wonderful genius to whom we owe the Iliad and the Odyssey belongs to this thankful posterity: he, too, sacrificed his name on the altar of the primeval father of the Homeric epic, Homeros.21

20 21

Ibid., 3:155. Ibid., 3:156.

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In other words, the great poet and wonderful genius deserving of study is not the actual, historical Homer, assuming that there was such a person. Even if we could find this original Homer, contextualizing him would shed little light on Homeric texts.22 Nietzsche did not last long in the academy. The reaction to his first book, The Birth of Tragedy, was vicious. To some extent, one can already see the seeds of this disaster in some of the more provocative aspects of Nietzsche’s inaugural lecture.23 One unnecessarily provocative feature of Nietzsche’s argument is his statement that the prospective investigation of authorial formation responds to “the real ‘Homeric question.’ ” On my view, both questions about textual formation and questions about authorial formation, as well as both retrospective and prospective approaches to these questions, are equally legitimate. My intention is not to repudiate the retrospective quest for Urtext and Urschriftsteller, or for multiple versions of these. If we could find the original Homer and his compositions, this would be extremely interesting, even if it would shed little light on Homeric texts, most of whose formation is connected to a concept of the personality (i.e., the author) with hardly any connection to the historical figure. Rather, my intention is to endorse the importance of the retrospective search for the original text and writer, while arguing at the same time for a prospective examination of traditionary processes in which both textual units and concepts of personalities are produced, redacted, and revised. 22 For a somewhat similar view, see Gregory Nagy, Homeric Questions (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996), 110–11: “The comparative evidence of living oral epic traditions goes a long way to show that unity or integrity results from the dynamic interaction of composition, performance, and diffusion in the making of epic. Such evidence, added to the internal evidence of the Iliad and Odyssey as texts, points to an evolutionary process in the making of Homeric poetry. And yet, this envisioning of Homer in evolutionary terms may leave some of us with a sense of aching emptiness. It is as if we had suddenly lost a cherished author whom we could always admire for the ultimate achievement of the Iliad and the Odyssey. But surely what we have really admired all along is not the author, about whom we never did really know anything historically, but the Homeric poems themselves. To this extent, the evolutionary model may even become a source of consolation: we may have lost a historical author whom we never knew anyway, but we have recovered in the process a mythical author who is more than just an author: he is a cultural hero of Hellenism, a most cherished teacher of all Hellenes, who will come back to life with every new performance of his Iliad and Odyssey.” 23 Nietzsche argued that philology included at least as much aesthetic subjectivity as objective science, and called for philology to become philosophy. None of this went over well with his colleagues.

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Nietzsche’s inaugural lecture suggests four questions that I want to ask of biblical studies: First, what role is played by ascription in the formation of textual units? Second, to what extent and in what ways does textual formation go hand in hand with formation of a distinctive authorial personality? Third, to what extent and in what ways is the relationship between textual formation and authorial formation reciprocal? (So, for example, may the authorial personality be affected by the production of further texts?) Fourth, what roles can textual and authorial formation play in the formation of the reader? Part III: Moses and Ezra as Metaphor and Simile To explore these questions, I want to compare two figures and the texts associated with them: Moses and Ezra. The comparison is especially apt because they are both founding figures. Moses is the founder of the people of Israel constituted by means of the exodus from Egypt, the years of wandering in the wilderness, and the revelation at Sinai. Ezra is the founder of the reconstituted Second Temple community and is returned to the land of Israel from the Babylonian exile.24 I will argue, however, that there are significant differences between the ways in which Moses and Ezra are handled by traditionary processes in ancient Judaism, and these differences help us to pursue the four questions for biblical studies suggested by Nietzsche’s early work in classics. Before proceeding to examples, I need to make two preliminary remarks. The first concerns distinct levels of unity that are achievable by means of textual formation. In my first book, Seconding Sinai, I focused on the formation of what I called “a discourse tied to a founder,” developing an idea of Foucault’s, but without yet knowing of Nietzschean roots of the idea. In particular, I focused on Mosaic discourse. Now I want to distinguish two further levels of textual formation, establishing a threefold distinction between text, collection, and discourse. As I use the terms, a text is a unit that may be ascribed to a personality or a figure. A collection is a group of texts that may be ascribed

24 Tosefta Sanhedrin 4:7 compares them in stature: “Rabbi Yossi said: Ezra was sufficiently worthy (ra’uy) that the Torah could have been given through him, had Moses not preceded him.”

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to a single figure collectively, or as a group, such as the book of Psalms, 11QPsalms, or the Pentateuch. A discourse is a group of texts that may be ascribed to a single figure individually but not collectively, for example, Deuteronomy and Jubilees are part of the same Mosaic discourse,25 but not of the same collection. So too Ezra-Nehemiah and 4 Ezra are part of the same discourse, but not of the same collection. My second preliminary remark concerns the difference between the two ways in which both writers and readers can relate to exemplary personalities: imitation and emulation. The distinction is related to the distinction between simile and metaphor. A simile compares two terms in some determinate respect by affirming that one is like the other in that respect. In contrast, a metaphor compares two terms by affirming that one is the other, which establishes an indeterminate identification, pregnant with possibility. If Romeo had said that, “Juliet is like the sun,” he would have employed a simile to establish that, like the sun, Juliet is, let us say, the radiant center of his world. But Romeo does not employ a simile. Instead, Romeo speaks metaphorically, saying, “Juliet is the sun.” There are indefinitely many things to say about the sun. Perhaps not all of them may be said of Juliet. After all, the identification is not literal. But any of them may be said of Juliet if it turns out to be apt.26 Similarly, a figure may be exemplary in two different ways. The figure may serve as a simile. In that case, someone may imitate the figure in question: they may be like the figure in some determinate respect. Alternatively, the exemplary figure may serve as a metaphor. In that case, someone may emulate the figure in question: they may identify with the figure in an indeterminate way that is pregnant with possibility. With these preliminaries in place, I will argue for the following two differences between Moses and Ezra. First, traditionary processes gave

25 Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp. chap. 1, “Mosaic Discourse,” 1–40. 26 See Stanley Cavell, Must We Mean What We Say? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 78–79. Also see later discussion in David Hills, “Aptness and Truth in Verbal Metaphor,” Philosophical Topics 25 (1997): 117–53; Hindy Najman, Past Renewals: Interpretive Authority, Renewed Revelation, and the Quest for Perfection in Jewish Antiquity (JSJSup 53; Leiden: Brill, 2010), see in particular chap. 13, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha: Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra,” 235–43.

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rise, not only to Mosaic texts and to a Mosaic discourse, but also to a Mosaic collection. In contrast, there are Ezrean texts and an Ezrean discourse, but there is no Ezrean collection—with one notable exception. Second, the name “Ezra” goes from signifying a role to signifying a richly imagined personality, fit both for emulation and imitation. In contrast, the name “Moses” goes from signifying a personality to signifying a role, fit for emulation, but not for imitation—with one notable exception. This contrast has major implications not only for ancient Jewish writers, but also for readers of the texts they produced. (A) First Difference: In various pentateuchal sources, we see aspects of Moses’ personality that make him suitable for a leadership role. He risks his life of privilege to punish the oppressor of an Israelite slave. But this is not merely tribal loyalty. For he also defends the daughters of the priest of Midian against those who would deny them access to the well. In fulfilment of his leadership potential, Moses becomes God’s spokesperson to Israel, and Israel’s spokesperson to God. However, Moses’ role as protagonist comes to be eclipsed by his role as spokesperson. The highest authority attaches to “Torah of Moses.” This happens to such an extent that Moses becomes an authorial figure, so that texts are now expressions of his spokesperson role. Deuteronomy does not begin with the familiar formula, “And God spoke to Moses saying.” Instead, Deuteronomy begins with “And these are the words that Moses spoke to all Israel.” In Jubilees, this move from protagonist to author is extended to those parts of what we now call the Pentateuch that narratively precede Moses’ birth.27 Prologue: These are the words regarding the divisions of the times of the law and of the testimony, of the events of the years, of the weeks of their jubilees throughout all the years of eternity as he related (them) to Moses on Mt. Sinai when he went up to receive the stone tablets—the law and the commandments—on the Lord’s orders as he had told him that he should come up to the summit of the mountain. 1:27: Then he said to an angel of the presence: ‘Dictate to Moses (starting) from the beginning of the creation until the time when my temple is built among them throughout the ages of eternity.’

27 Translation from James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989).

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Jubilees then proceeds to “rewrite” Genesis through part of Exodus, emphasizing repeatedly that everything written—including, of course, the calendrical issues about which Jubilees cares so much, and which appear to be a point of significant disagreement with the Temple establishment—is dictated to Moses on Sinai, and transcribed by Moses. Similarly, Philo of Alexandria regards Moses as the lawgiver, not only insofar as the law was given through him at Sinai, but also insofar as he is responsible for the entire Pentateuch, including the parts prior to the narrative of his own birth. Thus, for example, Philo writes, He [Moses] did not, like any prose-writer, make it his business to leave behind for posterity records of ancient deeds for the pleasant but unimproving entertainment which they give; but, in relating the history of early times, and going for its beginning right to the creation of the universe, he wished to show two most essential things: first that the Father and Maker of the world was in the truest sense also its Lawgiver, secondly that he who would observe the laws gladly welcomes conformity with nature and lives in accordance with the ordering of the universe, so that his deeds are attuned to harmony with his words and his words with his deeds. (Mos., 2.48)28

Thus Moses ultimately became, not only the protagonist and prophet, and not only the authorial figure to whom texts were ascribed—indeed, not only the founding figure of an entire Mosaic discourse—but also the authorial figure to whom two crucial collections were ascribed: Deuteronomy and the Pentateuch. Textual formation, at various levels, in its essence involved ascription. Ezra, too, begins as a protagonist in Ezra-Nehemiah, and becomes an authorial figure to whom texts such as 4 Ezra are ascribed: “In the thirtieth year of the destruction of our country, I, Shealtiel, who is Ezra, was in Babylon.”29 Since texts ascribed to Ezra continued to be produced for some time, one might also speak of a discourse of Ezra, comparable to Mosaic discourse.30 But there is no collection ascribed to Ezra, no parallel to the Mosaic Deuteronomy and Pentateuch. However, in 4 Ezra, we encounter what appears to be an imagined Ezrean

28 Translations of Philo’s works are from the Loeb Classical Library (trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker; 10 vols.; London: Heinemann, 1941). 29 4 Ezra 1:1. 30 This would require a specification of the features required for membership in Ezrean discourse. I hope to do this elsewhere.

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collection on the model of the Mosaic collection. See 4 Ezra where Ezra receives the ninety-four books: Ninety-four books were written by them in forty days, and it was that when the forty days were completed the Most High spoke to me and said to me: These twenty-four books that were written before me place in public and they will read in them, those who are worthy and those who are unworthy of the people. But these seventy you are going to keep and you will complete them for the wise of your people. (14:44–46)

If these books ever existed, then they have long been lost. And if this is an attempt to establish Ezra, not merely as a restorer of “Torat Moshe,” but as the institutor of a “Torat Ezra,” then it would seem to have been a failure. The absence of an Ezrean collection leaves the authority of Moses without parallel. Perhaps, as Rabbi Yossi said, Ezra was fit to transmit the Torah. But, after all, Moses did precede him, and Ezra did not displace him. (B) Second Difference: In Ezra-Nehemiah, Ezra is a protagonist, introduced as “a scribe expert in the Teaching of Moses” (Ezra 7:6). His personality is not portrayed in much detail. What matters is his role. Doubly authorized by his knowledge of Torat Moshe and by the king of Persia, he undertakes to re-establish the Temple cult and to purify the people of intermarriage. However, in 4 Ezra, Ezra’s personality is richly imagined. The portrayal employs two distinct devices. First, there are several similes, which serve to establish that Ezra is like an authoritative figure in some determinate respect. Here is an explicit comparison to Daniel with respect to visionary power and content: This is the interpretation of the vision that you saw: the eagle you saw who came up from the sea—this is the fourth kingdom that was shown in a vision unto your brother Daniel. But it was not interpreted to him as I am interpreting to you now. Look! The days are coming when a kingdom will arise upon the earth and it will be more fearful than all the kingdoms that were before it. (4 Ezra 12:10–13)

Ezra is also explicitly likened to Moses, to whom was shown the burning bush, symbolizing Israel’s survival in extreme adversity: Then [God] said to me, “I revealed myself in a bush and spoke to Moses when my people were in bondage in Egypt; and I sent him and led my people out of Egypt; and I led him up to Mount Sinai. And I kept him

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hindy najman with me many days; and I told him many wondrous things, and showed him the secrets of the times and declared to him the end of the times. Then I commanded him, saying: ‘These words you shall publish openly, and these you shall keep secret.’ And now I say to you: Lay up in your heart the signs that I have shown you, the dreams that you have seen and the interpretation that you have heard; for you shall be taken up from among men, and henceforth you shall be with my servant and with those who are like you, until the times are ended. (4 Ezra 14:3–9)

In other passages, the simile is implicit, working by means of textual allusion. Thus Ezra is likened to Ezekiel, in his ability to receive revelation in exile; and to Jeremiah, in his ability to lament destruction. In all these respects, the eponymous author of 4 Ezra imitates these figures and inherits their authority. But this is not all. In the culminating passage cited above, Ezra does not merely imitate Moses; he emulates him, receiving the books of the law after forty days. This is not merely a simile. It is an identification: Ezra is the new Moses, though, as I said before, this move appears to have been unsuccessful. The historical development of Ezra is to some extent the reverse of the development of Moses. If Ezra ceased to be a role and became a personality, then Moses ceased to be a personality and became a role— the role of the lawgiver par excellence. An important step in this direction was taken in Deuteronomy 34, which portrays Moses’ death on the threshold of the promised land: “Since then, no prophet has risen in Israel like Moses. . . .” The incomparability of Moses is akin to the incomparability of God. It signifies a pre-eminent authority. If no prophet was “like Moses,” then similes that likened prophets to Moses were highly problematic, although we have seen, in the case of 4 Ezra, that they were nevertheless attempted. By the same token, determinate features of Moses’ personality became less important than his role as lawgiver. There was no further need to establish Moses’ authority, since it was axiomatic. And it was largely inappropriate to establish Moses as an exemplar for imitation, because to imitate Moses would be to appear to challenge his authority. However, this did not mean that it was impossible to emulate Moses. Indeed, this was exactly what the anonymous writers of Deuteronomy and Jubilees did. They effaced their own names and personalities and, through their pseudepigraphy, they identified with the Mosaic role of lawgiver. Moses was incomparable. But this incomparability was asserted in a book that repeated the giving of the law. Hence the name: Deuteronomy. So Mosaic lawgiving was established in Deuteronomy as at once both incomparable and repeatable.

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This is not to say that the emulation and repetition of Mosaic lawgiving was easy to accomplish. In my book, Seconding Sinai, I established specific features that texts needed to exhibit in order to count as participating in Mosaic discourse. Ascription to Moses was necessary, but far from sufficient. Deuteronomy was accepted by all communities while Jubilees was not, although the latter employed elaborate Deuteronomic strategies and seems to have been treated as scripture at Qumran. However, even much later, in the classical rabbinic and medieval periods when Deuteronomic pseudepigraphy would seem to have been unthinkable, we hear echoes of the emulation of Moses. Laws with great authority but with no scriptural source were sometimes called halakhah lemoshe missinai.31 And Maimonides, in an extremely audacious move, called his code Mishneh Torah. So far I have addressed the writer’s imitation and/or emulation of exemplary figures such as Moses and Ezra. But what of the reader? In 4 Ezra, it is clear that the reader is supposed to emulate Ezra. Not all ancient Jewish readers were graced with visions and with angelic instruction. So they could hardly be asked to imitate Ezra in the way that he imitates Daniel, among others. However, the lesson that Ezra learns from visions and angels was one that all ancient Jewish readers could be asked to learn with him. 4 Ezra was written after the destruction of the Second Temple. But it portrays Ezra’s response to the destruction of the First Temple. This is a mode of consolation: what has not yet been built cannot have been destroyed.32 What distinguishes such consolation from delusion is the long-standing sense, found throughout the Second Temple period, that the Second Temple never was the restoration of the First. Ezra is portrayed as a personality paralysed by loss. Only after the fourth of his seven visions, when he learns how to lament, is Ezra transformed into a figure worthy of receiving the books of the law. He is said explicitly to be turned around by his encounter with a mourning mother who turns out to be none other than Zion herself. The reader who allows him or herself to mourn the loss of Zion and the Temple— who thereby succeeds in finding hope in the wake of destruction—will have emulated Ezra.

31 Najman, Seconding Sinai, passim, where there is an extensive discussion of halakhah lemoshe missinai. 32 Najman, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra,” in Past Renewals, 235–242, esp. 238.

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What of Moses? I have said that he became inimitable, but that writers could seek, with great difficulty and with no guarantee of success, to emulate his lawgiving. But ordinary readers could hardly be expected or intended to take on this leadership role par excellence. Nevertheless, there is one exception known to me. Perhaps it is the exception that proves the rule. Philo of Alexandria gave a richly imagined account of Moses’ personality and his fitness for leadership, no doubt because he felt the need to establish Mosaic authority in the eyes of Hellenized Jews and, indeed, in the eyes of non-Jewish Greek-speakers. But Philo also noticed the incomparability that Deuteronomy ascribes to Moses at the moment of his death, and he connected this with Moses’ movement, which I have thematized already, beyond a personality with traits that could be imitated. Philo dealt with this movement beyond personality by means of his Platonism. On his account, Moses achieved the ultimate goal of human life: a transcendence of determinate personality that rendered him “pure mind”: Afterwards the time came when he had to make his pilgrimage from earth to heaven, and leave this mortal life for immortality, summoned thither by the Father Who resolved his twofold nature of soul and body into a single unity, transforming his whole being into mind, pure and the sunlight. Then, indeed, we find him possessed by the spirit, no longer uttering general truths to the whole nation but prophesying to each tribe in particular the things, which were to be, and hereafter must come to pass. Some of these have already taken place, others are still looked for, since confidence in the future is assured by fulfilment in the past. (Mos., 2.288)

In this respect, Moses could and should be emulated by every reader: What more shall I say? Has he not also enjoyed an even greater communion with the Father and Creator of the universe, being thought unworthy of being called by the same appellation? For he also was called the god and king of the whole nation, and he is said to have entered into the darkness where God was; that is to say, into the invisible, and shapeless, and incorporeal world, the essence, which is the model of all existing things, where he beheld things invisible to mortal nature; for, having brought himself and his own life into the middle, as an excellently wrought picture, he established himself as a most beautiful and Godlike work, to be a model for all those who were inclined to imitate him. Happy are those who imprint it, or strive to imprint, that image [of Moses] in their souls. For it were best that the mind should carry the form of virtue in perfection, but, failing this, let it at least have the unflinching desire to possess that form. (Mos., 1.158–59)

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Only because of his Platonic emphasis on the soul’s transcendence of the body could Philo maintain that every reader should emulate Moses. Such Platonic views would return in medieval Jewish philosophy. But they do not seem characteristic of classical rabbinic literature, and Moses is therefore treated primarily as an incomparable authority, and not as an exemplar to be emulated. Conclusion In conclusion, I return to the four questions suggested for biblical studies by Nietzsche’s inaugural lecture. (1) Textual ascription can indeed, sometimes, play a crucial role in textual formation. Certainly this is true at the levels of discourse and collection. Whether it is true at the level of smaller textual units, such as sources, remains to be seen. Comparison with other ancient textual units, such as the Homeric books, may prove to be fruitful once again. (2) Ascription is sometimes to a personality. In these cases, textual formation and authorial formation go hand in hand. But ascription is sometimes to a role. As we have seen, there is variation and development: the name “Moses” ceased to signify a personality and came to signify a role, while the name “Ezra” ceased to signify a role and came to signify a personality. (3) It is not only that authorial formation can affect textual formation by establishing the need for harmonization. Textual formation can also affect authorial formation. In the case of Jubilees, the perceived need to continue Mosaic discourse generated the “rewriting” of much of the Pentateuch. In the case of 4 Ezra, the perceived need to continue an Ezrean discourse after the destruction of the Second Temple generated the “rewriting” of Ezra as a richly imagined personality. (4) Finally, one purpose of textual ascription may be to bring about the imitation or emulation of an exemplary figure by the reader, as we see in the case of Ezra. However, as we see in the case of Moses, the more authoritative and incomparable the figure, the more difficult it is to hold this figure up for imitation and even emulation. We understand backwards, but live forwards. So, in effect, says the passage from Kierkegaard with which this essay began. However, I hope to have shown that it is also possible to understand forwards. The pursuit of original texts and their authors is important, but it is by no means the only path in biblical studies. At the same time, I hope that

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I have also shown that texts themselves sometimes live backwards and forwards at the same time. The complex, dynamic, and reciprocal relationships between the formations of text, author, and reader that characterize ancient Judaism are, to be sure, directed towards the present and future later interpretive communities. They achieve this direction through a profound engagement with a past that is never settled.33

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Many thanks to Paul Franks, Ron Hendel, Nicole Hilton, Sol Goldberg, Julia Lauwers, Eva Mroczek and Eibert Tigchelaar for their incisive comments and suggestions. I also acknowledge my hosts and audience at the Princeton Theological Seminary where this essay was first delivered as the 2010 Alexander Thompson Lecture.

THE RELEVANCE OF TEXTUAL THEORIES FOR THE PRAXIS OF TEXTUAL CRITICISM Emanuel Tov General (textual) theories such as speculation about “the original text(s) of the Bible” or the theory of local texts are abstract entities. Parallel to these textual theories are other abstract entities, named “rules,” which are used for the evaluation of readings, such as that of the lectio difficilior. In this study, we ask ourselves whether the use of these textual theories and rules is necessary for textual praxis, that is, for the comparison of readings and their evaluation. Every biblical scholar, especially those who write commentaries, is involved to some degree in the textual decision-making process. Commentators ordinarily use the apparatus of the BH series, and while their commentaries are usually based on MT, now and then they prefer readings found in other sources. When quoting these other readings, they are actively engaged in textual praxis, since they are forming an opinion on the comparative merits of the readings. Students do the same, as they are encouraged from the beginning of their studies to compare variant readings, despite the fact that they are not experts in textual criticism. I name this procedure “textual praxis level 1,” involving persons who are not necessarily experts in textual criticism. Indeed, most authors of commentaries limit themselves to general statements, such as “reading X is preferable to reading Y because it better suits the style of the author, his language, or the Hebrew language in general.”1 In order to better exemplify my intentions, let me indicate what I mean by textual praxis. I refer to the procedure of determining which reading is original, better suits the context, or best explains the development of the other readings. For example:

1 See, for example, the formulation of rules six (“Lectio, quae cum stylo scriptoris convenit, melior est”) and seven (“Ea lectio vera et genuina esse nequit, quae nullo modo contextui apta aut consilio scriptoris prorsus contraria est”) by P. G. Borbone, Il libro del profeta Osea, Edizione critica del testo ebraico (Quaderni di Henoch 2; Torino: Zamorani, 1990), 26–32.

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MT 1QIsaa

(MTQ ‫אישר‬, MTK ‫דוּרים )אושר‬ ִ ‫)אני לפניך אלך( וַ ֲה‬ (I will go before you) and (I shall level) hadurim ‫ = והררים‬LXX καὶ ὄρη ≈ S and mountains

Most scholars prefer the reading of 1QIsaa LXX (≈ S). The prophet describes God’s ability to accomplish the impossible (v. 2b: “I will shatter doors of bronze and cut down iron bars”) and in light of v. 2b, a reading “I will level the mountains” (1QIsaa LXX) would be appropriate.2

When referring to textual praxis, I have such considerations in mind. The involvement in what I would call “textual praxis level 2,” or “advanced textual praxis” requires the textual expertise of specialists. Such specialists write textual commentaries or monographs, and some of them prepare textual editions that in today’s world are published in the BHQ, HUB, and OHB series. These scholars are greatly involved in textual praxis and by necessity are expected to employ appropriate arguments for their decisions. The issue I am addressing in this study is what kind of arguments are used in the course of textual praxis levels 1 and 2, if at all, and, in general, which textual theories and arguments are relevant or useful when one is involved in textual praxis. We now turn to a brief review of the textual arguments and theories. They are described and exemplified in handbooks to textual criticism, theoretical papers, and introductions to both the literature of Hebrew Scripture and the methodology of biblical research. Theoretical help for textual praxis may derive from two areas: (1) Textual theories about the origin and development of the biblical text; (2) “Rules” guiding the evaluation of textual readings. In order to examine the possible guidance of these theories and guidelines, we will define first what the area of textual criticism involves.

2 When the word became corrupted by a daleth/resh interchange, a waw was added as an internal vowel letter, giving the resulting word ‫ והדורים‬the appearance of a passive participle. Other scholars connect the word with ‫הדר‬, “glory” (cf. Vulg gloriosos terrae) and the root ‫“( הדר‬to honor”); accordingly BDB s.v. records the word as “swelling places” (cf. neb: “swelling hills”). At the same time, C. H. Southwood (“The Problematic hadūrîm of Isaiah XLV 2,” VT 25 [1975]: 801–2) holds on to MT suggesting that it reflects an Akkadian loan word dūru, “city walls,” which could fit the context.

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In the third edition of my Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, I describe the task of the textual criticism of Hebrew-Aramaic Scripture as follows: Textual criticism deals with the nature and origin of all the witnesses of a composition or text, in our case the biblical books. This analysis often involves an attempt to discover the original form of details in a composition, or even of large stretches of text, although what exactly constitutes (an) “original text(s)” is subject to much debate. . . . Those scholars who express a view on the originality of readings do so while evaluating their comparative value. This comparison—the central area of the textual praxis—refers to. . . . One of the practical results of the analysis of textual data is that it creates tools for the exegesis of Hebrew-Aramaic Scripture.3

This general and abstract description, subjective as it is, provides a good starting point for our thinking about the usefulness of guidelines such as mentioned above. It seems almost impossible to be involved in textual criticism without a proper introduction to the field, training in the tools needed, and use of appropriate guidelines. Indeed, Kyle McCarter provides some very practical advice at the beginning of his introduction to textual criticism that is not given in other handbooks: “Be sure you are competently trained in the skills.”4 A minimal list of these skills, according to McCarter, includes knowledge of Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic, Syriac, Latin, Coptic, Ethiopic, Armenian, and Arabic, as well as the historical grammar, orthography, and paleography of Hebrew. It includes the rule that McCarter names the “one great rule” (lectio difficilior praeferenda est) and suggests that the text critic “sit at the feet of a master,” “keep a clear image of the scribe in mind,” “know the personalities of your witnesses,” “treat each case as if it were unique,” “beware of prejudices,” and “apply thought to textual criticism.” These pieces of advice are helpful, but one wonders to what extent they provide sufficient, practical guidance. Several guidelines for textual criticism in general and for textual evaluation are described in the literature, sometimes with examples.

3 Quotation from Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (3d rev. ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2012), 1–2. 4 P. K. McCarter, Textual Criticism: Recovering the Text of the Hebrew Bible (Guides to Biblical Scholarship, Old Testament Series 11; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 22–25.

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Some of these introductions are completely theoretical, such as that of Barth–Steck, which in its thirteen editions is influential in the Germanspeaking world.5 Some of these formulations are based on textual experience, while others were simply copied from earlier monographs. The area of our investigation is the evaluation of readings, which is the central area of textual praxis. This process involves the comparison of details found in the textual witnesses with an eye to their comparative merits. We now examine the relevance of textual theories and guidelines to textual praxis. I. Textual Theories 1. Original text. Foremost among the textual theories is the assumption of (an) “original text(s).” By way of convention, this idea is often expressed as the theory of de Lagarde as opposed to that of Kahle. In concise, abstract terms, de Lagarde proposed that all of the manuscripts of MT derived from one source that served as the archetype of what he called the “recension” of MT. On the other side of the spectrum we find Kahle, who dealt with the original form of both the individual textual witnesses and the biblical text in its entirety. In his opinion, none of these textual witnesses were created in a single act, but rather through a process of editing and revising.6 According to Kahle, these texts developed from a textual plurality into a unity, whereas de Lagarde had maintained that the unity preceded the textual plurality. Kahle’s approach is in many aspects opposed to that of de Lagarde, but one cannot appropriately define the differences between them, since de Lagarde’s exposition was very brief and, in addition, the textual information on which Kahle based his opinions was not known in the time of de Lagarde.7 5 H. Barth and O. H. Steck, Exegese des Alten Testaments, Leitfaden der Methodik— Ein Arbeitsbuch für Proseminare, Seminare und Vorlesungen (13th ed.; Neukirchen/ Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1993) = O. H. Steck, Old Testament Exegesis—A Guide to the Methodology (trans. J. D. Nogalski; SBLRBS 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995). 6 With regard to the Hebrew Bible in its entirety, Kahle did not reject the assumption of one original text but emphasized that the textual sources known to us were created from an intermediary source that he originally (1915) named Vulgartext (“vulgar” text) and later (1951) referred to in the plural as Vulgärtexte, that is, texts created to facilitate the reading. He described both SP and LXX as such texts, and also MT, although, in his opinion, the latter passed through a stage of refinement at the end of the first century c.e. 7 For a fuller discussion and references, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 170–73.

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The basic dichotomy between de Lagarde and Kahle pertains to the question of whether at the beginning of the textual transmission there was one original text (de Lagarde) or several texts (Kahle). The texts presupposed by Kahle may be named original texts, although he did not use that term. To what extent are these theories relevant to textual praxis? In other words, in the evaluation of textual variation, do we have to take a stand with regard to these theories or is it possible to proceed without referring to them? These are difficult questions, so difficult in fact that many scholars prefer to leave them unanswered.8 Further, some scholars say expressly that the problem of an original text cannot be resolved.9 However, in our view, the praxis of textual criticism is not possible without taking a stand on the issue of the original text. For example, the BH series does express an implied view about the original text of Hebrew Scripture. For the instructions given by that tool (e.g., “change X”, “delete Y,” or “add Z”) are only valid if the underlying principle of an original text is accepted. Those who claim, as does the BH series, that reading X is preferable to reading Y necessarily presuppose an original text in this detail, since they claim that the preferred reading better reflects the original composition from the point of view of the language, vocabulary, ideas, or meaning.10 If, with Kahle, one does not adhere to the idea of an original text, there would be no need to prefer this or that detail. In such a case, we would be able to accept the co-existence of any two readings without feeling the need to prefer one of them. In sum, it seems to me that all those who are involved in textual praxis, except for those who prepare the HUB, implicitly express a view on the

8

E.g., B. J. Roberts, The Old Testament Text and Versions—The Hebrew Text in Transmission and the History of the Ancient Versions (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1951); the authors of various introductions to the Bible, e.g. S. R. Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament (9th ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1913); R. H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (London: A. and C. Black, 1953), 71–126; E. Sellin and G. Fohrer, Introduction to the Old Testament (trans. D. E. Green; Nashville: Abingdon, 1968), 489–515; R. Smend, Die Entstehung des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1978), 13–32; J. Weingreen, Introduction to the Critical Study of the Text of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982). 9 B. Lemmelijn, “What Are We Looking for in Doing Old Testament Text-Critical Research,” JNWSL 23 (1997): 69–80 (77): “. . . I would rather start from the observation that at a certain moment in history several texts have indeed been current . . . without positing anything about their origin and the phases of their prior textual history.” 10 At the same time, one often has the feeling that not all users of the BH series are sufficiently aware of its underlying assumptions.

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existence of an original text. Therefore, taking a stand on the original text is a necessary part of textual praxis. 2. Parallel readings or traditions. Beyond Kahle and his supporters who developed their views mainly at the theoretical level, four scholars rejected the assumption of an original text on the basis of the existence of certain types of readings. Basing himself upon the occurrence of synonymous readings as variants in textual witnesses, Shemaryahu Talmon claimed that such pairs as ‫ יד‬// ‫( כף‬both: “hand”) and ‫ אדמה‬// ‫( ארץ‬both: “land”) reflect components that are equally early and original and that neither one should be preferred to the other.11 He expanded this claim in reference to additional groups of readings in a later study.12 Likewise, Greenberg, basing himself upon a comparison of details in MT and LXX of Ezekiel, suggested that various details in both texts are equally valid in the context.13 In Greenberg’s view these details are original to the same extent. Goshen-Gottstein claimed that if any two readings cannot be described as primary as opposed to secondary, or original as opposed to corrupt, both of them should be considered to be alternative and original readings.14 Similarly, Walters tried to show that in 1 Samuel 1, MT and LXX reflect two parallel stories slightly differing from each other.15 These four views pertain to details in the theory of an original text, and therefore for those who accept these views they provide a form of guidance for textual praxis even though they refer to a very small number of instances. For example, Hendel accepts the notion of synonymous readings for his eclectic edition (OHB) and therefore does not decide on the preference of one of a pair of such readings.16

11 S. Talmon, “Synonymous Readings in the Textual Traditions of the Old Testament,” ScrHier 8 (1961): 335–83. 12 “The Old Testament Text,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible (ed. R. P. Ackroyd and C. F. Evans; 3 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 1.159–99. 13 M. Greenberg, “The Use of the Ancient Versions for Interpreting the Hebrew Text,” VTSup 29 (1978): 131–48. 14 M. H. Goshen-Gottstein, “The History of the Bible-Text and Comparative Semitics,” VT 7 (1957): 195–201. In his argumentation, he draws an analogy between procedures in linguistic reconstruction and the reconstruction of the text of the Bible. 15 S. D. Walters, “Hannah and Anna—The Greek and Hebrew Texts of I Samuel 1,” JBL 107 (1988): 385–412. 16 R. Hendel (“The Oxford Hebrew Bible; Prologue to a New Critical Edition,” VT 58 [2008]: 324–51 [346]) realizes that the textual critic cannot in all cases reach a verdict regarding the words to be included in the text, especially in “synonymous” and “alternative” readings. In these cases, the central text of the edition (the “copy

the relevance of textual theories

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Even if one does not accept the views expressed in this paragraph, they remain relevant for those scholars who describe them as relating to their conception of the original text. 3. The relation between the textual witnesses. From the beginning of critical inquiry into the biblical text, scholars tried to solve the question of the relation between MT, LXX, SP, etc. Until some time after the discovery of the Qumran Scrolls, scholars adhered to the view that the textual witnesses are divided into three groups represented by MT, LXX, and SP. In more recent research, scholars have accepted the assumption of a plurality of texts.17 In my view, these theories contribute little to the advancement of textual praxis. 4. Local text traditions. It is unclear to what extent scholars still adhere to the theory of local texts, which was developed mainly by American scholars. In the wake of a brief study by Albright a new textual theory developed, mainly in the United States, according to which all Hebrew textual witnesses represent three different groups, which were at first described as “recensions” and later as “families.” These groups were linked to particular areas: Babylon (MT), Palestine (SP, MT of Chronicles, several Qumran texts), and Egypt (the Hebrew Vorlage of LXX). This view was developed in particular in the studies of Cross.18 If the theory itself is problematic,19 determining relations between readings on its basis20 is even more difficult. McCarter provides brief characterizations of the various textual witnesses in the books of the text”) is left intact, while the apparatus includes another reading considered to be of “equal” value. E.g., in 1 Kgs 11:5, for ‫ שקץ‬of MT the apparatus records a variant ‫ אלהא‬reconstructed from the Peshitta and named “equal” by the editor, Joosten, in S. W. Crawford, J. Joosten, & E. Ulrich, “Sample Editions of the Oxford Hebrew Bible: Deuteronomy 32:1–9, 1 Kings 11:1–8, and Jeremiah 27:1–10 (34 G),” VT 58 (2008): 352–66, esp. 359. 17 For a discussion, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 155–63. 18 The principal argument in favor of this theory is abstract and logical and posits that texts developed in different ways in the locations in which they were preserved and/or copied. According to this view, the lack of contact between the centers in which the three families were developed created different textual characteristics. For example, the Palestinian recension is held to be expansionistic and full of glosses and harmonizing additions (cf. the features of SP), the Egyptian recension is considered to be full, and the Babylonian recension is conservative and short. The three families developed during the fifth to third centuries b.c.e. 19 See Tov, Textual Criticism, 186–87. 20 As suggested by F. M. Cross, Jr., “The History of the Biblical Text in the Light of Discoveries in the Judaean Desert,” HTR 57 (1964): 281–99, esp. 189–90 and Klein, Textual Criticism, 69–71.

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Bible in accord with this theory, such as the expansionistic character of MT in most books.21 5. Vulgar versus non-vulgar texts; precise versus imprecise texts. Various scholars accepted from Kahle’s writings the concept of “vulgar” as opposed to conservative or exact texts, albeit with certain changes.22 The writers of these texts (e.g., 1QIsaa and SP) approached the biblical text in a free manner and inserted changes of various kinds, including orthography. Summarizing this section, we realize that textual theories in general are of little relevance for the comparison of readings, their value being greater for the historian. The only theory that is relevant is the expression of a view on the original text of Hebrew Scripture. As we have seen, this view may take different forms. In our view, one cannot evaluate readings without expressing a stance on this issue. II. Rules for Evaluation Another area of textual theory is that of the “rules” used in the evaluation of readings. Seemingly, these rules would be very appropriate (see the various handbooks), but they are problematic. In the evaluation of readings, a distinction is often made between external and internal criteria (considerations) relating to the evaluation of readings. External criteria pertain to the document in which the reading is found, whereas internal criteria bear on the intrinsic value of the reading itself.23

21 McCarter, Textual Criticism, 87–94 (“Textual characteristics of the books of the Hebrew Bible”). 22 For details, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 173. 23 The following sources mention rules for the evaluation of readings and not textual theories: D. Barthélemy et al., Preliminary and Interim Report on the Hebrew Old Testament Text Project, vols. 1–5 (2d ed.; New York: United Bible Societies, 1979– 1980); Barth and Steck, Exegese, 37–44 = Steck, Old Testament Exegesis, 39–47; E. R. Brotzman, Old Testament Textual Criticism—A Practical Introduction (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1994), 123–32; E. Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament—An Introduction to the Biblia Hebraica (2d ed.; trans. E. F. Rhodes; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 113–22; J. Trebolle Barrera, The Jewish Bible and the Christian Bible, An Introduction to the History of the Bible (trans. W. G. E. Watson; Leiden: Brill; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 370–404, esp. 380. For an analysis, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 270–82.

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A. External rules 1. Preference for MT. Many scholars make statements such as “all other things being equal, the reading of MT should be preferred.” Readings of MT are often preferable to those found in other texts, but this statistical information should not influence decisions in individual instances, because the exceptions to this situation are not predictable. When judgments are involved, statistical information should be considered less relevant, although it certainly influences scholars unconsciously. Furthermore, MT is no more reliable than LXX or certain Qumran texts. The application of this rule reflects an inappropriate preference for MT. 2. Broad attestation. It is often claimed that the trustworthiness of a reading is directly related to the breadth of its attestation. Sometimes a scholar will stress its wide or narrow geographical distribution. However, reliance on a broad attestation of textual evidence is profitable neither in the case of Hebrew manuscripts nor in that of the ancient versions, for it could have been created by a historical coincidence. Long ago it was recognized that manuscripta ponderantur, non numerantur. The same argument may be used with regard to the ancient versions.24 Textual criticism does not proceed according to democratic rules. 3. Age of witnesses. Older witnesses are often preferable to more recent ones, because “the older one is likely to have been less exposed to textual corruption than the younger one.”25 Reliance on the age of documents is seemingly desirable, because the closer the document is to the time of the autograph, the more likely it is that it has preserved the wording of that autograph. However, some copyists or traditions preserved their source better than others. For example, the community that transmitted MT has left the biblical text virtually unchanged for more than two thousand years since the time of the Judean Desert texts, whereas the Qumran scribes modernized and changed the orthography, morphology, and content of the text. Thus 1QIsaa, dating from the first century b.c.e., 24 Several versions may be interdependent, as in the case of the reliance of Jerome (Vulg) on LXX, Symmachus, Aquila, and Theodotion. Hebrew and retroverted readings should be judged on the basis of their intrinsic value, and consequently even minority readings may be preferable to well-attested variants. 25 F. E. Deist, Towards the Text of the Old Testament (2d ed.; Pretoria: D. R. Church Booksellers, 1981), 232.

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is further removed from the original text of Isaiah than a Masoretic manuscript written in the tenth century c.e. Given such exceptional cases, the fallacy of dependence upon the age of witnesses was recognized long ago. B. Internal rules The above discussion has shown that external criteria usually cannot be used profitably in the textual criticism of the Hebrew Bible. We turn now to internal criteria, that is, criteria bearing on the intrinsic value and content of the readings. 1. Lectio difficilior praeferenda/praevalet/praestat. This rule (“the more difficult reading is to be preferred”) has been phrased in different ways. For example: “When a text was particularly difficult, there was a tendency for ancient scribes and translators to simplify the text by employing contextually more fitting lexical, grammatical, and stylistic forms (these modifications are often spoken of as ‘facilitating’).”26 When textual variation is encountered, one of the readings is sometimes termed the “difficult” reading, and the other(s), the “easy” reading(s), with the implication that the former has a preferable (original) status. From a theoretical point of view, this rule is logical as some “difficult” readings were indeed replaced by scribes with simpler ones. Although the basic validity of this rule cannot be denied, many scholars have recognized that the rule is problematic and impractical since it fails to take into consideration simple scribal errors.27 By definition, often a scribal error creates a lectio difficilior. If there were a consensus with regard to the recognition of scribal errors, the rule would be more practical, but since it is often unclear whether or not a given reading reflects a scribal error, the rule of the lectio difficilior

26 Barthélemy, Report xi (“factor 4”). For similar formulations, see A. Bentzen, Introduction to the Old Testament (7th ed.; Copenhagen: Gad, 1967), 1.97; R. W. Klein, Textual Criticism of the Old Testament—The Septuagint after Qumran (Guides to Biblical Scholarship, Old Testament Series 4; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 75; Deist, Text of the Old Testament, 244–45; idem, Witnesses to the Old Testament— Introducing Old Testament Textual Criticism (The Literature of the Old Testament 5; Pretoria: N. G. Kerkboekhandel Transvaal, 1988), 203; Barth and Steck, Exegese, 41. According to McCarter (Textual Criticism, 21) this is “the one great rule” for the evaluation of readings. 27 See especially B. Albrektson, “Difficilior Lectio Probabilior,” in idem, Text, Translation, Theology—Selected Essays on the Hebrew Bible (SOTSM; Farnham/Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2010), 73–86.

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cannot be effectively applied. Moreover, in many instances this rule has been applied so subjectively that it can hardly be called a textual rule. For what appears to be a linguistically or contextually difficult reading to one scholar may not necessarily be difficult to another. Furthermore, two readings may often be equally difficult and two others may be equally easy. 2. Lectio brevior. The logic behind the rule of the lectio brevior/ brevis potior (“the shorter reading is to be preferred”) is that ancient scribes were more prone to add details than to omit them.28 This rule seems perfectly logical, yet its raison d’être has often been criticized.29 3. Assimilation to parallel passages (harmonization). This criterion was formulated by Barthélemy as follows: Some variant forms of text arose because ancient editors, scribes, or translators, assimilated the text of one passage to that of a similar or proximate passage, usually with the apparent purpose of attaining greater consistency.30

This criterion can be taken as a subcategory of the lectio difficilior, for the assimilated reading is the “easier” one, and the other reading the more “difficult” one. Thus, when in two different texts some manuscripts of text a agree with text b, while other manuscripts of that text differ from b, the first mentioned group of manuscripts of a is suspected of having been assimilated to b. Assimilation to parallel passages is a valid rule for evaluation, but it pertains to a small number of instances. III. Conclusions The aforementioned rules represent the most frequently used criteria for textual evaluation. In sum, the following faults are found in the application of the rules. 28 Klein, Textual Criticism, 75: “Unless there is clear evidence for homoioteleuton or some other form of haplography, a shorter text is probably better. The people who copied manuscripts expanded the text in several ways: they made subjects and objects of sentences explicit whereas they were often only implicit in the original text; they added glosses or comments to explain difficult words or ideas; and when faced with alternate readings in two or more manuscripts they were copying, they would include both of them (conflation) in a serious attempt to preserve the original. While some scribes may have abbreviated from time to time, we believe that the interpretation of a shorter reading as abbreviation should only be chosen as a last resort.” 29 Tov, Textual Criticism, 278. 30 Barthélemy, Report, xi (“factor 5”).

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(a) The logic underlying certain rules is questionable (lectio difficilior, lectio brevior). (b) The application of abstract rules cannot make the evaluation of readings objective. The procedure remains subjective. (c) Textual rules can be applied to only a small fraction of the readings that need to be evaluated. (d) Textual rules are limited to internal evidence. No commonly accepted or valid external rules exist in the textual criticism of Hebrew Scripture. These criticisms pertain only to the application of textual rules and do not imply that such rules are incorrect or should be abandoned. The rules should be used sparingly and with full recognition of their subjective nature. Furthermore, it must be realized that even if there are objective aspects to the rules, the very selection of a particular rule remains subjective. For example, a given reading can be characterized as a lectio difficilior, a transcription error, or as an exegetical element; these evaluative options necessarily lead to different conclusions. This judgment leads to some general reflections on the nature of textual evaluation and the use of guidelines within that framework. The quintessence of textual evaluation is the selection from among the different transmitted readings of the one that is the most appropriate to its context. Within the process of this selection, the concept of the “context” is taken in a broad sense, as referring to the language, style, and content of both the immediate context and of the whole literary unit in which the reading is found. This procedure necessarily allows the scholar great liberty and, at the same time, burdens him or her with the responsibility of finding a way through a labyrinth of data and considerations. The upshot of this analysis, then, is that to a large extent textual evaluation cannot be bound by any fixed rules. It is an art in the full sense of the word, a faculty that can be developed, guided by intuition based on wide experience. Therefore, it is the choice of the contextually most appropriate reading that is the main task of the textual critic. This procedure is as subjective as can be. Common sense is the main guide, although abstract rules are sometimes also helpful.31 In modern

31 A. E. Housman, “The Application of Thought to Textual Criticism,” Proceedings of the Classical Association 18 (1922): 67–84.

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times, scholars are often reluctant to admit the subjective nature of textual evaluation and, as a consequence, an attempt is often made to create an artificial level of objectivity by the frequent application of abstract rules. For that reason, we often find such rules mentioned and exemplified in introductions. If these rules are of little help in textual praxis, textual theories are even less beneficial.32 In the textual comparison of readings, our main guides are common sense, experience, and knowledge. Or, in the words of McCarter,33 the textual critic needs training, experience, and a good master. This leaves the assumption of the original text as the only theory relevant to textual praxis, not so much as an aid in the decision-making process, but as a theory on which we need to take a stand.

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On the other hand, handbooks usually give an optimistic view of what can be achieved with the aid of the mentioned guidelines. For example, the influential book of Würthwein (The Text of the Old Testament, 76) notes: “There is no precisely defined method for Old Testament textual criticism. Further, it is indeed questionable whether one is possible, because the tradition is so varied, that an effective procedure for one problem would not be appropriate for another. But there are certain fundamental principles which are widely recognized, at least in theory if not in practice, and which are designed to keep textual criticism on a sound basis, avoiding the excesses of arbitrariness and subjectivity” (my italics). The same optimistic tone is heard in Steck, Old Testament Exegesis, 40–47 = Barth and Steck, Exegese, 37–44. This optimism is perpetuated in the influential introduction by Eissfeldt, who, when speaking about “the evaluation of the evidence for textual criticism,” simply refers to BH and Würthwein rather than discussing the issues himself: O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament, An Introduction, Including the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, and also the Works of Similar Type from Qumran: The History of the Formation of the Old Testament (trans. P. R. Ackroyd; Oxford: Blackwell, 1965), 721. O. Kaiser and W. G. Kümmel (Exegetical Method: A Student’s Handbook [rev. ed.; New York: Seabury Press, 1981], 5–11) describe the procedure of textual criticism and textual evaluation as if the student and scholar can practice this discipline well with the guidance of a handbook. 33 See n. 4 above.

SEA, STORM, TRAGEDY, AND ETHNOGENESIS: LIVING THE BLUES AND (RE)BUILDING COMMUNITY IN POST-KATRINA AMERICA AND EARLY ISRAEL* Hugh R. Page, Jr. Overview Three of the Hebrew Bible’s earliest purported compositions (Exodus 15, Psalm 29, and Judges 5) make allusions to the destructive capacity, creative potential, and cultural significance of sea and storm. Within this subset of Early Hebrew poetry, waters are a dominant trope through which the social dynamics associated with Israel’s emergence are expressed. In spite of the celebratory tone prevalent within each individual poem—a tenor reinforced by canonical framing strategies in the Pentateuch, Former Prophets, and Psalter—one detects, nonetheless, an implicit anxiety within these works over the persistence of the tragic in community formation and dissolution. A reading of this literary corpus aimed at excavating and assessing the significance of such evocative resonances promises to yield a more nuanced understanding of intellectual and emotional life in early Israel and greater appreciation for the role that modern crises play in shaping our reading of Scripture and other ancient texts. This essay will utilize selected post-Katrina Blues music and poetry in a sociopoetic re-engagement of three of the Bible’s most ancient texts and modern Africana life. This excavation will amount to a transgressive experimental reading in which artifacts whose genre and Sitz im

* It is a pleasure to contribute this essay to a Festschrift honoring James VanderKam: a colleague, mentor, and friend. He has been an invaluable conversation partner about issues related to the traditions of early Israel and a stalwart supporter of my scholarly endeavors for close to two decades. Earlier versions of this essay were presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Schools for Oriental Research (New Orleans, LA—November 2009) and in a Black History Month forum at DePauw University (17 February 2010). I benefitted immeasurably from comments made by attendees at each of those events. I wish to thank, in particular, Drs. Theodore Burgh (University of North Carolina, Wilmington) and Leslie James (DePauw University) for their helpful insights.

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Leben are in some way resonant are brought into creative conversation with one another. The aim of such an approach is to enable reasoned comparison through what might be termed a hermeneutics of empathy. Toward these ends, post-Katrina Blues art will be utilized as an interpretive lens. The resulting analysis aims to contribute to the emerging literature on contextual theology and biblical hermeneutics, as well as the ongoing conversation about early Hebrew poetry.1 Artists and the Post-Katrina Setting Many popular and performing artists expressed chagrin regarding our Federal Government’s responsiveness to the devastation wrought by Hurricane Katrina. Perhaps the most highly publicized was Kanye West’s outburst during a telethon on September 3, 2005, in which he asserted that “George Bush doesn’t care about Black People,” and that government officials had received “permission to go down and shoot” African-American residents.2 West’s comments, clearly injudicious and rendered in the heat of the moment, typify the strong emotions expressed by numerous artists in the storm’s wake. In genres as disparate as painting, rock, blues, and poetry, artists responded to and reflected upon Katrina and its aftermath. While his may well have been the most highly publicized voice of discontent, others—albeit less ballyhooed—were equally poignant. One of the more evocative was that of musician Ben Harper, in the song “Black Rain”: You left them swimming for their lives Down in New Orleans Can’t afford a gallon of gasoline With your useless degrees and contrary statistics This government business is straight up sadistic Now you don’t fight for us But expect us to die for you You have no sympathy for us But still i cry for you

1 For an overview of recent scholarship on contextual theology see Angie Pears, Doing Contextual Theology (London: Routledge, 2010). 2 See the Associated Press story on the incident, “Rapper Blasts Bush Over Katrina,” n.p. [cited 21 November, 2009]. Online: www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/09/03/ katrina/main814636.shtml.

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Now you may kill the revolutionary But the revolution you can never bury Don’t speak to us like we work for you Selling false hope like some new dope we’re addicted to I’m not a desperate man but these are desperate times at hand This generation is beyond your command And it won’t be long ‘til the people flood the streets To take you down One and all A black rain is gonna fall3

The abandonment of the Crescent City is woven into a selective litany of offenses against the African-American community, actions that will seed clouds of discontent until the “black rain” of revolution washes away an abusive regime. Katrina’s winds and surge are mere prelude to the social cataclysm emerging in their aftermath. Crisis and tragedy, in other words, become the foundation for the birth of a new social order. Needless to say, both West’s outburst and Harper’s searing yet melodic apocalyptic vision of the future received their share of criticism. One commentator went so far as to raise doubt as to Harper’s embrace of the Christian faith, given his prophetic prediction of popular uprising.4 However, scholars must be careful neither to ignore nor relegate to the margin twenty-first century rhetorics of dissent. To do so is to deprive our work of a key contextual lever that can be used in selfdiscovery and our efforts to interpret ancient literature—poems in particular. While paleographic, orthographic, lexicographic, syntactic, and structural interventions help one to reconstruct the history and social location of such texts as artifacts, a different set of tools is needed to comprehend the inner terrain that is their life’s blood, their animating force. One could even go so far as to suggest that peeling away the layers of any society’s cultures of artistic expression so as to gain access to this hidden landscape requires evocative methodologies

3

These lyrics are from http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/benharper/blackrain.html. This is the position of Mike Adams in a 2007 article entitled “Does Ben Harper Want a Race War?” n.p. [cited 21 November, 2009]. Online: http://townhall.com/ columnists/MikeAdams/2007/01/02/ does_ben_harper_want_a_race_war. 4

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that are resonant with the objects being studied.5 In the case of ancient poetry, written in and/or reflecting circumstances of crisis, recourse to poems derived from comparable settings can help one to live, read, and write with scholarly empathy. In other words, such an approach helps one become a poet able to resonate emotionally with other poets; or, in the words of Michelle Ailene True, a poet writing in the wake of Katrina: The true poet experiences the world in a way only another poet could possibly understand.6

The embrace of the reflexive is one of the foundations of the so-called new ethnography.7 The authorial voice has found something of an uneasy home within biblical studies, where there is considerable angst about it possibly promoting narcissistic self-indulgence.8 However, there is something to be said in favor of those charged with the duty of reading and making sense of the past—and its physical remains— being fully in tune with those factors shaping their identity and the

5 One can see traces of this kind of work in earlier scholarship on the Hebrew Bible. For example, Hermann Gunkel, in his now classic treatment on legends in Genesis, writes movingly of the poetic nature of this genre and the need for an evocative hermeneutic (Gunkel, The Legends of Genesis: The Biblical Saga and History [trans. W. H. Carruth; New York: Schocken Books, 1964], 10–11). He says: . . . legend is by nature poetry, its aim being to please, to elevate, to inspire, and to move. He who wishes to do justice to such narratives must have some aesthetic faculty, to catch in the telling of a story what it is and what it purports to be. And in so doing he is not expressing a hostile or even skeptical judgment, but simply studying lovingly the nature of his material. Certainly, one way to develop the capacity to which Gunkel refers is through the kind of lived experience that enables one to read and interpret with scholarly affection. 6 Michelle Ailene True, “The True Poet,” in In Katrina’s Wake: An Anthology of Inspirational Poetry (ed. Michelle Ailene True; Raleigh: N. C.: Lulu, 2005), 11. 7 H. L. Goodall provides a very succinct description of the conventions governing this approach to writing about culture in Writing the New Ethnography (Walnut Creek, Calif.: Alta Mira, 2000), 7–14. 8 Interesting is the balance sought by William Dever in his recent treatment of folk religion in Israel. Although critical of postmodernism and certain manifestations of feminism, he nonetheless situates himself as a scholar in his “Introduction” and openly acknowledges the shortcomings of Eurocentric scholarship; see his Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), x–xv, 311–12.

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worldview out of which their endeavors grow. After all, where we read influences how we read.9 Therefore, there is something quite salutary in engaging—at the very least—part of the corpus of post-Katrina poetry as a prelude to re-reading, re-thinking, and re-interpreting those biblical poems purported to come from Israel’s formative period. Leaving aside for the time being the contentious issue of whether philological data support their claim to antiquity, my focus will instead be on identifying selected tropes within a sampling of post-Katrina poetry written in the period between 2005 and 2009 and their use as interpretive lenses through which to view the earliest stratum of Hebrew poetry. Those poems selected are located in anthologies that have Katrina as their focus. A conscious effort has been made to highlight those pieces in which the storm serves as imaginary landscape for their authors, the communities they represent, and the audiences they seek to address. I have focused on five non-randomly selected works: Katrina: Poetry in Two Distinct Voices by C. C. J. Spencer; In Katrina’s Wake: An Anthology of Inspirational Poetry, a compilation edited by Michelle Ailene True; When Will the Sky Fall?: Hurricane Katrina, A Documentary in Poetry by Brad Bechler; Post-Katrina Blues by Mac McKinney; and Hurricane Blues: Poems about Katrina and Rita, edited by Philip C. Kolin and Susan Swartwout.10 In reading them I had one question in mind: How do these poets come to terms with Katrina as cataclysmic force and its role in shaping social life? My goal was to see if the answers given might provide critical and contextual insights that would contribute to a more nuanced reading of the earliest stratum of Hebrew poetry.

9 See, for example, the account of the debate between John Collins and Burke Long about the legacy of William F. Albright and his scholarly offspring in Burke Long, Planting and Reaping Albright: Politics, Ideology, and Interpreting the Bible (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997), 3–6. 10 Cee Cee Jay Spencer, Katrina: Poetry in Two Distinct Voices (Lincoln, Nebr.: iUniverse, 2007); True, In Katrina’s Wake; Bechler, When Will the Sky Fall? Hurricane Katrina, A Documentary in Poetry (Baltimore: PublishAmerica, 2009); McKinney, Post-Katrina Blues (Onancock, Va.: San Francisco Bay Press, 2009); Kolin and Swartwout, eds., Hurricane Blues: Poems about Katrina and Rita (Cape Girardeau, Mo.: Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2006).

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Within the aforementioned anthologies, Katrina is, for the most part, center stage. Its presence is often quite pronounced. On occasion it is the background for musings about nature, family, or social change. Within Spencer’s collection of poems in two voices, Katrina is an active force that: generates diaspora; makes known the governing deity of the cosmos; creates community; elicits awe; and reveals the fate commonly shared by humanity and nature itself. One piece, “The Gathering,” gives voice to the pain elicited by the latter: Strangers searching, calling, wondering, crying Animals stranded, abandoned, wounded, dead Seagulls squawking, walking, not able to fly against the winds and rains Searching for cover, searching for quiet, searching for peace

True’s anthology contains poems for which both the 2004 Tsunami in the Indian Ocean and Katrina were sources of inspiration. Several of its authors call attention to realia arising from the 2005 hurricane such as: amnesia and selective memory; hyper-vigilance; courage; consolation; recognition of the horror, immediacy, and tactile realities of death; the strengthening and dissolution of social bonds; comparisons between the fight against natural cataclysms and war; the development of new poetics and understandings of both poetry and the vocational parameters for poets; forgiveness; renewed appreciation of the natural world; the re-mythologization of nature; heightened awareness of evil; and profound feelings of isolation.11 Bechler’s poetic documentary touches on the following as flowing out of the Katrina experience: retrospective thinking about the Africana experience in the Americas; the inscription of new sacral boundaries; invisibility; reconnection to the Middle Passage (the maafa), plantation life, and dancing in Congo Square; resignation; recognition of the social maelstrom ongoing in American life; refugee status; foreboding and dread; social disjunction; the forgotten and anonymous dead; darkness as a living trope; the prevalence of fear; survivor’s guilt; the crisis of Katrina representation; the commodification of tragedy; the ambiguities in/of both catastrophe and recovery; and the uneasy

11 True, In Katrina’s Wake, 2–4, 11–12, 14, 31, 36, 75–76, 82, 88, 94, 98–100, 114– 15, 128.

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calm that exists in the midst of inequitably distributed prosperity.12 Concerning the latter, he offers biting commentary in the concluding lines of one piece entitled “Three Years Later”: Miles from sun drenched earth, swollen levees, and remnants of an angry storm, thoughts of melancholy faces, distended bellies, crumbling attics, once refuge to mothers and their brood, and fading trumpet sounds, life swarms about itself, and the privileged ones who sip gingerly on their Cappucinos’ and Lattes celebrate, privately at their being on higher ground. In contrast, somewhere in the Easy city, the hollowed sound of a drum makes its way through salty air—quiet, ominous, and without direction. At this precise moment, those on higher ground renew their partnership with the brew the Barista has just prepared. And, then a funny thing happens: a Spanish tune belts out of the aging Bose Speakers overhead: La Vida Pasa (Life Goes On). The private smile I managed was mine to keep, my secret, my offering.13

McKinney points to several haunting byproducts of Katrina’s rage. These include: FEMA trailers; remnants of homes; devastation in the Lower Ninth Ward; home reclamation by activists in defiance of demolition orders; real estate speculation; a new symbolic/esoteric language—in the form of the rescuer’s “X”; emigrants and immigrants; storm-induced urban surrealism; a (relatively) pristine French Quarter; disaster tourism; new commercial pirates inheriting the mantle of Jean LaFitte; predatory capitalists; and a new calendar cipher—8/29/2005.14 Finally, in the collection Hurricane Blues, we see, among other things, a re-engagement of biblical figures such as Noah, biblical allusions to the flood, and mention of biblical institutions such as that of prophecy. We also see nature anthropomorphized. Natural and social byproducts of Katrina are also highlighted. These byproducts include: the “storm surge”; silence in the aftermath of horror; compassion fatigue (for those outside of harm’s way); human snakes— upright serpents that capitalize on opportunities generated by crisis; renewed discourse about race in America; anger; and charity—viewed 12 Bechler, When Will the Sky Fall?, 14–17, 22, 36, 42–43, 52–53, 62, 67, 111, 120, 123–24, 128, 131, 135. 13 Ibid., 137. 14 McKinney, Post-Katrina Blues, 3, 12, 24–25, 37–38, 46, 48, 51, 56–57, 127, 129, and back cover.

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as investment against future disaster.15 The issue of race receives poignant treatment by Stanley Banks in a piece entitled “After Katrina: The Bodies are Rising” For him, the storm has brought old issues to the surface: Unjust death can never be contained in a crypt. Bodies rising tend to expose the truth about the remains of Jim Crow days. Atrocities are historic in Louisiana. Ghosts of old Creoles are again trying to speak: “Where have y’all been?” “Why did y’all leave us?” We are witnessing the sins of the last century as mulattoes, quadroons, and octoroons rise. Anti-Civil Rights Dixiecrats never wanted anyone to bother with the horrors that lie just under the surface. How many times will America allow the ugly issue of skin color to hemorrhage in our hearts.16

These poems point to many of those things one would expect to see in the aftermath of natural disaster: despair, social disruption, endurance, the apparent absence of a providential divine force, and rebirth. One also finds painful musings on elements particular to the experience of the poor and dispossessed in American life—including concerns about loss of home and livelihood; forced relocation; and fears about predation in the process of urban and rural reconstruction. Moreover, some of the vexing and heretofore unresolved problems common to Africana life in North America also receive attention. These include feelings of abandonment, disenfranchisement due to race, and coming to grips with the legacy of the slave trade and its impact on life in New Orleans and elsewhere in the United States. Taken together, these poems suggest that Katrina stripped away part

15 Kolin and Swartwout, Hurricane Blues, 23, 28–29, 35–36, 45, 103, 123, 137, 156, 159–60, 168. 16 Ibid., 156.

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of the patina used to conceal some of our most painful collective memories. They ennoble the strong emotions that frequently accompany truth-telling and reporting devoid of “spin.” They remind us that our responses to natural disasters often reveal related anxieties we have about pre-existing, ongoing, and projected upheavals in political and social arenas. Hurricanes, floods, diasporas—forced, voluntary, or imagined—and upheavals in government: all are storms to be endured, tempests that fuel the human poetic impulse. Early Hebrew Poems in Light of Post-Katrina Poetics The late David Noel Freedman identified Exodus 15, Psalm 29, and Judges 5 as poems emerging from a twelfth-century b.c.e. setting in which the theological underpinnings for a new faith were established.17 He classified it as the era of “Militant Mosaic Yahwism.”18 The first is a celebratory hymn memorializing the march of an “ethnically diverse assemblage” (Exod 12:38) from slavery to freedom.19 That escape included a miraculous rescue at the Reed Sea when an Egyptian military contingent is consigned to a watery grave by the action of a providential Divine Liberator (Exod 15:1, 9–10). The second is a poetic retrospective placed on the lips of the prophetess/mother Deborah (Judg 4:4; 5:7) describing some of the highs and lows of the social aggregates constitutive of the early Israelite confederation. The language of myth is deftly interwoven with that of epic in painting a portrait of a world in which the God of Israel marches to war (Judg 5:4), monarchs are armed for conflict (5:19), two tribes—Dan and Asher—decline the call to join the tribal militia and remain in the safety of a coastal enclave (5:17), and the wife of a blacksmith fells the community’s archenemy with a hammer and tent peg (5:26). The third is a poem celebrating the storm as manifestation of Yahweh’s voice and reinforcing his supremacy over the flood (Ps 29:10)—a powerful 17 See the following essays of David Noel Freedman in his self-edited volume, Pottery, Poetry, and Prophecy: Collected Essays on Hebrew Poetry (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1980): “Divine Names and Titles in Early Hebrew Poetry,” 78, 118–19; “Early Israelite History in the Light of Early Israelite Poetry,” 139, 160–66; “Early Israelite Poetry and Historical Reconstructions,” 176–78. 18 “Divine Names,” 78. 19 My translation of the Hebrew phrase assumes, in agreement with Freedman (“Early Israelite History,” 146), that the entirety of the community is a non-homogeneous blend of disparate peoples.

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symbol of chaos and disorder subdued. That this poem appropriates Baal imagery has long been beyond doubt.20 Reading such a corpus in light of gleanings from post-Katrina poems will not help to resolve existing debates about the age of the poems, the historical veracity of the allusions contained therein, or the origins of early Israel.21 It does, however, offer a set of interesting questions with which to interrogate them—questions that promise to shed light on the Zeitgeist within which they may have taken shape. For example, should one read more into the imagery of storm and sea than has heretofore been the case? Is the calamity that befalls the Egyptian army at the sea more than a simple reflex of the Baal Myth? Might it refer to a set of complex processes by which Egyptian political hegemony is subdued by social dynamics at home and elsewhere within its imperial holdings? Could Yahweh’s sitting upon “the flood” in Ps 29:10 be an allusion to the stifling of competing alliances by a single family or other entity as the messy and asymmetrical particulars of power sharing were negotiated in early Israel? As for Judges 5, embedded as it is within a narrative framework that celebrates boundary transgression as survival strategy, could it be the de jure charter for a community in which those who work with metal (e.g., Heber the Kenite—Judg 5:24), improvised weapons (e.g., Jael—Judg 5:24–27) or words (e.g., Deborah and Barak—Judg 5:1) ensure that social chaos— in this instance represented by unchecked centralized authority in any form—is held at bay? If such were the case, the refrain “in those days, Israel was without a king” (Judg 17:6; 18:1; 19:1; 20:27; 21:5) might have been an intentionally “indecent” anti-monarchic affirmation utilized by redactors to justify folding the Song of Deborah, as well as 20 Initial credit for the identification of such imagery in this psalm belongs to H. L. Ginsberg, “A Phoenician Hymn in the Psalter,” in Atti del XIX Congresso Internazionale degli Orientalisti (1935). Though not readily accessible, Freedman and Hyland (1973: 1 and footnote 1) offer a brief synopsis of that article’s major points and subsequent publication history. 21 Though dated, there is much still to commend the pioneering efforts of Frank Moore Cross and David Noel Freedman (Early Hebrew Orthography [AOS 36; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1952]; Studies in Ancient Yahwistic Poetry [2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997]), as well as that of David A. Robertson (Linguistic Evidence in Dating Early Hebrew Poetry [SBLDS 3; Missoula: Scholars, 1972]), on the linguistic features of early Hebrew poetry. With regard to Israelite origins and the relationship between the archeological record and biblical sources, William G. Dever’s measured conclusions represent a reasonable starting point for future inquiry (Who Were the early Israelites and Where did They Come From? [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003], 204–208, 223–41).

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other archaic poems and “fragments,”22 into the Pentateuch, Prophets, and Writings—a strategy aimed at challenging and problematizing other voices (e.g., those of Priestly and Deuteronomistic tradents) that are predominant within the canon.23 Closing Thoughts The taproot of poetry is found in the ups and downs, the rhythms and irregularities of daily life. Major crises that disrupt or punctuate the normalcy of the everyday—i.e., storms and the birth of new coalitions (whether actual or imagined)—elicit poems that probe the length and breadth of experience common to all of humankind and wrestle with the particular dilemmas faced by individuals and groups whose lives are especially vulnerable. Those who produce such works derive their inspiration, at least in part, from the crises to which they seek to respond. Their reminiscences can, and often do, capture the imaginations of others. On occasion they, or their works, are preserved and achieve renown. Such was the case with those poems that make up Israel’s earliest poetic corpus. The issue yet to be resolved is whether the inspired musings of those who lived through—and in the wake of—Katrina will be afforded comparable status. Certainly, they deserve to be. Perhaps by bringing them into conversation with biblical and other forms of sacred literature generated in crisis, we can ensure that they will continue to be heard, and that our appropriations of texts that shape our common life as people of faith and citizens of an emerging global cosmopolis honor the concerns they raise.

22 The smaller pieces identified by Freedman are: Exod 17:16; Num 6:24–26; 10:35– 36; 12:6–8; 21:17–18, 27–30; Deut 34:7b; Josh 10:12–13 (“Early Israelite Poetry,” 169 n. 6). 23 The concept of “indecent theology” is a relatively new one that Angie Pears situates within the larger universe of liberation theologies (Doing Contextual Theology [London: Routledge, 2010], 123–31). Taking the lead from its intellectual architect, the late Marcella Althaus-Reid, and her critique of patriarchy and the “mixture of clericalism, militarism, and the authoritarianism of decency” (Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender, and Politics [London: Routledge, 2000], 1) in Argentina and other Latin American contexts, I propose that the presence of Exodus 15, Psalm 29, and Judges 5 raises issues about power, leadership, personhood, and established orthodoxies—both political and theological—that may have been construed as “indecent” when measured against Deuteronomistic or Priestly standards of normalcy.

CAIN’S LEGACY: THE CITY AND JUSTICE IN THE BOOK OF GENESIS* Sejin (Sam) Park According to the book of Genesis, the city has dubious, all too human origins. Not unlike Rome, the city is founded in the aftermath of a fratricide in which Cain kills his brother Abel (Gen 4:8); the murderous sibling then either goes off and founds a city and names it after his son Enoch, or, more likely, fathers a son (namely Enoch), who builds the first city (Gen 4:17).1 With such an unpromising beginning, it does not come as a surprise to discover that the book of Genesis takes a strictly negative stance towards the city.2 This study will examine why this is so. It will argue that in the book of Genesis there is an implicit critique of the city as a fundamentally unjust institution without the covenant and the stipulations of the law to govern life within it.3 In the absence of the covenant, any human organization or institution

* I would like to take this opportunity to offer my sincerest congratulations to Professor VanderKam on his 65th birthday. 1 Many scholars challenge the traditional reading that Cain was the builder of the first city. In their view, the text as we have it is corrupt and should be read as indicating that Enoch was the first builder and named the city after his son Irad. See the discussion in the following commentaries: Claus Westermann, Genesis: A Commentary (trans. John J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984), 326–27; Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis (trans. Israel Abrahams; 2 vols.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961), 1:229–30; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis (2 vols.; WBC; Dallas: Word, 1987, 1994), 111; see also the discussion by Patrick D. Miller, “Eridu, Dunnu, and Babel: A Study in Comparative Mythology,” in Israelite Religion and Biblical Theology: Collected Essays (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 130–31. This is certainly an attractive reading, since it does smooth out some peculiarities in the text. For one thing, Cain’s curse was to wander and be a fugitive (Gen 4:12–16), which does not cohere well with his founding a city. Also, as many have noted, right up until the last phrase of Gen 4:17 (‫)בנו חנוך‬, one would naturally presume that the builder of the city was Enoch, not Cain. Furthermore, the word “city” (‫ )עיר‬makes best sense as having been based on the name of Enoch’s son, Irad (‫)עירד‬, which is very similar. 2 As should be immediately clear, this study is primarily literary-theological rather than historical-archaeological. For a historical survey of the city in ancient Israel, see Volkmar Fritz, The City in Ancient Israel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). 3 See the interesting philosophical reading of Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (New York: Free Press, 2003), 144–48, 217–43. One of his main arguments is that Genesis is a prelude to the law in the sense that it shows human beings why the law is necessary (p. 9).

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(especially the city) larger than the family unit, which is governed by a single patriarch, will inevitably be a locus of injustice and a source of conflict.4 While much of this study will focus on the city in the book of Genesis, it is important to note at the outset that this does not mean that the critique is necessarily limited to that of urban life as such. The city comes into disrepute in the book of Genesis because it epitomizes human civilization; that is, civilization is construed as a shared existence of a large number of human beings who, in the book of Genesis at least, cannot be guided by divine law since it simply has not been given yet. There are, of course, other forms of human organization (e.g., nomadic tribes that are made up of multiple family units) that also require a shared understanding of justice in order to function properly, but consideration of these is not included. It is precisely the inclination of human beings to organize themselves into larger groups that is at issue here; without the covenant and the law, such large human institutions must inevitably result in injustice and conflict. Thus, the traditional view that the book of Genesis reflects a dichotomy between the farmer/city-dweller and the shepherd/nomad, and that the nomadic life is idealized in contradistinction to city life, is not in view here.5

The family unit in question would be the ‫“( בית אב‬the house of the father”). On family terminology in the Hebrew Bible, see Daniel I. Block, “Marriage and Family in Ancient Israel,” in Marriage and Family in the Biblical World (ed. Ken M. Campbell; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 33–102, esp. 35–40; human relationships which get any larger than this typically lead to conflict of some kind in the book of Genesis. 5 For a useful review of traditional exegesis of the key narratives in Genesis 1–11, see Cameron Wybrow, “The Significance of the City in Genesis 1–11,” Interpretation 26 (1998): 1–20, esp. 1–9. In the second part of the article, Wybrow takes the traditional view to task, vigorously defending the actions and motivations of Cain, Nimrod, and the people at Babel, though not always convincingly. See also, James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998), 145–70, 227–42. Kass (The Beginning of Wisdom, 129–32) makes too much of this dichotomy, as does Gerhard Wallis in “Die Stadt in den Überlieferungen der Genesis,” ZAW 78 (1966): 133–48. At the same time, it is important not to deny a connection between the fact that Cain is a farmer and that various descendants of his establish the first city and introduce innovations that are important to the development of human civilization, nor to deny that at some level all of this reflects a bit of nostalgia on the part of the biblical authors for their roots in a nomadic existence. 4

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That the book of Genesis takes a negative stance towards the city seems certain.6 Not only is there the Cain narrative and the story of the tower of Babel, but at just about every point in the narrative where a city comes into view in anything more than a passing reference, bad things happen, leaving the reader with the distinct impression that cities, at least in the book of Genesis, are bad places, or at the very least, good places to avoid. The following essay provides a brief survey of the various relevant texts, highlighting the salient features that, taken together, demonstrate that the city is viewed in a highly negative light in the book of Genesis. I. The City as a Locus of Injustice in the Book of Genesis The Cain Narrative The first instance of the Hebrew word for “city” (‫ )עיר‬is found in Genesis 4:17. In all, this word is found forty-eight times in forty-one verses in the book of Genesis.7 At its most basic, it appears to refer to a fixed settlement which is rendered inaccessible to assailants by a wall and/or other defense works. This usage of the term “city” makes no distinction as to size, and includes within its scope a simple fortified enclosure which constituted a refuge for rural inhabitants in time of emergencies, as well as the larger city with more elaborate defense works.8

The city appears to be primarily a place of refuge from enemies. In context, this is fitting. The first murderer, Cain, was in fear of his life and lived a nomadic existence in stark contrast to his original occupation as a farmer, fleeing those who might take vengeance on him; his son, Enoch, no doubt wishing to avoid a life of wandering, would

6 The fact that later in the Bible the city of Jerusalem is at times idealized as Zion, the home of Yahweh and his cult, is irrelevant in that this is possible only as one of the consequences of the ratification of the covenant and the giving of the law. It is precisely the city in the absence of covenant and Torah that is at issue, and this situation pertains only to the book of Genesis and the first half of Exodus. 7 This is out of a total of 1092 times in the entire Hebrew Bible. 8 Frank S. Frick, The City in Ancient Israel (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 30. See also, E. Otto, “‫עיר‬,” TDOT, 11:51–67, esp. 54–55. A. R. Hulst (“‫עיר‬,” TLOT, 2:880–83) qualifies the general definition of a fortified settlement with the caveat that it does not always fit with what is known through archaeological excavations in the Near East.

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build a fortified city so that he would have no need to fear anyone as his father did. A key aspect of this critique of the city is implicit rather than explicit. Human civilization, of which the city is the embodiment par excellence, is depicted as being an innovation of a murderer and his descendants. Since Cain was originally a farmer, it is appropriate that the innovation of the city comes through him in the form of his son Enoch’s founding of the first city.9 Not only is Cain’s son Enoch the founder of the first city, but one of his descendants, Lamech, fathers three sons who introduce advances important to the development of human civilization.10 Through his wife Adah he fathers Jabal, who is the first to live in tents and keep livestock, and Jubal who is the first to play musical instruments, namely the lyre and pipe. Through his wife Zillah, Lamech fathers Tubal-cain, who is the first to forge tools made of bronze and iron. The innovations of the sons of Adah comfortably fit a nomadic existence (tents, herds, and music), while the innovation of the son of Zillah (metalworking) paves the way for a more settled existence.11 This is an indication that a simple dichotomy or conflict between nomadism and sedentary (i.e., city) life is not a fundamental issue in the book of Genesis, but at most a subsidiary one.12 As Sarna puts it:

9 The historical connection between agriculture and the first human civilizations is by now well established. Farming implies a sedentary existence, which means one cannot simply flee from danger like a nomad can. Homes, farmland, produce must all be protected. Thus walled cities become a necessity. Whether this fact is being highlighted in this particular text is perhaps debatable, but given the list of innovations introduced in the near context (4:19–22), it is not an unreasonable link to make here. 10 The names of all three sons of Lamech appear to be a derivation of the word ‫יבול‬ (“produce”). See Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, 1:234–35. 11 Nahum M. Sarna (Genesis [The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989]), who argues that the three sons of Lamech produce innovations which are the three pillars of seminomadic culture (p. 31), also notes that metalworking “constitute[s] a revolutionary advance in the progress of civilization, allowing the development of new and more efficient tools and weapons” (p. 38). 12 Kass (The Beginning of Wisdom, 129–32, 144–50) sometimes tries too hard to fit his reading of the text into his philosophical framework. This is particularly evident in his analysis of the occupational differences between Cain (farmer) and Abel (shepherd). While there must be something to the fact that Cain was a farmer and that his son founds the first city (Kass reads Cain as the founder of the city), he makes too much of the fact that farming is a sedentary lifestyle that necessarily leads to building of cities. For one thing, Cain was not the first farmer, Adam was (Gen 2:5, 15, 18; 3:17–19). Second, Cain’s descendants created innovations that presuppose a nomadic lifestyle.

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This narrative has often been interpreted as a reflection of the traditional conflict between the farmer and the nomad, and its supposed bias in favor of the latter is seen as representing a nomadic ideal in Israel. This is unlikely. The evidence for such an ideal in biblical literature is extremely flimsy. Further, there is not the slightest suggestion in the text of any comparative evaluation of the vocations of Cain and Abel, nor is there the slightest disparagement of the tiller of the soil. On the contrary, agriculture is regarded as the original occupation of man in the Garden of Eden as well as outside it. The sentence upon Cain is restricted to him alone; his sons are not made into vagrants or stigmatized in any way. Finally, the three pillars of seminomadic culture, as set forth in verses 20–22, are actually said to have originated with the descendants of Cain.13

Rather, the issue is how human beings will live together in a community. The city may represent the pinnacle of human community, but even the nomadic lifestyle did not preclude organization into large tribes or even supra-tribal organizations.14 All of these innovations are important contributions to human civilization, whether or not they are specifically associated with the city itself. This emphasis on the human origins of civilization is in stark contrast to the view of the city’s origins in the ancient Near East. The importance of the city in Mesopotamian mythology is unmistakable. In texts such as the Enuma Elish, the Eridu Genesis, and the Theogony of Dunnu, the gods are intimately associated with the founding of cities.15 In the Enuma Elish, upon defeating Tiamat and providing the blueprint for the creation of human beings to ease their workload, the gods build the city of Babylon and its temple, Esagil, in honor of Marduk.16 In the Theogony of Dunnu, there is a tale of incest, patricide, and matricide among the descendants of the god Harab who founded the city Dunnu. His descendants, also gods, take turns killing each other off, marrying a close relative, and taking rule of the city. In the Eridu Genesis, the goddess Nintur guides human beings from a nomadic existence to life in cities, provides for their welfare, and institutes kingship. These myths provide a consistent picture of

13

Sarna, Genesis, 31. See the discussion of nomadic tribes in Ernst Axel Knauf, “Bedouin and Bedouin States,” ABD 1:634–38; idem, “Ishmaelites,” ABD 3:513–20. 15 See the discussion in Miller, “Eridu, Dunnu, and Babel,” 128–30. 16 Enuma Elish, tablet VI, lines 48–73. 14

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the importance of the city in Mesopotamian thought.17 The city was a divine blessing, founded and cared for by the gods, and governed by rulers who were often depicted as divine figures themselves. An important parallel to the innovations introduced by Cain’s descendants can serve to further highlight this difference in perspective. Eusebius quotes Philo of Byblos (following Sanchuniathon) who narrates the discovery of the necessities of human civilization (food, fire, clothing, and the like).18 Philo, who is a euhemerist, attributes these innovations to human beings. As Albert Baumgarten notes, however, [t]he key to understanding these fragments . . . is provided by the discussion of Chousor. Philo makes Chousor and his brother(s) humans, the inventors of iron-working and other crafts, while the Ugaritic epics have taught us that Chousor was the craftsman god. Philo, in his characteristically Euhemeristic fashion, has turned a god into a mortal and the sphere of divine activity into the mortal’s invention. This analysis suggests that all the inventors and inventions in this section would be described as gods and their functions by a non-Euhemerist.19

Thus, in Phoenician religion, the innovation of metalworking and the other aspects of human civilization are all gifts from the gods. This is in clear contrast to the biblical text which attributes these inventions to human beings. The human origins of human civilization are consistently indicated throughout the text of Genesis. Nimrod and Babel The dubious nature of the city is highlighted in the stories of Nimrod and the tower of Babel. In Gen 10:8–12 there is the account, embedded in a genealogy, of the founding of the first empire by Nimrod, who is given the epithet ‫“( גבר ציד‬mighty hunter”). The beginning of his kingdom is Babel in the land of Shinar. This empire is presumably

17 E. Otto (“‫עיר‬,” TDOT 11:53) notes that in Sumerian and Akkadian hymns, cities such as Kish, Babylon, Nippur, Arba’il, and Ashur are extolled and come close to being deified. In the one possible example of a negative view of the city (Erra and Ishim, tablet I, lines 46–60) that Otto cites, it appears that it is not so much a critique against the city per se, but rather an exhortation to the warrior Erra to go out to the battlefield himself, rather than hide from battle in the city. 18 See Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica, 1.9–10 for the relevant portion of text. 19 Albert I. Baumgarten, The Phoenician History of Philo of Byblos: A Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 140. On the god Chousor, see D. Pardee, “Koshar ‫כשר‬,” in DDD, 490–91.

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founded by conquest. It is apparently an attempt to reverse the spreading out of the descendants of Noah (Gen 10:32). Possibly as a result of Nimrod’s actions, Babel is depicted as a universal city, in which all the inhabitants are united. In the wake of the flood, it is certainly understandable that the people would want to create a tower that could reach into the heavens. Such a tower would serve as a fine refuge in the event of another flood, God’s promises to the contrary notwithstanding. It turns out, however, that their motives are ultimately rooted in pride and an aversion to being scattered over the surface of the earth (Gen 11:4). This universal city represents some sort of threat to the divine order. Such a large group of people who are not guided by justice and righteousness are capable of anything, including monstrous injustice and impiety. At the least, such a universal city would need to be governed by a centralized bureaucratic state such as is depicted in Exod 1–2 and 1 Kings 9 and 12, which are notable for their oppressive nature.20 Such a huge building project as this tower represents certainly recalls those narrative contexts. At any rate, it is clear that God does not want them to build upward, but to spread outward, and he thus confounds the people’s languages (Gen 11:6–8) so that they are dispersed as originally intended (Gen 1:28). The story certainly explains the proliferation of various languages and population groups throughout the earth, but it also scatters them into smaller kinship-based groups, making it possible for the narrative to shift focus onto one particular patriarch and his dependents who will generally live a life of isolation, with only occasional contacts with outside groups. In a world without knowledge or understanding of a divine standard of justice, a life of isolation seems to be the best fit. The Patriarchal Narratives From the universal city, there is an abrupt transition to a focus on one particular patriarch and his family. From this point on, the implicit critique of the city is rather muted but nonetheless discernible. With only a few minor exceptions, whenever a patriarch comes near a city in the book of Genesis, conflict and injustice ensue.21

20 In this regard, it is perhaps as a result of this that slavery first appears in the narrative world (Gen 12:16; note that it is only a future prediction in Gen 9:25–27). 21 On patriarchs and their problems with cities, see Wallis, “Die Stadt,” 144–46.

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Lot in Sodom and Gomorrah. After the conflict between Abram’s and Lot’s herders, Lot chooses to settle in Sodom (Gen 13:12), which is, the reader is immediately informed, a wicked place (Gen 13:13). This city, along with Gomorrah, is eventually destroyed because of its abhorrent treatment of strangers (Genesis 18–19). The Rape of Dinah at Shechem. In Gen 33:18–34:31, Jacob settles near Shechem and his daughter pays the price. Even after the slaughter of all the inhabitants, Jacob is still fearful that his neighbours will take vengeance on him (Gen 34:30), which turns out to be unfounded (Gen 35:5). Joseph in Egypt. On the advice of Joseph, and subsequently under his direction, all the food from the seven good years is stored in Egyptian cities (Gen 41:35, 48). Joseph uses this opportunity, however, to enslave all the Egyptians (Gen 47:13–26), during the course of which he removes all of them to the cities (Gen 47:21), thereby storing them up as commodities, just like he previously did with grain. This foreshadows the enslavement of the Israelites in the generations following Joseph’s death (Exodus 1).22 Joseph and his brothers in Egypt. Joseph falsely imprisons his brother Benjamin just outside the city (Gen 44:4) in order to test his brothers, in complete disregard to his father’s feelings. It demonstrates the dangers that lurk for the patriarchs and their families when they stray near large concentrations of people.23

22 Joseph creates a situation where the Pharaoh following Joseph’s death sees that all his own people are his slaves but the increasingly numerous Israelites are not. Is it any wonder that he enslaves the Israelites when his own people, the Egyptians, are his slaves? Thus, the seed of the Israelites’ own slavery is planted by Joseph himself. On the Joseph narrative see Yiu-Wing Fung, Victim and Victimizer: Joseph’s Interpretation of His Destiny (JSOTSup 308; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000); Ron Pirson, The Lord of the Dreams: A Semantic and Literary Analysis of Genesis 37–50 (JSOTSup 355; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002); Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom, 550–659. 23 There are several passing references to cities in the narrative: editorial type insertions describing the origins of the cities of Beersheba (Gen 26:33) and Bethel (Gen 28:19), and cities associated with the descendants of Esau (36:32, 35, 39). This leaves two narratives: Abraham’s purchase of a burial plot from the Hittites which occurs at the gates of the city (Gen 23:10, 18), and Abraham’s servant’s visit to the city of Nahor to find Isaac a wife (24:10–13) in which conflict is avoided in the context of a city. Nonetheless, in both cases, it is clear that these encounters are delicate matters that require deft diplomacy.

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II. The Necessity of Covenant and Law for Human Civilization In addition to these episodes where the word ‫“( עיר‬city”) explicitly appears, there are also narratives where the patriarchs visit kingdoms. Such is the case in the episodes where the patriarch’s wives are compromised: Abram and Sarai in Egypt (Gen 12:10–20), Abraham and Sarah in Gerar (Genesis 20), and Isaac and Rebekah in Gerar (Genesis 26). Since Egypt is ruled by a Pharaoh and Gerar by a king named Abimelech, we may presume that the reader is to understand that the patriarchs were visiting cities in each instance, even if the precise terminology is not used. In each of these stories, the patriarch feels threatened by his wife’s beauty and passes his wife off as his sister, thereby creating a situation where the king can take them into his harem. The problems that the patriarchs have when they come into contact with people outside of the immediate family go to the heart of this implicit critique of cities in particular, and human civilization in general in the book of Genesis. The book of Genesis demonstrates above all that when disparate groups of people come into contact with each other, injustice and conflict are an ever present possibility.24 This has been true right from the beginning. Cain’s fratricide shows that conflict even among immediate family members can escalate to murder. Eventually, this fratricidal violence extends to all the inhabitants of the earth in the time of Noah (Gen 6:5–13). The covenant God makes with Noah proves unable to change things appreciably for the better (Gen 8:20–9:17; cf. 6:18), as is shown in the account of Nimrod’s empire and the story of the tower of Babel.25 Since a universal covenant such as the one with Noah does not work, God turns to an individual patriarch and his family to institute justice and righteousness.26 In the book of Genesis, it is the family, the ‫“( בית אב‬the father’s house”) which is the basic political unit that has the best potential to avoid at least conflict, if not always injustice.27 That this is so can be 24 Compare this with Aristotle’s comments on justice and the city or community in Politics, book 1, chapter 2 and the Nicomachean Ethics, book 5, chapter 1. 25 Cf. also the “fall” of Noah in Gen 9:18–27 which exhibits several parallels to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. 26 See Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom, 239–42. 27 Cain is an exception, of course. But since there was no explicit law against murder, Cain is spared from the punishment of death stipulated for murder in the Noahic covenant (Gen 9:5–6), which comes later.

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best illustrated in the story of Jacob stealing his father’s blessing from Esau upon the urging and aid of his mother Rebekah (Genesis 27). Upon the successful subterfuge, Esau vows to kill Jacob, but, crucially, he decides to wait until he himself is a patriarch in his own right; that is, he decides to wait until his father Isaac is dead (Gen 27:41). While Esau is under the authority of his father, he feels constrained by tradition or consideration for his father or some such, to avoid direct conflict with Jacob. The patriarchal family, at least as viewed from this limited perspective, is generally unproblematic as a basis for a stable society. The real problem comes when sons become patriarchs in their own right.28 It is in such circumstances that the potential for fratricidal conflict escalates. The reason for this is related to the fact that disputes within a household can be resolved by the authority of the patriarch who is the head of the family. His word is law, as far as that family goes. The authority of a patriarch is rarely if ever challenged.29 Conflicts between two patriarchs, however, even those who are brothers, are fundamentally irresolvable unless there is some shared basis upon which the two patriarchs agree to conduct themselves. In other words, one must know what justice and righteousness are before they can be practiced. Furthermore, there must be a shared commitment in place to follow the dictates of justice and righteousness. The Pentateuch taken as a whole shows that this shared basis must be the covenant ratified at Sinai and its attendant stipulations.30 In the patriarchal narratives, there are at least two examples of conflict between the sons of a patriarch as they begin to emerge from under their father’s shadow:

28 Thomas L. Pangle, “The Hebrew Bible’s Challenge to Political Philosophy: Some Introductory Reflections,” in Political Philosophy and the Human Soul (ed. Michael Palmer and Thomas L. Pangle; Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995), 67–82, esp. 72–73. 29 Cf. Ham and Noah (Gen 9:18–27) where Noah immediately and severely punishes Ham through a curse on his son Canaan. 30 In a series of writings, Calum Carmichael argues that biblical narratives like those in Genesis influenced the formulation of the law. See Calum M. Carmichael, The Origins of Biblical Law: The Decalogues and the Book of the Covenant (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992); Law and Narrative in the Bible: The Evidence of the Deuteronomic Laws and the Decalogue (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985); The Spirit of Biblical Law (Athens, Ga.: The University of Georgia Press, 1996). Cf. also James K. Bruckner, Implied Law in the Abraham Narrative: A Literary and Theological Analysis (JSOTSup 335; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001).

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Esau and Jacob. These two brothers’ rivalry begins in the womb (Gen 25:22–26). The rivalry begins in earnest with Jacob swindling Esau out of his birthright (Gen 25:29–34) and flares into outright murderous hatred when Jacob steals Isaac’s blessing from Esau (Genesis 27). Esau decides to wait until Isaac’s death before taking action. Upon hearing of Esau’s plan, Rebekah sends Jacob away to her brother Laban (Gen 28:1–5). In the end, the estranged brothers are able to resolve their differences without bloodshed (Genesis 32–33), though Jacob still does not entirely trust his brother (Gen 33:12–20). Joseph and his brothers. Joseph, who is his father’s favorite, is the object of his brothers’ jealousy (Gen 37:3–4). They contemplate murdering him, but due to the intervention of first Reuben and then Judah, Joseph is spared and sold into slavery instead (Gen 37:18–28). This is all done without Jacob’s knowledge, but the brothers, in an implicit acknowledgement of Jacob’s authority, devise a ruse to trick Jacob into thinking that his favorite son has been killed by a vicious animal (Gen 37:31–35). Once Joseph rises to power, he plays a rather cruel trick on his brothers (not to mention his father), exacting a measure of revenge as well as testing his brothers’ devotion to Benjamin (and by extension, to their father Jacob who loves him desperately at the expense of the rest of them), a test which Judah passes spectacularly (Genesis 42–44). After revealing himself, Joseph arranges for his entire family to settle in Egypt (Genesis 45–47). Throughout this narrative the sibling rivalry simmers but truly comes to a head only when Jacob dies (Gen 49:28–50:14). Upon the burial of Jacob, his brothers are terrified that Joseph, now a patriarch in his own right and no longer under the authority of his father Jacob, might finally take his revenge. In other words, they are worried that Joseph was merely biding his time as Esau was (Gen 27:41). It is on this note that the book of Genesis ends: although the brothers are reconciled to Joseph, the possibility of fratricidal bloodshed introduced by Cain re-enters the narrative one last time, even if it is only to show that it can be avoided.31

31 One might also note the example of Ishmael and Isaac. According to Gen 21:9– 10, Sarah sees Ishmael laughing either with or at Isaac and feels threatened concerning Isaac’s future inheritance. Here, the potential conflict between two nascent patriarchs is averted in advance. On the possibility that Ishmael’s actions were malevolent, see Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis (2 vols.; NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990, 1995), 2:78–79; Bruce K. Waltke with Cathi J. Fredricks, Genesis: A Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001), 294; and Wenham, Genesis, 2:82. On the view that Ishmael was playing innocently with Isaac, see John Skinner, A Critical and

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In addition to these examples of sons, there are also the examples of subordinate relatives who are emerging from the shadows of the patriarchal head to become patriarchs of their own while the senior patriarch is still alive. Subordinates, in attempting to (prematurely?) exercise authority in their own right as patriarch of their own household, can stir up discord in these situations. In these narratives, the potential for conflict is typically indicated explicitly, as the following examples illustrate. Abram and Lot. In order to preempt any potential further conflict between their herdsmen, Abram suggests to his nephew Lot that they separate and gives him first choice of where to settle (Gen 13:1–13). Here Lot, who is also wealthy and can thus support himself, emerges as a patriarch in his own right, with complete autonomous authority over his own household. Of course, since Lot settles in the city of Sodom, it all ends disastrously for him. Good patriarchs avoid cities if they know what is good for them. Laban and Jacob. Jacob, who has joined Laban’s household and married both his daughters (Genesis 29–30), decides to flee Laban when Laban becomes jealous of Jacob’s wealth (Genesis 31). When Laban finally tracks down Jacob, everything is eventually resolved peacefully thanks to a dream sent to him by God. Laban officially releases Jacob, and as a newly minted patriarch, Jacob agrees to the covenant proposed by Laban (Gen 31:44–54). This covenant between Laban and Jacob points to a potential solution for the problem of conflict and injustice between patriarchs and their dependents. In Genesis, there are, broadly speaking, two types of covenants; those between God and a patriarch (i.e., Noah in Genesis 9, Abraham in Genesis 15 and 17), and those between two patriarchs.32 Each instance of the latter type of covenant serves as a guarantee that the terms of a recently settled dispute will live on perpetually.33 The Sinai covenant will incorporate elements of both types. While the Sinai covenant is certainly a covenant between God and his people, it is fundamentally different in that it alone involves a covenant between God Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (2nd ed.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1930), 322; E. A. Speiser, Genesis: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 1; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964), 155; and Westermann, Genesis, 339. At any rate, Sarah senses a threat and deals with it preemptively. 32 In a couple of instances, the patriarch is also a king named Abimelech. 33 In Gen 21:22–33 Abraham and Abimelech resolve a dispute over a well, and in Gen 26:12–33 Isaac and Abimelech resolve several disputes over a series of wells.

cain’s legacy

61

and a group of patriarchs, in a manner of speaking. As such, the Sinai covenant binds these numerous patriarchs into a single unified nation with a divine constitution, and instructs these patriarchs in how to live a just and righteous life, a substantial part of which involves living together harmoniously. Such a covenant must be made with God since the stipulations that flow from it would have to be above any and every human being, including and especially a king, who would otherwise oppress those under him and rule as a tyrant (cf. Deut 17:14–20). Until the covenant at Sinai can bind the descendants of Jacob into one nation, however, the family of the chosen one must necessarily remain a single household.34 This explains why in the book of Genesis, the chosen is always one single patriarch and his siblings are excluded. In each generation, all but one of the sons is excluded from the future nation of God. Abraham has two sons, Ishmael and Isaac, but the younger Isaac is the one who is chosen to become the son of the covenant.35 Isaac in turn has two sons, Esau and Jacob, and again it is his younger son Jacob, against the explicit wishes of Isaac himself, who is the chosen one. In each of these cases, Ishmael and Esau go on to become the founders of nations, but they are also cut out of the lineage that leads to the formation of the people of God.36 It is only when the sons of Jacob are born that this pattern stops. At some point, all the sons must be allowed to remain in the future covenant, or the people of God will always remain a single family and not a nation that embodies justice and righteousness rightly understood.37 The Joseph narrative however, demonstrates that once multiple (potential) patriarchs are in the picture they have a disturbing

34 One major problem with isolating the family from outside contact as much as possible is the issue of marriage. In the book of Genesis, this is somewhat addressed by marriage within the parameters of the clan (‫)משפחה‬, one effect of which is to reduce the likelihood of conflict (Gen 12:10–20; 20; 26; 34). Cf. the comments of Victor P. Hamilton on endogamous marriage (“Marriage: Old Testament and Ancient Near East,” ABD 4:559–69, esp. 564). 35 Of course, Abraham later goes on to have many sons through his concubine Keturah (Gen 25:1–11), but clearly the narrative focuses on Ishmael and Isaac as his choices as heirs. Furthermore, those other sons were sent away from Isaac and given no part of the inheritance (Gen 25:6). Here it should be mentioned that the narrative introduces Lot as well as Abraham’s servant as possible heirs, but both are discarded as possibilities rather early on (Gen 13:8–9; 15:3–4). 36 So also Lot, who goes on to be the ancestor of the nations of Moab and Ammon (Gen 19:37–38). 37 Thomas L. Pangle, Political Philosophy and the God of Abraham (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 182–83.

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tendency to do what is right in their own eyes.38 Thus, the book of Genesis introduces the rest of the Pentateuch in the sense that it shows the necessity of the Sinai covenant and the laws which flow from it. With the ratification of the covenant and the giving of the law, the city as an institution is no longer problematic since there is now a codified understanding of what justice is. Thus, Moses can declare to the Israelites as they are ready to enter the Promised Land: 10

Then it shall come about when the Lord your God brings you into the land which He swore to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you, great and splendid cities which you did not build, 11 and houses full of all good things which you did not fill, and hewn cisterns which you did not dig, vineyards and olive trees which you did not plant, and you eat and are satisfied, 12 then watch yourself, that you do not forget the Lord who brought you from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.39 (Deut 6:10–12)

It turns out cities can be a blessing after all, if there is a code of laws to govern life within them. Eventually, Jerusalem will be idealized as the home of Yahweh and the Jerusalem cult. Yahweh has thus transferred his abode from Mt. Sinai to Mt. Zion.40 The various epithets for Jerusalem indicate that it is idealized: “city of David” (2 Sam 5:2), “holy city” (Isa 48:2; 52:1; Neh 11:1, 18; cf. Dan 9:24, 26), “city of Yahweh” (Ps 101:8; Isa 60:18), “city of God” (Ps 46:5; 48:2, 9). Furthermore, Jerusalem is often discussed in terms of Yahweh’s election of it (Ps 48:9; 1 Kgs 8:16; 11:13, 32, 36; 14:21; 2 Kgs 21:7; 23:27; 2 Chr 6:5; 12:13; 33:7). Prophets, however, like Amos, Micah, Isaiah, and Jeremiah can unleash scathing critiques on cities, including and especially Jerusalem, when they fall short of living in accordance with justice and righteousness as outlined by the covenant and its stipulations.41 While the

38

Jacob, who is largely absent from the goings on in this narrative, is an authority figure to be reckoned with in the sense that he cannot simply be forgotten or ignored (cf. Gen 37:31–35; 44:16–34), but he is definitely in the background. In one sense, he has nearly lost complete control of his sons, perhaps partially because they are so numerous. Also a factor is God’s stated intent to make Jacob and his progeny the nation of Israel. The subtext of this narrative is which son will take leadership in the new nation. 39 nasb 1995 translation. 40 On this theme, see Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1985). 41 On the prophets’ anti-urban critique, see Frick, The City in Ancient Israel, 209–31.

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63

covenant and the law theoretically address the issue of conflict and violence among numerous other failings inevitable among humans when they live in community, they are no guarantor that justice and righteousness will reign. Even these moral failings on the part of God’s people, however, are an improvement on the situation in Genesis, where no one can be sure exactly what justice is or what a righteous human being looks like, and where Cain can murder his brother Abel and essentially escape unscathed simply because murder had not yet been definitively forbidden. Post-Sinai, the standard is clearly delineated, and people and institutions can be held accountable, which makes it possible for justice and righteousness to flourish in the city and redeem it from its inauspicious origins.

THE BIBLICAL MANUMISSION LAWS: HAS THE LITERARY DEPENDENCE OF H ON D BEEN DEMONSTRATED? John S. Bergsma Because three of the major corpora of biblical law—the Covenant Code (CC), the Holiness Code (H), and Deuteronomy (D)—each have laws concerning the manumission of slaves, comparisons of these manumission laws have functioned prominently in discussions of the development of biblical law and the order of dependence among the various codes.1 Many of the most renowned scholars of the Pentateuch and biblical law have contributed to this debate at some point in their career.2 Nonetheless, the precise nature of the relationship between the biblical manumission laws, as well as the biblical legal corpora generally, remains a disputed question. Recently, some have claimed to have resolved the issue of the priority of D vis-à-vis H by demonstrating the direct literary dependence of the manumission laws of H on those of D.3 It is claimed that, apart from considerations of historical or cultural development, the priority of D over H can be conclusively proven through literary analysis alone. If this claim were shown to be true, it would represent a significant

1 For the purposes of this essay, “H” will refer only to Leviticus 17–27, the Holiness Code proper with its epilogue (ch. 27), and “D” will refer to the Deuteronomic Code proper, Deuteronomy 12–26. 2 For an overview of the older literature, see John S. Bergsma, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation (VTSup 115; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 9 nn. 23–24. 3 For example, see Bernard Levinson, “The Manumission of Hermeneutics: The Slave Laws of the Pentateuch as a Challenge to Contemporary Pentateuchal Theory,” in Congress Volume Leiden 2004 (ed. André Lemaire; VTSup 109; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 281–324; Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation (FAT 52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 113–64; and, to a lesser extent, Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus (FAT 2/25; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 496– 535; and Eckart Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26,” in Levitikus als Buch (ed. H.-J. Fabry and H.-W. Jüngling; BBB 119; Berlin: Philo, 1999), 125–96. I have responded in detail to Levinson’s arguments in Bergsma, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 138–42. The arguments of Levinson and Stackert have been endorsed recently by Mark Leuchter, “The Manumission Laws in Leviticus and Deuteronomy: The Jeremiah Connection,” JBL 127 (2008): 635–53.

66

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advance in the study of biblical law. It is the purpose of this paper to evaluate whether this claim will withstand scrutiny. 1. Criteria for Detecting Literary Dependence At the outset, it is necessary clearly to distinguish literary from conceptual dependence. For present purposes, literary dependence will describe one text’s (the hypertext’s) use of the very words of an earlier text (the hypotext); conceptual dependence will describe the use of the hypotext’s concepts.4 In this paper we are focusing solely on the question of literary dependence narrowly construed, which may be stated as follows: does either H or D show evidence of borrowing the other’s words? Several scholars, including Richard Hays, Dennis MacDonald, and David Carr, have proposed criteria for detecting the presence of literary dependence within the biblical text.5 I do not disagree with the criteria of any of these scholars. Since the relationship of H and D is disputed, I would like, however, to propose two complementary commonsense criteria for detecting literary dependence, stated in a form more amenable to quantitative statistical analysis than the criteria of Hays, MacDonald, and Carr. My hope in doing so is to place the discussion of the relationship of H and D on a more objective foundation. Therefore, I wish to propose that two texts show evidence of literary dependence if they exhibit one of the following: shared low-frequency vocabulary and/or shared low-frequency word sequences (strings of words).6 “Frequency” refers to how often the word occurs within the

4 For hypo- and hypertext, see Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 1–9. The distinction between conceptual and literary dependence is not my own novum: see Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 430; and Michael A. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHB/OTS 507; New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 61, 65. I realize others may, for good reason, wish to take a broader definition of “literary dependency,” but for the sake of clarity, I will consistently employ a narrow definition in this study. 5 See Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 29–32; MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8–9; and David Carr, “Method in Determination of Direction of Dependence: An Empirical Test of Criteria Applied to Exodus 34, 11–26 and Its Parallels,” in Gottes Volk am Sinai: Untersuchungen zu Ex 32–34 and Dtn 9–10 (ed. M. Köckert and E. Blum; Gütersloh: Gütersloh Verlaghaus, 2001), 107–40, esp. 126. 6 My criteria here would fall under Hays’ categories “volume” and “recurrence” and MacDonalds’s categories “density,” “order,” and “distinctiveness.”

the biblical manumission laws

67

relevant literary tradition. For present purposes, the relevant literary tradition is the MT. “Low frequency” words are uncommon in the MT, and “high frequency” words are common. The rationale for these criteria should become apparent upon reflection. Literary dependence is, after all, one text’s reuse of the language of another text. Therefore, for literary dependence to be demonstrated, the two texts must show similarity of language, and not just any similarity of language, but a greater similarity than can readily be explained by other factors—such as common subject matter, common literary tradition, a common source text on which both subject texts depend, or simple coincidence. The similarity of language between the two texts must be unusual, i.e. statistically improbable; thus the stress is on low-frequency (statistically improbable) phenomena. The first criterion states that shared low-frequency vocabulary is an indicator of literary dependence. If a text employs terms that are relatively rare in the common discourse of its literary tradition but are characteristic of a particular earlier text, a case can be made for literary dependence.7 If it is sufficiently rare, a single lexeme may be sufficient to identify literary dependence. Using an example from American popular culture, the term “shazbot” is so uncommon in American English that any text employing the word is almost certainly making an allusion to—and is, therefore, in some sense literarily dependent upon—Robin Williams’ late-1970s TV comedy “Mork and Mindy.” Moving to a biblical example, the Hebrew term ‫מרצע‬, “awl,” occurs only in Exod 21:6 and Deut 15:17 and nowhere else in Biblical Hebrew. This shared low-frequency term is good evidence of literary dependence between Deut 15:17 and Exod 21:6. To constitute evidence of literary dependence, vocabulary must necessarily be lowfrequency, since high-frequency words—“blue,” “sun,” “water”—occur in so many texts that it would be impossible for the reader to identify dependence on any particular text. The second criterion holds that shared low-frequency sequences are evidence of literary dependence.8 For example, none of the words in the sequence “By the dawn’s early light” are themselves low-frequency English lexemes, but the sequence itself is so uncommon that, were it to be found in a written text, it would almost surely indicate liter-

7 8

Cf. MacDonald’s “distinctiveness” (Homeric Epics, 8–9). Cf. MacDonald’s “order” (Homeric Epics, 8–9).

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ary dependence on the American national anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Likewise, the sequence “blood of the covenant” (τὸ αἷμα τῆς διαθήκης), while composed of common biblical words, is sufficiently rare that one may confidently identify its occurrences in Matt 26:28 and Mark 14:4 as examples of literary dependence on Exod 24:8. Sequences provide the best evidence of literary dependence when they appear verbatim and contiguously (identically inflected and uninterrupted) in both texts. However, sequences may be modified by, among other things, (1) insertion, (2) deletion, (3) inversion (reversing the order of sequence), (4) substitution of synonyms, (5) change of inflection (person, gender, number, case, etc.), and (6) selective rearrangement of elements. These modifications weaken, however, the case for literary dependence. The more the sequences of a source text are modified, the more difficult it becomes to identify dependence. To state the issue more accurately, if there are only weak hints of a common sequence between two texts, it is impossible to determine whether the shared weak sequence is an instance of literary dependence with extensive modification, or merely a coincidence. I submit that these two criteria are necessary but not always sufficient to demonstrate literary dependence understood as the reuse of the language of a hypotext. After the identification of shared lowfrequency lexemes and sequences—especially if the frequency is not very low and the sequence is short or only approximate—it is still necessary to apply higher-order criteria, such as MacDonald’s “intelligibility” or “interpretability” and Hays’ “thematic coherence” and “satisfaction” to determine whether one really can identify literary dependence.9 Nonetheless, it is difficult to imagine a situation in which it would be possible to demonstrate the presence of literary dependence (understood as the hypertext’s reuse of the language of a hypotext) in the complete absence of either shared low-frequency words or sequences. At best, one might argue for conceptual dependence between the two texts in such a situation. 2. Some Examples of the Criteria Applied In order to put the literary relationship of the manumission laws of H and D in its proper context, it is appropriate to precede the discussion 9

Hays, Echoes, 30–32; MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 9.

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69

of these laws with some examples of widely-recognized literary dependence elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. 2.1. The Dependence of the Chronicler on the Deuteronomistic History In the following example, despite a lack of low-frequency vocabulary, more than one identically inflected, low-frequency sequence can be observed between the two texts, providing indisputable evidence of literary dependence:

1 Kings 3:5–6

2 Chronicles 1:7–8

‫בגבעון נראה יהוה אל שלמה בחלום‬ ‫הלילה ויאמר אלהים שאל מה אתן‬ ‫לך ויאמר שלמה אתה עשית עם‬ ‫ ותתן לו‬. . . ‫עבדך דוד אבי חסד גדול‬ ‫בן ישב על כסאו כיום הזה‬

‫בלילה ההוא נראה אלהים לשלמה‬ ‫ויאמר לו שאל מה אתן לך ויאמר‬ ‫שלמה לאלהים אתה עשית עם דויד‬ ‫אבי חסד גדול והמלכתני תחתיו‬

At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night; and God said, “Ask what I shall give you.” And Solomon said, “Thou hast shown great and steadfast love to thy servant David my father, . . . and hast given him a son to sit on his throne this day.10

In that night God appeared to Solomon, and said to him, “Ask what I shall give you.” And Solomon said to God, “Thou hast shown great and steadfast love to David my father, and hast made me king in his stead.

There are two contiguous, identically-inflected sequences, one of six, the other of seven Hebrew words in length, both of which are only to be found in these two passages in all of the MT. 2.2. Ezekiel’s Dependence on the Holiness Code11 It has long been recognized that Ezekiel demonstrates a close literary relationship to the Holiness Code, as in this example:

10

English translations are my own modifications of the rsv. The direction of dependence between Ezekiel and the Holiness Code is in dispute, but Lyons’ work From Law to Prophecy has, in my view, resolved the issue in favor of Ezekiel’s dependence on H. For further discussion see Bergsma, Jubilee, 177–90. 11

70

john s. bergsma Leviticus 26:5b–6

‫ואכלתם לחמכם לשבע וישבתם‬ ‫לבטח בארצכם ונתתי שלום בארץ‬ ‫ושכבתם ואין מחריד והשבתי חיה‬ ‫רעה מן הארץ וחרב לא תעבר‬ ‫בארצכם‬ And you shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell in your land securely. And I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid; and I will remove evil beasts from the land, and the sword shall not go through your land.

Ezekiel 34:25

‫וכרתי להם ברית שלום והשבתי‬ ‫חיה רעה מן הארץ וישבו במדבר‬ ‫לבטח וישנו ביערים‬ I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild beasts from the land, so that they may dwell securely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods.

The five-word, identically inflected sequence ‫והשבתי חיה רעה מן‬ ‫הארץ‬, “I will banish wild beasts from the land,” is extremely low frequency, occurring only in these two passages of the Hebrew Bible. A second sequence in Lev 26:5b, ‫וישבתם לבטח בארצכם‬, “You shall dwell in safety in your land,” seems to have been modified by Ezekiel into ‫וישבו במדבר לבטח‬, “and they shall dwell in safety in the wilderness.”12 2.3. The Dependence of the Holiness Code on the Covenant Code An example from the Holiness Code and the Covenant Code:

Exod 23:10

‫ושש שנים תזרע את ארצך ואספת‬ ‫את תבואתה‬ For six years you shall sow your land and gather in its yield . . .

12

Lev 25:3

‫שש שנים תזרע שדך ושש שנים‬ ‫תזמר כרמך ואספת את תבואתה‬ Six years you shall sow your field, and six years you shall prune your vineyard, and gather in its yield . . .

For further discussion, see Lyons, From Law to Prophecy, 74–75.

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71

In this example, Lev 25:3 employs two verbatim sequences from Exod 23:10: ‫שש שנים תזרע‬, “Six years you shall sow,” and ‫ואספת את‬ ‫תבואתה‬, “You shall gather in its yield.”13 These are the only two passages of the Hebrew Bible where these sequences occur. Furthermore, the shared word ‫ תבואה‬is somewhat low-frequency, occurring fewer than fifty times in the MT. 2.4. The Dependence of Deuteronomy on the Covenant Code Many have studied the relationship of Deuteronomy to the Covenant Code, perhaps most notably (in recent years) Bernard Levinson.14 The manumission laws of both legal corpora show evidence of literary dependence, probably from CC to D.15

Exod 21:2

‫כי תקנה עבד עברי שש שנים יעבד‬ ‫ובשבעת יצא לחפשי חנם‬ If you buy a Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years, and in the seventh he shall go out free, for nothing.

Deut 15:12

‫כי ימכר לך אחיך העברי או‬ ‫העבריה ועבדך שש שנים ובשנה‬ ‫השביעת תשלחנו חפשי מעמך‬ If your brother, a Hebrew man, or a Hebrew woman, is sold to you, he shall serve you six years, and in the seventh year you shall let him go free from you.

The two texts share low-frequency vocabulary: ‫“( עברי‬Hebrew,” thirtyfive times in the MT) and ‫“( חפשי‬free,” seventeen times in the MT) are uncommon. Furthermore, the sequence of lexical units in Exod 21:2, although modified by the substitution of synonyms and an inversion, is still recognizable in Deut 15:12:

13 John Van Seters is perhaps the only dissenter on the direction of dependence here. See most recently his “Law of the Hebrew Slave: A Continuing Debate,” ZAW 119 (2007): 169–83. 14 Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). 15 Again, pace Van Seters, “Law of the Hebrew Slave”; nevertheless, Van Seter’s arguments are thought provoking and ought not to be dismissed out of hand.

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john s. bergsma

‫לחפשי‬

‫יצא‬

‫ובשבעת‬

‫יעבד‬

‫שש שנים‬

free

he will go out

and in the seventh

he shall serve

six years

‫חפשי‬

‫תשלחנו‬

‫ועבדך‬

you shall send him away

‫ובשנה‬ ‫השביעת‬

‫שש שנים‬

free

six years

and he serves you

in the seventh year

‫עבד עברי‬

‫תקנה‬

Hebrew slave you buy

‫ כי‬Exod if

21:2

‫ כי ימכר לך אחיך העברי‬Deut ‫או העבריה‬ is sold if 15:12 your brother a Hebrew or Hebrewess

to you

Finally, although many of the lexemes are high-frequency taken by themselves, the cluster of lexemes observable in these two verses (‫שש‬, ‫שבע‬, ‫שנה‬, ‫עבד‬, ‫עברי‬, ‫ )הפשי‬is low-frequency, occurring only in these two passages and in Jeremiah 34, which is dependent on Deuteronomy 15. The case for the dependence of Deut 15:12 on Exod 21:2 is weakened by the lack of verbatim repetition of the source text (Exod 21:2) by the Deuteronomist. Still, what Dennis MacDonald would call the “density,” “order,” and “distinctiveness” of the parallels provide enough evidence to produce a reasonable argument. The four examples of literary dependence among different sources within the Hebrew Bible have been cited above in order to serve as a contrast with the comparison of the manumission laws of H and D below. The kind of clear evidence for literary dependence present in the examples above will be found to be lacking between Lev 25:1–55 and Deut 15:1–18. 3. The Criteria Applied to Manumission Laws of H and D It remains to apply the criteria described above to the manumission laws of H and D. To increase the likelihood of discovering literary dependence, we will include the closely related seventh-year laws of H (Lev 25:1–7) and D (Deut 15:1–11) along with the manumission laws and define the texts to be compared as Lev 25:1–55 and Deut 15:1–18.16

16 Stackert also combines these laws for the purpose of comparison (Rewriting the Torah, 113–64).

the biblical manumission laws

73

3.1. Low-Frequency Vocabulary For our purposes we will define “rare” lexemes as those occurring fewer than ten times in the MT, and “uncommon” as fewer than fifty times. Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18 share about fifty-two lexemes.17 The number of shared terms between these texts is probably higher than the average number of shared terms of two randomly-selected texts of similar size, although not dramatically so—for example, the randomlyselected texts Prov 22:1–23:8 and Exod 30:2–31:18 have about fifty lexemes in common. Moreover, of the fifty-two lexemes in common between Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18, thirty-four are found in the analogous slave- and seventh-year laws of the Covenant Code (Exod 21:2–11; 23:10–11). Since the Covenant Code is widely acknowledged as a source for both Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18, the presence of these thirty-four lexemes in Leviticus 25 could be explained as dependence on CC rather than D. That leaves only eighteen lexemes in common between Deut 15:1–18 and Leviticus 25 that are not found in the CC, and of these eighteen, three are basic parts of speech (‫מן‬, ‫זאת‬, ‫)את‬ and one is the divine name (‫)יהוה‬. Of the fifty-two lexemes Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18 share in common, none are rare and only two, ‫“( שכיר‬hired man,” eighteen times in the MT) and ‫“( די‬enough, sufficient,” thirty-nine times in the MT) are uncommon. The lexeme ‫ שכיר‬occurs six times in the Holiness Code (Lev 19:13; 22:10; 25:6, 40, 50, 53) but only twice in Deuteronomy (15:18; 24:14). Thus, the word seems more characteristic of the Holiness Code than of Deuteronomy. It is common in intertextual studies to argue—when a locution is characteristic of text A but rare in text B—that text B is the borrowing, or dependent, text. If this principle were applied to the present discussion, one would conclude that in Deut 15:18, D has borrowed H’s characteristic term ‫שכיר‬.18 17 See Appendix. Ambiguity about the exact number arises because of the difficulty in deciding whether some phonemes should be considered lexemes or bound morphemes, for example, the conjunction ‫ ו‬and the enclitic prepositions ‫ ב‬and ‫ל‬. I have counted them as lexemes but would defer to others on the issue. 18 The common use of ‫ שכיר‬in Deuteronomy 15 and Leviticus 25 has been employed by Japhet in a complex argument to support the priority of H to D (“Relationship between the Legal Corpora,” 83–86), and by Stackert in a complex argument to support the priority of D to H (Rewriting the Torah, 148–49). In the midst of the polemics, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that we are dealing with a single shared lexeme,

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In my opinion, however, this argument is weak. A close perusal of the relevant passages shows that aside from the use of the word itself, there is no corroborating lexical evidence in the near context of Deut 15:18 of literary dependence on any of the four occurrences of the word in Leviticus 25 (vv. 6, 40, 50, 53). Twice in Leviticus 25 (vv. 6, 40), ‫ שכיר‬is employed as part of the word pair ‫שכיר ותשב‬, “hired man and resident alien”, which appears to be a characteristic word pair in the Priestly/Holiness tradition (cf. Exod 12:45; Lev 22:10). This word pair does not occur in Deuteronomy. The other uncommon lemma that Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18 share is ‫די‬, “sufficient, enough,” but again, a comparison of its occurrences in context (Deut 15:8; Lev 25:26, 28) shows no clear corroborating signs of literary dependence of one text on the other. To summarize, Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18 share no rare words and only two uncommon ones, and when they are examined in context the two shared uncommon terms do not appear to be instances of literary dependence. This situation is not due to a dearth of low-frequency vocabulary. Deuteronomy 15:1–18 includes twenty-eight lexemes of fewer than fifty occurrences in the MT, of which nine are rare. For its part, Leviticus 25 boasts about forty-two uncommon lexemes, of which fourteen are rare. If either text consciously employed the other as a source, one would expect at least a few of these distinctive terms to be shared. In particular, if the Holiness author were employing Deut 15:1–18 as a source, one would think he would have found the following lowfrequency terms useful for his sabbatical-year and manumission laws:

Hebrew Lemma

Meaning

Frequency of Occurrence in MT

‫אמץ‬ ‫חסר‬ ‫חפשי‬ ‫מחסור‬ ‫משה‬ ‫נגש‬

to be strong to lack, decrease free need loan to oppress

41 25 17 13 1 23

admittedly uncommon but not terribly so (eighteen times in the MT), deployed in formally dissimilar contexts in the two texts. In actuality, neither Japhet nor Stackert are engaging primarily in formal literary analysis, but are rather proposing plausible lines of conceptual development from one text to the other.

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Table (cont.) Hebrew Lemma

Meaning

Frequency of Occurrence in MT

‫נשה‬ ‫עבט‬ ‫ענק‬ ‫שכר‬ ‫שמט‬ ‫שמטה‬

to forget, lend to take or give a pledge to provide liberally wages to let drop, release remission

13 6 3 28 9 5

The comparison of Lev 25:3 and Exod 23:10 above demonstrates that H has, so to speak, no objection in principle to the verbatim reproduction of the diction of its source(s); why then does H not reproduce any of the characteristic lexemes of Deut 15:1–18, or vice versa? 3.2. Common Low-Frequency Sequences The common sequences shared by Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1–18 are never more than two Hebrew words in length. For the sake of brevity, we will omit discussion of the following two-word sequences that are either already present in the CC, or else are so common in the Hebrew Bible that no serious argument for literary dependence could be based on them: ‫שש שנים‬, ‫ארץ מצרים‬, ‫יהוה אלהים‬, ‫שבע שנים‬. The following sequences merit some discussion: 3.2.1. ‫ובשנה השביעת‬, “and in the seventh year.” The exact phrase ‫ ובשנה השביעת‬occurs in Deut 15:12 and Lev 25:4, and, without the initial conjunction, in Lev 25:20. However, aside from the use of this sequence, there are no other signs of literary dependence on Deut 15:12 in either of these verses. Moreover, the exact phrase (although with plene orthography) occurs also in 2 Kgs 11:4, 2 Chr 23:1, and (without the initial conjunction) in Ezek 20:1. The occurrence of ‫ובשנה השביעת‬ appears to be a natural coincidence resulting from the fact that both Deuteronomy and the Holiness Code employ seven-year patterns in their legislation.19 The shared concern for the seventh year—a concern

19 Curiously, although ‫ ובשנה השביעת‬occurs in both Lev 25:4 and Deut 15:12, Stackert argues that the use of the phrase in Lev 25:4 is an exegetical development of ‫ השביעת‬in Exod 23:11—indeed, a “Holiness innovation” that “highlights the analogy between its seventh-year law and the Sabbath day command”—rather than a borrowing from Deut 15:12 (Rewriting the Torah, 118).

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already present in the Covenant Code (Exod 21:2; 23:11)—is better discussed as an example of possible conceptual dependence between the texts rather than literary dependence. 3.2.2. ‫אחד אחים‬, “one of (your) brothers.” The sequence ‫אחד אחים‬ occurs in Deut 15:7, in the form ‫מאחד אחיך‬. The slightly different phrase ‫ אחד מאחיו‬occurs in Lev 25:48; however, the contexts of the phrase in Deut 15:7 and Lev 25:48 are quite different. The use of the term ‫ אח‬to refer to a fellow Israelite could be discussed as a possible instance of conceptual dependence between the H and D generally, but there are insufficient grounds to see direct literary dependence between Deut 15:7 and Lev 25:48. The closest parallel to Lev 25:48’s construction ‫ אחד מאחיו‬in the MT is the phrase ‫אחד מאחי‬, “one of my brothers,” in Neh 1:2. 3.2.3. ‫נמכר לך‬, “is sold to you.” Deut 15:12 employs the phrase ‫ימכר‬ ‫ לך‬and Lev 25:39 has the similar construction ‫ונמכר לך‬. This is probably the closest significant linguistic parallel between the two texts. These are the only two instances in the Hebrew Bible where the nip’al of ‫ מכר‬is followed immediately by ‫( לך‬although the inflection of the verb is different in each case). Also, the subject of ‫ מכר‬in both instances is ‫אחיך‬, “your brother.”

Deut 15:12

‫כי ימכר לך אחיך העברי או העבריה‬ ‫ועבדך שש שנים ובשנה השביעת‬ ‫תשלחנו חפשי מעמך‬ If your brother, a Hebrew or Hebrewess, is sold to you, he shall serve you six years and in the seventh year you shall send him away from you free.

Lev 25:39

‫וכי ימוך אחיך עמך ונמכר לך לא‬ ‫תעבד בו עבדת עבד‬ If your brother who is with you grows poor, and sells himself to you, you shall not make him work like a slave.

Unlike the other instances in which we have found sequences in common between Deuteronomy 15 and Leviticus 25, here there is some similarity in context. Both texts address the issue of the “brother” being sold to “you.” While this could be an example of literary

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dependence,20 the following factors should be considered before reaching that conclusion: The use of the term ‫ אחיך‬in Lev 25:39 and Deut 15:12 cannot be an instance of direct, specific dependence of one of these verses on the other. The term appears in Lev 25:39 as part of the phrase ‫כי ימוך‬ ‫אחיך‬, which is employed four times in Leviticus 25 as part of its systematic response to four progressively worse stages of impoverishment of an Israelite paterfamilias (see vv. 25, 35, 39, 47; and below). It is misleading and too facile to juxtapose, as many scholars have done, only Lev 25:39 and Deut 15:12 with one another for comparison, in isolation from the larger literary context of Lev 25:39. Such a limited juxtaposition creates the impression that ‫ אחיך‬in Lev 25:39 could be a direct borrowing from Deut 15:12 (or vice versa) and obscures the fact that ‫ אחיך‬is part of a unique and characteristic H locution, ‫כי ימוך אחיך‬, which has no close analogue in D, and which the H author has employed twice previously (vv. 25, 35) and will employ once subsequently (v. 47) in lengthy sequences that have no parallel in D. One cannot discuss the literary origin of the phrase ‫ כי ימוך אחיך‬in Lev 25:39 apart from discussion of its use in these other passages. The common use of ‫ אחיך‬in both Lev 25:25–48 and Deut 15:12–18 has been at the center of several arguments for literary dependence in one direction or the other; since it is a larger issue than simply a direct relationship between two verses (Lev 25:39 and Deut 15:18), we will bracket the discussion of ‫ אחיך‬for now and return to it later.21 The specific parallel unique to Lev 25:39 and Deut 15:18 consists of the sequence ‫נמכר לך‬. This shared sequence has often been urged as evidence of the dependence of H on D. However, given that the nip’al of ‫ מכר‬occurs nine times in the Holiness Code but only once in all of Deuteronomy (Deut 15:18) and never in DtrH, one might expect scholars to argue that in Deut 15:18, D is borrowing language characteristic of H.22 Remarkably, however, this literary parallel is typically 20 In fact, it is the parade example of literary dependence cited by Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 171; Levinson, “Manumission of Hermeneutics,” 316–17; Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 144–48; and others. 21 For example, see Japhet, “Relationship of the Legal Corpora,” 74–82; Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 145; Levinson, “Manumission of Hermeneutics,” 317–18. 22 Lev 25:23, 34, 39, 42, 47, 48, 50; 27:27, 28. Like Milgrom, I take Leviticus 27 to be an appendix to the Holiness Code written by the Holiness author(s).

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cited as evidence or even proof of H’s dependence on D. This points to a certain inconsistency in the way criteria for determining literary dependence are usually applied to the relationship of H and D. Generally, criteria that would support the dependence of H on D are emphasized, and criteria that do not support this direction of dependence are neglected. In my view, however, arguments for literary dependence in either direction based on this common usage of ‫ מכר‬carry little weight because the verb ‫ מכר‬is the only Hebrew word for “to sell,” and its use can scarcely be avoided in a legal text dealing with the topic of slave sale. The verb, including the nip’al form, is widely attested throughout the MT in the context of the sale of human beings, both literal and metaphorical. In fact, about half its total occurrences are in such contexts.23 It already occurs in the Covenant Code in both the qal and nip’al referring to the sale of persons (Exod 21:7, 8, 16 qal; 22:2 nip’al); its occurrence in both Leviticus 25 and Deuteronomy 15 is scarcely unusual given the subject matter of these texts. As was remarked above, to be considered evidence of literary dependence, shared locutions need not only to exhibit similarity, but greater similarity than can be explained by other factors, such as common subject matter, a common literary tradition, etc. In the absence of any more specific lexical parallels or rare vocabulary, the shared sequence ‫ נמכר לך‬can be explained as a spontaneously arising parallel due to common subject matter and a second-person form of address characteristic of both H and D as well as parts of CC. We return now to the issue of the term ‫אחיך‬, “your brother,” and whether it constitutes evidence of literary dependence between H and D. Sara Japhet has argued that D is dependent on H for the concept of ‫ אחיך‬as “fellow Israelite,” whereas other commentators have argued

23 See Gen 31:15 (qal); 37:27 (nip’al); 37:28 (qal); 37:36 (qal); 45:4 (qal); 45:5 (qal); Exod 21:7,16 (qal); 22:2 (nip’al); Deut 21:14 (qal); 24:7 (qal); 28:68 (hitpa’el); 32:30 (qal); Judg 2:14 (qal); 3:8 (qal); 4:2, 9 (qal); 10:7 (qal); 1 Sam 12:9 (qal); 1 Kgs 21:20, 25 (hitpa’el); 2 Kgs 17:17(hitpa’el); Isa 50:1 (nip’al & qal); 52:3 (nip’al); Jer 34:14 (nip’al); Joel 4:3 (qal); 4:6,7,8 bis (qal); Amos 2:6 (qal); Zech 11:5 (qal); Pss 44:13 (qal); 105:17 (nip’al); Esth 7:4 bis (nip’al); Neh 5:8 (qal once; nip’al twice). Thus, about forty of a total eighty-nine occurrences in the MT are in the context of the literal or metaphorical sale of human beings.

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that the term is more characteristic of D and has been borrowed by H in Leviticus 25.24 In this debate, three facts have been lost to view. First, the assumption that all Israelites are descendants of a common ancestor—which necessarily implies that all Israelites are kin (‫ ;אחים‬cf. Exod 2:11; 4:18; 32:29; Lev 10:6; Num 20:3; 32:6; etc.)—is so widely diffused in the sources and literary strata of the Hebrew Bible that it is strained to argue that H must be dependent on D for this concept (or vice versa), rather than on the tradition generally. For example, one of the major burdens of the Joseph cycle (Genesis 37–50) is to emphasize the familial bonds of all Israel, that all the tribes are “brothers.” Statistically, this cycle has one of the highest concentrations of the lexeme ‫ אח‬per thousand words in the Hebrew Bible, and it may not be coincidental to the present discussion that the plot of the Joseph cycle revolves around the sale of a brother (‫)אח‬, a son of Israel (‫)בן ישראל‬ as a slave (‫)עבד‬. Secondly, the first use of ‫ אחיך‬in Leviticus 25 occurs in v. 25, not coincidentally the same verse in which the term ‫גאל‬, “kinsmanredeemer,” first appears; and the last use of ‫ אחיך‬occurs in v. 47, in the midst of the discussion of the kinship redemption process. The Holiness author contextualizes the Jubilee within the ancient Israelite kinship redemption system, for which it forms the last “safety net” (see v. 54). The context of kinship redemption by itself is sufficient to explain the concentration of the term ‫אחיך‬, “kinsman,” in Lev 25:25– 47 (as opposed to other parts of the Holiness Code) without superfluous appeals to dependence on D. After all, one of the burdens of H in this passage is to exhort its addressees, the Israelite patres familias, to perform their duties of kinship redemption toward their ‫אחים‬, “kinsmen” (see v. 25, 48–49). Thirdly, D and H do not employ the term ‫ אחיך‬in the same manner. As intimated above, in Leviticus 25, the force of the term can be rendered “your kinsman,” and, as I have shown elsewhere based on the work of Karel van der Toorn, the referent is assumed to be a male landed Israelite head of household.25 Leviticus 25 must be compared with Leviticus 18, in which it is also clear that, as even Christophe Nihan acknowledges, the laws “appear to be addressed to the paterfamilias of

24 Japhet, “Relationship of the Legal Corpora,” 74–82; Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 145; and Levinson, “Manumission of Hermeneutics,” 317–18. 25 See Bergsma, Jubilee, 100–101.

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a ‫“( בית אב‬father’s house”), that is, a kin-related group composed of three to five generations and living in close quarters.”26 Furthermore, it is clear that in Lev 25:25–47, ‫ אחיך‬is the sociological equal of the addressees of the legislation, i.e. a fellow Israelite paterfamilias; observe, for example, that he is assumed to have children (vv. 41, 54) and title to ancestral property (vv. 25, 27, 28, 41).27 In contrast, ‫ אחיך‬in Deuteronomy 15:12–18 is clearly not an Israelite paterfamilias or his sociological equal, and is not even necessarily male. Instead, ‫ אחיך‬in Deut 15:12 is a Hebrew (which is not necessarily synonymous with an Israelite)28 of either gender (possibly an ‫עבריה‬, “Hebrewess,” Deut 15:12), landless, without a kinsman-redeemer, without an ancestral inheritance, thus in need of provisioning when he is set free (Deut 15:13). Furthermore, in the rest of Deuteronomy, the term ‫ אח‬is employed rather freely, even to refer to an Edomite (a fact frequently overlooked: Deut 2:4, 8; 23:7), whereas the Holiness author(s) employs ‫ אח‬much less often and, in Lev 25:25–47, with a significantly more restricted range of meaning. If one had to ask which usage was more likely to have preceded the other—H’s “‫ ”אחיך‬as a fellow landed Israelite male kinsman, or D’s “‫ ”אחיך‬extended to include landless Hebrew slaves of either gender—one would conclude H’s usage is more basic and literal, whereas D’s usage is more developed.29 In D, the concept of one’s ‫ אח‬is broadened to include groups that may not have been considered as such previously. Examining both passages in their larger context, the evidence of literary dependence between Deut 15:12 and Lev 25:39 is not compelling. In Lev 25:25–55, the Holiness author is, in my opinion, developing his legislation according to his own logic, working systematically 26

Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 433. See further Bergsma, Jubilee, 100–101. 28 See Gen 14:13: Abraham is an ‫ עברי‬and therefore all his descendants are as well (including Edomites, Ishmaelites, etc.); but it would be completely anachronistic to call him an Israelite (‫)בן ישראל‬. See also 1 Sam 14:21, where “Hebrews” are clearly distinguished from “Israelites.” It is remarkable that a close analysis of this term (‫)עברי‬, which is uncommon in the MT and shows a decidedly peculiar pattern of usage, has not been undertaken by any of the major participants in the debates over the manumission laws. See the extensive discussion in Bergsma, Jubilee, 43–45. 29 Japhet makes a similar argument (see “The Relationship of the Legal Corpora,” 74–82). While ultimately I agree with Japhet in her understanding of the relative dating of H and D, I disagree with her that ‫ אח‬in Leviticus 25 is simply a synonym for ‫בן ישראל‬. Leviticus 25:46 (“but over your kinsmen, sons of Israel, you shall not rule . . .”) is reminding the addressees that their male kinsmen are fellow Israelites and therefore have a certain status before God. Nonetheless, the primary force of ‫אחיך‬ throughout the passage is “your kinsman,” not simply “an Israelite.” 27

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through the various stages of impoverishment of the landed Israelite head of household: (1) sale of ancestral property, (2) complete insolvency, (3) self-sale to a kinsman, and (4) self-sale to a foreigner. ‫כי ימוך אחיך ומכר מאחזתו‬ ‫וכי ימוך אחיך ומטה ידו עמך‬ ‫וכי ימוך אחיך עמך ונמכר לך‬ ‫וכי תשיג יד גר ותושב עמך‬ ‫אחיך עמו ונמכר לגר תושב‬

If your brother becomes poor and sells some of his property . . . (v. 25) If your brother becomes poor and cannot maintain himself with you . . . (v. 35) If your brother becomes poor and sells himself to you . . . (v. 39) If a stranger or sojourner with you becomes rich, and your brother beside him becomes poor and sells himself to the stranger or sojourner . . . (v. 47)

When the author reaches the stage of self-sale to a kinsman (v. 39), he linguistically “crosses paths” with the Deuteronomist, who in Deut 15:12 address the situation of sale of a Hebrew to an Israelite, resulting in a similar but not identical turn of phrase (‫ )נמכר לך‬in Deut 15:12 and Lev 25:39. 3.2.4. ‫יצא מעמך‬, “depart from you,” is found in Deut 15:16 and Lev 25:41, although ‫ יצא‬is inflected differently in each passage. The same sequence appears in Exod 8:25. The three passages are provided here for comparison, along with the related usage of ‫ יצא‬in a passage from the Covenant Code:

Deut 15:16

‫והיה כי יאמר אליך‬ ‫לא אצא מעמך כי‬ ‫אהבך ואת ביתך‬ But if he says to you, “I will not depart from you, for I love you and your house,” . . .

Lev 25:40–41

‫עד שנת היבל יעבד‬ ‫עמך ויצא מעמך‬ ‫הוא ובניו עמו‬ Until the year of the jubilee he shall work for you; then he shall depart from you, he and his children with him . . .

Exod 8:25

‫ויאמר משה הנה‬ ‫אנכי יוצא מעמך‬

And Moses said, “Behold, I am departing from you,” . . .

Exod 21:2

‫כי תקנה עבד עברי‬ ‫שש שנים יעבד‬ ‫ובשבעת יצא לחפשי‬ ‫חנם‬ If you buy a Hebrew slave, six years he shall serve and in the seventh he shall depart for free, for nothing.

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The following ten instances of the verb ‫ יצא‬+ the compound preposition ‫ מעם‬elsewhere in the MT demonstrate that this construction is not peculiar or unprecedented: Gen 48:12 (attributed to E); Exod 8:8, 25MT (29ET), 26MT (30ET); 9:33; 10:6,18; 11:8 (all attributed to J); 2 Sam 3:26; Job 1:12; Isa 28:29. Although Milgrom and Stackert both argue that ‫ עמך‬is employed in the manumission laws of H and D with the technical meaning “under your authority,” in all the passages outside of these slave laws (see above) where the construction ‫יצא מעם‬ appears, it simply means “depart from the presence of (someone),” and there seems to be no good reason to render it any differently in Deut 15:16 and Lev 25:41.30 What does one make of this data? From a purely formal perspective, the use of the phrase ‫ יצא מעמך‬in Deut 15:16 is no more similar to its use in Lev 25:41 than to Exod 8:25—in each case, the inflection of ‫יצא‬ is different while ‫ מעמך‬remains the same. Conceptually and structurally, the strongest parallel is between Lev 25:41 and Exod 21:2; both cases legislate for the slave to “depart” (‫ )יצא‬in a sacred year:

Exod 21:2

‫ובשבעת יצא‬

but in the seventh, he shall depart . . . Lev 25:40–41

‫ויצא מעמך‬

‫יעבד‬

‫שש שנים‬

he shall work

six years

‫יעבד עמך‬

then he shall he shall work with depart from you . . . you,

‫עד שנת היבל‬ until the year of jubilee

The only affinity between the otherwise dissimilar diction and context of Deut 15:16 and Lev 15:41 is the common use of ‫ מעמך‬after a form of the verb ‫יצא‬. This could possibly betray literary dependence in either direction.31 However, the scenario—in which the Holiness author, modifying his presumed Covenant Code source text concerning the departure of slaves (Exod 21:2), suddenly reaches into the text of Deuteronomy 15 (lying open before him?) in order to borrow an unremarkable prepositional phrase (‫ )מעמך‬out of a conceptually antithetical context (v. 16, the refusal of departure!) because he could not come up with a suitable prepositional phrase on his own—strains

30

Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 150; and Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation and Commentary (AB 3b; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2256. 31 See Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 150–51.

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credibility. In other words, it fails MacDonald’s criterion of “interpretability” and Hays’ “satisfaction.” On the other hand, as we have seen, the construction ‫ יצא מעם‬is attested in several literary strata of the MT (E, J, DtrH, Job, Isaiah), and by itself does not arouse undue suspicion of intentional imitation. The second-person, masculine, singular suffix on ‫ מעם‬in both Deut 15:16 and Lev 25:41 is a function of the second-person form of address found in all the biblical law codes. 3.2.5. (. . . ‫שמר ועשה )את מצוה‬. Variations of the sequence ‫ שמר ועשה‬or ‫ שמר לעשות‬with reference to the commands of God (,‫ משפטים‬,‫מצות‬ . . . ‫ הקות‬,‫ )חקים‬are very common (at least one hundred instances) in the MT, especially in the Holiness Code, Deuteronomy, DtrH, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel. Variations of the phrase occur in Lev 25:18 and Deut 15:5:

Deut 15:5

‫רק אם שמוע תשמע בקול יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫לשמר לעשות את כל המצוה הזאת‬ “If only you will obey the voice of the Lord your God, being careful to do all this commandment . . .”

Lev 25:18

‫ועשיתם את חקתי ואת משפטי‬ ‫תשמרו ועשיתם אתם‬ “Therefore you shall do my statutes, and keep my ordinances and do them . . .” (v. 18)

It has been claimed that the statement of Lev 25:18 is “distinctively Deuteronomistic terminology,”32 but this is inaccurate. In fact, the diction of Lev 25:18 is peculiarly and identifiably characteristic of the Holiness Code, since the entire statement ‫ועשיתם את חקתי ואת‬ ‫ משפטי תשמרו ועשיתם אתם‬is merely a slight variation on the statements in Lev 19:37 and 20:22, with further close parallels in Lev 18:4, 5, 26, 30; 20:8, 31; 26:3.33 Comparison with these passages makes it clear that the author of Lev 25:18 is employing a stock H locution and not deriving his diction from the quite different phrase in Deut 15:5.34 32

Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 526.

‫“ ושמרתם את כל חקתי ואת כל משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬And you shall keep all my statutes and all my ordinances, and do them . . .” (Lev 19:37); ‫ושמרתם את כל חקתי‬ ‫“ ואת כל משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬You shall therefore keep all my statutes and all my ordinances, and do them . . .” (Lev 20:22). 34 Characteristic of H is the combination of 2mpl ‫ שמר‬and ‫ עשה‬with direct objects ‫ חקותי‬and ‫משפטי‬, in that order. Also characteristic of H is the seemingly redundant 33

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3.2.6. An Overview of Characteristic Locutions. What arises from careful study of the verbal sequences of both these passages is not an impression of commonality but of divergence. Particularly striking are the numerous occasions where Deut 15:1–18 exhibits a word or phrase that would have been useful to the author of Leviticus 25, but instead, the Holiness author(s) uses a lexically distinct but semantically similar word or phrase. The following is a partial list:

To express the concept:

Deut 15:1–18 employs:

But Lev 25 exhibits:

assurance of the Lord’s blessing of His people

‫ברך יברכך‬

‫וצויתי את ברכתי לכם‬

“He will surely bless you” (v. 4)

“I will command my blessing for you” (v. 21)

the year of (debt) forgiveness

inherited property prohibition of social injustice among Israelites

the necessity of obedience to the Lord’s law

‫שמטה‬

‫דרור‬, ‫יובל‬

shemittah, “release” (v.1, 2, 9)

yobel, “Jubilee,” (v. 10 et passim) or deror, “liberty” (v. 10)

‫נחלה‬

‫אחזה‬

“inheritance” (v. 4)

“possession” (v. 13)

‫לא יגש את רעהו ואת‬ ‫אחיו‬

‫אל תונו איש את אחיו‬

“Let not a man oppress his neighbor or his brother” (v. 2)

‫רק אם שמוע תשמע‬ ‫בקול יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫לשמר לעשות את כל‬ ‫המצוה הזאת‬

“Do not wrong one another” (v. 14)

‫ועשיתם את חקתי ואת‬ ‫משפטי תשמרו ועשיתם‬ ‫אתם‬

“Therefore you shall do “If only you will obey my statutes, and keep the voice of the Lord my ordinances and your God, being perform them . . .” (v. 18) careful to do all this commandment . . . (v. 5) harsh rule appropriate for Gentiles

‫ומשלת בגוים רבים‬

‫לא תרדה בו בפרך‬

“You shall rule (mashal) over many nations” (v. 6)

“You shall not rule (radah) over him with harshness” (v. 43, 46, 53)

concluding expression ‫( ועשיתם אתם‬Lev 19:37; 20:8, 22; 22:31; 25:18; 26:3). There are similar phrases in D and DtrH, but both prefer the constructions ‫ שמר לעשה‬or even ‫ לשמר לעשה‬as in Deut 15:5 (the infinitive forms never appear in H) and the objects ‫ מצות‬and ‫( הקים‬masculine), which are rare in H.

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Table (cont.) To express the concept: the poor brother

exhortation to support the needy brother

Deut 15:1–18 employs:

But Lev 25 exhibits:

‫אחיך אביון‬

‫כי ימוך אחיך‬

“your needy brother” (v. 7, 9)

“If your brother grows poor” (v. 25, 29, 47)

‫פתח תפתח את ידך‬ ‫לאחיך לעניך ולאבינך‬ ‫בארצך‬

‫וכי ימיך אחיך ומטה‬ ‫ידו עמך והחזקת בו גר‬ ‫ותושב וחי עמך‬

“. . . You shall open “And if your brother wide your hand to your becomes poor, and brother, to the needy cannot maintain himself and to the poor, in the with you, you shall land.” (v. 11) maintain him; as a stranger and a sojourner he shall live with you.” (v. 35) freedom redemption

remembrance of slavery in Egypt

Land of Israel

‫חפשי‬

‫דרור‬

“free” (v. 12)

“liberty” (v. 10)

‫פדה‬

‫גאל‬

“redeem” (v. 15)

“redeem” (v. 25 et passim)

‫וזכרת כי עבד היית‬ ‫בארץ מצרים ויפדך‬ ‫יהוה אלהיך‬

‫כי לי בני ישראל עבדים‬ ‫עבדי הם אשר הוצאתי‬ ‫אותם מארץ מצרים‬

“Remember that you were a slave in the Land of Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you” (v. 15)

“For to me the sons of Israel are servants; they are my servants whom I brought forth from the Land of Egypt” (v. 55)

‫הארץ אשר אני נתן לכם בארץ אשר יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫נתן לך נחלה לרשתה‬ “The land which I am “In the land which the Lord your God is giving you (sg) as an inheritance to possess it.” (v. 4; cf. v. 7)

giving you (pl).” (v. 2)35

35 There are at least a hundred verses in the MT that exhibit variation of the sequence “the land which [some designation for the Lord] gives/gave to [some designation of the people of Israel],” in other words, (‫הארץ אשר )יהוה( נתן ל )בני ישראל‬. Therefore, even though Deut 15:2 and Lev 25:2 share this four-word, non-contiguous sequence, it is not significant for establishing literary dependence. Both H and D have their own distinctive versions of this conventional phrase.

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These examples demonstrate that, even when expressing nearly identical concepts, the Holiness Code and Deuteronomy employ significantly distinct diction. Such data does not support the hypothesis of literary dependence in either direction. 4. Conclusions This study has carefully scrutinized the seventh-year and manumission laws of the Holiness Code and Deuteronomy, looking for the linguistic phenomena that provide the strongest evidence of literary dependence: common low-frequency vocabulary or low-frequency sequences. We have discovered that these two textual units share no rare lexemes and only two uncommon ones, and the context of the two uncommon terms in each text did not provide any clear corroborative evidence of literary dependence. This is despite the fact that both texts display a wealth of low-frequency vocabulary. The longest identically-inflected contiguous sequence shared by Deut 15:1–18 and Leviticus 25 was found to be ‫ובשנה השביעת‬. This phrase is found in other texts of the MT that discuss events “in the seventh year,” so it is not a unique parallel between Deut 15:1–18 and Leviticus 25. Strikingly, there are no contiguous, identically-inflected sequences of any length that are unique to Leviticus 25 and Deut 15:1– 18 (i.e. not found elsewhere in the MT). The shared sequences ‫נמכר‬ ‫ לך‬and ‫יצא מעמך‬, although differently inflected in each text, could be examples of literary dependence, or else examples of the kind of parallels one would expect to arise periodically due to similarity in subject matter of the two texts. Has the literary dependence of H on D (or vice versa) been demonstrated in the case of the seventh-year and manumission laws? While literary dependence can be maintained as a possibility in a few instances, to claim there is conclusive proof for it is to go beyond the textual evidence. There are simply not enough shared locutions between the two texts to establish literary dependence at all, much less prove its direction. The few similarities of diction between the texts are perhaps even less than what one might have expected to have arisen spontaneously between two ancient Israelite scribes independently addressing the same basic legal issues. The fact that the scholarly arguments about literary dependence of these manumission laws have all been based on the shared use of phrases composed of very

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common Hebrew vocabulary (e.g. ‫יצא‬, ‫מכר‬, ‫מעם‬, ‫ אח‬etc.), while avoiding entirely the lexemes that are truly unique to each passage, should tell us something about the literary (non-)relationship of these laws. As Bernard Levinson recognizes, “if D were responding to H, it would be expected to adopt some of [H’s] distinctive vocabulary.”36 But the lack of shared distinctive vocabulary is a double-edged sword; therefore, Weinfeld is also correct to observe, “had P been dependent on D—as Wellhausen assumed—then we should be able to discern this dependence in verbal . . . parallels, but no such dependence has yet been convincingly demonstrated.”37 The literary relationship of H and D (or lack thereof ) in the texts examined here stands in stark contrast to what was observed between the Chronicler and DtrH; Ezekiel and the Holiness Code; the Holiness Code and the Covenant Code; and Deuteronomy and the Covenant Code. In each of these other cases it was possible to identify lowfrequency, identically inflected vocabulary or sequences, sometimes lengthy, between the two texts, pointing clearly to literary dependence in one or the other direction. These phenomena cannot be found between the seventh-year and manumission laws of H and D. Of particular importance is the fact that these phenomena are observable in at least some instances between H and CC, and D and CC, and these instances provide examples of how H and D employ their source(s). If either H or D is dependent on the other in the case of the manumission laws, one would expect to see between them at least some instances of the clear literary parallels that both these documents show toward the Covenant Code. Of course, there are many issues that have not been addressed in this study, e.g. the numerous arguments for conceptual dependence between these texts, and claims that have been advanced for seeing literary dependence of Lev 25:1–55 on other passages of D outside of Deut 15:1–18. Furthermore, the criteria advanced here for determining literary dependence, while (in my view) important and even essential, are not exhaustive, and they have only been applied to the

36

Levinson, “Manumission of Hermeneutics,” 319. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 180. Weinfeld does not distinguish between P and H. Here he is speaking of the relationship of the Priestly traditions (P and H) vis-à-vis D generally, but his observations also apply specifically to the manumission laws. 37

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manumission and seventh-year laws in H and D. It would be desirable to continue the application of these criteria to the rest of H and D in order to establish a complete statistical picture of the literary relationship between the two legislations, and to determine to what extent the limited literary similarities between the manumission and seventh-year laws are characteristic of the relationship between the codes in general. Nonetheless, the basic finding of this study is that the manumission and seventh-year laws of H and D share almost none of each other’s unique lexical and syntactical features, a fact which is interesting in itself and must be accounted for by whatever theory of the relationship of H and D one wishes to adopt. In addition to what has been discussed above, this finding has the following implications: First, at least with respect to the manumission and seventh-year laws, the direction of dependence between H and D cannot be determined based on formal literary analysis alone (i.e. excluding arguments concerning conceptual or historical development). Secondly, it cannot be maintained that the Holiness Code, at least in the case of the manumission laws, appropriates the diction of Deuteronomy with hostile intent in order to subvert it. In other words, it is not possible to conceive of the literary relationship of H and D (at least with respect to the manumission laws) in the same way that Bernard Levinson conceives of the relationship between D and CC.38 While D reuses enough of the lexical treasury of the CC to render possible Levinson’s contention that D intends to borrow CC’s authority (through its diction) while subverting its ideology, in the case of H and D, there are simply not enough literary affinities between the two to argue that H is cloaking itself with D’s diction while undermining its agenda. As the table above of contrasting phrases demonstrates, if H is employing D as a source, one would have to conclude that H is hiding that fact rather than calling attention to it. Thirdly, this study renders implausible the suggestion that H is employing Jer 34:8–22 as a source in the formulation of its legislation in Lev 25:8–55.39 Jeremiah 34:8–22 is heavily dependent on

38

As argued in Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation. Pace, for example, Leuchter, “The Manumission Laws in Leviticus and Deuteronomy.” 39

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Deut 15:12–1840 but also shares some rare lexemes and sequences with the Holiness Code.41 Significantly, none of the locutions shared by Jeremiah 34 and Deuteronomy 15 are present in Leviticus 25. It is standard methodology in literary criticism, when faced with a text that conflates the diction characteristic of two literary sources, to conclude that the conflating text is later than, and dependent on, those literary sources.42 Jeremiah conflates diction characteristic of D and H. Therefore, as Moshe Weinfeld argued long ago,43 Jeremiah is dependent on H and D.44 If H was dependent on Jeremiah in Lev 25:8–55, these jubilee laws would reflect at least some of Jeremiah’s Deuteronomic locutions: D’s language would have been mediated to H through Jeremiah.

40 See Nahum Sarna, “Zedekiah’s Emancipation of Slaves and the Sabbatical Year,” in Occident and Orient: Essays Presented to C. H. Gordon on the Occasion of his SixtyFifth Birthday (ed. H. A. Hoffner, Jr.; AOAT 22; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 143–49, esp. 145–46. 41 See Moshe Weinfeld, “Sabbatical Year and Jubilee in the Pentateuchal Laws and Their Ancient Near Eastern Background,” in Law in the Bible and Its Environment (ed. Timo Veijola; Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 39–62, here 41–42, esp. 41 n. 8. See also discussion in Bergsma, Jubilee, 163–70. The shared sequences are ‫קרא דרור‬, “proclaim liberty” (Jer 34:8, 15, 17; Lev 25:10), and ‫חלל שמי‬, “profane my name” (Jer 34:16; never in D, but frequent in H: Lev 18:21; 19:12; 20:3; 21:6; 22:2, 32). 42 For example, see David Carr’s sixth criterion (“Method of Determination,” 126). 43 Weinfeld, “Sabbatical Year,” 41: “The writer of Jer 34,12ff. . . . interpreted the liberty which the king proclaimed as based on the law of Deuteronomy but was also to a certain extent dependent on the priestly law.” Weinfeld did not typically distinguish between H and P. 44 For more discussion see Bergsma, Jubilee, 160–70.

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john s. bergsma APPENDIX: THE COMMON LEXEMES OF LEV 25:1–55 AND DEUT 15:1–12, WITH FREQUENCY IN LEVITICUS 25 AND THE MT

The first number is the frequency in Leviticus 25, the number in parentheses (for selected terms) is the frequency in the MT. The eighteen lexemes not found in the analogous CC laws (Exod 21:2–11 and 23:10–11) are marked with an asterisk.

‫ או‬or = 6 ‫ אח‬brother = 10 (638) * ‫ אחד‬one (m) = 1 (977) * ‫ אל‬to, toward = 10 ‫ אלהים‬God = 7 ‫ אם‬if, whether = 5 ‫ אמה‬female servant = 3 (322) ‫ אמר‬to say = 3 ‫ ארץ‬land, earth = 20 ‫ אשר‬which = 14 ‫( את‬direct object marker) = 28 ‫ את‬with = 3 * ‫ ב‬in, at, with = 40 ‫ בית‬house, receptacle = 6 * ‫ גוי‬nation = 1 * ‫ דבר‬to speak = 2 * ‫ די‬enough = 2 (18) * ‫ ה‬the = 46 ‫ היה‬to be = 22 ‫ ו‬and = 105 ‫ זאת‬this (f.) = 1 * ‫ יד‬hand, part, penis = 7 * ‫ יהוה‬LORD, Yahweh = 6 * ‫ יום‬day = 4 ‫ יצא‬to go out = 9 (1076) ‫ ירש‬to possess, inherit, dispossess = 1 (232) * ‫ כ‬as, like = 6 ‫ כי‬that, because, when = 18 ‫ כל‬all, whole, everyone, everything = 4 ‫ ל‬to = 72

the biblical manumission laws

‫ לא‬no, not = 25 ‫ לקח‬to take = 1 (976) ‫ מכר‬to sell = 13 (85) ‫ מן‬from = 24 * ‫ מצרים‬Egypt, Mizraim = 3 (682) * ‫ נתן‬to give, put, set = 6 (2000+) ‫ עבד‬to work, serve = 3 (317) ‫ עבד‬servant, slave = 8 (860) ‫ עולם‬forever, everlasting, age = 3 (439) ‫ עין‬eye, spring = 1 (932) ‫ על‬upon, over, above = 3 ‫ עם‬with = 18 ‫ עשה‬to do, make = 3 (2000+) ‫ צוה‬to command = 1 (496) * ‫ קרא‬to call = 1 (891) * ‫ רב‬great, many = 1 (645) * ‫ שכיר‬hired = 4 (18) * ‫ שביעי‬seventh = 3 (98) ‫ שבע‬seven = 4 (642) * ‫ שמר‬to keep, watch, preserve = 1 (479) ‫ שנה‬year = 37 (933) ‫ שש‬six = 2 (215)

91

THE HISTORY OF PENTECONTAD TIME UNITS (I) Jonathan Ben-Dov In 1942 Hildegard and Julius Lewy published a monograph-length article about “The Origin of the Week and the Oldest West Asiatic Calendar.”1 In this article, spanning from early second millennium b.c.e. Mesopotamia to Late Antiquity and beyond, they claimed that already in the Old Assyrian period the year was constructed as a series of fifty-day units. Having connected this practice with the count of seven weeks in Leviticus 23 and 25, the Lewys also detected a similar division of the year in the calendar of the Nestorian Church of Late Antiquity, in the folklore of twentieth-century Palestinian Arabs, and in the calendar of the Beta Israel in Ethiopia. They finally concluded that a steady stream of calendrical traditions maintained a fifty-day based agricultural calendar throughout the history of the ancient Near East (ANE). This calendar, Amorite in origin, prevailed in West Semitic circles, while subject to various developments. This idea exerted enormous influence on the study of calendars in the Bible, the Pseudepigrapha and the Dead Sea Scrolls. It gained further strength with the publication of the Scrolls, especially the Temple Scroll in 1977 (preliminarily in 1967), with the additional, counts of fifty days incorporated into its festival calendar (11QTa 17–23). The pronounced agricultural traits of this festival calendar prompted Yigael Yadin (albeit in a very careful way) to describe it as a link in the ancient tradition depicted by the Lewys:2 1 HUCA 17 (1942–1943): 1–152. I am grateful to my assistant, Niva Dikman, for her help in collecting the material and preparing the article for publication. Wayne Horowitz (Jerusalem) and Simeon Chavel (Chicago) read earlier drafts and offered valuable comments. Gerhard Rouwhorst (Utrecht) supplied valuable bibliographic help. 2 Y. Yadin, The Temple Scroll (3 vols.; Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 1:121–22. This notion had earlier been suggested by Joseph Baumgarten, who considered the pentecontad calendar to be a foundation of the sectarian tradition; see int. al. J. M. Baumgarten, “The Counting of the Sabbath in Ancient Sources,” and “4QHalakaha 5, the Law of Hadash, and the Pentecontad Calendar,” collected in Studies in Qumran Law (SJLA 24; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 115–23, 131–42; “Some Problems of the Jubilees Calendar in Current Research,” VT 32 (1982): 485–89; “The Calendar of the Book of Jubilees and the Temple Scroll,” VT 37 (1987): 71–78. Baumgarten, in

94

jonathan ben-dov Of the studies in this subject, first and foremost is that of H. and J. Lewy, who tried to show that there was a festival calendar, based on seven periods of ḫamuštum in ancient Assyria. . . . In summary, it can be said that the calendric system of the scroll is not original in its fundamental approach and has a long history in the calendars of the ancient Near East. However, it remains unique in its details, terminology and the purport of the Feasts.

Some commentators of Leviticus followed suit when commenting on Leviticus 23 and 25.3 All the more so after Julius Lewy’s 1958 article, in which he connected the pentecontad count with the mīšarum remission acts of ancient Mesopotamia, claiming again for an Amorite tradition of recurring pentecontad acts of manumission, in Assyrian and Babylonian sources as in Leviticus 25.4 It has been since then widely accepted that the Jewish priestly tradition and its apocalyptic trajectory (as presented in the Temple Scroll) continue an ancient West Semitic calendrical tradition. In his informative yet prudent essay on the calendar in the Anchor Bible Dictionary, James VanderKam was careful to downplay the importance of the pentecontad calendar in the biblical and Jewish frameworks.5 I am honored to dedicate this article to Jim, a great scholar of ancient calendars and a role model of scholarly conduct. It is my aim here to cast doubt on the early attestations of the pentecontad calendar. After summarizing the Lewys’ argument, I shall first recollect the consensus rejection of their view by Assyriologists. The head of the pantheon of Assyriology, Benno Landsberger, called it “eine kalendarische Kuriosität,” noting that Julius Lewy himself did not promote it anymore.6 Further, the texts in Leviticus do not reflect a full-fledged pentecontad calendar, nor do the calendars of Jubilees and the Temple Scroll. Rather, pentecontad calendars were the fruit of a later history of development, which departed from the seven-based thinking of the priestly sources of the Pentateuch. The pentecontad

turn, was preceded by J. Morgenstern, “The Calendar of the Book of Jubilees, Its Origin and Its Character”, VT 5 (1955): 34–76. Most of this article reiterates the Lewys’ argument with utter support. 3 E.g. J. E. Hartley, Leviticus (WBC 4; Dallas: Word Books, 1992), 373. 4 J. Lewy, “The Biblical Institution of Derôr in the Light of Akkadian Documents,” Eretz-Israel 5 (1958): 21*–31*. 5 James C. VanderKam, “Calendars,” ABD 1:810–20; repr. with revisions in idem, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998), 3–14. 6 B. Lansberger, “Jahreszeiten im Sumerisch-Akkadischen—Concluded,” JNES 8 (1949): 273–97, here 291.

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year is a product of the late Hellenistic or early Roman period in certain Jewish circles, mainly in the apocalyptic tradition and in Philo’s Pythagorean-minded thinking. It then continued in various trajectories of this environment: in some Christian communities of Late Antiquity, in some Jewish sects, and even in the Middle Eastern agricultural folklore. Since this span of sources is too wide to be studied sufficiently here, the present paper shall survey mainly the early stages and leave the later sources to be pursued elsewhere. 1. The Lewys’ Argument and its Main Trajectories The monograph by H. and J. Lewy conveys a long and intricate argument, with lengthy digressions and sub-arguments. It is the joint work of two scholars, who each made immense contributions to the study of the ANE, but this particular article is largely outdated.7 The article is a typical product of that heroic age in the early twentieth century, in which scholars had perfect command of all Semitic and Classical languages, and in which the linguistic and intellectual map of the ANE was still significantly veiled, a fact which permitted the scholars a certain degree of speculation. The general line of the article seeks to stress the interrelation between time-reckoning and the weather conditions required for agriculture. Its argument will be summarized here, with the main points examined critically in the following sections. A short first chapter discusses the definition of the time unit “day,” claiming that in the ANE the day was often defined not by the rising and setting of the sun, but rather by the blowing of specially designated winds at dawn and dusk—hence the double meaning of the Sumerian UD (=Akkadian ūmum) as both “day” and “storm (demon).”8 A second chapter is titled “The Time Unit Week and its Relation to the Heptads in Cosmology and Theology.” In it, the authors point to what 7 See e.g. G. Eisser and J. Lewy, Die altassyrischen Rechtsurkunden vom Kültepe, I–II (MVAG 30, 35/3; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1930, 1935); H. Lewy, “Anatolia in the Old Assyrian Period; Assyria c. 2600–1816 B.C.,” CAH I/2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 707–70. 8 The Lewys interpret the biblical phrase ‫( עד שיפוח היום‬Song 4:6) as marking the day by the blowing wind at dusk. This is the origin of the Hebrew term ‫נשף‬, which means “dawn” but also “dusk,” while relating to the wind that blows at the beginning and end of the day; on this word see R. Gordis, The Book of Job: Commentary, New Translation and Special Studies (New York: JTS, 1978), 35.

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they consider to be a pristine cosmological system of seven winds, standing as a symbol for the entire cosmos. They cite a series of texts— by 1942 newly published or still unpublished—which underscore this sevenfold, rather than fourfold, division of the cosmos. Thus they make much of the seven winds of destruction in Enuma Eliš IV, 41–47, claiming that the fourfold matrix of šār erbetti in II, 41–43 is a later modification (p. 9). In addition they discuss the so-called “Babylonian Map of the World,” (pp. 11–12) with the then-prevalent interpretation that the map depicts seven nagû zones and a sevenfold division of the cosmos. They note the occasional use of the logogram VII to designate the Akkadian word kiššatum, “totality, world” (p. 16).9 Thus they posit a system which preceded the standard fourfold division of the cosmos, and regarded the seven winds, rather than the sun’s rising and setting, as the main orientation points (p. 19). They continue to examine mythological features of the winds and the storms, and their association with the number seven. Chapter three of the article studies various attestations of the Divine Heptad sometimes called (d)Sibbitu, the Seven (Gods), with special emphasis on the manifestation of this heptad as a collection of winds (p. 40). Some ritual texts assigned seven such gods to each of the seven sacred cities of Babylon, thus yielding the number of forty-nine gods; adding one more god to this sum, one could reach the number of fifty gods, representing the entirety of the world (p. 45).10 This figure, connecting (by implication) the gods, the winds, and the spatio-temporal dimensions of the world, completes the infrastructure for the discussion of fifty throughout the rest of the article. Section IV, called “The Pentecontad Calendar in Assyria,” is dedicated to the use and interpretation of the calendrical term ḫamuštum (pl. ḫamšātum, henceforth h.) in the Old Assyrian caravan texts from Kültepe. It should be noted that the study of Old Assyrian (OA) texts remains difficult even today; thus, to be sure, in 1942 it was certainly

9 For this matter see CAD K, 457; W. Horowitz, Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1998), 216. The Lewys point out that kiššatum is sometimes designated by 7 and sometimes by 50, with both numbers supporting their numerical thesis. They fail to mention, however, the spelling of kiššatum with the logogram 40 (see CAD K, 457). All of these spellings, however, are rather uncommon, since the word is commonly spelled with “textual” logograms, not numbers, but this comes in a Sumerian context. 10 For the use of the number fifty as designation of a god, see CAD H, 81, s.v. ‘hanšā’.

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in a rather preliminary stage. The Lewys declare the meaning of h. to be “a period of fifty days, a pentecontad” (p. 47). Further, “The Old Assyrian merchants . . . used simultaneously two calendars, one based upon the fifty-day-period as time-unit and a second reckoning after months and eponymy-years,” and even “It is self-evident that a year comprises seven full pentecontads” (p. 49). From the OA use of the h. in combination with the term šapattum (=full moon, fifteenth day of the month), they deduce that the šapattum in OA texts denotes an intercalation period(!) of fifteen days, which, if added to seven periods of fifty days, together comprises a year of 365 days. Since the word h. is often modified by agricultural terms, such as h. ṣibit niggallim (h. of the seizing of the sickle), h. qitip karānim (picking of grapes) or h. ša tīnātim (of the figs), they conclude that the pentecontad calendar interacted with the agricultural schedule. The Lewys even offer (p. 65) a table coordinating the modern Gregorian year with the OA year, as divided into seven h. agricultural seasons.11 Furthermore, the Lewys allow for an intercalation practice for their reconstructed OA calendar (p. 69), despite the fact that no names of intercalary months are actually mentioned in the texts. In addition, they posit the existence of a period of fifty h.s, equaling 7 and 1/7 years, as well as the square of that period, measuring “approximately fifty years.” Chapter V of the article seeks traces for a pentecontad count outside Assyria. In Babylonia, the authors point out the term sibūtum (in their transliteration sibûtum), which in their opinion designates oneseventh of the year, implying that the Babylonians of the Old Babylonian period divided their year into seven like their Assyrian counterparts (p. 77). Based on the Amorite origin of the first Babylonian dynasty, the authors conclude that the seven-fold division of the year originated in Amorite practice in the west and penetrated into Old Babylonian practice and terminology. The authors take up other “western” attestations of the fifty-day count, notably the biblical count in Lev 23:10–16. They construe the word ‫ שבת‬in the phrase ‫ ממחרת השבת‬as reflecting their own understanding of the Old Assyrian šapattum (“a period of days intercalated between two pentecontads”) and present the implications of this

11 Notably, not all of the seven seasons in the table have names, and some of the seasons have double names.

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idiosyncratic view.12 This scheme, in turn, is aligned with the calendar of the flood in Genesis 7–8 and agrees with the Israelite practice of counting weeks throughout the harvest season (Jer 5:24). Evidence for the grammatical formulation of the numerals 7, 1/7, 5, 50, 1/5 etc. are marshaled from as far as Ethiopic and Syriac morphology (p. 93), demonstrating that not only h., but also the Hebrew term ‫ שבוע‬may designate a fifty-day unit of time (p. 96). The ancient West Semitic pentecontad calendar which was based on winds and weather is still reflected in the present-day Palestinian folklore by the Arabic term ḥ amsin (pl. el-ḥ amsînāt).13 This term, which classical Arabic authors used to designate the biblical count of Lev 23:15, is used by Palestinian farmers to denote the fifty days of harvest, which are characterized in the Levant by devastating heat and dry east winds. Finally, the pentecontad year is reflected in the liturgy of the Syrian Nestorian church, which divides its year into seven fiftyday periods called ‫שבוע‬. The last section of chapter V (pp. 107–109) describes the modifications that were applied to the ancient Amorite pentecontad calendar until it reached its ramification in the calendar of the book of Jubilees. Chapter VI represents other potentially important sources, commencing with the pentecontad festivals celebrated by the Ethiopian Jewish community, known as the Falasha or Beta Israel. The discussion requires, however, significant updating according to the information available today.14 A further important field raised by the Lewys pertains to the pentecontad festivals in Philo’s account of the Therapeutae.15 Following their treatment, some writers noted a pertinent

12 For a discussion of the meaning of ‫שבת‬, see J. van Goudoever, Biblical Calendars (Leiden: Brill, 1961), 19–29; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27 (AB 3b; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2056–63. 13 Their discussion relies on the report by the Palestinian writer Taufik Cana’an, “Der Kalender des Palästinensischen Fellachen,” ZDPV 36 (1913): 266–300. Note, however, that this article rests almost entirely on the practices of Christian Palestinian Arabs, and thus most of its finds could be related to eastern Christian thought rather than to ancient pre-Hellenistic models. Dalman (cited by Morgenstern, “The Calendar,” 46) reports that Muslim countrymen indicate the Christian pentecontad festivals as the markers of the agricultural year, since their own purely lunar reckoning does not agree with the agricultural seasons. 14 E.g, Y. Ziv, Halachot Shabbat of Beta Israel according to Te’ezaza Sanbat (Ph.D. diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2009), 16 and bibliography cited there. 15 Goudoever, Biblical Calendars, 26; Baumgarten, “4QHalakaha 5, the Law of Hadash, and the Pentecontad Calendar,” 134–37. The new material accumulated on this topic in Philo’s writings requires a separate discussion.

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passage from the Cairo Genizah, ascribed to the Kitab al-tamyiz of R. Sa’adia Gaon, in which the writer ascribes to “Judah the Alexandrian” a statute about celebrating harvest festivals (in addition to the cereal festival mentioned in Leviticus); these festivals stand fifty days apart in the calendar.16 New and substantial evidence for the pentecontad hypothesis arose from the finds at Qumran starting the late 1950s. The occurrence of a “Festival of Oil” in the fragment 4Q394 1–2 (then called Mišmarot Eb), noted by Milik as early as 1956, as well as the subsequent discovery of new harvest festivals in the Temple Scroll, led scholars to a new view of the pentecontad tradition.17 Joseph Baumgarten carried the argument forward by connecting the “Festival of Oil” with the evidence of 4Q251 Halakhah A frg 9 (olim frg 5).18 To sum up, examples for a pentecontad year (or elements of this type of year) were claimed to appear in a wide range of sources, from early second millenium b.c.e. Assyria to the early first millennium c.e. in the Levant, as well as in later trajectories. This paper shall dwell on the early links in this chain, aiming to prove that a pentecontad year did not exist in the early textual sources. Rather, it grew as an elaboration of earlier traditions and was primarily performed by the Jewish—biblical, apocalyptic, philosophical—numerical ideology in the Hellenistic-Roman period. 2. The Early Mesopotamian Evidence 2a. ḫamuštum Scholars of early time-reckoning find particular interest in studying the units of time shorter than one month, which are sometimes represented as various versions of “the Week.” The Old Assyrian 16 For this passage see Annie Jaubert, La date de la Cène. Calendrier biblique et liturgie Chrétienne (Paris: Gabalda, 1957), 43; Goudoever, Biblical Calendars, 27; Yadin, The Temple Scroll, 119, and earlier literature cited there. The most recent discussion of this material, although in passing, is by Y. Erder, The Karaite Mourners of Zion and the Qumran Scrolls. On the History of an Alternative to Rabbinic Judaism (Tel-Aviv: Haqibbutz Hame’uhad, 2004), 170 [Hebrew]. 17 J. T. Milik, Dix ans de découvertes dans le désert de Juda (Paris: Cerf, 1957), 24–25; Goudoever, Biblical Calendars, 28; Y. Yadin, “The Temple Scroll,” BA 30 (1967): 135–39. 18 Baumgarten, “4QHalakaha 5, the Law of Hadash, and the Pentecontad Calendar,” 131–42.

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time-reckoning system is especially interesting, since this remote society seems to have employed highly independent units and measurements. The h. is of course a central expression of this uniqueness. Of the scholars who have studied this issue, however, the Lewys stand alone. Landsberger, who was the first to study the term h., construed it as a unit of five days.19 This position, supported also by K. Balkan, was ultimately adopted in CAD.20 On the other hand, von Soden construed it as “Fünftelmonat, 6-Tagewoche,” i.e. a six-day week.21 More recently, Klaas Veenhof, the foremost expert on this difficult field of study, made a good case for his previous claim that h. stands for a seven-day week.22 Due to the special interest of this interpretation for biblical scholars, it is worthwhile to dwell shortly on the possibilities raised in this direction. Both Balkan and Veenhof base their opinions on a cuneiform tablet (kt g/k 118) which they call “the ḫamuštum-almanach”; this tablet enumerates the number of h. contained in a single year. While Balkan reconstructed sixty-six lines in this tablet, hence sixty-six “weeks” in a year, other scholars reconstructed a number between forty-five and fifty, and Veenhof calculated the number to be fifty to fifty-two “weeks” per year, yielding a seven-day week.23 Needless to say, this is a very suggestive figure for any scholar who is trained in the Jewish priestly-apocalyptic tradition, especially the book of Jubilees (see the specification of “fifty-two weeks” in Jub. 6:30). Yet, it must be remembered that the fifty-two-week year in OA texts is based on reconstruction and is by no means certain. Further, even if the tablet enumerates 19 B. Landsberger, Der Kultische Kalender der Babylonier und Assyrer (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1915), 98; cf. Landsberger (above, n. 6). Robert Englund addressed the possibility that a five-day week in OA texts reflects the earlier use of this unit in archaic texts, but rejected it because the archaic attestation for this unit is insufficient: R. K. Englund, “Administrative Timekeeping in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JESHO 31 (1988): 161. 20 Kemal Balkan, “The Old Assyrian Week,” in Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday (ed. H. G. Güterbock and T. Jacobsen; Assyriological Studies 16; Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1965), 159–74, and previous bibliography cited there; cf. also CAD H, 74–75. 21 AHw 1:319. Von Soden adopts a previous proposal by N. H. Tur-Sinai, “Sabbat und Woche,” BiOr 8 (1951): 14–24. See also William W. Hallo, “New Moons and Sabbaths: a Case-Study in the Contrastive Approach,” HUCA 48 (1977): 1–18, here 13. 22 Klaas R. Veenhof, “The Old Assyrian Hamuštum Period: A Seven-Day Week,” JEOL 34 (1995/96): 5–26. This view was accepted by C. Michel, Correspondance des marchands de Kaniš au début du IIe millénaire avant J.-C. (Paris: Cerf, 2001), 227 and passim. 23 Balkan, “The Old Assyrian Week,” 165–68; Veenhoff, “The Old Assyrian Hamuštum Period,” 10.

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fifty-two weeks in a year, it never mentions the seven-day unit. Finally, Veenhof is unable to account for the etymology of the word h., which according to his interpretation has no bearing on the number “five” (p. 25), a rather serious disadvantage. Veenhof ’s proposal emphasizes the pressing need of a comprehensive study of seven-based practices and symbolism in the ancient Mesopotamian literature. However, it certainly does not support the Lewys’ ideas of a pentecontad year. Their theory requires that the calendrical term šapattum indicates not only “the 15th day of the month” but also “an intercalary period of 15 days.” This purported meaning cannot be maintained, however, either in OA texts or in Akkadian in general.24 Further, the present stage in the study of the OA calendar does not permit any conclusion with regard to the connection between the h. and lunar phases (i.e. how the h.s and the šapattum were aligned), despite many attempts at doing so.25 The h. was primarily an administrative calendrical device, similar in scope to the Assyrian eponym system and to other administrative systems like the Athenian Prytanies or the mishmarot in the Qumran calendars. The Lewys suggested that the OA year was a full-fledged pentecontad year, which comprised seven h. periods plus one additional period of fifteen days. However, the current knowledge of the OA texts does not support this theory. The authoritative monograph by Mark Cohen on calendars in the ANE dedicates a detailed chapter to the OA period, and to some modifications which took part in the calendar along this period, but does not refer to any pentecontad trait.26 It remains debated whether the lunar year in OA times was intercalated to fit the solar year, but the h. periods are not part of the overall plan of the lunar year.27

24 See Landsberger, “Jahreszeiten,” 291 n. 145; Veenhof, “The Old Assyrian Hamuštum Period,” 12, 16. A similar and equally problematic proposal is the idea that the biblical Jubilee constitutes an intercalary period of forty-nine days, inserted after each seventh year of release (Sidney Hoenig, “Sabbatical Years and the Year of Jubilee,” JQR 59 [1969]: 222–36, and earlier literature collected there). This proposal was justly rejected by commentators of Leviticus 25 (e.g., Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2250). 25 Veenhof, “The Old Assyrian Hamuštum Period,” 15–20. 26 Mark E. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, Md.: CDL Press, 1993), 237–47; Yigal Bloch, “Middle Assyrian Lunar Calendar and Chronology,” in Living the Lunar Calendar (ed. J. Ben-Dov, W. Horowitz and J. Steele; Oxford: Oxbow Books, forthcoming). 27 As indicated quite clearly by Veenhof, “The Old Assyrian Hamuštum Period,” 13 and passim.

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jonathan ben-dov 2b. Babylonian Terms and Sources

The Lewys claimed to have identified pentecontad ideology also outside Assyria, which they explain by the Amorite identity of the Hammurabi dynasty in Babylonia. They put great emphasis on Babylonian terms derived from the number seven, such as sibūtum, which in their opinion designates one-seventh of the year (p. 77). However, this calendrical term is now perfectly well understood as designating the seventh month. This was already argued by Landsberger in 1915, followed by the Akkadian dictionaries. In his important essay on Old Babylonian calendars, Samuel Greengus proved that this month, despite the original meaning of the Akkadian name, served as the first month of the year in OB Sippar.28 To quote Mark Cohen:29 The month is named Sibūtu, “seventh,” or Sibūt šattim “seventh (month) of the year.” The term sibūt šattim occurs also without the month determinative, raising the possibility that the term Sibūt šattim may refer to a specific observance during that month. . . .

The similar term sebūtu indicates the seventh day of the month (CAD S, 206). The day called in OB texts by the suggestive term sebūt sebîm does not indicate a pentecontad unit, but rather “The 7th Day of the 7th Month,” a day of extraordinarily unfavorable nature, as attested in various Mesopotamian texts.30 The treatment of the Babylonian Map of the World in the Lewys’ article cannot be considered reliable anymore, since it is not entirely clear whether in the map the world is surrounded by seven nagû or rather by eight.31 Thus, while the number seven attained some

28 Samuel Greengus, “The Akkadian Calendar at Sippar,” JAOS 107 (1987): 209–29, here 213, 217. 29 Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 276. 30 R. Labat, Hémerologies et Ménologies d’Assur (Paris: Maisonneuve, 1939), 114–16, 172–74, 178; Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 391–92; Daniel E. Fleming, Time at Emar: The Cultic Calendar and the Rituals from the Diviner’s House (Mesopotamian Civilizations 11; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 74 n. 104. 31 Wayne Horowitz (Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography, 30) reconstructs eight nagû zones. This recognition diminishes the value of the Babylonian Map of the World for understanding the division of the cosmos in 1 Enoch 77, as indicated already by James C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch 77,3 and a Babylonian Map of the World,” RQ 11 (1983): 271–78. Note, however, that in a recent publication Horowitz reconstructed seven nagû in the drawing: W. Horowitz, “A Late Babylonian Tablet with Concentric Circles from the University Museum (CBS 1766),” JANES 30 (2006): 38–53, esp. 51. Interestingly enough, the map seems to feature seven islands in the drawing but eight islands in the verbal description (Horowitz, private correspondence).

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religious and symbolic significance (see below), there is no evidence that the Babylonian religious institutions maintained a pentecontad calendar, nor any heptadic device of time-reckoning. 2c. The Symbolism of the Number Seven The parts of the Lewys’ article discussing the special significance of the number seven are representative of early scholarly explorations into Babylonian cosmology and symbolism, which were innovative in their time but are now generally considered to be outdated.32 In these handbooks, special attention is given to the sacredness of numbers, especially the number seven.33 It may indeed be the case, as the Lewys and others have claimed, that the sacredness of the number seven was not a Hebrew invention but was rather commonplace in the earlier Mesopotamian tradition. Indeed, traces of the significance assigned to “seven” can be seen in Mesopotamian ritual and cosmological speculation, throughout various parts of Mesopotamia and various periods in its rich history.34 This material awaits the hand of a trained cuneiform scholar for a critical assessment. Until then, there is no “unified theory” for the role of seven in Mesopotamia, and certainly no sign that the heptadic template produced a forty-nine-day sevenfold template. This kind of numerical speculation might have been achieved in the numerical-mystical activity of the commentaries and first millennium scholastic work, but not in the second millennium b.c.e. and not in public religious practice.

32 See for example Peter Jensen, Die Kosmologie der Babylonier (Strassburg: Teubner, 1890); Alfred Jeremias, “The Ancient-Eastern Doctrine and the Ancient-Eastern Cosmos,” in The Old Testament in the Light of the Ancient East (trans. C. L. Beaumont; London: Williams & Norgate, 1911), 1–82; A. Langdon, Babylonian Menologies and the Semitic Calendars (Schweich Lectures 1933; London: The British Academy, 1935). 33 Alfred Jeremias, “The Sacred Numbers,” in The Old Testament in the Light of the Ancient East, 62–69; Johannes Hehn, Siebenzahl und Sabbat bei den Babyloniern und im Alten Testament (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1907). 34 For some occurrences of the religious meaning of the number seven in Mesopotamian literature, see: William W. Hallo, “Information from Before the Flood: Antediluvian Notes from Babylonia and Israel,” Maarav 7 (1993): 173–81; Fleming, Time at Emar, 63–76. Fleming concludes that “The origin of the seven-day division in ritual time remains obscure. Israel’s adoption of the unit to make the week a new regular division of sacred time more likely derives from occasional ritual use than vice versa, since the ritual interval is older and more widespread in the Ancient Near East” (75). Seven-based calculations sometimes appear in scholarly texts employing musical theory; see Richard Dumbrill, “Is the Heptagram in CBS 1766 a Dial?” The Archeomusicological Review of the Ancient Near East 1 (2008): 47–50.

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jonathan ben-dov 2d. An Amorite Origin?

A unifying thread of the Lewys’ argument is the assumption that the pentecontad template for time-reckoning is the product of Amorite thought, which, in turn, filtered into the Old Assyrian and Old Babylonian milieus by way of the ruling dynasties. The Amorite connection links the early Mesopotamian evidence with the biblical material, as well as with later sources which are all connected one way or another with the Levant. It thus serves as a bridge for various overarching theories. However, the identification of Amorite material in indigenous Mesopotamian literature is a moot possibility which is often criticized. In fact, J. Lewy suggested a very similar notion in another influential article, where he claimed that the biblical institution of deror, akin to the Assyrian and Babylonian (an)durāru, originated with Amorite ideas, which influenced both the Assyrian and Babylonian states and the early Israelite culture in the second millennium.35 This notion was rightly criticized by Finkelstein, pointing out that the institution of Release “was already an accepted procedure in Sumer by the middle of the 3rd millennium B.C., and rooted in Mesopotamian Cosmology.”36 No evidence for the Release year and the pentecontad calendar was ever found in an actual Amorite text. In fact, the very geographical and religious existence of “Amurru” seems in some historical periods to have been a phantom of the ancient Mesopotamians.37 Where actual Amorite material is extant, precisely in calendrical matters, the evidence does not agree with the Lewys. For example, Greengus has isolated a unique variety of month names in middle Mesopotamia of the first half of the second millennium b.c.e., and Mark Cohen went further by claiming that this special collection represents “The Amorite Calendars.”38 This set of month names was used in such cities as Ešnunna, Tel Rimah and Chagar Bazar, and penetrated the Assyrian

35 J. Lewy, “The Biblical Institution of Derôr,” esp. 29*. Lewy buttresses his idea with the connection between the pentecontad Israelite Jubilee-count and the “Amorite” pentecontad practice. 36 J. J. Finkelstein, “Ammiṣaduqa’s Edict and the Babylonian ‘Law Codes,’” JCS 15 (1961): 91–104, quotation from 104 n. 19. 37 See P. -A. Beaulieu, “The God Amurru as Emblem of Ethnic and Cultural Identity,” in Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia: Proceedings of the 48e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden 2002 (ed. W. H. van Soldt; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2005), 31–46. 38 Greengus, “The Akkadian Calendar at Sippar”; Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 248–68.

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documentation in the times of the king Šamši-Adad.39 However, it did not leave any stamp on the official Assyrian calendar outside this period of time, and even then it was not applied throughout the correspondence.40 Furthermore, due to recent excavations and publications in the Amorite domain, we are now more knowledgeable about calendrical practices in Syrian cities in the second millennium b.c.e., as for example the detailed study by Daniel Fleming of calendars and Festivals at Emar. In this textual corpus an interest in seven-day rituals is clearly apparent, and a festival was held once every seven years(!).41 However, there is no trace of a pentecontad cycle in the Emar texts. To conclude this section, it is clear that a pentecontad calendar did not exist either in Old Assyria or in Old Babylonia. Nor did it exist in the Amorite culture, as reflected in cuneiform evidence. There is no unit of fifty days in Akkadian terminology. There certainly was an interest with seven-day, maybe even with seven-year, schemes, but this was part of the general folklore, maybe even scholarly thought, rather than a full-fledged calendrical principle. 3. The Evidence from the Hebrew Bible 3a. The Count of “Weeks of Harvest” The following pages will survey some heptad and pentecontad counts in the Hebrew Bible. It should be stressed at the outset that in this literary corpus there is no evidence that the pentecontad principle ever developed into a full-fledged “calendar.” Whatever we know of the year in biblical times—and a lot remains to be explored—it was not a pentecontad year in the full sense. There was an ancient custom among the early Israelites and probably also their surrounding cultures to execute a ceremonial count of the weeks of harvest. While some earlier scholars assumed that this practice is a schematic legal construct, invented by the priestly legislators of P and H, we have ample evidence that it existed as a popular custom in non-priestly circles. Thus we read in Jer 5:24:

39 40 41

Greengus, “The Akkadian Calendar at Sippar,” 222–23. See esp. Greengus, “The Akkadian Calendar at Sippar,” 223 n. 55. Fleming, Time at Emar, 63–76.

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jonathan ben-dov ‫לנו‬-‫ שבעות חקות קציר ישמר‬/ ‫הנתן גשם יורה ומלקוש בעתו‬ (YHWH) who gives the early and late rain in its season, Who preserves for us the appointed weeks of harvest

The meaning of ‫ שבעות‬here is “weeks,” not “oaths”; thus it does not create any redundancy with the following word ‫חקות‬, as some earlier commentators suggested.42 The word-pair ‫ שבעות חקות‬is admittedly not smooth in Biblical Hebrew but still gives the combined reading “appointed weeks.”43 Note that this kind of cumulative syntax appears also in the parallel hemistich ‫גשם יורה ומלקוש‬. The word ‫ חקה‬here means “a prescribed habit, a law of nature,” as in Jer 33:25 ‫חקות שמים‬ ‫( וארץ‬cf. Job 38:33; Sir 43:7). The weeks of harvest are understood here as a fixed mechanism, part of the rules of nature, coming in prescribed times. The parallelism presents them as an equivalent to the natural force of the early and late rains, thus emphasizing the importance of this time-measuring device. The poetic line in Jeremiah does not specify how many weeks are counted for the harvest, so one must deduce this detail by recourse to other counts in the Hebrew Bible. Another non-priestly source which mentions ‫“ שבעות‬weeks” with regard to the harvest is Exod 34:22, which commands a celebration of the Feast of Weeks at the time of the wheat harvest. While this source had been considered in past research as part of the older sources of the Pentateuch (source J), it is now fairly clear that it went through an intensive reworking to realign its message with that of later sources of the Pentateuch.44 The use of the name ‫ חג שבעות‬in this verse thus reflects awareness of either the priestly statutes of week counting, or the Deuteronomic name for this festival in Deut 16:10, but not an early Israelite practice.

42 A. B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel (1901; repr. Hildesheim: Olms, 1968), 4:254, followed by BHS. The Septuagint reading πληρώσεως understands the Hebrew as written with ś, denoting the root ‫שבע‬, satiety. This reading is preferred by P. Volz, Studien zum Text des Jeremia (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1920), 40–41. 43 I see no reason to follow W. McKane by deleting the word ‫( חקות‬W. McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah [ICC; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986], 1:131). McKane claims that this word was added later in the spirit of Deuteronomic legislation because he considers the word ‫ חקה‬to reflect the meaning “law, statute.” This is unnecessary, however, since the word conveys here the non-Dtr meaning of “a habit, a law of nature.” 44 For the view of the festival legislation in Exodus 34 as a late reworking, see S. Bar-On, “The Festival Calendars in Exodus XXIII 14–19 and XXXIV 18–26,” VT 48 (1998): 161–95.

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The reason for the popular count of weeks at harvest time (as in Jer 5:24) is never explicit, but I am inclined to think, with Milgrom, that it had an apotropaic aim. Need was felt to protect the wheat in the critical stage before the harvest, when the Palestinian climate entails on the one hand the perils of extreme heat, and on the other hand the chance of occasional showers (1 Sam 12:17). “Covering” this period of time by means of a sacred matrix of weeks can obliterate the dangers and demons which are due to appear just then. Two passages in the Pentateuch endorse a count of seven weeks during harvest time: Deut 16:9 and Lev 23:15–16. The question of the relation between these two passages, and of the diachronic order of the sources H and D in general, is a difficult question that cannot be settled here.45 Instead, attention will be drawn to several aspects that are meaningful for the later pentecontad-heptadic calendrical thought. A significant difference should be noted between the count of weeks in Deuteronomy 16 and Leviticus 23. While the former only counts “seven weeks,” the latter requires “seven Sabbaths,” and even further ‫שבע שבתות תמימות‬, “seven whole Sabbaths.”46 That is, the Deuteronomic law does not interconnect the count of weeks with specific days of the week, while the Priestly source specifically requires that the seven counted weeks would be “full,” i.e. that they will begin on Sunday and conclude with the Sabbath day, as in the first, perfect week of creation. Deuteronomy thus allows a more nominalistic view of the week, while Leviticus 23 insists that a week is defined by the Sabbath day, as it was instituted at the creation. These differences between the biblical authors, in turn, constituted major legal disputes in Second Temple times.47 They also found expression in the construction of

45 For a recent extensive survey of the relation between D and H, see Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation (FAT 52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 1–18. Stackert’s own opinion is that H depended on D, but the debate will probably not cease with that. 46 Admittedly, it would be more reasonable to argue, with Christophe Nihan (From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus [FAT 2/25; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007], 505–7) that H was reworking the ‫ שבועות‬law of Deut 16:9–12, rather than the other way round (contra Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1999). 47 For the continuity of this debate, see S. Naeh, “Did the Tannaim Interpret the Script of the Torah Differently from the Authorized Reading?,” Tarbiz 61 (1992): 401–48 [Hebrew]; cf. E. Regev, “Priestly Dynamic Holiness and Deuteronomic Static Holiness,” VT 51 (2001): 243–61. For more specific definitions of the term Šabbat see Baruch J. Schwartz, “šabuaʿ, šabuʿot, and Seven Weeks,” Tarbiz, 65 (1996): 189–194 [Hebrew].

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pentecontad units of time in apocalyptic literature and beyond. But this does not change the fact that the biblical passages about harvest festivals do not construct a pentecontad “calendar” but rather a single period of seven weeks of harvest. The presence of this practice in the Holiness Code is not surprising, since the authors of this pentateuchal source allowed for popular cultic elements to penetrate into the institutional implementation of the cult in the central temple.48 In Leviticus 23 this can clearly be seen on compositional grounds; while the H list of festivals in Leviticus 23 generally follows that of the P list in Numbers 28–29, the harvest festivals (Lev 23:9–22) are not attested in the P list and must be conceived as an addition by H. These added verses, replete with typical H terminology, refer specifically to agricultural matters and exceed the cultic interests of the P writer.49 The motivation for H’s intensive treatment of the harvest season must have been his attraction to popular customs and practices relating to this crucial stage in the agricultural year. It may also be the case that the pentecontad outlook of this pericope was not created by the initial H author, but rather by a later H redactor. But the elucidation of this possibility exceeds the scope of the present study.50

48 On this aspect of H, see mainly Y. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 8–45, esp. 25–26, 36–40, 45. His main example is the popular laws of building booths and the collection of plants in the festival of Sukkoth (Lev 23:39–43), which Knohl sees as an addition, appended to the chapter by an H editor. I see the mention of weeks in Deut 16:10 as a popular element accepted by the D legislators. However, A. Rofé claims that D legislators actually opposed the popular festival practices relating to agriculture and fertility (Deuteronomy: Introduction and Supplementary Chapters [Jerusalem: Academon, 1988], 38–45 [Hebrew]). 49 I follow Knohl’s view on the relation between Leviticus 23 and Numbers 28–29; see Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence, 8–14 (contra the classical analysis, represented recently by B. A. Levine, Numbers 21–36 [AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 2000], 394–95). Milgrom accepted Knohl’s analysis and carried it further (Leviticus 23–27, 2054–56). A more nuanced proposal was put forward by Nihan (From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 498–504); he distinguishes the addition in vv. 39–43 from the text of vv. 9–22, which he considers to precede the H editor. 50 See Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1987, 1993–96, 2059; idem, “The Firstfruits Festivals of Grain and the Composition of Leviticus 23:9–21,” in Tehillah le-Moshe: Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg (ed. Mordechai Cogan et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 81–89. Based on some stylistic inconsistencies, Milgrom attempted to detect throughout Lev 23:9–22 the editorial activity of a late interpolator or editor, whom he calls “The Sunday Pentecontalist.” It was this editor who enforced on the count of the Omer the kind of strict “sabbatarianism” that later engendered the growth of sectarian calendars in the Hellenistic period. Earlier versions of this pericope were not so strict on the sabbatarian traits of the count, but

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The Pentateuch, and seemingly also Jeremiah, count one period of seven weeks around the grain harvest. There is no sign of an additional count of harvest periods, as in the Temple Scroll, and accordingly no sign for a pentecontad “calendar.” The only possible hint in the Hebrew Bible for a series of consecutive harvest festivals appears in Neh 13:31 (cf. 10:35). In this verse Nehemiah states that the Wood Sacrifice and the first fruits were offered ‫“ לעתים מזומנות‬in prescribed times,” whatever the exact meaning of this phrase may be.51 Once again it was Milgrom who pointed out how this verse—presumably an additional “popular” practice of harvest festivals—dictated the prescription of these festivals in some priestly sources of the later Second Temple period.52 The count of seven weeks of harvest was thus well-rooted in the Israelite agricultural practice and gradually found its way into the legal codes of H and D. Especially the priestly writers—or possibly editors— strengthened the sabbatarian aspects of this count, which never formed a full-fledged pentecontad year. 3b. The Seven-Week Count of Years in Leviticus 25 The law of the Jubilee Year in Leviticus 25 is by far the closest example in the Hebrew Bible to a pentecontad calendar, inasmuch as it dictates a cyclical, ever-recurring pentecontad cycle of time. The fifty-year cycle in Leviticus 25 is based on the basic unit of seven years (Lev 25:2–7), the latter, in turn, taken from the šemitah law of the Covenant Code (Exod 23:10–11).53 Generally speaking, the old laws are applied here with a new taste, befitting of the priestly ideology and style. The rest of the chapter (25:8–55) propagates a sevenfold multiple of the above

rather required a count of fifty days or of seven “nominalitic” weeks, as in Deut 16:9 or Jer 5:24. 51 See James C. VanderKam, “The Temple Scroll and the Book of Jubilees,” in Temple Scroll Studies (ed. G. J. Brooke; JSPSup 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), 223. 52 J. Milgrom, “Qumran’s Biblical Hermeneutics: The Case of the Wood Offering,” RQ 16 (1994): 449–56; idem, Leviticus 23–27, 2071–76. For the pre-Israelite background of firstfruit festivals see John S. Reeves, “The Feast of the First Fruits of Wine and the Ancient Canaanite Calendar”, VT 42 (1992): 350–361. 53 On the rewriting of the šemitah law in Leviticus 25 from a stylistic point of view, see M. Paran, Forms of the Priestly Style in the Pentateuch: Patterns, Linguistic Usages, Syntactic Structures (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1989), 29–34 [Hebrew]; more comprehensively in Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 115–25, 137–38; Stackert claims that the šemitah passage in Lev 25:2–7 depends not only on Lev 23:10–11 but also on Deut 15:17–18.

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unit by extrapolating the basic seven-year scheme. Thus, Leviticus 25 is a crucial locus for the formation of heptadic units of time in the entire ANE literature. What is the origin of this sevenfold septenary structure? Opinions are divided whether the fifty-year (or better the forty-nine-year) cyclical act of remission represents an early, pre-monarchic Israelite institution, or rather a late priestly arithmetical construct. This question is highly relevant for our understanding of the formation of pentecontad time periods. However, the important question of time frameworks has often been confused with the question whether the overall remission practiced in the yobel is an ancient practice, rooted in ANE law, or rather an idealistic and late Jewish priestly construct.54 Regardless of the outcome of the latter question, it must be admitted that there is no indication of a remission period of fifty years in ANE law, nor is there any good evidence for a cyclical occurrence of royal acts of remission.55 Let us now conclude the discussion of the Leviticus evidence. Priestly writers of the Holiness School (H) employed two pentecontad time periods: the count of the Omer sacrifice and the Jubilee. The former is an old agricultural custom which accumulated priestly embellishments, notably the identification of the counted weeks (Jer 5:24, Deut 16:9) as “seven full Sabbaths” (Lev 23:15). In contrast, the count of fifty for the Jubilee period does not reflect an older agrarian practice, but rather a priestly elaboration on the earlier institution of the seven-year šemitah. It may be that the pentecontad trends in these two

54 John S. Bergsma (The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation [VTSup 115; Leiden: Brill, 2007]) pointed out the tribal reality reflected in Leviticus 25, as well as the purported antiquity of the unusual term ywbl, and thus concluded that the Jubilee was an ancient institution represented anew. A similar view was expressed in passing by M. Weinfeld, Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 175–78; cf. Milgrom, Lev 23–25, 2243. In contrast, other writers view the legal construction of Leviticus 25 as a later development in the history of biblical law. Thus recently Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 534–35, pointing out the presentation of the Land of Israel as a temple community, to which no acts of transfer could be applied; and Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 129–41, who traces the development of the šemitah law throughout the various literary sources. 55 R. Westbrook, “Social Justice in the Ancient Near East,” in Social Justice in the Ancient World (ed. K. D. Irani and M. Silver; Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1995), 149– 63, here 158–60; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2241, contra Finkelstein “Ammiṣaduqa’s Edict and the Babylonian ‘Law Codes’.” See also the opinions opposing Finkelstein, collected by Weinfeld, Social Justice, 175 n. 84.

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passages are the product of a late redactional layer (Milgrom). This way or another, they reflect the growing interest of priestly writers in sevenfold time frames, an interest that would increase quite considerably in the post-biblical period. However, within biblical literature— whether priestly or non-priestly—there is no sign for a full-fledged pentecontad calendar, i.e. there is no indication that recurring units of fifty days played a part in the definition of the year in ancient Israel. This is also the gist of the cogent summary of this issue by J. van Goudoever, who assigns most of the development of pentecontad periods to post-biblical times.56 4. Later Developments and Conclusion The present framework does not allow further tracing of the pentecontad theme throughout later stages, i.e. the time when a true pentecontad year was constructed. The discussion of such sources as the Temple Scroll, Philo’s account of the Therapeutae, and the Nestorian pentecontad cycles, as well as twentieth century Palestinian folklore, will likely find their places in a separate study. Presently one can summarize the pre-history of the pentecontad calendar as follows. While seven-based time units, and heptadic symbolism in general, existed in ancient Mesopotamia, this notion did not give rise to a 7 × 7 time-unit, nor did it produce any sort of pentecontad calendar. The Amorite calendrical practices, gradually revealed in recent scholarship, do not attest to pentecontad frameworks either. The Old Assyrian calendrical system, as attested in documents from Karum-Kaneš and Assur itself, is far from clear, and can thus hardly be used to support elaborate arguments on tradition-history. The unit of h. encompasses five, six, or seven days, but certainly not fifty days. A count of weeks of harvest-days existed in ancient Israel as a popular, non-priestly custom, probably for apotropaic purposes. This practice was merged into various strands of pentateuchal legislation. It was especially influential in H, where it interacted with the heptadic trends of these writers. Primary pentecontad counts were installed in Leviticus 23 (fifty days) and Leviticus 25 (fifty years), but no full-fledged pentecontad year existed in these sources.

56

Goudoever, Biblical Calendars, 29.

THE EGYPTIAN GODDESS MA‘AT AND LADY WISDOM IN PROVERBS 1–9: REASSESSING THEIR RELATIONSHIP* Steven Schweitzer Scholars of the Hebrew Bible have a long tradition of seeking out parallel texts and concepts in the surrounding cultures of the ancient Near East for use as comparative data or as precedents available to the authors of the Hebrew Bible. This is particularly true in descriptions of YHWH or in the depictions of mythological, or what appear to be mythological, entities. The presentation of Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9 has been one of these entities to receive a large amount of attention. As with most issues, the significant amount of attention has produced a variety of positions on whether it is possible to trace this female character to a particular female deity in any of the surrounding cultures. This essay reassesses the relationship, which has been both accepted and denied in scholarship, between the Egyptian goddess Ma‘at as described in ancient Egyptian literature and the depiction of Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9, with a particular focus on the description in Prov 8:22–31.1 Ma‘at According to Egyptologists Rather than begin with biblical scholarship, it is instructive to examine first the positions held by Egyptologists regarding the portrayal of the goddess Ma‘at in ancient Egyptian literature. Egyptologists stress repeatedly that Ma‘at (m3‘.t) is the word for both a goddess and a concept. There is some debate over whether Ma‘at was first a goddess

* It is my privilege to submit this essay in honor of James VanderKam, my professor, dissertation director, and colleague. This work originated in a seminar led by Jim on Wisdom Literature at the University of Notre Dame in Spring 2002. Jim’s attention to detail, his reasoned use of sources, his affirmation of family, and his demonstration of respect to everyone he meets have all contributed to my own development as a scholar, as an individual, and as one who seeks wisdom. 1 Ma‘at (m3‘.t) is variously spelled by scholars: Ma’at, Maat, and Ma‘at. The original spellings used by scholars will be retained in quotations, while I will use Ma‘at throughout this essay.

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whose qualities were subsequently abstracted into abstract principles or whether she became a goddess through the process of hypostatization.2 Whichever may be the case (and it is difficult to determine which is more probable), it is apparent that these two separate aspects are not distinguished in ancient Egyptian literature. Often it is unclear whether the goddess or the principles which she represents are intended in the ancient texts.3 A dictionary entry on Ma‘at defines her as: Daughter of Re and the incarnation of cosmic order and social justice. Ma’at was always portrayed as a woman with an ostrich plume on her head and often in miniature as offered by the king during the holy services to demonstrate his role as upholder of order. It was said that the gods ‘lived on’ Ma’at, as if partaking of her as their food. In that way they could maintain the cosmic order she represented. Ma’at is credited with giving mankind a code of ethics. She is among those goddesses regarded as the daughter of Re, and she had a cult place of her own in the precinct of Montu at Karnak and perhaps other important places. Juridical matters may well have been decided in these ‘temples of Truth.’4

The famous Egyptologist E. A. Wallis Budge concludes his definition by describing Ma‘at as “the personification of physical and moral law, and order and truth.”5 He provides more detail elsewhere: Maat, the wife of Thoth, was the daughter of Ra, and a very ancient goddess; she seems to have assisted Ptah and Khnemu in carrying out rightly the work of creation ordered by Thoth. There is no one word which will exactly describe the Egyptian conception of Maat both from a physical and from a moral point of view; but the fundamental idea of the word is “straight,” and from the Egyptian texts it is clear that maat meant right, true, truth, real, genuine, upright, righteous, just, steadfast, unalterable, etc. . . . Maat, the goddess of the unalterable laws of heaven, and the daughter of Ra, is depicted in female form, with the feather, emblematic of maat, on her head, or with the feather alone for a head, and the sceptre in one hand, and ankh in the other.6

2 Vincent A. Tobin (Theological Principles of Egyptian Religion [New York: Peter Lang, 1989], 79) argues emphatically that Ma‘at is a cosmic principle which only secondarily became a goddess through personification of this principle. 3 See the further discussion of this point by Tobin, Theological Principles, 77. 4 Barbara S. Lesko, The Great Goddesses of Egypt (Norman, Okla.: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), 268–69. 5 E. A. Wallis Budge, The Gods of the Egyptians: Or Studies in Egyptian Mythology (2 vols.; New York: Dover Publications, 1904; repr., 1969), 1:417. 6 E. A. Wallis Budge, “Introduction,” in The Book of the Dead: The Papyrus of Ani (New York: Dover Publications, 1967; repr. from London: British Museum, 1895), cxix.

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Emily Teeter notes this connection with Thoth plus the notion of her being food for the gods and provides an additional point: “The deity Maat pervaded the world of the gods.”7 It is precisely her popularity and the sheer number of references to associated actions that lead to the conclusion that she was no minor deity but rather was at the center of Egyptian rituals, possibly second in importance only to Re himself.8 It is also this pervasiveness that allows for conclusions about the importance of those principles which she represents in the religious practice and ethics of the ancient Egyptians.9 Thus, Ma’at was . . . the basis for the unity of all things, the basis of cosmic order, of political order, of morality, of life itself, of art and science, and even of good etiquette in normal everyday affairs,10

and Maat is right order in nature and society, as established by the act of creation, and hence means . . . [that] which is right, what is correct, law, order, justice and truth. This state of righteousness needs to be preserved or established, in great matters as in small. Maat is therefore not only right order but also the object of human activity. Maat is both the task which man sets himself and also, as righteousness, the promise and reward which await him on fulfilling it.11

If Ma‘at is always represented positively, then its opposite is “[u]ntruth, falsehood, disorder, . . . that of which one dies, [which] makes life impossible . . . ; it is chaos, ‘the abomination of God,’ that which is perennially defeated in the order of the universe.12 Hence it is fatal for a man to identify himself with it.”13 The intertwining of the goddess, her characteristics, and the ethical code associated with her provide a

7 Emily Teeter, “Maat,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt (ed. D. Redford 3 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 2:319–21, esp. 319. 8 Tobin, Theological Principles, 31, 80. 9 See Roland G. Bonnell, “The Ethics of El-Amarna,” in Studies in Egyptology: Presented to Miriam Lichtheim (ed. S. Israelit-Groll 2 vols.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1990), 1:71–97 for further discussion of this point about ethics. 10 Tobin, Theological Principles, 77. 11 Siegfried Morenz, “Ethics and Its Relationship to Religion,” in Egyptian Religion (trans. A. E. Keep; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973), 110–36, esp. 113. 12 As argued by Vincent A. Tobin, “Ma’at and DIKH: Some Comparative Considerations of Egyptian and Greek Thought,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 24 (1987): 113–21. 13 Henri Frankfort, “The Egyptian Way of Life,” in Ancient Egyptian Religion: An Interpretation (TB 77; New York: Harper & Row, 1948; repr., 1961), 59–87, esp. 74–75.

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rich but complex semantic field whenever the term Ma‘at is used in ancient Egyptian literature.14 The failure to distinguish between the goddess and her characteristics, mentioned above, in addition to “[t]he prominence given to the actual deity Ma‘at in Egyptian religion, the fact that she is the object of a cult and the strong tendency to personify her seem to indicate that to the Egyptian mind Ma‘at was more than simply a personification of a principle of order.”15 This more comprehensive and accurate view of the goddess supplements the more conceptual, but well-articulated, statement by Assmann that “Ma‘at ist eine regulative Energie, die das Leben der Menschen zur Eintracht, Gemeinsamkeit und Gerechtigkeit steuert und die kosmischen Kräfte zur Gesetzmäßigkeit ihrer Bahnen, Rhythmen und Wirkungen ausbalanciert.”16 In Assmann’s earlier research he noted the great consistency of Egyptian religion over the millennia while allowing for an appropriate amount of conceptual development.17 Assmann’s claim, however, that Ma‘at was diminished in the personal piety of individuals during the period of Akhenaten’s reform can be easily refuted.18 It is highly significant that Ma‘at was the only deity to escape assimilation or rejection under the religious upheaval of Akhenaten’s monotheistic movement.19 When other deities were losing their identity or being “demythologized” this goddess remained intact; yet, some interesting shifts in thinking about her and the ethical code associated with her are discernible. “In the Amarna system the traditional idea of living 14 See the Appendix below for the text of selected examples from ancient Egyptian literature. 15 Assigned to the New Kingdom both by Miriam Lichtheim (“Maat in Egyptian Autobiographies,” in Maat in Egyptian Autobiographies and Related Studies [OBO 120; Freiburg: University Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992], 9–101, esp. 12); and by Teeter (“Maat,” 320). Cf. Tobin, “Ma’at and DIKH,” 120. 16 Jan Assmann, Ma‘at: Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1990), 163. “Ma‘at is a regulative power, which steers the life of men to harmony, mutuality, and justice, and balances the cosmic forces towards lawfulness in their paths, rhythms, and effects” [my translation]. 17 Jan Assmann, The Search for God in Ancient Egypt (trans. D. Lorton; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 149. 18 As articulated persuasively by Emily Teeter, The Presentation of Maat: Ritual and Legitimacy in Ancient Egypt (SAOC 57; Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1997), 81–85. 19 David P. Silverman, “Divinity and Deities in Ancient Egypt,” in Religion in Ancient Egypt: Gods, Myths, and Personal Practice (ed. B. E. Shafer; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), 7–87, esp. 82; Lichtheim, “Maat in Egyptian Autobiographies,” 61–65; and Tobin, Theological Principles, 85.

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by Ma’at was replaced by the requirement of living by the teaching of the king; . . . the acceptance of the teaching of Akhenaten was in essence the doing of Ma’at and hence the acceptance of truth.”20 While Akhenaten’s personal status was enhanced by this shift, however, it should be noted that, by requiring the obedience of all people to the principle of Ma‘at, Ma‘at was now directly accessible to all people rather than solely to the king.21 Thus, rather than being diminished, Ma‘at was the one deity who actually increased in the role of private religious piety during this and subsequent periods. This is confirmed by the number of non-royal inscriptions mentioning Ma‘at that come from this period in comparison to prior dynasties. Finally, the goddess Ma‘at is mentioned in the dual form (Maaty or Maati or “Two Truths” or “Double Maat,” in translations) in the judgment scene of the Book of the Dead and in other texts which have judgment as the immediate context.22 The early appearance of this dual form in the Pyramid Texts demonstrates that this form is not a later development, but an extremely early variant.23 In addition, the association of Ma‘at with the Solar Barque of Re occasionally mentions her in this dual form.24 Budge provides two different speculations regarding why this form is attested: (1) [i]n the judgement scene two Maat goddesses appear; one probably is the personification of physical law, and the other of moral rectitude,25

and (2) [a]s a moral power Maat was the greatest of the goddesses, and in her dual form of Maati, i.e., the Maat goddess of the South and the North,

20

Bonnell, “Ethics,” 83. Teeter (“Maat,” 321) notes that all the deceased make claims regarding their adherence to Ma‘at, and not only the king (as could be implied from the Pyramid Texts, which seem to concern only deceased pharaohs). 22 Pyramid Text 317; Coffin Text Spell 660; Book of the Dead 125.1, 125 A pl30 1–2; 125 A pl32 5b–7; Sarcophagus-Lid Inscription of Wennofer; Great Hymn to Osiris; Hymn to Re from Neferhotep. This judgment hall is called “The Hall of Ma‘at” (singular) on the Stela of Intef son of Sent 26. 23 R. O. Faulkner (“Preface,” in The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts [Oxford: Clarendon, 1969], v) dates the Pyramid Texts to the Fifth and early Sixth Dynasties, ca. 2300 b.c.e. 24 Coffin Text Spell 659, 660, 682, 693. The Coffin Texts are dated between ca. 2100 and ca. 1750 b.c.e. by Miriam Lichtheim, and some are direct descendants of the Pyramid Texts (Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings [3 vols.; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973], 1:xii-xiii, 131). 25 Budge, “Introduction,” cxix. 21

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steven schweitzer she was the lady of the Judgment Hall, and she became the personification of justice, who awarded to every man his due.26

Thus, Budge connects this dual form both with her dual function in creation and ethics and with her position as the goddess who unifies the Two Lands together in purpose and in politics.27 In light of both of these suggestions, it may be significant that she is the only goddess whose name is attested in both a singular and a dual form.28 In conclusion, Egyptologists view Ma‘at both as a goddess and as an ordering principle for life, neither of which is separable from the other. Ma‘at is also pervasive in Egyptian society: in the literature of its elite, in the inscriptions of its “middle-class,” in the ritual descriptions concerning the role of the king and the afterlife, in its consistent portrayal over millennia, and in the cultural milieu of its society has a whole.29 There is relatively little disagreement over how Ma‘at should be understood; Egyptologists tend to agree with the basic definitions and implications set out above.30 It is not difficult to come to an understanding of the function and importance of Ma‘at in ancient Egyptian society as depicted by these Egyptologists. The Relationship of Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom according to Hebrew Bible Scholars Far from this coherent picture of Ma‘at and the consensus opinion held by Egyptologists, scholars of the Hebrew Bible have a variety of opinions regarding not only how Ma‘at is presented but also whether (and how) she is connected to Lady Wisdom. These positions can be divided into a few larger groups: (1) Lady Wisdom is dependent on Ma‘at, but has distinct elements; (2) Lady Wisdom bears a vague

26

Budge, The Gods of the Egyptians, 1:418. The political function of this dual form is held by J. G. Griffiths, “Isis as Maat, Dikaiosunê, and Iustitia,” in Hommages à Jean Leclant (ed. C. Berger, G. Clerc, and N. Grimal 4 vols.; Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1994), 3:255–64, esp. 256. 28 Further speculation on this point will be offered in the section on Lady Wisdom below. 29 While “middle class” is clearly an anachronistic term, the presence of a social stratum between the elite and the poor in ancient Egypt is nonetheless accurate. 30 It also seems to me that, as a whole, these Egyptologists have used the primary texts in a conservative manner to construct their rather straightforward depiction of Ma‘at. 27

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resemblance to Ma‘at, but connections are not definitive; (3) Lady Wisdom bears a resemblance to Isis who has assimilated the functions and descriptions of Ma‘at, so any parallels are not authentically to Ma‘at; (4) Lady Wisdom in no way resembles Ma‘at. It is significant to note that no scholars hold to a direct relationship between the two figures. The views of representative scholars will be briefly summarized in chronological order within each category. 1. Lady Wisdom is dependent on Ma‘at, but has distinct elements which preclude a one-to-one relationship In her highly influential and controversial book, Christa Kayatz makes several claims regarding the relationship of Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom. First, she notes that while Lady Wisdom speaks, no parallel can be found for Ma‘at, and thus cannot be a “direktes Vorbild.”31 Second, she claims that in Coffin Text Spell 80 “Die Maat wird hier als Kind vorgestellt, als Kleines, das ‘vor’ dem Gott ist. In verschiedenen Wendungen wird dann das zärtliche Verhältnis zu dem Kind Maat umschrieben.”32 While Ma‘at is depicted before Atum (Re) as his daughter, she is not explicitly a “small child” and the relationship is barely what one would call “affectionate.” The language here is only the same “living, kissing, eating” that appears in numerous other texts. Third, she constructs a text from the Book of Opening the Mouth which happens to become a parallel text to Proverbs 8 by pulling out similar phrases, but not exact lines or even in the same order, from the ritual. It is from this reconstructed summary text that she concludes her argument for a relationship between Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom by stating “Die Ähnlichkeit der Vorstellungen läßt sich nicht übersehen.”33 While Kayatz has a good argument that Ma‘at may have served as a source for constructing Lady Wisdom, several aspects of her interpretation of the data are questionable if not simply incorrect based on the texts themselves.

31 Christa Kayatz, Studien zu Proverbien 1–9: Eine form- und motivegeschichtliche Untersuchung unter Einbeziehung ägyptischen Vergleichsmaterials (WMANT 22; Neukirchener-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1966), 87; she is correct in her claim of finding no parallel texts in which Ma‘at speaks. 32 Kayatz, Studien, 96: “Maat is here portrayed as a child, as a small child, who is ‘before’ the god. In different phrases, then, the affectionate relationship with the child Maat is circumscribed” [my translation]. 33 Kayatz, Studien, 98: “The similarity of the concepts cannot be overlooked” [my translation].

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Othmar Keel argues that the description of the “scherzenden” Wisdom playing before YHWH finds a parallel in Ma‘at, but not necessarily a “historische Abhängigkeit.”34 He provides thirty-four figures, several of which depict people “playing,” but none which pictures Ma‘at “playing.”35 His conclusion that a playing Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 8 is paralleled to Ma‘at in iconography is rather questionable. Gerhard von Rad notes the depiction of Ma‘at as a child as a “striking” parallel on which Lady Wisdom is probably dependent, but believes that as a whole Lady Wisdom “can be compared only with difficulty with the Egyptian concept Maat.”36 Roland Murphy notes that “There seems to be reason to claim that the figure of ma‘at had some influence on the description of Wisdom in Prov 1–9.”37 He adds [citing Kayatz] that Ma‘at does not speak, but Isis does.38 He also notes the possible connection between the amulet of Ma‘at worn by Egyptian officials and the statements of Prov 1:9; 3:22; 6:21.39 2. Lady Wisdom bears a vague resemblance to Ma‘at, but connections are not definitive Leo Perdue maintains an interesting, though highly suspect, position on this issue. The divine speeches made by goddesses, including Ma‘at, serve as the pattern for this literary form.40 He finally concludes, however, that Lady Wisdom is only “a literary personification to foil the fertility goddess depicted as Lady Folly.”41 His blatant misappropriation

34 Othmar Keel, Die Weisheit spielt vor Gott: Ein ikonographischer Beitrag zur Deutung des mesahäqät in Spruche 8,30f (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974), 67–68. 35 Figure 34 on p. 62 is the only picture that I have ever seen of Ma‘at sitting before Re. She is, however, clearly sitting and not playing, and this is from a relief from Dendera dated to around 100 c.e. (!). 36 Gerhard von Rad, Wisdom in Israel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972), 153. 37 Roland E. Murphy, The Tree of Life: An Exploration of Biblical Wisdom Literature (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 161. 38 Murphy, Tree of Life, 161–62. I would argue that the connection between Ma‘at and Isis is particularly important in this discussion. 39 Murphy, Tree of Life, 162. 40 Leo G. Perdue, Wisdom and Cult: A Critical Analysis of the Views of Cult in the Wisdom Literatures of Israel and the Ancient Near East (SBLDS 30; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 143, 151–52. He cites Kayatz for this point, but no primary text; in addition, he fails to mention Kayatz’ observation that Ma‘at does not actually speak. 41 Perdue, Wisdom and Cult, 153.

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of Kayatz is unfortunate, while his conclusion that one of these female entities is an actual goddess (implicitly, the evil Canaanite fertility goddess) while the other is merely a literary type (explicitly, the one created first by YHWH and through whom he created the world) seems arbitrary. Nili Shupak, drawing heavily on Kayatz, briefly highlights both the parallel and the dissimilar elements of the depictions of Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom; he concludes, rather simply, that they are “not identical.”42 John Collins states, without clarification, in his very brief discussion that “there is probably some influence from the Egyptian concept of Maat, which embodies truth, justice, and world order.”43 He makes no explicit claims about the goddess, only about the abstract concept.44 While he eventually rejects it, Richard Clifford admits that “The analogy is possible, but Wisdom in Proverbs displays a vigor and a personality in pursuit of her lovers that goes far beyond the abstract Egyptian goddess.”45 3. Lady Wisdom bears a resemblance to Isis who has assimilated the functions and descriptions of Ma‘at, so any parallels are not authentically to Ma‘at Wilfred Knox, in an influential article that contains much circular logic, argued that Proverbs 1–9 is to be dated to the third century b.c.e. and that the figure of Lady Wisdom parallels Isis. This connection is consistent with its dating to this period.46 Joseph Blenkinsopp dates Proverbs 1–9 to the third century b.c.e. and states that “there seems to be no good reason to deny the possibility of such a borrowing [from Isis].”47

42 Nili Shupak, Where Can Wisdom Be Found?: The Sage’s Language in the Bible and in Ancient Egyptian Literature (OBO 130; Fribourg: University Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 402; see also pages 268–70 and his comments on pages 96 and 345. 43 John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 11; he is more confident of connections between Isis and the wisdom goddess Sophia in Sirach 24, but still hesitates to be specific (203–4). 44 Given the discussion of the Egyptologists above, Collins’ position seems to split inappropriately something that is united in the Egyptian literature. This is a common problem among biblical scholars on this issue in general. 45 Richard J. Clifford, The Wisdom Literature (Nashville: Abingdon, 1998), 34, 55. 46 Wilfred L. Knox, “The Divine Wisdom,” JTS 38 (1937): 230–37. 47 Joseph Blenkinsopp, Wisdom and Law in the Old Testament: The Ordering of Life in Israel and Early Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 161.

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Michael Fox, in his detailed article on Ma‘at, states: The most important and frequent statements about Ma‘at, such as Re lives on Ma‘at, or that Ma‘at is the daughter of Re, or rites such as the daily offering of Ma‘at to Re, or images such as Ma‘at in the prow of Re’s boat, can have no meaning outside an Egyptian context. Only by stripping Ma‘at of its distinctive character can one even claim to find a parallel in Israel. Then, however, the parallel is not to Ma‘at but to a scholarly construct.48

Fox makes an important point that these explicitly Egyptian motifs are indeed missing in the depiction of Lady Wisdom. Fox also rejects the linkage between these two entities as “flawed” since Ma‘at never speaks and no evidence that she “plays” can be adduced.49 Fox also makes the strange, and I believe invalid, claim that “nowhere does a[n Israelite] sage discover truths about the moral realm by observing the workings of nature.”50 He then quickly concludes his article with the statement that “the Israelite sages could not have undertaken a survey of Egyptian texts of all genres and extracted a highly abstract, philosophical idea such as the world order and made that the basis of their own philosophy. The sages of Israel were not Egyptologists.”51 While they may not have had such training, it seems rather presumptuous to think that the ancient sages did not have access to a concept that was pervasive in Egyptian culture and that they were incapable of such philosophical and intellectual processes in creating new texts or constructing new concepts.52 In his recent commentary on Proverbs 1–9, Fox dismisses an authentic connection between Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom, stating that

48 Michael V. Fox, “World Order and Ma‘at: A Crooked Parallel,” JANES 23 (1995): 37–48, esp. 42. 49 Fox, “World Order,” 44. Fox is correct in rejecting Keel’s arguments that Ma‘at is depicted in the iconographic record as a playing child (46). He dismisses inappropriately, however, the evidence from Coffin Text Spell 80. While the line he claims to be a gloss probably is one, he fails to note that Ma‘at is mentioned at other points throughout this text in a variety of ways which do resemble Lady Wisdom. For Fox’s position to be valid, all of these statements must be glosses, which is not possible given the context of the Spell. 50 Fox, “World Order,” 48. 51 Ibid. 52 The pervasiveness in Egyptian culture can be seen by the positions of the Egyptologists on this issue and on the basis of the primary literature itself, both in terms of quantity and its consistency over millennia.

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Ma‘at (both as the concept of truth/justice and as its divine hypostasis) was the foundation principle of Egyptian society and was deeply embedded in Egyptian religion. Unlike some other Egyptian deities (notably Isis), Ma‘at never developed an international persona. It is doubtful that ancient sages, Egyptian or Israelite, could have extracted the concept of Ma‘at from scattered Egyptian cultic and mortuary texts and grafted it on to an Israelite figure of wisdom.53

While Fox changes “could not” to “doubtful,” he still dismisses the notion that sages (even Egyptian ones this time!) could undertake such a “scholarly” venture. In addition, Ma‘at’s failure to appear explicitly outside Egypt is actually only an argument from silence. Fox follows Kloppenborg’s arguments about Isis and Wisdom in Sirach.54 He concludes that “if Wisdom resembles any Egyptian goddess, it is Isis—not so much in her native Egyptian form (which would not be accessible to a foreign audience) as in the universalistic, international persona she acquired in Hellenistic times, when she became the most popular goddess in the Near East and the Aegean.”55 Fox’s conclusion regarding Ma‘at and Isis is not the only option that can explain this issue of the “international persona.”56 4. Lady Wisdom in no way resembles Ma‘at Helmer Ringgren does not clearly reject the influence of Ma‘at, as he affirms a mythological reading of Proverbs 8.57 He rather stresses that Lady Wisdom is a “hypostatization of a divine function” thereby avoiding foreign influence in Wisdom’s depiction.58 R. B. Y. Scott does not address Ma‘at as a distinct parallel, but does reject the idea of a child who plays before the deity and concludes that Wisdom is

53

Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 1–9 (AB 18A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 336. John S. Kloppenborg, “Isis and Sophia in the Book of Wisdom,” HTR 75 (1982): 57–84. 55 Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 336. 56 In Coffin Text Spell 1095, Isis is explicitly associated with Ma‘at; this is a very early connection if it is not a gloss. It does seem that further associations are not explicit until some point just prior to or during the Hellenistic period; this may explain why only Isis (who takes on Ma‘at’s characteristics, and not vice versa) shows up in Greek cults and literature. 57 Helmer Ringgren, Word and Wisdom: Studies in the Hypostatization of Divine Qualities and Functions in the Ancient Near East (Lund: Håkan Ohlssons Boktryckeri, 1947), 104, 132–33. 58 Ringgren, Word and Wisdom, 149. 54

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only “a poetic personification” rather than a hypostatization or even a distinct being.59 Roger Whybray does not accept any connections between Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom.60 Rather, he concludes that “wisdom in Proverbs is fundamentally a divine attribute which in the process of personification has been endowed with secondary mythological characteristics . . .” and he follows the suggestion of Ringgren “that it originated from the belief, expressed in Isa. 31.2, that Yahweh is wise.”61 John Currid does not mention any connection whatsoever to Lady Wisdom in his discussion of Ma‘at. Instead, he focuses on the concept of order and the connection to Pharaoh as a challenge to Pharaoh’s power in the plagues from Exodus.62 K. A. D. Smelik abruptly, without any evidence to support his claim, concludes his article: “The suggestion that the goddess Ma‘at would have been an equivalent of, or model for, the biblical concept of Lady Wisdom, has to be rejected.”63 The Portrayal and Associations of Ma‘at in Ancient Egyptian Literature The evidence for Ma‘at is contained in a variety of genres and for all time periods in ancient Egypt. The oldest ritual text seems to be the Book of Opening the Mouth from ca. 2600 b.c.e.64 The earliest corpus of texts is the Pyramid Texts from ca. 2300 b.c.e.65 The Coffin Texts are dated between ca. 2100 and ca. 1750 b.c.e.66 The Book of

59 R. B. Y. Scott, “Wisdom in Creation: The ’AMÔN of Proverbs VIII 30,” VT 10 (1960): 213–23, here 214, 223. 60 Roger N. Whybray, Proverbs (NCBC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 128. 61 Roger N. Whybray, Wisdom in Proverbs: The Concept of Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9 (SBT; London: SCM Press, 1965), 83. 62 John Currid, Ancient Egypt and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997), 118–20, 205–7. 63 K. A. D. Smelik, “Ma‘at,” in DDD, 534–35, esp. 535. 64 This text describes a ritual designed to cause the deity, originally Osiris, to indwell his statue, so that the statue will “speak” for the deity with an “open mouth.” References to the Book of Opening the Mouth are page numbers in Budge’s edition (he does not provide any clear method of citation for the text). 65 Written on the walls of Pyramids from the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties these texts describe the hopeful journey of the deceased king to the afterlife; they make reference to the Book of Opening the Mouth. 66 Misnamed, these texts are found both on papyri and on sarcophagi. They are incantation spells designed to assist the deceased in his journey into the afterlife. They clearly develop ideas from the Pyramid Texts and bear a remarkable resemblance to

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the Dead appears to have originated at some point between these two, but full versions exist only from ca. 1500 b.c.e. and beyond.67 Other texts include ritual hymns of praise to the gods, scribal literature, and numerous inscriptions, mostly from high officials.68 Throughout this vast literature, particular phrases and concepts associated with Ma‘at are found repeatedly. They can be placed into four categories: Titulary Language, Ritual Language, Ethical Language, and Both Ritual and Ethical Language. 1. Titulary Language The first category of Titulary Language reflects the belief that the gods—especially the high gods Ptah, Re, Aten, Osiris—rule in conjunction with the principle of Ma‘at, of order and justice. Also, in the inscriptions, different labels using the term “Ma‘at” are applied to the Pharaoh, the representative of the gods on earth, who is, for example, “the Lord of Ma‘at.” The phrase “content with Ma‘at” seems to function in a similar way, for both kings and high officials. The office of “prophet of Ma‘at” seems to reflect the idea that advisors to the king, just as the king himself, can speak on behalf of the goddess and the principles which she represents. This titulary language is surely connected with the fourth category, which I suggest associates ruling both ritually and ethically with the principles of Ma‘at (see below). 2. Ritual Language The second category of Ritual Language concerns the presentation of Ma‘at to the deity, typically Ptah, Re, or Osiris. First, in this ritual action, the king (later a high official) carries a statue in the form of Ma‘at before the statue of the high god and lifts it up. This offering is accompanied by beer and bread. Ma‘at is understood as the substance

the famous Greek Magical Papyri from a much later period; the Book of Opening the Mouth is reflected or alluded to in Coffin Text Spells 816, 1099. 67 This is an elaborate description of the judgment of the dead and the process of attaining a good afterlife; it is related, in a very complicated way, to the previous three texts. 68 The hymns are mostly in praise of Osiris, Re, or Aten and are mostly from high officials or from temple liturgies. The scribal literature is a large category, including the Instructions and Complaints, which were transmitted conservatively by scribes across the centuries.

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on which the gods live; they nourish themselves on Ma‘at.69 Order and justice are the responsibilities of the gods and they can perform them only when they are “full” of Ma‘at. Second, Ma‘at has a clear relationship with the sun-god Re. As his daughter, she guides his boat through the sky every day and guides the deceased through the afterlife as well. Re’s boat can be depicted with several gods and goddesses, but often can be represented with only the figure of Ma‘at or even only by her characteristic feather in the boat. Third, the individual speaker in the Coffin Texts claims an association with Ma‘at which will give him an advantage in the afterlife and the judgment. The individual claims to be Ma‘at, just as he also claims to be Thoth, Re, Osiris, and other gods. This “personal” association demonstrates that Ma‘at is not restricted to an abstract concept; she is a real goddess, just like other deities. This point is further supported by the fact that she is explicitly addressed with the vocative in Coffin Texts.70 While Ma‘at does not speak, she clearly is expected to act on behalf of her petitioner. Fourth, the explicit connection between Ma‘at and Thoth, scribe of the gods, combined with the language of scribalism in several texts highlights the association of Ma‘at with scribes and with a wisdom tradition. Egyptian sages and scribes clearly saw themselves as officials serving Ma‘at. This association is further supported by the amulet of Ma‘at worn around the neck by these high officials. Fifth, language of desire is used concerning Ma‘at: Re is to kiss her, she loves Re and those who love him, she is content, and those who love Re also implicitly love Ma‘at. It should be noted that nothing is said of her pursuit for lovers, but she clearly does have them and clearly responds to them. 3. Ethical Language The third category of Ethical Language clearly associates doing Ma‘at (that which the goddess demands; what is just and consistent with the order of creation) with the appropriate life of the sage and of the king himself. Re was able to bring order to the universe because Ma‘at

69

On a theological note, the Eucharistic overtones of these “presentation of Ma‘at” texts are striking, especially when compared to the language of the Bread of Life discourse in John 6. 70 Coffin Text Spell 624, 634, 660, 939.

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was present prior to creation; Ma‘at herself takes no active role in this process but somehow facilitates the actions of the other gods in their work in creation and in the contemporary world. These texts form the absolute core of wisdom literature from the sages of Egypt. There is no higher good than to “do Ma‘at”—to do what is right and just, ritually, ethically, socially, and politically.71 Ma‘at pervades and guides all of life’s actions in these texts. 4. Both Ritual and Ethical Language The fourth category of both Ritual and Ethical Language demonstrates again how the concept of Ma‘at unites all of life in Egypt. Ma‘at is at the core of religious, political, and social values. Because it is the center of ritual activity, it is necessary for navigating the afterlife. Because it is the center of ethics, its performance and internalization in the heart of the individual are weighed at the final judgment against the cosmic standard, which is Ma‘at herself, in the balance before the high god. Thus, achieving Ma‘at is the goal of life and is the key to eternal blessing in the afterlife. If Ma‘at is not observed, then chaos, disorder, and calamity of both a physical and moral nature will result. When Ma‘at is reestablished, then order is restored on both a cosmic and a local scale. Connections to Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9, especially 8:22–31 This brief survey of Ma‘at in ancient Egyptian literature provides key elements with which to compare the description of Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 8. Their relationship is obviously complex. It is clear that there is not a one-to-one relationship between the two. Several connections, however, can easily be made between them. First, Ma‘at is associated with the wisdom and scribal traditions in Egypt just as Lady Wisdom is with the Israelite scribal enterprise.72

71 While Hebrew has many words with fluid and overlapping semantic ranges to indicate this order of the world, life, and relationships (for example, shalom, tsedekah, mishpat, emet, tov), the older Egyptian concept of “ma‘at” contains them all and unifies them into a single holistic term extending to all areas of life. 72 This observation is made on the basis of Proverbs 1–9 as a whole, and not just chapter 8.

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Second, Lady Wisdom is both the goal and the one who provides instruction on how to live. Seeking Lady Wisdom in order to actualize her values and commands in everyday life is equivalent to doing Ma‘at. Third, just and responsible kingship is dependent on Ma‘at and on Wisdom (Prov 8:15). Fourth, both Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom are present at creation but do not actually create the universe; instead, they have some unspecified role which enables creation to occur in an orderly manner with a coherent result (Prov 8:22–31). Of course, certain features are not perfectly parallel. First, the description of Ma‘at holding the ankh and the scepter could be paralleled by Lady Wisdom having “riches and honor” (Prov 8:18) and specifically “long life and riches and honor in my hands” (Prov 3:16). Such a claim is possible and not a direct correspondence. Second, Ma‘at is deeply involved in the final judgment of the individual, whereas the role of Lady Wisdom is unspecified in this regard. Lady Wisdom may provide the pattern or standard by which human actions are judged (and then only as regards retribution in this life and not an afterlife), but the elaborate and consistent descriptions associated with Ma‘at find no parallels in Proverbs 1–9. Third, Ma‘at is the only deity to appear also in a dual form, Maaty. It is possible, and I believe probable, that such a connection may account for the otherwise inexplicable use of the plural form ‫( חכמות‬wisdoms) for ‫( חכמה‬wisdom) in a few texts in Proverbs and Psalms.73 As noted, however, much dissimilarity also exists. First, Lady Wisdom speaks in the first person and cries out openly in the streets (Prov 8:1, 4), while Ma‘at never speaks. Second, Lady Wisdom is not clearly YHWH’s daughter while, of course, Ma‘at is clearly the daughter of Re. The ambiguity of two keys words in Prov 8:22–31 complicates understanding the relationship between YHWH and Lady Wisdom.74

73

Prov. 1:20; 9:1; 24:7; Ps 49:3. It is significant that the first two passages clearly refer to personified Lady Wisdom, while the third and fourth occur in the context of living the life guided by wisdom which preserves one in times of judgment and retribution in this life. This could possibly derive from the “Hall of Maaty” as the place of judgment. 74 The relationship between YHWH and Lady Wisdom could suggest that Lady Wisdom was an independent goddess in ancient Israel. Contemporary arguments for a recovering of the Feminine Divine often incorporate the image of Lady Wisdom in Proverbs and Sophia in Sirach 24 and Wisdom of Solomon. The relationship between Lady Wisdom and Ma‘at is important, not only on a historical or cultural basis developed from comparative mythology, but also for constructive theology in our current contexts.

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The root ‫ קנה‬in verse 22 can mean several things: acquire, create, get, give birth to; and the variety of suggestions for ‫ אמון‬in verse 30 allow interpretations of the passage to become extremely idiosyncratic very quickly. It is not clear at all how this second word should be taken, and its translations have included “master workman,” “little child,” “architect,” “guide,” “living link.”75 The Egyptian literature surveyed provides a clear statement that Ma‘at was created by Re before the rest of creation, but the picture of Ma‘at as a playing child is even less certain than is the case for Lady Wisdom as one playing before YHWH (Prov 8:30–31).76 Third, the statement that Wisdom “rejoices before him always” in verse 30 finds no parallel in the statements concerning Ma‘at. Fourth, the repeated appearance of Ma‘at in connection with judgment in the afterlife in Egyptian texts is completely absent in Proverbs 1–9. Proverbs evinces no evidence of belief in an afterlife, let alone indications that any type of judgment will occur in such a setting nor what type of standards will be invoked. Conclusion In conclusion, there are a number of similarities which link Lady Wisdom to Ma‘at, especially in the larger function of both serving as guides to living according to the order of the universe. There is, however, no direct borrowing of Ma‘at without significant revision and adaptation for a Yahwistic setting.77 The ambiguity of the vocabulary in Prov 8:22–31 may obscure another possible connection to Ma‘at, but it certainly cannot be blamed for a “demythologizing” portrayal of an Egyptian goddess. The best conclusion is that there is, or at least there was, a limited connection between the Egyptian goddess Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom, with the latter possibly being enhanced by (yet not completely constructed on) the former. According to Michael Fox, “Lady Wisdom does not speak or behave much like Ma‘at; she is therefore probably not modeled on her.”78 This conclusion is only partially accurate; the further statements that he makes regarding the 75

See the list and criticisms by Scott, “Wisdom in Creation,” 213–23. As previously noted, Keel’s suggestions for iconographic depictions of Ma‘at as a playing child are not able to be supported and should be rejected. 77 This seems to be one of Fox’s points (“World Order,” 42), but the evidence from which he made similar remarks is not valid. 78 Fox, “World Order,” 46. 76

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connection with Isis during the later Hellenistic period, the view of the natural order by Israelite sages, and the inability of ancient sages even possibly to construct such a parallel should all be rejected. In addition, his conclusion should be nuanced to reflect a slightly more fluid relationship: while Lady Wisdom does not act or speak completely like Ma‘at, she does share a number of characteristics that place both entities solidly in scribal circles concerned with wisdom, everyday life, and creation. Therefore, Ma‘at could have been the initial motivation for thinking about an entity like Lady Wisdom without being solely responsible for her subsequent description as articulated by professional Israelite sages. The Israelite understanding of Lady Wisdom has a possible, and I would say probable, connection to the goddess Ma‘at, but no direct correspondence to Ma‘at without some adaptation can be demonstrated on the basis of the known evidence.

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APPENDIX The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts. Translated by R. O. Faulkner. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. Pyramid Text 317 (Utt 260): I the orphan have had judgement with the orphaness, the Two Truths [Maat in dual: Maaty] have judged, though a witness was lacking. The Two Truths [Maaty] have commanded that the thrones of Geb shall revert to me, so that I may raise myself to what I have desired. Pyramid Text 1219a (Utt 519): You [a god, possibly Re] will cause me to sit because of my righteousness [Maat] and I will stand up because of my blessedness. Pyramid Text 1482b–1483 (Utt 573): Commend me to him who is greatly noble, the beloved of Ptah, the son of Ptah, that he may speak on my behalf and that he may provide supplies for my jarstands(?) which are on earth, / because I am one of [with] these four gods, Imsety, Hapy, Duamutef, Kebhsenuf, who live by right-doing [Maat], who lean on their staffs and watch over Upper Egypt. Pyramid Text 1582–1583 (Utt 586): May you [the deceased] shine as Re; repress wrongdoing [Isfet], cause Maat to stand behind Re, shine every day for him who is in the horizon of the sky. / Open the gates which are in the Abyss. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Translated and edited by R. O. Faulkner. 3 Vols. Warminster, England: Aris & Phillips, 1973, 1977, 1978. Coffin Text Spell 80 (II, 32–36a): Thus said Atum: Tefenet is my living daughter, and she shall be with her brother Shu; “Living One” is his name, “Righteousness” [Maat] is her name. . . . Nu said to Atum: Kiss your daughter Ma‘at, put her at your nose, that your heart may live, for she will not be far from you; Ma‘at is your daughter and your son is Shu whose name lives on. Eat of your daughter Ma‘at; it is your son Shu who will raise you up. I indeed am one who lives, son of Atum; he fashioned me with his nose, I have gone forth from his nostrils; I put myself on his neck and he kisses me with my Ma‘at. [vol. I] Coffin Text Spell 165 (III, 5–6): [Spell for eating bread from upon the offering-tables of Re, giving oblations in On] O you who are content with what you have done—four times—and who send Ma‘at to Re

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daily, the liver of Re is flourishing because of Ma‘at, and he partakes of the meal of the Great Goddess. [vol. I] Coffin Text Spell 376 (V, 39): The bleared eyes of the Great One fall on you and Ma‘at will examine you for judgement. [vol. II] Coffin Text Spell 540 (VI, 135–136): [To become the scribe of Hathor] I have received the four reed wands and the reed pens of Ma‘at. [136] I received them from her fingers, I moisten(?) them. . . . It is the great ones, the Lords of their tribunal, who know the names of the wands and pens of Ma‘at; I know them by their names. I bring what is good [. . .]; I cause Ma‘at to enter in, I reduce the two Warriors to order, I detest him who will not see wrong [Isfet], whom the crew of Re, the Eldest in sky and earth, make impotent; . . . I am the scribe of Hathor, the writing materials of Thoth are opened for me, and I am his helper. [vol. II] Coffin Text Spell 654 (VI, 275): I have come rejoicing, a scribe of Ma‘at. [vol. II] Coffin Text Spell 659 (VI, 280): Spell for landing [the bark of Re]. Hail to you, Bull of the West, Lord of fayence in the festivals of the two Ma‘ats [Maaty]! [vol. II] Coffin Text Spell 660 (VI, 282): I am a king who probes(?), and the two Truth-goddesses [Maaty] have laid their hands on me, being hungry on the day of . . . in the Sokar-bark of the two Truth-goddesses [Maaty]. [vol. II] Coffin Text Spell 939 (VII, 150): O Ma‘at, in front of the place of complaint in the tribunal, I am he who was pleasing to the god [one of several deities addressed—Thoth, Ptah, Horus]. [vol. III] Coffin Text Spell 1095 (VII, 379): This is Isis who is before him [proper name] as Ma‘at, she shows him the paths when crossing the sky, that he may imitate what Re does. [vol. III] E. A. Wallis Budge. The Book of the Dead: The Papyrus of Ani. London: British Museum, 1895; repr., New York: Dover Publications, 1967. Book of the Dead 105: O Weigher on the scales, may maat rise to the nose of Re that day! Do not let my head be removed from me! Book of the Dead 125: I live in maat, I feed my heart upon maat. I have done that which men commanded, the gods are satisfied thereat. I have appeased God by [doing] his will. . . . I have done maat. O lord of maat, I am pure, my breast is washed, my hinder parts are cleansed, my interior [hath been] in the pool of maat, without a member in me lacking.

FROM NAME TO BOOK: ANOTHER LOOK AT THE COMPOSITION OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAH WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO ISAIAH 56–661 J. Todd Hibbard I In an insightful and influential essay originally published in 1978, Peter Ackroyd asked, “Why is there so substantial a book associated with the prophet Isaiah?”2 Ackroyd was, of course, not the first person to ask this question, and he was not the last. The composition and formation of the book of Isaiah continues to attract research and hypotheses because of the issue’s complexity and significance. The modern critical discussion about the formation of the book of Isaiah has its apparent beginning in the late eighteenth century when J. C. Döderlein and J. G. Eichhorn both argued on historical grounds that Isaiah 40–66 must have originated later than the time of the eighth century prophet for whom the book is named, during the exilic period (sixth century).3 A little over a century later, B. Duhm’s classic commentary on the book formulated the now familiar division of the book into three parts: Proto-, Deutero-, and Trito-Isaiah (or, First, Second, and

1 It is a pleasure to offer this essay in honor of Jim VanderKam, from whom I have learned much. His grace and dignity have served as a model for many students and colleagues, myself included, and his expertise and rigor provide an example of scholarly capability for us all. 2 Peter R. Ackroyd, “Isaiah 1–12: Presentation of a Prophet,” in Studies in the Religious Tradition of the Old Testament (London: SCM, 1987), 79–104; repr. from Congress Volume, International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (VTSup 29; Leiden: Brill, 1978), 16–48; cf. also Christopher R. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny: The Development of the Book of Isaiah (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 39–45. 3 J. G. Eichhorn, Einleitung in das Alte Testament (2d ed.; Leipzig: Weidmann, 1787), 3.52–102. For surveys of modern studies of Isaiah, see J. Vermeylen, “L’Unité du livre d’Isaïe,” and G. I. Davies, “The Destiny of the Nations in the Book of Isaiah,” both in The Book of Isaiah—Le Livre d’Isaïe (ed. J. Vermeylen; BETL 81; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1989), 11–53 and 93–120 respectively; D. Carr, “Reading for Unity in Isaiah,” JSOT 57 (1993): 61–80; and H. G. M. Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 1–18.

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Third Isaiah).4 His primary contribution with respect to the book’s formation was to argue, minimally, that the last eleven chapters of the book should be viewed as compositionally and structurally separate from the sixteen chapters that precede it because they reflect a later religious and historical context. His argument was based primarily on historical grounds. The influence of Duhm’s position on subsequent critical Isaiah studies has been substantial to say the least, but it leaves several questions unresolved and raises others.5 For example: How did these three sections of Isaiah come to be associated with one another? What is the relationship between Isaiah 1–39 and 40–66? Between 40–55 and 56–66? What was the shape of Isaiah 1–39 when Isaiah 40–55(66) was written or attached to the book? Did chapters 40–55 exist independently at any point? What is the meaning, if any, of the “final form” of the book? Who was responsible for the final redaction of the book? These questions and others continue to require exploration and clarification as scholars seek to understand the formation of the book of Isaiah. Attempts to address these questions still rely heavily on historical- and redaction-critical approaches. At the same time, other scholars have sought to explain the growth of the book through a tradition-historical or thematic approach that accepts the main outlines of the tripartite structure of the book, but which explores certain unifying or at least broadly represented themes. These approaches often examine exegetical trajectories within the book as clues to its development. Robert Carroll, for example, has argued that the theme of “the blind” constitutes a recurring motif in the book6 and J. J. M. Roberts has argued that the “Holy One of Israel” is a unifying title throughout the book.7 Others have argued that Zion/Jerusalem is a unifying theme in the book as a whole.8 While all of these suggestions in this highly selective survey have merit to one degree or another, it

4

Bernard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892; 4th ed., 1922). 5 For one survey of Duhm’s legacy in Isaiah studies, see Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny, 1–32. 6 Robert P. Carroll, “Blindsight and the Vision Thing: Blindness and Insight in the Book of Isaiah,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah (ed. C. C. Broyles and C. A. Evans; 2 vols.; VTSup 70; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1.79–93. 7 J. J. M. Roberts, “Isaiah in Old Testament Theology,” in Interpreting the Prophets (ed. James Luther Mays and Paul J. Achtemeier; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 62–74. 8 Ronald E. Clements, “Zion as Symbol and Political Reality: A Central Isaianic Quest,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah (ed. J. van Ruiten and M. Vervenne; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 3–17.

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is also clear that no single one explains the formation of the book in its entirety. The present study aims to make a contribution to this discussion by arguing that later tradents of Isaiah took their cue from the name of the prophet, ‫ישעיהו‬, which means “YHWH is salvation” or “YHWH has saved,”9 or, most simply, “YHWH saves,” and expanded the book by developing the theme of YHWH’s salvation in the exilic and postexilic periods.10 The idea occurs throughout all parts of the book of Isaiah and is connected closely with the way the book uses the term ‫ישע‬, although it is not limited to this.11 The idea is also closely connected with the book’s interest in the fate of Jerusalem/Zion, a theme which, as noted above, also occurs frequently in the book.12 As will be shown, outside of the much discussed account involving three symbolically-named children in Isaiah 7–8, the idea is rare in what may be plausibly identified as material associated with the eighth century prophet. On the other hand, the idea and its corresponding language blossom in the material reflected in the contexts of the sixth century and later.

9 For a discussion of the two different possibilities, see H. G. M. Williamson, Isaiah 1–5 (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 12–21. Interestingly, Isaiah is one of two eighth century prophets whose name is built on this Hebrew stem. The other, of course, is Hosea, whose name is probably a shortened form meaning “YHWH has delivered” (‫)הושע‬. The term and theme are much less developed in Hosea, however, as it occurs only five times (1:7[2x]; 13:4, 10; 14:3), mostly near the end of the book. 10 This idea has been put forward briefly by P. Ackroyd, “Isaiah 1–12: Presentation of a Prophet,” 16–48; and Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 116. 11 Other lexemes contribute to the book’s portrayal of deliverance, salvation, and safety, including ‫ נצל‬and ‫עזר‬. 12 Davies has suggested that one explanation of the book’s development and canonization may be connected with these two matters. He writes, “The grounds for allocating material to Isaiah may have been because of its content: the theme of Jerusalem (“Zion”) and its “salvation” (befitting the name of the prophet, which means “Yahweh saves”) are characteristic of the original collection.” See Davies, Scribes and Schools, 116. On the book’s interest in Jerusalem/Zion, see Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2:3; London: SCM, 1967); Ronald E. Clements, Isaiah and the Deliverance of Jerusalem ( JSOTSup 13; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1980); idem, “Zion as Symbol and Political Reality: A Central Isaianic Quest,” and H.-J. Hermisson, “Die Frau Zion,” both in Studies in the Book of Isaiah: Festschrift Willem A.M. Beuken (ed. J. van Reuiten and M. Vervenne; BETL 132; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 3–17 and 19–39, respectively.

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In a recent study, Joseph Blenkinsopp calls attention to the fact that there is virtually no direct connection between the prophet Isaiah and the oracles in the book bearing his name, a situation that produces some tension in the prophetic profiles of Isaiah.13 The prophet is never mentioned after chapter 39, and the vast majority of the references to his name in Isaiah 1–39 occur in superscriptions (1:1; 2:1; 13:1) and narratives (chs. 7, 20, and 36–39; see below). Scholars agree that the superscriptions are secondary additions to the book, and many would argue that the narratives of chapters 20 and 36–39 are later as well.14 This leaves only the one mention of Isaiah’s name in Isa 7:3, part of the so-called Isaiah Denkschrift.15 While many scholars are prepared to argue that Isa 6:1–8:18, or parts thereof, originated with the prophet himself, others are unconvinced.16 The acceptance of the view that most or all of the references to the name of the prophet are themselves later additions signifies that one aspect of the early growth of the book

13 Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Prophetic Biography of Isaiah,” in Mincha: Festgabe für Rolf Rendtorff zum 75. Geburtstag (ed. Erhard Blum; Neukirchener-Vluynen: Neukirchener Verlag, 2000), 13–26. 14 Blenkinsopp (“Prophetic Biography,” 19) argues that Isaiah 20 is, like the majority view regarding Isaiah 36–39, of Deuteronomistic origin; cf. idem, Isaiah 1–39 (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 320–23. 15 The notion of an Isaiah Denkschrift covering all or parts of Isa 6:1–9:6[7], was developed first in Karl Budde, Jesaja’s Erleben: Eine gemeinverständliche Auslegung der Denkschrift des Propheten (Kap. 6,1–9,6) (Gotha: L. Klotz, 1928). A relatively recent assessment of the theory and its problems can be found in Jörg Barthel, Prophetenwort und Geschichte (FAT 19; Tübingen: Mohr, 1997), 37–65. On the exegetical development of this text in Isaiah, see Ronald E. Clements, “The Immanuel Prophecy of Isaiah 7:10–17 and its Messianic Interpretion,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 65–77, esp. 66–67; repr. from Die Hebräische Bible und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift R. Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. E. Blum et al.; Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990), 225–40; idem, “The Prophet as Author: The Case of the Isaiah Memoir,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H. Floyd; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 89–101. For a critique of the Denkschrift view, see Otto Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12 (2d ed.; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983), 114–17. The argument that 6:1–9:6 has been assembled to reflect Isaiah 36–39 is presented by Marvin Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 480. 16 E.g., Kaiser (Isaiah 1–12, 136–45) argues that Isa 7:1–9 evinces Deuteronomistic theology and should be considered a retrospective reflection on the events it narrates designed to encourage those affected by the catastrophe of 586 b.c.e.

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included references to the prophet by name.17 Several factors may have led to the incorporation of the prophet’s name as an important element of the book, but one consequence was that, in light of the meaning of the prophet’s name, it enabled later readers and contributors to think about the content of the book in a way that emphasized YHWH’s salvation. Given the heavy emphasis on critique and judgment in many of the oracles that are associated with the ostensible eighth century context of the prophet himself, this would have represented a new departure for the book.18 In order to understand more fully how the idea of YHWH’s salvation was developed in the book in association with the prophet’s name, it will be helpful first to examine where and how the book uses the term ‫ישע‬.19 Different forms of the root occur seventy-two times in the book:20 twenty times as a verbal form21 and fifty-two as a nominal form.22 Moreover, the term occurs in all three parts of the book: thirty-three times in First Isaiah,23 twenty-four in Second Isaiah,24 and fifteen in Third Isaiah.25 Of the uses in First Isaiah, nearly half are connected with the prophet’s name, while the majority of the remainder all occur in passages that are arguably late (see below). That forces the 17 Blenkinsopp (“Prophetic Biography,” 24–26) argues that this was one method that later tradents adopted to fill out a prophetic biography of Isaiah that stood in some tension with the putative prophetic voice of the book. 18 This is not to suggest, as some have in the past, that the eighth century prophets were only prophets of critique and judgment, while the message of hope emanated exclusively from later periods. There can be no doubt that prophets were capable of both emphases. However, the evidence in Isaiah is best explained, in my view, along the lines presented here. 19 For a discussion of the use and meaning of this term in the Hebrew Bible, see John F. A. Sawyer, Semantics in Biblical Research: New Methods of Defining Hebrew Words for Salvation (SBT 24; Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1972). He puts the issue in a way that resonates with the present study: “[W]e are not concerned, in defining meaning, only with what the original author meant, but also with how his original audience or readers understood him” (5). This recognition gives us some way into exploring how later readers/writers of Isaiah used the terminology as a lens through which to develop the theme of salvation. 20 That this is a high number is apparent from a comparison with the uses of the same term in Jeremiah (18x) and Ezekiel (3x), where it occurs far less frequently. Data are based on the MT. 21 This includes 16x as Hiphil and 4x as Niphal. 22 Forms include ‫מושיע‬, ‫תשועה‬, ‫ישע‬, ‫ ישועה‬and ‫ישעיהו‬. 23 1:1; 2:1; 7:3; 12:2, 3 (3x); 13:1; 17:10; 19:20; 20:2, 3 (2x); 25:9 (2x); 26:1, 18; 30:15; 33:2, 6, 22; 35:4; 37:2, 5, 6, 20, 21, 35; 38:1, 4, 20; 39:3, 5, 8, 20. 24 43:3, 11, 12, 35:8, 15, 17, 20–22 (3x); 46:13 (2x); 47:13, 15; 49:6, 8, 25, 26; 51:5, 6, 8; 52:7, 10. 25 56:1; 59:1, 11, 16, 17; 60:16, 18; 61:10; 62:1, 11; 63:1, 5, 8, 9; 64:5.

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conclusion that the majority of the passages in Isaiah that use this term should be considered exilic or later.26 Obviously, this does not account for every addition to the book, but it does offer a hermeneutic that explains much in the later formation of the book that cuts across all three major divisions of the book. The basis for the argument is not limited to the use of ‫ישע‬, however. The following additional points must be noted: (1) The book contains three other names that bear symbolic theological weight in Isaiah 7–8: Shear-jashub (7:3); Immanuel (7:14); and Maher-shalal-hash-baz (8:1, 3).27 In the historical context assumed by Isaiah 7–8, these children’s names are the symbolic foundation for a message of hope and confidence that Judah and the Davidic dynasty will survive the political turmoil of the late 730s and 720s b.c.e., a point made explicitly by Isa 8:18.28 Names, then, are symbolically significant in Isaiah. Of more relevance for this study, however, is the observation that two of these names are specifically reinterpreted elsewhere in the book. In the first instance, Immanuel is reused in Isa 8:8 and 8:10 in two different additions. The first contains an ominous sounding connotation about the Assyrian invasion, while the second appears to be a much later addition that informs that nations that their plans against Jerusalem will come to naught because “God is with us” (‫ ;עמנו אל‬cf. Ps 46).29 Additionally, Ronald Clements has demonstrated that the Immanuel child is also alluded to in Isa 9:1–6 so as to suggest an interpretive association with Hezekiah.30 A second reinterpretation, one which has not produced as much comment, revolves around Shear-jashub. Apart from its initial appearance in Isaiah 7, the name is invoked again in Isa 10:21 and 10:22 in what is part of an “on 26 This matches the overall usage of the term in the literature of the Hebrew Bible. John F. A. Sawyer notes that there is a “significant concentration” in the period of the Babylonian exile, and that its usage in the Psalms and exilic compositions accounts for 85% of the term’s total appearances in the Hebrew Bible; see John F. A. Sawyer, “‫ישע‬,” TDOT 6:446–47. 27 See Ackroyd, “Isaiah 1-12: Presentation of a Prophet,” 97. That another putative eighth century prophet, Hosea, also includes three symbolically-named children is interesting as well. 28 See J. Høgenhaven, “Die symbolischen Namen in Jesaja 7 und 8 im Rahmen der sogenannten Denkschrift des Propheten,” in The Book of Isaiah—Le Livre d’Isaïe (ed. J. Vermeylen; BETL 81; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1989), 231–35. 29 On these texts as later interpretations emphasizing the Immanuel theme, see Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 240–41. 30 Clements, “The Immanuel Prophecy of Isaiah 7:10–17,” 65–77.

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that day” (‫ )ביום ההוא‬addition commenting on the status of the remnant.31 These two exegetical comments take up the status and welfare of the remnant, but develop them in differing directions.32 Since there is precedent for the symbolic importance of names elsewhere in the book itself, is it not plausible that other tradents saw themselves acting on Isaian precedent by offering theological reflection inspired by the prophet’s name? (2) The reference to the “vision of Isaiah son of Amoz” (‫חזון‬ ‫ )ישעיהו בן אמוץ‬in 2 Chr 32:32 recalls the opening superscription of the book of Isaiah, which uses identical terminology to identify the book.33 The Chronicler portrays the prophet as a historian who recorded the deeds of Hezekiah.34 If we are to connect this in any way with some form of the present book of Isaiah, it calls to mind Isaiah 36–39, since this is the only place in the book of Isaiah that mentions Hezekiah (outside the superscription of 1:1). The relevance of this for the purpose of this study is this: this portion of Isaiah is also a section where the theme of YHWH’s salvation is developed (cf. Isa 37:20, 35; 38:20). As such, it stands in some tension with the voice of the oracles. Additionally, if the thesis that Isaiah 36–39 originates outside the book of Isaiah in the Deuteronomistic History is correct, then we are again dealing with a later portrait of the prophet that paints a different picture.35 Parsing out the details of the Isaiah-Chronicles connection is not our focus here, however, it permits us to suggest that the prophet Isaiah was associated at the time of the Chronicler with a tradition in which he articulated a message of salvation (see also 2 Chr 32:20, 22).36

31 The full context is Isa 10:20–27a, which comprises multiple prose comments using several earlier Isaian themes and topoi. Additionally, the passage draws heavily on Isa 28:14–22. Cf. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 257–58. 32 See Hans Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 434–38. 33 On the connection between Isaiah and Chronicles on this issue, see Joseph Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book: Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 1–13, esp. 5 and 12. 34 Isaiah is mentioned by name three times in 2 Chronicles, twice as some kind of author (26:22; 32:32). In 2 Chronicles 26 he is the historian of the reign of Uzziah. 35 Although a majority of scholars argue that most of Isaiah 36–39 originates in 2 Kings 18–20 and was only secondarily brought over into Isaiah, a minority argue the reverse. On the contours of the debate see Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny. 36 Writing a couple of centuries later, Sirach also invokes Isaiah exclusively as one who offered a message of hope, salvation and comfort, not judgment. See Sir 48:17–25.

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(3) The book contains several references to inscribed messages that are to be interpreted later (8:1–4, 16–18; 29:11–12; 30:8). Williamson has argued that the material in chapters 8 and 30 played a significant role in offering a warrant for later addition to the book. In particular, he argues, Isaiah 30 suggests that the inscribed scroll would only be opened after the prophet’s death. He maintains that this later unsealing of the document was sufficiently suggestive enough to ground the argument for the author of Deutero-Isaiah to augment the book with his own material.37 The details of Williamson’s argument are not our concern here, but his position does offer a plausible scenario for understanding how and why Isaiah was supplemented with later material. For our purposes we note only that one of those “written” contexts inviting later reflection revolves around the last of the symbolicallynamed children mentioned in Isaiah 7–8, the importance of which has already been discussed (see above). These considerations suggest that the idea that Isaiah’s name may have functioned as an impetus for the continued development of the book has lines of continuity with other areas and matters in Isaiah. While a complete presentation and evaluation of this study’s thesis would require a thorough investigation of the entire book (which is not possible in this context), the present study will focus narrowly on Isaiah 56–66, Trito-Isaiah, to explore the evidence for viewing this as a lens through which to see the formation of the book.38 In the process, I will pursue three questions: (1) How is the theme of YHWH’s salvation present in these chapters? (2) How does the use of this theme illuminate our understanding of the book’s growth? and (3) Is this theme a kind of Fortschreibung of Second Isaiah?39

37

Williamson, Book Called Isaiah, 94–115. With respect to Proto-Isaiah, Ackroyd argues that this theme helps frame the way the prophet is presented in the first major section of the book, chapters 1–12. In his view, the three uses of ‫ ישע‬in Isaiah 12 should be understood as interpretive comments on the image of the prophet found in chapters 1–11, “drawing out in a final poetic statement the broadest significance of the prophet’s person and message.” He wonders if “for certain stages of the Isaiah tradition, may we not see here an element in the process by which this one prophet of the eighth century acquired a status which owed something to theological reflection, and thus contributed, alongside other elements, to the eventual primacy of position which he occupied?” See Ackroyd, “Isaiah 1–12: Presentation of a Prophet,” 97. 39 This idea has been developed extensively by Odil H. Steck. See the various essays on this theme in his Studien zu Tritojesaja (BZAW 203; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1991), 49–213. For a recent survey of this idea in Isaiah studies, see Peter Höffken, Jesaja: Der 38

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III The theme of YHWH’s salvation appears prominently in the opening passage of Third Isaiah, signaling its importance in the last eleven chapters of the book. Isaiah 56:1 reads, Thus says YHWH: Maintain justice (‫ )משפט‬and act with righteousness (‫)צדקה‬ for my salvation (‫ )ישועתי‬is soon to come, and my deliverance (‫ )צדקתי‬to be revealed.

Rolf Rendtorff has argued that this passage plays an important role in the formation of the book.40 His argument focuses on the way in which it brings together two different understandings of ‫צדקה‬/‫ צדק‬in the book of Isaiah. In the present study, however, our focus is on the way the text (re-)introduces the idea of salvation (‫ )ישע‬into the last portion of the book. Rendtorff argues, among other things, that the verse resumes the theme of ‫ צדק‬from Second Isaiah and announces its importance for Third Isaiah.41 The same can be said for its use of salvation (‫)ישועה‬, which is described as coming (‫ )לבוא‬or appearing (‫ )להגלות‬soon. The idea of YHWH’s coming salvation recurs in 62:11: “See, your salvation comes; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him.” Grammatically, this passage uses the second and third person, whereas Isaiah 56 uses the first person, but otherwise the

Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004), 93–96. 40 Rolf Rendtorff, “Isaiah 56:1 as a Key to the Formation of the Book of Isaiah,” in Canon and Theology (trans. Margaret Kohl; OBT; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1993), 181–89. More broadly on the topic of the development and redaction of Isa 56–66 see, in addition to the standard commentaries, Seizo Sekine, Die Tritojesajanische Sammlung (Jes 56–66) redaktionsgeschichtlich untersucht (BZAW 175; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989); Steck, Studien zu Tritojesaja; Wolfgang Lau, Schriftgelehrte Prophetie in Jes 56–66 (BZAW 225; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994); and Paul A. Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah: The Structure, Growth and Authorship of Isaiah 56–66 (VTSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 1995). 41 John N. Oswalt (“Righteousness in Isaiah: A Study of the Function of Chapters 55–66 in the Present Structure of the Book,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah [ed. Craig C. Broyles and Craig A. Evans; VTSup 70; Leiden: Brill, 1997], 177–91) argues that the last eleven (or twelve) chapters of the book unify the preceding material in the book and that the focus revolves around the differing understandings of ‫ צדק‬in the various parts of the book. Cf. also J. J. Scullion, “SEDEQ-SEDAQAH in Isaiah cc. 40–66 with special reference to the continuity in meaning between Second and Third Isaiah,” UF 3 (1971): 335–38; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66 (AB 19B; New York: Doubleday, 2003), 130–43.

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idea is presented similarly. The first person announcement of YHWH’s coming salvation occurs one other time in the last eleven chapters of the book, in Isa 63:1, where it has reference to YHWH’s salvation in the destruction of Edom (on which see below). Taken together, these three passages suggest that YHWH’s salvation is conceived in Third Isaiah as an expectation, and it would not be incorrect to relate this idea to the hopefulness that characterized the early stages of the restoration in the late sixth and early fifth centuries. There is earlier in Isaiah a text that sounds this theme using language that is very similar to Isaiah 56 and 62, Isa 35:4, which reads “Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.’” Like Isaiah 62, YHWH comes with vengeance and retribution, indicating that salvation for the restoration community has as its correlate punishment for their oppressors (cf. Isa 33:1–2). As many others have noted, Isaiah 35 should be read in association with Isaiah 40, and, in fact, it may have originated as a text that links the first part of the book with the second.42 Additionally, Isaiah 62 should also be associated with Isaiah 40 (both develop the theme of the built up highway, both speak of divine retribution; see below).43 Moreover, Isaiah 62 is itself usually regarded as part of the literary and theological core of Third Isaiah, generally taken to be chapters 60–62.44 That the idea of YHWH’s salvation occurs in each of these redactionally and theologically significant chapters in the book (we could add Isaiah 12 to this; see above) permits the provisional conclusion then that we are dealing here with an important theme not just in Third Isaiah, but throughout the book in a series of associated texts.45 Returning to Isa 56:1, we note this text introduces several important ideas developed in Third Isaiah, including YHWH’s salvation and

42 Rolf Rendtorff, “Zur Komposition des buches Jesaja,” VT 34 (1984): 295–320, esp. 300–301. 43 For more on the links between Isaiah 60–62 and 40–55, see Carol J. Dempsey, “From Desolation to Delight: The Transformative Vision of Isaiah 60–62,” in The Desert Will Bloom: Poetic Visions in Isaiah (ed. A. Joseph Everson and Hyun Chul Paul Kim; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), 217–32, esp. 230–31. 44 See, e.g., Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66 (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 296; John N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 40–66 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 534. 45 Sekine argues that salvation (Heil) is the central theme of Isaiah 60–62; see Sekine, Die Tritojesajanische Sammlung, 188–90.

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deliverance, as well as the ideas of justice and righteousness, all of which are announced as part of the coming restoration. Indeed, as others have demonstrated, justice (‫ )משפט‬and righteousness/vindication (‫צדקה‬/‫ )צדק‬are themselves important themes in Third Isaiah46 but for the present purposes it is necessary to note their occurrence in conjunction with the notion of salvation (‫ )ישע‬at the outset of the last part of Isaiah. For example, in addition to Isa 56:1, Third Isaiah associates justice with YHWH’s salvation in 59:11, part of a communal lament. Here, the community (note the first person plural, “we”) has waited for justice (‫ )משפט‬and salvation, but both have failed to materialize because of their transgressions (59:12–13; cf. 25:9; 33:2; 51:5; 59:9). A much closer association exists between ‫ ישע‬and ‫צדקה‬/‫ צדק‬in Third Isaiah. These ideas are conjoined also in several texts in addition to Isa 56:1, including 59:16, 17; 61:10; 62:1; 63:1; and perhaps 64:4.47 The first answers the confession of sin in the communal lament mentioned above, which notes YHWH’s displeasure over the community’s inability to remedy its situation. The text portrays YHWH dressed as a warrior, except the military clothing is symbolic: righteousness becomes the breastplate, salvation becomes the helmet on his head, etc. (59:17). It is, in fact, YHWH’s own arm, viz., his strength, that brings victory for the community, or “saves” them (‫)תושע‬. The imagery of clothing and salvation occurs again in Isa 61:10, where Jerusalem notes that YHWH has garbed it with garments of salvation as part of a brief psalm of praise (61:10–11). Jerusalem/Zion is the object again in Isa 62:1, where its salvation and vindication (‫ )צדק‬are announced again. These passages demonstrate that the association between YHWH’s salvation and righteousness/vindication is a key element of Third Isaiah. As Rendtorff has shown, precedent for this is found in Second Isaiah, where the ideas are also joined in several texts (45:8, 21; 46:13; 51:5, 6, 8). It does not appear, however, that they are used in the same fashion in the two parts of the book, except for their common deployment with respect to the restoration of Zion/Jerusalem (51:1–8). The same is not the case when one examines the manner in which Third Isaiah portrays YHWH’s salvation through the imagery of the baring of the divine arm or hand. The passages using this

46 47

In addition to Isa 56:1, see 58:2; 59:9, 14. This last reference is textually problematic, which makes it difficult to evaluate.

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imagery—59:1, 16; 63:5—focus on YHWH’s power and strength in dealing out punishment to those who oppose him or who fail to render justice and righteousness. In most cases, the texts argue that it was necessary for YHWH to bare his arm because the community was incapable of achieving its own vindication. The precedent for this idea is clearly found in Isaiah 40–55. Both Isa 51:5 and 52:10 use this imagery in ways that are strikingly similar to the texts mentioned above. For example, both Isaiah 51 and 59 envision YHWH’s arm as manifest to the coastlands (‫ )איים‬and Isaiah 52 speaks of it as visible to “the ends of the earth” (‫)אפסי ארץ‬. Additionally, in the fuller context of all three texts ones notes that the purpose of YHWH baring his arm is to benefit Zion (51:3; 52:7–9; 59:20). Perhaps more significantly, the idea of YHWH’s arm yielding benefit for Jerusalem is found at the outset of Second Isaiah. Isaiah 40:9–10 reads, Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’ See, the Lord GOD comes with might and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him.

Indeed, the link with Isa 40:9–10 and the theme of YHWH’s salvation is established in another way when Isa 62:11 quotes 40:10: “his reward is with him, and his recompense before him” (‫הנה שכרו אתו ופעלתו‬ ‫)לפניו‬. The surrounding contexts of both Isaiah 62 and 40 demonstrate connections in other ways, e.g., through the common imagery of the built up highway (62:10; cf. 40:3) and the command for a prophet to proclaim a message of hope to Jerusalem (62:6, 11; cf. 40:3, 6). Consequently, it seems rather clear that this is a case of Third Isaiah developing the idea of YHWH’s salvation in a manner that builds on texts in Isaiah 40–55. Interestingly, Isaiah 51 and 59 share another connection revolving around YHWH’s salvation: that of waiting (‫ )קוה‬on YHWH. Isaiah 59:11 notes in the lament that the community has waited on justice and salvation, but it is far from them because of their transgressions (‫ )פשעים‬and sins (‫)חטאות‬. This stands in direct contrast to Isa 51:5,

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which notes that the coastlands wait for YHWH and his salvation which has already gone forth (‫ )יצא‬without delay. The text from the third portion of the book uses similar language but the imagery is utilized to portray the opposite point. Instead of the swift revelation of YHWH’s salvation which all await in Isaiah 51, chapter 59 points to its delay. A similar collection of ideas and imagery is found in one of the few texts from chapters 1–33 that exhibits similarities to those under discussion in this study: Isa 33:2. This passage is part of a brief psalm (33:2–6)48 in the voice of the community, much like Isaiah 59 (e.g., note the similar use of the first person plural in both texts). Here, instead of noting delay in YHWH’s salvation as part of lament, the community emphasizes that they are waiting for him and his salvation, and asks for YHWH to “be our arm every morning” (‫היה זרעם‬, lit. “their arm”), recalling the group of texts mentioned above that utilize the imagery of YHWH’s arm. Dating Isaiah 33 is difficult, a fact that counsels caution in arguing for any influence or dependence of this text on any portion of Isaiah 40–66. Nevertheless, the similarity of language and theme is striking. Finally, Isa 25:9, part of a psalmlike text that speaks about an eschatological banquet in which death (‫ )מות‬is swallowed up, is also reminiscent of Isaiah 51 and 59. At this indeterminate point in the future, it is said that the community (note again the first person plural) will proclaim that God, for whom they have waited, has revealed himself in order to save them. The salvation delayed by sin that occasions lament in Isaiah 59 is here placed in the eschatological future (‫ )ביום ההוא‬and awaited with hopeful expectation. It is a cause for rejoicing (‫)נגילה ונשמחה‬. In these various texts, then, it is apparent that the theme of YHWH’s salvation could be paired with the notion of waiting for him. It appears that the hope and excitement aroused in those who expected a glorious future during the closing decades of the exile gradually gave way to pessimism and even despair in the failure of the restoration to result in renewed moral and religious commitment. This in turn developed into an eschatological hope. Third Isaiah develops the notion of salvation in another way that builds directly on Second Isaiah: through the use of the title ‫מושיע‬,

48 On the role of Isaiah 33 in the book of Isaiah as a whole, see W. A. M. Beuken, “Jesaja 33 als Spiegeltext im Jesjabuch,” ETL 67 (1991): 5–35; and H. Gunkel, “Jesaia 33, eine prophetische Liturgie,” ZAW 42 (1924): 177–208.

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“Savior.”49 This title appears twice in the last eleven chapters of the book. In Isa 63:8, which is part of a long communal lament (63:7– 64:12), it occurs as part of the recollection of YHWH’s deliverance of Israel from Egypt at the Exodus (63:7–9). The text recalls that YHWH was moved by the fact that his own people were in distress and so became their savior and redeemed them (‫)גאל‬.50 Of course, as is widely recognized, the exodus imagery is used typologically for the return from Babylon in Isaiah 40–55, where it is theologically influential.51 For the present purposes, it is sufficient to note the collocation of this imagery with the idea that YHWH’s deliverance of Israel from Egypt through the Reed Sea constituted an act of redemption.52 Emphasis on YHWH redeeming his people is found in Third Isaiah, often in the form of another title, ‫גואל‬, “Redeemer” (cf. 59:20; 60:16; 63:16) which is also picked up from Second Isaiah. It is used with respect to Jerusalem in most cases. Additionally, in two texts, Isa 60:16 and 63:9, the idea is explicitly connected with the object of this study, YHWH’s salvation. In fact, Isa 60:16—the second use of the ‫ מושיע‬title in Third Isaiah—is a quotation of 49:26: “I, YHWH, am your Savior and your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob.”53 In Isaiah 49 this revelation is made to “all flesh” (‫)כל בשר‬, but in chapter 60 it is made to “you,” a reference to the inhabitants of restored Zion. Sawyer has drawn attention to the this title’s forensic usage in Second Isaiah and that seems to be the sense in which it is re-used in Isaiah 56–66.54 It is clear, then, that we are dealing with an explicit example of later tradents of Isaiah

49 In Isaiah 40–55, ‫ מושיע‬occurs in 43:3, 11; 45:15, 21; 49:26; cf. 19:20 (the only appearance of the title in Isaiah 1–39). For a full discussion of this term’s history and use, see John F. A. Sawyer, “What was a mošiaʿ?” VT 15 (1965): 475–86. 50 Isaiah 63:9 continues the theme and uses the language of saving (‫)ישע‬, but it is textually difficult. It is unclear if the text is speaking of YHWH himself saving the people, in distinction to his angel, or if it indicates that the angel of presence saved them. See Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 253–54. 51 The imagery is used extensively in Isaiah 40–55; cf. e.g., 43:14–21; 48:20–21; 51:9–10. See Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55 (AB 19A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 111–12. 52 The idea that return from exile and restoration constitute acts of YHWH’s redemption is quite prominent in Isaiah 40–55; see 41:14; 43:1, 14; 44:6, 22–24; 47:4; 48:17, 20; 49:7, 26; 51:10; 52:3, 9; 54:5, 8; cf. Isa 35:9. 53 On the impact of Isaiah 49 on Isaiah 60 generally, see Odil H. Steck, “Der Grundtext in Jesaja 60 und sein Aufbau,” Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 83 (1986): 261–96, esp. 291–96; repr. in Studien zu Tritojesaja, 49–79, esp. 75–79. 54 Sawyer, “What is a mošiaʿ?,” 482–83.

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re-using material from an earlier period of the book’s compositional history to extend its message in the post-exilic context. Closely related to the idea of YHWH’s salvation expressed as a title is the tendency in Third Isaiah to name or rename things symbolically, in many cases using the language of salvation. For example, in Isa 59:17, a passage discussed above, YHWH dresses as warrior, but the military uniform is theologically symbolic: righteousness as a breastplate, helmet of salvation, garments of vengeance, fury as a mantle.55 In Isa 61:10 one reads another account of symbolically-named clothing that includes a reference to salvation. In this case the clothed is the speaker of the psalm (likely Jerusalem) who is decked out in imagery that combines royal investiture with wedding garments, as the following chapter makes reasonably clear (62:3–5).56 One final example also focuses attention on restored Jerusalem: Isaiah 60:18, part of the euphoric description of Zion’s return to prominence, proclaims that the city walls will be renamed “Salvation” (‫ )ישועה‬and the gates, “Praise” (‫)תהלה‬.57 One final example of renaming involving the city of Jerusalem and its inhabitants is found in Isa 62:12, although no explicit reference to salvation is found in the symbolic names (although see 62:11). Third Isaiah’s penchant for symbolically renaming things, especially Jerusalem, does not have a direct and explicit antecedent in chapters 40–55.58 We may take from this that this is one of the innovations in this part of the book, although it appears in combination with verbal expressions and ideas that do find an analogue in those chapters (cf. e.g., 52:2–4). Of course, the importance of renaming has to do with the establishment of new identity and new beginnings, and this is precisely the point being made about Jerusalem in the post-disaster period. That Jerusalem’s new identity and beginning are expressed via the idea of salvation is also not surprising. The imagery drives home the ideological point in a visual manner.

55 Though the imagery is different, Odil Steck emphasizes correctly that this passage is closely linked with Isa 63:1–6. See Odil H. Steck, “Jahwes Feinde in Jesaja 59,” BN 36 (1987): 51–56. 56 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 231. 57 The term ‫תהלה‬, “praise” is found only in Isaiah only in chapters 40–66, indicating its importance as a theological motif in the exilic and post-exilic periods. See Isa 42:8, 10, 12; 43:21; 48:9; 60:6, 18; 61:3, 11; 62:7; and 63:7. 58 The appearance of symbolic names also recalls Isaiah 7–8, mentioned earlier. Is it possible that we are dealing here again with a literary and theological expansion made possible by these chapters?

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So we come full-circle to Acroyd’s question: Why is there so substantial a book associated with the prophet Isaiah? This study has attempted to articulate one possible answer to that question by suggesting that later tradents took their cue from Isaiah’s name and developed the idea of YHWH’s salvation. In particular, this essay has focused on Third Isaiah’s contribution to the book and argued that it can be viewed, at least partly, as an elaboration of this idea. It has been demonstrated that this theme is a core part of these chapters’ message. Beyond this, I have also sought to show that the idea is derived from and builds on Isaiah 40–55. Whether or not the present study supports the conclusion that Isaiah 56–66 comes either from the same author as Isaiah 40–55 or his disciples (the servants?), it does demonstrate another aspect of the close theological and literary connection between these two portions of the book. Additionally, the idea is redactionally and theologically associated with late texts in Isaiah 1–39, but not in early texts. Situating texts historically in First Isaiah is difficult, so caution is warranted. Nevertheless, it appears clear that to the degree there is any connection between the texts in Third Isaiah and First Isaiah on this theme, it is in late passages (e.g., Isaiah 12, 25, 33). Finally, the idea is focused especially on Jerusalem/Zion and the depiction of its restoration, as is much else in Isaiah 56–66. This study concludes with two observations. First, as the preceding has attempted to demonstrate, the expression of the theme of YHWH’s salvation in Isaiah 56–66 is drawn primarily from Isaiah 40–55. This raises a question: Does the heavy reliance of Third Isaiah on Second Isaiah for this theme suggest that the initial association of this theme and the prophetic tradition associated with Isaiah was made by Second Isaiah? Moreover, would this have been one important aspect of the expansion of the book into the exilic period?59 Second, the reader will notice that the theme of YHWH’s salvation is absent from Isaiah 65–66, the last two chapters of the book. Does this suggest that in the final stages of book’s formation represented in these last chapters

59 The argument has been made before that the author of Second Isaiah is responsible for one important stage in the formation of the book, Isaiah 1–55*, but not on the basis presented here. See Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah.

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the idea had faded and hope was diminished?60 Given that some have argued for a strong redactional connection between Isaiah 1 and chapters 65–66,61 the absence of this theme in any appreciable way from those chapters is noteworthy.

60 I would not want to push this too far, since Isaiah 65–66 does contain uplifting words about Jerusalem (65:17–25; 66:7–14). Nevertheless, internecine conflict is apparent as well (65:8–16; 66:1–5, 14). Additionally, the closing image in the book of decaying corpses and unquenchable fire combined with new heavens and new earth suggests not YHWH’s salvation as it has been seen in the previous chapters of the book, but the transition to apocalyptic thought and imagery which will flourish in the later Second Temple period. 61 For two different perspectives on this issue, see David M. Carr, “Reading Isaiah from Beginning (Isaiah 1) to End (Isaiah 65–66): Multiple Modern Possibilities,” in New Visions of Isaiah (ed. Roy F. Melugin and Marvin A. Sweeney; JSOTSup 214; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 188–218; and Marvin A. Sweeney, “Prophetic Exegesis in Isaiah 65–66,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah, (ed. C. C. Broyles and C. A. Evans; 2 vols.; VTSup 70; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1.455–74.

LXX ISAIAH OR ITS VORLAGE: PRIMARY “MISREADINGS” AND SECONDARY MODIFICATIONS* Donald W. Parry A number of factors associated with biblical Hebrew manuscripts during the last centuries before the Common Era presented distinct challenges for copyists and translators. These challenges included rare words (esp. hapax legomena), difficult-to-read bookhands, graphically similar characters and words, irregular or inconsistent orthography, incomprehensible scribal notations, irregular or inconsistent orthography, lack of vocalization, and more. Because of these and other factors, scribes and copyists made various (mechanical, unintentional) errors when making new copies of a text, as did translators when creating translations from the Hebrew. Examples of such errors exist in scriptural texts from Qumran, in Masoretic Text(s), in the Greek translation of the Hebrew, and in other translations. This paper will deal with first-level errors in the Septuagint book of Isaiah that resulted in secondary modifications to various instances of parallelismus membrorum. By first-level errors in LXX Isaiah, I mean the inadvertent errors, or the so-called mechanical mishaps, that occurred during the translating process. Various handbooks, based on long-established text critical principles and methodologies, have set forth the categories of mishaps that have occurred during the transmission of texts.1 These include issues that are associated with the following general categories: pluses (e.g., dittography, conflation of readings), minuses (e.g., haplography, homoioteleuton, homoiarcton),

* This article is written in honor of Professor James C. VanderKam, whose scholarship has enlightened so many of us and whose friendship deserves praise. 1 The most complete and up-to-date study of biblical Hebrew textual criticism is Emanuel Tov’s Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992). See also Christian D. Ginsburg, Introduction to the Massoretico-Critical Edition of the Hebrew Bible (London: Trinitarian Bible Society, 1897; repr. with prolegomenon by Harry M. Orlinsky, New York: Ktav, 1966); J. Weingreen, Introduction to the Critical Study of the Text of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982). Compare also the more brief treatments of the subject by Julio Trebolle Barrera, The Jewish Bible and the Christian Bible (trans. W. G. E. Watson; Brill: Leiden, 1998), 367–421; and Ernst Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament (trans. Erroll F. Rhodes; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 107–22.

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changes (e.g., misdivision of letters or words, ligatures, graphic similarity), and differences in sequence (interchange of letters or metathesis and transposition of words). This paper will not deal with other textcritical categories, such as exegetical pluses or late editorial additions, harmonizations, morphological smoothing, morphological updating, updating the vocabulary, euphemistic or dysphemistic changes, orthographic variants, and phonetic differences. Nor is this paper concerned with translators’ stylistic approaches to the text, idiosyncrasies, and conventions. Examples of alleged, hypothetical, or assumed mechanical errors in LXX Isaiah include the following: 1. Misreadings occurred when there was confusion about what constituted the correct Hebrew triconsonantal root letters (or the Hebrew morpheme), especially when one or more root letters were absent from the inflected forms (i.e., hollow verbs, I-yod, I-nun, III-he, doubly weak verbs, metathesis of sibilants in Hitpael, and so forth). Examples from the LXX as reconstructed into Hebrew include Isa 19:5; 23:1–2[2]; 28:26; 29:1, 14; 30:4, 20; 32:3; 63:14; 63:19[64:1]; 64:6[7]. 2. In a couple of instances, the translator erred through dittography of graphically similar words (Isa 3:10) or of a single character (Isa 8:14). 3. The translator at times erred when a letter was misread because of its likeness to another letter. Examples of graphically similar Hebrew letters include the following: bet/mem or bet/final mem (Isa 11:15; 40:29); bet/pe (Isa 34:4; 40:8[7]; 47:2); dalet/he (Isa 10:18); dalet/resh (Isa 5:17; 8:9; 8:20; 15:4; 16:11; 17:2; 23:10; 25:2, 4–5; 28:9; 33:14; 40:15; 44:14; 45:16 bis; 47:10; 53:10); he/khet (Isa 5:17; 21:15 bis; 22:1; 34:17; 47:2); he/ayin (Isa 41:24); he/resh (Isa 64:1[2]); vav/ resh (Isa 24:1; 28:10, 13); zayin/nun (Isa 30:12); zayin/resh (Isa 25:4; 50:11); yod/resh and khet/tav (Isa 44:24); kaf/pe (Isa 53:10); samek/ final mem (Isa 30:4); and sin/shin (Isa 7:20; 19:10, 13; 28:1, 3; 65:15; 66:9). 4. The translator read the correct Hebrew letters but understood a different root meaning than the one intended. Examples include Isa 5:13; 9:15[16]; 28:10; 47:10. 5. The translator read the correct Hebrew letters but misinterpreted the intended vocalization. Examples include Isa 1:27; 5:13, 18; 9:7[8]; 17:11; 24:23 bis; 25:5; 28:24; 32:2; 33:1 bis; 33:2; 41:24; 42:10; 44:11; 48:14; 60:21; 62:7; 63:11; 66:5; 66:10.

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6. Occasionally the Hebrew letters or words were divided improperly, thus creating an error in the translation. See, for example, Isa 8:16; 16:1; 24:14; 40:1–2. 7. Some errors occurred during the course of the translation through the metathesis of letters. See, for instance, Isa 8:16; 18:2; 22:8; 32:6?; 33:4?; 33:9. 8. Phonetically similar letters infrequently triggered errors during the translation process. Examples include phonetically comparable palatals (Isa 8:15) and sibilants (Isa 23:3). A representative list of more than 150 first-level misreadings in LXX, based on variants set forth by textual critics, is presented in the Appendix.2 First-Level Errors Result in Secondary Modifications The first-level, inadvertent errors that were caused by the LXX translator (or the errors that existed in his Vorlage) frequently resulted in secondary modifications to the passage. When the translator misinterpreted a word and consequently mistranslated that word, sometimes he would then alter the clause or sentence in order to clarify the passage that had been disrupted because of the first-level misreadings. These secondary modifications subsequently created one or more of the following: disruption of the parallelismus membrorum, creation of peculiar readings, variation of the syntax, a plus, a minus, or other alterations to the passage. Our interest for the purposes of this paper pertains to the modifications to the text that disrupted the parallelismus membrorum. The following five examples illustrate this idea. 1. ‫(—ונשתו‬Isa 19:5). Isaiah 19:1–18 consists of a judgment against Egypt, containing elements concerning the devastation of Egypt’s people, leaders, and deities. According to the judgment, Egypt will

2 Examples originate from a number of publications, including Moshe H. GoshenGottstein, The Book of Isaiah (The Hebrew University Bible; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1995); Emanuel Tov, The Text-Critical Use of the Septuagint in Biblical Research (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1981); idem, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible; Eugene Ulrich, et al., DJD 15; Eugene Ulrich and Peter Flint, DJD 32; Hans Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12 (Continental Commentary; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1991); idem, Isaiah 13–27 (Continental Commentary; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997); idem, Isaiah 28–39 (Continental Commentary; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002). See also other works that provide critical apparatuses.

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experience internal confusion, perhaps civil war, and eventually the rule of an external tyrant (Isa 19:1–4). Egypt will also encounter economic upheaval when the Nile and irrigation ditches dry up, negatively affecting the farmers and the fishing, flax, and weaving industries, causing Egypt’s inhabitants to suffer (Isa 19:5–10). Egypt’s economic structure, of course, was connected to the great Nile River. Isaiah may be speaking symbolically in v. 5 and in the following five verses, referring to the economic collapse that Egypt will suffer, or the prophecy might refer to an actual drought that will cause economic disintegration in Egypt. Verse 5’s parallelism in MT, “The waters of the river will dry up (‫)ונשתו‬, and the riverbed will be parched and dry,” features the following synonymous readings: “waters of the river”//“riverbed” and “dry up”//“parched and dry.”3 The first line of this bicolon has the verb ‫ונשתו‬, “to be dry” via √‫נשת‬, a rare verb attested only three times in the Hebrew Bible (Isa 19:5; 41:17; Jer 51:30), once as a Niphal and twice as a Qal. The translator of LXX apparently confused the root letters of ‫ נשת‬and translated it as καὶ πίονται, “to drink,” via √‫שתה‬. LXX reads: “And the Egyptians will drink the water that is by the sea, but the river will fail and be dried up.”4 This reading of ‫ נשת‬resulted in two main alterations to the passage. First, the parallelistic structure is disrupted by the fact that “dried up” in the first line of the MT is not in the LXX rendering of the verse and therefore has no synonymous equivalent. Second, “Egyptians,” LXX’s subject in line one, is a modification to the verse. In order to avoid putting “waters” as a subject, thus avoiding the awkward statement, “the waters will drink,” the translator added “Egyptians” to make sense of the reading. The greater context allowed for this secondary plus. In the first four verses of the pericope, ‫מצרים‬ (“Egypt” or “Egyptians”) is explicitly mentioned eight times. Thus, adding “Egyptians” to verse 5 naturally follows a pattern of several well-attested readings in the pericope. There are two other components in the immediate context that may have encouraged a translator to add this new subject (“Egyptians”). In verse 5, the word yam, generally translated as sea, refers to the Nile (cf. also Isa 18:2; Nah 3:8).5 The words of the Roman scholar Pliny 3

English translations of passages from the MT are from the niv. English translations of passages from LXX are from nets. 5 As a point of comparison, yam in Jer 51:36 refers to the Euphrates River. See Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 207. 4

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support this concept: “in the Nile, whose water looks similar to that of the sea” (Nat. 35:11); also, “it settles down in a continuous expanse of water with the appearance of a wide, muddy sea” (Natural Questions IVA.2; cf. Herodotus 2.97).6 In verse 6 the singular of the word ‫ יארי‬is sometimes translated “stream” or “stream of the Nile.”7 Both of these words—yam and ye’or—may have made the translator feel justified in adding “Egyptians” as the subject. All of these changes to verse 5 in the LXX have altered the meaning of the verse. With them the LXX translator ironically has Egyptians drinking the water (a positive element!) rather than these waters drying up (as in the reading of MT). 2. ‫(—לקיר חרש‬Isa 16:11). This passage is set in the context of a prophecy of judgment against Moab. The prophet Isaiah first uttered a prophecy of Moab’s destruction (ch. 15) and followed with a description of her refugees’ flight for safety (Isa 16:1–5). In Isa 16:6–11, Isaiah’s words are in the form of a lamentation, bewailing Moab’s destruction. The lamentative terms of the section include “wail” (used twice), “lament” and “grieve” (Isa 16:7), “weep” (used twice), “I drench you with tears” (Isa 16:9); there is no gladness or joy, no singing or joyful shouting—none of the expected rejoicing that occurs at harvest time (Isa 16:10), so that even the “heart” and “inmost being laments” for Moab’s destruction (Isa 16:11). Interwoven into the prophecy are images of Moab’s grape industry, including the terms “fields,” “vines,” “ripened fruit,” “orchards,” “wine,” “vineyards,” “shoots,” and “harvests.” Isaiah’s prophecy of the destruction of Moab and her agricultural industry should be taken literally, but it appears that Isaiah also uses the grapes and plants to refer to Moab’s inhabitants. The prayers of Moab’s inhabitants (Isa 16:12–13) to their gods will not stop the decreed destruction, which will occur within three years (Isa 16:14) from the time the prophecy is uttered. Isaiah 16:6 explains that Moab is destroyed because of her “pride” (used three times), “conceit,” “insolence,” and “boasts.” The MT of the verse under discussion reads, “My heart laments for Moab like a harp, my inmost being for Kir Hareseth (‫)לקיר חרש‬.” This verse features the synonymous elements “heart”//“inmost being” and 6

Cited in Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 230. Note also that in this verse the niv translates yam as “river” rather than “sea.” 7 Francis Brown, S. R. Driver, Charles A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), 384.

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“Moab”//“Kir Hareseth.” Kir Hareseth was one of Moab’s principal cities. For this place name, the LXX translator read a dalet (ὃ ἐνεκαίνισας = “which you have made new”) in place of the resh; or, alternatively, in view of the fact that at least two Hebrew manuscripts read ‫ חדש‬rather than ‫חרש‬,8 it is possible that LXX’s Vorlage recorded a dalet. Reading ‫“( חדש‬to renew” or “to make new”), rather than the place name that is attested in MT, persuaded the translator to render ‫ לקיר‬differently, because there would be no expectations that this word was part of a compound name. This resulted in the translation of ‫ קיר‬as “wall,” thus creating the reading “like a wall that you have made new.” The verse in LXX then reads: “Therefore my belly will resound like a lyre upon Moab, and my inward parts will be like a wall that you have made new.” LXX’s reading of the dalet instead of resh transformed the parallelistic structure. “Belly” and “inward parts” correspond, but the remaining parts of the poetic unit lack the correspondences that are evident in MT. 3. ‫החמה‬/‫(—הלבנה‬Isa 24:23a). This verse is set in the greater context of a section known as the Isaiah Apocalypse (Isaiah 24–27). The more immediate setting features the earth (‫ארץ‬, sixteen times in Isaiah 24), the earth’s reaction to her inhabitants’ iniquities (vv. 4–6; 16–20), and her destruction by the Lord (vv. 1, 3, 21). Verses 3–6 serve as a précis for the Apocalypse, exhibiting the manner in which the earth will be laid waste because of her inhabitants’ disobedience and violation of the everlasting covenant: The earth will be completely laid waste, and totally plundered, for the LORD has spoken this word. The earth dries up and withers, the world languishes and withers. The exalted of the earth languish. The earth is defiled because of its people; they have disobeyed the laws, violated the statues and broken the everlasting covenant. Therefore, a curse consumes the earth, its people must bear their guilt. Therefore, earth’s inhabitants are burned up and very few are left.

Although “earth” is a primary content word in Isaiah 24, other cosmic elements are also part of this chapter’s framework. In verse 18, the author refers to ‫ארבות ממרום‬, possible reference to heaven (cf. niv “the floodgates of the heavens”) and verse 23 in MT refers to the moon

8 According to Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, two Hebrew manuscripts read ‫חדש‬ “make new/to renew.”

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and sun.9 The two words under discussion, ‫ הלבנה‬and ‫החמה‬, serve as the subjects of the following synonymous parallelism: “The moon (‫ )הלבנה‬will be abashed, the sun (‫ )החמה‬ashamed.” The context of earth and other cosmic elements seems to support MT’s vocalization of these two words to read the “moon” and the “sun.” Additionally, “moon” and “sun” fit the immediate context of Isa 24:23b. In comparison with the glory and brilliance that will surround the Lord when he reigns on mount Zion, the light of the sun and the moon will pale and be “abashed” and “ashamed.” It will be the glory of the Lord that will light the city of Zion (cf. Isa 60:18–21; Rev. 21:23). ‫ לבנה‬and ‫החמה‬, vocalized in MT to read “moon” and “sun,” occur infrequently in the Hebrew Bible. ‫“ = ( לבנה‬moon”) appears in three passages (Isa 24:23; 30:26; Song 6:10) and ‫“ = ( החמה‬sun”) is attested six times (Isa 24:23; 30:26 twice; Ps 19:7; Job 30:28; Song 6:10). It is likely that their infrequent occurrences encouraged the Greek translator to misapprehend them, thus translating ἡ πλίνθος (“the brick” = ‫ ) ַה ְלּ ֵבנָ ה‬for ‫“( ַה ְלּ ָבנָ ה‬the moon”) and τὸ τεῖχος (“the wall” = ‫חוֹמה‬ ָ ‫) ָה‬ for ‫“( ָה ַח ָמּה‬the sun”). LXX thus resulted in the following bicolon: “Then the brick will be dissolved and the wall will fall.” The moon and sun have no place in the Septuagint’s rendering of this verse, and the parallelism is quite dissimilar from that of the MT. The LXX misreading of ‫ הלבנה‬and ‫ החמה‬produced, according to Joseph Blenkinsopp, an expression “which makes poor sense in the context.”10 But more than this, reading “the brick” and “the wall” resulted in a transformation of other components in the parallelism. The components “dissolved” and “fall” were not part of the original reading; rather they are changes which came about as a result of the misreading of ‫ הלבנה‬and ‫החמה‬. 4. ‫(—דעה‬Isa 28:9a). After declaring the apostasy of the Northern Kingdom’s inhabitants and then uttering a diatribe against drunken priests and prophets (Isa 28:1–8), Isaiah presents two rhetorical questions: “Who is it he is trying to teach knowledge (‫ ?)דעה‬To whom is he explaining his message?” The interrogative pronouns “who” and “to whom” parallel each other, as do the expressions “he is trying to teach” and “is he explaining his message.” For the word ‫דעה‬, the LXX

9 The problematic ‫ בארים‬in verse 15 may also be associated with the cosmos as it may refer to the stars. See the discussion in Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 492. 10 Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 354.

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translator read a resh in place of a dalet, thus translating κακὰ (“evil” = ‫)רעה‬. The Greek retains the interrogatives but alters the direct objects to non-corresponding elements, “evil things” versus “knowledge,” thus reading, “To whom did we declare evil things, and to whom did we declare a message?” The synonymous parallelism that is part of MT’s tradition is lacking in the Septuagint, where “evil things” is out of place. Reading a dalet for a resh or vice versa is a common reading error of the Greek translator and occurs elsewhere in the following passages: Isaiah 5:17; 8:19; 8:20; 15:4; 16:11; 17:2; 23:10; 25:2; 33:14; 40:15; 44:14; 45:16; 47:10(?).11 5. ‫(—זרעם‬Isa 33:2b). Isaiah 33:2–6 features a prayer of the righteous, with verse 2a signaling the prayer’s opening with the vocative “O Lord.” Verse 2b forms a bicolon, “Be our strength (‫רוֹע‬ ַ ְ‫“ = ז‬arm”) every morning, our salvation in time of distress.” MT reads literally, “their” arm, but this pronoun lacks a referent. Critics therefore read the text as “our arm,” following several of the versions (V, S, and T).12 “Our arm” also corresponds to “our salvation,”13 in the first line of the parallelism. The cause of this error, if it is indeed an error, may be due to the Masoretic copyist misreading the suffixed pronoun. The suffix ‫נו‬- is graphically similar to final mem, especially when the nun and waw are joined together in a ligature.14 LXX has a variant for ‫זרעם‬. The translator evidently read the same root letters (‫ )זרע‬that are attested in MT and 1QIsaa but deduced a vocalization that is different from that of the Masoretes, reading ‫זרע‬ (σπέρμα = “seed”) in place of ‫“( זרוע‬arm”): “The seed of the disobedient came to destruction, but our salvation came in a time of affliction.” The second colon of LXX is equivalent to that of MT, but the first colon reads differently: “The seed of the disobedient came to destruc11 For the word ‫“( ודעתך‬your knowledge”) in Isa 47:10, the translator read καὶ ἡ πορνεία σου (“your sexual immorality”). Although reconstructing the Hebrew Vorlage

is not easy, it is possible that the translator read either ‫“( ודעתך‬your [sexual] knowledge”) or ‫“( ברעתך‬your wickedness”). If the latter reading represents the original, then 47:10 is yet another example where the translator read a resh for a dalet or vice versa. 12 But contrast Augustus Poynder (“ ‘Be Thou Their Arm Every Morning’: Isaiah 33:2,” Expository Times 13 [1901/02], 94), who maintains that “their arm” is the correct reading. 13 Many translators prefer “our strength” rather than MT’s “their strength.” See, for example, Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 437. 14 On this topic, see R. Weiss, “On Ligatures in the Hebrew Bible (‫)ם = נו‬,” JBL 82 (1963): 188–94.

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159

tion” (= LXX) versus “Be our strength every morning” (= MT). The variant of “seed” versus “arm” (= “strength”) is clearly manifest. On two other occasions in Isaiah, MT and LXX have variants where the root letters ‫ זרע‬are found. In Isa 28:24, MT reads ‫“( ִלזְ ר ַֺע‬to sow”) where LXX has σπόρον (“seed” = ‫)זֶ ַרע‬. And in Isa 48:14 MT attests ֺ ‫“( וּזְ ר ֺעו‬his arm”) while LXX reads σπέρμα (“seed” = ‫)זֶ ַרע‬. It seems that the translator of the LXX read “seed” for “arm.” But whence came the other variants of the Septuagint in this colon, especially the content words “disobedient” and “destruction”? For “destruction,” the Greek translator may have interpreted ‫ היה‬as the feminine noun ‫הוה‬, whereas it is vocalized by the Masoretes as an imperative (‫) ֱהיֵ ה‬. Although ‫הוה‬I means “desire,” ‫הוה‬II denotes “destruction” or “calamity,” as in other passages (e.g., Ps 57:2[Engl. 57:1]; 91:3; Prov 19:13; Job 6:2 [note the qere reading]).15 Another possibility exists for the source of “destruction” in the reading of the Septuagint. The word ‫בקר‬, attested in a rare plural form ‫( לבקרים‬cf. Ps 73:14; 101:8; Job 7:8; Lam 3:23) is often associated with the morning sacrifice of the ancient temple system (Exod 29:39, 41; Lev 6:13; Dan 8:13–14; 2 Chr 31:3). The Greek translator may have associated this word with destruction, since it relates to the slaughter or sacrifice of animals, although the context of Isa 33:2 does not promote this particular view. But whence came the LXX’s word for “disobedient”? The origin of this word is difficult to establish, but a stretch of the imagination settles on the feminine noun ‫( הוה‬but see the paragraph above) which takes on the nuance of “disobedience” in four of the psalms (Ps 5:10[9]; 52:9[7]; 55:12[11]; 94:20). Variants from Qumran and the Vorlage of LXX Inasmuch as we lack possession of the LXX Isaiah Vorlage, we cannot always be certain whether the errors that we allege to exist in LXX Isaiah were introduced by the translator himself or whether they existed in his Vorlage. With the discovery of the Qumran Isaiah scrolls, however, new evidence has emerged. A handful of readings from these scrolls suggests that the LXX translator was not always responsible for the mishaps but that these errors already existed in his Vorlage. The Qumran evidence of relevant textual variants may be divided into

15

BDB, 217.

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four chief categories: (1) MT = 1QIsaa ≠ LXX: this category constitutes the great majority of readings where an error exists in LXX; (2) MT ≠ 1QIsaa ≠ LXX: see below for two examples from this category; (3) MT ≠ 1QIsaa = LXX: see below for three examples from this category; (4) MT = 1QIsaa, 1QIsab ≠ LXX: see below for a single example of this category. (1) MT = 1QIsaa ≠ LXX. For examples of this category, see the Appendix. (2) MT ≠ 1QIsaa ≠ LXX (see Isa 16:1 and 33:1). In Isa 16:1, MT reads ‫“( כר משל־ארץ‬lamb [to the] ruler of the land”), but a copyist of 1QIsaa did not properly divide the words, reading ‫כרמשל ארץ‬. The Septuagint has the translation ὡς ἑρπετὰ ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν (“like creeping things on the land” = ‫)כרמש לארץ‬. It is possible that LXX’s Vorlage had a reading similar to 1QIsaa, hence the peculiar reading of “creeping things.” In Isa 33:1, as in 16:1, MT, 1QIsaa, and LXX present three different readings: MT has ‫( כנלתך‬via √‫ נלה‬meaning uncertain); 1QIsaa reads ‫( ככלותך‬via √‫“ כלה‬to complete, finish”); and LXX has καὶ ὡς σὴς (“like a moth” = ‫“ ?כתולעת‬like a worm”). All three readings (once LXX is reconstructed to Hebrew) are graphically similar, having kaf, lamed, tav in common; and all three have a representation of the long “o” vowel (1QIsaa and the reconstructed LXX have a vav and MT has the vocalized holem). (3) MT ≠ 1QIsaa = LXX. In Isa 21:15, 23:10, and 28:20, LXX’s Vorlage was identical to or similar to the readings of the Qumran scroll. In Isa 21:15, MT has ‫“( חרבות‬swords”) and LXX has the reading of τὸ πλῆθος (“the multitude” via √‫)רבב‬. The copyist of 1QIsaa first wrote ‫( רבות‬via √‫)רבב‬, but a then added a supralinear addition of the article he, thus reading ‫“( הרבות‬the many”). With the addition of the article, the reading of 1QIsaa is graphically similar to that of MT, with the difference being a he versus a khet. Both readings of the Hebrew witnesses are contextually and grammatically comprehensible, although 1QIsaa lacks parallelistic balance because “the many” does not correspond to “drawn sword” (MT’s reading parallels “swords” with “drawn sword”). Beyond the reading under discussion, LXX has several additions in this verse, built around the five-fold repetition of “multitude”: “because of the multitude of those who flee and because of the multitude of those who wander and because of the multitude of the dagger and because of the multitude of the poised arrows and because of the multitude of those who have fallen in war.”

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In both Isa 23:10 and 28:20, 1QIsaa and LXX share a particular reading versus that of MT. In Isa 23:10, MT reads ‫( עברי‬via √‫“ עבר‬to pass”). The reading of 1QIsaa is a graphically similar variant (via √‫עבד‬ “to work”), showing a dalet rather than resh. LXX agrees with the Qumran scroll, reading ἐργάζου (via √‫“ עבד‬to work”). In Isa 28:20, MT has ‫( מהשתרע‬via √‫“ שרע‬to extend”), versus ‫ משתריים‬in 1QIsaª (via √‫“ שרה‬to fight”). The Greek’s reading (μάχεσθαι via √‫“ שרה‬to fight”) supports the Qumran scroll’s reading. To sum up the three variants of Isa 21:15, 23:10, and 28:20, as set forth in this and the previous paragraph, MT ≠ 1QIsaa = LXX. (4) MT = 1QIsaa, 1QIsab ≠ LXX. Isaiah 25:4, when compared with 49:5, presents a unique case. In Isa 25:4, the word ‫ מעוז‬in MT has the following textual alignment: MT = 1QIsaa, 1QIsab ≠ LXX. All three Hebrew witnesses are in agreement, but the LXX translator likely erred and translated the graphically similar ‫“ = ( עזר‬helper”) with its translation of βοηθὸς. Isaiah 49:5, with regard to ‫עזי‬, has the configuration of MT = 1QIsab LXX ≠ 1QIsaa. Just as the LXX translator in Isa 25:4 apparently misread the Hebrew and created a textual variant, the copyist of 1QIsaa 49:5 produced a variant that is graphically similar, with its reading of ‫עזרי‬. Conclusion Scholars have long recognized inadvertent errors in LXX Isaiah, when compared with MT and other Hebrew witnesses. These errors include the customary mishaps that occurred during the transmission of a text or during the translation process. Various text critical handbooks have categorized these errors into basic groups, including pluses, minuses, changes, and differences in sequence. The first-level, inadvertent errors that were caused by the LXX translator (or the errors already in his Vorlage) frequently resulted in secondary modifications to parallelistic structures of Isaiah. When the translator misinterpreted and subsequently mistranslated a particular word, he sometimes altered the sentence in order to provide clarification for the passage that had been disrupted because of the error. In the end, LXX Isaiah has several misreadings in poetic parallelisms that have been ignored by scholars, commentators, and text critics. To appreciate and comprehend LXX Isaiah fully, these secondary modifications should be examined more closely.

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donald w. parry APPENDIX

The following Appendix catalogs more than 150 examples of probable accidental errors from the Septuagint of Isaiah. The majority of the errors, if not all, are considered to be inadvertent or mechanical, created as a natural result during the translation process; or, if certain errors existed in the LXX’s Vorlage, then they came about during the transmission of the Hebrew Bible over a long period of time. Many of these errors are alleged or hypothetical, because we lack full knowledge regarding the translation techniques of LXX’s translator(s); we do not possess the Vorlage of the Septuagint (rather, we rely upon Hebrew reconstructed readings in order to determine the text underlying the translation, which is at best, an imperfect system); and we do not know whether the community that brought forth the Greek translation possessed its own textual traditions of specific passages of Isaiah. If new Hebrew or Greek texts of Isaiah come to light in the future, our understanding of specific words or passages may be altered. Several of the examples below were discovered by the author, but most were derived from various publications pertaining to text-critical studies of Isaiah.16 The list of probable accidental errors in this Appendix is representative and not comprehensive.

Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction

3:8 3:10

‫“( ושביה‬and her repentant ones”) ἡ αἰχμαλωσία αὐτῆς (“her captives” ‫)שביה‬ ‫“( והמכשלה‬and the ruin”) καὶ τὸ βρῶμα (“and the food” = ‫)?והמאכל‬ ‫“( עני‬eye”) ἐταπεινώθη (via √‫“ ענה‬to humiliate”) ‫( אמרו‬via √‫“ אמר‬to say”) εἰπόντες ∆ήσωμεν (via √‫“ אסר אמר‬to

4:5

‫“( וברא יהוה‬and the Lord will

καὶ ἥξει, καὶ ἔσται (“And he shall come,

5:13 5:17

create”) ‫“( מתי‬men of ”) ‫“( מחים‬fatlings” via √‫)מחח‬

νεκρῶν (“from/of the dead” via √‫)מות‬ τῶν ἀπηλειμμένων (via √‫“ מחה‬to wipe

1:27 3:6

say, to bind”) and it shall be” = ‫)ובא והיה‬

out”)

16

See footnote 2.

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163

Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction

5:17 5:18 6:11 7:20

‫“( גרים‬dwellers”) ‫“( העגלה‬cart”) ‫( תשאה‬via √‫“ שאה‬to lay waste”) ‫( השכירה‬via √‫“ שכר‬to hire”)

ἄρνες (“lamb, sheep” = ‫)גדים‬ δαμάλεως (“heifer” = ‫)עגלה‬ καταλειφθήσεται (via √‫“ שאר‬to leave”) μεμεθυσμένῳ (via √‫“ שכר‬to get drunk”;

8:9

‫( רעו‬via √‫“ רעה‬to have a

cf. 28:3) γνῶτε (via √‫“ ידע‬to know”)

8:14

companion”) ‫“( ולאבן‬and for a stone”)

καὶ οὐχ ὡς λίθου (“and not [like] a

8:15

‫( ונוקשו‬via √‫“ יקש‬to snare”)

καὶ ἐγγιοῦσιν (via √‫“ נגש‬to bring near/

8:16 8:16

‫“( תעודה‬testimony”) ‫“( בלמדי‬among my disciples”)

8:20 9:7[8] 9:10[11] 9:15[16]

‫“( שחר‬dawn”) ‫“( דבר‬word”) ‫“( רצין‬Rezin”) ‫( מאשרי‬via √1-‫“ אשר‬to go

10:10 10:18

straight”) ‫“( האליל‬the idol”) ‫“( וכבוד‬glory”)

10:32 11:11

‫“( כמסס נסס‬like a sick person wasting away”) ‫“( בנב‬at Nob”) ‫( לקנות‬via √‫“ קנה‬to purchase”)

11:15

‫( והחרים‬via √‫“ חרם‬to destroy”)

13:8 15:4 15:4 16:1

‫“( צירים‬pains” via √‫)צור‬ ‫“( חלצי‬equipped/armed [men]”) ‫( ירעה‬via √‫“ ירע‬to tremble”) ‫“( כר משל־ארץ‬lamb [to the] ruler of the land”) | ‫כרמשל ארץ‬

10:18

stone” = ‫)?ולא אבן‬

come near”) φανεροὶ (via √‫“ ידע‬to know”) τοῦ μὴ μαθεῖν (“that they might not learn” = ‫)בלי למד‬ δῶρα (“gifts” = ‫)שחד‬ θάνατον (“death” = ‫דבר‬, “pestilence”) ὄρος Σιων (“mount Zion” = ‫)הר ציון‬ μακαρίζοντες (via √2-‫“ אשר‬to be happy/ blessed”) ὀλολύξατε (via √‫“ ילל‬to wail”) ἀποσβεσθήσεται (via √‫כבה‬ “to extinguish”) φεύγων ὡς ὁ φεύγων (“the one who flees will be like the one who flees” via √‫)נוס‬ ἐν ὁδῷ (“in the way” = ‫)בנתיב‬ τοῦ ζηλῶσαι (via √‫“ קנא‬to be zealous/ jealous”) ἐρημώσει (via √‫“ ?חרב‬to make desolate”) οἱ πρέσβεις (“the old men” via √‫)ציר‬ ὀσφὺς (“waist” via ‫)חלצים‬ γνώσεται (via √‫“ ידע‬to know”; cf. 8:9) ὡς ἑρπετὰ ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν (“like creeping things on the land” = ‫)כרמש לארץ‬

1QIsaa 16:7

‫“( לאשישי‬for the raisen cakes”)

τοῖς κατοικοῦσιν (“for those who dwell”

16:11 17:2 17:11 18:2 18:2

‫( חרש‬Kirharesh) ‫“( ערי ערער‬the cities of Aroer”) ‫“( וכאב‬and pain”) ‫“( קו־קו‬line”/“to measure”?) ‫“( בזאו‬to divide”)

ἐνεκαίνισας (via √‫“ חדש‬to renew”) αἰῶνα (“forever” = ‫)עדי עד‬ καί ὡς πατὴρ (“and like father” = ‫)וכאב‬ ἀνέλπιστον (“without hope” via √‫)קוה‬ νῦν (“now” = ‫“ ?)ב(אז‬then”)

= ‫“ ?לאנשי‬to the men of ”)

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Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

18:7 19:5 19:10 19:13 21:2

‫“( קו־קו‬line”/“to measure”?) ‫( ונשתו‬via √‫“ נשת‬to be dry”) ‫“( שכר‬wages”) ‫( נשאו‬via √‫“ נשא‬to deceive”) ‫( צורי‬via √‫“ צור‬besiege”) | ‫צירי‬

21:15

‫“( חרבות‬swords”) | ‫ הרבות‬1QIsaª (“the many” via √‫)רבב‬ ‫“( חרב‬sword”) ‫“( חזיון‬vision”) ‫“( תשאות‬noise”; via √‫)שאה‬

1QIsaª 21:15 22:1 22:2

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction ἐλπίζον (√‫“ קוה‬to hope”) καὶ πίονται (via √‫“ שתה‬to drink”) τὸν ζῦθον (“beer” = ‫“ שכר‬strong drink”) ὑψώθησαν (via √‫“ נשא‬to lift up, exalt”) καὶ οἱ πρέσβεις (= ‫“ ציר‬ambassador”) τὸ πλῆθος (“the multitude” via √‫)רבב‬ τὸ πλῆθος (“the multitude” via √‫)רבב‬ Σιων (“Sion” = ‫)ציון‬ μάταια (“empty, vain” = ‫ שואות‬via

√‫)שוא‬

22:8 ‫“( היער‬the forest”) 23:1–2[2] ‫“( למו דמו‬to him/them. Be still” via √‫)דמם‬ 23:3 ‫“( שחר‬Sihor/Shihor”) 23:8 ‫“( המעטירה‬to crown, surround”) 23:10 ‫( עברי‬via √‫“ עבר‬to pass”) | ‫עבדי‬ 1QIsaa (via √‫“ עבד‬to work”) 24:1 ‫( ועוה‬via √‫“ עוה‬to twist, commit iniquity”) 24:9 ‫“( בשיר‬with the song”) 24:14 ‫“( מים‬from the sea”)

τῆς πόλεως (“of the city” = ‫)העיר‬ τίνι ὃμοιοι γεγόνασιν (“for whom is

24:23 24:23 25:2

‫“( הלבנה‬the moon”) ‫“( החמה‬the sun”) ‫“( זרים‬strangers”)

ἡ πλίνθος (“the brick” = ‫)הלבנה‬ τὸ τεῖχος (“the wall” = ‫)החומה‬ τῶν ἀσεβῶν (“of the ungodly” = ‫זדים‬

25:4 25:4 25:4

‫“( מעוז‬stronghold, strength”) ‫“( מעוז‬stronghold, strength”) cf. 49:5 where 1QIsaa reads ‫עזרי‬ ‫“( מזרם‬storm”)

25:5 25:5

‫“( בציון‬in a desert/dry place”) ‫“( זרים‬strangers”)

ἐν Σιων (“in Zion” = ‫)בציון‬ ἀσεβῶν (“of the ungodly” = ‫זדים‬

26:9 27:1 27:4[3] 27:4 27:10[9] 28:1

‫“( כאשר‬which”) ‫“( הקשה‬hard”) ‫“( חמה‬wrath, heat”) ‫“( שמיר‬thorn”) ‫“( כי עיר‬because a city”) ‫“( שכרי‬drunkards” via √‫)שכר‬

“proud”) φῶς (“light” = or ‫ ?אור‬or ‫)?אש‬ τὴν ἁγίαν (“the holy” = ‫)הקדשה‬ τὸ τεῖχος (“the wall” = ‫)חומה‬ φυλάσσειν (via √‫“ שמר‬to guard”) ὥσπερ δρυμὸς (“as a thicket” = ‫)כיער‬ μισθωτοὶ (“hired laborers” via √‫)שכר‬

like” = ‫ למי דמו‬via √‫)דמה‬

μεταβόλων (“of merchants” = ‫)סחר‬ ἣσσων? (“less” = ‫“ מעט‬few/little”) ἐργάζου (via √‫“ עבד‬to work”) καὶ ἀνακαλύψει (via √‫“ ערה‬to

uncover”)

ᾐσχύνθησαν (via √‫“ בוש‬to be ashamed”) τὸ ὕδωρ τῆς θαλάσσης (“the water of

the sea” = ‫)מי ים‬

“proud”) πόλει (“in the city” = ‫)?עיר‬ βοηθὸς (“helper” = ‫)עזר‬ πονηρῶν (“from the wicked” via ‫זדים‬

“proud”)

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165

Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah 28:3 28:9 28:10 28:10 28:13 28:14

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction

‫“( שכורי‬drunkards” via √‫)שכר‬ ‫“( דעה‬knowledge”) ‫“( צו לצו צו לצו‬precept upon

μισθωτοὶ (“hired laborers” via √‫)שכר‬ κακὰ (“evil” = ‫)רעה‬ θλῖψιν ἐπὶ θλῖψιν (“affliction on

precept, precept upon precept” via √‫)צוה‬ ‫“( קו לקו קו לקו‬line upon line, line upon line” via √‫)קוה‬ ‫“( צו לצו צו לצו‬precept upon precept, precept upon precept” via √‫)צוה‬ ‫“( לצון‬scoffer” via √‫)ליץ‬

affliction” via ‫)צר‬ ἐλπίδα ἐπ᾽ἐλπίδι (“hope upon hope” via

√1-‫)קוה‬

θλῖψις ἐπὶ θλῖψιν (“affliction on

affliction” via ‫)צר‬ τεθλιμμένοι (via √2-‫“ צור‬to crush,

trouble”)

28:20

‫( מהשתרע‬via √‫“ שרע‬to extend”); μάχεσθαι (via √‫“ שרה‬to fight” = 1QIsaª) ‫ משתריים‬1QIsaª (via √‫“ שרה‬to

28:21 28:24 28:26 28:29 29:1

‫“( יהוה‬Lord”) ‫“( לזרע‬to sow”) ‫( יורנו‬via √‫“ ירה‬to teach, show”) ‫“( תושיה‬wisdom, success”) ‫( ספו‬via √‫“ יסף‬to add, to do

fight”)

again”)

30:4 30:4

‫ להפלה | להפליא‬1QIsaa (via √‫פלא‬ “to be wonderful”) ‫“( חנס‬Hanes”) ‫( יגיעו‬via √‫“ נגע‬to touch”)

30:12

‫( ונלוז‬via √‫“ לוז‬to turn aside”)

30:15 30:20

‫“( ונחת‬and rest, quiet” via √‫)נחת‬ ‫ מוריך‬. . . ‫“( מוריך‬your teachers . . . your teachers” via √‫)ירה‬ ‫“( ממגור‬terror”) ‫ מנוס | מנס‬1QIsaª (“standard,

29:14

31:9 31:9

32:2

banner”) ‫“( אשר‬which, who, that”) ‫ בציין | בציון‬1QIsaa (“dry place, desert”) ‫“( כצל‬like a shadow”)

32:3

‫( תשעינה‬via √‫“ שעה‬to gaze”)

31:9 32:2

καὶ ἔσται (via √‫“ היה‬to be”) σπόρον (“seed” = ‫)זרע‬ εὐφρανθήσῃ (via √‫“ רנן‬to rejoice”) ματαίαν (“empty, vain” via √‫)שוא‬ συναγάγετε (via √‫“ אסף‬to gather”) μεταθεῖναι (“to remove” via √‫“ פלה‬to be separate”) μάτην (“vainly” = ‫)חנם‬ κοπιάσουσιν (via √‫“ יגע‬to toil, grow weary”) καὶ ὅτι ἐγόγγυσας (via √‫“ לון‬to murmur”) στενάξῃς (via √‫“ אנח‬to groan, mourn”) πλανῶντές . . . πλανῶντές (“deceiving . . . deceiving” via √‫“ ?מרה‬to rebel”) χάρακι (“bulwark, fortress” = ‫)מצור‬ φεύγων (via √‫“ נוס‬to flee”) Μακάριος (“blessed, happy” = ‫)אשרי‬ ἐν Σιων (“in Sion/Zion” = ‫)בציון‬ ὡς ποταμὸς (“like a river” = ‫?צולה‬ “deep”; cf. 44:27 MT LXX) πεποιθότες (“trusting” via √‫“ שען‬to lean”)

166

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Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction τοῦ διασπεῖραι (“to scatter” via √‫)?רחק‬

33:1 33:2 33:4 33:9 33:14

‫“( להריק‬to make empty” via √‫)ריק‬ ‫“( לבגד‬to act treacherously”) ‫“( זרעם‬arm”) ‫“( כמשק‬rushing”) ‫( ונער‬via √2-‫“ נער‬to shake”) ‫ יגור‬. . . ‫( יגור‬bis via √‫גור‬ “to dwell”)

33:14 34:4

‫“( מוקדי‬burnings of ”) ‫ וכנבלת‬. . . ‫( כנבל‬bis via √‫נבל‬

34:17 40:1–2

‫“( להם‬to them”) ‫“( אלהיכם‬your God”)

40:8[7] 40:15 40:25

‫( נבל‬via √‫“ נבל‬to fade”) ‫“( כדק‬like the thin”) ‫( ואשוה‬via √‫“ שוה‬to be like,

40:29 41:2

‫“( עצמה‬strength”) ‫ יוריד | ירד‬1QIsaa (via √‫רדד‬

report, announce”) τὸν τόπον (“the place” = ‫)מקום‬ πεσεῖται . . . ὡς πίπτει (bis via √‫“ נפל‬to fall”) βόσκεσθαι (“to feed, graze” via √‫)לחם‬ ὁ θεός ἱερεῖς (“God. O priests” = ‫אל‬ ‫)?כהנים‬ ἐξέπεσεν (via √‫“ נפל‬to fall”) ὡς σίελος (“like spittle” = ‫)כרק‬ καὶ ὑψωθήσομαι (via √‫“ נשא‬to lift up, exalt”) λύπην (“grief, pain” via √‫)עצב‬ ἐκστήσει (via √‫“ חרד‬to amaze, confuse”)

41:24 41:24 42:10

‫“( מאין‬from nothing”) ‫“( מאפע‬from nothing”) ‫“( תהלתו‬his praise”)

42:21 43:14

‫)תחלתו‬ ‫( ויאדיר‬via √‫“ אדר‬to be glorious”) καὶ εἶδον ( = ‫ ואראה‬via √‫“ ראה‬to see”) ‫( והורדתי‬via √‫“ ירד‬to bring καὶ ἐπεγερῶ (‫ והעירתי‬via √‫“ עור‬to

44:11

‫“( חבריו יבשו‬his companions will ἐξηράνθησαν (via √‫ יבש‬or ‫“ חרב‬to dry

44:11

32:6

“to fade, wither”)

compare”)

ἐπὶ ἱματίου (“on a garment” = ‫)לבגד‬ σπέρμα (“seed” = ‫)זרע‬

συναγάγῃ (via √‫“ ?קשש‬to gather”)

φανερὰ ἔσται (“to be known” = ‫)?נודע‬ ἀναγγελεῖ . . . ἀναγγελεῖ (bis via √‫“ נגד‬to

“to subdue”)

44:14 44:24 45:16

πόθεν (“from where” ‫)מאין‬ πόθεν (“from where” = ‫)מאיפה‬ ἡ ἀρχὴ αὐτοῦ (“his beginning” =

down”)

awaken”)

be ashamed”)

up”)

‫“( וחרשים‬and engravers,

καὶ κωφοὶ (“and deaf ” = ‫)וחרש‬

craftsmen”) ‫“( ארן‬fir”)

‫מי אתי‬ ‫“( חרשי‬engravers”)

κύριος (“Lord” = ‫)אדן‬ τίς ἕτερος (“who else” = ‫)מי אחר‬ ἐγκαινίζεσθε (via √‫“ חדש‬to renew,

restore”)

45:16 47:2 47:10

‫“( צירים‬images”) ‫ חשפי | השופי‬1QIsaa (“to bare”); ‫ חשבי‬4QIsad (“to think”) ‫“( ודעתך‬your knowledge”)

νῆσοι (“islands” via √‫)איים‬ τὰς πολιάς (“gray hair” = ‫)השיבה‬ καὶ ἡ πορνεία σου (“your sexual

immorality” = ‫“ ודעתך‬your [sexual] knowledge” or ‫“ ברעתך‬your wickedness”)

lxx isaiah or its vorlage

167

Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction

47:11

‫( שחרה‬via √‫“ שחר‬to charm

βόθυνος (“ditch, pit” = ‫)שחת‬

48:14 50:11 51:18 53:8 53:10

away”) ‫“( וזרעו‬arm”) ‫( מאזרי‬via √‫“ אזר‬to gird”) ‫( מנהל‬via √‫“ נהל‬to guide, lead”) ‫“( למו‬to/for”) ‫“( דכאו‬to crush him”)

σπέρμα (“seed” = ‫)זרע‬ κατισχύετε (via √‫“ ?עזז‬to strengthen”) ὁ παρακαλῶν (via √‫“ ?נחם‬to comfort”) εἰς θάνατον (via √‫“ מות‬death”) καθαρίσαι αὐτὸν (‫ רפאו‬via √‫?רפא‬

“to heal”) 55:1 55:12

‫“( וחלב‬milk”) καὶ στέαρ (“fat” = ‫)חלב‬ ‫( תובלון‬via √‫“ יבל‬to bring, carry”) διδαχθήσεσθε (via √‫“ למד‬to teach”) | ‫ תלכו‬1QIsaa (via √‫“ הלך‬to go,

56:11 57:9

‫( רעים‬via √‫“ רעה‬to shepherd”) ‫( רקחיך‬via √‫“ רקח‬your

πονηροὶ (via √‫“ רעע‬to do evil”) τοὺς μακρὰν ἀπὸ σοῦ (via √‫“ רחק‬to be

perfumes”) 57:11 57:13

‫( ואת‬object marker) ‫( קבוציך‬via √‫“ קבץ‬to gather”)

far”) σύ ( = ‫“ את‬you”)

walk”)

57:18

‫( ואנחהו‬via √‫“ נחה‬to lead”)

58:4 58:12

‫“( רשע‬wickedness”) ‫( משבב‬via √‫“ שוב‬to return”)

58:12 59:14

‫( לשבת‬via √‫“ ישב‬to sit, dwell”) ‫( כשלה‬via √‫“ כשל‬to stumble”)

ἐν τῇ θλίψει σου (via √‫“ בצוק)י(ך‬in your

affliction”)

καὶ παρεκάλεσα αὐτὸν (via √‫“ נחם‬to

comfort”)

59:15 60:21 62:7 63:1 63:7 63:11 63:14 63:19 [64:1] 63:19 [64:1] 64:1[2]

ταπεινόν (via √‫“ רוש‬to be poor”) τοὺς ἀνὰ μέσον ( = ‫ ?מסבב‬via √‫“ סבב‬to

go around”) παύσεις (via √‫“ שבת‬to cease, stop”) καταναλώθη (via √‫“ כלה‬to use up, spend”) ‫“( מרע משתולל‬from evil/to make τὴν διάνοιαν τοῦ συνιέναι (“the thought oneself a prey”) from understanding” = ‫;)?מדע מהשכיל‬ cf. 28:9 ‫“( נצר‬branch, shoot”) φυλάσσων ( = ‫ נצר‬via √‫“ נצר‬to guard”) ‫“( דמי‬rest” via √2-‫)דמה‬ ὅμοιος (“like, similar” via √1-‫)דמה‬ ‫“( רב‬great, many” via √‫)רבב‬ καὶ κρίσιν (“and judgment” via √‫)ריב‬ ‫“( ורב‬and great” via √‫)רבב‬ κριτὴς (“judge” via √‫ )ריב‬cf. 63:1. ‫“( רעי‬to shepherd” as Qal m.p. ποιμένα (“shepherd” as noun = ‫)רעה‬ part.) ‫( תניחנו‬via √‫“ נוח‬to rest”) καὶ ὡδήγησεν αὐτούς (via √‫“ נחה‬to lead”) ‫“( ירדת‬to go down”) τρόμος (via √‫“ רעד‬to tremble”); cf. 33:14. ‫( נזלו‬via √‫“ זלל‬to quake”) καὶ τακήσονται (via √‫“ נזל‬to flow”)

‫“( המסים‬brushwood”)

κηρὸς (“wax” via √‫)?מסס‬

168

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Table (cont.) Reference in Isaiah

MT Reading

LXX Reading with Hebrew Reconstruction

64:1[2]

‫“( תבעה‬to boil”)

κατακαύσει ( = ‫ ?תבער‬via √‫“ בער‬to

64:4[5]

‫“( ונושע‬to deliver, save”)

ἐπλανήθημεν ( = ‫ ?ונפשע‬via √‫“ פשע‬to

64:6[7]

‫( ותמוגנו‬via √‫“ מוג‬to melt”)

καὶ παρέδωκας ἡμᾶς (via √‫“ מגן‬to

65:10 65:15 66:5

‫“( לנוה‬for a fold”) ‫“( לשבועה‬for an oath”) ‫“( אמרו‬they said”)

66:9

‫“( אשביר‬I will break”)

66:10

‫“( שמחו את‬to rejoice” + direct

66:19

‫“( משכי קשת‬those that draw the bow”) ‫ > קשת‬MMs ‫“( דראון‬abhorrence”) ὅρασιν (via √‫“ ראה‬sight, vision”)

burn”)

go astray”) cf. 46:8.

deliver”)

object marker) 66:24

ἐπαύλεις (“homes” via √‫“ ?לין‬to lodge”) εἰς πλησμονὴν (“for fullness” via √‫)שבע‬ εἴπατε (“say” imperative, impacted by

first imperative of passage? ‫)שמעו‬ προσδοκίαν (via √‫“ שבר‬to hope, inspect”) εὐφράνθητι (“rejoice” = ‫;שמחי את‬ reading object marker as 2f.s. pronoun) Μοσοχ (“Mosoch” = ‫“ משך‬Meshech”)

ISAIAH AND THE KING OF AS/SYRIA IN DANIEL’S FINAL VISION: ON THE RHETORIC OF INNER-SCRIPTURAL ALLUSION AND THE HERMENEUTICS OF “MANTOLOGICAL EXEGESIS”* Andrew Teeter A dense distribution of verbal borrowings from previous texts and traditions—above all, prophetic texts and traditions—unmistakably characterizes the final vision accounts in the book of Daniel. Most prominent in this regard are patterns of language and imagery associated with the prophet Isaiah.1 Commentaries on Daniel typically acknowledge this by indicating cross-references and noting parallel locutions; yet seldom is the significance of such connections examined in any depth. Despite wide recognition of the phenomenon, much remains unexplained regarding the nature and function of these verbal connections: are they purely aesthetic in character, or are they also semantically relevant? Are previous prophetic texts deliberately referenced, and if so, to what rhetorical or interpretive ends? Does the inventory of prior prophetic literature merely provide the linguistic or conceptual stock for the Danielic vision, its idiom serving almost inevitably as a lexical fund or literary palette for a latter-day epigone? Or are the verbal dependences more studied, strategic, and therefore exegetically productive than otherwise suggested? In short, why have specific texts been borrowed, and how were they designed to function in reuse? These by no means peripheral questions receive startlingly few answers in the commentary literature on the book of Daniel. Recent decades, however, have witnessed an upsurge of interest in these particular areas of textual inquiry. A range of studies has turned due attention to the analysis of inner-scriptural allusion in general, and

* To Jim VanderKam, with deepest respect and admiration. 1 This is literarily anticipated by the extent to which the account of the impartation of the vision to Daniel has been shaped according to the model of the Berufungsbericht of Isaiah (Isaiah 6). See G. G. Nicol, “Isaiah’s Vision and the Visions in Daniel,” VT 29 (1979): 501–5.

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to its function within the book of Daniel in particular.2 More sophisticated models have been developed to account for the various procedures for, and strategic functions of, text referencing in this literature, as have more precise analytical tools for their study. Inner-scriptural allusion and exegesis have come to rightful recognition both for critical importance as a textual strategy or rhetorical device within a compositional poetics—that is, for understanding the systematic working of this literature and its construction—and as central data for understanding the religious development of post-exilic Judaism itself. Yet despite this very definite progress, recognition of the importance of inner-scriptural allusion in Daniel has yet to produce broad agreement regarding some of the fundamental hermeneutical issues of the book, particularly as regards the character and function (exegetical or otherwise) of textual reuse and its corresponding religious background. In an effort to clarify some of these issues, the following study will examine one narrowly delimited set of locutions from the final vision of Daniel for how it might illuminate the hermeneutic character and poetics of inner-scriptural allusion in the book. The application of Isaiah’s distinctive language regarding Assyria to “northern” (Seleucid 2 Recent studies of the phenomenon in general include B. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998); R. Schultz, The Search for Quotation: Verbal Parallels in the Prophets (JSOTSup 180; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); B. Levinson, “The Phenomenon of Rewriting within the Hebrew Bible: A Bibliographic Essay on Inner-Biblical Exegesis in the History of Scholarship,” in Legal Revision and Religious Renewal in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 95–181; M. A. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHBOTS 507; New York: T&T Clark, 2009); G. B. Lester, “Inner-Biblical Allusion,” Theological Librarianship 2.2 (2009): 89–93. For Daniel in particular, see M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 458–524; J. Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book: Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 1–27; M. Knibb, “ ‘You are Indeed Wiser than Daniel’: Reflections on the Character of the Book of Daniel,” in The Book of Daniel in Light of New Findings (ed. A. S. Van Der Woude; BETL 106; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1993), 399–411; G. B. Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah: The Rule of the Nations in Apocalyptic Allusion-Narrative (Ph.D. diss., Princeton Theological Seminary, 2007); M. Henze, “The Use of Scripture in the Book of Daniel,” in A Companion to Biblical Interpretation in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, forthcoming). Among earlier works, note especially H. L. Ginsberg, “The Oldest Interpretation of the Suffering Servant,” VT 3 (1953): 400–4; idem, ‫ הוספות ותיקונים‬:‫דניאל‬, in Encyclopedia Biblica: Thesaurus rerum Biblicarum ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1954), 2:949–52; and I. L. Seeligmann, “Voraussetzungen der Midraschexegese,” in Congress Volume: Copenhagen (ed. G. W. Anderson et al.; VTSup 1; Leiden: Brill, 1953), 150–81 (esp. 171); idem, The Septuagint Version of Isaiah: A Discussion of Its Problems (Leiden: Brill, 1948; repr., Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 82–83.

isaiah and the king of as/syria

171

Syrian) kings of a much later period in Daniel 11 brings the issues into sharp focus. The fact that this particular theme has received such sparse attention until recently is remarkable in view of I. L. Seeligmann’s judgment over half a century ago that it represents perhaps “the finest example of biblical interpretation within the Bible itself.”3 Indeed, as such, it would appear to offer an auspicious opportunity to reflect on the character of strategic scriptural reuse within the composition of Daniel and, by extension, other literature of the period as well. 1. Isaiah and the King of As/Syria in Daniel 11 While the final chapters of Daniel quite clearly draw upon a wide variety of textual sources in their depiction of the end, the book of Isaiah proves to have been of singular importance.4 Repeated evocation of Isaianic idiom punctuates these chapters, and references to specific passages in Isaiah can be seen to provide the structural scaffolding for the narrative whole.5 Texts from Isaiah supply the basic plotline of events and inform the depiction of the major characters in this

3 “Eine Reihe von Danielstellen . . . an denen die markantesten Ausdrücke aus Jesajah mit Anspielungen auf Numeri- und Habakuk Texte verweben sind, liest sich wie ein aktualisierender Kommentar zu Jesajah’s Prophetie über Assur (sie bildet wohl das schönste Beispiel von Bibelerklärung innerhalb der Bibel).” Seeligmann, “Voraussetzungen,” 171; cf. idem, Septuagint Version of Isaiah, 82. 4 To emphasize the centrality of Isaiah is not to suggest that Isaiah is the only model or that other sources were unimportant. Other well-recognized resonances include Jeremiah’s depiction of the king of the north (as a flood in 47:2), the depiction of Gog from Ezekiel 38–39 (cf. Num 24:7), the “ships of the Kittim” (Num 24:24) of Balaam’s oracles, the “appointed time of the end” of Hab 2:3 and the picture of the arrogant Babylonian oppressor that follows. See F. F. Bruce, “The Earliest Old Testament Interpretation,” in The Witness of Tradition (OtSt 17; Leiden: Brill, 1972), 37–52; Ginsberg, Studies in Daniel, 78 n. 21; Henze, “Use of Scripture in Daniel,” 18–19; Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 98 n. 12. 5 For the notion of allusive “scaffolding” as derived from a literary template or model (Vorbild), see especially W. Tooman, “Transformations of Israel’s Hope: The Reuse of Scripture in the Gog Oracles,” in Transforming Visions: Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel (ed. M. A. Lyons and W. A. Tooman; PTSMS 127; Eugene, Ore.: Wipf and Stock / Pickwick Publications, 2010), 50–110. This concept of evoked Vorbilder should be distinguished from the notion of “structural allusion” developed by J. A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 54–55, inasmuch as the former is not limited to structural features alone, but also includes substance (themes, topics, plot, etc.).

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plot.6 This is seen most clearly in the portrait of the final “kings of the north,” for which the language of Isaiah served as a decisive model. Six examples illustrate this claim. 1.1. Isaiah 8:8 In the depiction of the political and military exploits of Seleucid kings of “the north,” one recurrent image in the visionary representation of Daniel 10–12 is that of an overflowing river. The figure clearly derives from the dramatic depiction of the onslaught of the king of Assyria and his forces as the floodwaters of a swollen river in Isaiah 8:7 Isa 8:7–8 (cf. Isa 28:15–22) 7 Therefore, the Lord is bringing up against it the mighty flood waters of the River—the king of Assyria and all his glory; it will rise above all its channels and overflow all its banks; 8 and it will sweep on into Judah, it will overflow and pass through (‫שטף‬ ‫)ועבר‬, it will reach even to the neck; and the spread of its wings will fill the breadth of your land (‫)ארצך‬, O Immanuel.

6

Dan 11: 10, 22, 26, 40 10

And his sons will mobilize and assemble a multitude of great forces; and one of them will keep on coming (‫ )ובא בוא‬and overflow and pass through (‫)ושטף ועבר‬, that he may again wage war up to his very fortress. 22

And the forces of the flood will be flooded away (‫ )השטף ישטפו‬before him and shattered, and also the prince of the covenant. 26 And those who eat his choice food will destroy him, and his army will overflow (‫)ישטוף‬, but many will fall down slain.

Regarding this plotline and the particular importance of Isaiah 10 for its structure, see Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 237; regarding character, see ibid. 93, 140–59, and Ginsberg, “Oldest Interpretation.” On the larger constellation of ideas from Isaiah in the book of Daniel, see F. F. Bruce, “Daniel and the Qumran Community,” in Neotestametica et Semitica (ed. E. E. Ellis and M. Wilcox; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 221–35 (esp. 228 n. 17); Rex Mason, “The Treatment of Earlier Biblical Themes in the Book of Daniel,” PRSt 15 (1988): 81–100 (esp. 91); Henze, “Use of Scripture in Daniel”; Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book, esp. 14–18; and Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 55–92; 159–85. 7 As P. Machinist has demonstrated, this Isaian use of flood imagery in connection with Assyria finds close parallels in Assyrian royal rhetoric (“Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah,” JAOS 103 [1983]: 719–37).

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173

40 And at the time of the end the king of the South will collide with him, and the king of the North will storm against him with chariots, with horsemen, and with many ships; and he will enter lands (‫)ארצות‬, overflow and pass through (‫)ושטף ועבר‬.

The exact phrase “overflow and pass over” (‫ )שטף ועבר‬occurs within the Hebrew Bible only here in Isa 8:8 and Dan 11:10, 40.8 In Isaiah, the depiction of Assyria as an inundating flood is consequent upon rejection of the “gently flowing waters of Shiloh” (8:6). Within the sequence of chapters 6–9, this “rejection” refers to the response of the Judean leadership (Isaiah 7) and people (Isaiah 8) to the Syro-Ephraimite crisis. Despite the philological difficulty of 8:6, it is clear that the Assyrian image is depicted as a destructive consequence about to fall upon Judah for rejecting Yhwh (vv. 6–7; cf. ch. 7, esp. 7:17b).9 In Daniel, the image expresses the uncontrolled rage of latter-day kings of “the north” as they endlessly wage war against “the south” in their struggle for power. According to modern consensus, v.10a alludes historically to the activities of two sons of Seleucus II Kallinikos (246–26 b.c.e.), Seleucus III Soter (226–23 b.c.e.) and Antiochus III the Great (223–187 b.c.e.), while 10b refers to the latter alone.10 Verses 22, 26, and 40 all pertain to the exploits of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175–64 b.c.e.). In view of the usage in Isaiah, it is striking that the

8 Ginsberg, ‫ הוספות ותיקונים‬:‫דניאל‬, 949. The basic connection to Isaiah 8 and the Assyrian invasion is routinely noted in the commentaries on Daniel, but typically without further comment (e.g., R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel [Oxford: Clarendon, 1979], 285; J. J. Collins, Daniel [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993], 378; M. Delcor, Le Livre de Daniel [SB; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1971], 225; J. A. Montgomery, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel [ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1927], 436. The collocation (‫ שט״ף‬and ‫)עב״ר‬ occurs in two additional passages. The first is a fascinating reversal of Isaiah’s imagery in Nah 1:8 to describe Yhwh’s destructive judgment of Nineveh/Assyria (‫ובשטף עבר‬ ‫)כלה יעשה מקומה ואיביו ירדף חשך‬. The second is Ps 124:4 (‫אזי המים שטפונו נחלה‬ ‫)עבר על נפשנו‬. Though this Psalm of Ascent is similar in a number of respects to Isaiah 8, the text is ambiguous and difficult to date (cf. A. Weiser, The Psalms [OTL; Louisville, Kent.: Westminster John Knox], 755; C. A. Briggs, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms [ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1907], 2.452). 9 On the interpretive crux ‫ ומשוש‬see, in addition to the commentaries (e.g., Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 340–41; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 240), M. Sweeney, “On ûmeśôś in Isaiah 8.6,” in Among the Prophets: Language, Image, and Structure in the Prophetic Writings (ed. D. J. A. Clines et al.; JSOTSup 144; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), 42–54. 10 Collins, Daniel, 378–79; Montgomery, Daniel, 432–33.

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precise locution ‫ שטף ועבר‬is consciously restricted to vv. 10 and 40, where Judea itself is in question, in contrast to the use of ‫ שט״ף‬alone in vv. 22 and 26, which depict activities elsewhere.11 Thus the image of a disastrous, overflowing river, originally depicting an Assyrian invasion in the eighth century (Isaiah 8), is taken up and applied to Seleucid Syrian kings of the Hellenistic era in Daniel.12 1.2. Isaiah 8:14–15 Closely related to this evocative portrayal of the king and army of Assyria as a river that inundates the land of Judah is another cluster of terminology in Daniel 11 that likely derives from the same chapter in Isaiah: Isa 8:14–15 14

Then he shall become a sanctuary; and a stone to strike and a rock to stumble over to both the houses of Israel, a snare and a trap for the inhabitants of Jerusalem. 15 And many will stumble over them (‫וכשלו‬ ‫)בם רבים‬, and they will fall (‫)ונפלו‬ and be shattered (‫)ונשברו‬, and they will be snared and caught (‫)ונלכדו‬.

Dan 11:18–19; 26; 33–35 18

Then he will turn his face to the coastlands and capture many (‫ולכד‬ ‫)רבים‬. But a commander will put a stop to his scorn against him; moreover, he will repay him for his scorn. 19 So he will turn his face toward the fortresses of his own land, but he will stumble and fall (‫ )ונכשל ונפל‬and be found no more.

11 Ginsberg, ‫ הוספות ותיקונים‬:‫דניאל‬, 949; idem, “Oldest Interpretation,” 401; Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 97. From this, Ginsberg concludes, “The reader was expected to recognize the phrase and to infer that the events in question were the fulfillment of an Isaian prophecy about Assyria” (401). More subtly, Lester finds in this allusion the attempt to “contextualize these Seleucid inroads into Judea as part of the ongoing Isaian drama of Assyrian violence against Judah. . . . Together with two other allusions in Dan 11, the Assyria-evoking successes of these ‘last’ kings of the north will be seen as predictable episodes in the larger, doomed career of God’s ‘Assyrian’ commissionerturned-rebel” (99). 12 With respect to Dan 11:10, it should be noted that Isaiah is not the only influence on this verse. There are also several distinct connections with Hab 2:3–5, a text which supplies the thematic refrain of these chapters in Daniel: “For the vision is still for the appointed time (‫)כי עוד חזון למועד‬, it testifies to the end (‫ )לקץ‬. . .” (Hab 2:3). The “vision” in Hab as developed in v. 5. pertains to the fate of the arrogant Babylonian oppressor who “gathers all nations and peoples to himself ” (‫ויאסף אליו כל הגוים‬ ‫ויקבץ אליו כל העמים‬, v. 5). Note the parallel depiction of Assyria gathering (‫)אס״ף‬ all the peoples and their wealth in Isa 10:14. Imagery from both of these passages has been combined in Daniel to depict the military exploits of Syrian kings. Note also, in this connection, Lester’s perceptive comments on the function of Dan 8:19 in relation to Habakkuk and Isaiah (Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 120–21).

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175

22

And the arms of the flood will be flooded away before him and shattered (‫)וישברו‬, and also the prince of the covenant. 26

And those who eat his choice food will destroy him, and his army will overflow, and many will fall (‫ רבים‬. . . ‫ )ונפלו‬slain. 33

And those who have insight among the people will give understanding to the many (‫)לרבים‬, and they will stumble (‫ )ונכשלו‬by sword and by flame, by captivity and by plunder, for days. 34 Now when they stumble (‫ )ובהכשלם‬they will be granted a little help, and many will join with them in hypocrisy. 35 And some of those who have insight will stumble (‫)יכשלו‬, in order to refine, purge, and make them pure, until the end time; because it is still to come at the appointed time.

To be sure, verbs such as “to shatter” (‫)שב״ר‬, “to stumble” (‫ )כש״ל‬or “to fall” (‫ )נפ״ל‬are by no means rare in the Hebrew Bible and need not have derived from any particular text.13 Nonetheless, the dense clustering of this group of terms in both texts, in immediate relation to the destructive As/Syrian “river,” is quite striking and hardly coincidental. In its present context, the “stumbling” of Isa 8:14–15 is related to destruction at the hands of Assyria (Isa 8:1–8).14 In Daniel, this language is applied first to the destructive forays of one Hellenistic king (Antiochus III) (v. 18), then to his own demise (v. 19). Verse 26 employs the same verbal cluster to depict the downfall of a king of the south (usually referred to Ptolemy VI Philometor) at the hands of the final king of the north (Antiochus IV Epiphanes). Verses 33–34 likewise describe the fall of the “wise among the people” (‫)משכילי עם‬

13 Linguistic criteria for determining intentional allusion (particularly through repetition and distribution) are developed in H. Van Dyke Parunak, Linguistic Density Plots in Zechariah, The Computer Bible vol. XX (Ann Arbor: Biblical Research Associates, 1979), 11–51; and R. L. Schultz, The Search for Quotation, 210–39. Cf. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy, 67–75. 14 On the entire passage, see A. J. Bjørndalen, Untersuchungen zur allegorischen Rede der Propheten Amos und Jesaja (BZAW 165; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1986), 211–18.

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of God at the hands of Antiochus IV. Thus, here too, terminology associated with Assyrian destruction in Isaiah has been applied to the activity of Seleucid kings of “the north” in Daniel. 1.3. Isaiah 10:23, 25 Yet another aspect of the depiction of the final Syrian king of the north in Daniel 11 quite conspicuously borrowed from Isaiah is the notion of a “determined destruction” (‫ )כלה ונחרצה‬and its correlate, the “end of wrath” (‫)כלה זעם‬. The source, Isaiah 10, is an oracle of doom against Assyria, and a text which proves to have been of decisive importance for the final vision of Daniel.15 Isa 10:22–26 22

For though your people, O Israel, may be like the sand of the sea, only a remnant of it will return; destruction is determined (‫)כליון חרוץ‬, overflowing (‫ )שוטף‬with righteousness. 23 For a determined destruction (‫כי‬ ‫ )כלה ונחרצה‬the Lord God of hosts will execute (‫ )עשה‬in the midst of the whole land. 24 Therefore thus says the Lord God of hosts, “O My people who dwell in Zion, do not fear Assyria who strikes you with the rod and lifts up his staff against you, in the way of Egypt. 25 For in a just a little while (‫ )כי עוד מעט מזער‬wrath will be finished (‫)וכלה זעם‬, and my anger will be unto their destruction. 26 And the Lord of hosts will arouse a scourge (‫ )שוט‬against him like the slaughter of Midian at the rock of Oreb; and his staff will be over the sea, and he will lift it up in the way of Egypt.

15

Dan 11:36 36

Then the king will do as he pleases, and he will exalt and magnify himself above every god, and will speak monstrous things against the God of gods; and he will prosper until the wrath is finished, for that which is determined will be executed (‫עד כלה‬ ‫)זעם כי נחרצה נעשתה‬. cf. Dan 9:26–27 6 Then after the sixty-two weeks the Anointed will be cut off and have nothing, and the people of the prince who is to come will destroy the city and the sanctuary. And its end will come with a flood (‫ ;)בשטף‬and to the end there will be war; desolations are determined (‫)נחרצת שממות‬. 27 And he will make a firm covenant with the many for one week, but in the middle of the week he will put a stop to sacrifice and offering; and on the wing of abominations will come one who makes desolate, even until a complete and determined destruction (‫ )ועד כלה ונחרצה‬is poured out on the one who makes desolate.

On other allusions to Isaiah 10 in the book of Daniel (e.g., Dan 7:8; 8:19, 23), see Lester Daniel, 108–40.

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Once again, the depiction of the king of Syria in Daniel is overtly aligned with Isaiah’s Assyria through distinctive phrases (‫כלה ונחרצה‬ and ‫ )כלה זעם‬which occur nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible.16 Isaiah 10:5–11 consists of an oracle of woe against Assyria, “the rod of [God’s] anger and . . . wrath” (v. 5). According to this text, God had sent Assyria against his own “profane nation” as an instrument of punishment for their sin. His purpose was to plunder them, but Assyria’s intentions were different (vv. 7–11).17 Therefore, after the Lord has finished his “work” against his people (v. 12a; cf. 28:21), he will punish the king of Assyria for his proud heart (vv. 12b–19). Only a remnant of Israel will return because yhwh is carrying out a decisive destruction “overflowing with justice” against her (vv. 20–23). But the inhabitant of Zion should not be afraid, for “in just a little while” the “wrath will be finished”—that is, Assyria will be destroyed in a manner analogous to the punishment of Egypt (vv. 25–26.). Isaiah 10 thus establishes an explicit analogy between Assyria and Egypt, the prototypical oppressive enemy of the exodus. The oracle thus pivots on a double entendre, for God’s wrath itself will be finished (i.e., his anger toward his people will come to an end), and the instrument of his wrath (Assyria) will be destroyed. Compare Isa 10:5, “Woe, Assyria, the rod of my anger, and the staff in their hands of my wrath” (‫הוי אשור שבט אפי ומטה הוא‬ ‫ )בידם זעמי‬with 10:25, “For in just a little while wrath will be finished and my anger (will be) unto their destruction” (‫כי עוד מעט מזער וכלה‬ ‫)זעם ואפי על תבליתם‬.18 Most commentators concur that the parallel texts in Daniel 11, which also feature Egypt and As/Syria under the guise of the “south” and the “north”, refer to the arrogance and destruction of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. The disagreement among commentators hinges on the meaning of the final two clauses of both verses, “until wrath is finished, when that which is determined is done.” Whose wrath is meant: the

16 Collins, Daniel, 358. Delcor, Le livre de Daniel, 28. Ginsberg, “Oldest Interpretation,” 401 (“Obviously [the author of Dan 11] was bound to indicate that all this applied to Seleucid Syria, specifically to Antiochus IV”); Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 490 (“the author . . . meant to suggest that the old text was spoken for his day”); cf. Seeligmann, Septuagint Version of Isaiah, 82; G. von Rad, Old Testament Theology (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), 2:314. 17 Isa 10:6 (‫)לשלל שלל ולבז בז‬. Note the clear connection to Isa 8:1 and 3 regarding the child/sign “Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz” (‫ )מהר שלל חש בז‬and the significance of his name (‫)ישא את חיל דמשק ואת שלל שמרון לפני מלך אשור‬. 18 Greek variants, Peshiṭta, and Saadia’s Tafsir all read “my wrath” (= ‫)זעמי‬, an assimilation to v. 5. Cf. Goshen-Gottstein, Book of Isaiah (HUBP; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1995), 42.

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punishing wrath of God, or that of the Seleucid king? Commentaries usually argue for one or the other.19 The source context in Isaiah might suggest, however, that these alternatives are not best seen as mutually exclusive, insofar as that oracle thematizes both conceptions of wrath; that of God (v. 5, v. 25b) and that of Assyria (v. 25bα). The end of divine wrath and the destruction of Assyria are inextricably linked.20 In any case, it is again transparent that, in Daniel, the Seleucid Syrian king Antiochus IV Epiphanes is depicted in Assyrian terms borrowed from Isaiah.21

19 Collins cogently argues for the latter option, since “[t]he alternative interpretation, that the wrath is the Lord’s anger against Israel, is not impossible but goes against the tendency of Daniel to place the blame for the turmoil on the king” (Daniel, 386). “It is possible that pagan dominion is viewed as ‘the rod of Yahweh’s anger,’ like Assyria in 10:5 (where ‫ זעם‬is also used). . . . In Daniel, however, the emphasis is on the sin of the gentile kingdoms, not that of Israel” (Daniel, 339). 20 For the development to the concept of “wrath” (‫ )זעם‬into a “quasi-technical term” for a period of divine anger or tribulation associated with the dominion of the nations, see Collins, Daniel, 339; cf. B. Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922), 102; Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 101; 114; 116–18. 21 These same segments just discussed yield another intriguing parallel: Isa 10:25 “For in a just a little while (‫ )עוד מעט מזער‬wrath will be finished (‫)וכלה זעם‬, and my anger will be unto their destruction” and Dan 11:34 “And when they stumble they will receive little help (‫)יעזרו עזר מעט‬, and many will join with them in hypocrisy.” Though the phrase in Dan 11:34 remains cryptic as to its reference (cf. Collins, Daniel, 386, contra Montgomery, Daniel, 458–59), it is worth observing the graphic similarity of the phrases “yet a little while” (‫ )עוד מעט מזער‬in Isaiah and “they will receive little help” (‫ )יעזרו עזר מעט‬in Daniel. Taken alone, that connection is not particularly strong, but the clear reuse of this very text in the following verse (Dan 11:36, ‫וכלה‬ ‫)זעם‬, piques curiosity. The context in Isaiah refers to the deliverance of “my people/ the inhabitant of Zion,” “who lean on Yhwh, the Holy One of Israel, in truth” (v. 20). These are urged not fear Assyria, for “the wrath” will be brought to an end by the Lord himself (v. 26). The “little help” that “the people who know their God”/“the wise among the people” receive in Dan 11:34 may conceivably relate to the phrase “just a little while” in Isaiah, which ostensibly does not fit the temporal program outlined in Daniel 11, which looks instead to “many days hence” (‫)לימים רבים‬. Note also Isa 31:3, regarding those who rely on Egypt: “The helper shall trip, and the helped one shall fall, and both shall perish together” (‫)וכשל עוזר ונפל ָﬠזֻ ר ויחדו כלם יכליון‬, in its conceptual connection to the similar idiom (‫כש״ל‬, ‫ )נפ״ל‬in Isa 8:14–15 discussed above, and 28:13, discussed below. In support of the possibility that the phrase in Dan 11:34 may indeed relate exegetically to Isa 10:25, it may be noted that similar exegetical methods are attested very early and become commonplace in the literature of the Second Temple period and following.

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1.4. Isaiah 7:7 (cf. 8:10) Another phrase in the final vision of Daniel that finds its source in Isaiah occurs in Dan 11:17 // Isa 7:7. Isa 7:5–7 5

Because Aram, Ephraim and the son of Remaliah have planned (‫)יעץ‬ evil against you, saying, 6 “Let us go up against Judah and terrorize it, and make for ourselves a breach in its walls, and set up the son of Tabeel as king in the midst of it,” 7 thus says the Lord God, “It shall not stand nor shall it come to pass” (‫לא תקום ולא‬ ‫)תהיה‬.

Dan 11:17 17

He shall set his face to come with the strength of his whole kingdom, and he shall bring terms of peace and perform them. In order to destroy the kingdom, he shall give him a woman in marriage; but it shall not succeed or be to his advantage (‫ולא‬ ‫)תעמד ולא לו תהיה‬.

Isa 8:10 10

Plan a plan and it shall be foiled (‫)עצו עצה ותפר‬. Speak a word and it will it shall not succeed (‫!)ולא יקום‬ For God is with us (‫!)כי עמנו אל‬

It is often noticed that this phrase “it shall not succeed or be to his advantage” in Dan 11:17 represents a slightly modified quotation of Isa 7:7.22 There, the phrase describes the doomed stratagems of the Syro-Ephraimite political alliance (vv. 4–6; note also the role of Aram/ Syria).23 The prediction of failure is followed by a warning to maintain trust (v. 9b, ‫)אם לא תאמינו כי לא ֵת ָא ֵמנוּ‬. Commentaries on Daniel do not generally observe, however, that the trope of the non-fulfillment of the plans of the nations also plays a key role within the presentation of Isaiah’s oracles elsewhere. In Isa 8:9–10, the phrase “plot a plot, it will be frustrated, speak a word, it will not stand” (‫)עצו עצה ותפר דברו דבר ולא יקום‬, addressed to “the peoples” and “all far away lands,” immediately follows the depiction

22

K. Marti, Das Buch Jesaja erklärt (KHC; Freiburg: Mohr Siebeck, 1900): “vgl. zu

‫ עמד‬und ‫ היה‬Jes 7:7, 14:24: ‫ קום‬und ‫היה‬.” (82); Montgomery, Daniel, 442; Collins: “The phrase echoes Isa 7:7: ‫לא תקום ולא תהיה‬. Daniel 11 typically uses ‫ קום‬instead of ‫( ”עמד‬Daniel, 381). 23 The grammatical subject of the feminine verbs (‫ תהיה‬. . . ‫ )תקום‬is the implicit “plot” (‫ ) ֵﬠ ָצה‬of vv. 5–6 (‫)יען כי יעץ עליך וכו״‬.

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of the Assyrian “flood” which has been so productive in Daniel 11.24 As in Isaiah 7, here too, in the present form of the text, the citation is followed by a call to faith (vv. 11–15, cf. v. 17 [‫ וקויתי לו‬. . . ‫]וחכיתי לי״‬ and v. 20). Thus, language referring to the local political crisis of the SyroEphraimite alliance and its failure (Isa 7:7) is reiterated in the following chapter of Isaiah as a response to the description of the catastrophic deluge of the Assyrian invasion itself. The suggestion that this constitutes a deliberate literary strategy becomes unavoidable in view of the explicit articulation of the theme in Isa 14 (vv. 24–27), another chapter of great consequence to the author of Daniel 11 (see below). 1.5. Isaiah 28:13–22 In view of the obvious borrowing of a cluster of unique locutions from Isaiah in the final vision of Daniel, it is important to note how the precise phrases of interest to Daniel 11 from chapters 7, 8, and 10 of Isaiah have all been combined and reused in Isaiah 28, a textual unit of great significance within the compositional development of that book:25

24 Assessments of the date of vv. 9–10 and their relationship to the remainder of the chapter vary radically, from authentic Isaianic to late post-exilic. See Procksch, Jesaiah I (KAT; Leipzig, 1930), 134: “Jesajanisch ist er in jedem Zuge (gegen Staerk, Hackmann, Marti, Budde), so daß Unechtheit ausgeschlossen ist”; cf. Wildberger, Isaiah 1–39, 351 (the “correct historical setting” of the passage is either during Sennacherib’s march or during “the second period of Isaiah’s activity, that is, the years 721–710”). Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 240–41: “The hymnic conclusion . . . is addressed to the nations at large at a much later time, inviting them to draw the appropriate conclusion from this old story of plotting at the Judaean court. . . . In all probability the hymnic conclusion to this paragraph comes from the same fervent Jerusalemite circles that have left their mark on the last eleven chapters of the book.” 25 On the role of Isaiah 28 in the compositional development of the book, see most recently R. G. Kratz, “Rewriting Isaiah: The Case of Isaiah 28–31,” in Prophecy and Prophets in Ancient Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (ed. J. Day; New York: T&T Clark, 2010), 245–66; cf. J. Barthel, Prophetenwort und Geschichte: Die Jesajaüberlieferung in Jes 6–8 und 28–31 (FAT 19; Tübingen: Mohr/ Siebeck, 1997); U. Becker, Jesaja–von der Botschaft zum Buch (FRLANT 178; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 223–70; M. J. de Jong, Isaiah among the Ancient Near Eastern Prophets: A Comparative Study of the Isaiah Tradition and the Neo-Assyrian Prophecies (VTSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 83–122; G. Stansell, “Isaiah 28–33: Blest Be the Tie that Binds (Isaiah Together),” in New Visions of Isaiah (ed. R. Melugin and M. A. Sweeney; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 68–103; and H. G. M. Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah: Deutero-Isaiah’s Role in Composition and Redaction (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 184–239.

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Isa 28:15–22 14

// Isa 8:15

‫וכשלו בם רבים ונפלו ונשברו‬ ‫ונוקשו ונלכדו‬ // Dan 11:18–19, 26, 33–35

Isa 8:7–8 (cf. 10:16 ‫)שוט‬

‫שטף ועבר‬ // Dan 11:10, 22, 26, 40 // Isa 8:14

‫והיה למקדשׁ ולאבן נגף‬ // Isa 7:9 (cf. 8:13, 17)

‫אם לא תאמינו כי לא תאמנו‬

// Isa 7:7; 8:10; 14:24–27 ‫לא תקום ולא תהיה‬ // Dan 11:17

// Isa 10:23

‫כי כלה ונחרצה אדני יהוה‬ ‫צבאות עשׂה‬ // Dan 9:26–27; 11:36

So the word of the Lord to them will be, “Order on order, order on order, Line on line, line on line, A little here, a little there,” That they may go and stumble backward and be shattered and ensnared and caught (‫)וכשלו אחור ונשברו ונוקשו ונלכדו‬. 14 Therefore, hear the word of the Lord, O scoffers, who rule this people who are in Jerusalem, 15 Because you have said, “We have made a covenant with death, and with Sheol we have made a pact. The overwhelming scourge when it passes by (‫ )שוט שוטף כי עבר יעבר‬will not reach us, for we have made falsehood our refuge and we have concealed ourselves with deception.” 16 Therefore thus says the Lord God, “Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for the foundation, firmly placed. He who believes will not be moved. 17 And I will make justice the measuring line, and righteousness the level. Then hail shall sweep away the refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow (‫ )ישטפו‬the secret place. 18 And your covenant with death shall be canceled, and your pact with Sheol shall not stand (‫ ;)לא תקום‬When the overflowing scourge passes through (‫שוט‬ ‫)שוטף כי יעבר‬, then you be for trampling. 19 As often as it passes through (‫)עברו‬, it will seize you. For morning after morning it will pass through (‫)יעבר‬, day and night. And it will be sheer terror to understand what it means. 20 The bed is too short on which to stretch out, and the blanket is too small to wrap oneself in.” 21 For the Lord will rise up like Mount Perazim, he will arise as in the valley of Gibeon; To do his task—strange is his task! And to work his work—astonishing is his work! 22 And now, do not scoff, lest your bounds be tightened. For a determined destruction (‫כי‬ ‫ )כלה ונחרצה‬have I heard from the Lord God of hosts.

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The chapter opens with an oracle ostensibly addressed in the first instance to “the drunkards of Ephraim” (28:1, 3); but in v. 7, “these too” (‫)וגם אלה‬, appears to refer to the men of Judah.26 The destruction of Judah is thus brought into clear alignment with the earlier destruction of Israel at the hands of the Assyrians.27 This passage brings together a number of connections from oracles presented earlier in the book of Isaiah. From these earlier chapters, Isaiah 28 rearticulates the themes of (1) the inundating flood of judgment (‫שוט שוטף כי עבר יעבר‬, vv. [2], 14, 17, 18 —» 8:7–8); (2) the catastrophic stumbling (‫ ונשברו ונוקשו ונלכדו‬. . . ‫ וכשלו‬v. 13 —» 8:15); (3) the failure of human plans to materialize against the divine plan or purpose (‫ לא תקום‬v. 18 —» 7:7; 8:10; 14:24–27); (4) a divinely established “stone” (‫ אבן‬v. 16; cf. v. 13b);28 (5) the prospect of salvation conditioned upon faith (‫ אמ״ן‬v. 16 —» 7:9; 8:13, 17); and finally, these ideas are connected with the notion of (6) the “decisive destruction” (‫ כלה ונחרצה‬v. 22) of divine judgment (—»10:23).29 Of this cluster of themes and phrases reused in Isaiah 28 from the earlier oracles of Isaiah, it is striking that at least four are also the exact expressions selected for reuse by the author of the final vision of Daniel (those numbered 1, 2, 3 and 6).30 One might downplay this remarkable

26 Contrast vv. 1 and 3 with vv. 11 and 14; cf. 8:14, “for the two houses of Israel” (‫)לשני בתי ישראל‬. 27 “The oracle in vv. 1–4 serves to introduce a new corpus of oracles that are largely set at a subsequent period in Judah’s history after the Syro-Ephraimite crisis and that led ultimately to the Assyrian attack on Jerusalem in 701. The initial oracle in chapter 28 begins with judgment on the Northern Kingdom and summarizes the prophetic warning to the proud leaders of Ephraim before it draws the analogy between Israel’s destruction and Judah’s” (Childs, Isaiah, 206). Of course, it is not Assyria but Babylon who will ultimately take Judah captive (39:6–7). The relationship between Babylon and Assyria is a key interest of the editors of the book of Isaiah (cf. Isa 23:13; 14:22–27; chs. 36–39, etc.). 28 Note the discussion of Bjørndalen, Untersuchungen zur allegorischen Rede, 211– 18. 29 On directionality of dependence for this phrase, cf. R. E. Clements, “The Interpretation of Prophecy and the Origins of Apocalyptic,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon (Louisville, Kent.: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 182–88 (here 185–86). 30 The other two, the divine “stone” and salvation conditioned on faith, are arguably also key ideas in the book of Daniel as a whole. For the former, see Mason, “Themes in the Book of Daniel,” 91 (Isa 28:10 and Isa 2:2–4 in relation to Daniel 2); C. L. Seow, “From Mountain to Mountain: The Reign of God in Daniel 2,” in A God So Near: Essays on Old Testament Theology in Honor of Patrick D. Miller (ed. B. A. Strawn and N. R. Bowen; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 355–74; and Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 166–67.

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coincidence by the argument that the latter author may simply have depended upon the one text that brings all these themes together, Isaiah 28. Such an explanation is inadequate, however, as is quite clear from the language of the borrowed locutions.31 If we are to determine a source for the quotations in Daniel, then we must conclude that this entire network of texts—including Isaiah 28, which draws them together—has been influential. Stated otherwise, the interests of the author of the final vision of Daniel have been anticipated to a significant extent by the compositional activity reflected in Isaiah 28.32 1.6. Isaiah 14 One final connection requires mention in relation to this theme, though unlike the examples discussed thus far, the parallels between Daniel and Isaiah in this case are primarily conceptual rather than lexical. The links are, nonetheless, strong enough to warrant notice by nearly all commentators on Daniel.33 Isa 14:12–15 12

How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn! You have been cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations! 13 But you said in your heart, “I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God, And I will sit on the mount of assembly In the recesses of the north. 14 I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.” 15 Nevertheless you will be thrust down to Sheol, to the recesses of the pit.

31 This is clear from at least three points: (1) The exact formulation ‫ שטף ועבר‬in Dan 11:10, 40 occurs in Isa 8:8 alone. (2) The full citation of Isa 7:7 (‫לא תקום ולא‬ ‫ )תהיה‬in Dan 11:17 (‫ )ולא תעמד ולא לו תהיה‬is not found in Isaiah 28. (3) In addition to the phrase ‫ כלה ונחרצה‬which occurs in both Isaiah 10 and 28, Daniel 11 uses the phrase ‫ כלה זעם‬which occurs only in ch. 10. 32 For the vexed problem of directionality of dependence between these chapters, see the excellent summary of Kratz, “Rewriting” (note 25 above). Numerous commentators have argued that Isaiah 28 preceded Isaiah 10, such that the latter is dependent upon the former (e.g., Duhm, Jesaia, 102; Marti, Jesaja, 106; Kaiser, Jesaja, 241–42, just as many have argued the opposite (Becker, Jesaja, 282–83; Kratz, “Rewriting,” 246–47). Lester’s argument (Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 135–40; cf. 186–87) that the dependence of Isaiah 10 upon 28 is evident on “internal grounds” based on “the manner in which the alluding text works a subtle change upon the language of the evoked text” (135) remains, in my view, inconclusive and unconvincing. 33 According to Collins, for example, Isaiah 14 provides a “clear biblical precedent” (Daniel, 332); cf. Montgomery, Daniel, 334. Lester collates various additional comments to this effect (Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 122 n. 66).

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andrew teeter Dan 11:36–39 The king will do as he pleases; he will exalt and magnify himself above every god, and he will speak astounding things against the God of gods. He will prosper until wrath is spent, for what has been decreed shall be accomplished. 37 He will not have regard for the god of his ancestors or for the one dear to women; he will not have regard for any god, but will magnify himself above all. . . .34

The Isaiah passage (14:4b–21) is a taunt song (designated a “parable” [‫ ]משל‬in v. 4) oriented in its present form toward “the king of Babylon”, though it is likely to have originally addressed Assyria.35 Verses 12–14 engage in a mocking contrast between the king’s boastful pretensions, depicted in their excess as reaching the heights of the heavens, and his present humble estate in the depths of Sheol. The texts in Daniel apply very similar language to the arrogance of Antiochus IV Epiphanes.36 As frequently discussed in the commentaries, both passages engage a mythic pattern, to some extent.37 For the purposes of understanding the reuse of this Isaianic oracle in Daniel 11, however, it is of crucial importance to consider the effect of the concluding coda in Isaiah 14. After declaring the resolve of God to destroy Babylon (“I will rise up against them—declares the Lord of Hosts—and will

34

Cf. Dan 8:10–13 and Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 122. Babylon is only named in the superscription in v. 4 and in the conclusion in v. 22, while the entire oracle concludes with a reference to Assyria’s destruction in 14:25 (‫)לשבר אשור‬, which ties into 14:5 (‫)שבר י״ מטה רשעים‬. See H. L. Ginsberg “Reflexes of Sargon in Isaiah after 715 b.c.e.,” JAOS 88 (1968): 47–53, though others are far less confident regarding the specific referent (cf. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 286–287; Childs, Isaiah, 123; Gray, Isaiah I–XXVII, 250–52). 36 The “close correspondence of theme and detail” has been outlined clearly by Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 125–26. 37 “The portrayal of Antiochus Epiphanes rising up ‘above every God’ is ‘a reuse of the old Canaanite myth of rebellion in the heavens which finds its reflex in such passages as Isa 14:3–21 and Ezek 28:1–19’ ” ( J. Collins, Daniel: With an Introduction to Apocalyptic Literature [FOTL 20; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984], 100, citing Clifford, “History and Myth in Daniel 10–12,” BASOR 220 (1975), 23–26 [here 25]; cf. Collins, Daniel, 332; Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 123–27). Though it is reasonable to assume that such a myth indeed lies behind the language of Isaiah 14 (and Ezekiel 28) in traditio-historical terms, it is open to question whether the background of the myth itself provides the impetus for the reuse of the language in Daniel. Given the unmistakable interest of Daniel 11 in passages relating to Assyria from Isaiah, it seems likely that he has read this chapter of Isaiah less with reference to Canaanite myth than with reference to its role in Isaiah. Cf. G. Hölscher, Geschichte der israelitischen und jüdischen Religion (Giessen: A. Töpelmann, 1922), 155; Henze, “Use of Scripture in Daniel,” 14; Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book, 16. 35

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wipe out from Babylon name and remnant, kith and kin . . .” 14:22), the passage concludes: 24

The Lord of Hosts has sworn saying, “Surely, just as I intended, so it has happened, and just as I have planned so will it stand (‫כאשר דמיתי‬ ‫)כן היתה וכאשר יעצתי היא תקום‬, 25 to break Assyria in my land, and I will trample him on my mountains. Then his yoke will be removed from them, and his burden removed from their shoulder.” 26 This is the plan planned (‫ )העצה היעוצה‬against all the earth; and this is the hand that is stretched out against all the nations. 27 For the Lord of Hosts has planned, and who can frustrate (‫ ?)יעץ ומי יפר‬His hand is stretched out, and who can turn it back? (Isa 14:24–27)

Thus, a passage ostensibly addressing the fall of Babylon concludes in its present form with a comment regarding the destruction of Assyria.38 This brief but richly allusive conclusion takes up the repeated “outstretched hand” refrain from previous chapters of Isaiah,39 while also fully reversing the assurance of non-fulfillment of the nations’ plans in Isa 7:7 and 8:10 (7:7 ‫ ;לא תקום ולא תהיה‬8:10 ‫עצו עצה ותפר דברו‬ ‫—)דבר ולא יקום‬as noted above, a theme evoked in Dan 11:17. Childs aptly summarizes the strategic function of this conclusion in Isaiah 14, noting that it serves “to unite the destruction of Assyria with its latter counterpart Babylon, and to join in the one plan of God the destruction of the arrogant oppressor from both the eighth and sixth centuries.”40 The redactional placement of these verses in chapter 14 parallels the explicative addition of Isa 8:9–10 to the description of the Assyrian onslaught, an addition which declares the schemes of all “the peoples” (‫ )עמים‬to be doomed in their opposition to the plan of the God of Israel. Both passages (Isa 8:9–10 and Isa 14:24–27) mirror the depiction of Assyria and its fate in Isaiah 10, not coincidentally a passage of commanding interest for the author of the final vision

38

On the entire passage, see R. E. Clements, “Isaiah 14:22–27: A Central Passage Reconsidered,” in The Book of Isaiah, Les Oracles et leur Relectures: Unité et complexité de l’ouvrage (BETL 81; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 253–62. 39 ‫( בכל זאת לא שב אפו ועוד ידו נטויה‬5:25; 9:11, 16, 20; 10:4). 40 Childs, Isaiah, 124. Cf. C. Seitz, “Isaiah, Book of (First Isaiah),” ABD 3.472– 88 (here 486): “By placing 14:24–27, an oracle of judgment against Assyria similar to material in 1–12 (e.g., 10:5–19) in the context of chaps. 13–14, the ‘breaking of Assyria’ (14:25) is to be understood as part of God’s broader work with Israel and the nations, now including Babylon and Persia (13:17–22). Assyria’s breakdown is analogous to Babylon’s centuries later, after both serve their respective purpose in God’s larger work with Israel.” Compare 14:25 (‫ )לשבר אשור‬with 14:5.

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of Daniel. Moreover, in Isa 14:22–27 Assyria and Babylon are united and ascribed to the same typological role; that of God’s outstretched hand of punishment against his people, an instrument itself ultimately destined for destruction.41 In depicting the destruction of the last “king of the north” in Dan 11:44–45, beyond Isa 14:25 (“. . . to break Assyria in my land”), the author has evidently taken a cue from the literarily related report of Sennacherib’s fate in Isaiah 37.42 In any case, as in all the passages above, texts pertaining to “Assyria” in Isaiah are applied to a Seleucid Syrian king in Daniel. 1.7. Summary The content of Isaiah 8, 10, 14, and 28 proves to have been of particular interest to the author of Daniel’s final vision. We have seen that all four of these passages in Isaiah—including the oracle against Babylon in Isaiah 14—pertain, in their present form, to Assyria either as instrument or object of divine judgment. Specific phrases and collocations occur here and nowhere else, such as ‫שטף ועבר‬, ‫ כלה ונחרצה‬, ‫כלה זעם‬, or the assurance of non-fulfillment ‫—לא תקום ולא תהיה‬all in relation to the king of Assyria, his role in God’s punishing “work” against Israel, his arrogance, cruelty, and ultimate downfall. The dense clustering of unusual locutions borrowed from specific, strategic locations in Isaiah demonstrates that the parallels are neither coincidental nor random, but deliberate and studied. As stated at the outset, while most of these connections between Isaiah and Daniel are routinely observed in the commentaries, one

41 To the depiction of Babylon in chapter 14, compare also Isa 10:12 (“the majestic pride and overbearing arrogance of the king of Assyria”) and Isa 37:23 (“Against whom have you made loud your voice and haughtily raised your eyes?”). This is not the only case of such “typological” representation of the enemy in the composition of Isaiah: “The insertion of chapter 34 reflects a post-exilic development of the identity of the enemy of God’s people (from Babylon to Edom, possibly viewed typologically) and owes its position to the desire to reinterpret the Babylon of chapter 13 in Edomic terms before the main ‘Babylonian’ section of the book in chapters 40–55 is read” (Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah, 220). 42 Note esp. Isa 37:7 ‫( ושמע שמוע‬// 2 Kings 19:7; cf. Isa 28:19) and Dan 11:44 (‫ ;)שמעות‬Ginsberg, “Earliest Interpretation,” 403; von Rad, Theology 2:314; Charles, Daniel, 321; Collins, Daniel, 389; Delcor, Daniel, 251, who also suggests, with Driver, the possible influence of Isa 10:28–34; cf. Bruce, “Earliest Interpretation,” 42; Lester Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 104.

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finds remarkably little discussion as to why these particular sections of Isaiah have been selected as model and source, or how these allusions are designed to function in Daniel.43 To be sure, more attention is given to such matters outside of the commentaries, yet even here much remains unaccounted for. The depiction of latter day kings of the north in the final vision of Daniel has been deliberately shaped after the image of Assyria in Isaiah; of this there can be no doubt. But why is this the case? On what basis have such connections been made and what is the intended semantic or rhetorical effect? By what itinerary does an eighth century prophecy about “Assyria” come to apply to a second century Seleucid ruler? And in this reapplication of language, what is presupposed or claimed about these earlier texts? To these questions we now turn. 2. Explanatory Models Several possibilities have been suggested—or implicitly assumed— to explain why the northern kings in Daniel 11 are shaped after the model of Isaiah’s Assyria. These solutions can be divided into two basic types: those emphasizing geopolitical or linguistic realities, and those foregrounding exegetical factors. 2.1. Geopolitical/Linguistic Some attribute the identification of Syria with Assyria to the wellattested fact that the two terms (“Syria” and “Assyria”) were used more or less interchangeably from the eighth century onward in a variety of linguistic contexts.44 Others emphasize the continuity between Assyria

43 A notable exception that proves this general rule is the use of Isa 26:19 in Dan 12:2–3. Here the implications of linguistic and conceptual dependence have been thoroughly explored, primarily owing to the intense interest of previous scholarship in concepts of resurrection and their development. For a review, see Collins, Daniel, 394–98. 44 A longstanding debate has centered on the linguistic relationship between the terms “Assyria” and “Syria.” In the late nineteenth century Th. Nöldeke demonstrated the essential interchangeability of “Assyria” and “Syria” in Greek sources beginning in the seventh century b.c.e. and argued that the latter is a simple linguistic corruption of the former (“ΑΣΣΥΡΙΟΣ ΣΥΡΙΟΣ ΣΥΡΟΣ,” Hermes 5 [1881]: 443–68). In this view, he was supported in further detail by E. Schwartz (“Einiges über Assyrien, Syrien und Koilesyrien,” Philologus 86 [1931]: 373–99 [= Gesammelte Schriften, 2.240–69]

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of Isaiah’s day and the subsequent kingdoms of “the north”: the Babylonians, the Persians, and eventually the Seleucid rulers of the Hellenistic period.45 This perceived continuity can be attributed to a variety of factors: linguistic, geographic, political, socio-cultural, or some combination of these.46 In any case, the equation Assyria=Syria is well and “Noch einiges über Assyrien und Syrien,” Philologus 87 [1932]: 261–63 = Gesammelte Schriften, 2.270–72], P. Helm (‘Greeks’ in the Neo-Assyrian Levant and ‘Assyria’ in Early Greek Writers [Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1980]), and R. Frye (“Assyria and Syria: Synonyms,” JNES 51 [1992]: 281–85). For Frye, the equation has an ethnolinguistic origin, while Nöldeke and Schwartz had held that the term was originally geopolitical in reference; but all attributed the development to Greek perceptions in a Greek-speaking context. Against this supposition, F. Hitzig had long ago asserted that “wenn assyrisch im Occident für syrisch gesagt wird, so muss dieser Sprachgebrauch vorher im Orient gegolten haben” (Die Psalmen [Leipzig: C. F. Winter, 1865], 2:194), an intuition that has been substantiated by various lines of evidence in recent research. S. Parpola has demonstrated the interchangeability in late seventhcentury Aramaic documents from Assyria (“National and Ethnic Identity in the NeoAssyrian Empire,” JAAS 18 [2004]: 5–22, at 16–17), while R. Rollinger has recently shown the same in an eighth-century bilingual Hieroglyphic Luwian and Phoenician inscription discovered in Çineköy. This proves to his satisfaction that “the original linguistic and historical context was not a Greek or Assyrian one but the multilingual milieu of southern Anatolia and northern Syria at the beginning of the Iron Age” (R. Rollinger, “The Terms ‘Assyria’ and ‘Syria’ Again,” JNES 65 [2006]: 283–87, here 286). R. Steiner and K.Th. Zauzich, on the other hand, conjectured a transmission to Greek through Demotic Egyptian channels (“’Iš(w)r denotes not only Assyria proper, but also Syria=Aram”) (R. C. Steiner, “Why the Aramaic Script was Called ‘Assyrian’ in Hebrew, Greek, and Demotic,” OrNS 62 [1993]: 80–82 [here 81], who notes the change occurs already in the sixth century, and also in Middle Persian [82]). In any case, beginning in the eighth century, both “Assyria” and the shortened form “Syria” are used, whether as a toponym or an ethnonym, “to designate all lands speaking Aramaic, which had become the official language of the Assyrian empire and its successors” (V.A. Hurowitz, “Assyria,” in EDSS 1:68–69 [here 68]; cf. Pauly-Wissowa, RCA ii:4, 1549–50.). 45 “Als Assyrien konnte man das Reich des Seleukos bezeichnen, sofern es von Babylonien seinen Ausgang nahm und das Perserreich fortsetzte, wie dieses das babylonische, letzteres das assyrische, dann insofern es die eben deshalb syrisch gennanten Küstenstriche mit umfaßte. Beides läuft in dem einen zusammen, daß das Reich der Seleuciden den größten Theil der Territorien umspannte, welche einst dem Scepter des Assyrerkönigs unterworfen gewesen waren. Insofern das Reich des Seleukos von Babylonien aus seinen Ursprung nahm, kann es Assur genannt werden, den das babylonische Reich selbst wird als Fortsetzung des assyrischen mit diesem Namen belegt und das persische Reich gab sich als Fortsetzung des babylonischen.” B. Stade, “Deuterozacharja,” ZAW 2 (1882): 275–309 (here 291–92); cf. Hitzig, Psalmen, 194; Montgomery, Daniel, 436 seems to assume a similar solution. 46 Linguistic grounds have included either the defining importance of Aramaic or the derivation of the name As/Syria. Geographic grounds cited include the approximately coextensive domain of Assyrian and Seleucid empires. Political grounds include the fact that subsequent empires present themselves as a continuation of former empire (cf. the Cyrus Cylinder, or the self-styling of Nabonidus or Antiochus III as “King of Assyria”). Socio-cultural factors might include common cultural identity on the

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documented in many sources, possibly including biblical sources outside of Daniel.47 Although Assyrian political power ended with the fall of Nineveh in 612 b.c.e., a second-century Seleucid ruler could still be considered a “king of Assyria.” Thus, from this viewpoint, historical, geopolitical and/or linguistic realities are taken to account for the fact that passages about Assyria (say, Isaiah 8) are applied to Seleucid Syria (e.g., Daniel 11), whether by naïve confusion or deliberate extension.48 2.2. Exegetical A different order of explanation is exemplified by what may be called “exegetical” approaches. According to one such account, the use of Isaiah’s Assyria in Daniel 11 to portray the final enemy is best explained under the conceptual rubric of “midrash,” understood in a broad sense as a mode of Jewish exegesis aimed at “actualizing” the ancient scriptural text by interpretively relating it to events in the time of the reader.49 Others

basis of language, values, religion, etc. S. Parpola argues for a profound perception of continuity with Assyrian identity during the Babylonian and Achaemenid periods, continuing also into the Hellenistic era: “[B]y 600 b.c. the entire vastly expanded country shared the Assyrian identity, which essentially consisted of a common unifying language (Aramaic) and a common religion, culture, and value system. This identity persisted virtually unchanged and was converted into an ethnic identity in the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid periods (600–330 b.c.)” (Parpola, “National and Ethnic Identity,” 5). 47 M. Görg lists several passages under the label “die Fiktion Assur,” “eine noch nach dem Untergang A[ssyria]s verwendete Bezeichnung für Babel (Klgl 5,6), für Persien (Esra 6:22); vgl. auch Mi 7:12 und Sach 10,10f.” (“Assyrien,” in Neues Bibel Lexikon, eds. M. Görg and W. Röllig [Zürich: Benziger, 1991], 1:190–93, here 191). O. Kaiser considers Assyria in Isa 19:23–25 and 27:13 to be a designation of the Seleucid state (Jesaja Kap. 13–39 [1983] 90, 186); cf. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 319. B. Stade, “Deuterozacharja,” 292 and Hitzig, Psalmen, 194 (cf. Hitzig, Daniel, 213) also include Ps 83:9 in this category. On Ezra 6:22, where Darius, King of Persia, is referred to by the title ‫מלך אשור‬, see the comments of Williamson: “If it is correct . . . then we must regard the phrase as a stereotyped description of a foreign ruler. . . . Although it was eventually Babylon who came to have this symbolic value in apocalyptic literature and elsewhere . . .” (Ezra-Nehemiah, 85–86; note the interesting alternative explanation of Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Neh, 133). 48 It is perhaps worth noting, however, that the “king of the north” in Daniel 11 is never explicitly designated ‫מלך אשור‬, as one might expect if this were indeed the primary link. 49 Working with a very broad phenomenological notion of “midrash,” I. L. Seeligmann asserted that “Die jüdische Exegese wurzelt sich im Midrasch und das Ziel des Midrasch ist, den Bibeltext zu aktualisieren, d.h. zu zeigen, dass das alte Bibelwort sich bezieht auf geschichtliche Ereignisse in der Zeit des Erklärers” (“Voraussetzungen,” 170). In a similar way, H. L. Ginsberg argued that these chapters contain a “complete

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suggest the vision of Daniel 10–12 should be understood as a “pesher” of Isaiah—again, using the term vaguely to signify “fulfillment interpretation” of some kind.50 In either case, the basic connection between Isaiah and Daniel is textual and exegetical—regardless of any additional role played by geography, politics, or linguistic realities—and it proceeds from the assumption that the ancient prophetic oracles refer to the contemporary circumstances of the later author. Regarding the background of this mode of interpretation and the motives underlying its application, reference is frequently made to profound religious crisis and persecution.51 On this assessment, then, it was specifically the

midrash” concerned primarily with interpreting the book of Isaiah and showing that events and figures in the Hellenistic era represent the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. He labels this material “Midrash Maskilim” (Ginsberg, ‫ הוספות ותיקונים‬:‫דניאל‬, 949). Neither Ginsberg nor Seeligmann are speaking of formal characteristics of a “genre,” per se, but rather a mode of textual engagement, an interpretive phenomenon (contrast Collins, FOTL: Daniel, 9–10, 100). Note, however, Silberman’s perspective that a fundamental distinction between rabbinic midrash and Qumran pesher turns on precisely the matter of actualization: “The striking difference between the Midrash and the Pesher is found not in structure but in the absence of the contemporizing content in the former” (L. H. Silberman, “Unriddling the Riddle: A Study in the Structure and Language of the Habakkuk Pesher,” RevQ 3 [1961]: 323–64, here 329). 50 “Might not the presentation in Daniel 11 actually be described as a pesher of Isaiah?” (von Rad, Theology, 2:314); cf. A. Szörényi, “Das Buch Daniel, ein kanonisierte Pescher?” in Volume du Congrès: Genève 1965 (Leiden: Brill, 1966), 278–94 (esp. 282); A. Mertens, Das Buch Daniel im Lichte der Texte vom Toten Meer (SBM 12; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1971); 114–41; O. H. Steck, “Weltgeschehen und Gottesvolk im Buche Daniel,” in Kirche: Festschrift für Günther Bornkamm zum 75. Geburtstag, eds. D. Lührmann and G. Strecker (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1980) 53–78 (esp. 68). Clearly “pesher” is not intended by these authors as a formal, generic description when applied to Daniel 11. It seems to serve, rather, to describe content, motive, or interpretive assumptions. On the latter, see K. Elliger’s classic description of the “ganz bestimmtes hermeneutisches Prinzip” underlying the Pesharim: “1. Prophetische Verkündigung hat zum Inhalt das Ende, und 2. Die Gegenwart ist die Endzeit” (Studien zum Habakuk-Kommentar vom Toten Meer [BHT 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953], 150). For reflections on and reservations regarding “pesher” as a literary genre, see Brooke “Qumran Pesher: Towards the Redefinition of a Genre,” RQ 10 (1979–81): 483–503, esp. 503, and the insightful discussion of S. L. Berrin, “Qumran Pesharim,” in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. M. Henze; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 110–33. 51 “Dieses Bestreben zu aktualisieren erhält seine besondere Ausprägung in Zeiten von Krisis und Religionsverfolgung, wenn das Ende aller Dinge bevorzustehen scheint” (“Voraussetzungen,” 170). Ginsberg, too, linked the proliferation of midrashic activity to persecution: “Midrash of this sort, which we can designate ‘last days midrash’ (‫)מדרש אחרית הימים‬, whose clearest characteristic is that it interprets the words of the prophets as regarding contemporary events, was widespread during the persecution of Antiochus. It appears . . . that exegeses such as these were produced in great measure” (Ginsberg, ‫ הוספות ותיקונים‬:‫דניאל‬, 951–52).

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distress of persecution that led the later Danielic author to “believe he was experiencing what the prophets had prophesied” and to create the exegetical connection between former and latter days. Another exegetical account, similar in many ways, posits that the interpretation of Isaiah in Daniel is best understood as “mantological exegesis”—i.e., as the application of a mantic mode of exposition closely related to Mesopotamian divinatory wisdom.52 By this account, ancient prophetic texts were received as opaque omina, not unlike entrails, latent with symbolic data about future days to be decrypted by the mantic skills of the later textual haruspex. The exegetical identification of Assyria with Syria is nothing less than the interpretive decoding of a prophetic enigma or mystery; there need be no obvious connection, therefore, between the early and late referents, between eighth-century Assyria and Hellenistic Syria.53 According to M. Fishbane, a mantic approach to Isaiah’s Assyria oracles was encouraged by their perceived non-fulfillment; and the fact that Isaiah is depicted as “sealing up” his material and awaiting its fulfillment (Isa 8:16–17) provided further encouragement for the Danielic author to decode the true fulfillment in relation to events in his own day.54 In this way, a Hellenistic Syrian king falls heir to the doom prophecies of Assyria. In all these accounts, Daniel 10–12—whether labeled “midrash,” “pesher,” or “mantological exegesis”—is understood as essentially 52 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 443–505. On the general background of mantological exegesis, see James C. VanderKam, “Mantic Wisdom in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 4 (1997): 336–53; H.-P. Müller, “Mantische Weisheit und Apokalyptik,” in Congress Volume: Uppsala 1971 (VTSup 22; Leiden: Brill, 1972), 268–93. Cf. J. Koenig, L’Herméneutique analogique du Judaïsme antique d’après les témoins textuels d’Isaïe (SVT 33; Leiden: Brill, 1982), esp. 44–45. 53 On the role of language and word play in mantic interpretation, however, see S. B. Noegel, Nocturnal Ciphers: The Allusive Language of Dreams in the Ancient Near East (AOS 89; New Haven, Conn.: American Oriental Society, 2007). 54 “[I]t is clear that the author of the apocalyptic scenario in Dan. 11 saw in Syria the fulfillment of old doom prophecies concerning Assyria. If it was the geographical proximity of these two historical states which helped foster his exegetical association, this could hardly have been the decisive factor. More significant, one may presume, was the fact that the great Isaianic oracles against Assyria had not yet been fulfilled. Indeed, the very fact that the latter prophecies had been sealed up (‫ )חתום‬among Isaiah’s disciples (Isa. 8:16b) while the prophet himself ‘awaited (‫ )וחכיתי‬yhwh who has hidden his face’ (v. 17a) may have had special relevance for our apocalyptic author— ֻ ; also v. 4) for a future time, who also sealed up a set of prophecies (cf. 12:9 ‫חתמים‬ and praised those faithful ones who would ‘await’ (12:12, ‫ )המחכה‬their fulfillment amid the purifying tribulations of their suffering (12:10, cf. 11:35)” (Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 491).

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exegetical in nature; it is concerned with the resolution of interpretive problems and the application of ancient texts to the present. As described by Fishbane, the primary interpretive problem is the failure of prophecy, the tension between prediction and reality.55 This then required that the “true” or “actual meaning” of the text be construed as pertaining to the future. He describes this act of reinterpretation in psychological terms as a “coping mechanism” for the cognitive dissonance resulting when steadfast belief in the divine truth of the oracle met with failed expectations. It is, thus, “remedial exegesis” designed to resolve “theological crisis.”56 Naturally, there are grounds for debate regarding the psychological or theological motivations driving the production of this material.57 But in any case it is important to distinguish between underlying motivations and the actual mechanics of the discourse. And in this connection, it must be recognized that the vision in Daniel 10–12 is not overtly presented as exegesis at all.58 This is not to say that the vision fails to reflect interpretations of earlier texts. But the presence of a pattern of borrowed locutions and allusive language does not necessarily translate into a claim regarding the “true meaning” of the referenced texts. To be sure, allusion can serve as a strategy to explain, interpret, or resolve a problem with a source text, and tex-

55 See also J. Wellhausen, “Zur apokalyptischen Literatur,” in Skizzen und Vorarbeiten (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1899), 215–49, here 226–27; R. P. Carroll, When Prophecy Failed: Reactions and Responses to Failure in the Old Testament Prophetic Traditions (New York: Seabury Press, 1979); D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 b.c.–a.d. 100 (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964), 181–83; Knibb (“Wiser than Daniel,” 404–5) also emphasizes non-fulfillment of prophecy as the generative force behind “mantological exegesis,” though he allows for alternative possibilities as well. 56 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 524. 57 E.g., B. S. Childs, “Retrospective Reading of the Old Testament Prophets,” ZAW 108 (1996): 362–77; Henze, “Use of Scripture in Daniel,” 26. 58 Henze, “Use of Scripture in Daniel,” 18. General reservations of this kind regarding Fishbane’s predominantly ‘exegetical’ approach are also found in B. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998), 23, 214; Schultz, Search for Quotation, 226–27. Compare also J. Bergsma’s excellent “The Persian Period as Penitential Era: The ‘Exegetical Logic’ of Daniel 9.1–27,” in Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd (ed. G. Knoppers and L. Grabbe; New York: Continuum / T&T Clark, 2009), 50–64, regarding the much misread Daniel 9 and its “exegetical logic” in relation to Jeremiah. A. Bedenbender (“Jewish Apocalypticism: A Child of Mantic Wisdom?” Henoch 24 [2002]: 189–96) expresses objections specifically to the notion of “mantological exegesis” as applied to Daniel and questions the validity of the comparisons with Mesopotamian materials. Note, however, the critique of M. Knibb, “Enoch Literature and Wisdom Literature,” Henoch 24 (2002): 197–203, esp. 198–99.

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tual borrowing may thus serve as a potential marker of exegesis. But this is only one possibility among many; the motives for and functions of allusion are numerous and diverse.59 What is clear in the present case is that distinct locutions applying in the book of Isaiah to eighthcentury Assyria are borrowed by the author of Daniel to portray a ruler arising centuries later. The present and future are depicted in the idiom of the past. It is an enormous deductive leap to move from this depiction to the claim that “prophecy does not refer to the past, and never did,” or that the prophetic oracles are, by force of psychological or religious distress, suddenly reanalyzed as cryptic omina requiring mantic elucidation.60 The effect of all this is to urge caution when attempting to categorize the nature and function of Daniel 10–12 as exegesis on the basis of the oblique and often subtle indirections of its allusive discourse. 3. Assyria in the Book of Isaiah Though each of these explanations contributes a unique and important facet to understanding the use of Isaiah in Daniel, I would argue that an additional perspective must also be taken into account. Geopolitical or linguistic factors surely played some role in this equation, yet they fail entirely to explain why Isaiah’s specific oracles regarding eighthcentury political and military events were seen as being “fulfilled” in events many centuries later; they only point to a mechanism for relating “Assyria” and “Syria.” The interpretive explanations emphasizing actualization (whether under the guise of “midrash” or “pesher”) have focused most of their efforts on describing motives or social conditions under which exegetical reapplication of earlier prophecies presumably occurred. Fishbane goes further with his “mantological” explanation by arguing that it was specifically the conviction that prior oracles remained unfulfilled that led to the identification with later events. But again, why would, say, the Assyrian threat in Isaiah 8 be perceived as unfulfilled? These previous explanations, I submit, largely fail to take into account the presentation of these materials within the book of Isaiah itself. For, in

59 For some attempts at a typology, see Schultz, Search for Quotation, 192–202; Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture, 18–20; Lyons, From Law to Prophecy, 110–45. 60 Russell, Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 181.

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a word, the broader compositional function of the Assyrian materials within the literary structure of the prophetic book already anticipates many of the later interpretive developments in Daniel.61 In this connection, it is telling that Fishbane describes the author of Daniel 10–12 as an “inheritor” of an “Isaianic fragment in the times of Seleucid oppression”; each text is a hermetically sealed, ominous communication, “cut loose from its original textual moorings” and awaiting decipherment through mantic procedures.62 Yet it is quite clear from the attested usage that the author of Daniel 10–12 was not working with free-floating Isaianic “fragments,” but rather a prophetic book: a complex composition in which a vast array of disparate materials have been brought together and arranged within the framework of overarching structures, arguments, and strategies. The literary design of the whole composition of Isaiah extends God’s judgment upon the people by the hand of Assyria far into the future on the basis of continued sin, while promising ultimate destruction of the enemy and salvation for the righteous among Israel. Though space precludes anything approaching a full treatment here, several aspects of this extension of judgment and future hope warrant specific mention in relation to the concerns of the present essay. One important means by which the scope of Isaiah’s oracles has been extended beyond their initial referent is through the reports of their being written down and “sealed” for a progressively distant future. In 8:16–17, Isaiah and his “children” are depicted as faithfully awaiting the fulfillment of the written word, presumably within his own lifetime. Isaiah 29:11–12 declares that, owing to continued obduracy, “the vision of all this” (‫ )חזות הכל‬is to become as a sealed book— unreadable and incomprehensible to the literate and illiterate alike, until the revelation of its contents. Again, in 30:8, the writing down of prophecy aims for a distant future day (‫ )ליום אחרון‬when the scroll itself must function as a witness in the place of the prophet.63 It is not difficult to see how these depictions in Isaiah of prophetic writing and sealing for the future, combined with the progressive extension of the

61 On this general point, note especially the reflections of R. Clements, “Patterns in the Prophetic Canon,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon, 191–202. 62 Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 489. 63 H. G. M. Williamson, “Hope under Judgement: The Prophets of the Eighth Century b.c.e.,” EQ 72 (2000): 291–306 (here 296).

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future envisioned within the book, might have shaped and guided the reuse of Isaianic material in Daniel 10–12.64 Secondly, it is widely recognized that prophetic words originally attached to a specific historical situation are extended and given broader application through repetition in the book Isaiah.65 Indeed, entire plotlines can be developed in this manner. We have noted above the logical sequence of the “plan” theme as deployed in the early chapters of Isaiah, always in connection with the role and fate of Assyria. Thus, just as the “plan” (‫ )עצה‬of the Syro-Ephraimite alliance is declared doomed in Isa 7:7 (“it shall not stand nor come to pass,” ‫ )לא תקום ולא תהיה‬in view of the Assyrian invasion, so also will the Assyrian stratagems against the people ultimately fail—a lesson for all “peoples and far off lands” (8:10, “plot a plot, it will be frustrated, speak a word, it will not stand!” [‫)]עצו עצה ותפר דברו דבר ולא יקום‬. Finally, God’s purpose to “shatter Assyria” is extended globally in the declaration of Isa 14:26–27. To cite it once more: This is the plan planned (‫ )העצה היעוצה‬against all the earth; and this is the hand that is stretched out (‫ )יד הנטויה‬against all the nations. For the Lord of Hosts has planned, so who can frustrate (‫ ?)יעץ ומי יפר‬And it is his hand that is outstretched, so who can turn it back (‫וידו הנטויה‬ ‫?)ומי ישיבנה‬

This crucial coda to oracles against Babylon/Assyria also represents the culmination of the refrain “in all this, his anger did not turn back, and his hand is still stretched out” (‫בכל זאת לא שב אפו ועוד ידו‬ ‫ נטויה‬5:25; 9:11, 16, 20; 10:4), whose repetition punctuates these early chapters and serves as a connecting thread between disparate oracles. In every previous occurrence, the phrase refers to God’s unrelenting judgment upon his own people, the conclusion of which is celebrated in the song of those restored from exile (cf. 11:11–16): “Your anger has turned (‫ )ישב אפך‬and you have comforted me” (12:1). In 14:26– 27, the conclusion of the next major unit—which, not coincidentally, 64 A point rightly emphasized by both Fishbane (Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 491) and Blenkinsopp (Opening the Sealed Book, 1–27). 65 See, e.g., Clements, “Prophecy as Literature: A Reappraisal,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon, 203–16; “The Immanuel Prophecy of Isaiah 7:10–17 and its Messianic Interpretation” (ibid., 65–77); and “Apocalyptic, Literacy, and the Canonical Tradition” (ibid., 173–81, here 177); Williamson,“Hope under Judgement,” 292. Consider also the names of the children Shear-yashub (7:3; 10:20–22; cf. 11:11, 16) and Immanuel (7:14; 8:8, 10), which are taken to designate both judgment and deliverance.

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stands at the head of Isaiah’s oracles against the nations—God’s anger has shifted to the nations, and the destruction of Assyria is subsumed under a larger plot of divine judgment upon “all the nations.”66 What is accomplished here by explicit declaration is achieved elsewhere by a variety of indirect strategies.67 In chapter 10, for example, the depiction of Assyria’s destruction is concluded in vv. 33–34 with the global language of bringing low the haughty developed in Isa 2:9–22. Assyria is thereby absorbed into a larger pattern and its destruction becomes an exemplary instance from which to extrapolate the destruction of all the proud.68 Similarly, the repeated image of “thorns and thistles” (‫ )שמיר ושית‬in Isa 5:6; 7:23–25; 9:17, which is initially used to depict the devastation wrought by Assyria, becomes an image of Assyria’s destruction in 10:17, and then a model for any potential aggressor in 27:7.69 There are still further means by which oracles originally related to Assyria are extended or shifted in their application within the composition of Isaiah. A classic (if difficult) example is found in the comment in 23:13: (“Behold the land of the Chaldeans! This is the people; it was not Assyria” (‫)הן ארץ כשדים זה העם לא היה אשור‬.70 A similar shift from Assyria to Babylon is achieved not only by the apparent reapplication of an oracle against Assyria to address Babylon in ch. 14 (see above), but also quite clearly by means of the parallel narratives of Ahaz (chapters 7–9) and Hezekiah (36–39), an important concern of which is the deferral of destruction to a later period.71 66 Thus, in the Oracles against the Nations, the “historical judgment of the Assyrians against Judah and Jerusalem in the 8th century (1–12) is seen to foreshadow a much more decisive, global assault (12–27)” (Seitz, “Isaiah,” 482). Cf. Seitz, “The Divine Council: Temporal Transition and New Prophecy in the Book of Isaiah,” JBL 109 (1990): 229–47, here 243. Compare also Isa 19:11–12, 17ff; 23:8–9, which describe God’s “plan” against Egypt first and then Tyre. 67 The formulation of the following argument owes much to Michael Lyons. 68 Clements notes a similar example in Isa 29:5–9 (“Interpretation of Prophecy and the Origin of Apocalyptic,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon, 182–88, here 186). 69 Clements, “Beyond Tradition-History: Deutero-Isaianic Development of First Isaiah’s Themes” (ibid., 78–92; cf. 147). 70 Reading against the masoretic accents. 71 P. R. Ackroyd, “Isaiah 36–39: Structure and Function,” in Von Kanaan bis Kerala: Festschrift für J. P. M. van der Ploeg (ed. W. C. Delsman et al.; AOAT 211; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 3–21; repr. in Studies in the Religious Tradition of the Old Testament (London: SCM, 1987), 105–20. See also Jer 50:18 “Assuredly, thus said the LORD of Hosts, the God of Israel: I will deal with the king of Babylon and his land as I dealt with the king of Assyria.”

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Finally, as Clements has argued, the concept of a “decisive destruction” against “all the land” (‫כלה ונחרצה‬, Isa 10:23; 28:22) is best understood as relating literarily to the commissioning of Isaiah in chapter 6, particularly the answer to his query regarding the temporal extent of judgment (6:11–13).72 This question of the extent of judgment and its correlate, the timing and character of restoration, are clearly among the central issues driving the formation of the book.73 The “decisive destruction,” coextensive with the “outstretched hand” of divine anger and judgment, will culminate in the “end of wrath” (‫)כלה זעם‬, when the yoke of the arrogant oppressor, the erstwhile “rod of [divine] wrath,” is shattered (9:3; 10:26–27; 14:5, 25).74 The fact that, within the larger composition of Isaiah, restoration is progressively deferred and judgment extended far beyond that initially envisioned by the prophet cannot but have had a similar effect on the interpretation of this “decisive destruction” and its relationship to Assyria’s oppressive “yoke” among early readers.75 In view of these strategies in the composition of the prophetic book, it is hardly surprising that the fall of the final enemy in Daniel 11 is depicted in terms of Isaiah’s Assyria. By literary design and by explicit decree (Isa 14:26–27), eighth-century Assyria has been absorbed— already in Isaiah—into a larger, typological role in its capacity as the rod of divine wrath that is itself destined for destruction. As the period of divine judgment is extended historically and restoration deferred, so also is the identity of the agent of wrath expanded—not merely shifted. 72

Clements “Origin of Apocalyptic,” 184. J. Stromberg, Isaiah after Exile: The Author of Third-Isaiah as Reader and Redactor of the Book (Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), esp. 160–74. 74 Clements argues that “Assyria” in Isa 10:24–27 “no longer refers to the imperial power of that name but has become a hidden code name for some later oppressor of Judah. The original situation has been adapted to a later age, probably a very much later one” (“Origin of Apocalyptic,” 176, with reference on 256 n. 13 to O. Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12, 244: “Assyria has become a code name for the world power.”). This extension is certainly possible here, but it is difficult to prove. The obvious connection with 9:3 (cf. 14:25) still fails to remove ambiguity on this point. 75 Cf. especially Isa 10:20–27 and Clements, “Origin of Apocalyptic.” As K. Marti commented on Isaiah 8, “Für Jesaja war Immanuel das Zeichen für die Rettung in der syrisch-ephraimitischen Not und erst nach derselben folgte das Gericht durch Assur; für den Glauben und die Theologie des späteren Judentums [Marti refers here to the later editors of Isa. 7 and 8] ging dem Kommen des Messias und das Heils der letzte Ansturm der Völker voran” (Das Buch Jesaja erklärt [KHC; Freiburg: Mohr Siebeck, 1900], 86). As this last phrase indicates, one is clearly not far from the world of Daniel 10–12 in the editorial presentation of Isaiah’s oracles in the book of Isaiah itself. 73

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Under the conception of a single plan of God governing the judgment and deliverance of his people, the historical particulars of Assyria’s role and fate become features of an archetype, a figure or pattern capable of extension well beyond the seventh-century demise of that empire.76 This allows for multiple historical empires and personalities to be subsumed under a single rubric; and it paves the way for later authors to discover and articulate new literary correspondences with Assyria, based not on genealogy but on functional continuity within the “plan” of God. Thus, this theological postulate sponsors the production of literary analogies with Assyria in subsequent literature.77 Indeed, the author of Daniel was neither the first nor the last to utilize Isaiah’s Assyria as a model for later antagonists.78 By means of its deeply allusive texture, then, the depiction of Hellenistic kings of the north in Daniel 11 presents a theological portrait of the latter day enemies of “the people who know their God”—a portrait that is grounded in the literary strategy and theology of the book called Isaiah.79 Such features of the literary presentation of the prophet and his message strike me as supplying essential evidence for understanding why Isaianic “Assyria” language came to be reused in the manner we find in the book of Daniel. They suggest that the author of Daniel is following hermeneutical trajectories inherent in the composition of his

76 On narrative typology, see Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 372–79; Y. Zakovitch, ‫ מה בין מדרש פנים־מקראי למדרש חוץ־‬:‫צבת בצבת עשויה‬ ‫( מקראי‬Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2009), 132–44. 77 “[I]n a God-ordered world, analogical linkage reveals the shape of history past and to come with the same authority as it governs the contours of the plot in fiction. . . . [T]he moral coherence of the series luminously shows the hand of the divine serializer” M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1987), 114. 78 Note, for example, the portrayal of Gog of Magog in Ezekiel 38–39, which clearly evokes the model of Isaiah’s Assyria (cf. Bruce, “Earliest Old Testament Interpretation,” 38–39; Fishbane Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 477; Tooman, “Transformations,” 72); or the depiction of the “Kittim” in the War Scroll (e.g. 1QM 11:11, “From of old you foretold the moment of the power of your hand against the Kittim: ‘Assyria will fall by the sword of no one, and the sword of nobody will devour it,’ [Isa 31:8]”); cf. Bruce, Biblical Exegesis, 72; Fishbane, “Use, Authority and Interpretation of Mikra at Qumran,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity. (ed. M. J. Mulder and H. Sysling; CRINT 2/1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1988), 339–77 (esp. 374); Hurowitz, “Assyria,” 69. 79 For similar reflections, see Lester, Daniel Evokes Isaiah, 94–95. For an alternative view regarding the theological representation of Antiochus IV, compare J. C. H. Lebram, “König Antiochus im Buch Daniel,” VT 25 (1975): 737–72.

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source. Since the reuse of imagery in Daniel is often perceived as based on “atomistic” exegesis, little attention is typically given to the larger compositional design of the sources. At least with respect to Isaiah, however, the final vision of Daniel appears to represent a much more careful and deliberate engagement with its sources than is usually accounted for. Rather than “atomistic,” the exegetical impulse reflected here seems precisely the opposite. This appears to be the product of studied reflection on a prophetic book (not fragment), with specific attention to its compositional logic—i.e., its structures and patterns, the linguistic shape of individual oracles, their textual sequence, their connection to parallel material, and so forth.80 Such is obviously not what is usually meant by “mantological exegesis.” To be sure, there are transformative strategies at work in the presentation of oracles in the source composition, Isaiah; these transformations and semantic extensions may be considered “mantic” inasmuch as they seek to uncover extended applications in ancient oracles.81 But the object of inquiry for the Danielic author is clearly much larger than the individual oracle. In sum, the literary composition of Isaiah has exerted pressure on its interpretive construal; this pressure is certainly as real a factor for understanding the use of Isaiah in Daniel as the psychological, social, or religious pressures that have been emphasized in previous studies.

80 I take this to be rather strong evidence against assertions like that of J. Barton: “A reading which tries to treat a large and complex book such as Isaiah as forming a closed, unitary whole bears little resemblance at all to the way scriptural books were read in ancient times, and owes much more to modern literary criticism than to ancient modes of understanding Scripture” (Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986], 150; and similar reflections in “What is a Book? Modern Exegesis and the Literary Conventions of Ancient Israel,” in Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel, [ed. J. C. de Moor; Leiden: Brill, 1998], 1–14). In this connection, his declaration that “[t]he theology and thought-forms of Second Temple Judaism are not just slightly different from the theology and thought-forms of the Old Testament, they represent a radically different system articulated on quite fresh lines” and that “[a]nyone who thinks Enoch, or even Daniel, is anything like Isaiah or Amos must be living in a quite different world of thought” (151) must be reconciled somehow with the critical consensus that “the prophetic books are essentially or even entirely post-exilic compositions” (Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996], 9) (emphasis mine). 81 See Clements (“Origin of Apocalyptic,” 176–77; 183–88), who applies Fishbane’s label “mantological exegesis” to the editing and process of expansion of Isaiah itself, “in which one passage has provided a kernel upon which a series of further prophetic revelations has been built up” (188).

THE PARALLEL EDITIONS OF THE OLD GREEK AND MASORETIC TEXT OF DANIEL 5* Eugene Ulrich Then there are texts that appear to be either scriptural writings or slight modifications of them . . .; others occupy points on a spectrum leading from authoritative texts to writings intimately related to them, to works that cite authoritative books, to ones that only allude to scripture or employ scriptural language.1

James VanderKam has provided fundamental contributions as well as numerous insights to the study of the Scriptures, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and related religious writings of the Second Temple period.2 His statement above articulates the concept of a broad and gradated spectrum of types of composition encountered in this literature that—under the umbrella of “rewritten Scripture”—is one of the most important issues currently challenging Scrolls scholars. One set of writings that illustrates such a spectrum is the corpus of Danielic writings.3 In this * It is a pleasure to contribute this essay in honor of Professor James VanderKam, an ideal colleague and long-treasured friend. As a superb scholar and a beloved teacher, he has greatly advanced Jewish and Christian scholarship and immeasurably enriched the lives of generations of students. 1 James C. VanderKam, “To What End? Functions of Scriptural Interpretation in Qumran Texts,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (ed. Peter W. Flint, Emanuel Tov, and James C. VanderKam; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 302–20, esp. 304. See also his “Questions of Canon Viewed through the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Canon Debate (ed. Lee M. McDonald and James A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 91–109. 2 To list but a few of his major contributions: The Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (co-edited with Lawrence Schiffman; New York: Oxford University Press, 2000); The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity (co-authored with Peter Flint; San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002); for the general public, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), with translations into German, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, Polish, and Danish; Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1984); and The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989). 3 For the editions of the scriptural scrolls of Daniel, see Eugene Ulrich, DJD 16:239– 89 and The Biblical Qumran Scrolls: Transcriptions and Textual Variants (VTSup 134; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 755–75; for discussion, see idem, “The Text of Daniel in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Book of Daniel: Composition and Reception (ed. John J. Collins and

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chapter I will cursorily review the scrolls containing Daniel-related traditions and then focus on the phenomenon even within biblical texts: the two parallel editions of Daniel 5 attested in the OG and the MT. In addition to the seven mss of the full scriptural book of Daniel, the Scrolls provide a trajectory of Danielic literature: evidence of possible earlier sources for the book, as well as compositions beyond the book. The Prayer of Nabonidus (4Q242) is widely accepted as a probable source for chapter 4 of Daniel. The small ms 4QDane (4Q116), which most likely contained only the prayer of Dan 9:4–19,4 may provide evidence of another source, a separate prayer that was taken and incorporated into chapter 9.5 Alternatively, it may simply be an “excerpted” ms drawn from the completed book. Esther Eshel suggests, in addition to the Prayer of Nabonidus, that Historical Text A (4Q248; formerly Acts of a Greek King) and column 2 of a Book of Giants manuscript (4Q530) may also have served as sources of the book of Daniel.6 Pseudo-Daniela–c (4Q243–245), and possibly Four Kingdomsa–c (4Q552–553a), represent developments of the wider Danielic traditions, partly similar to the biblical book but also showing differences, especially in the broader scope of Israelite history surveyed.7 But the spectrum is not simply “sources–Scripture–developments”; within the scriptural text itself, there is “rewritten Scripture,” that is, rewritten versions of Daniel 4–6.

Peter W. Flint; Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature 2.2; VTSup 83.2; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 573–85. For editions of the non-scriptural Daniel scrolls see Collins, DJD 22:83–93, and Collins and Flint, DJD 22:95–151; for extensive treatment see Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); and Flint, “The Daniel Tradition at Qumran,” in The Book of Daniel, 329–67. 4 4QDane survives in only seven small fragments with parts of 9:12–17; it is the only Qumran attestation of chapter 9. Its small number of lines per column, estimated at only nine, plus the large size of the letters suggests that it contained only the prayer, in five columns. If it were to contain the entire Book of Daniel, it would require ca. 120 columns; see DJD 16:287 and Pl. XXXVII, and Collins, Daniel: A Commentary, 347–48. 5 See similarly inserted prayers in Daniel 3: The Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Youths, as well as prayers inserted elsewhere: e.g., Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel 2, and David’s song of thanksgiving in 2 Samuel 22. 6 Esther Eshel, “Possible Sources of the book of Daniel,” in The Book of Daniel, 387–94. 7 Scholars have suggested that other compositions, such as the Aramaic Apocryphon (4Q246 apocrDan ar), an Apocalypse in Aramaic on papyrus (4Q489 papApocalypse ar), and another entitled Daniel-Susanna? (4Q551 Account ar, olim DanSuz? ar) were related to the book of Daniel, but the suggestions no longer find favor.

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Though there is a rich Danielic tradition in the centuries leading up to the “Great Divide,”8 the roots go back much earlier. The ca. fourteenth century b.c.e. Canaanite Tale of Aqhat from Ugarit features Danel as a just and wise man, father of Aqhat. Ezekiel (14:14, 20; 28:3) also mentions as early as the sixth century b.c.e. such an already legendary and presumably well-known wise and righteous man. Especially the latter is commonly seen “as the literary ancestor of the hero” of the biblical book.9 It is easy to see why stories such as Susanna and Bel and the Dragon also employed the figure of Daniel as their hero. While preparing the translation of Daniel for the New Revised Standard Version and reflecting on how to establish the text that was to be translated, I noticed the phenomenon of “double literary editions” in Daniel as well as in other biblical books.10 These double literary editions posed a significant question for producing a single-text Bible. In light of the refinements and additional examples of variant editions gained in the intervening two decades, it seems useful to work out in textual detail here my earlier general impressions of these parallel editions. Whereas most variant editions are successive “new and expanded editions,” that is not the situation encountered when comparing the two main witnesses, the MT and the OG, for chapters 4–6. Rather, although for much of chapters 1–2 and 7–12 the MT and OG

8 The term denotes the watershed in the production of Scripture: between the earlier period of developmental composition while the Second Temple stood, and the later period of the single form (not “standardized”) of the Scriptures when further development was not allowed. The time cannot be precisely determined but is sometime between the First Revolt (66–73 c.e.) and the Second Revolt (132–135 c.e.) but not much later. See Shemaryahu Talmon, “The Crystallization of the ‘Canon of Hebrew Scriptures’ in the Light of Biblical Scrolls from Qumran,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries (ed. E. D. Herbert and E. Tov; London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2002), 5–20, esp. 14. For the claim that the MT was not “standardized” but rather was a single form of each book abruptly stopped from further development after the Great Divide, see Eugene Ulrich, “Methodological Reflections on Determining Scriptural Status in First Century Judaism,” in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods (ed. Maxine Grossman; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 145–61. 9 See W. Sibley Towner, “Daniel,” NIDB 2:13. 10 “Double Literary Editions of Biblical Narratives and Reflections on Determining the Form to be Translated,” in Perspectives on the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Walter J. Harrelson (ed. James L. Crenshaw; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1988), 101–16; repr., in Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible (Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 34–50. See also Dean O. Wenthe, “The Old Greek Translation of Daniel 1–6” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Notre Dame, 1991). The present study is my long-delayed, fresh analysis for Dan 5.

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display the same edition,11 for chapters 4–6 they display parallel variant editions.12 It appears that both the MT and the OG are “new and expanded editions” for these chapters, not in comparison with each other, but insofar as they are separate, parallel expansions of a common narrative core which had served as an earlier form of the story (see Appendix below). Thus, we find editorial and scribal creativity not only prior to and subsequent to the biblical book, but we find it also within the biblical book. This is the phenomenon I wish to analyze in this essay. For our purposes here we can pass over in silence considerations of orthography and minor commonplace variants,13 such as routine additions14 and ketîb-qerê;15 the only emendation of the MT below is the excision of the dittography in ‫( מנא מנא‬5:25), which may or may not have been influenced by the ‫ מנא מנה‬in the following verse.16 In the texts provided in the Appendix, the central column lists the words common to both the MT and the OG: words in the MT that

11 Chapter 3 is complicated. The edition with Susanna, Bel and the Dragon, and the Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Jews attested by the OG and Theodotion should be considered an expanded edition. 12 The distinct character of chapters (3)4–6 had already been recognized by August Bludau in Die alexandrinische Übersetzung des Buches Daniel und ihr Verhältnis zum massorethischen Text (BibS 2/2–3; Freiburg im Bresgau: Herder, 1897). Bludau’s analysis was confirmed by James A. Montgomery in The Book of Daniel (ICC; New York: Scribner’s, 1927), 35–39, who concluded that the Greek translator “worked faithfully word by word, especially in the obscure passages” (36). Montgomery’s notes provide “considerable evidence for a translation from a Sem[itic] copy which is responsible for much of the additions, largely midrash, now in [the OG]” (37). For detailed postQumran textual discussions, see Louis F. Hartman and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Book of Daniel (AB; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1978), 74–83; Sharon Pace, Daniel (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, Ga.: Smyth & Helwys, 2008), 11–13; and especially Collins, Daniel: A Commentary, 3–7. 13 I have studied the orthography of the two larger scrolls (4QDana, b) in comparison with the MT in Scrolls and Origins, 148–62, and listed the individual textual variants for all eight of the scriptural scrolls vis-à-vis the MT, the OG, and Theodotion in The Biblical Qumran Scrolls, 755–75, and in “The Text of Daniel,” 575–79. 14 E.g., the MT adds “Belshazzar” (5:2), “king” (5:5), “the diviners” (5:7–8), and “Chaldean” (5:30); the OG adds “opposite King Belshazzar” (5:5), “and fears” (5:6), “all” (5:23), and “the king” (5:29). 15 Both the consistent qerê ‫ =( המניכא‬OG μανιάκην) and the ketîb ‫( המונכא‬5:7, 16, 29) have much of the word correctly; both should probably be emended to ‫המינכא‬ (< hamya–(ha)naka), according to Franz Rosenthal, A Grammar of Biblical Aramaic (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1961), §189 59. 16 For ‫ מנא‬as a dittography see Montgomery, The Book of Daniel, 262, and Collins, Daniel: A Commentary, 250. See similar dittographies in the MT at 2 Sam 6:2 (‫שם‬ ‫ )שם‬and 6:3–4.

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are faithfully translated in the OG. The OG is a translation—closer to free than to literal, but nonetheless faithful—that reflects an Aramaic text that was close to the MT for most of the book but that was simply different from the MT for chapters 4–6.17 In the “MT Pluses” column are words that seem distinctive and at variance from (the Semitic Vorlage of ) the OG, whereas in the “OG Pluses” column are words not found in the MT that the OG translates presumably faithfully from its non-Masoretic Vorlage.18 Thus, the claim of this essay is that the central column of the Appendix contains an earlier, no longer extant, complete core form of the story of Belshazzar’s feast that served as the basis for the two separate, more developed forms of the story transmitted in the MT and in the OG. To that common narrative core the MT and the OG (Vorlage) each added or emphasized distinctive storytelling embellishments to produce their divergent editions.19 In the few seemingly missing spots, especially at verse 9, the core narrative was replaced in both by their distinctive expansions.20 17 For most of the book, the OG shows a free but faithful translation of a Semitic parent text quite similar to the MT. The OG also shows no internal difference in chapters 4–6 from its translation style in the rest of the book. Thus, it should be considered a free but faithful translation of a Semitic parent text that was simply at variance with the MT for the stories in chapters 4–6. The ubiquitous pluralism visible in virtually all scriptural mss and in numerous quotations during the Second Temple period provides a solid basis for a divergent Vorlage. 18 In most cases where it can be determined, the “new and expanded edition” of various books was created at the Hebrew-Aramaic stage, not the Greek stage; see Ulrich, Scrolls and Origins, 42–44. 19 In claiming that the OG of chapter 5 is an intact, and even expanded, edition, I differ from Montgomery (The Book of Daniel, 267), who speaks of it as “considerably abbreviated” in comparison with the MT, a “curtailment,” “a distinct toning down,” and in “no respect . . . preferable” to the MT. He thinks that “it appears to be an intentional abstract. There are but slight clews [sic] suggesting that [OG’s] Semitic text was in like abstract form” (ibid.). In light of evidence, however, such as 4QJerb, 4QDeutq, and 4QSama, and Montgomery’s statement above (n. 12) about “considerable evidence for a translation from a Sem[itic] copy which is responsible for much of the additions,” the claim remains plausible. 20 The complete texts of the MT, the OG, and the core narrative are printed, but at certain points they are shortened by omitting unnecessary words. These symbols are used in the columns: • italics denote words that occur in or are presumed by both traditions, with minor changes due to translation technique or narrative adjustment • ( ) in the Core column denotes a similar expression probably in the original because both MT and OG use it • ( ) in the MT and OG “Pluses” columns marks words already in the Core • [ ] refers to occurrences in a different verse • . . . marks the absence of unnecessary words • Ñ marks the point of insertion for an addition

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Note in the MT and OG “Pluses” columns the distinguishing storytelling embellishments or favorite quasi-Homeric formulae, many of which are more developed in the MT: • the king and his lords and concubines in the MT (1, 2, 3, 9, 10, 23) in contrast to simply his companions in the OG • the gods of gold and silver in the MT (4, 23) in contrast to the idols made with human hands in the OG • more emphasis on royal grandeur in the MT (“the royal palace” 5; “O King, live forever” 10; “gave a command” 29; “proclamation was made” 29) • emphasis in the OG on Daniel’s God (2, 4, 23) • the MT formula: “read the writing and make known the interpretation” vs. the OG “explain the meaning of the writing” (7, 8, 15, 16, 17, 26) • “the spirit of the holy gods” in the MT, not in the OG (11, 14) • various formulations for the diviners and enchanters (7, 8, 11) • the dominant differences: the different reactions of the king, and the expanded speeches Different reactions of the king distinguish the two editions. When the king sees the writings (6), in the OG he naturally gets up quickly and watches the writing, and his companions talk excitedly. In the MT, however, his fearfulness is caricatured, with his knees knocking and with a possible euphemism, his hip-joints or loins loosening. Moreover, though the core narrative relates one time that the king’s face turns pale (6), the MT repeats that fearful reaction twice more (9, 10). The largest expansions, however, are the major speeches by the main characters in vv. 10–24, nearly half the chapter. In the OG the queen briefly reminds the king about the wise Daniel. In the MT she gives an extended speech (10–12); the king, in turn, summoning Daniel, gives an extended introductory speech (13–16), to which Daniel replies with a rather insolent, extended accusatory speech (17–24). The OG adds mainly natural story-telling embellishments, whereas the MT is more expanded with stock formulae and especially lengthy rhetorical speeches by the queen, Belshazzar, and finally Daniel. Thus, subsequent to the one or more scrolls preserved at Qumran that may have served as a source for the book of Daniel, and prior to several more eschatologically developed compositions beyond the scriptural book, there are four variant editions that can be traced

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207

within the biblical book itself. We have seen that the MT of chapter 5 is significantly longer than the OG, producing a somewhat different version of the story. The converse also happens, though space does not permit demonstration: in chapters 4 and 6 the OG is longer than the MT. The least that can be said is that the profile of the three chapters is not consistent. Rather, an analogous process of new and expanded editions produced the different forms of the three chapters. To an earlier core narrative of the three chapters, numerous insertions were added: both minor routine additions and especially larger narrative embellishments that enhanced the stories. Thus, four variant editions of the scriptural Daniel can be distinguished: 1.

the edition logically deduced, though no longer preserved, as the necessary basis for the subsequent pair of parallel editions in chapters 4–6; 2–3. the two parallel editions that can be labeled 2α (the expanded edition in [the Vorlage of ] the OG for 4–6) and 2‫( א‬the expanded edition in the MT for 4–6); 4. the longer edition of the book with the “Additions” (the Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Jews, Susanna, and Bel and the Dragon). With regard to chapters 4–6, for edition 1 there is no ms attestation that survives. For edition 2α the only attestation is in the OG (preserved only in ms 88, Papyrus 967, and the Syro-Hexapla). Edition 2‫ א‬appears in the MT and, to judge from the few remaining variants, in 4QDana, 4QDanb, and 4QDand.21 The final, longer edition of the book, with the “Additions” in chapter 3 and the extra chapters, appears in the OG and Theodotion (and their non-surviving Semitic Vorlagen?); in contrast, 1QDanb and 4QDand attest to the shorter edition 2 as opposed to the longer edition, since they both preserve 3:23 followed immediately by 3:24 without the Prayer and Song. The remaining scrolls, 1QDana, 4QDanc, 4QDane, and 6QpapDan, are not extant for passages where their affiliation could be determined.

21 These scrolls often have individual variants in agreement with the OG that are minor additions beyond the MT, but for the edition they seem to agree with the MT.

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Finally, it should not pass without observation that all the textual copies of the book of Daniel are free of “sectarian variants.” Although the final form of the twelve-chapter book was composed in the turbulent period of the Hellenistic crisis—the general time period in which various Jewish parties, such as the Pharisees and the Essenes, were defining themselves and the Qumran experiment eventually began— none of the variants betray “sectarian” tampering. Moreover, our surviving manuscripts were copied during the following couple centuries, when it must have been tempting to add or revise phrases advantageous to the group producing the copies. But even though clear expansion can be detected at the levels of orthography, individual textual variants (mainly the addition of predictable, neutral words),22 and literary editions, there is no sign of “sectarian” manipulation.”23 The various groups argued and debated vigorously between themselves, and probably even within their own ranks, but the evidence shows that all debate took place outside, not within, the text of the Scriptures.24 Conclusion Insofar as the analysis above is correct, the OG of Daniel 5 and the MT of that chapter represent two separate, parallel editions of that narrative. The most cogent explanation seems to be that there was an earlier version of the narrative that was shorter than the preserved forms and that the OG (or probably the Aramaic Vorlage of the OG) expanded the narrative in certain ways, whereas the precursor of the

22

See notes 13–15 above. See George J. Brooke, “E pluribus unum: Textual Variety and Definitive Interpretation in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their Historical Context (ed. Timothy H. Lim et al.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 107–19; and Eugene Ulrich, “The Absence of ‘Sectarian Variants’ in the Jewish Scriptural Scrolls Found at Qumran,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries (ed. Edward D. Herbert and Emanuel Tov; London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2002), 179–95. 24 The single exception noted thus far does not occur in the Scrolls but in the SPOG-OL and the MT: the placement of Joshua’s altar. In my view 4QJosha, supported by Josephus and Pseudo-Philo, attests the early, neutral account of an altar built at Gilgal, whereas the SP-OG-OL secondarily transfers the altar to Mount Gerizim, and the MT then at a third stage rejects Mount Gerizim, replacing it with the improbable Mount Ebal. The latter two moves would thus be sectarian variants, but not in the scrolls; see Ulrich, Scrolls and Origins, 28. 23

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209

MT expanded it even more fully with different insertions.25 It seems quite unlikely that either would have been produced by excising the pluses in the other.26 What is the larger picture gained, when this small study of the Danielic trajectory of traditions—the sources behind the book (e.g., Prayer of Nabonidus), the variant editions of the book itself, and the subsequent compositions (e.g., Pseudo-Daniela–c)—is joined with the results of the other variant editions of biblical books? The combined manuscript evidence from preserved Qumran sources and other sources preceding the “Great-Divide” (e.g., the Samaritan Pentateuch, the Septuagint, quotations of the Law and the Prophets in the New Testament, the recasting of the biblical narrative in Josephus) sketches a tapestry of developmental composition of the Bible. Based on a variety of oral and written literary sources, the early forms of the biblical texts were composed by Israelite leaders reflecting on God’s action in human affairs. Due to various historical, social, military, or religious changes, the different sets of traditions were intermittently transformed into what we can loosely term “new and expanded editions” of those compositions. The written forms of these compositions were copied as faithfully as possible for new generations until the next edition was produced for analogous reasons. The evidence demonstrates that the evolutionary changes, different for

25 Frank Moore Cross and Shemaryahu Talmon were two of the early, influential contributors to the theory of the history of the biblical text in light of the scrolls. Cross (“The Evolution of a Theory of Local Texts,” in Qumran and the History of the Biblical Text [ed. F. M. Cross and S. Talmon; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1975], 306–20) had suggested a theory of local texts (Palestine, Egypt, and Babylon). Talmon (“The Old Testament Text,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible [ed. P. R. Ackroyd and C. F. Evans; 3 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970], 1.159–99; repr. in Qumran and the History, 1–41) rather offered a socioreligious explanation: that, of the many forms circulating, the rabbis inherited one set of texts (the MT) after the fall of the Temple, while the Christians inherited another (the LXX). Both theories are correct and helpful to a certain extent. The two parallel editions must have developed in different circles at different times; it is quite unlikely that the same group produced both. Also, the rabbis did receive the MT form of Daniel 5, while the Christians eventually received the OG form. But neither view provides a full, causal explanation. There is no indication in the editions to link them with any particular locality; they could have been produced anywhere, even in neighboring towns or in the same town by different groups. Nor is there any theological, groupspecific, or other sectarian clue (other than language) to suggest why the rabbis or the Christians would have chosen their particular edition. Hopefully the theory of variant literary editions comes one step closer to explaining the evidence for Daniel. 26 Montgomery, The Book of Daniel, 267.

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each book or group of books, continued sporadically up to the “Great Divide.” The evolutionary process continued through the late Second Temple period until it was abruptly frozen (not “standardized”) by the results of the two Jewish Revolts and the religious threat of early Christianity.

‫‪old greek and masoretic text of daniel 5‬‬

‫‪211‬‬

‫‪APPENDIX‬‬

‫‪MT Pluses‬‬

‫לרברבנוהי אלף‬ ‫ולקבל אלפא‬ ‫בלשאצר ‪+‬‬

‫‪Core Narrative‬‬

‫‪ 1‬בלשאצר מלכא‬ ‫עבד לחם רב‬ ‫חמרא שתה׃‬ ‫‪ Ñ 2‬אמר‬ ‫בטעם חמרא‬ ‫להיתיה למאני דהבא‬ ‫וכספא‬ ‫די הנפק נבוכדנצר אבוהי‬ ‫מן היכלא די בירושלם‬ ‫וישתון בהון‬

‫מלכא ורברבנוהי‬ ‫שגלתה ולחנתה׃‬

‫‪OG Pluses‬‬

‫‪τοῖς ἑταίροις αὐτοῦ‬‬

‫‪τοῦ οἴκου τοῦ θεοῦ . . .‬‬ ‫‪ἀπὸ Ιερουσαλημ‬‬ ‫‪τοῖς ἑταίροις αὐτοῦ‬‬

‫‪ 3‬באדין היתיו‬ ‫מאני דהבא די הנפקו‬ ‫מן היכלא‬ ‫די בית אלהא די‬ ‫בירושלם‬ ‫ואשתיו בהון‬ ‫מלכא ורברבנוהי‬ ‫שגלתה ולחנתה׃‬ ‫‪ 4‬אשתיו חמרא‬

‫‪4‬‬

‫ושבחו לאלהי‬ ‫‪τὰ χειροποίητα αὐτῶν‬‬

‫דהבא וכספא נחשא‬ ‫פרזלא‬ ‫אעא ואבנא׃‬ ‫‪καὶ τὸν θεὸν τοῦ‬‬ ‫‪αἰῶνος‬‬ ‫‪οὐκ εὐλόγησαν τὸν‬‬ ‫‪ἔχοντα‬‬ ‫‪τὴν ἐξουσίαν τοῦ‬‬ ‫‪πνεύματος αὐτῶν.‬‬

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Table (cont.) OG Pluses

Core Narrative

MT Pluses

‫ בה שעתה נפקו אצבען‬5 ‫די יד אנש וכתבן לקבל‬ ‫נברשתא‬ ‫על גירא די כתל‬ ‫היכלא די מלכא‬

τοῦ οἴκου αὐτοῦ ἔναντι τοῦ βασιλέως Βαλτασαρ

+καὶ ὑπόνοιαι

‫ חזה פס‬Ñ ‫ידה די כתבה׃‬ ‫ אדין מלכא זיוהי שנוהי‬6 ‫ יבהלונה‬Ñ‫ורעינהי‬

+ ‫ומלכא‬

‫וקטרי חרצה משתרין‬ ‫וארכבתה דא לדא‬ ‫נקשן׃‬ ἔσπευσεν οὖν ὁ βασιλεὺς καὶ ἐξανέστη καὶ ἑώρα τὴν γραφὴν ἐκείνην, καὶ οἱ συνέταιροι κύκλῳ αὐτοῦ ἐκαυχῶντο. + καὶ φαρμακοὺς ἀπαγγεῖλαι τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς γραφῆς. καὶ εἰσεπορεύοντο ἐπὶ θεωρίαν ἰδεῖν τὴν γραφήν, καὶ τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς γραφῆς οὐκ ἠδύναντο συγκρῖναι τῷ βασιλεῖ. ἐξέθηκε πρόσταγμα λέγων

‫ קרא מלכא בחיל להעלה‬7 ‫ כשדיא וגזריא‬Ñ‫לאשפיא‬

‫מלכא‬ (‫)אמר‬

‫ענה‬ ‫ואמר‬ ‫לחכימי בבל די‬

ὑποδείξῃ

‫כל אנש די‬ (‫)יקרא‬

‫יקרה כתבה דנה‬ ‫ופשרה יחונני‬

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213

Table (cont.) OG Pluses

Core Narrative

MT Pluses

τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς γραφῆς,

οἱ ἐπαοιδοὶ καὶ φαρμακοὶ καὶ γαζαρηνοὶ, τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς γραφῆς ἀπαγγεῖλαι.

‫ארגונא ילבש‬ ‫והמונכא די דהבא על‬ ‫צוארה‬ ‫ותלתי במלכותא ישלט׃‬ ‫ אדין עללין‬8 (‫)חכימיא‬ ‫ולא כהלין‬ (‫)למקרא‬

‫כל חכימי מלכא‬

‫כתבא למקרא ופשרא‬ ‫להודעה‬ ‫למלכא׃‬

‫ אדין מלכא‬9 ‫בלשאצר שגיא מתבהל‬ ‫וזיוהי שנין עלוהי‬ ‫ורברבנוהי משתבשין׃‬ ἐκάλεσε τὴν βασίλισσαν περὶ τοῦ σημείου καὶ ὑπέδειξεν αὐτῇ, ὡς μέγα ἐστί, καὶ ὅτι πᾶς ἄνθρωπος οὐκ ἐδύνατο ἀπαγγεῖλαι τῷ βασιλεῖ τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς γραφῆς.

(?‫)קרא‬

‫ מלכתא‬10

ἐμνήσθη πρὸς αὐτὸν περὶ τοῦ ∆ανιηλ, ὅς ἦν ἐκ τῆς αἰχμαλωσίας τῆς Ιουδαίας,

(‫)ואמרת‬ (‫)דניאל‬

‫לקבל מלי מלכא‬ ‫ורברבנוהי‬ ‫לבית משתיא עללת‬ ‫ענת מלכתא‬ ‫ואמרת מלכא לעלמין‬ ‫חיי‬ ‫אל יבהלוך רעיונך‬ ‫וזיויך אל ישתנו׃‬ [= MT 12]

‫‪eugene ulrich‬‬

‫‪214‬‬ ‫)‪Table (cont.‬‬

‫‪Core Narrative‬‬

‫‪MT Pluses‬‬ ‫‪11‬‬

‫גבר‬

‫איתי )גבר(‬

‫במלכותך‬ ‫די רוח אלהין קדישין‬ ‫בה‬ ‫וביומי אבוך‬ ‫נהירו )ושכלתנו‬ ‫וחכמה(‬ ‫כחכמת אלהין‬ ‫השתכחת בה‬ ‫ומלכא נבכדנצר אבוך‬ ‫)רב חרטמין(‬ ‫אשפין כשדאין גזרין‬ ‫הקימה‬ ‫אבוך מלכא׃‬

‫ושכלתנו וחכמה‬

‫רב חרטמין‬

‫‪OG Pluses‬‬ ‫‪11 καὶ εἶπε τῷ βασιλεῖ‬‬ ‫)‪(Ὁ ἄνθρωπος‬‬

‫]‪[= OG 12‬‬ ‫‪(ἐπιστήμων ἦν καὶ‬‬ ‫)‪σοφὸς‬‬ ‫‪(καὶ ὑπερέχων πάντας‬‬ ‫)‪τοὺς σοφοὺς‬‬ ‫‪Βαβυλῶνος,‬‬

‫‪ 12‬כל קבל די רוח יתירה‬ ‫‪ . . .‬בה‬ ‫‪καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἡμέραις‬‬ ‫‪τοῦ πατρός σου‬‬ ‫‪τοῦ βασιλέως‬‬

‫]‪[= MT 11‬‬

‫ומנדע ושכלתנו‬ ‫מפשר חלמין‬ ‫ואחוית אחידן )ומשרא‬ ‫קטרין(‬ ‫השתכחת בה בדניאל‬ ‫די מלכא‬ ‫שם שמה בלטשאצר‬ ‫כען דניאל יתקרי‬ ‫ופשרה יהחוה׃‬

‫ומשרא קטרין‬ ‫‪(συγκρίματα ὑπέρογκα‬‬ ‫)‪ὑπέδειξε‬‬ ‫]‪[= OG 10‬‬ ‫‪Ναβουχοδονοσορ τῷ‬‬ ‫‪πατρί σου.‬‬

‫‪ 13‬באדין דניאל העל קדם‬ ‫מלכא‬ ‫ענה מלכא ואמר לדניאל‬ ‫אנתה הוא דניאל די‬ ‫מן בני גלותא‬ ‫די יהוד די היתי מלכא‬ ‫אבי מן יהוד׃‬ ‫‪14‬‬ ‫‪ 14‬ושמעת עליך די‬ ‫רוח אלהין בך‬ ‫ונהירו ושכלתנו וחכמה‬ ‫יתירה‬ ‫השתכחת בך׃‬

‫‪215‬‬

‫‪old greek and masoretic text of daniel 5‬‬ ‫)‪Table (cont.‬‬ ‫‪Core Narrative‬‬

‫‪MT Pluses‬‬

‫‪ 15‬וכען העלו קדמי‬ ‫חכימיא אשפיא‬ ‫די כתבה דנה יקרון‬ ‫ופשרה להודעתני‬ ‫ולא כהלין פשר מלתא‬ ‫להחויה׃‬ ‫‪ 16‬ואנה שמעת עליך ‪16‬‬ ‫די תוכל‬ ‫פשרין למפשר‬ ‫וקטרין למשרא‬ ‫תוכל‬ ‫כען הן )תוכל(‬

‫‪OG Pluses‬‬

‫‪15‬‬

‫כתבא למקרא‬ ‫ופשרה להודעתני‬

‫)למקרא(‬

‫ארגונא תלבש‬ ‫והמונכא די דהבא על‬ ‫צוארך‬ ‫ותלתא במלכותא תשלט׃‬ ‫‪ 17‬באדין ‪ . . .‬דניאל‬

‫)ענה דניאל ואמר קדם‬ ‫מלכא(‬

‫)‪Ὦ ∆ανιηλ, (δύνῃ‬‬ ‫‪μοι ὑποδεῖξαι‬‬

‫ענה )דניאל( ואמר קדם‬ ‫מלכא‬

‫מתנתך לך להוין‬ ‫ונבזביתך לאחרן הב‬ ‫ברם כתבא‬ ‫אקרא למלכא‬ ‫ופשרא אהודענה׃‬ ‫‪ 18‬אנתה מלכא אלהא עליא‬ ‫מלכותא ורבותא ויקרא והדרה יהב לנבכדנצר אבוך׃‬ ‫‪ 19‬ומן רבותא די יהב לה כל עממיא אמיא ולשניא‬ ‫הוו זאעין‬ ‫ודחלין מן קדמוהי די הוה צבא הוא קטל ‪ . . .‬הוה‬ ‫מחא ‪. . .‬‬ ‫הוה מרים ‪ . . .‬הוה משפיל׃‬ ‫‪ 20‬וכדי רם לבבה ורוחה תקפת להזדה הנחת‬ ‫מן כרסא מלכותה ויקרה העדיו מנה׃‬

‫‪τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς‬‬ ‫;‪γραφῆς‬‬

‫‪(τότε ∆ανιηλ) ἔστη‬‬ ‫‪κατέναντι‬‬ ‫‪τῆς γραφῆς καὶ‬‬ ‫‪ἀνέγνω καὶ‬‬ ‫‪(οὕτως ἀπεκρίθη τῷ‬‬ ‫)‪βασιλεῖ‬‬

‫‪eugene ulrich‬‬

‫‪216‬‬ ‫)‪Table (cont.‬‬

‫‪MT Pluses‬‬

‫‪Core Narrative‬‬

‫‪ 21‬ומן בני אנשא טריד ולבבה עם חיותא שוי ועם‬ ‫ערדיא‬ ‫מדורה עשבא כתורין יטעמונה ומטל שמיא גשמה‬ ‫יצטבע‬ ‫עד די ידע די שליט אלהא עליא במלכות אנשא‬ ‫ולמן די יצבה יהקים עליה׃‬ ‫‪ 22‬ואנתה ברה בלשאצר לא השפלת לבבך‬ ‫כל קבל די כל דנה ידעת׃‬ ‫)כתבא(‬ ‫]‪[= MT 25‬‬ ‫]‪[= MT 25‬‬

‫]‪[= MT 26‬‬

‫ועל מרא שמיא‬ ‫התרוממת‬

‫)פשרא(‬

‫‪) 23‬ואנתה מלכא(‬

‫‪OG Pluses‬‬

‫‪(17) Αὕτη ἡ γραφή‬‬ ‫‪Ἠρίθμηται,‬‬ ‫‪κατελογίσθη,‬‬ ‫‪ἐξῆρται‬‬ ‫‪καὶ ἔστη ἡ γράψασα‬‬ ‫‪χείρ.‬‬ ‫‪καὶ αὕτη ἡ σὐγκρισις‬‬ ‫‪αὐτῶν.‬‬ ‫‪βασιλεῦ, σὺ ἐποιήσω‬‬ ‫‪ἑστιατορίαν‬‬ ‫‪τοῖς φίλοις σου καὶ‬‬ ‫‪ἔπινες οἶνον,‬‬

‫ולמאניא די ביתה‬ ‫‪+ τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ζῶντος‬‬

‫היתיו קדמיך‬ ‫ואנתה‬ ‫ורברבניך שגלתך‬ ‫ולחנתך‬

‫‪καὶ οἱ μεγιστᾶνές σου‬‬

‫חמרא שתין בהון‬ ‫‪ Ñ‬ולאלהי‬ ‫כספא ודהבא נחשא‬ ‫פרזלא‬ ‫אעא ואבנא די לא‬ ‫חזין ולא שמעין‬ ‫ולא ידעין‬ ‫שבחת‬ ‫‪Ñ‬ולאלהא‬

‫‪+ πάντα‬‬ ‫‪τὰ χειροποίητα τῶν‬‬ ‫‪ἀνθρώπων‬‬

‫‪+ τῷ ζῶντι οὐκ‬‬ ‫‪εὐλογήσατε‬‬

‫די נשמתך בידה‬ ‫וכל ארחתך לה‬ ‫‪Ñ‬לא הדרת‪:‬‬

‫‪καὶ τὸ βασίλειόν σου‬‬ ‫‪αὐτὸς ἔδωκέ σοι‬‬ ‫‪+ οὐδὲ ᾔνεσας αὐτῷ.‬‬

‫‪old greek and masoretic text of daniel 5‬‬

‫‪217‬‬

‫)‪Table (cont.‬‬ ‫‪MT Pluses‬‬

‫‪ 24‬באדין מן קדמוהי‬ ‫שליח פסא‬ ‫די ידא וכתבא דנה‬ ‫רשים׃‬ ‫ודנה כתבא‬ ‫די רשים‬ ‫מנא תקל ופרסין׃‬ ‫פשר מלתא‬ ‫מנא‬ ‫אלהא‪+‬‬ ‫‪ 27‬תקל תקילתה‬ ‫במאזניא‬ ‫והשתכחת חסיר׃‬ ‫‪ 28‬פרס פריסת‬

‫‪Core Narrative‬‬

‫‪OG Pluses‬‬

‫‪24‬‬

‫‪) 25‬כתבא(‬

‫]‪[= OG 17‬‬ ‫]‪[= OG 17‬‬

‫‪ 26‬דנה‬ ‫)פשרא(‬

‫‪τὸ σύγκριμα τῆς‬‬ ‫‪γραφῆς‬‬

‫מנה‪ Ñ‬מלכותך והשלמה׃‬ ‫‪27 συντέτμηται καὶ‬‬

‫‪27‬‬

‫‪συντετέλεσται‬‬

‫‪28‬‬

‫מלכותך ויהיבת למדי‬ ‫ופרס׃‬ ‫‪ 29‬באדין‬ ‫אמר‪+‬‬

‫בלשאצר‪Ñ‬‬

‫‪+ ὁ βασιλεὺς‬‬

‫והלבישו לדניאל ארגונא‬ ‫והמונכא די דהבא על‬ ‫צוארה‬ ‫והכרזו עלוהי‪+‬‬

‫די להוא שליט תלתא‬ ‫במלכותא׃‬ ‫‪ 30‬בה בליליא קטיל‬ ‫כשדיא׃ ‪+‬‬ ‫‪ 6:1‬ודריוש )מדיא( קבל‬ ‫ )מלכותא(  ‪. . .‬‬

‫‪30‬‬

‫בלאשצר מלכא‪Ñ‬‬

‫מלכותא ‪ . . .‬למדי‬

‫‪30 καὶ τὸ σύγκριμα‬‬ ‫‪ἐπῆλθε‬‬ ‫‪καὶ (τὸ βασίλειον) . . .‬‬ ‫‪ἐδόθη (τοῖς‬‬ ‫‪Μήδοις) . . .‬‬

DANIEL AND THE NARRATIVE INTEGRITY OF HIS PRAYER IN CHAPTER 9* Kindalee Pfremmer De Long In ch. 9 of Daniel, the eponymous hero of the book reads something written by Jeremiah and responds with a lengthy, traditionally-worded penitential and petitionary prayer.1 Many scholars of Daniel have argued that because the prayer differs from the surrounding narrative in terms of content, style, and perspective, it is likely a secondary insertion into the scene.2 In keeping with this view, interpreters have found Daniel’s words of confession to be ill-suited to his opening actions in the chapter, which they construe as a search for understanding about Jeremiah’s seventy years.3 Others, interested in how the prayer functions in its narrative context, have explored how the prayer’s Deuteronomic theology contrasts with the deterministic theology of the visions, concluding that the former corrects the latter or vice versa.4 Alternatively, a recent article suggests that the narrative does not force the audience to choose one of these theological options; rather, in placing the two theologies side by side, it creates something new.5 * It is a pleasure to contribute this essay in appreciation of James VanderKam, an excellent scholar and teacher, from whom I have learned much. I would like to thank him for his helpful comments on an early version of this project. 1 The Hebrew-Aramaic text of Daniel is attested primarily by the MT, but portions of it have been found among the scrolls of the Judean desert. Two Greek versions, the Old Greek (OG) and Theodotian (Th), represent early translations and in some cases differ substantially from the MT. This study will follow the MT. Unless otherwise noted, English translations are from the nrsv. 2 For a survey of research on the issue of the prayer’s integrity in ch. 9, see Paul L. Redditt, “Daniel 9: Its Structure and Meaning,” CBQ 62 (2000): 236–49, here 239– 41. 3 The nrsv, for example, translates this presumed motivation into the scene: “Then I turned to the Lord God, to seek an answer by prayer and supplication with fasting and sackcloth and ashes” (9:3). The words “an answer” are not present in the Hebrew text. 4 E.g., Gerald H. Wilson, “The Prayer of Daniel 9: Reflection on Jeremiah 29,” JSOT 48 (1990): 91–99, esp. 92; John J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 360. 5 Pieter M. Venter, “Daniel 9: A Penitential Prayer in Apocalyptic Garb,” in Seeking the Favor of God. Volume 2: The Development of Penitential Prayer in Second Temple

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kindalee pfremmer de long

The present study will take a different approach to the question of Daniel’s prayer, viewing it through the lens of narrative criticism and focusing particularly on the characterization of Daniel. It will look first at Daniel’s characterization in ch. 9, then guided by that exploration, analyze Daniel in the book as a whole, with attention to narrated time and space, to ambiguity in Daniel’s characterization as interpreter (chs. 1–6), and to complexity in his characterization as dreamer (chs. 7–8).6 This analysis of character will demonstrate that Daniel’s confessional prayer (9:3–19) is a sincere response to prophetic exhortation— expressed in repentance—which sets in motion significant changes for the character of Daniel in the remainder of the narrative (9:21–12:13), including the arrival of true understanding promised previously by God at the end of days. Before turning to this analysis, I offer a brief discussion of the suitability of using a narrative approach to study Daniel. Many historians view the book as a redacted union of two distinct collections of traditions: an originally independent set of traditional court tales, gathered under the name of the legendary hero Daniel (chs. 1–6) and a series of visions written later (chs. 7–12).7 Narrative analysis of Daniel does not require disputing such a diachronic perspective. Rather, if these reconstructions are accurate, the artistry of Daniel can be described with the term montage, used in film studies to refer to a series of once discontinuous (and potentially contrasting) materials carefully and creatively edited into a particular sequence to achieve an overall effect.8 If the

Jerusalem (ed. Mark J. Boda, Daniel K. Falk, and Rodney Alan Werline; SBLEJL 22; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007), 33–49, here 43–44. 6 Daniel 1–6 has been approached through literary criticism in Danna Nolan Fewell, Circle of Sovereignty: A Story of Stories in Daniel 1–6 (Bible and Literature Series 20; Sheffield: Almond, 1988). To my knowledge, no scholar has applied this method to the whole narrative, with regard either to plot or Daniel’s character. 7 E.g., H. L. Ginsberg, Studies in Daniel (Texts and Studies of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America 14; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1948); H. H. Rowley, “The Unity of the Book of Daniel,” HUCA 23 (1950–1951): 233–73; Collins, Daniel, 24–37. Modern interpreters have also explored how various aspects of the book address socio-political realities and religious questions of the mid-second century b.c.e., e.g., on the court tales, W. Lee Humphreys, “A Life-Style for Diaspora: A Study of the Tales of Esther and Daniel,” JBL 92 (1973): 211–23; on the visions, John J. Collins, “Daniel and His Social World,” Int 39 (1985): 131–43. 8 I used the analogy of montage in a 2004 unpublished version of this paper, then later discovered another interpreter who independently used the same terminology to describe the presence of Daniel’s prayer in ch. 9: Venter, “Penitential Prayer,” 43–44.

daniel and the narrative integrity of his prayer

221

technique of montage produces a plot, then it results in a narrative that can be analyzed with the tools of narrative criticism. For plot to exist, a work must contain characters who act in space and time in a way that makes sense to an audience.9 By this definition, Daniel has a plot, as the following analysis will show. Daniel’s Action and Speech in Dan 9:1–19 Narratives convey characterization directly (through the narrator’s description of a character’s qualities) and indirectly (through a character’s action and speech, as well as speech about a character by other characters).10 Thus, to examine Daniel’s character, I begin with an analysis of Daniel’s action and speech in 9:1–19, arguing that if his actions in the chapter are seen clearly, his petitionary speech to God suits its immediate narrative context. But at the same time, his actions and speech raise two questions about how Daniel has been characterized earlier in the narrative. The characterization of Daniel in ch. 9 begins with a description of his actions. From texts (‫ )ספרים‬written by the prophet Jeremiah, Daniel perceives that the devastation of Jerusalem will last seventy years (9:1–3). This description implies, without stating so explicitly, that Daniel also reads these ‫ספרים‬, which raises a basic question: what does Daniel read? Translators usually understand ‫ ספרים‬as a reference to the collected books of the prophets.11 This approach is reasonable

9 The basic building blocks of plot are character, time, and location. While literary theorists often emphasize the first of these three, character is rarely divorced from plot, and plot in turn unfolds in time and space, e.g., Earl Roy Miner, Comparative Poetics: An Intercultural Essay on Theories of Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 149–55. When characters move from one temporal setting to another, there must be enough continuity that the audience can follow them. As one theorist notes, commenting on the work of E. M. Forster, narrative requires “an allegiance to time” (Ken Ireland, The Sequential Dynamics of Narrative: Energies at the Margins of Fiction [Madison, N.J.: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2001], 26); cf. Edward Morgan Forster, Aspects of the Novel (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and Co., 1927; repr. San Diego, 1985), 20. This point is true of spatial setting as well. 10 On techniques for creating and reading character, see William H. Shepherd, The Narrative Function of the Holy Spirit as a Character in Luke-Acts (SBLDS 147; Atlanta: Scholars, 1994), 88. 11 E.g., translating the word as “books” (jps) or “scriptures” (nrsv). The collected books of the prophets are attested to in the Greek prologue to Sirach, normally dated to 132 b.c.e. (Collins, Daniel, 339).

222

kindalee pfremmer de long

with regard to the author of Daniel 9.12 Understanding ‫ ספרים‬this way makes, however, little sense for Daniel as a character because he does not have access to such a collection. Assuming that the author of Daniel aims for verisimilitude with regard to the Babylonian setting, we must envision Daniel as reading ‫ ספרים‬that suit his time and place.13 For Daniel as a character, the most obvious meaning of ‫ ספרים‬is not “books” but “letters”—specifically the two letters sent by Jeremiah to the first group of Babylonian exiles during the reign of Zedekiah—as proposed by Gerald Wilson in 1990.14 In Jeremiah, these letters appear as actual correspondence, with prescripts and details about their delivery, and the first is described with the word ‫( ספר‬Jer 29:1–23; 29:31– 32).15 Moreover, one of Jeremiah’s two references to a seventy-year

12 I use the term “author” to mean the implied author of the whole book of Daniel. In literary studies, the implied author is not the historical person who wrote the text but the voice of the authorial choices made in the text, whether these are intentional or accidental, conscious or unconscious; see, e.g., Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), 74–75. As noted above, the historical “author” may have been a corporate process of retelling, collecting, combining, and redacting stories and visions over many years, perhaps centuries. If so, then the “implied author” would equal the sum of these corporate choices. 13 A number of studies have discussed verisimilitude in the court tales with regard to the Babylonian setting, for example, noting lists of officials and instruments, as well as details about the statue and furnace, e.g., Collins, Daniel, 180–6; Peter W. Coxon, “The ‘List’ Genre and Narrative Style in the Court Tales of Daniel,” JSOT 35 (1986): 95–121; but cf., Hector I. Avalos, “The Comedic Function of the Enumerations of Officials and Instruments in Daniel 3,” CBQ 53 (1991): 580–88. As there is no reason to limit this concern for verisimilitude to the first half of the story, without evidence to the contrary, an audience would assume that the character of Daniel in later chapters also acts within his setting in Babylon, constrained by the physical realities of that time and place (except when he is transported elsewhere by means of a visionary experience). Any option for translating ‫ ספרים‬that coheres with an authorial concern for verisimilitude ought to be carefully considered. 14 I came to this understanding of ‫ ספרים‬independently through character analysis, in an early version of this paper, then subsequently discovered the same argument in Wilson, “Prayer of Daniel.” 15 My argument is not intended to suggest that the author of Daniel knew an independent version of Jeremiah’s letters. The fact of the letters’ historical independence is likely; see e.g., William Lee Holladay, Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chapters 26–52 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 139; Wilson, “Prayer of Daniel,” 94. It is not impossible that historically independent letters inspired the author of Daniel 9. (Wilson makes a case for the historical independence but does not make clear how this point relates to his argument about Jeremiah’s letters in ch. 9.) However, my line of reasoning depends not on the independence of the letters but simply on the fact that the book of Jeremiah depicts them as independent texts sent to exiles in Babylon. Any ancient person familiar with Jeremiah could

daniel and the narrative integrity of his prayer

223

exile appears in the first letter (Jer 29:10).16 Wilson, in making his case that Daniel reads these letters, observes the chronological point that the letters would already have been delivered in Babylon by the temporal setting of ch. 9.17 He also points out parallels between Daniel’s prayer and Jeremiah 29, including similar uses of the name YHWH, attitudes toward Babylon, and emphases on the inscrutability of divine plans.18 Moreover, in the first letter, Jeremiah offers hope to the exiles, anticipating that restoration will come when they seek God in petition: Then when you call upon me and come and pray (‫ )פלל‬to me, I will hear you. When you search (‫ )בקש‬for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the LORD, and I will restore your fortunes . . . and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile. (Jer 29:12–14)

Strikingly, Daniel’s first action after reading the ‫ ספרים‬is to seek God in petition (‫( )לבקש תפלה ותחנונים‬Dan 9:3). Additional evidence is here added in support of Wilson’s argument. The word ‫ספר‬, in plural form, more often refers to letters than to books in Biblical Hebrew.19 Earlier in the narrative of Daniel, two other letters play significant roles (3:31–4:34), thus the appearance of additional pieces of correspondence would cohere with authorial choices. Finally, in addition to the words “seek” and “petition” noted above, Daniel 9–10 contains at least seven other thematic and linguistic parallels with Jer 29:1–23, as demonstrated in Table 1.

have assumed, quite reasonably, that an exile such as Daniel encountered these letters at some point. 16 It reads: “Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place” (Jer 29:10). The other reference appears in Jer 25:11–12. A seventy-year exile also appears in Zech 1:12; 7:8. In 2 Chr 36:21, the narrative implies that this exilic period is fulfilled in the first year of Cyrus, when Cyrus sends the people and temple vessels back to Judah. 17 The letters would have been sent between 597 and 587 b.c.e., whereas Daniel 9 is set in 538 b.c.e., the first year of Darius’ reign; Wilson, “Prayer of Daniel,” 94. 18 Ibid., 94–95 19 E.g., 2 Kgs 2:12; Isa 39:1; Jer 29:25; Esth 1:22; 3:13; 8:10; 9:20, 30; cf., Eccl 12:12.

224

kindalee pfremmer de long Table 1. Jeremiah’s First Letter Compared with Daniel 9–10 Jeremiah 29:1–23

Daniel 9–10

1. 29:12 When the people call (‫)קרא‬

Daniel mentions that the people and the city are called (‫ )קרא‬by the name of God (9:18, 19)20

2. and when they “walk” (‫)הלך‬

Daniel voices a collective confession that he and the people have not walked (‫ )הלך‬in God’s ways (9:10)

3. and when they petition (‫)פלל‬

Daniel voices a petition (‫)תפלה‬ (9:3, 17); the narrator describes him as having petitioned (‫( )פלל‬9:20)

4. God will hear (‫)שמע‬

Repeatedly, Daniel asks God to hear (‫ )שמע‬his petition (9:17, 18, 19); later, God hears (‫ )שמע‬Daniel’s petition (10:12)

5. 29:13 When they search (‫)בקש‬, they will find God

Daniel searches (‫( )בקש‬9:3), and God responds (10:12)

6. if they seek God with all their heart (‫)כי תדרשנ בכל־לבבכם‬

Daniel turns his face toward God (‫( )ואתנה את־פני אל־אדני‬9:3); later, Gabriel describes this action as Daniel having given his heart to understand (‫( )נתת את־לבך להבין‬10:12)

7. 29:14 Then, God will turn (‫)שוב‬ the captivity21

Daniel asks God to turn (‫ )שוב‬God’s anger away from Jerusalem (9:16)

8. and the Lord will gather the exiles from all the nations and “all the places where I have driven you” (‫אל־המקום אשר־‬ ‫)הגליתי אתכם משם‬

Daniel describes the exiles as those in “all the lands to which you have driven them” (‫)בכל־הארצות אשר הדחתם שם‬ (9:7)22

20 The use of the word “call” is the least precise parallel presented in this chart. Although the phrase “who are called by your/his name” does not appear in the letter of Jeremiah, it is a common expression in the book of Jeremiah (7:10, 11, 14, 30; 14:9; 15:16; 25:29; 32:34; 34:15). 21 The phrase ‫ ושבתי את־שביתכם‬can also be understood metaphorically, translated “restore their fortunes” (Jer 29:14). 22 The phrase “where I have driven [them] there” occurs in Deut 30:1 and throughout the book of Jeremiah, 8:3; 16:15; 23:3, 8; 24:9; 29:14, 18; 32:37; 40:12; 43:5; 46:28. Otherwise, it occurs in the MT only in Dan 9:7 and Ezek 4:13.

daniel and the narrative integrity of his prayer

225

Table 1 (cont.) Jeremiah 29:1–23 9. 29:19 because they did not heed my words, says the LORD, when I persistently sent to you my servants the prophets (‫)את־עבדי הנבאים‬

Daniel 9–10 Daniel confesses that the people did not listen “to your servants the prophets” (‫ )אל־עבדיך הנביאים‬and did not obey the laws of God which he set before the people by “his servants the prophets” (‫( )עבדיו הנביאים‬9:6, 10)

In all, the parallels in the table include: (1) calling or being called; (2) walking; (3) praying; (4) hearing; (5) searching; (6) turning toward God; (7) “turning back” captivity or divine anger; (8) exiles in the lands “where God has driven them”; and (9) failure to heed God’s “servants the prophets.”23 Such correspondences offer compelling evidence that Daniel responds to Jeremiah’s letters not only in his action of seeking God through petition but also in his speech (the content of the petition itself ).24 Given these facts, the most reasonable way of understanding Daniel’s actions and speech in ch. 9 is to see him as reading and responding to the letters of Jeremiah. In the first year of Darius, the character Daniel would be approaching old age and the seventy-year exilic period would be drawing to a close.25 If we understand that he reads letters urging exiles to seek the Lord in petition, then the prayer makes good sense as an obedient, confessional response to a prophetic exhortation to “call upon the Lord.”26 In other words, he voices exactly the sort of penitential prayer one might expect if a faithful exile were to read

23 Wilson observes the ninth parallel on the chart. He also notes that the letters anticipate a regathering of God’s people from exile and a restoration of their fortunes (Jer 29:14) and that the “second half of Daniel’s prayer is concerned with this hope,” Wilson, “Prayer of Daniel,” 96. More precisely, the second half of the prayer seeks divine favor and asks God to look upon the desolation of Jerusalem, to hear, and to act, but this language likely also implies the regathering of the exiles, particularly if the audience understands Daniel to be responding to Jeremiah’s letter. 24 As numerous scholars have observed, the prayer also draws upon other sources of inspiration, e.g., Collins, Daniel, 349–50. 25 The historical person of Darius the Mede is unknown. However, in the chronology of the plot, he falls between Belshazzar and Cyrus. Thus, his reign would represent the final stage of Jeremiah’s exilic period. 26 The verb ‫( פלל‬hitpael) refers not to prayer generally, but to petition/lament; see Kindalee Pfremmer De Long, Surprised by God: Praise Responses in the Narrative of Luke-Acts (BZNW 166; New York: de Gruyter, 2009), 22.

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Jeremiah’s letter, take its instruction seriously, and act upon it.27 Moreover, he expects that his sincere response to divine instruction will initiate the restoration of Jerusalem.28 If Daniel is viewed as reading the letters of Jeremiah, this action would be a reasonable motivation for his speech of petition, eliminating the supposed narrative dissonance between what he does and what he says in ch. 9. However, viewing ch. 9 this way raises at least two other questions for understanding Daniel’s character. First, Jeremiah exhorts the exiles to observe certain behaviors in Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. . . . But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” (Jer 29:5–8)

This theme of “life in Babylon” invites a review of the presentation of Daniel’s character in the court tales, where the narrative depicts Daniels as settling into his new life in exile and becoming significantly involved in the life of the city through association with the kings who rule it. To what extent do his actions in the narrative align with Jeremiah’s instructions? Second, Jeremiah’s letter, in no uncertain terms, voices a strong warning about prophets and diviners in Babylon: For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord. (Jer 29:8–9)

Jeremiah’s warning depicts prophetic dreams as the deceptive tools of false prophets—called lunatics and liars—against whom his letters are directed (Jer 29:8–9, 15–19, 21–27, 31–32).

27 The Deuteronomic prayer attributes the punishment and calamity to the curse laid down by God through Moses for breaking the covenant (Dan 9:11–12). It confesses the failure of not entreating the “favor of the Lord our God, turning from our iniquities and reflecting on his fidelity” (9:13). Seeking forgiveness, Daniel requests that God’s anger and wrath would turn away from Jerusalem and concludes with reliance not on the righteousness of the people but on God’s great mercies (9:16–19). 28 His prayer “fulfills the conditions of restoration,” Wilson, “Prayer of Daniel,” 96. Theologically, the restoration depends not on the piety of Daniel but on divine mercy (9:18). Nevertheless, Jeremiah’s letter and Daniel’s petition both expect that seeking God’s mercy will be efficacious, and indeed this is the case, albeit with unexpected results, as will be discussed below.

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The letters’ critique is part of a series of passages in Jeremiah that voice suspicion not only about dreams but also about visions, as demonstrated in Table 2. Jeremiah condemns false prophets for their messages of empty hope—peace (Jer 14:14–15); “all will be well” (23:17); and prediction of quick restoration (27:9, 14–15)—when in fact God’s word urges them to accept the inevitable punishment that is already unfolding.29 These three passages, along with the letters in Jeremiah 29, deny that such prophets are sent by God and characterize them as speaking lies, associated with evil, committing adultery, and practicing deceitfulness. The bad behavior of the false prophets demonstrates their lack of connection with God, a distance underlined by divine declaration that God has neither appointed nor spoken to them.30 Table 2. False Prophecy in Jeremiah Jer 14:13–18 Jer 23:14–32 Jer 27:1–21 Jer 29:1–23 Speak lies (‫)שקר‬ Not sent by God (‫)לא שלחתים‬ Associated with evil (‫רעה‬, ‫רע‬, ‫)רעע‬ Commit adultery (‫)נאף‬ Practice deceitfulness (‫)תרמית‬ Deceive the people (‫)נשא‬

Divine View of False Prophets 14 14, 25, 26, 32 10, 14–16 9, 21, 23, 31 14–15 21, 32 15 9, 31 16

14, 17

11

14 26

23

14

8

Sources of Divine Authority Claimed by False Prophets God’s name (‫)שם‬ 14, 15 25 15 9, 21, 23 Dreams (‫חלם‬, ‫)חלום‬ 25, 28, 32 931 8 Divination (‫)קסם‬ 14 9 8 Visions (‫)חזון‬ 14 16

29 Most interpreters of Jeremiah 29 understand the letters of Jeremiah similarly to be critiquing an unspecified message of false hope, either that the exile will be short or that only a particular people are being punished. 30 This interrelationship of standing in God’s presence, ethics, and true proclamation is most explicit in Jer 23:14–18. 31 Jeremiah 27:9 also lists sorcery and soothsaying as means of claiming divine authority.

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Together, the four passages view dreams (‫חלם‬, ‫ )חלום‬and/or visions (‫ )חזון‬as false claims to divine authority.32 Not surprisingly, then, Jeremiah never describes his own visionary experiences with such vocabulary but rather states that he has received a “word of the Lord” (‫( )דבר־יהוה‬Jer 1:4, 11, 13).33 However, if ch. 9 references Jeremiah’s letters and introduces this negative view of dreams and visions into Daniel’s story, then this allusion is surprising because Daniel 1–8 has repeatedly depicted Daniel not only as interpreting dreams and visions for kings in Babylon but also as dreaming his own dreams and seeing his own visions in Babylon (Dan 2:19; 7:1; 8:2). Jeremiah’s letters thus raise a second question for the audience of Daniel: why has the hero of the story engaged in precisely the sort of activity that Jeremiah rails against?34 Both questions will be addressed below by analyzing Daniel as a character in chs. 1–8. To do so, it is necessary first to place him in narrative time and space, but this task is challenging because time unfolds out of sequence and the narrator creates some ambiguity with regard to physical setting. Thus, the sections below sift through the complexi-

32 The noun “dream” (‫ )חלום‬appears in five verses (Jer 23:27–28, 32; 27:9; 29:8), while the corresponding verb (‫ )חלם‬appears twice (Jer 23:25; 29:8), consistently in the negative context of false prophecy. Similarly, “vision” (‫ )חזון‬always refers to the deceptive visions of false prophets, Jer 14:14; 23:16. 33 Despite assigning the words ‫ חלם‬and ‫ חזון‬pejorative meanings, Jeremiah understands true prophecy to be visionary in nature. For example, only those who truly stand in God’s council will both see and hear God’s word in order to proclaim it reliably, Jer 23:18, 22. Jeremiah himself is called via a God-given vision in which he sees a hand stretch out to him, Jer 1:4–10. This experience is immediately followed by two visions, which Jeremiah “sees well,” Jer 1:12. Compare 1 Sam 3:1, in which the word ‫ חזון‬and the phrase ‫ דבר־יהוה‬appear in parallel construction and passages in other prophetic texts, which describe true visions with ‫חזון‬, e.g., Isa 1:1; 29:7; Hos 12:10; Obad 1:1; Nah 1:1; Hab 2:2. 34 The narrative uses both words to describe the kings’ and Daniel’s dreams and visions. Daniel 1:17 depicts Daniel as having insight into all dreams and visions (‫בכל־‬ ‫)חזון וחלמות‬. Elsewhere, the stem ‫ חלם‬primarily describes the royal dreams and Daniel’s ability to interpret them; in Hebrew, 1:17; 2:1–3; in Aramaic, 2:4–9, 26, 28, 36, 45; 4:2–6, 15–16; 5:12. However, on one occasion, it describes Daniel’s own dream (7:1). By contrast, the Hebrew word ‫ חזון‬and its Aramaic counterpart ‫ חזו‬primarily describe Daniel’s own visions, Hebrew, 8:1, 2, 13, 15, 17, 26; 9:24; 10:14; 11:14; Aramaic, 2:19; 7:1–2, 7, 13, 15. Yet ‫ חזו‬occasionally refers to Nebuchadnezzar’s visions, 2:28, 4:2, 7, 10. In addition, the plural ‫ חזוי‬appears in 4:6, perhaps narrating visions experienced by Nebuchadnezzar (as translated by jps and Th 4:9) but many translators follow Montgomery in understanding the word to be “consider” (‫ )חזו‬rather than “visions.” See Collins, Daniel, 208; James A. Montgomery, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel (ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1927), 228. In 7:20, ‫ חזי‬seems to have the more everyday meaning of “appearance.”

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ties of the plot to locate Daniel in time and space before turning to his characterization as interpreter (chs. 1–8) and dreamer (chs. 7–8). Daniel in Narrated Time Since Daniel’s visions open mysterious windows into the future, perhaps the disorienting sequentiality of the larger narrative suits its subject. The nonlinear plot jumps forward and backward in time; the narrator creates unexplained gaps in time; and scenes begun in medias res can be comprehended only in retrospect.35 In literary studies, critics have developed a method for studying nonlinear narratives: they compare the sequence of the plot as it unfolds in the narrative (syuzhet, presented plot, narrative discourse) with events reordered chronologically according to narrated time ( fabula, linear plot, story) in order to gain insight into the way a narrative develops plot and character.36 I employ this method below.37 Table 3 summarizes the syuzhet (presented plot) of Daniel, which proceeds in a series of ten episodes that largely follow the chapter divisions of the MT. Time is marked almost exclusively in reference to the reigns of four kings, three of whom appear also as characters in chs. 1–6 but not in chs. 7–11.38 Although interpreters often read Daniel’s experiences (primarily visions) in the later chapters as divorced

35 Many studies have focused on temporality in Daniel, but these have examined external constitutive time, seeking to reconcile the time references in the narrative with those outside it. 36 Ireland, Sequential Dynamics, 37–48. For example, if in the reordered plot two events happen at the same moment but one is revealed significantly later in the nonlinear, presented plot, the second event may reinterpret, redefine, or even overturn the a reader’s perspective of the first. For an application of this method to Susanna and Bel and the Dragon, see Marti J. Steussy, Gardens in Babylon: Narrative and Faith in the Greek Legends of Daniel (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993). 37 Criticisms have been raised against applying modern literary methods to ancient literature. However, it seems appropriate to use methods that suit the type of literature being studied. In terms of sequentiality, the plot of Daniel is akin to a modern nonlinear novel. 38 The four kings are Nebuchadnezzar (1:1, 2:1); Belshazzar (5:1, 7:1, 8:1); Darius (6:1, 9:1); and Cyrus (10:1). One time marker is tied to the reign of Jehoiakim of Judah, linking the sequentiality of time inside the narrative with time outside it (1:1). In addition to the time indicators listed in the table, two summary statements that locate the character of Daniel temporally. At 1:21, the audience learns that “Daniel is until the first year of King Cyrus.” In 6:29, the narrator states more generally that Daniel prospered during the reigns of Darius and Cyrus, without mentioning a specific year of Cyrus’ reign. The more specific of the two time summaries (1:21) frames the action of the plot in chs. 1–9, but chs. 10–12 lie outside this summary of time.

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from their narrative contexts, the author makes an effort to integrate Daniel’s actions into the overarching temporal scheme of the plot. Table 3. Time in the Presented Plot (Syuzhet) of Daniel Episode

Description

Monarchial Period

1

The narrator introduces Daniel.

1:1–21

Nebuchadnezzar

2

Nebuchadnezzar dreams (#1); Daniel reveals and interprets.

2:1–49

Nebuchadnezzar

3

God delivers the three from the furnace.

3:1–30

Nebuchadnezzar

4

Nebuchadnezzar dreams 3:31–4:34 (#2); Daniel interprets; knowledge of God reaches the whole world.

Nebuchadnezzar Within episode four:

5

A hand writes; Daniel interprets.

5:1–30

Belshazzar

6

God delivers Daniel from the den of lions.

6:1–29

Darius

7

Daniel dreams (#1) and writes down the dream.

7:1–28

Belshazzar

8

Daniel dreams (#2); Gabriel interprets; Daniel does not understand.

8:1–27

Belshazzar

9

Daniel reads and seeks God; Gabriel again interprets dream #2; Daniel understands.

9:1–27

Darius

An unidentified angelic being reveals the truth to Daniel; Daniel does not understand (ultimately) for the words are sealed.

10:1–12:13 Cyrus

10

(A) letter with three time periods (3:31–4:15): (A1) time of writing, (A2) time of interaction with Daniel (A3) king’s dream (B) narrator describes Daniel’s response to the dream (4:16) (C) Daniel’s speech (4:17–24) (D) narrator describes Nebuchadnezzar’s punishment (4:25–30) (E) letter: time of writing (4:31–34).

Even so, the narrator defines the time of ch. 10 with reference to the king: the events occur in the third year of Cyrus.

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Table 4 presents the rearrangement of the plot to show its “story” ( fabula). As the table illustrates, the presented plot is largely linear in chs. 1–4 (the time of Nebuchadnezzar) and in ch. 10 (the time of Cyrus), with the exception of the notoriously difficult presentation of time in ch. 4.39 During the time of Belshazzar and Darius, the plot proceeds, however, in nonlinear fashion. Rearranged according to the fabula, Daniel’s experiences during the reigns of these two kings are as follows: • Daniel dreams about four beasts and the heavenly court (ch. 7) • He experiences a vision of a ram and goat, and Gabriel appears (ch. 8) • He interprets the writing on the wall (ch. 5) • He petitions God, is thrown in with the lions, and is rescued by God (ch. 6) • Around the same time, he reads, petitions God, and interacts again with Gabriel (ch. 9)

39 While chs. 3 and 4 are imprecise with regard to temporal setting, the plot suggests that episode three follows episode two, as will be discussed below. Episode four must also follow episode two (and thus probably also episode three), because the king in ch. 4 knows about Daniel’s ability to interpret dreams (knowledge gained in ch. 2). The sequentiality within episode four is complex and disorienting, thus I have presented its syuzhet and fabula in more detail in Tables 2 and 3. Episode four opens with the text of a letter sent by Nebuchadnezzar to his subject peoples, which states his intent to narrate his experience of the signs and wonders of the God of Israel (3:31–4:14). The author then breaks into Nebuchadnezzar’s detailed first-person account of the dream (4:1–15) with a brief third-person narration about Daniel (4:16) and then direct speech from Daniel (4:17–24) recounting the dream’s interpretation. At verse 25, third-person narration moves the action rapidly forward eight years: twelve months from the time of the dream to its fulfillment and another seven years to the completion of the king’s punishment (4:25–30). At 4:31, the device of the letter resumes, concluding with the king’s description of his restoration and his praise of the king of heaven (4:31–34). When the scene begins, the king’s letter provides no clue that time has passed since the end of scene three. Thus the audience might reasonably conclude that Nebuchadnezzar means to retell either or both of the stories of miraculous revelation and deliverance previously narrated. However, using flashback, the king’s letter surprisingly tells a new story. By the end of the scene, eight years have passed—without comment by the narrator—between verses 3:29 and 3:31. The epistolary framing device proves temporally disorienting, creating an unsettling gap in time that becomes clear only in retrospect. The plot of ch. 4 is more linear in the Greek versions, but a comparison lies beyond the scope of this project.

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kindalee pfremmer de long Table 4. Time in the Linear Plot (Fabula) of Daniel Episodes 1 2 3 4

Time Periods Nebuchadnezzar Year three of Jehoiakim, king of Judah Year two of Nebuchadnezzar Unspecified time following episode two Unspecified time following episode three (A3) unspecified time following episode three (A2) shortly thereafter (B) one additional hour (C) a few additional minutes (D) events occur between C and A1 (A1) eight years after A3 (E) eight years after A3

7 8 5

Belshazzar Year one of Belshazzar Year three of Belshazzar The end of Belshazzar’s reign

6 9

Darius Sometime near the beginning of Darius’ reign40 Year one of Darius

10

Cyrus Year three of Cyrus

As the table shows, chs. 6 and 9 converge temporally in the fabula, so that Daniel experiences his dramatic rescue from the den of lions around the same time that he reads Jeremiah’s letter. In addition, at 1:21 the audience learns that “Daniel is until the first year of King Cyrus” but ch. 10 occurs in the third year of Cyrus. Thus, ch. 10 lies outside the timeframe established at the beginning of the story. Both of these temporal aspects of the plot suggest that ch. 9 is an important moment in the narrative.

40 Darius sets up satraps over the provinces in the beginning of scene six, an activity that an audience would expect to happen near the beginning of his reign.

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Daniel in Narrated Space Location is not as critical to plot as time or character, but it is significant. What are the physical settings of the action of Daniel?41 In response to this question, this section argues that after leaving Judah, the character Daniel arrives in Babylon and remains there in the service of four successive kings until the first year of Cyrus (chs. 1–9). Daniel leaves the city only in ch. 10, which depicts him standing on the banks of the Tigris River (10:1). Thus, the action in ch. 9 precedes a distinctive shift in narrative setting, again suggesting that it serves as a turning point in the plot. To begin an analysis of Daniel’s location, it should be noted that although the narrative constantly implies that its hero resides in the city of Babylon, the narrator never actually describes his location as “in Babylon.” Daniel arrives, rather, in the “land of Shinar” (1:2). Most often, Daniel’s location in the capital city is known by references to imperial buildings: the palace, court, or treasury.42 Nine times, the narrator describes court officials interacting with Daniel as being “of Babylon.” 43 Only once is the setting directly defined as being in Babylon, in flashback when Nebuchadnezzar recalls the fateful moment eight years earlier when he overlooked the city with pride, but Daniel is absent from this scene (4:26–27). With skill the author places Daniel in Babylon for nine chapters without ever saying as much. This geographic reticence on the part of the author contrasts markedly with other texts that focus on exile in Babylon.44

41 Surprisingly, the narrative settings have not received much attention in commentaries. Collins, for example, writes often of the “setting” of the stories in Daniel, but by this term, he means the provenance of the traditions within Daniel not the narrative settings within the story itself. 42 Five times in the tales, the setting is the palace of the king (‫)היכל‬, Dan 1:4; 4:1; 4:26; 5:5; 6:18. One reference each is made to the treasury (‫ )אוצר‬and gate (‫ )תרע‬of the king, Dan 1:2; 2:49. Most often, the narrator describes the setting simply as the presence of the king (Heb. ‫ ;לפני המלך‬Aram. ‫)קדם מלכא‬, e.g., Dan 1:5, 19; 2:2, 10–11, 24–25, 27, 36; 3:13; 5:13; 6:13–14, 23. 43 Dan 1:1; 2:12, 14, 18, 24, 48; 4:3; 5:7; 7:1. 44 Jeremiah, for example, describes the exile in Babylon much more directly: Nebuchadnezzar carried the vessels “to Babylon” and took Judeans “into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon” (28:3; 29:1). Other texts are equally straightforward, e.g., Mic 4:10; Ezek 12:13; 17:12; 2 Chr 36:7–20; Ezra 2:1. Esther is also geographically specific, albeit to a different location in exile, e.g., Esth 1:1–2; 2:5–6.

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Despite this indirectness, it is clear that Daniel is in Babylon in chs. 1–2. The periphrastic “land of Shinar” serves as a “traditional name for Babylon.”45 Daniel enters the service of Nebuchadnezzar in his capital city, where an official of the king’s court, the chief eunuch, plays a significant role (1:2–5, 7–11, 18–19). As noted above, a summary statement toward the end of ch. 1 indicates that “Daniel was until the first year of Cyrus” (‫( )ויהי דניאל עד־שנת אחת לכורש המלך‬1:21). This ambiguous phrase could describe Daniel’s life span as a whole (indicating time) or his residence in the royal court (indicating time and place). The first option would require a fairly major oversight on the part of redactors, for later in the narrative, Daniel is still alive in the third year of Cyrus (10:1). Thus, most translators opt for the spatialand-temporal meanings. For example, Collins translates the phrase as: “Daniel continued [at court] until the first year of King Cyrus.”46 This translation coheres with the larger plot of narrative, because as we shall see Daniel is not depicted outside of Babylon until the third year of Cyrus.47 In ch. 2 the narrator provides no indication that the setting has changed, so readers must assume that Daniel continues to reside in Babylon. This impression is strengthened by depictions of Daniel maintaining a separate residence near the king’s court (2:17; cf. 6:10), interacting frequently with the “wise men of Babylon” (2:12, 13, 18, 24,

45 Collins, Daniel, 134; Ran Zadok, “The Origin of the Name Shinar,” ZA 74 (1984): 240–44. By choosing this name, the narrator alludes to earlier literature, in particular the story of the tower with its top in the heavens (‫ )ראשו בשמים‬built by the descendents of Ham and Nimrod on the plain (‫ )בקעה‬of Shinar called Babel (Gen 10:10; 11:2–4, 9). This manner of describing Babylon connects the setting of the present story with a tale set in the primeval past. It also foreshadows the narrative’s third and fourth episodes, in which the king of “Babel” dreams of himself as a tree, with a height reaching to the heavens (‫ )ורומה ימטא לשמיא‬and builds a massive statue on a plain (‫ )בקעה‬in a province of Babel (3:1; 4:11). 46 Collins, Daniel, 145. The structure of the summary statement invites comparison with two analogous passages in Jeremiah, which speak of the vessels of the Lord and Zedekiah, respectively, being taken to Babylon and staying there until the Lord visits (‫ )פקד‬them: in Jer 27:22, “and there they will be, until the day Ι visit them” (‫ושמה‬ ‫ )יהיו עד יום פקדי אתם‬and in Jer 32:6, “and there he will be, until the day I visit him” (‫)ושם יהיה עד־פקדי אתו‬. In Daniel, the key spatial term “there” (‫ )שם‬is absent. Nevertheless, a spatial reading of 1:21 appears linguistically possible, given the parallel phrasing of these three verses. The use of the verb “to be” followed by the preposition “until” is relatively infrequent in the MT. The phrase means “while” in 1 Sam 14:19 and “shortly” in 1 Kgs 18:45. It is used in a purely temporal sense in 2 Chr 15:19 and Ezek 21:27. 47 On his location in Susa in ch. 8, see the discussion below.

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48), and along with Arioch, going into and out of the king’s presence, understood as his court (2:14, 16, 25).48 Commentators tend to regard the setting of ch. 3, in which Daniel does not appear, as Babylon. However, several factors argue against this. First, the narrator sets up a change of locale at the end of ch. 2. In Daniel’s first action as ruler over the whole province of Babylon (‫)על כל־מדינת בבל‬, he seeks a promotion for his three friends, who receive rule over the affairs of a/the province of Babylon (‫על עבידתא‬ ‫( )די מדינת בבל‬2:48–49). This contrasting description of roles suggests that Daniel acquires a position of authority in the central government, while his friends receive responsibility for more specific concerns.49 By further describing Daniel as remaining at the gate or court of the king (‫)בתרע מלכא‬, the narrative implies that the friends’ new role removes them from the capital city to oversee certain provincial affairs (2:49). Thus, when Nebuchadnezzar sets up a statue on the plain of Dura, they find themselves summoned to this location along with other provincial officials (3:1–3).50 Second, the narrator strengthens this sense of a provincial setting by distinctive and frequent use of the word “province” throughout ch. 3.51 Third, it would be jarring, on a narrative level, if Daniel were not to appear in a story about the peril of his friends set in the city where he resides. By contrast, a provincial setting explains both why Daniel does not appear in this scene, as well as why the three friends disappear from the rest of the story after ch. 3.52

48

Daniel’s house appears as a setting in 2:17 and 6:10. By contrast, Babylon is the “house” of the king’s majesty, 4:27. 49 Because the word province is in construct with “Babylon,” it is impossible to know if the narrator intends to specify a single province or “the province”; see Franz Rosenthal, A Grammar of Biblical Aramaic (5; Porta Linguarum Orientalium / Neue Serie; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995), 28, 46, 47. Nevertheless, Rosenthal sees the narrator as distinguishing between the governing roles of Daniel and his friends (central vs. provincial), and he suggests that the word ‫ די‬in the phrase in 2:49 could indicate that the author intended “province” to be in an absolute state (ibid., 48). 50 Collins writes that the word “Dura” adds local color to the story (Collins, Daniel, 182), but the word also narrates location: a plain outside the capital city. 51 The word “province” appears twice at the end of ch. 2; five times in ch. 3 (3:1–3, 12, 30), and nowhere else in Daniel. The king requires worship of the statue not from the palace officials who appear in chs. 1 and 2 but from officials of the provinces (‫וכל‬ ‫( )שלטני מדינתא‬3:2–3). The accusation directed at the three friends specifies their role as provincial leaders (3:12), and in the end, the king promotes them in “a province of Babylon” (3:30). In contrast with other scenes, ch. 3 contains no references to the temple, court, or palace of the king. 52 The disappearance of Daniel in ch. 3 is explained in modern times by the hypothesis that the story in chapter three circulated separately and was only later joined with

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The fourth episode (3:31–4:37) opens in medias res, beginning with the framing device of a letter written by Nebuchadnezzar that narrates a story set at least eight years earlier in his palace (‫( )היכל‬4:1). Since the narrator does not indicate a change in location, the setting seems to be the royal residence in Babylon, an impression confirmed in a scene set a year later, in which the king stands on the palace roof looking over Babylon (4:29). When the action shifts to a time one year later, the king’s speech specifies Babylon as the setting.53 While the king’s arrogant words trigger several changes of location for Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel disappears from the action for at least eight years. Tracing the fabula, we turn to the reign of Belshazzar, when Daniel reappears. While in the reordered plot chs. 7 and 8 occur before ch. 5, in the presented plot ch. 5 establishes the setting of Belshazzar’s reign because the audience experiences this episode first. The chapter begins in the king’s palace, earlier associated with Babylon (5:5). Belshazzar also brings out the vessels of the Jerusalem temple (5:2–3), which the audience knows have been deposited in the temple of Babylon (1:2). Thus, when the audience is presented with Daniel’s dream in ch. 7, the assumption is that it occurs in Babylon, his normal place of residence. In ch. 8, however, Daniel sees himself standing by the river Ulai in Susa in the province of Elam (8:1). If this geographic reference is literal then the audience must envision Daniel outside of Babylon. However, the language of the passage strongly suggests that Daniel’s journey to Susa occurs on the visionary rather than physical plane. The vision begins before Daniel describes himself by the river (8:1). In addition, his statement, “I was near the river Ulai,” is preceded by three clauses that repeatedly emphasize his visionary experience (8:2).54

the surrounding stories, Collins, Daniel, 193. However, such a perspective does not solve the problem on a narrative level. The ancient commentator Hippolytus, who views the setting in ch. 3 to be the same as in ch. 2, notices Daniel’s absence and explains: “Daniel, though he stood at a distance and kept silence, encouraged them to be of good cheer as he smiled to them. And he rejoiced also himself at the witness they bore, understanding, as he did, that the three youths would receive a crown in triumph over the devil,” Scholia on Daniel 3:16 (ANF 5.188). 53 The king walks upon the roof of his palace, overlooks the city, and asks, “Is this not magnificent Babylon, which I have built as a royal capital by my mighty power and for my glorious majesty?” (Dan 4:28). 54 In 8:2, Daniel uses the verb “to see” (‫ )ראה‬three times and the noun “vision” (‫ )חזון‬twice, but some scholars attribute a measure of this repetition to dittography,

daniel and the narrative integrity of his prayer ‫חזון נראה אלי‬ ‫ואראה בחזון‬ ‫ויהי בראתי‬ ‫ואני בשושן הבירה‬ ‫אשר בעילם המדינה‬ ‫ואראה בחזון‬ ‫ואני הייתי אל־אובל אולי‬

237

A vision appeared to me . . . (8:1) And I looked upon the vision and it was when I was seeing and I was in Susa in the palace which is in the province Elam and I looked upon the vision and I was near the river Ulai (8:2)

A comparison with ch. 10 makes this point even clearer: ‫ואני הייתי על יד הנהר הגדול‬ ‫הוא חדקל‬ ‫ואשא את־עיני וארא והנה‬ ‫איש אחד לבוש בדים‬

And I was near the bank of the great river, that is, the Tigris And I looked up and saw a man clothed in white linen (10:4b–5a)

In ch. 10, in contrast with ch. 8, Daniel states simply that he stands near the Tigris River before his vision begins. Because the journey to Susa occurs within the vision, Daniel does not leave Babylon in ch. 8. In the episodes set in the time Darius the Mede, the narrator again provides no clue that the setting has changed. The new king receives the kingdom (‫ )קבל מלכותא‬from his predecessor as Daniel predicted earlier (6:1). Throughout ch. 6, the narrator consistently refers to Darius’ dominion generically as “the kingdom” (6:2, 4, 5, 8, 27, 29). From previous scenes, the audience recognizes the settings of Daniel’s house and the king’s palace as located in Babylon (6:11, 19).55 Thus, despite one reference to a “law of the Medes and the Persians,” the story offers no evidence that Daniel has moved to any place other than his residence from the beginning of the story: Babylon. In ch. 9, the narrator reminds the audience that Darius has been made king over the kingdom of the Chaldeans (‫( )המלך על מלכות כשדים‬9:1). Thus, Daniel still resides in Babylon when he reads Jeremiah’s letter and offers his petition. But in ch. 10, set during the reign of Cyrus, Daniel’s location changes: he stands on the banks of “the great river, that is, the Tigris” (10:4). If taken at face value, this description situates the character of

e.g., Collins, Daniel, 328. However, even if the repeated phrase “I saw in the vision” is not original, the speech still places the location in Susa within the vision. 55 Daniel’s house appears as a setting in 2:7, and the king’s palace (‫)היכל‬, in 4:1, 26; 5:5. Such a suggestion does not stretch too far the sense of verisimilitude in the narrative. The Persians, for example, kept four palaces, and one was located in Babylon.

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Daniel for the first time outside of Babylon.56 We have also seen that the narrator’s summary statement in 1:21 defines the parameters of Daniel’s career in Babylon as lasting until the first year of Cyrus. Combining the spatial details in 1:21 and 10:4 with those that occur in between, the audience sees Daniel serving four kings in the “land of Shinar” (chs. 1–9) and then leaving Babylon after his petition in ch. 9, before he experiences the climactic vision set in the third year of Cyrus. This investigation of Daniel in time and space thus points to ch. 9 as a key turning point for him: leaving his long residence in Babylon, he moves, for the first time in the story, out of the shadow of the royal palace to stand somewhere in Assyria, where he experiences the final vision toward which the entire story has been building. That ch. 9 marks a turning point for Daniel becomes even clearer upon consideration of his characterization as interpreter and dreamer. Daniel, Interpreter for God and Empire (chs. 1–6) In chs. 1–6, descriptions of Daniel characterize him as a man whose connection with God enables accurate interpretation of dreams and visions.57 Daniel’s own actions and speech cohere with this picture, but as the story progresses, they also reveal two plot cycles in which Daniel’s intimacy with power in Babylon produces ambiguous results: it leads to praise of God by foreign kings, but it also brings great danger to Daniel and his friends. Direct characterization of Daniel by the narrator depicts him in an entirely positive way. A learned, able, and wise member of royalty, Daniel has unique insight into all visions and dreams (1:3–4, 17, 20), and his plans succeed because God gives Daniel “mercy and compassion” before palace officials (1:15). In ch. 2, Daniel responds prudently

56 The tendency among commentators has been to resist accepting the location at face value. Because the “great river” usually designates the Euphrates, this verse— without the qualifying phrase ‫—הוא חדקל‬would locate Daniel still in Babylon. Thus, some have identified the phrase “that is, the Tigris” as an ancient gloss; André Lacocque, The Book of Daniel (trans. David Pellauer; Atlanta: John Knox, 1979), 205. Collins writes that the Euphrates would “be more appropriate to Daniel’s location in Babylon,” Collins, Daniel, 373. 57 Much of the positive characterization discussed in this section is also observed by John J. Collins, “The Court-Tales in Daniel and the Development of Apocalyptic,” JBL 94 (1975): 218–34. However, Collins’ article is not directly interested in narrative characterization.

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and discretely to a mortal threat (2:14). Because of his trustworthiness, his enemies find no error or fault in him, and he prospers during the reigns of the kings (6:5, 23, 28). Adding to this positive portrayal, both the narrator and other characters consistently praise Daniel for his divinely-inspired, trustworthy interpretive abilities (‫)פשר‬.58 In keeping with this depiction, Babylonian characters consistently view Daniel as one who is endowed with a divine spirit.59 However, in contrast with this focus on Daniel’s interpretive abilities, Darius lauds Daniel as “the servant of God” not because of his interpretation of dreams but because of his loyalty to God (6:17, 21, 26). This theme of Daniel’s connection to God also appears frequently in Daniel’s own speech and action in chs. 1–2. Daniel’s speech in ch. 1 shows his interest in keeping himself and his friends undefiled from the king’s food (‫( )פת־בג‬1:8–13).60 So too, his actions toward this goal demonstrate his loyalty to God, and he never interacts directly with the king. In ch. 2, much of Daniel’s speech adds to his characterization as interpreter, for he offers a long speech telling and interpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s dream (2:29–46). But his other actions and speech in the chapter are directed toward God. He asks his friends to seek “mercy from the God of heaven” concerning the mystery of the king’s dream (2:14–18, 24). He praises God for the ensuing revelation (2:19–23).

58 In these three scenes, the root ‫ פשר‬occurs twenty-five times: thirteen times in ch. 2; eight times in ch. 4; and twelve times in ch. 5. The narrator describes Daniel as a trustworthy interpreter of dreams, to whom God has revealed a secret about the end of days, 2:16, 18–19, 24–30, 36, 45, 47. The point is not to exalt Daniel but to establish that his interpretation is of divine origin (2:30). 59 Nebuchadnezzar describes Daniel as having “a spirit of the holy gods,” a quality that sets him apart from the other wise men of the kingdom (Dan 4:5, 6, 15). Even in ch. 5, where at first it seems Daniel has been forgotten, the queen describes him similarly as having a “spirit of the holy gods” and an excellent spirit (Dan 5:11–12). Belshazzar repeats this description, using it as a basis for his subsequent promotion of Daniel (Dan 5:14; 6:3). 60 Daniel suggests a ten-day test by which he and his friends will be found better than all the king’s servants, despite their diet of grown things. The number ten figures twice in this story: Daniel proposes a ten-day test and then the four friends prove ten times better than those who rely on the king’s providence. When combined with the concepts of testing and food, the number ten recalls the experience of the Hebrews in the desert, who test God ten times (‫ )וינסו אתי זה עשר פעמים‬by complaining about the water and manna provided by God and by reminiscing about the rich food of Egypt, among other things (Num 11:4–6; 14:2–4, 22). The group exiting Egypt became reliant on that foreign king’s largess, originally provided by God for the preservation of Joseph’s family, but this group of four sets out to avoid repeating their mistake.

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Like Joseph, he properly gives God credit as the revealer of mysteries (Dan 2:27–28; Gen 40:8; 41:15). He also claims that his interpretation is trustworthy precisely because it comes from God (Dan 2:45). In the end, Daniel’s actions lead Nebuchadnezzar to acknowledge the power of God (2:46–47).61 But alongside this orientation toward God, Daniel’s speech and action in ch. 2 lead him into deeper involvement with the king. For the first time, he enters the king’s presence, engages in dialogue with Nebuchadnezzar, and is addressed by his Babylonian name, Belteshazzar (2:16, 25–47). More significantly, the king falls down and worships Daniel at the end of the chapter, promoting him to a position of power in the kingdom (2:46–48). Through silence, Daniel implicitly accepts the king’s accolade and uses his promotion to seek positions of power for his friends (2:49). Daniel does not appear in ch. 3, but this episode is worth investigating for Daniel’s characterization, because the chapter links back to Daniel’s actions (and inactions) in ch. 2. In ch. 3, right after Daniel has revealed and interpreted Nebuchadnezzar’s dream about a large statue (‫)צלם‬, the king sets up a great statue (‫ )צלם‬that bears a certain resemblance to the one in the dream (2:31–32; 3:1).62 After having fallen down (‫ )נפל‬and worshipped (‫ )סגד‬Daniel, the king demands that his officials fall down (‫ )נפל‬and worship (‫ )סגד‬the statue (2:26; 3:5–6).63 These verbal connections imply that the events in ch. 2 are in some way related to the ensuing drama with the statue and furnace. A causal relationship between the scenes is best understood in light of Daniel’s request to Nebuchadnezzar of positions for his three friends and their subsequent movement to provincial positions of power. As argued above, their promotions relocate them to a province where their new governmental roles result in the attack by political enemies.

61

Many readers have noted similarities between Daniel and the character of Joseph in Genesis. If so, then the narrative may be presenting Daniel as having an even closer connection with God than does Joseph, for while Joseph interprets dreams, they are always first recounted (‫ )ספר‬to him (Gen 40:5–18; 41:8–12). In ch. 2, by contrast, Daniel receives from God not only the interpretation of the dream but also its content. 62 The king’s dream involves a large statue (‫ )צלם‬made of gold (‫ )די־דהב‬and other metals (Dan 2:31–32). Similarly, Nebuchadnezzar’s statue on the plain of Dura is a large statue (‫ )צלם‬made of gold (‫( )די־דהב‬Dan 3:1). 63 Repetition emphasizes the phrase “fall down and worship,” which occurs six times in this scene (Dan 3:5, 6, 7, 10, 11, 15). The Hebrew word ‫ סגד‬is used only in reference to idol worship (Isa 44:15, 17, 19; 46:6).

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Thus, Daniel’s success with the king (ch. 2), and all it entails, leads (unintentionally) to a mortal threat faced by his three friends (ch. 3). This negative turn in the plot casts doubt on the prudence of Daniel’s increased intimacy with Babylon. In episode four (3:31–4:34), Daniel’s action and speech characterize him as having an even closer relationship with imperial power. He twice refers to God’s sovereignty (4:22, 29), and his interpretation is partially responsible for Nebuchadnezzar’s praise of God (3:32–33; 4:31–32, 34). However, he neither interacts with God directly nor credits God for his interpretation. Instead, he directs his speech consistently toward the king, whom he twice calls “my lord” (4:16–24).64 His actions mirror those of Nebuchadnezzar, whose dream terrifies (‫ )בהל‬them both (4:2, 16). Moreover, Daniel states that this terror derives not from interaction with the divine but from his concern for the king. After hesitating for a time, Daniel conveys the dream’s meaning only upon the reassurance of the king, and he expresses hope that the dream might not come upon the king, despite the fact it represents a decree of the Most High (4:16, 21). He counsels the king to atone for his sins with righteousness and mercy to the oppressed so that the king’s prosperity might be prolonged, yet this advice conflicts with the divine decree, which connects Nebuchadnezzar’s coming punishment to his haughtiness with respect to God (4:24‒26). In ch. 5, Daniel’s actions as interpreter again bring him into close contact with the king. His characterization in the episode depicting the reign of Belshazzar begins with him outside the circle of power, for the new king does not know him, but he enters the king’s presence when called to interpret mysterious writing on the palace wall (5:11–13). In his speech Daniel initially refuses the king’s offer of reward (5:17), but by the end of the scene, he accepts the very gifts he has previously rejected: a purple robe, a gold chain, and rule over one-third of the kingdom (5:29). This contrast between Daniel’s speech and action calls attention to the gifts, particularly the gift of a powerful position, which reminds the audience of Daniel’s earlier success in Nebuchadnezzar’s courts (ch. 2) and its negative effects in the plot (ch. 3).

64 This difference could be attributed to the fact that Nebuchadnezzar narrates most of the chapter, but even so, the story gives an impression of Daniel’s attachment to the king.

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This subtle foreshadowing of danger comes to fruition in the mortal threat to Daniel narrated in ch. 6. Daniel retains his powerful position in the reign of the new king, Darius, because of his “excellent spirit” (‫( )רוח יתירא‬6:4). This phrase links ch. 6 back to ch. 5, where Daniel is described the same way (5:12, 14). Just as verbal parallels connect Daniel’s actions in chs. 2 with the danger in ch. 3, so this verbal link joins chs. 5 and 6. These similarities suggest that Daniel’s trouble again results from the rewards he has received from Belshazzar. In fact, the conspiracy to entrap Daniel is motivated precisely by his success in the imperial government (6:4–5). However, Daniel’s actions in ch. 6 also produce positive results. His faithfulness inspires a letter circulated by Darius, which declares God’s signs and wonders and orders his subjects to tremble and fear before the “God of Daniel” (6:26–28). Daniel at first shows an interest in separating himself from Babylonian power, but his deepening involvement with Nebuchadnezzar (ch. 2) results in danger to his friends (ch. 3) and in the king’s praise of God (ch. 4). Similarly, his relationship with Belshazzar (ch. 5) results in a threat to himself and Darius’ praise of God (ch. 6). The plot presents two similar cycles: intimacy with power, leading to a mortal threat, followed by praise of God by a foreign king. The audience might expect another such cycle, but instead the presented plot moves back in time to a moment between chs. 5 and 6 when Daniel previously disappeared from the action—nearly forgotten by the other characters. This nonlinear movement of the plot opens a new window onto the protagonist’s characterization: Daniel as dreamer. Daniel, the Dreamer (chs. 7–8) In chs. 7 and 8, the syuzhet turns back in time to reveal what occurs in Daniel’s life after Nebuchadnezzar’s death and the end of Belshazzar’s reign. As Daniel continues the king’s business outside the center of power, the narrative shifts from characterizing him as one who interprets dreams and visions to one who experiences them. This turn in the plot is expected because the narrative has foreshadowed it (1:17; 2:19), but even so, Daniel’s characterization in ch. 7 offers a surprise. The previously reliable, divinely-inspired interpreter with insight into all mysteries acts in these chapters in a way that echoes the behavior of the dreaming kings, as illustrated in Table 5 below.

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Table 5. Daniel, Nebuchadnezzar, and Belshazzar Daniel

Nebuchadnezzar

‫ דניאל חלם חזה‬7:1 Daniel had ‫ וחזוי ראשה על־משכבה‬a dream and visions of his head upon his bed.

‫ חלם חזית וידחלנני‬MT 4:2 I saw ‫ והרהרין על־משכבי‬a dream that ‫ וחזוי ראשי יבהלנני‬frightened me; my thoughts upon my bed and the visions of my head terrified me.

‫ חזה הוית בחזוי ראשי‬MT 4:10 I saw in ‫ על־משכבי‬the visions of my head upon my bed65

‫אתכרית רוחי אנה‬ ‫דניאל‬ ‫בגוא נדנה‬ ‫וחזוי ראשי יבהלנני‬

7:15 As for me, ‫נבכדנצר חלם נבכדנצר‬ Daniel, my spirit ‫חלמות ותתפעם רוחו‬ was troubled ‫ושנתו נהיתה עליו‬ within me, and the visions of my head terrified me.

Daniel

2:1 Nebuchadnezzar dreamed such dreams that his spirit was troubled and his sleep left him.

Belshazzar

‫ אנה דניאל שגיא רעיוני‬7:28 As for ‫ יבהלנני וזיוי ישתנון עלי‬me, Daniel, my thoughts greatly terrified me, and my face turned pale

‫ אדין מלכא זיוהי שנוהי‬5:6 Then the king’s ‫ ורעינהי יבהלונה‬face turned pale, and his thoughts terrified him.

The table demonstrates numerous parallels between Daniel’s narration of his actions and emotions in ch. 7 and the narrator’s depiction of the two kings in chs. 4 and 5.66 All three characters are terrified (‫)בהל‬ (4:5; 5:6; 7:15, 28; dotted underlining). Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar dream dreams (‫( )חלם‬4:5; 7:1; double underlining); experience visions (‫ )חזו‬in their heads (‫ )ראש‬and on their beds (‫( )משכב‬4:2, 13; 7:1, 15; dashed underlining); and have spirits (‫ )רוח‬that are troubled (Heb.

65 For the phrase “vision of my head upon my bed” (‫ )וחזוי ראשי על־משכבי‬applied to Nebuchadnezzar see Dan 2:28, 29; 4:2, 7. 66 Although the scene with Belshazzar occurs after the events of ch. 7 in the narrative’s discourse, because of the plot’s nonlinear sequence, the audience has already experienced a description of Belshazzar (ch. 5).

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‫ ;פעם‬Aram. ‫ )לרא‬within them (2:1; 7:15; solid underlining). Daniel and Belshazzar share descriptions of their faces turning pale (5:6; 7:28; dot-dash underlining). By placing Daniel in the role of the now-familiar terrified dreamer, these parallels reverse the audience’s expectations about his character.67 Fear in response to a divine vision is not necessarily negative, but because Daniel has responded earlier in the narrative to mysterious dreams by seeking an interpretation directly from God (ch. 2), the audience expects him to do so again. It is thus startling to see him stand before the throne of the “Ancient of Days” but seek interpretation not from that figure but from “one who stands alongside” (7:16). He receives a less-than-complete revelation, which he seems not to understand, and at the end of the scene remains visibly distressed (7:28). Daniel’s characterization as one who fails to understand continues in the next episode, set two years later. Daniel “lifts up his eyes to heaven” (‫ )ואשא עיני‬and receives a vision (‫( )חזון‬8:3‒4), an action that mirrors Nebuchadnezzar’s similar activity (‫( )עיני לשמיא נטלת‬4:31). He experiences two visions (8:3–14), seeks understanding (8:15), and receives an angelic interpretation (8:16–26), yet still fails to understand (‫( )בין‬8:27), behavior that is also reminiscent of Nebuchadnezzar. Daniel’s misunderstanding is even greater than it was in ch. 7: he is ill for several days, and even when able to get out of bed, he remains devastated (‫ )שמם‬by the vision (8:27). Again, this characterization surprises, for it contradicts the narrator’s earlier direct characterization of Daniel as one who understands all visions and dreams (‫ודניאל‬ ‫( )הבין בכל־חזון וחלמות‬1:17). A Summary of Daniel’s Characterization The analyses above demonstrate that not a scene passes in Daniel without the author giving attention to the protagonist’s characterization.68 Even the book’s climactic vision about the “end of the era” does not completely overshadow the author’s interest in Daniel as a character, 67 However, this turn in Daniel’s characterization has been foreshadowed by his earlier terror, 4:16. 68 The author characterizes Daniel more briefly in the last six chapters than in the first six, yet Daniel remains a character rather than an “actant”; see Michael V. Fox, Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 8.

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for the story concludes with a focus on the future of the hero (12:13). Bringing together the various arguments above, Daniel’s character in chs. 1–8 can be summarized as follows: Time of Nebuchadnezzar. The narrator establishes Daniel as royal, goodlooking, pure, and decisive. Wise beyond all others, he leads the way in keeping himself and his friends disconnected from the food of the king in Babylon. As a trustworthy, divinely-inspired interpreter, he reveals the mysteries of royal dreams by asking his friends to seek their interpretation directly from God. This role draws him, however, into the circle of royal power, which in turn places his friends in danger; still they are delivered by God. Time of Belshazzar. Still in Babylon, but outside the circle of power, Daniel’s characterization reverses. He knows dreams and seeks interpretation and understanding, but he does not go directly to God. An angelic being appears to him, but he still does not understand. Despite his own struggles, sometime later, he is drawn back into the imperial court and acts again as a trustworthy interpreter for the king, revealing the meaning of divine writing rather than of dreams. Time of Darius. Daniel’s close connection with a third king again brings danger, this time to himself. Arrested while petitioning God, his faithfulness results in deliverance from the lions by God. Around the same time, Daniel reads the letters of Jeremiah and responds faithfully through a heartfelt, confessional petition to God. Although chs. 6 and 9 are separated in the discourse of the narrative (syuzhet), they converge in the story ( fabula). In both, Daniel seeks God in prayer.

The Results of Daniel’s Petition (9:20–12:13) Having reviewed Daniel’s characterization in the book, we return to ch. 9. Jeremiah’s first letter instructs the exiles to seek God in prayer, but the audience does not see Daniel do so until the reign of Darius, where he turns directly to God (6:10; 9:3). It has been argued above that the petition in ch. 9 makes sense as Daniel’s response to Jeremiah’s letters. However, with Daniel’s characterization in the whole book now in view, it is also evident that the penitential content of the prayer functions even more broadly in the plot, marking a major turning point for the character of Daniel.69

69 Daniel’s prayer in ch. 6 plays an important role in the plot of that chapter: it provides his opponents the opportunity to condemn him, but it also represents the faithfulness that brings divine deliverance from the lions. If the plot were presented

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Based on Daniel’s characterization in the larger narrative, his confession in the prayer can be seen as sincere. The narrative weaves a highly positive strand of characterization through the court tales, particularly in Daniel’s role as interpreter, but it also calls into question his over-involvement with Babylonian kings. If he reads Jeremiah’s letters in ch. 9, he is reminded of (or learns for the first time) the prophetic exhortation that Babylonian exiles ought to build houses, plant gardens, eat their own produce, and seek the welfare of the city through prayer. Daniel’s behavior in exile agrees with this instruction early in the narrative (chs. 1–2), but he gradually becomes drawn away from the affairs of his own house and into politics of the king’s house (chs. 3–6).70 By contrast, his prayer in ch. 9—voiced privately in his home—expresses total reliance on God’s power. In addition, his petition seeks God’s deliverance not because of “our righteousness” but because of the mercy of God (9:18). This point of view denies salvific significance to the narrative’s previous claims about Daniel’s uprightness and counters Daniel’s own assertion that God delivered him from the lions because of his blamelessness (6:22).71 If in this scene Daniel perceives the letter as a critique of his close association with kings in Babylon and/or comes to reject his prior reliance on his own righteousness, a prayer of repentance makes good sense.72 The narrative further emphasizes the transformative nature of Daniel’s repentance through significant plot changes and new characterization after 9:19. Gabriel now describes Daniel as beloved (9:23; 10:11, 19). As the study above of narrated space and time has shown, in ch. 10, Daniel leaves Babylon for the first time in the story, and he also moves beyond the narrator’s summary statement defining his life within a framework of imperial power (1:21). If the narrative has created ambiguity about his characterization as a dreamer in Babylon, it

chronologically, it would function, along with the prayer in ch. 9, as a turning point, but since in the fabula it occurs well before the prayer in ch. 9, only the latter prayer plays this role. 70 In ch. 6, the narrative juxtaposes the public and private settings of the king’s court and Daniel’s house. Distinct from the palace of the king or other public spaces, Daniel’s home represents a space in which his prayer to God occurs. When he reads and prays in scene nine, it is natural similarly to envision him at home. 71 Daniel says, “I have done no wrong” (6:22). The narrator calls attention to this statement by contradicting it in the next sentence: Daniel was saved because he trusted God (6:23). 72 His response to the letter is analogous to Josiah’s response to the book discovered in the temple in 2 Kgs 22:8–23:24.

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now clears this doubt by describing Daniel’s visionary experiences with different terminology: ‫ מראה‬and ‫דבר‬.73 Like Jeremiah, Daniel receives the true word of God.74 After the prayer, outside of Babylon, Daniel’s actions are reminiscent of the concern for food he exhibited before becoming deeply involved in the Babylonian court (1:8; 10:3). While his reactions to visions experienced after ch. 9 are intense, the author never characterizes Daniel in a manner reminiscent of the kings, as in earlier parts of the narrative.75 Perhaps most significantly, the prayer leads to divinely-enabled understanding. At the moment it begins, a word (‫ )דבר‬goes out from God, carried by Gabriel in swift flight to Daniel. It brings understanding (‫ )בינה‬by reinterpreting Jeremiah’s exilic period as “seventy weeks” and pushing them far into Daniel’s future (9:20–27). In the next chapter, a “man dressed in linen” arrives to provide the story’s climactic revelation (10:5–6, 11; 11:1–12:3), precisely in response to the humility (‫ )ענה‬of the prayer.76 These revelations generate understanding for Daniel, as the narrator makes clear (10:1, 12, 14), despite Daniel’s own declaration to the contrary later in the scene (12:8). Finally, the last few verses show the climactic nature of this concluding “word” in the life of the character of Daniel (12:4).

73 Daniel’s revelatory experiences are described as “visions” (‫( )מראה‬10:1, 6–8, 16, 18) and “words” (‫( )דבר‬10:1, 9, 11; 12:4, 9). By contrast, the word “dream” (‫חלם‬, ‫)חלום‬ does not appear in chs. 10–12, and the word for “vision” (‫ )חזון‬occurs only once in reference to Daniel (Dan 10:14). 74 This change in Daniel’s characterization does not de-legitimize his earlier visions but rather removes any suspicion of Daniel raised by Jeremiah’s critique of dreams and visions. As a whole, the narrative characterizes him as a reliable figure who receives truly divine information despite the fact that he dreams in Babylon. Perhaps the narrator’s reticence about locating Daniel explicitly in Babylon derives from a desire to protect him from Jeremiah’s critique of dreamers in Babylon. 75 Lacocque, Daniel, 206. They leave Daniel speechless and without strength, and he must be revived three times, Dan 10:8–10, 15–16, 18–19. 76 The heavenly man declares that the climactic vision comes because Daniel has humbled (‫ )ענה‬himself (10:12), which must refer to his penitential prayer in ch. 9. The efficacy of Daniel’s petition is similar to the narrative role played by confessional petitions in Tob 3:1–16 and Jos. Asen. 11:8–18, which elicit angelic revelation (De Long, Surprised by God, 78–79, 116–18). Cf., Bruce W. Jones, “The Prayer in Daniel IX,” VT 18 (1968): 488–93, who claims that Daniel’s prayer itself makes little difference to God; Collins, Daniel, 360, who writes that the “deliverance promised by the angel is in no sense a response to Daniel’s prayer.” On one level, these statements are accurate, for God’s ultimate deliverance will occur as determined by God. But on another level, the prayer elicits the arrival of understanding about this deliverance, so the prayer should be seen as efficacious.

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Attention to narrative dynamics in Daniel reveals a complex plot centered on a richly-drawn protagonist whose story builds to an important turning point in ch. 9. Beginning well, he resists the food of the king, demonstrates a strong orientation toward God, and disavows his own role in interpretation (chs. 1–2). But his actions and speech (particularly interpretation) lead to greater intimacy with Babylonian power. On the one hand, this relationship causes foreign kings to praise Daniel’s God (chs. 4, 6). But on the other hand, Daniel’s acceptance of their adulation and beneficence (chs. 2, 5) imperils his friends (ch. 3) and himself (ch. 6).77 The negative results of Daniel’s action and speech, along with his mirroring of the kings’ behavior (ch. 4), causes the audience to wonder—if I may borrow a metaphor from ch. 1—whether Daniel has “eaten the king’s food.” In the midst of this ambiguity, Daniel enters a period of private terror and confusion, prompting him to seek an interpreter for his own troubling dreams (chs. 7–8). However, in ch. 9, Daniel reflects on Jeremiah’s letters to the exiles and then humbly seeks God in petition. This action changes everything for Daniel: he leaves the service of Babylon’s kings, takes up again his practice of fasting, and receives a climactic vision that opens a window into the distant future. Thus, while the prayer does not initiate restoration at the end of seventy years, as a reader of Jeremiah’s first letter might expect, it does lead to Daniel’s departure from Babylon, removing him from his ambiguous service to foreign kings, and it brings true understanding, not only for Daniel but also for the maskilim at the end of days (11:33, 35; 12:3, 10). Thus, the character of Daniel fulfills Jeremiah’s prediction that at the end of days, understanding (‫ )בינה‬would arrive: Thus says the LORD of hosts: Do not listen to the words of the prophets who prophesy to you; they are deluding you. They speak visions of their own minds, not from the mouth of the LORD. . . . For who has stood in the council of the LORD so as to see and to hear his word? Who has

77 A reader sharing the perspective of Ben Sira would likely critique the actions of Daniel’s character in these three scenes: “Whoever touches pitch will be defiled, and whoever associates with a proud man will become like him. Do not lift a weight too heavy for you, or associate with one mightier and richer than you. How can the clay pot associate with the iron kettle? The pot will strike against it and be smashed” (Sir 3:1–2).

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given heed to his word so as to proclaim it? . . . The anger of the LORD will not turn back until he has executed and accomplished the intents of his mind. In the latter days you will understand it clearly (‫באחרית הימים‬ ‫)תתבוננו בה בינה‬. (Jer 23:16–20)

The prayer in ch. 9 thus plays a central role in a narrative strategy that seeks to balance the macro-determinism of apocalyptic visions with a more Deuteronomic interest in the set-apart faithfulness of people who, like Daniel, live precariously in the ambiguity of exile.

PART TWO

QUMRAN AND THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS

QUMRAN: CAVES, SCROLLS, AND BUILDINGS* Sidnie White Crawford The caves in the vicinity of Khirbet Qumran and their contents have been the subjects of much academic vitriol over the past fifteen or so years. Who owned the hundreds of ancient Jewish manuscripts found in the caves, and who put them there? The answers to those questions depend on how one interprets the archaeological data from Khirbet Qumran and its surrounding caves. There is broad agreement on the following matters. The first archaeological phase at Qumran dates to the Iron II period. There followed a long period of abandonment; then the site was resettled in the late second century b.c.e. and continued, perhaps with interruption, perhaps not, until it was destroyed by a fire in the middle to late first century c.e. There was a very short period of habitation as a Roman army encampment after the first century c.e. destruction, then the site was permanently abandoned until it was excavated by Pére Roland de Vaux of the École Biblique et Archeologique Francaise in the 1950s. All archaeologists agree that the inhabitants of the site during that long period of settlement in the last century b.c.e. and first century c.e. were Jews, owing to the presence of miqva’ot and Hebrew inscriptions found at the site. After that broad agreement, however, archaeologists part company.1

* I am pleased to dedicate this article to James VanderKam, a leader in all aspects of Dead Sea Scrolls research and a model of scholarship and collegiality. I would like to thank Jodi Magness, Joan Taylor, and my colleagues in the Biblical Colloquium for their helpful comments and feedback. A version of this article was originally published in the Biblical Archaeology Review; I would like to thank Hershel Shanks for suggesting the topic to me. 1 R. de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (rev. ed.; London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1973). Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002). Magen Broshi, “Qumran Archaeology,” EDSS 2.733–39. Katharina Galor and Jürgen Zangenberg, “Qumran Archaeology in Search of a Consensus,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates (ed. K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert and J. Zangenberg; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 1–9. For a discussion of the army encampment of Period III, see Joan Taylor, “Kh. Qumran in Period III,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 133–46.

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Two competing positions currently exist regarding what Khirbet Qumran was and who lived there. The first position, originally articulated by de Vaux and today championed in the archaeological community by Jodi Magness, Magen Broshi and the late Hanan Eshel, states that Qumran was a sectarian settlement, most probably Essene, one of the three main Jewish movements in the Greco-Roman period described by Josephus, with secondary support from Philo and Pliny.2 The Essenes who lived at Qumran owned the scrolls and hid them in the eleven caves in which they were found during the Great Jewish Revolt against Rome (66–73 c.e.) because the settlement was threatened by an advancing Roman legion, which destroyed it in 68 c.e. The Qumran manuscripts are therefore the remnants of an Essene library, and open a window onto the thought world of a major Jewish movement of the Second Temple period. This is popularly known as the Qumran-Essene hypothesis.3 The second position is not so much a position as an anti-position, arguing against the Qumran-Essene hypothesis. Those who hold this position do not agree on the particulars but agree that Qumran was not a Jewish sectarian settlement, and that the manuscripts found in the caves are not related to the site of Qumran. The most well known proponents of this position are Robert Donceel and Pauline DonceelVoûte, Norman Golb, the late Yizhar Hirshfeld, and Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg. The Donceels argue that Qumran was a “villa rustica,” with wealthy inhabitants. Golb argues that Qumran was a Hasmonean/ Herodian fortress, and that the Scrolls were part of the Jerusalem temple library, hidden in the caves before the siege and destruction of the temple in 70 c.e. Hirshfeld holds that Qumran was a rural estate complex; the Scrolls were brought for concealment in the caves from some public library, probably in Jerusalem. Magen and Peleg contend that Qumran was at first a fortress and then became an

2 VanderKam has been one of the most articulate proponents of this view in general Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship. See his “The Case for the Essene Hypothesis,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 71–87. 3 In addition to the bibliography cited above, see Magen Broshi and Hanan Eshel, “Residential Caves at Qumran,” DSD 6 (1999): 328–48. For an interesting discussion of the entire Qumran-Essene hypothesis, see Edna Ullmann-Margalit, Out of the Cave: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Dead Sea Scrolls Research (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006).

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“important pottery production center.” The Scrolls, meanwhile, were hidden by fleeing refugees during the Great Jewish Revolt.4 What we may characterize as the “anti-de Vaux” interpretations are united by the way that they each reinterpret the archaeological data from the ruins of the buildings of Khirbet Qumran. What they do not do, or at best do only superficially, is to take into account the archaeological data from the caves, which were excavated by de Vaux in the 1950s at the same time that he excavated the site of Qumran. That archaeological data, written up by de Vaux in Discoveries in the Judaean Desert I, III and VI and presented in English in his Schweich Lectures, as well as being documented by Jean-Baptiste Humbert and Alain Chambon, sheds much light on the question of who put the Scrolls in the caves, and why.5 But it is also important, when making a historical reconstruction of the events that led to the deposit of the scrolls in the caves, to take into account the contents of the Scrolls themselves and the nature of the collection. In what follows I will attempt to do both. Cave 1, discovered accidentally in 1947 by Ta’amireh Bedouin, famously contained seven scrolls, two of which, the Serekh ha-Yahad and the Pesher Habakkuk, were found wrapped in linen and stored in a jar. Another, the “Great Isaiah Scroll” (1QIsaiaha), was found in the same jar without wrappings. It is not clear whether the other four scrolls retrieved by the Bedouin, the Genesis Apocryphon, 1QIsaiahb, the Hodayot, and the War Scroll, were either stored in jars or wrapped in

4 Robert Donceel and Pauline Donceel-Voûte, “The Archaeology of Khirbet Qumran,” in Methods of Investigations of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (ed. M. Wise, N. Golb, J. Collins and D. Pardee; New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), 1–38. Norman Golb, Who Wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls? The Search for the Secret of Qumran (New York: Scribner, 1995). Yizhar Hirshfeld, “Qumran in the Second Temple Period,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 223–40. Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg, “Back to Qumran: Ten Years of Excavation and Research, 1993–2004,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 55–116. Jean-Baptiste Humbert offers a modification of de Vaux’s theory, arguing that Qumran originally was built as a fortress but became “a religious center for a Jewish sect living around the Dead Sea.” Humbert, “Some Remarks on the Archaeology of Qumran,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 19–40, esp. 37. 5 G. Lankester Harding, “Introductory. The Discovery, the Excavation, Minor Finds,” and R. de Vaux, “La Poterie,” in DJD 1:3–7, 8–17; R. de Vaux, “Archéologie,” in DJD 3:3–36. R. de Vaux, “Archéologie,” in DJD 6:3–22. Jean-Baptiste Humbert and Alain Chambon, eds., Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân et de Aïn Feshkha (NTOASA 1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994).

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linen. The jar in which the scrolls were found is a tall storage jar, holemouthed, with a cylindrical body, a well-marked (carinated) shoulder, and a flat base. It was fitted with a bowl-shaped lid. Since scrolls were found stored inside, that type of jar became known as a “scroll jar.” However, it is important to recognize that only one jar from Cave 1 was found by the Bedouin with scrolls inside. Other empty whole jars were also found by the Bedouin, lined up in a row against the wall of the cave.6 Cave 1 was excavated by the Jordanian Department of Antiquities and the École Biblique, under the direction of G. Lankester Harding and de Vaux, in 1949. During the excavation, fragments of seventytwo scrolls were found (not stored in jars), some linen wrappings,7 and sherds from at least fifty cylindrical jars and their bowl-shaped lids. One scroll, in its wrapping, was found adhering to the mouth of its broken jar.8 Cave 1 also contained phylactery cases and other pottery, i.e. three bowls, a pot, a juglet, two Hellenistic period lamps, and two Roman period lamps.9 Cave 2, a natural cave found by the Bedouin in 1952, yielded only six jars, one lid, and three bowls, but thirty-three fragmentary manuscripts.10 The discovery of Cave 2 prompted the professional archaeologists to undertake a survey of the caves in the limestone cliffs overlooking Qumran. In a race with the Bedouin, the archaeologists discovered Cave 3, which had collapsed in antiquity. Cave 3 yielded fragments of fourteen leather manuscripts, sherds of thirty-five cylindrical jars, more than twenty lids, two jugs, and a lamp. The Copper Scroll was also found in Cave 3, deposited not in the back of the col-

6

Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran, 25–26. An analysis of the linen cloths from Cave 1 was done by Grace Crowfoot. She states that some of these cloths “were certainly scroll wrappers,” but some were “covers once tied over the jar tops,” and some may have been used as packing material in the jars. “The Linen Textiles,” in DJD 1:18–38, here 19, 20. For a complete analysis of all the textiles found at Qumran, see now M. Bélis, “Des textiles, catalogues et commentaries,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (ed. J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), 207–76. 8 DJD 1, Pl. 1, 8–10. 9 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 49. 10 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 50. The statistics for the manuscript finds are all taken from the tables found in Emanuel Tov, DJD 39. 7

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lapsed cave with the other finds, but set against the north wall at the front of the cave.11 The Bedouin discovered Cave 6, which contained leather and papyrus fragments of thirty-one manuscripts, including one account or contract,12 one jar, and a bowl. By 1952, these four caves were the only caves in the limestone cliffs in which manuscripts were uncovered. In 1956, the Bedouin discovered Cave 11. Cave 11 contained thirty manuscripts or fragments of manuscripts (including the Temple Scroll), as well as one jar and other pottery sherds. The Temple Scroll, according to its discoverers, was found wrapped in linen in a scroll jar.13 The context of the manuscript caves must be kept in mind when considering how and when the manuscripts were placed in the caves. In the 1952 survey of the limestone cliffs, de Vaux and his team made soundings in 270 caves in a section of the cliffs eight kilometers long, with Khirbet Qumran approximately in the middle. Two hundred thirty of the caves had nothing in them, but forty contained pottery and other objects. Some were as old as the Chalcolithic period, some as late as the modern period, but twenty-six contained remains from the Greco-Roman period similar to the finds from Caves 1, 2, 3, 6 and 11. De Vaux gives a complete list of these finds in Discoveries in the Judaean Desert III.14 The list includes, over and over again, storage jars (cylindrical and ovoid), bowl-shaped lids, lamps, juglets, and bowls. The pottery types uncovered in the caves are the same types

11

De Vaux, DJD 3:28. The Copper Scroll is anomalous in several ways. As its name implies, it is engraved on thin copper sheets, the only composition from antiquity on copper. Its language is an early form of Mishnaic Hebrew, not the (archaizing) Biblical Hebrew of the rest of the Qumran scrolls. It is not in any sense a literary composition, but is a listing of treasure deposits and their hiding places. Whether or not these treasures (which were enormous) were real was the subject of great controversy. Given the Copper Scroll’s unique characteristics, and the fact that it was deposited in another area of Cave 3, away from the main deposit, it is a very real possibility that the Copper Scroll was deposited in Cave 3 separately, by a different group or individual (possibly from the Jerusalem temple) than the rest of the Qumran scrolls. See Al Wolters, “Copper Scroll,” EDSS 1.144–148, and Hershel Shanks, The Copper Scroll and the Search for the Temple Treasure (Washington, D.C.: Biblical Archaeology Society, 2007). 12 M. Baillet, “Texts des Grottes 2Q, 3Q, 6Q, 7Q à 10Q,” in DJD 3:138–39. 13 S. W. Crawford, The Temple Scroll and Related Texts (Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 12; Joan E. Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts and Empty Tombs: The Qumran Genizah Theory Revisited,” forthcoming in the Hanan Eshel Festschrift, 7. 14 De Vaux, DJD 3:6–13.

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that were excavated at Qumran. Further, as de Vaux notes, the density of occupation increases as one gets closer to Qumran. Later surveys underscore de Vaux’s findings. Joseph Patrich conducted surveys in the limestone cliffs in the 1980s. No new scrolls were discovered, but Patrich basically confirmed de Vaux’s conclusions.15 In the 1990s, Broshi and Eshel excavated two caves (C and F) 200 meters north of Qumran and discovered pottery sherds from the first century b.c.e. and the first century c.e.16 The conclusion is inescapable. The caves in the limestone cliffs saw human habitation at the same time as Khirbet Qumran, and the same types of pottery were in use in both places. This at least should give rise to the notion that there is a connection between the ruins and the caves. Only a few of those habitation caves, however, contained manuscripts, which indicates that their primary purpose was not the storage of scrolls, but something else, such as dwelling space or other kinds of storage. It is unlikely that these caves in the limestone cliffs were used for long-term occupancy, since they are small, not well ventilated or well lit, and with uneven floors and ceilings. Long-term storage, therefore, is the best possibility. The situation is different, however, for the second group of caves to be discovered. In 1952, the Bedouin discovered what is probably the most famous of the Qumran caves, Cave 4. Cave 4, which was actually two caves in antiquity, 4a and 4b, was dug into the southwest spur of the marl plateau upon which Khirbet Qumran sits. It is well ventilated and well lit, with level floors and storage niches. Pottery fragments of storage, cooking and serving vessels were found in the cave. It was, according to de Vaux, meant to be used as a dwelling space.17 However, when the Bedouin opened it up, they discovered it was packed with scroll fragments. When the archaeologists followed the Bedouin into Cave 4a, they found that the fragments went right down to the floor of the cave.18 Over 10,000 fragments coming from over 500 manuscripts were eventually recovered. Frank Moore Cross, who made preliminary identifications of the excavated Cave 4 materials, reports,

15 Joseph Patrich, “Khirbet Qumran in Light of New Archaeological Explorations in the Qumran Caves,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 73–96. 16 Broshi and Eshel, “Residential Caves at Qumran,” 328. 17 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 56. 18 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 100.

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I was struck with the fact that the relatively small quantity of fragments from the deepest levels of the cave nevertheless represented a fair cross section of the whole deposit in the cave, which suggests . . . that deterioration of the manuscripts must have begun even before time sealed the manuscripts in the stratified soil, and that the manuscripts may have been in great disorder when originally abandoned in the cave. The paucity of sherds in the cave certainly indicates that the scrolls of Cave IV were not left stored away in jars.19

In other words, according to Cross, the scrolls were placed in the cave in haste, and all at once. Based on Cross’s observations and the pottery found in the cave, we can conclude that the original purpose of Cave 4a was not as a storage space or hiding place for scrolls, but was, as de Vaux originally hypothesized, meant as a dwelling space. An exploration of the marl terrace followed. Caves 5 and 10 were located in the southwest spur; Caves 7–9 were found on the southern spur, on the same terrace of the plateau on which the settlement sits. All are artificial caves, well lit and well ventilated, and evidently originally made for residence. Pottery fragments, all of the same period and type, including lamps, bowls, and cooking vessels, were recovered in all caves. Cave 5 contained fifteen identified manuscripts; Cave 7, 19; Cave 8, 5; Cave 9, one unidentified papyrus fragment; and Cave 10, one inscribed ostracon. Caves 7–10 were not used to store scrolls, but evidently as living quarters. Cave 7, whose pottery finds included a lamp, contained only Greek manuscripts. Cave 8’s finds included a Genesis manuscript, a Psalms manuscript, a manuscript containing a hymn or a prayer, and a phylactery and a mezuzah. The presence of the mezuzah indicates the cave was a dwelling place. Further, Cave 8 contained over one hundred leather tabs used for fastening scrolls.20 The idiosyncratic nature of the finds in Caves 7 and 8 show that these caves had single inhabitants with particular interests. Whoever lived in Cave 8 probably manufactured the scroll fasteners, which leads to the assumption that there must have scrolls nearby on which the fasteners were meant to be used.

19 Frank Moore Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1961), 27 n. 32. 20 J. Carswell, “Fastenings on the Qumran Manuscripts,” DJD 6:23–28. According to Carswell, Milik first made the suggestion for “a specialized worker who made tags, phylactery fastenings and cases, either localized in Cave 8, or whose material was stored there when the library scrolls were stored away before the Roman attack” (24 n. 1).

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Caves 9 and 10 revealed almost no inscribed material, but Cave 10 did contain a lamp, a reed mat, and date pits. Again, this is evidence for use as living quarters. Further, as Broshi and Eshel point out, all the caves in the marl terrace lie within the Sabbath limit of 1000 cubits (ca. 500 meters) from Qumran.21 In addition, during their excavations at Qumran in the 1990s, Broshi and Eshel discovered Cave H to the east of Cave 9, which had been occupied in antiquity, as well as several more collapsed artificial caves in the marl terrace. They estimate there may have been between twenty and forty artificial caves dug into the plateau surrounding Qumran at the time of its Second Temple period occupation.22 Finally, and very tellingly, they discovered an “intricate network of trails” leading from Qumran to both the marl caves and the caves in the limestone cliffs, with staircases cut into the cliffs leading to the marl caves.23 If one considers these findings from the perspective of landscape archaeology, the ruins of the buildings and the marl terrace caves are all one archaeological site, or one occupation area.24 In other words, while today these caves, especially Cave 4, are difficult to access, at the time of the Qumran settlement there would have been easy traffic between the site and the marl caves, and at least occasional traffic to the limestone caves. All of these facts argue against the notion that the scrolls were abandoned in caves by fleeing Jerusalemites, who were simply looking for a remote hiding place. Let us turn to the pottery. De Vaux’s published remarks on the pottery from the caves and Qumran can be found in several places, most especially DJD III and VI, including illustrations. In his Schweich lectures de Vaux states concerning the pottery, “The pottery from the caves is identical with that of the Khirbeh. The same pastes have been used and the same forms recur here, particularly in the case of the many cylindrical jars. . . .”25 Since the time of de Vaux’s statement, the Judean Desert region has been extensively excavated, and much more comparative material is available. The most thorough published study

21

Broshi and Eshel, “Residential Caves at Qumran,” 334. Magen Broshi and Hanan Eshel, “Three seasons of excavations at Qumran,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2004): 321–32, esp. 325; idem, “Residential Caves at Qumran,” 328, 335. 23 Broshi and Eshel, “Residential Caves at Qumran,” 328, 335. 24 Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts and Empty Tombs,” 4. 25 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 54. It should be noted that, since no final report on the excavations, including the pottery, has been published, all conclusions must necessarily be preliminary. 22

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of the Qumran pottery to date has been done by Magness, relying on de Vaux’s preliminary publications and field notes.26 Rachel Bar Nathan has made an extensive survey of pottery types in the Jericho region, which includes Qumran.27 Bar Nathan notes that the pottery types found at Qumran are also found throughout the region, most notably the pottery from the palaces at Jericho.28 Therefore, we can conclude that the pottery at Qumran is not unique, but part of the larger regional repertoire of the period. Magness agrees with this conclusion but argues that the “peculiarities” of the Qumran assemblage have to be taken in account.29 Most important for our purposes is the ubiquity of the hole-mouthed cylindrical storage jar at the site of Qumran and in the Qumran caves. We have already noted the number of cylindrical jars or their fragments, and their bowl-shaped lids, which were found in the caves, particularly the natural caves in the limestone cliffs. These same type of storage jars, along with two other similar types, “ovoid” and “bagshaped,” were found in the ruins of Qumran. In addition, “wasters” of these jars were found in the eastern garbage dump, indicating that they were produced on site.30 The jars are, therefore, an important material connection between the caves and the site. Now, it is the case that these types of storage jars (ovoid, bag-shaped, and cylindrical) appear in other sites in Judea in the same period. But the cylindrical jars do not appear in anywhere near the same numbers as they do at Qumran. Why were these hole-mouthed cylindrical jars so popular at Qumran? Bar Nathan connects the function of the jars to the Scrolls. She claims that most of the cave pottery comes only from the first century c.e. (contra de Vaux) and that the cylindrical jar appears (at all sites) only in the late first century b.c.e. She argues that the cylindrical jar was in fact created in this period to hold scrolls, and that the cave jars

26 Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran; see also her “The Community of Qumran in Light of its Pottery,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 39–50. 27 Rachel Bar Nathan, “Qumran and the Hasmonaean and Herodian Winter Palaces of Jericho: The Implication of the Pottery Finds for the Interpretation of the Settlement at Qumran,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 263–80. 28 Bar Nathan, “Qumran and the Hasmonaean and Herodian Winter Palaces of Jericho,” 263–64. 29 Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran, 75–77. 30 Bar Nathan, “Qumran and the Hasmonaean and Herodian Winter Palaces of Jericho,” 275.

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should be narrowly dated to the Great Jewish Revolt against Rome, when they were manufactured to hide scrolls in caves. They are “archival” jars, and they do not point to any necessary connection between the caves and the site of Qumran. Their presence in both locations is just evidence of the broad regional repertoire of which Qumran is a part.31 This might be an attractive solution, but it contains several weaknesses. First, as Bar Nathan herself admits, this type of jar is so far absent from other sites, in particular Jerusalem, which might be expected to house several archives. Second, the jars in the Qumran caves do not seem to have been used primarily for scroll storage. Most of the whole jars discovered were empty or contained organic material, while most of the scrolls were discovered lying unprotected on the cave floors. Although the shape of this jar, and its close-fitting lid, works very well for storing scrolls, this would seem to be a secondary usage, and not what the jars were created to do. Finally, some of these jars were found sunk into the floor at Qumran, which is certainly not optimal for scroll storage. The cylindrical jars must have had some other, primary use. Magness has suggested that these cylindrical jars (and the ovoid jars, of the same type) were used primarily for storage of the ritually pure food of the Qumran community.32 This would certainly account for the function of the jars sunk into the floors at the site, but what about the numerous examples from the caves? Magness further suggests that the inhabitants were storing supplies of pure food and drink in the caves.33 This is possible and would account for the discrepancy between the large number of jars in the caves in the vicinity of Qumran, and the fact that scrolls were found in jars only in Caves 1 and 11.34

31 Bar Nathan, “Qumran and the Hasmonaean and Herodian Winter Palaces of Jericho,” 275, 277. 32 Jodi Magness, “Why Scroll Jars?” in Debating Qumran: Collected Essays on its Archaeology (Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion 4; Dudley, Mass.: Peeters, 2004), 158–60. 33 Magness, “Why Scroll Jars?” 163. 34 There are reports from antiquity, in Eusebius, Pseudo-Athanasius, and Epiphanius, of scrolls being found in jars (πίθοι) in caves “near Jericho.” Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.16.3; Pseudo-Athanasius, Synopsis PG 28.432; Epiphanius, De mens. et pond. 17–18. Later, the Nestorian Patriarch Timotheus I of Seleucus writes to Sergius, Metropolitan of Elam, that Hebrew manuscripts were discovered in a cave near the region of Jericho (as cited by Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, John the Baptist, and Jesus [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998], 69). It seems likely that these caves were in the vicinity of Qumran. Stegemann suggests Cave 3 as a likely candidate.

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To sum up thus far, the following facts argue for a connection between the caves and Khirbet Qumran. (1) The caves in the marl terrace fall within the parameters of the Qumran archaeological site; they were deliberately constructed as residential caves, and they are connected to the Qumran buildings by paths and staircases. (2) There are also paths leading from Qumran to the natural caves in the limestone cliffs. (3) An identical pottery repertoire, from the same time period, was found in the limestone caves, the marl caves, and the buildings. The ubiquity of the hole-mouthed cylindrical storage jars in all three locations indicates use by the same group. Thus, there is good archaeological evidence, independent of the Scrolls, for tying the caves to Khirbet Qumran. What does the evidence of the Scrolls themselves add to the picture? Much has been made of the fact that no scrolls were excavated from the ruins of Qumran.35 That argument, however, is a red herring. First, it is more correct to say that no scroll fragments were excavated from the buildings at Qumran. If we view Qumran as an entire occupational site, as suggested above, then scrolls were found at Qumran, in Caves 4–5 and 7–9.36 Second, the fire that destroyed Qumran at the end of de Vaux’s Period 2 consumed all the organic material in the buildings. As de Vaux states, “The end of Period II is marked by a violent destruction . . . all the rooms of the south-west and north-west were filled with debris from the collapse of the ceilings and superstructures to a height which varies between 1.10 m. and 1.50 m. Iron arrow-heads have been recovered, and almost everywhere a layer of a powdery black substance gives evidence of the burning of the roofs.”37 Therefore one should not expect to find scraps of parchment or papyrus in the ruins themselves. A more salient question would be whether or not there is any evidence for scribal activity in the ruins of Qumran. The answer is affirmative. There were, of course, the famous three inkwells from loci 30 and 31 (labeled by de Vaux “the Scriptorium”). Jan Gunneweg and

35 See, for example, Norman Golb, “Who Hid the Dead Sea Scrolls?” BA 48 (1985): 80; Hirshfeld, “Qumran in the Second Temple Period,” 239. 36 Stephen Pfann, “Reassessing the Judean Desert Caves: Libraries, Archives, Genizas and Hiding Places,” Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 25 (2007): 147–170, esp. 154. 37 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 36.

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Marta Balla list five more, although four are of uncertain provenance.38 Associated with the inkwells were plastered benches and tables, which de Vaux believed were writing desks, but whose actual function is disputed.39 It actually does not matter what the function of the tables was, since we know by the presence of the inkwells and inscribed material at the site that some writing occurred. André Lemaire has published all the inscribed material found in the ruins of the khirbeh and in the caves.40 Gunneweg and Balla have analyzed the inscribed material found in the buildings as follows: fifty-one ostraca in Hebrew script, eleven in Greek, and three in Latin. They suggest, based on the concentration of inscribed materials in certain loci, that rooms 124, 130, 61 and 30 were “centers of scribal activity at Qumran.” Sixteen ostraca, the largest number, were discovered in locus 120, a “storage room-complex.”41 De Vaux discovered an ostracon inscribed with a complete alphabet, which he identified as the work of a “pupil-scribe.”42 This would appear to be KhQ161. KhQ 2207, a “practical student exercise,” contains a quotation from the Psalms. This ostracon was found in Locus 129.43 In a 1996 survey, James Strange uncovered an inscribed ostracon, along the wall of the settlement, which appears to be some kind of deed.44 Therefore there is abundant evidence for writing activity in the ruins of the buildings. Next, the discovery of over one hundred leather tabs in Cave 8, one of the caves discovered underneath the terrace on which Qumran sits, is evidence for scroll manufacturing larger than a private collection. Whoever lived in or used Cave 8 must have been making or

38 J. Gunneweg and M. Balla, “Neutron Activation Analysis Scroll Jars and Common Ware,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II, 3–54, esp. 32. 39 The Donceels, for example, argued that these were dining benches. Donceel and Donceel-Voûte, “The Archaeology of Khirbet Qumran,” 27–31. 40 A. Lemaire, “Inscriptions du khirbeh, des grottes et de ‘Aïn Feshkha,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II, 341–88. 41 J. Gunneweg and M. Balla, “Possible Connection Between the Inscriptions on Pottery, the Ostraca and Scrolls,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II, 389–96, 393–94. They also note that no inscriptions on pottery were found in Caves 1, 2, 3 and 11 (although inscriptions were discovered in Cave 6), as opposed to Caves 4–10, further evidence that the limestone cliff caves had a different function than the marl terrace caves. 42 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 103. 43 Gunneweg and Balla, “Possible Connection,” 394. 44 James F. Strange, “The 1996 Excavations at Qumran and the Context of the New Hebrew Ostracon,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 51, and the bibliography cited there.

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storing those scroll tabs for a collection of scrolls, whether for new scrolls or the repair of old scrolls. It does not take a tremendous leap of the imagination to suppose that the scrolls in question were in the settlement at Qumran. Further, leather in various stages of preparation was found in three caves near Qumran, including “thin pieces to be used as parchment,” again pointing to the production of scrolls in the khirbeh.45 Let us now look at the types of scrolls found in each cave. Some caves contained collections that seem to have been for the private use of an individual. We have already mentioned that Cave 7 (a residential cave on the Qumran terrace) contained only Greek manuscripts. Cave 8, next to Cave 7, contained two biblical manuscripts and a hymn or prayer scroll. Caves 9 and 10 did not contain any identifiable manuscripts. Cave 5, next to Cave 4 on the southwest spur of the marl terrace, contained seven biblical manuscripts, ten (?) groups of fragments that remain unclassified, four small previously unknown works (5Q9, 10, 13 and 14), and, most interestingly, one manuscript of the Serekh ha-Yahad, one manuscript of the Damascus Document, and one manuscript of the Aramaic New Jerusalem composition. All three of these latter works have been labeled sectarian and give a unique character to the Qumran collection. These small collections are not the remnants of a larger library hidden by refugees fleeing from Jerusalem, but were used by the inhabitant of that cave for study or private devotion. The caves are grouped together, on the same terrace on which Qumran sits. The most logical assumption is that these people (and their scrolls) came from Qumran. What of the caves that contained larger collections, i.e. Caves 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 11? Let us first consider Caves 1–3, 6 and 11, the natural caves in the limestone cliffs that were not meant for permanent habitation. Each of these caves contained their share of “biblical” manuscripts, which could have been the property of any group of Jews in the Second Temple period. They also included compositions from the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, which would likewise have been of general interest to Jews of the period. This type includes the fragments of the Wisdom of Jesus ben Sirach found in Cave 2. However, all of these caves also included compositions that have been labeled sectarian, that

45 David Stacey, “Seasonal Industries at Qumran,” Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 26 (2008): 7–29, esp. 14.

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is, as belonging to a specific group of Jews with specific and often unique legal, theological and historical interests that were not shared by the wider Judaism of the period. These compositions also share a recognizable sectarian language that sets them apart from other Jewish composition of the period.46 For example, Caves 1 and 3 contained pesharim, a form of composition unique to the Qumran collection. We have already mentioned the Serekh ha-Yahad, the New Jerusalem, and the Damascus Document, sectarian compositions located in Cave 5. Copies of the Serekh were found in Caves 1 and (possibly) 11, fragments of the New Jerusalem were found in Caves 1, 2 and 11, while a copy of the Damascus Document was found in Cave 6. In addition, one very important loose group of texts found in these caves includes texts that either argue for or accept without argument the solar calendar. These works include the books of Enoch (Caves 1, 2 and 6), Jubilees (Cave 1, 2, 3 and 11), the Temple Scroll (Cave 11), and Aramaic Levi (Cave 1). This favoring of the solar calendar indicates a division from contemporary temple practice and argues against the proposition that these scrolls came from a temple library or collection.47 Finally, we turn to Cave 4. Cave 4 is the largest collection and ties all the other collections to itself and to each other. Recall that Cave 4 is a man-made cave, in the southwest spur of the marl terrace. One of its chambers (A) contained evidence of habitation in antiquity (like Caves 5, 7–10). However, according to the testimony of the Bedouin who opened the cave, the archaeologist who excavated it, and the scholars who first examined the scroll fragments, the scrolls were deposited on the entire floor of Cave 4a; they seem to have been deposited all at once, with no apparent order, and they were covered with a layer of marl that had sealed them in antiquity.48 Therefore it is clear that the Cave 4 collection was deposited deliberately, for a specific reason.

46 Carol Newsom, “‘Sectually Explicit’ Literature from Qumran,” in The Hebrew Bible and Its Interpreters (ed. W. Propp, B. Halpern and D. N. Freedman; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 167–87. Also Devorah Dimant, “The Library of Qumran: Its Content and Character,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery, 1947–1997 (ed. L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov and J. C. VanderKam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society/Shrine of the Book Israel Museum, 2000), 170–76. 47 Emanuel Tov has argued that the collection from Cave 11 has a particular sectarian character. “The Special Character of the Texts Found in Qumran Cave 11,” in Hebrew Bible, Greek Bible, and Qumran (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 121; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 421–27. 48 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 100.

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Can we determine that reason? First, let us examine the Cave 4 deposit. Cave 4 contained works from all the categories mentioned above, i.e. “biblical” manuscripts, general Second Temple Jewish works, and sectarian compositions. Further, almost every composition found in the other ten caves is also found in Cave 4. There are exceptions: two of the pesharim from Cave 1 (Micah, Habakkuk) were not found in Cave 4, the Genesis Apocryphon is unique to Cave 1, and fragments of the Wisdom of Jesus ben Sirach were only found in Cave 2. But these are exceptions that prove the rule: Cave 4 provides a cross section of the Qumran collection. Further, all the paleographical dates of the leather and papyrus manuscripts from Cave 4 fall within the same broad range, mid-third century b.c.e. to mid-first century c.e., as the paleographical dates of the manuscripts from the other caves. Finally, individual scribal hands repeat between Cave 4 and the other caves. For example, Ada Yardeni has identified one individual who apparently copied more than fifty manuscripts. She definitely ascribes to this scribe four manuscripts from Cave 1, one from Cave 2, one from Cave 3, twenty-five from Cave 4, one from Cave 6, and one from Cave 11 (total 33) and thirty-seven possible others.49 These material facts tie the scrolls from the eleven caves into a common collection or corpus.50 The makeup of this Qumran corpus is distinctive. The previously unknown works especially point to a deliberate collection with a specific point of view.51 The aforementioned favoring of the solar calendar is one peculiar characteristic of this corpus. Another is the specific legal interpretations found in the corpus, which sometimes embrace positions related to those ascribed to the Sadducees in the Mishnah, rejecting the Pharisaic positions, but often are peculiar to the Qumran corpus (that is, are neither Sadducaic or Pharisaic).52 An example of

49 Ada Yardeni, “A Note on a Qumran Scribe,” in New Seals and Inscriptions, Hebrew, Idumean, and Cuneiform (ed. M. Lubetski; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2007), 287–98, esp. 289–91. Emanuel Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 23, Table 2, takes a more conservative approach, noting that one scribe copied 1QS and 4QSamc, as well as making corrections on 1QIsaa. Even if we follow Tov’s more cautious approach, we still have evidence for scribal hands repeating in the caves. 50 Pfann, “Reassessing the Judean Desert Caves,” attempts to separate the various cave collections, ascribing them to different Jewish groups from the era. But I believe he overinterprets the evidence. 51 See Dimant, “The Library of Qumran: Its Content and Character.” 52 See, for example, the edition of Miqsat Ma’ase ha-Torah by Elisha Qimron and John Strugnell in DJD 10 and the accompanying articles. See also Lawrence H.

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this legal stance is the rejection of uncle-niece marriage, articulated in the Damascus Document and mentioned in the Temple Scroll.53 Many of the texts from the corpus share an eschatological outlook that gives the collection a particular emphasis (e.g. the War Scroll, PseudoEzekiel, and Pseudo-Daniel). New wisdom or sapiential works have surfaced in the corpus, with distinctive features such as cosmological and eschatological speculations.54 The exegetical texts, especially but not limited to the pesharim, display a distinctive interpretive stance, a shared vocabulary, and a common attitude toward contemporary events.55 All of these attributes again tie the Qumran corpus together as a deliberate collection and argue against the notion that it is simply a general Jewish collection of the Second Temple period. Further, what is not found in the Qumran corpus is as important as what is.56 There is no evidence for literature that could be described as “Pharisaic” in nature. There are no texts of an openly historical character, such as First or Second Maccabees. No works from pagan or Christian literature were discovered. Personal legal or business documents are almost entirely absent.57 This last statement contrasts sharply with the corpora from Naḥal Ḥ ever and Wadi Murabba‘at, which we know were the property of refugees from the conflicts of the first and second centuries c.e. The vast majority of documents from Naḥal Ḥ ever are deeds of sale, leases, loans, marriage contracts and the like, including the famous Babatha archive.58 The same is true for the Murabba‘at corpus.59 Again, this evidence points to the Qumran corpus as a distinctive collection, made by a specific group of Jews over a relatively long period of time.

Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1994), 249–55. 53 Crawford, The Temple Scroll and Related Texts, 61–62. 54 Dimant, “The Library of Qumran,” 174. 55 Moshe J. Bernstein, “Interpretation of Scriptures,” EDSS 1.376–83 and the bibliography cited there. 56 Yaacov Shavit, “The ‘Qumran Library’ in the Light of the Attitude towards Books and Libraries in the Second Temple Period,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 299–318. 57 See the list in Armin Lange and Ulrike Mittman-Richert, “Annotated List of the Texts from the Judaean Desert Classified by Content and Genre,” in DJD 39:144. They note that the editor of these documents, Ada Yardeni, calls the provenance of several Cave 4 documents into question. She argues that 4Q351–354, 356–358 come from Naḥal Ḥ ever. 58 Lange and Mittman-Richert, “Annotated List,” 156–60. 59 Lange and Mittman-Richert, “Annotated List,” 152–54.

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Where did this collection come from? Although popular opinion has long held that scholars believed that all the Qumran scrolls were written and/or copied at Qumran itself,60 this has never been the scholarly opinion. For example, Cross in 1957 states, “Three very old documents have been found in Cave IV. Presumably they are master scrolls, imported into Qumrân at the founding of the community.”61 As Cross implies, it is impossible that the scrolls with a paleographic date prior to the mid-second century b.c.e. were copied at Qumran. However, there are only a few surviving scrolls older than the settlement dates at Qumran. Even more importantly, there are none with a paleographic date later than the destruction at Qumran around the time of the Great Jewish Revolt against Rome.62 Almost all of the paleographic dates of the scroll copies coincide with the archaeological dates assigned to the main phases at Qumran.63 That coincidence alone should at least lead to some attempt at an explanation. To summarize the evidence of the Scrolls: The Qumran corpus is a deliberate collection, with distinctive features that set it apart from what might be expected in a general Jewish library of the Second Temple period. There is a common range of paleographic dates across the eleven caves. The contents of each cave (with the exception of Cave 7) overlap with each other and especially with Cave 4. There is no difference between the corpora found in the limestone cliff caves and those found in the marl terrace caves (again, excepting Cave 7). It is a religious collection, with almost no business documents. We have established that it is most likely, based on the archaeological and textual evidence, that the inhabitants of the small caves on the marl terrace and their manuscripts came from Qumran. Can the same be said for Cave 4 and the limestone cliff caves? De Vaux gave an early summation of the argument that the scroll collection found in the caves came from Qumran: “When we reflect that the manuscripts are numerous and the pottery plentiful, that the manuscripts constitute a homogeneous group, and that the pottery

60 For an early popular treatment of the Dead Sea Scrolls that embraces this position, see Edmund Wilson, The Scrolls from the Dead Sea (London: W. H. Allen, 1955). 61 Cross, Ancient Library of Qumran, 42. 62 The paleographic dates assigned to the manuscripts have been confirmed by Carbon-14 dating. See Gregory L. Doudna, “Carbon-14 Dating,” EDSS 1.120–21 and the bibliography cited there. The Copper Scroll is an exception; see footnote 8. 63 Brian Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in DJD 39:351–446, esp. 371–446.

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belongs to a single period, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that the manuscripts were deposited or abandoned in the caves at the same time as the pottery.”64 Have the arguments made by de Vaux on the basis of the archaeological evidence been strengthened or weakened in the subsequent years? In my opinion they have been strengthened. Thorough studies of the pottery found in the caves and excavated at Qumran have shown that, while the corpus fits into the regional pottery types found in the Judean Desert in the vicinity of Jericho, there are distinctive features in the caves/Qumran corpora that tie those two strongly together. These include, but are not limited to, the ubiquity of the hole-mouth cylindrical storage jars in the caves and at Qumran. A reinvestigation of the caves has discovered paths and staircases leading from the settlement to the caves. All the caves dug into the marl terrace lie within the archaeological boundaries of Qumran. The Qumran caves corpora are demonstrably one deliberate collection. How and when were they deposited in the caves? Two theories have been proposed. The first is that the caves were genizot for the Qumran community. The second is that the Scrolls were deposited in the caves as hiding places, in the face of the Roman attack that destroyed the settlement. The idea that Cave 1 was a genizah, a storage place for old, worn out, no longer usable manuscripts, was first mentioned by Eleazar Sukenik in the first flush of the discovery of Cave 1, and found some early supporters.65 The idea was rejected by de Vaux, however, and, as more scroll caves were discovered, it fell out of favor.66 Joan Taylor has recently made a strong case in its favor. She argues that the method of storing wrapped scrolls in jars in the limestone cliff caves is in fact a method of “burial,” appropriate for a genizah.67 The function of the caves in the marl terrace, according to Taylor, may point to “scrollprocessing for preservation-burial,” but this is uncertain.68

64 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 102. See Ullmann-Margalit’s discussion of de Vaux’s hypothesis and its strengths and weaknesses in Out of the Cave, 41–48. 65 As quoted by Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts,” 1. 66 As Taylor points out, de Vaux’s concept of the function of a genizah was incorrect; he thought manuscripts stored in a genizah were texts rejected by the community, that is, heterodox. Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts,” 3; de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 103. 67 Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts,” 10–16. 68 Taylor, “Buried Manuscripts,” 23.

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Although Taylor makes several persuasive points on the basis of the archaeological evidence, the genizah theory does not adequately account for all the scroll evidence. First, a genizah is meant to be a storage place for old, worn out, no longer usable manuscripts, but two of the manuscripts stored in jars, 1QIsaa (Cave 1) and 11QTemplea (Cave 11) were in excellent condition when abandoned in their respective caves. 1QIsaa is an older manuscript (ca. 125–100 b.c.e.), but was completely whole and usable. The Temple Scroll’s paleographic date is only 25 b.c.e.–25 c.e.; its deterioration was caused by its adventures after its removal from Cave 11.69 Second, the overall paleographic profile of the collection argues against the limestone cliff caves being genizot. The oldest manuscripts in the collection come from Cave 4, while Caves 2, 3 and 6 (limestone cliff caves) have younger dates.70 Daniel Stökl ben Ezra has demonstrated, using statistical analysis, that the paleographic profile of the manuscripts from Caves 1 and 4 is on average much older than that from Caves 2, 3, 5, 6 and 11.71 Stephen Pfann has charted the paleographic dates of the manuscripts from the larger scroll caves (1, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 11). His charts indicate that the peak paleographic date for Caves 1, 4, 5 and 6 is the first century b.c.e., and for Caves 3 and 11 the first century c.e.72 This paleographic concentration is what we would expect; the settlement was founded ca. 100 b.c.e. and destroyed in 68 c.e. The inhabitants would have brought older scrolls in at the beginning of the settlement and collected and/or manufactured new scrolls while they lived there. Many of these new scrolls could have easily been brought in from other parts of the country, including Jerusalem. Both the paleographic findings and the physical state of 1QIsaa and 11QTemplea do not coincide with the idea that the limestone cliff caves were exclusively genizot for old, worn out, or otherwise unusable manuscripts. However, it is certainly possible that some older manuscripts were stored away in certain caves (according to Stökl ben Ezra’s statistics, Caves 1 and 4), before the end of the settlement.

69 Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (3 vols.; rev. Eng. ed.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 1:9–39. 70 Brian Webster, “Chronological Index,” 375–77. 71 Daniel Stökl ben Ezra, “Old Caves and Young Caves: A Statistical Reevaluation of a Qumran Consensus,” DSD 14 (2007): 313–33, esp. 315–18. 72 Pfann, “Reassessing the Judean Desert Caves,” 157–58, 160.

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The second scenario, the “quick hiding” scenario, has been championed by de Vaux, Cross, Hartmut Stegemann, James VanderKam and others.73 This scenario continues to have much to recommend it. The archaeological evidence from Caves 3 and 4, the only caves where all (Cave 3) or a substantial portion (Cave 4) of the manuscript evidence was undisturbed and professionally excavated, indicate that the scrolls were deposited all at once, and hurriedly. De Vaux states, “the many fragments recovered by us from Cave 4 went right down to the original floor of the cave.”74 To quote Cross again, “the relatively small quantity of fragments from the deepest levels of the cave [4] nevertheless represented a fair cross section of the whole deposit in the cave.”75 Cross does not indicate that only paleographically earlier manuscripts were found at the bottom layers of the cave, which we would expect if Cave 4 were a genizah.76 Rather, it appears that the manuscripts were placed in the large collection caves, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 11, over a relatively short period of time. Given the fact that all these caves contained manuscripts with the latest paleographic dates in the Qumran series (ca. 1–70 c.e.),77 it is logical to look for an event that would precipitate the manuscripts’ rapid storage in the caves. That event has to be the anticipated attack on the settlement by the X Roman Legion Fretensis, operating in the region of Jericho in 68 c.e.78 That this attack in fact occurred is demonstrated by the destruction layer at Qumran, the Roman arrowheads in the destruction debris, and the reuse of the site as a Roman army camp in Period 3.79

73 Originally argued by de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 106–9. Cross, Ancient Library of Qumran, 62. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today, 108. For an imaginative reconstruction of how this was done, see Stegemann, The Library of Qumran, 58–79. 74 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 100. 75 Cross, Ancient Library of Qumran, 27 n. 32. 76 As Pfann, “Reassessing the Judean Desert Caves,” suggests (147, 149). 77 Webster, “Chronological Lists,” 374–75. 78 Cross, Ancient Library of Qumran, 60–62. 79 Stökl ben Ezra proposes two events that precipitated hiding; Caves 1 and 4 were used at the time of the first fire that destroyed the buildings in 9/8 b.c.e., while Caves 2, 3, 5, 6 and 11 were used in 68 c.e. The suggestion that some manuscripts were hidden or stored away earlier than 68 is certainly possible and can be argued as part of the hiding scenario, “Old Caves and Young Caves,” 327–28. Gregory Doudna makes the sweeping suggestion that all the scrolls were deposited in the caves in the first century b.c.e., but he dismisses the first century c.e. paleographic dates,“The Legacy of an Error in Archaeological Interpretation. The Dating of the Qumran Cave Scroll Deposits,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 146–56.

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All of these facts create a strong chain of evidence that it was the inhabitants of Qumran who owned the scroll collection and who hid the majority of the Scrolls, perhaps first in the relatively inaccessible caves in the limestone cliffs, but then finally and quickly in the large, conveniently nearby Cave 4 in 68 c.e. The Scrolls must have been precious to them, since they made at least some effort to protect them from the elements by wrapping some in linen and even storing a few in a jar. They did not hide coins or other wealth; the Scrolls were their only concern. Did they hope to return and recover them? Probably, but that was not to be, and their discovery was left to the curiosity of Bedouin shepherds in 1947.

DIGITAL QUMRAN: VIRTUAL REALITY OR VIRTUAL FANTASY? Jodi Magness The latest twist on the controversies surrounding the archaeology of Qumran has come—perhaps not surprisingly—from the world of digital technology. Based on his University of California at Los Angeles Ph.D. dissertation, Robert Cargill claims that digital technology provides definitive answers to the question of whether Qumran was a sectarian settlement. Cargill created a three-dimensional virtual model of Qumran that allows for real-time navigation through the site.1 Cargill’s Digital Qumran project is valuable for applying the latest technological advances in computer simulation to Qumran studies. There is no doubt that technology will increasingly impact scholarship, and Cargill’s project illustrates one way that the two can be used together to better understand the past. Nevertheless, it is important to recognize technology’s limitations as well as its value. In this paper, I demonstrate that since Cargill’s digital model is the result of a selective and interpretive process (and includes some serious errors), it cannot and should not be used as a basis for understanding the nature of the settlement. It is a pleasure to dedicate this paper to Jim VanderKam, whose careful research and original insights on Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls have been valuable resources for my own work. Although technology is useful, it is only a tool—that is, a means to an end, not an end in itself. Technology does not provide objective answers, since the results are generated on the basis of data entered into the system. The data gathered are the product of an interpretive process on the part of the archaeologist, a process which begins even before the first shovel is sunk into the ground, as part of deciding where and how to excavate. As Michael Schiffer cautions, “the behavior of the archaeologist is the greatest source of variability in the

1

See Robert R. Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time: A Virtual Reconstruction of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias, 2009); idem, “The Qumran Digital Model: An Argument for Archaeological Reconstruction in Virtual Reality,” Near Eastern Archaeology 72 (2009): 28–41, 44–47.

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archaeological record.”2 Furthermore, even under the best of circumstances our data are incomplete, since most of the material remains from antiquity have not survived. As Sheena Crawford observes, “in attempting to reconstruct the past, the archaeologist is at a distinct tactical disadvantage over those who concern themselves with the present. The ‘process’ is gone, the ‘actors’ have exited, and the nebulous ‘ideas’ (indefinite enough in the present) are long buried in the sands of time. What the archaeologist is left with is a barrow-load of static remains, broken and battered. . . .”3 Similarly, Nezar Al-Sayyad, an urban historian who created a computer model of medieval Cairo, remarks on “our growing recognition of the futility of attempting to create a single ‘complete’ model of historical change from a few fragments of historical evidence.”4 In the case of Qumran, these problems are amplified by the nature of Roland de Vaux’s excavations (which were conducted according to scientific standards common in the eastern Mediterranean in the 1950s), and the lack of a final scientific report, which means that much of the data from the excavations has never been published. Therefore, it is not true, as Cargill claims, that with his digital model, “the archaeologist can visually experience the site just as the site’s original inhabitants would have.”5 The digital model may provide an impression of the site’s appearance, but it is not an accurate reconstruction. In Near Eastern Archaeology 72 (2009), I published a detailed response to Cargill’s digital model that includes a critique of his chronology.6 For example, Cargill harmonizes or telescopes remains from various periods. This problem is due at least in part to the conflation of remains dating to the pre-31 b.c.e. phase of Period Ib and the post31 phase of Period Ib, which he acknowledges (p. 137) but does not distinguish (as indicated by Cargill’s assignment of his Phase 4 from

2 Michael B. Schiffer, Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico, 1987), 362. 3 Sheena Crawford, “Re-evaluating Material Culture: Crawling Towards a Reconstruction of Minoan Society,” in Minoan Society, Proceedings of the Cambridge Colloquium 1981 (ed. O. Krzyszkowska and L. Nixon; Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 1983), 48. 4 Nezar AlSayyad, “Virtual Cairo: An Urban Historian’s View of Computer Simulation,” Leonardo 32.2 (1999): 96. 5 Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time, 73. 6 Jodi Magness, “The Qumran Digital Model: A Response,” Near Eastern Archaeology 72 (2009): 42–45.

digital qumran: virtual reality or virtual fantasy? 277 the earthquake of 31 to the Roman destruction in 68 c.e. [p. 213]).7 In this paper, I wish to consider other problems. At the beginning of his book, Cargill informs us that not long after beginning the process, certain flaws in Roland de Vaux’s original Qumran–Essene Hypothesis became apparent. Certain archaeological assumptions made by de Vaux did not hold up in the digital modeling process. Specifically, Locus 30 (the so-called “scriptorium”) and Locus 77 (the “dining room”) appeared to be additions to a previously standing square structure, based upon wall abutments and differences in (often multiple) floor elevations. Thus, a sectarian community most likely did not establish the initial site as de Vaux proposed.8

Cargill concludes that the site originally consisted of a Main Building measuring 37 × 37 m with a large tower in the northwest corner, which he identifies as a Hasmonean period fort (ca. 140–100 b.c.e.). According to Cargill, rooms such as the “scriptorium” and the dining room in L77 were added to this original structure in the next phase, which is sectarian.9 Cargill’s conclusion is based on a string of erroneous assumptions and assertions, examples of which are discussed in the following ten points. (1) Cargill states that L30 and L77 appear to be additions to a previously standing square structure based on wall abutments and differences in (often multiple) floor elevations.10 But the fact that one wall abuts another rather than being bonded only indicates the relative relationship between them—that is, one is later than the other—not the absolute dates of construction. It does not indicate whether this is a technical feature of construction or whether the walls are separated

7 For the pre-31 and post-31 phases of Period Ib at Qumran, see Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 66–68; idem, “The Chronology of the Settlement at Qumran in the Herodian Period,” DSD 2 (1995): 58–65. 8 Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 6. 9 Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 102, 119–23. 10 See for example Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 119: “The northern and eastern walls of Locus 30 were thinner than the previously existing wall to its west, which it abuts. The abutment of the northern wall of Locus 30 against the thicker wall to the west of the locus demonstrates that Locus 30 was an expanded area from the original structure. This fact, coupled with the fact that the width of the Locus 30 courtyard-facing walls is equal to the width of the remodeled northern wall of the southern wing of the Main Building, lends additional support to the suggestion that Locus 30 was an internal addition to the previously established fort.” For L77 see p. 122.

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in date by one day, one year, ten years, or one hundred years. The only way to determine the construction date of walls is on the basis of the associated finds, that is, datable artifacts or objects from their foundation trenches and the surfaces abutting them. (2) There is an original enclosure at the heart of Qumran’s main building, but de Vaux dated its construction to the Iron Age, not the Hasmonean period: The first human settlement at Khirbet Qumran goes back to the Israelite period. The foundations of some of the walls are on a lower level than others, being embedded in a layer of ash containing numerous sherds of Iron Age II. . . . They are again to be found against the north wall of Locus 77, the foundations of which are very deep, and beneath the south wall of the same locus, which has a much shallower foundation and has been superimposed on a thin layer of ash containing Israelite sherds only. . . . The location of the sherds and the levels of the foundations of the walls provide evidence to help reconstruct a coherent plan. It is of a rectangular building comprising the following features: a large courtyard; a row of rooms running along its eastern wall with one projecting outwards at the northeast corner; other less clearly identifiable features against the north and south walls.11

De Vaux concluded that this structure was a late Iron Age fort, analogous to others in the area: “This plan approximates to the plans of the Israelite strongholds which have been explored in the Plain of the Buqei’a, on the plateau which dominates Qumran, as well as in the Negeb, at ‘Ain Qedeirat and elsewhere.”12 In other words, there is no doubt that rooms such as L30 and L77 were added to or abut previously existing walls, but the earlier structure dates to the Iron Age. Cargill includes Iron Age forts among his comparanda, but for reasons that are not clear, he dates the establishment of the fort to the Hasmonean period.13 (3) The square building that is at the heart of Cargill’s reconstruction is incomplete. There is no evidence of walls on the western and southwest sides of the original structure of Period Ia, neither according to the plans published by Roland de Vaux nor by Jean-Baptiste Humbert and Alain Chambon.14

11 Roland de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: The British Academy, 1973), 1–2. 12 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 2. 13 Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 102–5, 176–83. 14 Compare Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, Pls. 5.2–5.3, and de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Pl. IV; Jean-Baptiste Humbert and Alain Cham-

digital qumran: virtual reality or virtual fantasy? 279 (4) A key feature of Cargill’s Hasmonean period fort is the northwest tower.15 However, de Vaux dated the tower’s construction to his Period Ib (ca. 100 b.c.e.), and no tower appears on his plans of Period Ia.16 Although Humbert and Chambon include the tower in their plan of Period Ia, they do not state the basis for this, and in fact their plan is admittedly hypothetical, as indicated by the caption, “Plan partiel suppose.”17 (5) Even if Cargill is correct in dating the supposed square structure and tower to the Hasmonean period (ca. 140–100 b.c.e.), this does not prove his claims in the first long quotation above about the nature of occupation: the existence of a tower in Period Ia would not demonstrate that Qumran was a fort and not a sectarian settlement, since the tower existed and was used in the later phases that Cargill identifies as sectarian. (6) Elsewhere Cargill discusses Loci 12 and 13 to the south of the northwest tower: De Vaux suggested the presence of an uncovered gallery or drawbridge leading from Loci 12 or 13 to an entrance in the southern wall of the tower on the second floor leading to Locus 11. The presence of an oven discovered in Locus 13 caused de Vaux to reconsider the interpretation as covered [sic!], and he ultimately concluded that the area immediately to the south of the tower was uncovered. There is a “strong pillar” in Locus 12, which de Vaux states is contemporary with the thinner partition wall between Loci 12 and 13. The thin partition wall appears to stand in place of the original internal support wall of the northern half of the western wing. . . . Given the fact that the oven and partition wall are secondary, that the entrance to the northwest tower is on the second floor, and given the fortified nature of the entire settlement and the fact that the main entrance to the structure is to the immediate west of Locus 12, the area above Loci 12 and 13 most likely originally extended all the way to the southern wall of the northwest tower.18

This statement incorporates a string of assumptions made by Cargill (such as the fortified nature of the settlement), which then led him to conclude that Loci 12 and 13 were originally two stories high and roofed: “Upon modeling the initial structure wall, no basis could be

bon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân et de Aïn Feshkha I (Fribourg: Éditions universitaires, 1994), 15 Pl. III. 15 See Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 109–11; Pls. 5.2–5.3. 16 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 6–7; Pls. IV, VI. 17 Humbert and Chambon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân, 15 Pl. III. 18 Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time, 106–107.

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found for not extending the internal and external walls of the western wing of the Main Building all the way to the tower on the second storey.”19 In other words, Cargill makes an assumption about L12 and L13, which he incorporated into the model on the grounds that “no basis could be found for not extending [these walls]. . . .” In fact, Cargill’s reconstruction is contradicted by de Vaux, who posited a wooden balcony extending over Loci 12 and 13 because he found no evidence of a second story or ceiling in L12: “Y avait-il un étage? Mais pas de cendres ni traces d’un plafond . . . les loci 12 et 13 n’étaient apparemment pas couverts.”20 This means that there is no basis for Cargill’s statement that “De Vaux’s notes suggest the presence of a second storey in Locus 12 immediately to the south of the tower.”21 As de Vaux concluded, the balcony (which provided access to the tower at the second-story level) was reached by a staircase in L13 (not L12 as Cargill states on page 107).22 (7) Cargill also discusses the staircase in the southeast corner of the central courtyard of the main building (L35). In Plate 5.18 Cargill includes the staircase in his Hasmonean period phase (the fort).23 However, the staircase does not appear in the plans of de Vaux’s period Ia, and in fact de Vaux dated the construction of the staircase to Period Ib.24 I have suggested that the staircase was built in the post-31 b.c.e. phase of Period Ib, because according to de Vaux’s notes it was constructed over the water channel that supplied the miqveh in L48–49, which was destroyed by the earthquake and subsequently abandoned.25 Since the areas surrounding the staircase to the west, north, and east were open to the sky when it was constructed, the staircase must have provided access to a second story level to the south. This is why I have proposed that the dining room in L77 was moved to the second story level of this room after the earthquake of 31 b.c.e., at the same time a row of pilasters was erected at the eastern end of the hall.26 19

Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 106–107. Humbert and Chambon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân, 296–97. 21 Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time, 106. 22 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 6; Humbert and Chambon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân, 297. 23 Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time, 108. 24 De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 7; Pl. VI; Humbert and Chambon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân, 15 Pl. III; 16 Pl. IV; 34 Pl. X. 25 Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran, 122–23. 26 Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran, 123. 20

digital qumran: virtual reality or virtual fantasy? 281 (8) On pages 111–12, Cargill discusses Loci 1, 2, and 4. Because of the low bench running along the walls, de Vaux suggested that Locus 4 “has the appearance of being an assembly room.”27 Cargill, however, identifies these loci as storage rooms, “based upon the pottery manufacturing elements present at Qumran, the vast diversity and quantity of pottery discovered in Loci 1 and 2, and the impassability of the three rooms. . . . The benches are too low for comfortable seating, and the plastered floor and benches would have helped to preserve fluids in the case of breakage and spills.”28 In Plate 5.14 Cargill illustrates the interior of Locus 4, showing rows of cylindrical jars on the benches and smaller jars on the floor. But de Vaux’s notes do not support Cargill’s reconstruction. The pottery from these loci listed in de Vaux’s notes consists of the following (my translation from the French):29 Locus 1: 1 cylindrical jar; 3 deep bowls or basins; 2 jars or jar fragments; 11 small plates or fragments of small plates (assiettes); 3 bowls; 2 plates (plats); one Herodian (wheelmade) lamp fragment. Locus 2: 3 cylindrical jars or jar fragments (one small); 1 ovoid jar; 1 small cooking pot; 7 juglets or juglet fragments; 1 bowl; 1 cup; 1 deep bowl or basin; 1 piriform jug (fragments); 1 jug fragment; fragments of stone vessels; 1 small plate. Locus 4: 4 bell-shaped [bag-shaped] jars; 2 bowls; 7 small plates or fragments of small plates; 1 cup; 1 juglet; 1 jug; 3 Herodian lamps or lamp fragments; 3 fragments of Roman water jugs with plastic decoration (Nabataean cream ware?); 1 goblet; 1 plate; 1 unguentarium (on the bench).

Of course, we do not have information on all of the pottery types found in these loci. Nevertheless, the published reports suggest that most of the pottery consists of dining dishes rather than storage vessels, contradicting Cargill’s identification of these loci as storage rooms. Furthermore, the fact that not a single cylindrical jar is recorded from Locus 4 moves Cargill’s illustration from the realm of historical reconstruction to fantasy.

27

De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 7. Cargill, Qumran Through (Real) Time, 112. 29 Humbert and Chambon, Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân, 292–93. Some of the pottery from L1, L2, and L4 is illustrated in Roland de Vaux, “Fouille au Khirbet Qumrân, Rapport préliminaire,” RB 60 (1953): 96–101, Figs. 2–4. 28

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(9) On page 137, Cargill accepts Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg’s redating of the earthquake from 31 b.c.e. to a period after the site’s abandonment: “their assertion that the crack occurred after the site’s destruction based upon the fault line evidence in the trash dumps to the east of the site is compelling.” Cargill is referring to Magen and Peleg’s excavation of a refuse dump outside the site’s eastern boundary wall, which revealed two deep north-south cracks.30 Magen and Peleg compare these to the earthquake crack in L48–49 and state that, “these cracks postdate the [eastern] dump, as finds clearly fell into them after their formation.”31 Since the finds from the dump date from the Iron Age to the First Revolt, Magen and Peleg conclude that a later earthquake caused the cracks. However, even if Magen and Peleg are correct that a later earthquake caused the cracks in the eastern dump, it is not clear that the same earthquake was responsible for the damage in L48–49. After all, the rift valley is an epicenter of seismic activity. More importantly, I do not understand the reason for dating the cracks in the eastern dump to a period after the site’s abandonment. The caption to Fig. 16 of Magen and Peleg’s preliminary report reads, “Notice the penetration of the dark upper layer into the crack.”32 This photograph shows that the material was dumped after the crack formed—in other words, the dumped material postdates the crack. If the dump antedated the crack, we should expect to find a layer of dump with a crack running through it. Instead, the section illustrated by Magen and Peleg clearly shows the dumped material filling and respecting the crack. (10) On page 151, Cargill endorses the suggestion (made by others) that the animal bone deposits in L130, 132, and 135 were “buried in an effort to keep predators and scavengers away from the site.”33 This possibility is contradicted by all available evidence. De Vaux indicated that the animal bones were not buried:

30 Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993–2004, Preliminary Report (Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology—Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria, 2007), 8–11. 31 Magen and Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993–2004, 8. 32 Magen and Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993–2004, 10, Fig. 16. 33 For the suggestion that the animal bones were buried to keep scavengers away, see Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1994), 338; Magen and Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993–2004, 42–44; Joan E. Taylor, “ ‘Roots, Remedies and Properties of Stones’: The Essenes, Qumran and Dead Sea Pharmacology,” Journal of Jewish Studies 60 (2009): 243.

digital qumran: virtual reality or virtual fantasy? 283 In the free spaces between the buildings or round them the excavations have laid bare animal bones deposited between large sherds of pitchers or pots, or sometimes placed in jars left intact with their lids on. In one instance such bones have been found covered simply by a plate. . . . As a rule these deposits have hardly been covered with earth. They are flush with the level of the ground. Some of them even seem to have been laid on the ground.34

Placing bones on the ground under or between potsherds would have attracted rather than deterred local predators and scavengers such as foxes, hyenas, jackals, and birds of prey. Had the intention been to keep predators and scavengers away, why did the inhabitants of Qumran not dispose of the bones by throwing them over the edges of the cliffs surrounding the site? And if the intention was to keep animals away, why are similar deposits not found at other settlements; are we to assume that scavengers were a problem only at Qumran? Therefore, I agree with de Vaux that the deposits should be understood in connection with the ritual meals of the sect.35 To conclude, Cargill’s Qumran digital model is the product of a flawed and sometimes erroneous interpretive process based on incomplete data. As Al-Sayyad cautions, In using computer modeling, however, historians must be aware of the nature and limits of computer simulations. Part of the problem is that computer simulation has the ability to depict material to an extraordinary degree of completeness. As historians, we usually rely on incomplete pieces of evidence from a variety of unequal sources. . . . Under the best possible conditions, the act of writing history consists of piecing together such fragments. The process leads unavoidably to resolving contradictions between bits of evidence to arrive at a reasonably substantial version of what occurred. We unavoidably exercise judgment in qualifying which sources are more reliable than others. All these problems are compounded when as historians we set out to construct a computer model. . . . We should equally resist the seductive power of the medium and its ability to produce models of historical contexts that exceed our knowledge of the built environment, based on the available sources. The desire to produce ever more realistic models may result in the legitimization of historical depictions based on little more than speculation.36

34

De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 12–13. De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 14; Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran, 117–22. 36 Al-Sayyad, “Virtual Cairo,” 100. 35

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Even if we accept Cargill’s reconstruction of a Hasmonean period square building with a tower, his digital model tells us nothing about the community that occupied the site. Instead, we would need to examine the associated finds and installations in order to determine the nature of the site’s use and the identity of the inhabitants. And in this regard, Cargill has no new information to add. In making the leap from digital model to interpretation about the nature of the site, Cargill builds a circular argument and fails to distinguish between the potential and the limitations of technology.

SEVEN RULES FOR RESTORING LACUNAE James Hamilton Charlesworth All specialists who have worked on ancient manuscripts know that texts are sometimes difficult to understand because of lacunae.1 Restorations of lost letters and spaces in these holes are necessary to comprehend the flow of a given document and its message.2 But restorations must not be imaginative or random. Qumranologists are familiar with the task of restoring the text in these lacunae, and thus, coherent methodologies for filling in these holes according to a scientific process are highly desirable.3 That is the purpose of this essay in honor of James C. VanderKam, whom I have known since the early 1970s and whose work is defined by scientific precision—as revealed in his edition of Jubilees, his work on the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the meticulous study of high priests after the exile and until 70 c.e., From Joshua to Caiaphas.4 The holes in a Qumran manuscript are usually caused by worms or by millennia of deterioration of the leather or papyrus. Only infrequently are tears in a manuscript caused by the desecration intended by Roman soldiers. Some Qumran fragments apparently show an imprint of a sandal; most likely the image was left by a Roman soldier

1 This paper was first presented in the postdoctoral Semitic seminars at Oxford, Manchester, and Durham; it appears here in a revised and expanded version. I am grateful to Professors Martin Goodman, George Brooke, and Loren Stuckenbruck for comments that helped me improve my method and presentation. 2 See the reflections of H. Stegemann, esp. his “Methods for the Reconstruction of Scrolls from Scattered Fragments,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, (ed. L. H. Schiffman; JSOT/ASOR Monograph Series 2; JSPSup 8; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 189–220. 3 For reflections analogous to mine, see E. D. Herbert, Reconstructing Biblical Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Method Applied to the Reconstruction of 4QSama (STDJ 22; Leiden: Brill, 1997). Herbert is more focused on letter widths, vertical dividers, and margins than I have been. Restoring a biblical text for which there are many exemplars, even if perhaps with multiple versions, is not the same as reconstructing what may be an autograph. Herbert discusses “reconstructed widths” (see esp. p. 38) since some consonants are large and others are small; this variance is accounted for in my methodology. 4 J. C. VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004).

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who stepped on the manuscript in the first century c.e.5 I have just published a copy of Jeremiah that may have been cut by a Roman sword; but surely we may only offer such reflections as conjectures.6 Restorations, however, should not be conjectural. Over the past sixty years, Qumranologists have restored leather and papyri manuscripts without being guided by a clearly articulated, published set of rules. A look, for example, at Józef Milik’s study The Books of Enoch suggests to many readers, even specialists in Semitics, that the Qumran Aramaic fragments of Enochic works extensively preserve the ancient text and that it is almost always identical to the late Ethiopic manuscripts.7 That impression seems to result from not having rules for restoring lacunae and translating from Ethiopic to Aramaic as if the texts are virtually identical. Two manuscripts of the Aramaic books of Enoch, not known to scholars, have been shown to me, and the text is markedly different from the Ethiopic manuscripts. Too often paleographers who are less skilled than Milik have created texts that never could have existed in antiquity. Therefore it seems wise to develop clear guidelines for studying and restoring the text in lacunae. Qumranologists face many difficulties that may not be familiar to other scholars. Discerning what consonants a scribe intended, or were intended by the earlier scribe of the text being copied, is not an easy task. The problem of interpreting the Dead Sea Scrolls begins not with translating or even pointing the text (as some have claimed); interpretation begins with discerning what consonants were intended. Moreover, in contrast to biblical texts that are represented by hundreds of copies, other ancient manuscripts often have to be emended without the help of parallel texts. Like all of us, scribes are human and make mistakes.8 Sometimes consonants are difficult to distinguish or are confused. Likewise, words are often not separated, so one has to discern when a

5

In the near future, I will publish another example of this phenomenon on ijco.

org. 6 See J. H. Charlesworth, “Jeremiah 48:29–31a [Provisional Research Report],” ijco. org. This “unknown” text from Qumran is presented with a transcription, translation, and notes. 7 See J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976). 8 E. Tov rightly notes that “careful and careless scribes can be identified anywhere in the Qumran corpus.” Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 25.

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word begins and ends. Obviously there is no punctuation in the text, so the modern translator has to supply these essential aids to understanding. There are also no capital letters, so the paleographer should indicate, for example, “the anointed one” instead of simply “the Messiah,” even though some theologians may prefer the latter translation. Finally, the texts are almost always fragmentary, so the scholar seldom has a full context from which to surmise the meaning intended. Furthermore, many of the manuscripts are marred by lacunae. What we all call “a fragment” is often a misnomer. That is, some fragments consist of hundreds of “fragments.” For example, 4Q509, the earliest copy of the Prayers for Festivals (1Q34, 1Q34bis, 4Q507– 509), consists of no fewer than 313 disjointed pieces.9 Sometimes, the fragments are moved from one plate to another in the museum, and too often a fragment disappears.10 It is not easy to discern whether the fragments on a plate or numerous plates are from the same manuscript. Even if the scribal hand seems identical, we need to comprehend that one scribe copied more than one manuscript. Virtually none of the Dead Sea Scrolls are fully extant and thus we are almost always working with fragmentary manuscripts. Even the longest manuscript, the so-called Temple Scroll, is only partially preserved and an editor can be frustrated by how to restore the zero-lines at the top of the columns. For us to follow the Masoretic Text (MT) is unwise since the compiler or author of this document used a mixed text type, as is evident in the apparatus criticus.11 Thus, VanderKam is wise to warn the average reader that the Qumran texts are in a very “poor state” and that, when focusing on the additional pseudepigrapha known for the first time because of what was preserved in the Qumran caves, “in no case is anything close to the complete text extant.”12 While my current focus is on restoring lacunae, the present work should also be helpful in developing more precise ways to reconstruct the lost lines of a manuscript according to some base text (keeping in mind the fluidity of text types that necessarily makes reconstructions provisional). 9

See PTSDSSP 4A:46–105. This occurred recently when I was editing 4Q524. The large frg. 21 on Plate 7 in DJD 25 was not present for me to examine in the Israel Museum and did not appear on the new images I purchased. 11 See the text and apparatus criticus to the Temple Scroll in PTSDDSP 7:12–173. 12 James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 60–61. 10

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Errors in editing the Qumran Scrolls have sometimes been related to restoring the text in lacunae. These errors often occur because of one or more of the following mistakes: 1 The lacuna was not measured. 2 The lacuna was measured by an abstract metric scale and not determined according to the number of spaces and consonants in the near vicinity of the hole or tear. 3 The scholar did not observe that the restoration was most likely impossible, because too many consonants were inserted into too small a space or too few consonants were restored in a long hole. 4 Sometimes the edge of the fragment above the lacuna was not examined. For example, the restoration of a lamed would be impossible because one would have been able to see the top of the lamed if it had been present, but no trace of that lamed is visible. 5 Similarly, a final nun or kaph was restored, but the scholar did not observe that the tail of such a form would have been visible on the edge of the fragment below the lacuna; but the lack of traces of such a descending consonant disproves the suggested restoration. 6 Clusters of forms, concepts, and terms were not perceived. 7 Biblical citations were restored, but no attention was given to the type of text preserved elsewhere in the document; for example, the Temple Scroll quotes Deuteronomy extensively, but the biblical text represented is not a so-called proto-Masoretic text type. 8 An interval before a series of consonants, sometimes barely visible, was not observed;13 and it sometimes signaled the beginning of a formula (for example, the Hodayot formula or the beginning of a beatitude).14

13 Observing the use of intervals allows us to align restorations in 11Q20 with 11Q19; see esp. 11Q20 16 (DJD 18) and 11Q21 (DJD 23). The more accurate numbering of lines is explained in the edition of the Temple Scroll published in PTSDSSP 7 (provided by L. Schiffman and A. Gross). 14 One must be very circumspect. Formulaic language can also be a hindrance to controlled reconstructions. For example, in 11Q20 col. 11 (frgs. 18, 19, and 20) the formulaic nature of the language is repetitive and thus complicates any attempt to place and align the fragments and to discern the relation of the text of 11Q20 to the text of 11Q19. The two texts of the Temple Scroll are not identical, despite the evidence of some identical passages in overlapping sections.

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The Seven Rules Here are seven rules that I have found helpful as I restore the text of lacunae: 1 Measure the lacuna with a clean piece of paper, marking the distance between its beginning and end. Then move the paper before, after, above, and below the lacuna noting the maximum and minimum number of consonants and spaces possible within the lacuna (also note whether the leather or papyrus is creased or split). Do not restore more than the maximum, or less than the minimum, of consonants and spaces discerned to have been in the lacuna. Be attentive to the presence of large (‫ט‬, ‫ס‬, ‫ש‬, and ‫ )ם‬and small letters (‫ו‬, ‫ז‬, ‫י‬, ‫נ‬, and ‫ )ן‬in the proposed reconstruction so that “reconstructed widths” are considered and not only the number of consonants or spaces.15 2 Restore the text of a lacuna if it is anchored by a preserved consonant (or more) on the fragment before it. 3 Restore a lacuna if it is anchored by a preserved consonant (or more) after it. 4 Restore a lacuna if it is anchored by the remains of the top of a consonant (or more) on the fragment above it. 5 Restore a lacuna if it is anchored by the remains of the bottom of a consonant (or more) below it. 6 Restore a lacuna if it is a biblical text, a formula like the Hodayot formula, the citation or commentary formulae in a Dead Sea Scroll16 or a well-known formula such as the beginning of a beatitude (cf. Ps 1:1). In a critical edition, restorations of the biblical text should go into the notes and not into the body of the text. Such restorations should appear in the composite text but be marked within brackets. One should be reticent to restore a lacuna according to a modern edition of the Hebrew Bible that is not based on one definitive manuscript; hence, it is best to restore lacunae that preserve biblical passages by judiciously following the extant Qumran biblical manuscripts (recognizing that even that caution does not

15

See the discussion in Herbert, Reconstructing Biblical Dead Sea Scrolls, 38. See C. D. Elledge, “A Graphic Index of Citation and Commentary Formulae in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in PTSDSSP 6B: 367–77. 16

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always provide the desired precision). The editor should inform the reader of decisions and the rationale behind them. 7 Restorations are to be guided by forms in the contiguous areas (e.g. clusters of verb forms, esp. Hiphil) and echoes of scripture in the surrounding region. Examples Example One: 1QHa 16:1: ‫[תתני‬

]‫ או‬vacat [

There is space for between 15 and 11 consonants or spaces (an unusually wide range). Restore 14 consonants or spaces: [‫]דכה אדוני כי נ‬. Result: ‫“ או]דכה אדוני כי נ[תתני‬I pra[ise you, O Lord, because] You h[a]ve placed me . . .” Note the interval (vacat) before these letters; it helps to signify that the Hodayot formula should be restored. Note the customary use of brackets in the text and translation. This restoration applies rules 1, 2, 3, and 6. Example Two: 4Q525 Beatitudes Frg. 2, Col. 2, line 2: ‫[ אש] [ הגלים בה‬vacat There is space for two consonants after ‫ ;אש‬restore two consonants to read [‫אש]רי‬. Result: ‫“ אש]רי[ הגלים בה‬Ble[ssed are] they who rejoice in her . . .” Note the interval before [ ]‫אש‬. An interval of approximately 0.4– 0.6 cm usually appears before the beginning of each “blessed (are).” In line 4 there is an interval of ca. 0.4 cm before “blessed (are).” Thus we should restore the well-known Beatitude formula. (Caveat: there are other uses of intervals in this column.) This restoration applies rules 1, 2, and 6. Example Three: 4Q525 Beatitudes Frg. 1: [ ]‫] [ר בחוכמה אשר נתן לו אלוה‬ First, restore [‫ אלוה]ים‬in the second lacuna; it is demanded by context. Second, restore the first lacuna with some form of ‫ ;דבר‬but is the verb a Piel Perfect [‫ ] ִדּ ֵבּר‬or a Qal Participle [‫דּוֹבר‬ ֵ ]? To obtain the adverbial meaning “continuously,” “habitually,” or “customarily,” the best restoration is with a participle. There is more to guide this restoration. The

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next line is an echo of Ps 15:2–3, so the participle (without the definite article) is the form to be restored. Cf. Ps 15:2–3: ‫וְ ד ֵֹבר ֱא ֶמת ִבּ ֽל ָבבוֹ לֹא־‬ ‫ל־לשׁ ֹנו‬ ְ ‫“ ָרגַ ל ַﬠ‬and continuously speaks truth with his heart, (with) no slander upon his tongue” (the meaning of the Hebrew is not certain; perhaps: “whose tongue is not given to evil”). Restore: [‫[“ ]אשר דוב[ר בחוכמה אשר נתן לו אלוה]ים‬who continuously spea]ks with the wisdom which Go[d] habitually gives to him.” In the published translation it is not necessary to use so many adverbs; they can be noted. Imagine: What is in the mind of the author? What is the author thinking about and intending to say? (Caveat: restorations should be imagined according to the vocabulary, orthography, and syntax of the scribe. Note the use of plene spelling.) This restoration applies rules 3 and 7. These observations enable restorations to become more scientific than speculative. Recall that Milik warned that restorations were almost always disproved by the discovery of additional fragments of a document or another copy or copies of a document: “Parmi les variantes on trouvera quelquefois des leçons de mss de 4 Q qui sont identiques à celles de 1 QS mais que je cite pour montrer l’inutilité des corrections proposées par différents savants.”17 Milik, as is well known, did not always heed his own advice. The Exegetical and Theological Importance of Restoring Lacunae Exhibit One: Resurrection Beliefs One of the centers of controversy among Qumranologists is the presence of and the extent of resurrection beliefs at Qumran or in the Dead Sea Scrolls. In Qumran Studies, Chaim Rabin argued that 1QHa 14 (= olim 6):32–33 “definitely” spoke “about the rising of the dead.”18 A careful reading of this section of the Hodayot does not support Rabin’s judgment. More recently, in a detailed and insightful study,19

17 J. T. Milik, review of P. Wernberg Møller, The Manual of Discipline Translated and Annotated, with an Introduction, RB 67 (1960): 411. 18 Chaim Rabin, Qumran Studies (London: Oxford University Press, 1957), 73. 19 É. Puech, La croyance des Esséniens en la vie future (Etudes Bibliques 21; 2 vols.; Paris: Lecoffre and J. Gabalda, 1993), 2.358.

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Émile Puech correctly noted that this passage is difficult to understand because of the lacunae which prohibit a study of the passage in a meaningful context.20 The passage probably does not portray a resurrection of the righteous from the dead. To be relatively certain of that belief we need to be clear that one who had been alive has died and will be raised to unending life.21 Here is the text of 1QHa 14:32–33: ]‫לה ̊ת ̊ם‬ ̊ ‫אמתו יעורו‬ ̊ ‫ ואז תחיש חרב אל בקץ משפט וכול בני‬. . . 32 . . . ‫ רשעה וכול בני אשמה לא יהיו עוד‬33 The yod in this section of the Hebrew often looks like a waw. In line 32, ‫ בני אמתו‬is most likely, even though the mem is lost in a tear of the leather. No measurement can provide a clue for restoration because the leather is disjointed and not smooth. At the end of line 32, ‫ להתם‬is most likely, although the last three consonants are almost completely lost and are visible only faintly and partly.22 They can be discerned by the ink that is left and the restorations demanded by context. In line 33, restore the expression ‫בני רשעה‬. On the one hand, the restoration is not certain because the ‫ בני‬is lost in the left side of the column and the long tear in the leather makes any measurement imprecise; moreover, the leather is wrinkled and a new line begins with ‫רשעה‬. Likewise, the expression appears only here in 1QHa. On the other hand, the restoration is attractive; it seems demanded by the previous ‫בני‬ ‫ אמתו‬and the synonymous parallelism in the next line and the formula ‫בני אשמה‬.23

20 The problems with the text are not precisely presented in D. W. Parry and E. Tov, eds., DSSR 5:36. 21 See the taxonomy for resurrection belief developed by Charlesworth, “Where Does the Concept of Resurrection Appear and How Do We Know That?” in Resurrection (Faith and Scholarship Colloquies; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 1–21. 22 In her DJD edition of 1QHa, Eileen Schuller reconstructs [‫ ֯ל ֯ה ֯כ ֯רי֯ ]ת‬at the end of this line (DJD 40:183), disagreeing with the above reconstruction. In a note she remarks, “the trace after the initial lamed is ambiguous, but is compatible with he (but not with kap or lamed); the next letter can be read only as kap or pe, while the following is certainly reš, which is followed by another trace that is compatible with yod (these cannot be read in conjunction as a taw)” (194). 23 Cf. Schuller, DJD 40:194: “Inserting a nomen regens for ‫ רשעה‬. . . would not only be superfluous with regard to the content, but also incompatible with the very small distance between [‫ ֯ל ֯ה ֯כ ֯רי֯ ]ת‬and the margin line.”

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Here is my translation of 1QHa 14:32–33: 32

. . . And then God’s sword shall hasten at the time of judgment, and all his sons of t[ru]th24 shall awaken to destroy [the sons of] 33 ungodliness. And all the sons of transgression shall be no more. . . .

Interpretation: the following lines of the hymn refer to those “who lie in the dust”—but surely “dust” in Biblical Hebrew is often a euphemism for humility (cf. 1 Sam 2:8; Ps 44:25). “Dust” does not necessarily denote those who have died (and returned to the dust; Genesis 3). The passage in the Hodayot seems to predict the raising up of “all his sons of t[ru]th,” who are the righteous ones or the Holy Ones of the Community who are aligned with the Holy Ones in heaven (cf. the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, 4Q400–405; 11Q17; Mas1K), at the time of judgment, the time of the end. The Qumranites have entered into “the time of the end”; they form the Community of the endtime and are preparing for the final eschatological battle. As the War Scroll clarifies, this time is not post mortem; “all his sons of t[ru]th” are not being raised from the dead. The action inaugurates the final days and the judgment (especially of the “sons of transgression”), after which comes the time of bliss when there is no more evil and Belial is defeated. All this is earthly time, not post mortem existence. Exhibit Two: The Messiah or “An Anointed One”? Another center of contemporary debate among Qumranologists is the extent of and meaning of “the Messiah(s)” in the Qumran Scrolls. One difficulty is that the ancient scribes left us no linguistic clues for translating multivalent terms. Thus, for example, we do not know if the author intended ‫ משיח‬to denote “the Messiah” or “an (or the) anointed one.” The noun may even denote the Son of Man in some texts (e.g. in 1 Enoch 37–71 the Messiah appears with the Son of Man) or conceivably Enoch, who is hailed as “that Son of Man” (1 Enoch 37–71), Moses (4Q377 2 ii 4–5), a priest, a prophet (perhaps the prophets), or the Messiah—that is, an eschatological figure. Obviously, examining the texts and restoring them scientifically is exceedingly important for

24

It is also possible to translate “the sons of his truth.”

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a perception of the origins of what would become “Christianity” and the complex world of the Palestinian Jesus Movement. Consider the following three occurrences: 1 ‫ ביד משיחו רוח קדשו‬CD (MS A) 2:12 (as also in CD 5:21–6:1, 1QM 11:7–8, and 4Q287 10 13; and perhaps in 1Q30 1 2). Is ‫משיחו‬ an error for ‫משיחי‬, as a comparison with Isa 61:1 might suggest?25 Does the text mean: “by the hand of his anointed ones by his holy spirit”? Or does it mean: “through those anointed in his Holy Spirit”? Are they the prophets? Are they anointed priests? Did any Qumranite imagine a “king”? 2 ‫ ]ה[כוהן המשיח‬4Q375 1 i 9 (and also the same expression in 4Q376 1 i 1, with no restoration required). Who is “[the] anointed priest”? Most likely, in light of a number of Scrolls passages, some Jews could have imagined a priest who is the Messiah (e.g 1QSa 2:11–12). Obviously, messianism should not be confused with pneumatology or angelology. 3 ]‫ [בה תעזוב ב]י[ד משיח‬4Q521 9 According to the new and better images, the last word, the word “messiah,” can now be discerned.26 What does the author of the text intend to state? These words do not mean that one should imagine that the Messiah has died [for the sins of the world . . .], as once suggested in the media.27 Such a putative restoration is impossible both philologically and in the thought world of Second Temple Judaism. Before the Palestinian Jesus Movement, there was no messianic figure that had “died for the sins of the world.”

25

See J. M. Baumgarten and D. Schwartz, PTSDSSP 2:14–15. See DSSR 6:162. Contrast M. A. Abegg and C. A. Evans in J. H. Charlesworth, H. Lichtenberger, and G. Oegema, eds., Qumran-Messianism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 194 (= ‫מש]יחו‬, “[his anoin]ted”). Fragment nine does not appear in DSSSE 2:1047. 27 I remember well a conversation with one of the main editors of the New York Times. When I told him the text did not mean that a Messiah had died for the sins of the world but that a messianic figure most likely killed someone, he said: “Wow. We do not have a story. The latter idea is well known.” 26

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Translation: The text may have at least four meanings: a) [. . .]bh you shall leave by the [ha]nd of a (or the) Messiah [. . .]. b) [. . .]bh you have left, by the [ha]nd of[ ]messiah [. . .].28 c) [. . .]bh you shall restore by the [ha]nd of an (or the) anointed one [. . .]. d) [. . .]bh you will abandon. By the [ha]nd of an (or the) anointed one [. . .]. Perhaps, ]‫ משיח‬should be restored to ‫משיח]ו‬, “[his] Messiah,” or “[his] anointed,”29 as in many Qumran texts such as CD 2:12. The concept of God’s Messiah or “his Messiah” is abundantly present in Jewish texts of the first century b.c.e. Noteworthy is the Psalms of Solomon: χριστοῦ κυριοῦ, “the Lord’s Messiah” (18:7).30 Such examples illustrate that restorations are fundamentally important and risky but necessary. Exhibit Three Sometimes lacunae should be observed but not restored, and exegesis similarly should be restricted and cautious. For example, the form ‫מוריהם‬, “their teacher,” appears in the Qumran Scrolls only in 4QpHosb 5–6 2. Because of the lacunae, it is not clear to whom “their teacher” might refer. It is not obvious that it is parallel to ‫ יוריהם‬in CD 3:8. Does “their teacher” refer to the Righteous Teacher, to Moses, or to God? While the first option might seem attractive to some Qumranologists, God seems probable. Note that God is the teacher and the revealer in some Qumran manuscripts; see esp. CD 2:11–12, 3:13–14, 6:2–3, 7:4, and CD (MS B) 20:4 (“those taught by God”).31

28

DSSR 6:163. Consult M. G. Abegg and C. A. Evans, “Messianic Passages in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Qumran-Messianism, 194. 30 See the definitive study by R. B. Wright, The Psalms of Solomon: A Critical Edition of the Greek Text (JCT 1; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 204–05. 31 For a good assessment of the debate on such passages, see S. Byrskog, “The Righteous Teacher and the Qumran Community,” in Jesus the Only Teacher (Coniectanea Biblica, New Testament Series 24; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1994), 48–52. 29

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james hamilton charlesworth Conclusion

Qumranology is scientific research. It is imperative to have rules for restoring lacunae and to follow them. The above are suggestions for refining our methodology. My reflections also need refining, as we attempt to restore the past and not to create a world that some would appreciate for ideological reasons. Too often some well-intended scholars have restored texts inaccurately, but our reconstructions of the past depend on precise and dependable readings of manuscripts—and that demands restoring lacunae according to precise rules.

COLLECTING PSALMS IN LIGHT OF THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS* Armin Lange Since James C. VanderKam asked in his Ph.D. thesis which pentateuchal text was used by the book of Jubilees,1 he has returned in his research repeatedly to the textual histories of the biblical books during the Second Temple period.2 His text-critical work has also dealt briefly with the biblical Psalms.3 In recognition of VanderKam’s impressive œuvre I would like to discuss a new perspective on the textual history of the Psalms raised by the Dead Sea Scrolls. Since the manuscripts of the various Psalms collections from Qumran were published, it has been well known that the Qumran library contained several Psalms collections including various psalms from the biblical Psalter and noncanonical songs in diverging sequences. With the possible exception of the book of Jeremiah, there is no other biblical book whose textual sequence differs so radically among its textual witnesses. The nature of the divergent textual sequence and the textual inventory of the various Psalms manuscripts from Qumran continue to be debated.4 On the one hand, the various Psalms collections from Qumran are understood to have been authoritative Psalms manuscripts

* I am grateful and obliged to my assistant, Dr. Nóra Dávid, for copy-editing and formatting this article on rather short notice. 1 Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees (HSM 14; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977). 2 See “The Textual Affinities of the Biblical Citations in the Genesis Apocryphon,” JBL 97 (1978): 45–55; “Jubilees and the Hebrew Texts of Genesis-Exodus,” Textus 14 (1988): 71–85; The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 157–78; James C. VanderKam and Peter W. Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002), 103–53. 3 See VanderKam’s translations, cross references, and exegetical and textual notes to Psalms 37, 79, 80, 81, 83, and 110 in The Revised Psalms of the New American Bible (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company, 1991); and idem, Dead Sea Scrolls Today, 172–76; cf. VanderKam and Flint, Meaning, 120–28. 4 For a history of research and a survey of the various Psalms manuscripts, see Armin Lange, Die Handschriften der biblischen Bücher von Qumran und den anderen Fundorten (vol. 1 of idem, Handbuch der Textfunde vom Toten Meer [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009]), 373–450.

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of equal status with the proto-Masoretic Psalter.5 On the other hand, against this position it has been claimed that the divergent Psalms manuscripts from Qumran attest not to various scriptural texts but to liturgical collections compiled from the biblical Psalter.6 In this small article I would like to approach the differences in textual inventory and textual sequence between the various Psalms manuscripts from Qumran from another perspective.7 Although extensive, the discussion about this phenomenon has largely ignored important comparative evidence from the Qumran Hodayot manuscripts. The Hodayot manuscripts from Qumran are also at variance from each other regarding their textual sequence and their textual inventory. Is it by chance that both the Psalms manuscripts and the Hodayot manuscripts disagree with each other regarding textual sequence and textual inventory, or does the analogy point to special mechanisms in the transmission of collections of poetic texts during the Second Temple period? To answer this question I will first analyze the textual fixity and/or fluidity of the individual songs col-

5 See, e.g., James A. Sanders, DJD 4; idem, The Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1967); Gerald H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1985); idem, “The Qumran Psalms Manuscripts and the Consecutive Arrangement of Psalms in the Hebrew Psalter,” CBQ 45 (1983): 377–88; idem, “The Qumran Psalms Scroll (11QPsa) and the Canonical Psalter: Comparison of Editorial Shaping,” CBQ 59 (1997): 448–464; Peter W. Flint, The Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls and the Book of Psalms (STDJ 17; Leiden: Brill, 1997); VanderKam, Dead Sea Scrolls Today, 172–76; VanderKam and Flint, Meaning, 120–28. 6 See, e.g., M. H. Goshen-Gottstein, “The Psalm Scroll (11QPsa): A Problem of Canon and Text,” Textus 5 (1966): 22–33; Shemaryahu Talmon, “Extra-Canonical Hebrew Psalms from Qumran: Psalm 151,” in idem, The World of Qumran from Within: Collected Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 244–72; idem, “Pisqah Be’mṣa‘ Pasuq and 11QPsa,” Textus 5 (1966): 11–21; Patrick W. Skehan, “A Liturgical Complex in 11QPsa,” CBQ 35 (1973): 195–205; idem, “Qumran and Old Testament Criticism,” in Qumrân: Sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu (ed. M. Delcor; BETL 46; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978), 163–83; Ulrich Dahmen, Psalmen- und Psalter-Rezeption im Frühjudentum: Rekonstruktion, Textbestand, Struktur und Pragmatik der Psalmenrolle 11QPsa aus Qumran (STDJ 49; Leiden: Brill, 2003). 7 For abridged versions of my proposal see Armin Lange, “Die Endgestalt des protomasoretischen Psalters und die Toraweisheit: Zur Bedeutung der nichtessenischen Weisheitstexte aus Qumran für die Auslegung des protomasoretischen Psalters,” in Der Psalter in Judentum und Christentum (ed. E. Zenger; Herders Biblische Studien 18; Freiburg: Herder, 1998), 101–36, esp. 109–11; idem, Handbuch, 1:434–36; idem, “The Textual Plurality of Jewish Scriptures in the Second Temple Period in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Qumran and the Bible: Studying the Jewish and Christian Scriptures in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Nóra Dávid and Armin Lange; CBET 57; Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 43–96.

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lected in the Psalms and Hodayot manuscripts from Qumran. Afterwards I will compare the textual inventories and textual sequences of the Psalms and Hodayot manuscripts with each other. At the end of this article I will draw some conclusions. 1. The Textual Fixity and/or Fluidity of the Individual Psalms and Hodayot in the Qumran Scrolls To understand better the fluidity or stability of the text of the individual psalms and hodayot among the Qumran Scrolls, I will provide statistics as to how many variants occur relative to the number of preserved words of a given Psalms or Hodayot manuscript. In my statistics, a word is defined as a group of characters which are separated from the next group of characters by an empty space in the manuscripts. Partly preserved words are included in my statistics only when they can still be reconstructed. Since orthography can differ independently of the text-type of a given manuscript, I will not include orthographic variants in my analysis. Similarly, due to their speculative nature, I will not include reconstructed variants. My lists will provide a percentage of textual deviation in relation to extant words of a given Psalms or Hodayot manuscript and will thus allow for comparison between these manuscripts with regard to their textual fluidity or stability. 1.1. The Textual Fixity and/or Fluidity of the Individual Psalms in the Qumran Scrolls From the Qumran library remnants of thirty-six scrolls are regarded as Psalms manuscripts. In the list below only eleven of these manuscripts are included. The other twenty-five manuscripts are either too deteriorated for textual characterization (fewer than 100 words of text are preserved), or could even attest to a manuscript which quotes a given psalm in another literary context (when only one or two verses of a psalm are preserved).8

8 Too damaged for a textual characterization of individual psalms are 1QPsa.b.c; 2QPs; 4QPsg.h.j.k.l.m.n.o.p.r.s.w.x; 5QPs; 8QPs; and 11QPse. In the case of 3QPs; 4QPst.u.v; 6QpapPs?, the little amount of text which is still extant could even attest to a quotation of a psalm in a non-Psalms manuscript.

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• Of 4QPsa 420 words are preserved which attest to seventy-three variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 17.38% of textual variation. • Of 4QPsb 490 words are preserved which attest to thirty-three variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 6.74% of textual variation. • Of 4QPsc 320 words are preserved which attest to nine variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 2.81% of textual variation. • Of 4QPsd 139 words are preserved which attest to twenty-seven variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 19.42% of textual variation. • Of 4QPse 220 words are preserved which attest to twenty-two variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 10.00% of textual variation. • Of 4QPsf 161 words are preserved which attest to thirty-three variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 20.50% of textual variation. • Of 4QPsq 111 words are preserved which attest to fourteen variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 12.51% of textual variation. • Of 11QPsa 3418 words are preserved which attest to 343 variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 10.04% of textual variation. • Of 11QPsb 102 words are preserved which attest to six variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 5.88% of textual variation. • Of 11QPsc 189 words are preserved which attest to twenty-four variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 13.04% of textual variation. • Of 11QPsd 116 words are preserved which attest to twelve variant readings between MT, LXX, and other Psalms manuscripts from Qumran. This equals 10.35% of textual variation. The above list creates the impression of textual fluidity among the Psalms manuscripts from Qumran with a textual variation ranging from 2.81% to 20.50%. Although the textual variation of the Qumran Psalms manuscripts is sometimes significant, the statistical impression is somewhat misleading. Only rarely does a textual variant in

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the Qumran Psalms manuscripts extend to more than one word. In most cases the textual witnesses to a given psalm attest different grammatical forms or suffixes for a word or disagree with each other concerning a waw-copulativum. For an exhaustive representation of the evidence the reader is referred to the list compiled by Peter W. Flint.9 A good impression of the nature of the textual variation between individual is provided by the textual variants extant for Psalms 146–150. Ps 146:9

Ps 147:1 Ps 147:14 Ps 147:20 Ps 147:20 Ps 148:1 Ps 148:1 Ps 148:4 Ps 148:5 Ps 148:9 Ps 150:1 Ps 150:3 Ps 150:6

11QPsa reads additional text after v. 9: “[Let] all the earth [fear] the Lord, [let all inhabitants of the earth revere] hi[m! . . .] because he is known for all his works which he created [. . .] his mighty deeds” Dittography of ‫ זמרה אלהינו נאוה‬in 4QPsd ‫ וחלב‬4QPsd (cf. LXX) | ‫ חלב‬MT ‫ משפטים‬11QPsa | ‫ ומשפתים‬4QPsd MT LXX (+ suffix 3. pers. sing.) ‫ כל הודיעם‬11QPsa (cf. LXX) | ‫ כל ידעוׂם‬MT ‫ הללו יה‬MT LXX (+ Αγγαιου καὶ Ζαχαριου) | > 11QPsa ‫ה משמים‬Â‫ה‬È ‫ הללו‬11QPsa | ‫ הללו את יהוה מן השמים‬MT ‫ מעל לשמים‬11QPsa | ‫ מעל השמים‬MT ‫ הללו‬11QPsa | ‫ יהללו‬MT LXX ‫ לבני ישראל עם קודשו‬11QPsa (cf. MTKen40: ‫לבני ישראל עם‬ ‫ > | )קרובו‬MT LXX ‫ הללו יה‬MT LXX (+ Αγγαιου καὶ Ζαχαριου LXXL pc mss) | > 11QPsa MT (pc mss) ‫ בתקוע‬11QPsa | ‫ ְב ֵת ַקע‬MT MasPsb ‫ הנשמות‬11QPsa | ‫ הנשמה‬MT LXX

The sample shows that in rare cases substantial additional text can be found in the Psalms manuscripts from Qumran—the above list includes the example of an additional verse behind Ps 146:9 in 11QPsa. But mostly the variant readings of the Qumran Psalms manuscripts are constrained to minor disagreements such as grammatical differences. The minor extent of the textual variation in the Qumran Psalms manuscripts becomes especially evident in comparison with the major

9

Flint, Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls, 86–115.

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changes introduced into the text of Jeremiah by the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction.10 A good example is Jer 29:10–14.11 10

For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my good words and bring you back to this place. 11For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you future and hope. 12And when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. 13When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, 14I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back (Jer 23:3; 30:3, 18) to the place from which I sent you into exile.

The proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction alters its Vorlage in Jer 29:10– 14 by systematically enlarging it. By way of its additions, the protoMasoretic Jeremiah redaction changes what was intended as a word of consolation for the Babylonian exiles into a promise for return to Jerusalem for the whole Diaspora.12 In comparison to the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction the textual variation of the Qumran Psalms manuscripts is mostly restricted to minor disagreements. This means that, although the text of individual psalms is more fluid in some Qumran Psalms manuscripts than in others, the text of the individual psalms had achieved a status of relative textual stability. 1.2. The Textual Fixity and/or Fluidity of the Individual Hodayot in the Qumran Scrolls Only for six (4QHa–f ) of the eight Qumran Hodayot manuscripts have variant lists been compiled so far.13 Such variant lists are lacking for 1QHa.b but their compilation would go beyond the limitations of this small article. The extant variant lists, however, provide a representa10

For the text of the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction, see, e.g., Yohanan Goldman, Prophétie et royauté au retour de l’exil: Les origins littéraires de la forme massorétique du livre de Jérémie (OBO 118; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), and Hermann-Josef Stipp, Das alexandrinische und masoretische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches: Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte (OBO 136; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994). A survey of the history on the textual history of the book of Jeremiah can be found in Lange, Handbuch, 1:304–14. 11 The above translation is guided by the nrsv. The long texts of protoMT-Jer are highlighted in italics. Parallels to other passages in Jeremiah are underlined and specified in parenthesis. 12 For this interpretation of Jer 29:10–14, see Lange, “Textual Plurality.” 13 See E. Schuller, DJD 29:87, 131, 181–82, 203, 212–13.

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tive impression of the textual stability of the individual hodayot from Qumran. That most of the overlaps between Hodayot manuscripts occur with 1QHa means furthermore that the textual variation between 4QHa–f and 1QHa, which is documented in the list below, characterizes the textual stability of 1QHa as well. The manuscript 1QHb on the other hand can be ignored for the present inquiry because it is too damaged for textual characterization.14 • Of 4QHa, 438 words are preserved of which 210 overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts and attest to fifteen textual variants between them. This equals 7.14% of textual variation. • Of 4QHb, 287 words are preserved of which 181 overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts and attest to three textual variants between them. This equals 1.67% of textual variation. • Of 4QHc, 140 words are preserved of which 132 overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts and attest to six textual variants between them. This equals 4.5% of textual variation. • Of 4QpapHf, 121 words are preserved of which 109 overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts and attest to seven textual variants between them. This equals 6.42% of textual variation. • 4QHd is too damaged for textual characterization. Twenty-four words are preserved, all of which overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts. No textual variants occur in the preserved text. • 4QHe is too damaged for textual characterization. Eighty-four words are preserved of which sixty-one overlap with other Hodayot manuscripts and attest to three textual variants between them. This equals 4.9% of textual variation. The above list shows that the texts of the individual hodayot from Qumran are relatively stable. The textual variation of 4QHa–c, f varies between 1.67% and 7.14%. Although the latter number might sound relatively high it needs to be recognized that no major variants are preserved. Textual differences are limited to disagreements in suffixes and other grammatical forms. They rarely extend to a whole word. The three extant variants of 4QHb are representative.15

14 Only manuscripts of which 100 words or more are preserved can undergo textual characterization. 15 For the variant list presented, see Schuller, DJD 29:131.

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4QHb 8 1 4QHb 13 7 4QHb 21 1

‫ והיו | ויהיו‬1QHa 14:17 ‫ מטוני פחיה ]מטמוני פחים‬1QHa 21:24 ‫ שמע | לשמוע‬4QHa 7 ii 20a

To summarize so far: The texts of the individual hodayot are less fluid than those of individual psalms. But in both cases textual fluidity is mostly constrained to minor details like grammatical forms. This relative textual stability of the texts of the individual psalms and the individual hodayot stands in stark contrast to the fluidity of the textual inventory and textual sequence of the Psalms and Hodayot manuscripts from Qumran. 2. The Textual Inventory and Textual Sequence of the Psalms and Hodayot Manuscripts from Qumran 2.1. The Inventory and Sequence of the Psalms Manuscripts from Qumran The main difference between the individual Psalms manuscripts from Qumran consists in which psalms they include and in which sequence these psalms follow each other. Based on which songs a given Psalms manuscript from Qumran contains and in which sequence, the following canonical and non-canonical Psalms collections can be identified in Qumran and at the other sites from the Dead Sea: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Ps-MT (4QPsc?; cf. 4QMidrEschata.b; cf. MasPsa.b; 5/6Ḥ evPs) Ps–11QPsa (11QPsa.b; cf. 4QPse) 4QPsa.q 4QPsb 4QPsd 4QPsf 4QPsk 4QNon-Canonical Psalms A 4QNon-Canonical Psalms B 4QWorks of God + 4QCommunal Confession16

16 For 4QWorks of God (4Q392) + 4QCommunal Confession (4Q393) as parts of one manuscript attesting to a Psalms collection, see D. Falk, DJD 29:23–24.

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The list below presents the various psalms collections with their individual allied manuscripts, and the sequence of the psalms that occur in each manuscript.17 1. Ps-MT (for Ps-MT the reader is referred to its critical editions) 2. 11QPsa (. . . Ps101–103¤ . . . ¤109¤ . . . ¤118¤104¤147¤105¤146¤ 148¤ . . . ¤121–132¤119¤135¤136 + 118:1, 15, 16, 8, 9, X, 29?¤ 145¤154¤Plea for Deliverance¤Ps 139¤137–138¤Sir 51:13–30¤ Apostrophe to Zion¤Ps 93¤141¤133¤144¤155¤142–143¤149– 150¤Hymn to the Creator¤2 Sam 23,[1–]7¤David’s Compositions¤ Ps 140¤134¤151A¤151B . . .); 11QPsb (Ps 77¤78; 119; 118;1, 15–16; Plea for Deliverance; Apostrophe to Zion; Ps 141¤133¤144); 4QPse (Ps 76¤77,1; 78; 81; 86; 88; 89; 103¤109; 114; 115¤116; 118¤ 104; 105¤146; 120; 125¤126; 129¤130) 3. 4QPsa (Ps 5¤6; 25; 31¤33; 34¤35¤36; 38¤71; 47; 53¤54; 56; 62¤63; 66¤67; 69); 4QPsq (Ps 31¤33[¤34¤]35) 4. 4QPsb (Ps 91[¤]92[¤]93[¤]94; 96; 98; 99[¤]100; 102¤103[¤]112; 113; 115; 116; [117¤]118)18 5. 4QPsd (Ps 106¤147¤104) 6. 4QPsf (Ps 22; 107; 109¤Apostrophe to Zion; Eschatological Hymn[¤] Apostrophe to Judah) 7. 4QPsk (Ps 135[¤]99)19

The lists show that not one but several Psalms collections existed during the Second Temple period. These Psalms collections combined the various existing psalms differently. The proto-Masoretic Psalter was thus just one among many existing Psalms collections. While in some cases several manuscripts attest to one Psalms collection in other cases only one manuscript is known.

17 The sign ¤ marks two psalms that follow each other on the same fragment. Only those Qumran manuscripts are listed whose text sequence still allows for an allocation to a particular Psalms collection. 18 For the material reconstruction of 4QPsb see P. W. Skehan, E. Ulrich, and P. W. Flint, DJD 16:21–48. The material reconstruction of this manuscript allows for the identification of some psalm sequences although they are not preserved. They are marked above with [¤]. 19 For Psalm 99 following Psalm 135 in 4QPsk, see Skehan, Ulrich, and Flint, DJD 16:123–25.

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The same phenomenon of different combinations of a certain category of poetic texts in various manuscripts is also known from the Qumran Hodayot. Again various manuscripts which contain the same type of poetic texts differ significantly from each other in both which songs they contain and in which sequence they combine them. Eileen Schuller summarizes the evidence as follows in her editio princeps.20 The full collection of psalms that is found in 1QHa is preserved in one other copy, 4QHb. . . . 4QHa . . . has a different order of psalms. All the material in 4QHa that overlaps with material in 1QHa is from psalms of the “Hymns of the Community” type. The proposed length of the scroll as it has been reconstructed (c. 3.7 m) indicates that this was a much smaller collection than that found in 1QHa. . . . According to the identification of the fragments that belong to 4QHe and the reconstruction of the scroll that is proposed, only one psalm from the beginning of the manuscript has been preserved. If it is correct to consider this a Hodayot manuscript, the order of the psalms is clearly different in this copy than the order in 1QHa. The material evidence of 4QHc, with its very short columns of only twelve lines, suggests that this manuscript contains a much smaller collection of psalms. . . . All the preserved material is from the “Hymns of the Teacher” collection, and this manuscript may have contained only psalms of that type with perhaps an introductory psalm. . . . In the preserved section of 4QpapHf, there are fragments of the “Creation Hymn” (corresponding to 1QHa IX 1–X 5 . . .) and of the “Hymns of the Teacher” section (1QHa X 6–XVII 36). . . . According to the proposed reconstruction of the scroll, the preserved fragments were the beginning of the scroll. . . . It is impossible to determine if there were further layers containing more columns which have not survived.

3. Conclusions Already before the Dead Sea Scrolls were found, it was well known that different textual witnesses of a given biblical book can attest to divergent text sequences. Such re-sequencing of a given biblical book is often part of a reworking by a redactor. Prominent examples of redactional re-sequencing are the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction and the divergent sequence of Ezekiel 36; 38–39; 37 in the proto-

20

E. Schuller, DJD 29:74–75.

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Masoretic Ezekiel redaction versus the sequence attested in Papyrus 967.21 In these cases the redactors responsible for the re-sequencing did not limit their activities to restructuring but changed and enlarged other parts of the reworked book as well. Different from such redactions, the compilation of poetic texts and the transmission of the resulting collections seem to have followed their own rules in ancient Judaism. The comparison between the Hodayot and Psalms manuscripts from Qumran shows that, on the one hand, the textual inventory and textual sequence differ significantly between the extant Psalms and Hodayot manuscripts from the Second Temple period. On the other hand the texts of the individual psalms and hodayot are more stable and disagree mostly in minor variants such as grammatical differences. That the text of the individual songs was relatively stable in the Second Temple period, while the collections of various Psalms and Hodayot collections was not, points to a characteristic of the textual transmission of poetic texts in antiquity. Each psalm or hodayah was regarded as an independent text which could be combined more or less randomly in the various psalms and hodayot collections. Because manuscripts were expensive in antiquity and especially the costs for the production of large manuscripts were prohibitive,22 individual psalms and hodayot were collected according to need and affordability. This approach was especially feasible in the case of poetic texts because they are mostly relatively small songs as compared to the longer texts of narrative compositions. When such random compilations of psalms and hodayot were copied they became Psalms and Hodayot collections. The more or less random combination of the individual psalms and hodayot in various manuscripts led thus in the end to the existence of several Psalms and Hodayot collections alongside each other. In the case of the various Psalms collections, they were regarded as scriptural,

21 Ezekiel 36 lacks verses 23b–38 in Papyrus 967. For a detailed study of Ezekiel 36–39 in Papyrus 967, see Ashley S. Crane, Israel’s Restoration: A Textual-Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39 (VTSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2008) and the earlier study by Johan Lust, “Ezekiel 36–40 in the Oldest Greek Manuscript,” CBQ 43 (1981): 517–33. 22 At http://jerusalemscribe.com/purchase.htm, as of 12 June 2010, new handwritten Torah scrolls range from $21,000–$60,000, while new handwritten Esther scrolls can be purchased for $600–$2,500. The price range depends on the quality of the manuscript in question.

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while a certain authority also seems likely for the various Hodayot collections among the members of the Essene movement.23 While this article focused on a comparison between the Psalms and Hodayot manuscripts from the Qumran library, the question of variant textual sequences and variant textual inventories has, of course, wider ramifications. More insights might be gained by a comparison with the transmission of cuneiform literature and the variant sequences of its tablets. Similarly, a comparison with the textual history of the Homeric epics might illuminate the textual transmission of poetic texts in ancient Judaism. But these questions go beyond the constraints of this small homage to the work of James VanderKam and need to be addressed elsewhere.

23 For the debate about the biblical viz. scriptural status of the various Psalms collections in the Qumran library, see Lange, Handbuch, 429–30, 436–39.

L’ÉPILOGUE DE 4QMMT REVISITÉ Émile Puech La publication si attendue de MMT n’a pas failli à ses promesses tant l’importance reconnue de la composition n’a cessé d’être au centre des recherches et des débats quant à l’origine, la date, l’auteur, le destinataire et le genre littéraire1. Si le calendrier et la halakha n’ont pas fait l’objet de polémiques passionnées, en revanche la dernière partie, l’épilogue, est toujours au centre de notes contradictoires concernant ces divers points, tout comme la séquence des fragments déjà disputée par les éditeurs eux-mêmes. La présente note reprend cette question et veut d’abord apporter une réponse par l’étude paléographique des fragments eux-mêmes2, leur relecture et leur regroupement permettant une approche renouvelée des questions débattues qui ne devrait pas manquer de relancer la question de l’origine du document. Sont présentés d’abord séparément les restes des trois manuscrits de la finale de MMT, suivis d’un ‘texte composite’ autour de 4Q397 complété par 4Q398. Les figures se veulent uniquement une aide visuelle de lecture même si les espaces des restaurations peuvent varier de quelques millimètres en plus. 1. Les manuscrits ayant conservé des restes de l’épilogue A—4Q398 – Fragments 11–13 (4Q397 22 souligné, voir figure 1) :

[ ]‫היא)?( שלו[ם‬ 1 ‫ בירושל[ם] כי [באו הב]ר[כ]ות [בימי שׁלומוה בן דויד ואף הקללות‬2 [‫ ]ש[באוו בימי] יר[ובﬠם בן נבט וﬠד גלות ירושלם וצדקיה מלך י]הודה‬3 1 Qumran Cave 4.V. Miqṣat Ma‘śeh Ha-Torah, by E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, in consultation with Y. Sussmann and with contributions by Y. Sussmann and A. Yardeni (DJD X; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). 2 L’étude récente de H. von Weissenberg, 4QMMT. Reevaluating the Text, the Function, and the Meaning of the Epilogue (STDJ 82; Leiden: Brill, 2009), a essayé de reprendre cette recherche mais n’apporte pas de réponse en tous points indiscutable, ni de solution acceptable à la finale de MMT.

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‫]ש[יב]י[אם ב]ארץ בבל [ואנחנו מכירים שבאוו מקצת הברכות והקללות‬ ‫שכתוב בס]פר מו[שה וזה הוא אחרית הימים שישובו בישראל‬ ‫לת]ורה הנגלה למוש[ה ולוא ישובו אחו]ר [והרשﬠים ירש]יﬠ[ו] ו[האמ]ו[נ]י[ם‬ ‫והצ]די[ק]ים ייראו [זכור את מלכי ישרא]ל[ והתבנן במﬠשיהמה שמי מהם‬ ‫שהיא ירא] את דברי התו[רה היה מצול מצרות והם מבקשי תורה‬ marge inférieure Notes de lecture et bref commentaire : La largeur de la colonne est d’environ 14 cm. –1

–2

–3

–4

–5 –6

Restes de la base d’un mem final, pouvant être pour šlw]m[, ce qui entraîne nécessairement un changement de numérotation des lignes. Le concept de la paix à Jérusalem sous les rois David et Salomon n’est pas surprenant, voir la prophétie de Nathan en 2 S 7 et 4Q522 9 ii, et en contrepartie 4Q397 14–21 ii 11 et 15, pour la paix future et eschatologique. Cette allusion peut aussi viser une situation de l’auteur face à son opposant au pouvoir en place à Jérusalem ; comprendre hy’ šlw]m[ ou šlw]m[ hy’. Pour les temps eschatologiques, voir 4Q397 14–21 ii 15. Restes d’un autre mem final, non signalé lui aussi par les éditeurs3. Puis restes de la base de bet et de l’axe du alef, de l’haste de he, de la base de bet et du kaf, excluant les lectures des éditeurs. Ces restes favorisent la lecture byrwšl]m[ ky ]b’w hb[r]k[wt ]bymy . . . 4Q397 22 1 lit ]mywm[y « depuis les jours de » au lieu de « dans les jours de », et est plus en accord avec la suite w‘d « et jusqu’à ». À la fin de la ligne, surface arrachée, reste de yod. La lacune étant connue par la restauration du passage, une lecture b[’rṣ bbl] paraît ici s’imposer, la lecture de Dt 30,1 pouvant difficilement être retenue. Des traces du départ du lamed ne seraient pas exclues sur PAM 42.183. 4Q397 22 2 lit šywb’[w. La référence à la Loi dans les lignes précédentes n’est pas verbatim, mais peut renvoyer à Dt 11,26–28 ; 28,2.15.45. À la cassure, reste du départ de la tête d’une lettre, reš(?) pour une lecture lt[wrh hktwbh bsp]r, voir Dt 30,10, ou de he, tête et haste(?),voir PAM 42.368, pour hnglh lmwš]h, voir Dt 29,28, 1QS

3 La plupart des propositions de lecture de von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 55–62, ne sont pas à retenir.

4 5 6 7 8

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité

Figure 1. 4Q398 11–13

Figure 2. 4Q398 14–17 i

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312

émile puech VIII 1–2 et 15, V 8–9 = 4Q258 I 6–7, 4Q266 8 i 3–4 = CD XV 12–134. Les deux propositions sont également acceptables pour

l’espace et le sens. À la fin de la ligne, lire [w]h’m[w]n[y]m, avec des restes lisibles de la plupart des lettres. En arrière fond de ces lignes, voir aussi Deutéronome 30. –7 Les restes de ṣade et de qof non signalés assurent la lecture de whṣ[dy]q[ym yyr’w ], la paire est bien attestée et reprise en 4Q521 1 ii + 4 5–6 par exemple, autre composition qumranienne. –8 Pour l’espace, lire yr’[ ’t dbry htw]rh, avec Dt 17,19 ; 27,3.8 ; 28,58 ; 29,28 ; 31,12.24 ; 32,46, ou encore [’t ḥwqy htw]rh, voir 4Q171 1–10 iv 8–10 : [‘l dbry hḥ w]q whtwrh . À la dernière cassure, reste de la tête de qof 5. Les deux expressions sont synonymes. Traduction 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8

il y avait(?) la pai]x[ à Jérusale]m[ parce qu’]étaient venues les bé[né]diction[s ]aux jours de Salomon, fils de David, mais aussi les malédictions qui sont venues aux jours de[ Jér]oboam, fils de Nebat, et jusqu’à la captivité de Jérusalem et de Sédécias, roi de Jud[a,] quand Il les fit partir au[ pays de Babylone.] Et nous savons que se sont réalisées quelques unes des bénédictions et des malédictions selon ce qui est écrit dans le li[vre de Moï]se. Et c’(est)/ ce (sera) la fin des jours, quand, en Israël, ils reviendront à la Lo[i qui a été révélée à Moïs]e/ écrite dans le Livr]e(?) et qu’ils ne retourneront pas en arrière, et les impies comme[ttr]ont l’impiété,[ mais ]les fidèles et les j[us]t[es craindront. ]Souviens-toi des rois d’Israë[l] et considère leurs œuvres, que celui d’entre eux qui craignait[ les préceptes de la Lo]i était délivré des malheurs, et eux ils étaient des chercheurs de la Loi.

4 Pour la proposition lt[wrh par M. Wise, au lieu de lt[myd de l’édition, voir F. García Martínez, « 4QMMT in a Qumran Context », in Reading 4QMMT: New Perspectives on Qumran Law and History, ( ed. J. Kampen and M.J. Bernstein; SBL Symposium Series 2: Atlanta, 1996), 15–27, p. 18–19, = F. García Martínez, Qumranica minora I. Qumran Origins and Apocalypticism (ed. E. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 91–103, p. 94–95. 5 F. García Martínez, citati idem, proposerait par exemple « ‘feared [God and practised the l]aw’, or the like ».

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– Fragments 14–17 col. i (4Q397 14–21 ii 9–15 souligné, voir figure 2) :

‫בידנו מﬠל ושקר ורﬠה כי ﬠל כל אלה [אנח]נו נו[תנים את‬ [‫]לבנו ואף כתבנו אליך שאתם מ[בינים] בס[פר מושה ובס]פרי‬ ‫]הנביאים ובדויד ושתשמר כל אלה[ דור ודור ו]ב[ספר כתוב‬ ‫]יהיה לי באחרית הימים שלום ולוא [לך יקימנו ו]י[שפטך ואף‬ ‫]כתו[ב שת]סור מהדר[ך] [ו]קר[תך] הר[ﬠה וכתוב והיא כי‬ ‫]יבו[א ﬠליך] כל הדברים[ ה]א[לה באחרי]ת [הימים הברכה‬ ‫]וה[קללא] והשיבותה[ אל לב]ב[ך ושבתה אלו בכל לבבך‬ [‫]ובכ[ל נפש]ך באחרית ה[ימ]י[ם וחש]בנו שבס[פר מ]וש[ה כ]תוב‬ [‫]יבואו הברכות בﬠת שלום ובאחרית הימים ﬠונות ישאו והחסידים‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Notes de lecture et bref commentaire : La largeur de la colonne est de 12 cm de moyenne. –1

Restes du jambage gauche du alef, du pied de nun et du jambage gauche du ḥ et assurant la restauration à l’aide de 4Q397 14–21 9, mais en lisant kl (non kwl de l’édition). –2 La lecture ktb]nwn de l’édition est impossible. Lire et restaurer pour l’espace [lbnw w’p ktbnw ’lyk š’tm m]bynym [bs]pr mwšh wbs[pry] en partie seulement avec 4Q397 14–21 106. –3 Partie gauche (haut et bas) de samek et tête et base de pe. L’espace demande de restaurer [hnby’ym wbdwyd wštšmr(?) kl ’lh] en partie avec 4Q397 14–21 10–11 (voir ci-dessous)7. –4 Cette ligne a fait difficulté, mais la lecture wqdmnywt de l’édition est impossible. La lecture ]lk yqymnw s’impose, sans espace suffisant pour dalet, puis waw, [yod], šin probable, pe, ṭet (boucle et trace d’hastes [les fibres sont quelque peu dérangées]) et kaf

6

4Q398 porte ici une variante importante. Les remarques et suggestions de von Weisenberg, 4QMMT, p. 58–62, pour cette colonne ne sont pas à retenir, de même que celles en « 4QMMT-Some New Readings », in Northern Lights on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Nordic Qumran Network 2003–2006, (A.K. Petersen et alii, eds; STDJ 8, Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2009) 217–21, où l’auteur propose d’autres lectures impossibles : wkwd, ligne 2, et ‘kyk ligne 6. La lecture ktb]nwn [štbyn bs]pr de F. García Martínez and E. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, (Leiden-Boston-Köln: Brill, 1998) p. 802, est impossible pour l’espace, ainsi que bien d’autres lectures et restaurations. 7 La lecture-restauration wbdwyd bm‘šy dwr wdwr de l’édition est trop courte et inacceptable pour le sens comme je l’ai déjà fait remarquer, voir ci-dessous à propos de 4Q397 14–21 ii 10. Reste de la base de bet de m]bynym.

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final (tête et traces de longue hampe) (PAM 42.183). L’alef cursif semble précédé d’une haste waw(?) près du kaf et suivi d’une base de pe médian (PAM 43.491) sous alef pour w’p, voir 4Q397 14–21 12 (la qualité des reproductions ne permet pas de lire des restes de waw et de pe sur les photographies). La lecture ]lk yqymnw w[y]špṭk (préférable à wyšpwtk) w’p paraît s’imposer. Pour l’espace, la lacune du début de la ligne doit être restaurée à l’aide de 4Q397 14–21 ii 11 : [yhyh ly b’ḥ ryt hymym šlwm wlw’ ]. Seule la finale de la phrase comporte une variante importante, de sens proche mais secondaire en réinterprétant plus explicitement par la condamnation du jugement le pardon de la citation de Dt 29,19 en 4Q397. Dans ce contexte où l’eschatologie n’est pas absente et même renforcée, le verbe yqymnw semble faire allusion à la résurrection « il nous fera nous lever/ il nous ressuscitera (?) » lors du jugement « à la fin des jours/du temps », alors que l’impie sera jugé et condamné8. Dans cette copie le passage dépasse le temps présent et le futur rapproché de la conversion et de la restauration et vise alors l’espérance au-delà de la promesse terrestre des deux voies en Deutéronome 30, voir Os 6,2 et ses relectures. –6 Restaurer kl (non kwl) des éditeurs9. –7 Les reproductions ne portent aucun reste de he à la deuxième cassure, mais apparemment des restes de bet ensuite. –8 Comme on doit lire wbk]l (non wbkw]l des éditeurs), on doit poursuivre avec b’ḥ ryt h]ym[y]m, avec des restes de yod, mem et mem final, sans traces de h‘t des éditeurs, beaucoup trop court. Puis semble possible la lecture : waw, ḥ et, šin, et après la cassure pe, reš, mem, certains, et des traces. En conséquence, lire : wḥ š[bnw šbs]pr m[wš]h °[, probablement k[twb, et poursuivre dans une ligne, la dernière de cette colonne, pour continuer avec 14–17 ii, et un recoupement partiel en 4Q397 14–21 14–16. Mais la ligne 8 porte des variantes importantes.

8 On aurait ici un nouvel et important témoignage en faveur de cette croyance chez les Esséniens, voir E. Puech, La croyance à la résurrection chez les Esséniens : immortalité, résurrection, vie éternelle ? Volume II Les données qumraniennes et classiques, (Études Bibliques Nouvelle Série 22 ; Paris : Gabalda, 1993. La « paix » fait partie des récompenses du juste lors de la Visite divine, voir wrwb šlwm en 1QS IV 7 qui ne peut être la seule paix de l’ère messianique. Cette mention en passant laisse supposer que c’est une croyance acquise dans le milieu des Pieux, voir Dn 12,1–3, 4Q385 2, 4Q521 et 4Q418 69 ii, et yqwm en Is 24,14 et 19. 9 Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 58, ne lit pas h[’]lh b’, ligne 6, ni ]k w[qr]tk, ligne 5.

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité (–9)

315

La correspondance avec 4Q397 14–21 15–16 autorise la restauration d’une dernière ligne de la colonne (voir ci-dessous).

Traduction 1

dans nos mains ni sacrilège ni mensonge ni mal, car sur toutes ces affaires,] nou[s (y) app]liquons 2 [notre cœur. Et aussi nous t’avons écrit que vous devez recon-] sidérer[ le Li]vre de Moïse et les Livre[s 3 des Prophètes et (ceux) de David, et que tu dois garder tous ceux-ci,] de génération en génération. Et [dans ]le Livre il est écrit : 4 [« Il y aura pour moi la paix, à la fin des jours, mais pas ]pour toi ; Il nous fera nous lever et Il te condamnera ». Et aussi 5 [il est écr]it que tu t’é[carteras de la Voi]e et[ que le m]al t’[at] teindra. Et il est écrit : [« Et il arrivera que 6 [vien]d[ront] sur toi [toutes ]ces [choses à la fin [des] jours, la bénédiction 7 [et la] malédiction, [mais en la prenant] à cœur, tu reviendras vers Lui de tout ton cœur 8 [et de tou]te [ton] âme,[ à la fin des ]jour[s ».] Et [nous ]pen[sons que, dans le ]livre de Moï[s]e il est é[crit : (9) « Les bénédictions viendront en temps de paix, et à la fin des jours, les péchés seront pardonnés, et (pour) les pieux – Fragments 14–17, col. ii (4Q399 1 i–ii souligné et 4Q397 en gras, voir figure 3) : marge supérieure

‫]נשו[אי ﬠונות זכור ]את [דויד שהיא איש חסדים ]ו[אף‬ ‫היא ]נ[צל מצרות רבות ונסלוח לו ואף אנחנו כתבנו אליך‬ ‫מקצת מﬠשי התורה שחשבנו לטוב לך ולﬠמך שדבקנו‬ ‫ﬠמך ﬠרמה ומדﬠ תורה הבן בכל אלה ובקש מלפנו שיתקן‬ ‫את ﬠצתך והרחיק ממך מחשב}ו{ת רﬠה וﬠצת בליﬠל‬ ‫בשל שתשמח באחרית הﬠת במצאך מקצת דברינו כן‬ ‫ונחשבה לך לצדקה בﬠשותך הישר והטוב לפנו לטוב לך‬ Fin ‫ולישראל‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

316

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Figure 3. 4Q398 14–17 ii

Figure 4. 4Q399 1 i–ii

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317

Notes de lecture et bref commentaire : La largeur de la colonne est d’environ 11 cm. Le copiste a resserré les interlignes ainsi que les lettres dans les lignes pour finir son texte dans cette dernière colonne de papyrus. La correspondance avec 4Q397 14–21 15–16 permettrait une lecture possible comme suite de 14–17 i. Mais on ne peut retenir la séquence directe proposée par Qimron : 4Q398 11–13 8 et 398 14–17 ii 110. –2 4Q399 1 i 10 a un ordre inversé pour le pronom et le verbe. –3 À la fin de la ligne, l’édition a lu šr[’]ynw d’après 4Q399 1 i 11. Toutefois, les restes préservés ne conviennent pas à cette lecture, la longue hampe précédant nw de lecture assurée peut très difficilement être lue y, qof paraît de loin bien préférable. Le verbe dbq au pi‘el peut gouverner deux accusatifs, ‘mk « toi » (difficilement « ton peuple ») et ‘rmh wmd‘, et signifie « (r)approcher, (s’)attacher, associer, enjoindre, engager ». 4Q399 1 i 11 a un vacat et semble omettre wl‘mk, puis il lit šr’ynw. –5 4Q399 1 ii 2 paraît omettre w‘ṣt bly‘l. –6 4Q399 1 ii 3 lit un texte plus court mdbrynw. La joie fait partie des biens eschatologiques, voir 1QS IV 7. –7 4Q399 1 ii 4 a un vacat et omet whṭwb, formule reprise entre autres en 1QS I 3–4 en se fondant aussi sur Moïse et les Prophètes. Traduction 1 2

[seront pardon]nées les fautes ». Souviens-toi de David qui fut un homme de bienfaits11 [et] aussi il fut ]délivré de grands malheurs et il lui fut pardonné. Et aussi nous t’avons écrit nous-mêmes

10 Séquence déjà en discussion dans l’editio princeps que Strugnell n’acceptait pas, voir DJD X, Appendix 2, p. 201–202, où Qimron adopte la séquence 4Q398 11–13 entre les colonnes des fragments 4Q398 14–17 i et ii, suite à une proposition de M. Kister et de B. Porten, mais dans Appendix 3, p. 203–206, Strugnell est d’avis que la séquence du texte composite reflétant l’opinion de Qimron est matériellement improbable, suivant en cela l’opinion de H. Stegemann, mais sans que ni l’un ni l’autre donnent d’arguments précis. La séquence est en fait autre. 11 Le substantif est à distinguer de l’adjectif, et ne peut être traduit par « pieux » à la suite de García Martínez and Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, op. cit., p. 803 : « who was a man of the pious ones », suivis par von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 213.

318 3 4 5 6 7 8

émile puech au sujet de quelques œuvres de la Loi que nous estimons pour ton bien et pour (celui de) ton peuple, car nous nous attachons avec toi à la prudence et à la connaissance de la Loi. Considère toutes ces choses et supplie-Le qu’Il fortifie ta volonté et qu’Il éloigne de toi les pensées du mal et le{s} dessein{s} de Bélial, de sorte que tu te réjouisses à la fin du(/es) temps, en trouvant quelques uns de nos dires (être) fondés ; et cela te sera compté comme justice, quand tu fais ce qui est droit et ce qui est bon en Sa présence, pour ton propre bien et pour celui d’Israël.

B—4Q399 – Fragment 1, col. i (4Q398 14–17 ii 3 souligné, 4Q397 en gras, voir figure 4) :

‫ זכור את דויד שהיא איש חסדים ואף היא [מצול‬9 ‫ ]מצרות רבות ונסלוח לו ואף כתב[נו אנחנו אליך‬10 ‫ ]מקצת מﬠשי התורה שחשבנו לטו[ב לך שראינו‬11 marge inférieure – Fragment 1 col. ii : marge supérieure

‫]ﬠמך ﬠרמה ומדﬠ תורה הבן בכול אלה ובקש [מלפניו‬ ‫]שיתקן את ﬠצתך והרחיק ממך [מחשבת רﬠ‬ ‫]בשל שתשמח באחרית הﬠת [במצאך מדברינו‬ ‫]כן ונחשבה לך לצדקה בﬠ[שותך הישר   לפניו‬ fin ‫]לטוב לך ו[לישראל‬

1 2 3 4 5

Bref commentaire : La largeur des deux colonnes est d’environ 7,5 cm, puis suit une colonne anépigraphe. En 1 i 10, lire le pied du nun avec l’haste du waw ; la copie lit le verbe et le pronom dans un ordre inverse de 4Q398. En 1 i 11 le vacat paraît rappeler l’omission de wl‘mk de 4Q398 14–17 ii 3.

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319

En 1 ii 1, il y a l’espace suffisant pour restaurer le texte parallèle de 4Q398 14–17 ii 412. En 1 ii 2–3, la copie porte une variante importante avec l’omission probable pour l’espace de w‘ṣt bly‘l13, puis lit mdbrynw au lieu de mqṣt dbrynw de 4Q398 14–17 ii 5–6 et de 4Q397 23 3. En 1 ii 4 un vacat semble marquer l’omission de whṭwb de 4Q398 14–17 ii 714. Traduction i 9 10 11

Souviens-toi de David qui fut un homme de bienfaits et aussi il fut ]délivré [de grands malheurs et il lui fut pardonné. Et aussi] nous t’[avons écrit] nous-mêmes [au sujet de quelques œuvres de la Loi que nous estimons pour] ton [bi]en. Puisque nous avons vu

ii 1

[que tu as la prudence et la connaissance de la Loi, considère toutes ces choses et supplie]-Le 2 [qu’Il fortifie ta volonté et qu’Il éloigne de toi ]le dessein du mal, 3 [pour que tu te réjouisses à la fin du(/es) temps, ]lorsque tu trouveras de nos dires 4 [(qu’ils sont) fondés. Et cela te sera compté comme justice, quand ]tu[ fais ce qui est droit en Sa présence, 5 [pour ton propre bien et pour celui d’]Israël.

12 E. Qimron, « Some Works of the Torah. 4Q394–4Q399 (4QMMTa–f ) and 4Q313 », in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations. Vol. 3. Damascus Document II, Some Works of the Torah, and Related Documents (J.H. Charlesworth ed.; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/Westminster John Knox Press, 2006), 187–251, p. 230, ne restaure pas kwl dans bkwl ’lh. 13 Variante que ne note pas von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, qui n’a pas essayé de restaurer les parties lacunaires que permet de préciser une mise en page. 14 Rien ne prouve que ces blancs demandent de considérer le texte plus bref de 4Q399 1 comme plus original, ainsi que l’estime von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 93. Le contraire paraît plus vraisemblable, marquant des omissions, et la paléographie situe la copie de 4Q399 comme plus récente que celles de 4Q398 et de 4Q397.

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C—4Q397 – Fragment 22 (?) (4Q398 11–13 3–5 souligné, voir figure 5) :

‫ הקללות שבאו [מיומ]י ירובﬠם בן נבט וﬠד גלות ירושלם וצדקיה‬1 ‫ מלך יהודה [שיובא]ו בארץ בבל ואנחנו מכירים שבאו מקצת הברכות‬2 ‫ והקללות הא[לה וז]ה הוא אחרית הימים שישובו בישראל לתורה‬3 Bref commentaire : Le placement de ce fragment à cet endroit demande d’échanger la numérotation des fragments 22 et 23. La reconstruction de la colonne d’environ 13 (au minimum) à 13,5 cm ne permettrait pas, pour la longueur de la ligne 2, la lecture probable proposée en 4Q398 11–13 4 : b[’rṣ bbl], d’où les possibilités bbbl ou bblh ou même bbl (voir 4Q385a 18 i 6), à moins d’une autre variante à la ligne 3. Le fragment lit un hof‘al au lieu du hif‘îl de 4Q398. À la ligne 1, il y a une variante mywm[y comparé à bymy de 4Q398 11–13 3, une confusion possible et assez fréquente de bet et mem. À la l. 3, si on veut prendre en compte le point d’encre au-dessus de la ligne (PAM 41.762), faudrait-il y voir le waw de m]<w>[š]h, de préférence à un lamed ? La légère trace à droite aux deux-tiers du jambage du he pourrait être une trace du šin, voir frag. 6 315, ou une trace de lamed et lire alors h’]lh, etc., e.g. l. 3 : whqllwt h’]lh, « et de c]es[ malédictions », voir Dt 28,2.15.45, en lisant alors b’rṣ bbl à la l. 2. Si l’identification paraît acceptable ou du moins possible16, malgré les variantes comme ailleurs dans ces copies, le texte conservé en 4Q398 11–13 1–2 serait à restaurer à la ligne 01, et les lignes 4Q398 11–13 6–8 aux lignes du fragment 22 4–6.

15

Voir la lecture des éditeurs, DJD X, p. 28 : wspr mwš]h wz[h. Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 52 et 92, ne retient pas cette identification, et signale, note 59, une proposition de placement de E. Tigchelaar (non vidi) dans la partie halachique avec les fragments 1–2 de 4Q397. R. Kratz et I. Kottsieper me signalent, je les en remercie, que, contrairement aux photos, le lamed est certain sur l’original, et qu’en conséquence, les trois variantes en trois lignes rendent impossible le recoupement, voir déjà Kratz, « Moses und die Propheten: zur Interpretation von 4QMMT C », in From 4QMMT To Resurrection: Mélanges qumraniens en hommage à Émile Puech, (F. García Martínez, A. Steudel, and E. Tigchelaar eds; STDJ 61, Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2006) 151–76, p. 165. 16

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité

Figure 5. 4Q397 22

Figure 6. 4Q397 14–21 i–ii

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‫‪322‬‬

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‫‪Traduction‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫‪les malédictions qui sont venues ]depuis les jour[s de Jéroboam,‬‬ ‫‪fils de Nebat, et jusqu’à la captivité de Jérusalem et de Sédécias,‬‬ ‫‪roi de Judah, ]quand ils furent amenés[ au pays de Babylone. Et nous‬‬ ‫‪savons que se sont réalisées quelques unes des (ces) bénédictions‬‬ ‫‪et de c]es[ malédictions. Et c’[(est) la fin des jours quand ils revien‬‬‫‪dront, en Israël, à la Loi‬‬

‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪3‬‬

‫‪– Fragments 14–21 i-ii (4Q398 14–17 i-ii 1 souligné, voir figure 6) :‬‬ ‫‪i‬‬ ‫‪5‬‬ ‫‪ii‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪4‬‬ ‫‪5‬‬ ‫‪6‬‬ ‫‪7‬‬ ‫‪8‬‬ ‫‪9‬‬ ‫‪10‬‬ ‫‪11‬‬ ‫‪12‬‬ ‫‪13‬‬ ‫‪14‬‬ ‫‪15‬‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫דו[יד)?(‬ ‫ [‬ ‫ומ[ﬠשנ]ו[ מ]דרש התורה‬ ‫[‬ ‫נח[שבה]‬ ‫נﬠותו]‬ ‫ [‬ ‫  [ם] ו[יהיה מת]‬ ‫ומי ישמ]ר\ﬠ‬ ‫   [‬ ‫מ[ﬠל וחמס והמﬠל]‬ ‫וﬠל הנשי]ם הנכריות)?(‬ ‫[◦ ו>נ<חמס והזנות אבד] כוהנים בהרבה?[‬ ‫כי באלה]‬ ‫מקומות] ואף [כתוב] בספר מושה שאתה לו[א תביא תוﬠבה א]ל ביתכה כי[‬ ‫התוﬠבה שנואה היאה ו]את[ם] יודﬠי[ם ש]אנחנו [פרשנו מרוב הﬠם] ומטמאתם[‬ ‫]ו[מהתﬠרב בדברים האלה ומלבוא ﬠ]מהם [לגב אלה ואתם י]ודﬠים שלוא[‬ ‫]י[מצא בידנו מﬠל ושקר ורﬠה כי ﬠל ]כול [א]לה [אנחנו נותנים א]ת לבנו ואף[‬ ‫]כתב[נו אליכה שתבין בספר מושה] ו[בספרי] הנ[ביאים ובדוי]ד ושתשמור[‬ ‫]כול אלה[ דור ודור ובספר כתוב] יהיה [ל]י ב[א]חרית הי[מים ש]לו[ם] ו[לוא] יואבה[‬ ‫]הוא לסלוח ל[כה ואפכתוב ש]תסור אתה [מהדרך וקרת]ך[ הרﬠה וכת]וב והיא[‬ ‫]כי יבואו ﬠליכה כו[ל הדברי]ם האלה באח[רית הימים הבר]כה ו[הקללה‬ ‫]והשיבותה אל לבב[כה ושבת]ה אליו בכו[ל לבבכה וב]כו[ל נפש]כה [באחרית‬ ‫]הימים וכתוב בספר [מושה ובס]פרי הנביאי[ם שיבואו] הברכות בﬠ[ת של]ום[‬ ‫]ובאחרית הימים ﬠו[נות] י[שא]ו והחסידים נ[שוא]י ﬠונות זכור את‬ ‫‪Notes de lecture et bref commentaire :‬‬ ‫‪i –5 : Ni l’édition ni les auteurs ne signalent les restes de lettres d’une‬‬ ‫‪première colonne i, fragment 18 ligne 5, où semble préservée la‬‬ ‫)‪séquence ]yd, ou ]yd{y} selon que la lettre serait effacée (PAM 41.762‬‬ ‫‪ou que la surface est abîmée (PAM 42.717)17, et dans ce cas serait‬‬ ‫‪Nous n’avons pas pu vérifier l’original.‬‬

‫‪17‬‬

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323

possible une restauration dw]yd, précédant la mention de la paix à Jérusalem sous Salomon, voir 4Q398 11–13 1–2 (= 397 14–21 ii 11). La colonne ii, d’une largeur de 13,5 cm comparable à celle du fragment 22, a conservé des restes de 16 lignes, dont une dizaine est récupérable. La déformation des fragments rend l’alignement difficile aux huit premières lignes tout au moins. ii –1

–2 –3 –4

–5

–6

18

La lecture de l’édition est plus que difficile. Lire ]‘śn[w ]m[, et pour le sens et l’espace, on doit restaurer wm]‘śnw, puis e.g. m[‘śy htwrh, voir B 1–2 et 4Q398 14–17 ii 3, ou mieux m[drš htwrh, « et no]tre travail/œuvre (est) l’étude de la Loi » qui est le programme de la Règle, 1QS VIII 15, préférable à 4Q398 11–13 8 m[bqšy twrh « et no]tre travail (est) (celui) de chercheurs de la Loi » (voir le texte composite pour la séquence). Ce mot est au centre de la ‘Lettre’, au début en B 2 et plusieurs fois ensuite dans l’épilogue. Sur le fragment 16, la lecture acceptable est ]šbh[ (peut-être pour nḥ ]šbh[(?), mais ]šyb’[w de l’édition est exclue. Le verbe peut être à comprendre comme yšm[r ou yšm[‘. Si la restauration hnkrywt n’est qu’une possibilité (voir B 40–49 et 80–82 pour les ‘prostituées’ et 4Q213a 3 = Testament de Lévi18 pour les épouses non permises pour les prêtres, et B 3 pour la ‘pureté’ au centre de ces prescriptions), la suite paraît devoir être lue m]‘l wḥ ms, sans article (PAM 41.762). Sur la même reproduction, la lecture semble devoir être ]° wḥ ms, l’article étant exclu ne permet pas de comprendre le verbe ensuite au pluriel. Comprendre peut-être ’bd[ kwhnym /’yš bhrbh], préférable à mqṣt], voir B 80–82 pour kwhnym, d’autant que le passage semble bien s’intéresser aux prêtres et à leurs épouses (légitimes). Le mot znwt désigne autant des mariages illégitimes et par le fait même « la fornication » que la prostitution19. La restauration de l’édition ktw[b bspr mwšh šlw]’ est trop courte pour l’espace ; on proposerait e.g. de comprendre ktwb[ bspr mwšh š’th lw]’, avec des traces de bet.

D’après la nouvelle lecture du passage avec un fragment jointif, voir E. Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4 XXVII. Textes araméens. Deuxième partie (DJD XXXVII ; Oxford : Clarendon Press, 2009) p. 511–17. 19 Avec les éditeurs, DJD X, p. 90, bien qu’ils traduisent dans ce cas (p. 59) « fornication ».

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émile puech

–7

Traces de waw, puis des deux mem finaux et de šin à la cassure sur le fragment central (PAM 41.762). La largeur de la lacune demande de restaurer š[’nḥ nw ]pršnw et non š]pršnw de l’édition. À la dernière cassure, restes du coude de mem au bas de l’oblique de ‘aïn. En fin de ligne, la longueur de la lacune permet plus difficilement de restaurer wmkwl ṭm’tm de l’édition, lire sans doute plus simplement wmṭm’tm. Pour des cas d’abomination à ce sujet, voir 4Q524 15–22. –9 En revanche, on doit lire kwl dans l’intervalle des fragments 18 et 17, et une partie du bas du alef de ]’[lh, contrairement à l’édition. À la fin de la ligne, restaurer ’[t lbnw w’p] selon la formule bien connue qui est aussi à restaurer en 4Q398 14–17 2. –10 Malgré les cassures, la lecture mwšh[ w]bspry[ hn]by’ym wbdwy[d est certaine (restes des deux yod). Puis la lacune en fin de ligne demande de restaurer un autre mot, e.g. wštšmwr, wštmswr, wštdrwš ou un synonyme], un verbe est attendu dans cette séquence pour signifier la garde, la transmission, ou l’étude des livres20. La forme du verbe štbyn est une variante probablement originale de la relecture š’tm m]bynyn de 4Q398 14–17 i 2. La séquence exige d’être comprise comme renvoyant à des livres, non à des « actes de David »21. –11 Comme je l’ai déjà signalé, la distance à la marge droite appelle la restauration de [kwl ’lh], expression reprenant la liste des livres mentionnés à la ligne 10 (voir aussi hbn bkl ’lh 398 14–17 ii 4) et à transmettre de génération en génération, ainsi que le recommande aussi Qahat à ses fils (4Q542 1 ii 9–13, voir aussi Jubilés 45,16 et le Testament de Lévi araméen Cambridge e 17–18 et 23)22. 20 Lecture déjà proposée dans E. Puech, « Quelques observations sur le ‘canon’ des “Écrits” », in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (M. Popović ed.; JSJSup. 141, Leiden: Brill, 2010) 117–42, p. 121–23, avec une bibliographie. Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 101 et 205–06, s’accorderait avec E. Ulrich au sujet du placement douteux du fragment 17 et contre la lecture tripartite des Écritures (l’emploi de ‘canon’ me paraît ici un anachronisme). Elle n’accepte pas la reconstruction du texte composite, qui s’impose dans les deux cas en 4Q397 et 398 14–17 i 3 comme le montre cette note où le verbe wštšmwr est aussi attendu pour l’espace et le sens. Kratz, « Mose und die Propheten », p. 160, se demande si 4Q398 ne lisait pas uniquement bspr mwšh, mais il y a des restes et de l’espace à la ligne suivante. 21 Contrairement à la proposition de T. Lim, « The Alleged Reference to the Tripartite Division of the Hebrew Bible », RdQ 77 (2001) 23–37, p. 37: « and (the deeds of ) David ». 22 Il ne saurait être question d’une division quadripartite des Écritures, ainsi que certains l’ont pensé à la suite de l’édition, qu’on restaure ou non (w)bm‘śy, par ailleurs

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité

–12

–13

–14 –15

325

À défaut, on pourrait aussi comprendre, e.g. wšt‘śh // kwl ’lh/ hyšr] dwr wdwr « et que tu dois faire // toutes ces choses/tout ce qui est juste] de génération en génération », voir Dt 29,28. Ensuite les restes de lettres : lamed, alef (frag. 20 PAM 41.762), mem, šin non lamed, et mem, peuvent être compris au mieux pour les espaces : ]l[° b]’[ḥ ryt hy]mym š[lw]m[ w]lw’[23, (voir aussi ligne 15). Comme le demande la phraséologie, restaurer une citation de Dt 29,18aβ et 19aα dans la logique de ces passages : yhyh ]l[y b]’[ḥ ryt hy]mym š[lw]m[ w]lw’[24. La lecture fautive de 4Q398 14–17 i 4 a été partiellement reportée par les éditeurs dans ce début de ligne, en restaurant ensuite l]kh. En continuant la citation de Dt 29,19aα, comprendre ainsi yw’bh // hw’ lslwḥ l]kh25. La lecture de 4Q398 14–17 i 4 porte une variante pour l’espace et la structure de ce début de ligne. Dans cette ligne, voir 4Q398 14–17 ii 2 pour le pardon divin accordé à David. À moins d’un vacat, la lacune suivante demande de restaurer un mot de plus, e.g. ’th. Ensuite l’espace paraît insuffisant pour restaurer le suffixe long et sans traces à wqrt[kh, (l’orthographe des suffixes est variable en 4Q397 et 4Q398), enfin pour la longueur, la ligne paraît finir avec why’ (orthographe de 4Q398 14–17 i 5, ou hyh), longueur comparable à la ligne précédente. L’espace autorise la lecture [ky ybw’w ‘lykh kw]l avec le suffixe long, puis des restes de yod au mot suivant que ne mentionne pas l’édition. Restes de reš visibles sur PAM 42.717 mais pas sur 41.762. Restaurer certainement pour l’espace la scriptio plena ’lyw bkw]l contrairement à l’édition, et la ligne finit avec b’ḥ ryt. L’espace permet de restaurer la séquence [hymym avec 4Q398 14–17 i 8, mais ensuite avec une variante wktwb bspr ]mwšh wbs[pry hnby’y]m šybw’w[ hbrkwt b‘]t šl[wm] de lecture assurée, contrairement aux lacunes de l’édition qui ne lit pas l’haste

beaucoup trop court pour l’espace et difficile dans le contexte. La restauration bm‘śy ]dwr wdwr doit provenir de 4Q270 2 ii 21 et de CD V 5. 23 L’édition et les auteurs ensuite n’ont pas rendu compte de toutes les traces visibles sur les fragments, et ne peuvent proposer de lecture. 24 Je remercie mon étudiant Nicolo Rizzolo pour ce renvoi à Deutéronome. 25 L’espace demande de lire lslwḥ avec le samaritain, le syriaque et les targums non slwḥ , et hw’ remplaçant dans ce texte le tétragramme, Dieu étant toujours à la troisième personne, à moins de lire wlw’ // [yw’bh slwḥ l]kh.

326

–16

émile puech précédant le šin (frag. 14). Cette séquence renvoie en partie à la lecture de la ligne 11. Le même renvoi à Moïse et aux Prophètes se retrouve en 4Q504 1–2 iii 12–14. La lecture précise des fragments 21 et 20 est cruciale pour comprendre cette ligne, celle de l’édition n’étant pas acceptable pour aucun d’eux26. Je lis et restaure ainsi le début pour l’espace : [(w)b’ḥ ryt hymym ‘w]nwt[ y]š’[w 27, puis au fragment 20 n]šw’[y ‘wnwt suivi de zkwr ’t, avec 4Q398 14–17 ii 1 ; l’haste de šin, waw et alef en assurent la lecture28. La lacune médiane est plus difficile à restaurer sans une quelconque indication. On proposerait whḥ sydym « les Pieux-Esséniens », dont Dieu pardonnera les péchés, annonçant ainsi l’exemple de David ’yš ḥ sdym à la ligne suivante. Quoi qu’il en soit de la formulation exacte, cette lecture et ce recoupement assurent la séquence des fragments et la finale du manuscrit MMT.

Traduction : i 5:

Dav]id (?)

ii 1 2 3 4

Et no]tre travail [est l’étude de la Loi ] (ils) se sont pervertis[ sera co]mpté[ ] et qui gar[de]ra[ ]°[ et] sera . .[ ] et concernant les femme[s étrangères(?) . . . sacri]lège et violence, et le sacrilège[ ] 5 car en ces affaires[ ]. . et souffrant violence, et la fornication a perdu [des prêtres (?) en nombre de] 6 places.[ Et aussi] il est écrit[ dans le livre de Moïse que toi-même ]tu [ne dois p]as introduire d’abomination da[ns ta maison, parce que] 7 l’abomination, elle est exécrable, et vous savez] que nous nous sommes séparés [nous-mêmes] de la majorité du peu[ple et de leur impureté,

26 Qimron, « Some Works of the Torah », p. 222 et p. 248, a repris l’editio princeps sans nouvelle lecture. 27 La lecture hbr]kwt š[b’w de l’édition DJD X, p. 28, est impossible. 28 La lecture by]my [šlwmwh bn dwyd w’p hqllwt de l’édition DJD X, p. 28, est impossible, tout comme la lecture ’]t dwy[d de Stegemann, voir Kratz, « Mose und die Propheten », p. 165.

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité 8 9 10

11

12

13 14 15

16

327

et d’]être compromis dans ces affaires-là et d’entrer av[ec eux ]au cœur de ces choses. Et vous s[avez que] ne [se] trouve dans nos mains ni sacrilège ni mensonge ni mal, car sur [toutes ces a]ffai[res] nous (y) appliquons [notre cœur. Et aussi] nous t’[avons écrit] que tu dois reconsidérer le Livre de Moïse[ et] les Livres[ des P]rophètes et (ceux) de Davi[d, et que tu dois garder/transmettre/scruter (?)] [tous ceux-ci,] de génération en génération. Et dans le Livre il est écrit[ : « Il y aura ]pour[ moi, à la ]f[in des jo]urs, la p[ai]x, mais [Il] ne[consentira] pas[ à ]te[ pardonner ».] Et aussi il est écrit que[ « tu t’écarteras toi-même ]de la Voie et que le mal [t’]atteindra », et il est é[crit : « Et il arrivera] [que viendront sur toi tou]tes ces chose[s à la fi]n des jours, la bé[nédiction et] la malédiction, [mais en la prenant à cœu]r, tu peux revenir[ vers Lui de to]ut ton cœur et de to[u]te [ton] âme, à la fin [des jours ». Et il est écrit, dans le livre de ]Moïse et dans [les] li[vres des Prophète]s, que « viendront[ les bénédictions dans un tem]ps de pa[ix.] [À la fin des jours, les fa]utes[ seront] pardonnées[, et aux pieux seront ]pardonné[es les fautes ». Souviens-toi de

– Fragment 23(?) (4Q398 14–17 ii souligné et 4Q399 1 ii 2–5 en gras, voir figure 7) :

‫את ﬠצת[כה וה]רחיק ממכה מחשבת רעה וﬠצת‬ (?)‫בליﬠל [בשל שת]שמח אתה)?( באחרית הימים‬ ‫במצאכ[ה מקצ]ת דברינו כן ונחשבה לכה לצדקה‬ ‫בﬠשותכ[ה] הישר והטוב לפניו לטוב לכה ולישראל‬

1 2 3 4

Commentaire : La restauration de ce fragment, une colonne d’environ 9,5 à 10 cm, a conservé les restes des quatre dernières lignes du manuscrit, voir le recoupement avec 4Q398 14–17 ii 5–8 et 4Q399 1 ii 2–5. Mais cette copie connaît les finales longues du suffixe en -kh d’une part et, d’autre part, la reconstruction de la ligne 2 suppose des variantes pour la longueur : hymym probable au lieu de h‘t de 4Q398 ii 6 (et 4Q399 1 ii 3),

328

émile puech

Figure 7. 4Q397 23

et sans doute encore la présence de ’th après št[šmḥ . On traduit ‘ṣtkh par « ta volonté » pour le sens du passage, non par « ton dessein ». Traduction : 1 ta [volonté] et qu’Il é[loigne de toi la pensée du mal et le dessein de 2 Bélial,] de sorte que tu te [réjouisses toi-même à la fin des jours, 3 lorsque ]tu [trouveras qu’une parti[e de nos dires (est) fondée. Et cela te sera compté comme justice 4 quand t]u[ fais ce qui est droit et ce qui est bon en Sa présence, pour ton propre bien et pour celui d’Israël. Cette relecture des restes de l’épilogue autorise quelques remarques. Les fragments 4Q397 14–21+22+23 ont conservé presque entièrement la finale de MMT compte tenu des recoupements avec les fragments de 4Q398 14–17 i–ii29 et de 4Q399 1 i–ii dans une séquence continue assez bien récupérable. Le manuscrit 4Q397 compte 17 lignes par colonne dont 16 préservées par les fragments 14–2130 et 7 lignes dont les 4 dernières préservées par le fragment 23 qui se superpose aux lignes 4 à 7 du fragment 18 et aux lignes 3 à 6 du fragment 16, dans

29

Contrairement à l’opinion de von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 227, « 4Q397 and 4Q398 overlap surprisingly little ». Un déchiffrement correct ne confirme pas cette conclusion. 30 L’editio princeps, DJD X, p. 21, estime la colonne à plus de 15 lignes.

l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité

329

l’enroulement du rouleau31. Cette séquence demande de restaurer une ligne 9 au bas de la colonne i de 4Q398 14–17. Comme le fragment 4Q397 22 1–3 (+ 4–6) semble recouper les fragments 4Q398 11–13 2–4 (+ 5–7), il se situerait alors au bas de la colonne des fragments 14–21 i, dans une colonne de même dimension32, le texte conservé en 4Q397 14–21 ii 1–9a qui est la suite immédiate du texte, était certainement disposé dans une colonne non conservée à gauche de la colonne constituée par 4Q398 11–13 et d’une largeur comparable, précédant 4Q398 14–17 i-ii. En conséquence33, il est clair, par le recoupement, que les fragments 4Q398 11–13 ne peuvent être situés au-dessous de 4Q398 14–17 i, ce que la largeur même des colonnes, respectivement de 14,5 et de 12,5 cm, interdit elle aussi formellement34. Les restes conservés en 4Q398 11–13 1–2 étant à reporter en 4Q397 22 01, on

31 De même 4Q398 a conservé des restes des quatre dernières colonnes du rouleau i–[ii]–iii–iv, et 4Q399 des trois dernières colonnes : i-ii et iii (blanche). Que les fragments 1 à 10 de 4Q398 montrent une graphie différente ne prouve pas qu’ils appartiennent nécessairement à un autre manuscrit, ce pourrait aussi bien être le témoignage d’une autre main, comme il arrive parfois dans un même rouleau, le contenu seul doit intervenir dans la décision. 32 Kratz, « Mose und die Propheten », p. 164–66, accepte le placement de 4Q398 11–13 avant 4Q397 14–21 (ii) proposé par Strugnell et Stegemann (voir ci-dessous). Même si l’identification du fragment 22 proposée ci-dessus comme possible n’était pas à retenir, la disposition du texte n’en serait pas affectée. 33 Cette solution est possible même sans avoir étudié les originaux au Musée, c’est mon cas pour ce texte. 34 Ainsi que l’a proposé Qimron dans l’édition de DJD X, « Appendix 2 », p. 201–02, 4Q398 comprenant quelque 16 lignes, sur une proposition de M. Kister et de B. Porten, et repris dans « Some Works of the Torah », généralement suivis par les auteurs. Strugnell n’a jamais été convaincu par ce placement, déjà sur le plan purement matériel, voir DJD X, « Appendix 3 », p. 206, et du même, « MMT: Second Thoughts », art. cit., p. 69–70 : « Materially, however, this placing of the fragment would be difficult. One could make as good a case for placing it in the text missing before line 1, though the poor state of the text in lines 1ff. hinders us from seeing how appropriate the sequence of thought would be…. In any case, I suspect that this problem will not be solved until the missing chapter on the theological background of section C is written, perhaps to give us an answer to this major difficulty ». H. Stegemann appuyait cette réserve et impossibilité, voir R. Kratz, Moses und die Propheten », cit., p. 162–66. Mais Strugnell et Stegemann situeraient 4Q398 11–13 après 4Q397 ii 9. Kratz y ajoute d’autres remarques : les bénédictions et malédictions au pluriel d’un côté et au singulier de l’autre, le discours direct d’un côté mais pas de l’autre, la forme des cassures, et l’exégèse du passage ainsi reconstruit (p. 167–76). Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 88–90, et 93–94, retient la solution de Strugnell et de Stegemann, et au chapitre 5, l’exégèse de Kratz. Il n’est aucunement besoin d’attendre un examen microscopique des fibres du papyrus pour en décider (DJD X, p. 205). La réponse est donnée par une disposition du texte dans les différents manuscrits et un déchiffrement correct des fragments. Ainsi est définitivement résolue la question d’un vacat (Strugnell) ou pas (Qimron) après la ligne 8 de 3Q398 11–13.

330

émile puech

n’a toujours pas le début de l’épilogue. Les restes de 4Q397 14–21 i 5 sont insuffisants pour assurer leur place dans le déroulement du texte,35 mais la séquence ]yd (ou ]yd{y}) n’apparaît pas dans la finale conservée du texte composite B = les halakhôt. Si la lecture dw]yd est bien à retenir en i 5, ce qui paraît très vraisemblable, cette ligne ferait certainement partie de l’épilogue et probablement même toute la colonne de 4Q397 14–21 i. Enfin cette lecture des fragments exclut définitivement tout rattachement des premières lignes lacunaires de 4Q397 14–21 ii à la section halachique, puisqu’elle est précédée par plusieurs lignes de l’exhortation de l’épilogue, 4Q398 11–13 (// 4Q397 22 ?)36. 2. Le texte composite de l’épilogue Cette relecture permet de proposer un texte suivi ou composite de la fin de l’épilogue qui n’a plus rien d’hypothétique, bien que des variantes plus ou moins significatives soient présentes d’un manuscrit à l’autre, variantes connues et d’autres supposées par la reconstruction matérielle (en italique dans la traduction), comme il a été signalé ci-dessus dans la présentation des fragments37. Les variantes n’affectent pas le sens général de l’épilogue. Pour plus de suivi dans la numérotation des lignes, a été retenue la disposition matérielle de 4Q397, supplémentée par défaut par les autres manuscrits (en fait 4Q398 11–17), d’après la présentation du manuscrit ci-dessus, avec des colonnes de 17 lignes, disposition groupée sous des restes de trois colonnes i (5,11–17—ii 1–17—iii 1–7)38. Pour une étude précise du texte, il est néanmoins 35

Strugnell, « MMT: Second Thoughts », cit., p. 67, écrit : « The damage to the text and the loss of over twenty complete lines at the beginning make it difficult to establish the point where the text changes from one section and subject-matter, i.e., that of section B, to another ». On n’a pas de trace de la transition de la section halachique à l’épilogue, malgré Qimron, « Some Works of the Torah », p. 190 et note 34, à la suite de M. Bernstein. 36 Les lignes 1 à 7 d’après M. Bernstein, « The Employment and Interpretation of Scripture in 4QMMT: Preliminary Observations », in Reading 4QMMT: New Perspectives on Qumran Law and History, ( John Kampen and Moshe J. Bernstein eds; SBLSym 2, Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1996), 29–51, p. 46–47 ; et les lignes 1 à 9 pour M. Pérez Fernández, « 4QMMT : Redactional Study », RdQ 70 (1997) 191–205, p. 196–97. 37 La liste des variantes de l’édition, p. 41, et de Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 80–85, est à corriger et à compléter. On ne peut suivre ce dernier auteur (p. 227–28) affirmant : « These variant readings make it impossible to combine these two manuscripts into an intelligible composite text in this particular section », ni le caractère hypothétique de l’édition et celui de Qimron, « Some Works of the Torah », p. 194. 38 On doit définitivement abandonner la séquence du texte composite C de l’édition.

‫‪331‬‬

‫‪l’épilogue de 4qmmt revisité‬‬

‫‪indispensable de se reporter à chaque manuscrit (ci-dessus). Les figu‬‬‫‪res 1 à 7 essaient d’intégrer autant que possible le texte ainsi recons‬‬‫‪truit dans chaque main.‬‬ ‫‪4QMMT—Épilogue = 4Q397 14–23 + // 4Q398 11–17 (souligné)//‬‬ ‫‪4Q399 1(gras) :‬‬ ‫‪i‬‬ ‫דו[יד)?(‬ ‫‪5‬‬ ‫‪................................................................................‬‬ ‫)‪ (11‬היה שלו[ם בירושלם כי באו הברכות ביומי שלומוה בן דויד ואף‬ ‫‪ 12‬הקללות שבאו [מיומ]י ירובﬠם בן נבט וﬠד גלות ירושלם וצדקיה‬ ‫‪ 13‬מלך יהודה [שיובא]ו בארץ בבל ואנחנו מכירים שבאו מקצת הברכות‬ ‫‪ 14‬והקללות הא[לה וז]ה הוא אחרית הימים שישובו בישראל לתורה‬ ‫)‪ (15‬הנגלה למושה ולוא ישובו אחור והרשﬠים ירשיﬠו והאמונים‬ ‫)‪ (16‬והצדיקים ייראו זכור את מלכי ישראל והתבונן במﬠשיהמ)ה( שמי מהם‬ ‫)‪ (17‬שהיא ירא את דברי התורה היה מצול מצרות והם מבקשי תורה‬ ‫‪marge inférieure‬‬ ‫‪ii‬‬ ‫)?( ‪marge supérieure‬‬

‫[‬ ‫[‬

‫‪ 1‬ומ[ﬠשנ]ו[ מ]דרש התורה‬ ‫נח[שבה]‬ ‫‪ 2‬נﬠותו]‬ ‫[‬ ‫[ם] ו[יהיה מת]‬ ‫‪ 3‬ומי ישמ]ר\ﬠ‬ ‫[‬ ‫מ[ﬠל וחמס והמﬠל]‬ ‫‪ 4‬וﬠל הנש]ים הנכריות)?(‬ ‫[◦ ו>נ<חמס וזנות אבד] כוהנים בהרבה?[‬ ‫‪ 5‬כי באלה]‬ ‫‪ 6‬מקומות] ואף [כתוב] בספר מושה שאתה לו[א תביא תוﬠבה א]ל ביתכה כי[‬ ‫‪ 7‬התוﬠבה שנואה היאה ו]את[ם] יודﬠי[ם ש[אנחנו [פרשנו מרוב הﬠם] ומטמאתם[‬ ‫‪] 8‬ו[מהתﬠרב בדברים האלה ומלבוא ﬠ]מהם [לגב אלה ואתם י]ודﬠים שלוא[‬ ‫‪] 9‬י[מצא בידנו מﬠל ושקר ורﬠה כי ﬠל ]כול [א]לה [אנחנו נותנים א]ת לבנו ואף[‬ ‫‪] 10‬כתב[נו אליכה שחבין בספר מושה] ו[בספרי] הנ[ביאים ובדוי]ד ושתשמור[‬ ‫‪] 11‬כול אלה[ דור ודור ובספר כתוב] יהיה [ל]י ב[א]חרית הי[מים ש]לו[ם] ו[לוא] יואבה[‬ ‫‪] 12‬הוא לסלוח ל[כה ואפכתוב ש]תסור אתה [מהדרך וקרת]ך[ הרﬠה וכת]וב והיא[‬ ‫‪] 13‬כי יבואו ﬠליכה כו[ל הדברי]ם האלה באח[רית הימים הבר]כה ו[הקללה‬ ‫‪] 14‬והשיבותה אל לבב[כה ושבת]ה אליו בכו[ל לבבכה וב]כו[ל נפש]כה [באחרית‬ ‫‪] 15‬הימים וכתוב בספר [מושה ובס]פרי הנביאי[ם שיבואו] הברכות בﬠ[ת של]ום[‬ ‫‪] 16‬ובאחרית הימים ﬠו[נות] י[שא]ו והחסידים נ[שוא]י ﬠונות זכור את‬ ‫)‪ (17‬דויד שהיא איש חסדים ]ו[אף היא מצול מצרות רבות ונסלוח לו‬ ‫‪marge inférieure‬‬

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émile puech iii marge supérieure

‫( ואף אנחנו כתבנו אליכה מקצת מﬠשי התורה‬1) ‫( שחשבנו לטוב לכה ולﬠמכה שדבקנו ﬠמכה ﬠרמה‬2) ‫( ומדﬠ תורה הבן בכול אלה ובקש מלפניו שיתקן‬3) ‫ את ﬠצת[כה וה]רחיק ממכה מחשבת רעה וﬠצת‬4 (?)‫ בליﬠל [בשל שת]שמח אתה)?( באחרית הימים‬5 ‫ במצא[כה מקצ]ת דברינו כן ונחשבה לכה לצדקה‬6 ‫ בﬠשותכ[ה] הישר והטוב לפניו לטוב לכה ולישראל‬7 fin Traduction i 5 . . . Dav]id (?) 11–17 (= 4Q398 11–13 // fragment 22 1–3 ?) (11) il y avait la pai)x (à Jérusale)m, (parce qu’)étaient venues les bénédictions aux jours de Salomon, fils de David, mais aussi 12 les malédictions sont venues ]depuis les jour[s de Jéroboam, fils de Nebat, et jusqu’à la captivité de Jérusalem et de Sédécias, 13 roi de Judah, ]quand ils furent amenés[ au pays de Babylone. Et nous savons que se sont réalisées quelques unes de (ces) bénédictions 14 et de c]es[ malédictions. Et c’[(est]/ce [sera) la fin des jours quand ils reviendront, en Israël, à la Loi (15) qui a été révélée à Moïse (Dt 29,28) / est écrite dans le Livre (Dt 30,10) et qu’ils ne retourneront pas en arrière, et les impies commettront l’impiété, mais les fidèles (16) et les justes craindront. Souviens-toi des rois d’Israël et contemple leurs œuvres, que celui d’entre eux (17) qui craignait les préceptes de la Loi était délivré des malheurs, et eux, ils étaient des chercheurs de la Loi. ii (= 4Q397 ii 1–16 +) 1 Et no]tre travail [est l’étude de la Loi, 2 ils) se sont pervertis[ sera co]mpté[ 3 et qui gar[de]ra[ ]°[ et] sera . . [ 4 et concernant les femme[s étrangères (?) . . . sacri]lège et violence, et le sacrilège[

] ] ] ]

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5

car en ces affaires[ ] . . . et souffrant violence, et la ‘fornication’ a perdu [des prêtres (?) en nombre de] 6 places.[ Et aussi] il est écrit[ dans le Livre de Moïse que toimême ] « tu [ne dois p]as introduire d’abomination da[ns ta maison » (Dt 7,26), « parce que] 7 l’abomination, elle est exécrable » (Dt 12,31), et vous savez] que nous nous sommes séparés [nous-mêmes] de la majorité du peu[ple et de leur impureté, 8 et d’]être compromis dans ces affaires-là et d’entrer av[ec eux ] au cœur de ces choses. Et vous s[avez que] 9 ne [se] trouve dans nos mains ni sacrilège ni mensonge ni mal, car sur [toutes ces a]ffai[res] nous (y) appliquons [notre cœur. Et aussi] 10 nous t’[avons écrit] que tu dois reconsidérer le Livre de Moïse[ et] les Livres[ des P]rophètes et (ceux) de Davi[d, et que tu dois garder/transmettre/scruter(?)] 11 [tous ceux-ci,] de génération en génération. Et dans le Livre il est écrit[ : « Il y aura ]pour[ moi la p[ai]x, à la ]f[in des jo]urs, mais [Il ]ne[ consentira] 12 pas[ à te pardonner » (Dt 29,18–19)39. Et aussi il est écrit que[ « tu t’écarteras toi-même ]de la Voie et que le mal [t’]atteindra » (Dt 31,29), et il est é[crit : « Et il arrivera] 13 [que viendront sur toi tou]tes ces chose[s à la fi]n des jours, la bé[nédiction et] la malédiction, 14 [mais en la prenant à cœu]r, tu peux revenir[ vers Lui de to]ut ton cœur et de to[u]te [ton] âme, à la fin 15 [des jours » (Dt 30,1–2). Et il est écrit, dans le livre de ]Moïse et dans [les] li[vres des Prophète]s, que « viendront[ les bénédictions dans un tem]ps de pa[ix,] 16 [et à la fin des jours, les fa]utes[ seront] pardonnées,[ et aux pieux seront par]donné[es les fautes » (Dt 28,2, Is 33,24). Souviens-toi de (17) David qui fut un homme de bienfaits et aussi qui fut délivré de grands malheurs et qu’il lui fut pardonné.

39 4Q398 14–17 i 4 lit la fin de la citation : « Il nous fera nous lever et Il te condamnera ».

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iii (4Q397 23 2–4 [= 4–7 +]) (1) Et aussi nous t’avons écrit nous-mêmes au sujet de quelques œuvres de la Loi (2) que nous estimons pour ton bien et pour (celui de) ton peuple, car nous nous attachons avec toi à la prudence (3) et à la connaissance de la Loi. Considère toutes ces choses et supplie-Le qu’Il fortifie] 4 ta [volonté] et qu’Il é[loigne de toi la pensée du mal et le dessein de 5 Bélial,] de sorte que tu te [réjouisses toi-même à la fin des jours(/ du temps), 6 lorsque ]tu [trouveras qu’une parti[e de nos dires (est) fondée. Et cela te sera compté comme justice 7 quand ]tu[ fais ce qui est droit et ce qui est bon en Sa présence, pour ton propre bien et pour celui d’Israël. (Fin) Cette lecture suivie de l’épilogue, à l’exception de ii 1–5 mais dont on peut saisir l’essentiel du contenu, a des conséquences importantes pour sa composition, son histoire et son message. On ne peut sans doute pas conclure à de multiples recensions, au maximum de deux, mais les copies portent des variantes inhérentes à l’orthographe pas toujours homogène, au vocabulaire ou à la formulation où le copiste peut intervenir dans le style : ordre des mots, formes, synonymes, concisions, reformulations40. La formulation de 4Q397, copie plus récente que 4Q398, ne porte pas les réinterprétations des citations ou les reformulations de cette dernière copie, comparer 4Q398 14–17 i 4 et 4Q397 14–21 ii 11–12. 4Q397 passe pour la forme la plus primitive, et 4Q398 pour une recension.

40

Von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 71–85 et 91–94, estime avoir affaire à plusieurs recensions. La forme plus brève de 4Q399 en ferait la plus ancienne édition, mais les blancs laissés par le copiste laissent supposer qu’il avait un autre texte devant lui. Toutes les trois copies de l’épilogue sont datées dans l’espace d’environ deux générations, et les ‘6’ copies sont réparties sur environ un siècle, soit sur deux ou trois générations tout au plus. Si la partie halachique ne porte pas de variante significative, cela tient au genre littéraire où le sujet ne s’y prête pas sous peine de changer le contenu du précepte. Mais dans l’épilogue les recoupements sont plus importants que ne l’écrit l’auteur, et la plupart des variantes bien moins significatives qu’elle ne le dit ; cela tient à un déchiffrement inexact et à des identifications non reconnues. S’il y a recensions, elles se limitent à deux (4Q398 et 397). Il est donc possible de présenter un texte composite, et d’en signaler les variantes à l’occasion.

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Il est clair que l’épilogue témoigne de la division tripartite des ‘Écritures’41, en 4Q397 14–21 ii 10–11, comme c’est aussi le cas en Ben Sira (éloge des ancêtres et Prologue), 1 et 2 Maccabées, la Règle de la Communauté, Jubilés 2,23, etc42. La phraséologie « le livre de Moïse et les livres des prophètes et (ceux) de David » d’une part et, d’autre part, « le livre de Moïse et les livres des prophètes » ou « le livre de Moïse », « le Livre » ou « la Loi » dans l’épilogue, n’infirment pas la division tripartite, même si le contenu de cette troisième partie n’est pas davantage précisée. Il en est de même dans le Nouveau Testament où l’on trouve les trois formulations selon la source à laquelle l’auteur veut renvoyer : Lc 24,44 « la Loi de Moïse, les Prophètes et les Psaumes » ; Mt 5,17 ; 7,12 ; (11,13), Lc 16,16.29.31 ; 24,27, Jn 1,45, Act 13,15 ; 26,22 ; 28,23 « la Loi de Moïse et les Prophètes » ; ou Lc 2,22–28, etc., « la Loi de Moïse », « la Loi ». La datation de MMT doit remonter au milieu de IIe siècle, vers 15243, à l’époque de la séparation du Maître de Justice et de son groupe, lequel est principalement au départ un groupe de prêtres constituant le noyau central de la Communauté, d’un côté et de l’autre, son opposant et ceux qui le suivent, le grand prêtre et chef de la nation responsable de la majorité du peuple/Israël. L’imitation fortement conseillée des rois sages, David et Salomon, devait viser un des grands prêtres hasmonéens, et Jonathan en premier44. Devant leurs groupes respectifs,

41 Mot préférable à ‘canon’ qui est ici anachronique, et qui désigne mieux le corpus des livres faisant autorité ou normatifs pour un groupe religieux, voir les commentaires ci-dessus. 42 Attestations datant du IIe siècle avant J.-C., voir Puech, « Quelques observations sur le ‘canon’ des “Écrits” », où est présenté l’ensemble du dossier, malgré la négation de von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 205–06, et de J.G. Campbell, « 4QMMTd and the Tripartite Canon », JJS 51 (2000) 181–90. 43 Les éditeurs situent la composition vers 150, et sont suivis pour une date circa 152 ou peu après, par H. Stegemann, O. Betz, H. Eshel, E. Puech, A. Steudel entre autres, mais L. Schiffman penche pour les tout débuts de la période des ‘vingt ans de tâtonnements’. Voir aussi A. Steudel, « ‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran », RdQ 62 (1993) 225–46, p. 227 : expression typique dans des textes esséniens. Pour une datation entre 157 et 152, avant que Jonathan n’exerce la charge de grand prêtre, voir S. Hultgren, From Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community. Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 66; Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2007), p. 250–65. 44 Voir e.g. L.H. Schiffman, « The New Halakhic Letter (4QMMT) and the Origins of the Dead Sea Sect », BA 55 (1990) 64–73. L’emploi de la première personne du pluriel n’infirme pas cette conclusion, malgré von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 210, 225 : l’auteur écrit au nom de son groupe, il n’est pas seul à comprendre ainsi les préceptes divins, même s’il a en premier toute autorité en la matière.

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les deux meneurs se considèrent comme des guides et des responsables de l’interprétation de la Loi et des Écritures, l’héritage reçu des Pères, mais l’auteur qui parle avec autorité au nom de ses disciples, est certain d’interpréter la Loi de Moïse dans la droite ligne et avec exactitude, sous le regard de Dieu, origine des bénédictions et des malédictions. L’auteur (= le Maître) dit s’être séparé de l’interprétation erronée de la Loi que suit le groupe des opposants (des Pharisiens) sur un certain nombre de points énumérés précédemment, et sans doute aussi le calendrier en tête de 4Q394, groupe qui « s’écarte de la Voie et qu’atteint le mal »45, comparer CD VIII 16 et 19. La discussion, même positive et encore modérée, n’est pas aussi irénique que l’on pourrait croire, sans en arriver aux oppositions ouvertes de la génération suivante, celle des pesharîm, où l’opposant qui n’est pas revenu de ses errements, est alors qualifié de Prêtre Impie. L’auteur évite l’emploi du tétragramme comme le font toutes les compositions qumrano-esséniennes et use du pronom de la troisième personne. Cet usage doit dater du milieu du IIe siècle, après la victoire sur Antiochus IV Épiphane qui avait profané le temple sur lequel est invoqué le nom divin, nom qui a donné la victoire46. Les six ou sept(?)47 copies de MMT, inconnu par ailleurs et donc très difficilement préqumranien, soulignent l’importance de la composition pour le groupe qumrano-essénien et l’influence durable sur les générations qui ont

45

Voir L.H. Schiffman, The Courtyards of the House of the Lord. Studies in the Temple Scroll (F. García Martínez ed., STDJ 75; Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2008) 123–47, la halakhah de MMT est proche de celle des Sadducéens opposée à celle des Pharisiens. 46 En accord assez largement avec l’editio princeps, p. 109–21. F. García Martínez, « 4QMMT in a Qumran Context », 15–27 = F. García Martínez, Qumranica minora I, 91–103, citati, conclut à une origine pré-qumranienne de MMT, puisque l’expression « (à) la fin des jours » n’a pas ici de signification eschatologique, et qu’on n’a pas affaire à une ‘lettre’ envoyée par le Maître. En fait, la signification eschatologique n’est pas absente du passage, comme le montre la nouvelle lecture des manuscrits. Les protagonistes ont conscience de vivre dans les dernières périodes de l’histoire par une participation anticipative aux bénédictions eschatologiques comme David en son temps, et ils sont bien placés pour comprendre les périodes antérieures, les révélations et ce qui doit arriver à la fin des jours, lors du jugement attendu, voir Steudel, « ‫אחרית הימים‬ in the Texts from Qumran », cit., p. 227–31. C’est dans ce même sens que le Rouleau du Temple XXIX 9–10 distingue le temple à restaurer du temple futur « jusqu’au jour de la bénédiction où Je créerai moi-même mon sanctuaire l’établissant pour tous les temps », c’est la bénédiction des temps eschatologiques. Pour l’envoi d’une missive du Maître au contenu halakhique, voir ci-après. 47 Ou même huit (?) : 4Q394 à 4Q399, avec peut-être une subdivision de 398a–b, et 4Q313, soit de l’époque hasmonéenne tardive à l’époque hérodienne médiane.

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suivi le Maître supposé en être l’auteur48. L’absence de terminologie dualiste très marquée ne peut surprendre dans une composition du temps de la séparation, aux origines du mouvement, qui tient à rallier le prêtre opposant et le peuple qui le suit (voir B 12–13), bien que l’insistance sur les malédictions à attendre au lieu des bénédictions, l’influence de Bélial, le vrai et la voie déviante, les justes et les impies, etc., annoncent déjà bien le vocabulaire typique des compositions qumraniennes, voir 1QS V 8 : lšwb ’l twrt mwšh ainsi que l’étude de la Loi qui est le principe de la Règle et d’autres compositions esséniennes. MMT est préoccupé, entre autres, des graves conséquences des ‘mariages mixtes’ et de la pureté de la lignée sacerdotale officiant au temple de Jérusalem ; pour les cas d’abomination touchant à ce sujet, voir l’énumération du Rouleau du Temple 4Q524 15–22. Dès lors se comprend mieux l’allusion de 1QpHab VIII 1–13 au sujet du Prêtre Impie qui, au début de son activité, a été jugé favorablement, puis s’est perverti, abandonnant Dieu, a trahi ses préceptes par amour de la richesse, etc. C’est encore lui qui est visé en 4Q171 (pPs 37) 1–10 iv 8–9, « le Prêtre Impie qui a ép[ié le Maî]tre de Justice et a cherché à le faire mourir [à cause des expositions des précep]tes et de la Loi qu’il lui avait envoyées », où šlḥ fait directement allusion à une/ cette(?) ‘lettre/missive/épître’ (ktbnw ’lykh) concernant (le calendrier et) l’authentique interprétation des préceptes de la Loi49. D’autres compositions qumraniennes font effectivement allusion à ce personnage qui a dérobé des biens au trésor du temple, tel 4Q523 mentionnant explicitement Jonathan, et encore 4Q448 B–C à propos de sa fonction de stratège et de gouverneur du peuple = roi d’Israël50. L’insistance de

48 L’absence d’une mention du Maître confirmerait cette solution, car si le Maître ne peut se désigner lui-même ainsi dans un texte, on voit mal qu’un auteur de la deuxième ou troisième génération ne mentionnerait pas le(ur) Maître auquel Dieu a révélé les mystères cachés, etc., tel le Nouveau Moïse ou le Prophète des derniers temps. 49 La langue de MMT qui relève du langage parlé à Qumrân plus qu’aucun autre manuscrit, soulignerait elle aussi le caractère de lettre/épître, avec les éditeurs, DJD X, p. 107–108. 50 « Lève-toi, Ô Saint, contre le roi Jonathan. Et (que) toute l’assemblée de ton peuple Israël, (ceux) qui sont dispersés aux quatre vents des cieux soient tous (en) paix et (que) sur ton royaume ton nom soit béni », formulation qui n’aurait rien de « Prayer for the welfare of King Jonathan », à moins de comprendre « Lève-toi, Ô Saint, sur Jonathan… », sens possible et préférable à mon avis, (voir Steudel, art. cité note 53). Pour un exposé plus circonstancié, voir E. Puech, « Jonathan le Prêtre Impie et les débuts de la Communauté de Qumrân. 4QJonathan (4Q523) et 4QPsAp (4Q448) », Hommage à Jósef T. Milik, RdQ 17/65–68 (1996) 241–70, ou E. Puech, « Le grand

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l’auteur sur les rois modèles comme David et Salomon, à l’opposé de rois objets de malédictions, et la mention de « toi et ton peuple » suggèrent fortement de voir dans le destinataire le grand prêtre Jonathan, stratège qui reçut la pourpre, la couronne d’or, le droit de lever une armée et qui exerça tous les pouvoirs sur le peuple (1 M 10,20–21). Est-ce sans raison, contrairement à des modernes, que Flavius Josèphe situe l’existence des trois courants religieux, pharisien, sadducéen et essénien, sous le ‘règne’ de Jonathan Maccabée (Antiquités XIII §§ 171–173)51? Avec l’identification du prêtre opposant visé dans cette exhortation à Jonathan Maccabée, la division tripartite des Écritures ne surprend plus, elle rejoint l’état de la question au cours du IIe siècle av. J.-C., particulièrement après les guerres maccabéennes, comme il est connu par les autres sources. Les six ou sept(?) copies de ce texte connu des seules grottes de Qumrân prouvent l’importance que lui attribuait la Communauté. Cela s’entend d’autant mieux si MMT est, comme il semble, une composition du Maître justifiant la séparation d’avec le reste du peuple obéissant à un grand prêtre qui suivait une interprétation erronée de préceptes fondamentaux concernant la pureté du sacerdoce et le service du temple, les calendriers, etc52.

prêtre Simon (III) fils d’Onias III, le Maître de Justice ? », in Antikes Judentum und Frühes Christentum. Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag, (hrgg. von B. Kollmann, W. Reinbold und A. Steudel; BZNW 97, Berlin-New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1999), 137–58. Jonathan est dit mlk, traduction de « stratège » dans ce manuscrit comme dans les LXX ( Jb 15,24, Dn 10,13), ce qui va dans le sens de l’opposant décrit dans l’épilogue de MMT : pour son bien et celui d’Israël (il n’y a là rien de ‘parodoxical’, malgré E. Main, « For King Jonathan or Against ? The Use of the Bible in 4Q448 », in Biblical Perpectives: 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, (M. E. Stone and E. Chazon eds; STDJ 28, Leiden: Brill, 1998), p. 113–35, note 2. Notre proposition est retenue maintenant par Hultgren, From Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community, op. cit., p. 260–65. Ces conclusions que recommande aussi la paléographie, n’appuient pas la ‘Groningen Hypothesis’, voir F. García Martínez and A.S. van der Woude, « A “Groningen” Hypothesis of Qumran Origins and Early History », RdQ XIV/56 (1990), 521–41. 51 En 4QMMT, le rwb h‘m et leur chef dont s’est séparé le groupe qui suit le Maître (= les Esséniens) pratiquent une halakhah pharisienne et témoignent par le fait même de l’existence à cette époque des courants religieux dont parle Flavius Josèphe sous Jonathan. 52 On comprend alors pourquoi, après la séparation effective du groupe, il est demandé aux membres de « ne pas argumenter ni de se quereller avec des hommes de perdition mais de cacher le dessein de la Loi au milieu des hommes pervers » (1QS

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Comme « la Lettre » originale a été envoyée au destinataire, les copies postérieures n’avaient pas à recopier l’adresse ni la finale ‘du genre épistolaire’ qui fait effectivement défaut53, mais le seul contenu central auquel a pu être joint le calendrier de 364 jours dans la copie 4Q394. Une telle composition, jouissant manifestement d’une grande autorité dans la Communauté, est très difficilement envisageable un siècle après la séparation historique du groupe par un membre de la troisième génération54, contrairement aux pesharîm datés de la deuxième génération, celle des disciples du Maître. Cette manière de voir explique mieux, me semble-t-il, les quelques variantes et reformulations des copies de l’épilogue pour l’instruction des membres d’une part. D’autre part, la Règle de la Communauté composée dans la deuxième moitié du IIe s. est certainement postérieure à MMT. Il m’est agréable d’offrir cette relecture des fragments des restes de l’épilogue de MMT touchant à un sujet débattu à James C. VanderKam, un collègue et ami, qui a étudié ce sujet55, et exploré avec grande compétence bien des aspects de la qumranologie.

IX 16–17 = 4Q259 III 13–15—4QSe). Le temps du dialogue de 4QMMT appartient au déjà passé. 53 A. Steudel, « 4Q448–The Lost Beginning of MMT? », in From 4QMMT To Resurrection: Mélanges qumraniens en hommage à Émile Puech, (F. García Martínez, A. Steudel, and E. Tigchelaar eds; STDJ 61, Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2006), p. 247–63, propose avec beaucoup de précautions que 4Q448 pourrait être à considérer comme le début de MMT. Si le manuscrit plusieurs fois recopié peut difficilement être celui qui a été envoyé, l’hypothèse mérite certainement d’être approfondie par une étude serrée de 4Q448, et elle ne peut être rejetée aussi vite que l’écrit von Weissenberg, 4QMMT, p. 39–40, bien des arguments sont à reconsidérer outre l’orthographe typique, et le contexte n’est pas éloigné du sujet, bien au contraire. 54 Malgré e.g. les réserves de Strugnell, « 4QMMT: Second Thoughts on a Forthcoming Edition », p. 72, S.D. Fraade, « To Whom It May Concern: 4QMMT and Its Addressee(s) », RdQ 76 (2000) 507–26, et M.L. Grossman, « Reading 4QMMT: Genre and History », RdQ 77 (2001) 3–22. Ils n’expliquent pas la responsabilité du destinataire ou néophyte au sein de « ton peuple », sa responsabilité de grand prêtre et du culte, etc., ni l’autorité de l’auteur qui ne manquerait pas d’être disputée. Quoi qu’il en soit, ces auteurs en font une composition essénienne, et non pré-essénienne. 55 Voir J. VanderKam, « Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls », DSD 5 (1998) 382–402, p. 387–89, qui se demande si MMT n’est pas témoin d’une division quadripartite : « it seems more likely that the statement in 4QMMT should be read in light of a threefold division and that an extra category is added ».

IDENTIFYING REUSE OF SCRIPTURE IN THE TEMPLE SCROLL: SOME METHODOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS* Molly M. Zahn Ever since the initial publication of the Temple Scroll (TS or Scroll) by Yigael Yadin, it has been obvious that the Scroll has a special relationship to the Pentateuch and to other texts that came to be part of the Hebrew Bible.1 Approximately the last quarter of TS (cols. 51–66) consists of a sometimes near-verbatim reproduction of most of the legal corpus of Deuteronomy 12–26, and much of the rest of the Scroll also draws heavily on earlier scriptural texts. It is thus both unsurprising and proper that TS’s use of its scriptural sources has been the focus of a great deal of scholarly energy. Yadin began this trend in his edition, detailing for each column and line the scriptural texts that he believed influenced TS’s formulation. Since then, numerous studies have taken up various aspects of the use of earlier Scripture in TS.2 For all this attention, however, there has been very little discussion of exactly how one determines which scriptural sources TS is using at any given point. This may be due to the great ease with which the sources of some parts of the Scroll can be identified, for instance the passages noted above which reproduce large swaths of Deuteronomy with relatively minor changes. Nevertheless, in other parts of the Scroll scriptural sources are less readily identified. Here the lack of stated criteria for identification becomes more problematic, as scholars

* I am grateful to have the opportunity to offer this essay on methodology in honor of Professor VanderKam, from whom I have learned so much and whose insistence upon clarity of thought and attention to detail I have always greatly admired. 1 Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983). 2 Alongside many shorter studies, see especially Dwight D. Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT (STDJ 14; Leiden: Brill, 1995); Simone Paganini, “Nicht darfst du zu diesen Wörtern etwas hinzufügen.” Die Rezeption des Deuteronomiums in der Tempelrolle: Sprache, Autoren, Hermeneutik (BZABR 11; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009); note also Wise’s monograph, which considers a range of issues pertaining to TS but includes in an appendix a complete breakdown of the Scroll’s scriptural sources: Michael Owen Wise, A Critical Study of the Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (SAOC 49; Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1990).

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disagree, sometimes wildly, about the number and identity of scriptural sources for a given formulation. For example, Yadin proposes that the rules in TS pertaining to the king’s marriage (57:15–19, a passage that I will discuss in detail below) draw on Gen 24:37–40; Lev 18:18; 21:14; Num 36:6; and Ezek 32:16.3 Michael Wise lists Lev 18:18 and 21:13–14; but also Deut 17:17; 1 Sam 8:13; and 1 Kgs 11:1–2.4 Finally, Dwight Swanson mentions Gen 24:40; Exod 21:10; Lev 18:18; Prov 31:12; Ezra 10:44; Neh 13:25; 1 Chr 14:3; 2 Chr 11:20; 13:21; 24:3.5 Of all the passages cited by these three scholars, only one (Lev 18:18) appears exactly in each one’s list. Such disagreement clearly constitutes an indication that more methodological reflection is needed about how scriptural sources for TS are identified and what precisely is meant when a given text is labeled a source for TS. In what follows, I will suggest that consideration of some loose criteria drawn from studies of allusion in the Hebrew Bible could assist such reflection and allow for more compelling identifications of TS’s sources. I will apply these criteria to a short passage from TS in order to show how such an approach works in practice in comparison to previous analyses. Finally, I will briefly consider the possible implications of this approach for further study of TS.6 1. Identifying Dependence Identifying the scriptural sources that TS draws upon in any given situation is complicated by the fact that TS does not mark its use of these sources. There is no explicit citation, and no distinction is made between sections drawn from or based on scriptural sources—which may be a few words or whole paragraphs—and sections composed by the author without any scriptural precedent in mind. Thus, identifying

3

Yadin, Temple Scroll, 2:258; see also 1:353–57. Wise, Critical Study, 229. There, Wise also says “cf. also Deut 7:3, Ezek 9:12 [= Ezra 9:12?], Neh 10:31, Neh 13:25, and Ezek 26:5–6.” It is not clear what precisely is meant by “cf.”; I have interpreted it to mean that Wise regards these verses as comparable to TS but not direct sources for its formulation. 5 Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 136–39, 162. 6 In this essay, I treat TS as a unified composition. Although there is some evidence that TS developed over time and incorporated and revised earlier texts, the Scroll as we know it from the best-preserved copy (11Q19/11QTa) appears to be the product of a purposeful composition/redaction rather than a loose collection of earlier (nonbiblical ) sources. See Molly M. Zahn, “Schneiderei oder Weberei? Zum Verständnis der Diachronie der Tempelrolle,” RQ 20 (2001): 255–86; Paganini, Rezeption, 23–27. 4

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instances where TS draws upon an earlier text involves analysis of lexical, syntactic, and conceptual similarities between the two texts. Generally, scholars of TS, myself included, have not given much thought to this process of comparative analysis. Ideally, for each posited borrowing, evidence would be accumulated and alternative possibilities considered and ruled less probable.7 In reality, this process is rarely made explicit. Fortunately, the problem of reliably recognizing instances where one text borrows from another has received more attention in the context of study of the phenomenon known as “inner-biblical exegesis” or “inner-biblical allusion.”8 There has been considerable debate both in general and with regard to specific texts as to when and whether such dependence of one biblical text upon another can confidently be identified.9 It is probably as a result of this debate that some scholars, notably Benjamin Sommer and Jeffery Leonard, have given attention to the methodology of identifying inner-biblical allusion. Their comments are directly relevant to studies of TS, especially insofar as the problems of identifying the reuse of one biblical text by another are essentially identical to the problems of identifying the scriptural sources of a given formulation in TS.10

7 See Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 32. 8 For the former term, see Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). “Inner-biblical exegesis” is used by Fishbane and others to denote any situation where one biblical text uses another. Sommer, however, notes that many of these situations do not involve exegesis in the strict sense of explication of prior Scripture, and thus prefers the term “inner-biblical allusion” (Prophet, 23). Sommer defines allusion as a specific type of reuse, in which authors “use an older text to bolster their own text or to help make some claim . . . not to suggest a particular understanding of ” that older text (Prophet, 29–30). In contrast, Leonard seems to use “inner-biblical allusion” to cover all the types of reuse covered by Fishbane with “inner-biblical exegesis”; see Jeffery M. Leonard, “Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case,” JBL 127 (2008): 241–65. Since Sommer’s and Leonard’s comments about “allusion” pertain to all types of deliberate but implicit reuse (and the precise purpose[s] of TS’s scriptural reuse have yet to be determined), I follow Leonard’s broader definition in my usage of the term here. It should be kept in mind, however, that some would define “allusion” more restrictively. 9 A good overview of the situation is provided by Leonard, “Inner-Biblical Allusion,” 241–45. 10 Students of inner-biblical allusion do have to address the question of direction of dependence; that is, which text is doing the alluding. On this issue, see Leonard, “Inner-Biblical Allusions,” 257–64. It is usually much easier to recognize that TS is later than the scriptural text it rewrites, although we must always be aware of the possibility that TS at times incorporates variant readings from its scriptural Vorlage that predate those of known versions.

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Sommer first of all makes the important point that identifying allusion is to a great extent “an art, not a science,” and depends upon the interpretation of several different types of evidence.11 This means that reasonable people can disagree about whether literary dependence is at issue in a particular instance, which perhaps is an important point to keep in mind with regard to TS. As for the types of evidence that come into play, several key points emerge from Sommer’s discussion: (a) Shared language is key to identifying instances of allusion, but not all cases of shared language constitute allusion. Common words, and even common or traditional multi-word phrases, could be used independently by two different authors with no connection between them. Even less common words could be used independently, especially if a particular context or subject naturally calls for the use of particular terms. The likelihood of genuine dependence increases as the quantity and distinctiveness of the shared language increases.12 (b) A text may consistently allude to earlier texts in specific ways, or consistently draw on certain types of texts; such patterns can help to separate coincidental parallels of language from true allusions.13 (c) The case for dependence is stronger if there is a good reason to expect that an author would allude to the text in question.14 Although Sommer does not elaborate on what exactly he means by point (c), I can imagine two possibilities: it could refer to whether or not an author could reasonably be expected to know or have access to the alleged source text; or it could suggest that shared vocabulary is more likely to result from allusion when the alleged source text has topical or contextual links to the allegedly alluding text. In fact, both of these are valid rules of thumb, though for TS the second is much more important, since it is safe to assume that TS certainly had access to some form of the Pentateuch and very likely had access to most or all of the rest of the books that came to make up the Hebrew Bible.15 11 Benjamin D. Sommer, “Exegesis, Allusion and Intertextuality in the Hebrew Bible: A Response to Lyle Eslinger,” VT 46 (1996): 479–89, esp. 486. 12 Sommer, Prophet, 32, 35. 13 Sommer, “Exegesis,” 485. 14 Ibid. 15 On the status in the late Second Temple period of the books later included in the Hebrew Bible, see James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead

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Jeffery Leonard makes matters more concrete than does Sommer, offering eight “principles” which can serve as aids in determining the likelihood of allusion as opposed to a coincidental parallel. His principles largely follow Sommer’s suggestions: shared language is the most important piece of evidence, with the likelihood of deliberate reuse increasing with the amount of shared language, the rarity of the shared terms, and the presence of shared phrases rather than merely individual words; and shared language from a similar context constitutes better evidence than shared language from unrelated contexts. Leonard also notes that dependence upon an earlier text in a given formulation or passage need not mean that that text is slavishly reproduced: an author can of course add material or use the source only partially, and differences in ideology or literary form do not rule out allusion.16 At many points in TS, it can be conceded that guidelines such as these are unnecessary or can operate at an almost subconscious level: when a whole paragraph from Deuteronomy appears in TS with only minimal changes, the extensive reproduction makes obvious the scriptural source at issue. Yet there are many instances where it is much less clear whether TS is in fact drawing on a scriptural source, and, if so, which one—ambiguities that have generated differing scholarly conclusions. Perhaps consideration of a set of criteria or principles for determining the likelihood of the postulated reuse could produce an analysis of TS’s sources that would be more likely to command consensus. And while complete consensus may never be achieved, given the inevitably subjective nature of judgments such as these, some agreement on the basic sources used in each part of TS seems necessary for a proper understanding of the nature and purpose of the Scroll. Thus it would be helpful, when we suspect that TS may be drawing on a particular source at any given point, to ask questions such as the following: How much language does TS share with the putative source—a single word, a single phrase, or multiple words and phrases? Are these common words and phrases, such that the author of TS could have employed them independently, or are they distinctive enough that they suggest a textual connection? Is the context of

Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402; Armin Lange, “The Status of the Biblical Texts in the Qumran Corpus and the Canonical Process,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries (ed. Edward D. Herbert and Emanuel Tov; London: British Library, 2002), 21–30. 16 Leonard, “Inner-Biblical Allusions,” 246.

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the putative source connected in some way to the topic the author is discussing, such that it makes sense that the author might have had that text in mind? Does the topic at hand require certain terms, such that even relatively rare words might have been used without reference to any particular source? 2. A Test Case: The Queen (TS 57:15–19) The results of this more deliberate approach to identifying the scriptural sources of TS are best seen through analysis of a short sample passage. I have chosen a passage from TS’s kingship laws that gives stipulations regarding the king’s marriage. This passage is part of an extensive section on the king’s duties (cols. 57–59), which appears immediately after an almost verbatim reproduction of Deuteronomy’s kingship law (Deut 17:14–20 = TS 56:12–57:06). Unlike that paragraph and the rest of the material in the surrounding columns, which generally hews closely to the text of Deuteronomy, the further laws on kingship in cols. 57–59 present material not directly paralleled in the Hebrew Bible. Numerous scholars have analyzed these columns as a complex web of words and phrases drawn from specific biblical texts, such that the new section is nonetheless created out of scriptural material, while others are skeptical about such identifications and stress the author’s freedom from a scriptural Vorlage at this point.17 Precisely because the extent or even existence of deliberate reuse of specific sources in this section has been debated, it constitutes a perfect testing ground for the approach to identifying reuse that I am advocating. The stipulations regarding the king’s marriage read as follows:18 ‫ואשה לוא ישא מכול‬ ‫בנות הגויים כי אם מבית אביהו יקח לו אשה‬ ‫ממשפחת אביהו ולוא יקח עליה אשה אחרת כי‬ ‫היאה לבדה תהיה עמו כול ימי חייה ואם מתה ונשא‬ ‫לו אחרת מבית אביהו ממשפחתו‬

.15 .16 .17 .18 .19

17 Yadin, Swanson, and Wise all fall into the first category; representative of the second is Paganini, Rezeption, 148. 18 The transcription follows Yadin; the translation is my own.

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15. He shall not take a wife from among any 16. of the daughters of the nations, but rather from his father’s house he shall take a wife for himself, 17. from the clan of his father. And he shall not take another wife in addition to her, for 18. she alone shall be with him all the days of her life. But if she dies, then he may take 19. for himself another, from his father’s house (and) from his clan.

To understand which scriptural sources TS might be drawing upon at this point, we can proceed clause by clause. 57:15–16: ‫ואשה לוא ישא מכול בנות הגויים‬ There is no precise scriptural parallel for this clause. Nevertheless, various scriptural texts have been identified in earlier studies as contributing to its formulation. Swanson suggests several verses in Chronicles, Ezra, and Nehemiah that use the verb ‫ נשא‬to refer to marriage, as opposed to the verb ‫לקח‬, which is more prevalent in earlier texts. Some of these verses refer to the king marrying (2 Chr 13:21; 24:3); others involve references to or prohibitions of marriage (by any Israelite) to foreign women (Ezra 9:12; 10:44; Neh 13:25).19 Yet none of them has more than two lexemes in common with our clause in TS: all have some form of ‫נשא‬, and all have either the word ‫ אשה‬or the word ‫בנות‬. There is no parallel in word order. Given that all of these words are quite common, it seems very difficult to suggest with any certainty that TS modeled its formulation upon any of these verses. Furthermore, the use of ‫ נשא‬instead of ‫ לקח‬probably does not require any special explanation: since the author of TS wrote in a post-exilic linguistic milieu presumably quite similar to that of the authors of Chronicles, Ezra, and Nehemiah, an idiom familiar in LBH would likely have been a natural usage.20 19 In his summary of sources used in the “King’s Law,” Swanson (Temple Scroll and the Bible, 162) lists four of these texts in the form “2 Chron 13:21, 24:3/Ezra 10:44/Neh 13:25.” It is unclear whether by this he means to indicate that all four texts influenced TS here, or only some of them. All four, along with Ezra 9:12, are briefly discussed in his exposition on p. 136. C. D. Elledge (The Statutes of the King: The Temple Scroll’s Legislation on Kingship, 11Q19 LVI 12–LIX 21 [Paris: Gabalda, 2004], 148) also suggests the prohibitions of intermarriage in Ezra 9:12; Neh 13:25 as the basis for TS’s formulation here. 20 The date of TS has been disputed, but in its final form it is usually dated around the middle of the second century b.c.e. For recent discussions, see Sidnie White Crawford, The Temple Scroll and Related Texts (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,

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Verses that Wise suggests lie behind TS’s “midrashic” composition here also suffer from a lack of extensive lexical parallels.21 First Samuel 8:13 has ‫ואת בנותיכם יקח‬, “your daughters he [= the king] will take,” but here the king does not “take” the daughters in marriage, but to make them into ointment-grinders, cooks, and bakers. First Kings 11:1–2 would seem very contextually appropriate, as it refers to King Solomon’s many foreign lovers, but this text shares only two quite common words with TS, ‫אשה‬/‫ נשים‬and ‫גוים‬. Yadin suggests that the phrase ‫ בנות הגויים‬derives from Ezek 32:16, one of only two occurrences of this collocation in the Hebrew Bible (the other is at Ezek 32:18).22 Despite the rarity of the phrase, the lack of overlap in context makes it difficult to argue that TS draws on Ezekiel at this point. Ezekiel 32 is a prophecy against Pharaoh, in the course of which Ezekiel produces a lament which will be repeated by the “daughters of the nations.” There is no connection here to marriage or to the Israelite king, and I do not see any reason why the author of TS would want to draw on this verse here. Even though the phrase ‫ בנות הגויים‬occurs only twice in the Hebrew Bible, the words involved are quite common, and it seems unnecessary to postulate that TS must have derived them from a specific source. The guidelines discussed above—the paucity of shared words, the commonness of those words, the lack of contextual connection, and the lack of reason why the author would have wanted to allude to this specific verse—combine to render the argument for use of Ezek 32:16 weak. Others have suggested passages with closer contextual links as providing the source for TS’s formulation, namely the deuteronomistic prohibitions on marriages between Israelites and the indigenous inhabitants of Canaan found in Exod 34:15–16; Deut 7:1–3.23 These passages warn against marrying “their daughters” or allowing the inhabitants of the land to marry “your daughters”; Deut 7:1 refers to these nations as ‫גוים‬. Yet even here, there is not as much shared

2000), 24–26; Florentino García Martínez, “Temple Scroll,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 2:927–33; Elledge, Statutes, 37–45; Paganini, Rezeption, 265–71. 21 See Wise, Critical Study, 119, 229. 22 Yadin, Temple Scroll, 2:258; cf. Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 136. 23 Lawrence H. Shiffman, “Laws Pertaining to Women in the Temple Scroll,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (ed. Devorah Dimant and Uriel Rappaport; STDJ 10; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 210–28, esp. 214; Marvin A. Sweeney, “Midrashic Perspective in the Torat Ham-Melek of the Temple Scroll,” HS 28 (1987): 51–66, esp. 56.

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language as might be expected: Deut 7:1–3 has ‫גוים‬, ‫בת‬, and ‫לא‬, and Exod 34:15–16 in fact shares only the word ‫ בנות‬with TS. There are no shared phrases, and all the shared words are very common. There is thus little clear evidence that TS depended for its formulation on either of these passages. Here an important distinction should be introduced. In general, studies of TS have not distinguished texts that may have influenced TS’s author conceptually from those that are actually reproduced in whole or in part in the Scroll, that is, from texts that have influenced its formulation or, we might say, influenced TS lexically/syntactically.24 The distinction is between those texts that, as reflected upon and interpreted by the author, may have led to TS’s distinctive legal positions, on the one hand, and those texts that actually served as compositional building blocks, on the other. Needless to say, the two categories often overlap. In this example, however, I think we have a perfect example of a case where they do not. Several scriptural texts—in addition to other factors, of course—may have led the author of TS to the conclusion that the king should not marry a foreign woman. These include the pentateuchal/deuteronomistic prohibitions of intermarriage with the original inhabitants of Canaan,25 the interpretation of these prescriptions in Ezra-Nehemiah as a prohibition of all exogamous marriage,26 the Deuteronomistic History’s account of the deleterious effect of Solomon’s many foreign wives on his exclusive devotion to YHWH,27 and perhaps also the pentateuchal command that the high priest marry “a virgin from his own people” (Lev 21:14; see below). It is perfectly reasonable to speculate on the author’s conceptual process in this way. Consideration of the textual evidence, however, in light

24 Swanson (Temple Scroll and the Bible, 160) does make a somewhat similar distinction in speaking of Deut 17:14–20 as the “underlying base” for the kingship law in TS 57–59, but apart from this one instance he does not separate between what I am calling “conceptual” and “lexical/syntactic” influences. 25 Schiffman (“Laws,” 214) notes that, among the various Jewish groups of the Second Temple period, interpretation of these prescriptions as forbidding all marriage to non-Jews had become the consensus position. 26 See, e.g., Ezra 9:10–12; and Hindy Najman, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202–16, esp. 210–13. 27 Elledge (Statutes, 150) compellingly lays out the reasons why 1 Kgs 11:1–13 may have influenced the authors’ thinking about kingship; however, I do not believe this influence extended as far as the actual formulation of TS’s law.

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of the rules of thumb laid out above strongly suggests that none of these passages directly influenced TS’s formulation—that is, they may have been conceptual, but do not seem to have been lexical/syntactic, influences. It may simply be the case that the author of TS did not base the formulation of this clause on any specific scriptural passage. There is one possible source, however, that as far as I know has not been mentioned specifically in connection with this clause. In Gen 24:37, Abraham’s servant recounts his master’s command, ‫לא תקח אשה‬ ‫לבני מבנות הכנעני‬, “Do not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites. . . .” Here there are three words in common with TS 57:15–16, not just lexemes but precise matches in form: ‫לא‬, ‫אשה‬, and ‫בנות‬. One further word, ‫לקח‬, is a synonym for TS’s ‫נשא‬. The word order, apart from a reversal of the first two elements, is the same in both texts. Further differences can be accounted for by the new context: ‫לבני‬, of course, is particular to the situation of Abraham arranging a marriage for his son and thus would have been omitted. And TS does not wish to forbid marriage only to Canaanites, but to all foreigners; this would explain the change from ‫מבנות הכנעני‬ to ‫מכול בנות הגויים‬. This parallel thus provides more evidence for deliberate reuse than any of the proposals mentioned above: there is a basic similarity in word order, there is a greater amount of shared language, and there is at least some overlap in context: it involves a patriarch rather than a king, but just as in TS the main issue is endogamous marriage. Although the differences in context and the commonness of the shared vocabulary may make this proposal less compelling to some, one final piece of evidence further strengthens the case: the even clearer use of language from Gen 24:37–40 in the following clause. TS 57:16–17: ‫כי אם מבית אביהו יקח לו אשה ממשפחת אביהו‬ Every word in this clause appears in Gen 24:38: ‫כי אם אל בית אבי‬ ‫תלך ואל משפחתי ולקחת אשה לבני‬, “Rather, to my father’s house and to my clan you shall go and take a wife for my son.”28 Several scholars therefore regard this verse as influencing TS’s formulation, and here

28 This citation follows SP and LXX; MT has the difficult reading ‫ אם לא‬instead of ‫כי אם‬.

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I am inclined to agree.29 Given the difference in context—Abraham’s instructions to his servant regarding Isaac’s marriage vs. stipulations regarding the king’s marriage—the word order is quite similar. Such extensive overlap makes it likely, in my opinion, that here TS has based its formulation upon this verse. In fact, taken together with the previous clause, these few lines of the kingship law reproduce all the essential elements of Gen 24:37–38, apart from those that do not apply to the new context in TS (namely, identification of the foreigners as Canaanites, and the instruction to the servant to travel to Abraham’s family). Corroborating evidence for this identification may be found in the importance placed on the patriarchs as examples of endogamous marriage in texts like Tobit (4:12) and Jubilees (e.g. 25:1–10).30 Although essentially every aspect of TS’s formulation can be explained with reference to Gen 24:37–38, other scriptural sources for this clause have also been identified. After discussing Genesis 24, Yadin remarks that “it is also plain to see that the tale of the daughters of Zelophehad [Num 36:1–12] was of influence here, as the same terminology is found there.”31 Yadin and Michael Wise also refer to the statement in Lev 21:14, which restricts the high priest’s choice of wife to an Israelite virgin.32 In both of these cases, the amount of shared language is less than in Gen 24:37–38. Numbers 36:6 has the phrase ‫אך למשפחת מטה אביהם תהיינה לנשים‬, “but they shall be married within the clan of their father’s tribe,” and 36:8 has ‫לאחד ממשפחת מטה אביה תהיה לאשה‬, “to someone from the clan of her father’s tribe she shall be married.” Where TS shares with Genesis 24 the collocation ‫לקח אשה‬, “take a wife,” and the phrase ‫בית אב‬, “father’s house,” Numbers 36 has ‫היה לאשה‬, “become a wife,” and refers not to the ‫ בית אב‬but the ‫משפחת מטה אב‬, “clan of the father’s tribe.” There is also a difference in context. Of course Genesis 24, a narrative pertaining to Isaac’s marriage, is not identical contextually to the stipulations for the king’s marriage in TS 57. Yet they share the focus on endogamy, on marriage within the kin group. In contrast, the issue in Numbers 36 is not endogamy per se,

29 See, e.g., Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:354; Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 137; Schiffman, “Laws,” 215; Elledge, Statutes, 149. 30 On Tobit, see Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:355; on Jubilees, see Elledge, Statutes, 150. 31 Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:354; see also Sweeney, “Midrashic Perspective,” 56; Schiffman, “Laws,” 215; Elledge, Statutes, 149. 32 Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:355; Wise, Critical Study, 229.

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but problems of inheritance and means of ensuring that each of the Israelite tribes retains its assigned allotment of land. In other words, the lexical, syntactic, and contextual parallels are less precise. Leviticus 21:14 reads: ‫אלמנה וגרושה וחללה זנה את אלה לא יקח כי‬ ‫אם בתולה מעמיו יקח אשה‬, “A widow or a divorcée or a woman defiled by harlotry—these he shall not take, but rather a virgin from his own people he shall take as a wife.” Here the context is closer to that of TS, since the law does explictly constrain the high priest to endogamous marriage.33 (Even so, the main issue seems to be sexual purity rather than endogamy: the types of women explicitly prohibited to the high priest are not foreigners but women with prior sexual experience.) Once again, however, the lexical parallels with TS are less extensive than was the case with Genesis 24: Lev 21:14 and TS both have ‫לקח‬ ‫אשה‬, and both have ‫כי אם‬, but instead of the distinctive reference to ‫ משפחה‬and ‫בית אב‬, Lev 21:14 simply has ‫עם‬, “people.” Here the distinction between conceptual and lexical/syntactic parallels is at issue once again. We may speculate that the legislation for the high priest may have influenced TS’s author to require the king to marry a Jewish woman, or that the requirement that women who inherit property marry within their tribe may have led to a similar requirement for the king in TS, though this frankly strikes me as less likely.34 Yet there is no compelling evidence that TS’s author, even if conceptually influenced by these passages, actually drew upon them in formulating this clause. Another methodological issue emerges here. Given that every word in the clause we are considering is paralleled in Gen 24:37–38, how would we ever know if the author was also thinking of another passage containing some of the same language? There are situations in TS where

33 If ‫ בית אביהו‬is interpreted in the strict sense, it would seem that the rules for whom the king may marry are even more restrictive than for the high priest, who must simply marry an Israelite woman (see Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:355). On the other hand, Schiffman (“Laws,” 215) suggests that the usage here is less technical, meant only to ensure that the king marries a “natural-born” Jewish woman, excluding proselytes. 34 Sweeney (“Midrashic Perspective,” 56) suggests that “by restricting the wife of the king to the royal family [through allusion to Numbers 36], the scroll prevents the king from acquiring the inheritance of another family through marriage. . . .” But this explanation does not seem to follow from Numbers 36: it is only in the extraordinary circumstance of the total lack of male heirs that a woman is allowed to inherit and, as a result, is required to marry within her tribe. This implies that, normally, a man could not gain access to his wife’s family’s inheritance through marriage, since his wife would never receive the inheritance.

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some aspect of its formulation does not appear in the main source text in question and instead can be traced to another passage; in these cases the formulation cannot be explained by reference to the first text alone, and the parallel to an additional text may suggest influence from that second text.35 Here in 57:16–17, if TS would have departed from Gen 24:37–38 and used a phrase that specifically parallels Numbers 36, such as ‫משפחת מטה אביהו‬, then evidence for additional use of Numbers 36 would be strong—but this is not the case. Without any lexical or syntactic links to a second text that do not also occur in the main source text, it seems that postulating deliberate use of that second text is speculation for which no compelling evidence can be marshaled. In other words, how could we know if the author had Numbers 36 in mind when using the word ‫( משפחה‬as Yadin seems to suggest), since that word also occurs in Genesis 24? My feeling is that some of the proliferation of putative scriptural sources in some parts of TS is due to this practice of postulating multiple sources behind a formulation that, in fact, can be traced entirely to a single source. TS 57:17–18: ‫ולוא יקח עליה אשה אחרת כי היאה לבדה תהיה עמו‬

‫כול ימי חייה‬ Most scholars who have commented upon this passage agree that the author of TS appears to draw upon Lev 18:18, ‫ואשה אל אחתה לא תקח‬ ‫לצרר לגלות ערותה עליה בחייה‬, “You shall not take a woman in addition to her sister as a rival, so as to uncover her nakedness during her (the first wife’s) lifetime.”36 This is the closest the Hebrew Bible comes to prohibiting polygamy, though taking this as a blanket prohibition of marriage to multiple women simultaneously requires interpreting ‫אחתה‬, “her sister,” in the general sense of “her kinswoman,” i.e. “any woman.”37 In any case, there is a unique contextual parallel between

35 Such insertions from a second source in fact occur frequently in TS; for example, TS 53:5–9 follows Deut 12:23–25 in requiring that the blood of non-sacrificial slaughters be poured out on the ground, but inserts the further instruction to “cover it with dust,” a stipulation found only in Lev 17:13. 36 Yadin, Temple Scroll, 2:258; Sweeney, “Midrashic Perspectives,” 56; Wise, Critical Study, 229; Schiffman, “Laws,” 216; Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 137; Elledge, Statutes, 151. 37 See Elledge, Statutes, 151–52. The same interpretation seems to appear in the much-discussed passage CD 4:19–5:2. For the relationship between CD and TS on this point, see, e.g., Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:356–57; Schiffman, “The Zadokite Fragments and the Temple Scroll,” in The Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery (ed.

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TS and Leviticus here in the prohibition of marrying another woman (whatever the exact circumstances) during the lifetime of the first wife. The reference to ‫ אשה אחרת‬instead of ‫ אחתה‬can be explained as a clarification on the part of TS, stating unambiguously that marriage to any other woman during the lifetime of the first is prohibited. Otherwise, the lexical parallels are not particularly strong, consisting mostly of common words (‫אשה‬, ‫לא‬, ‫לקח‬, ‫עליה‬, ‫)חיים‬. However, the rarity of the 3fs suffix form ‫( חייה‬only here and in Prov 31:12), along with the overlap in context, suggests that a good case can be made that TS here draws upon Lev 18:18. Methodologically, though, caution may be in order. Most of the words that parallel Lev 18:18 have already been used in the immediately preceding lines, suggesting that it would be natural for TS to continue to use them here. Even for the rare form ‫ חייה‬an alternate explanation presents itself. As Swanson notes, the second part of our clause, ‫כי היאה לבדה תהיה עמו כול ימי חייה‬, is quite similar to what is said of the copy of the Torah written for the king in Deut 17:19: ‫והיתה‬ ‫עמו וקרא בו כל ימי חייו‬, “it shall be with him and he shall read in it all the days of his life.” Given that the Deuteronomic kingship law (Deut 17:14–20) appears in the previous column and seems to have exerted its influence elsewhere in this column as well, it is difficult not to see a deliberate connection.38 Just as the Torah is to “be with” the king throughout his entire life, so the queen is to “be with” the king throughout her life.39 But if the author of TS is drawing upon Deut 17:19, it seems possible that the unusual form ‫ חייה‬could have originated simply from the author’s adjustment of the phrase ‫כל ימי‬ ‫ חייו‬from Deuteronomy to fit its new application to the king’s wife. In other words, it is possible that this clause was not crafted on the basis of Lev 18:18 at all; rather, the author could have composed a prohibition of polygamy that combines expected language (‫אשה‬, ‫אחרת‬, ‫ )לקח‬with

Joseph M. Baumgarten, Esther G. Chazon, and Avital Pinnick; STDJ 34; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 133–45, esp. 138; Elledge, Statutes, 152–53. 38 Compare, e.g., TS 57:14 with Deut 17:20. 39 Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 138. Swanson notes that TS col. 57 seems to build on this idea of “being with” the king at several points: the guard is twice said to “be with him” (‫להיות עמו‬, 57:6; ‫והיו עמו‬, 57:9), and the royal council is said to “be sitting with him” (‫יהיו יושבים עמו‬, 57:13). There seems, therefore, to be a pattern of reference back to Deut 17:19 throughout this column; note Sommer’s point (b) mentioned above.

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language adopted (and adapted) from the Deuteronomic kingship law (‫היה עמו‬, ‫)כל ימי חייה‬. My point here is not to deny that TS draws upon Lev 18:18 in this clause. Given the deep engagement that the author of TS generally shows with the pentateuchal laws relevant to his subject matter, use of the language of this verse is likely. Rather, I want to explore the process by which that likelihood is articulated and the evidence for it, and to note that other explanations are also possible. This example in particular highlights the uncertainties that can be involved in identifying TS’s sources. Other suggestions for influence upon this clause can be considered more briefly. Wise suggests influence from Deut 17:17, ‫ולא ירבה לו‬ ‫נשים‬, “He shall not multiply wives for himself.”40 The instruction that the king not “multiply wives” very likely played a conceptual role in the author’s decision to restrict the number of wives the king can have (in fact, the restriction to only one wife can be seen as an interpretive response to the ambiguity of “multiply” in Deuteronomy’s kingship law).41 There is no distinctive shared language, however, that might point to lexical/syntactic influence of this passage here. Swanson suggests a number of additional sources for this clause that lack plausibility with regard to both word choice and context. In his view, TS “implicitly rebukes David and his heirs by the wording of this prohibition so that it echoes 1 Chron 14:3, ‫‘[ ויקח דויד עוד נשים‬And David took additional wives . . .’], and 2 Chron 11:20 (of Rehoboam), ‫‘[ ואחריה לקח את מעכה‬And after her he took Ma’achah . . .’].”42 Presumably because of the occurrence of the word ‫אחרת‬, Swanson also sees a connection to Exod 21:10, according to which the owner of a female slave (here understood as a concubine) must not impinge on the rights of the first concubine ‫אם אחרת יקח לו‬, “if he takes another [concubine] for himself.” In all three of these cases, the small amount of shared language, all of it very common (‫לקח‬, ‫נשים‬/‫אשה‬, ‫)אחר‬, constitutes scant evidence of deliberate reuse. Contextual connections are also limited. If a specific biblical model lay behind the prohibition of royal polygamy, it seems much more likely to have been Solomon (whose bad behavior because of his many foreign wives is highlighted 40

Critical Study, 118, 229. Similarly, Yadin, Temple Scroll, 1:353, 357. As Yadin notes, the rabbis interpreted “multiply” quite differently, allowing the king up to eighteen wives. 42 Swanson, Temple Scroll and the Bible, 138 (underlining his). 41

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in the Deuteronomistic History) than David or Rehoboam. Swanson argues for the relevance of Exod 21:10 by noting that it, like Lev 18:18, deals “with injustices done the first wife by the taking of a second.”43 Given that the Covenant Code permits (with certain conditions) precisely what TS forbids, we would expect a more polemical and more obvious interaction with this verse if TS were indeed drawing upon it. Finally, Swanson’s attempt to explain the phrase ‫ כול ימי חייה‬as a deliberate reference to the “ideal wife” of Prov 31:12 has more to recommend it in terms of shared language but comes up short for contextual reasons. Even though this verse contains the only occurrence of ‫ כל ימי חייה‬in the Hebrew Bible, it does not seem very probable that it would have been foremost in the author’s mind, since the qualities of the queen are not of concern here. I have suggested above that the phrase ‫ כול ימי חייה‬represents a modification of Deut 17:19, perhaps with influence from ‫ חייה‬in Lev 18:18. Even if this were not the case, however, it is only if we deny TS the ability to use language independently, according to the author’s purpose, that every one of its formulations must be traced back to a scriptural source.44 In sum, in all four of these cases, no aspect of TS’s formulation is clarified by reference to the proposed source. Shared language can be explained either by the “independent” use of contextually appropriate terms (‫אחרת‬, ‫)לבדה‬, by reference to sources that have more shared language and better contextual parallels (‫כול ימי חייה‬, ‫ )תהיה עמו‬or both (‫לא‬, ‫לקח‬, ‫אשה‬, ‫)עליה‬. TS 57:18–19: ‫ואם מתה ונשא לו אחרת מבית אביהו ממשפחתו‬ At the end of this clause, TS clearly returns to terminology from Genesis 24. While one might postulate that the author is actually drawing upon the end of Gen 24:40 (‫)ולקחת אשה לבני ממשפחתי ומבית אבי‬, it is also possible that the terms are merely drawn from a few lines prior in TS.45 Here TS seems simply to have constructed a condition for remarriage based on what has previously been said: multiple marriages 43

Ibid. Even Swanson (Temple Scroll and the Bible, 227), who argues that “there is very little [in TS] which cannot be traced to a bibical source,” does not go this far, recognizing some individual clauses as “expansions” for which no biblical source can be identified. 45 Yadin, Temple Scroll, 2:258. 44

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are not allowed during the first wife’s lifetime, but if her life comes to an end then the king can remarry under circumstances matching that of the first marriage.46 Studies of this part of TS tend to agree that what we have here is the composition of the author without reference to additional scriptural sources. To summarize the analysis of this short section of TS, my own description of the scriptural sources the author drew upon to formulate this passage would be somewhat more conservative than those offered by others.47 I believe the author very likely used Gen 24:37–40 and Deut 17:19, and probably also Lev 18:18. Other scriptural passages pertaining to endogamous marriage may have influenced the author’s thinking, but my interpretation of the evidence is that they have not left clear traces in TS’s wording. 3. Implications I have not here employed hard and fast rules for the identification of TS’s sources—in fact, hard and fast rules would be out of place, given the subjectivity of this enterprise. What I hope to have illustrated, however, is a type of analysis that is more methodologically transparent; that will advance scholarship by allowing for more productive debate. The major studies of the reuse of Scripture in TS (including those of Yadin, Swanson, and Wise) have tended simply to name the texts they regard as sources, rather than making an argument for the use of those sources. If there is disagreement, the reasons for the differences are not addressed. Even Paganini, who expresses skepticism about attempts such as Swanson’s to trace virtually every phrase in TS back to a scriptural source, especially in sections like the kingship laws where the author did not follow a single source closely, appeals only to generalities in making this point.48 Consideration of rules of thumb such as those suggested above—of textual situations that tend to increase or decrease the likelihood of dependence upon a particular source at a given point—will both allow those who posit deliberate reuse to make a better case for their claim and give skeptics a more

46

See Elledge, Statutes, 148. See the lists of sources identified by Yadin, Wise, and Swanson, respectively, on p. 342 above. 48 See Paganini, Rezeption, 137 n. 408, 148–53. 47

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concrete basis for counterarguments. The approach I am proposing will not end dispute over the scriptural sources of TS, but I believe it can make the discussion more meaningful and points of consensus more easily recognizable. At the root of all of these discussions, of course, lie our attempts to understand the nature and purpose of TS. Whatever we make of this remarkable text, its reuse of prior scriptural texts and traditions constitutes one of its most central features. Much about the relationship of TS to the Torah and other Scripture requires further investigation, including how much of its scriptural reuse its audience was supposed to recognize, what they were supposed to think about this reuse, and how that reuse impacted the audience’s perception of the Scroll’s self-representation as the direct speech of God to Moses on Mt. Sinai.49 More methodologically transparent discussion of which texts TS draws upon at any given point will not answer all of these questions. Yet the starting point for investigating these larger issues remains the text of TS and an understanding of the degree to which and manner in which earlier scriptural sources are reused in it. The results of a clearer analysis of the Scroll’s scriptural sources will, therefore, provide the firm foundation necessary for further attempts to understand the place of TS in the religious, theological, and exegetical history of early Judaism.

49 The question of how scriptural reuse was perceived pertains to all the texts that have commonly been classified as “Rewritten Scripture,” though TS’s Sinaitic claims put a finer point on the issue. For various recent considerations of the nature of the relationship between TS and the pentateuchal texts it rewrote, see Bernard M. Levinson and Molly M. Zahn, “Revelation Regained: The Hermeneutics of ‫ כי‬and ‫ אם‬in the Temple Scroll,” DSD 9 (2002): 295–346, esp. 306–8; Molly M. Zahn, “New Voices, Ancient Words: The Temple Scroll’s Reuse of the Bible,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (ed. John Day; LHBOTS 422; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 435– 58, esp. 436; Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 41–69; Eckart Otto, “Die Rechtshermeneutik der Tempelrolle,” in idem, Altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte: Gesammelte Studien (BZABR 8; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008), 547–63; Paganini, Rezeption, 279–96.

BIBLICAL ANTECEDENTS OF THE KINSHIP TERMS IN 1QSA Richard J. Bautch 1. Introduction 1.1. A Debt of Gratitude My graduate studies at the University of Notre Dame began with, among other things, a course in advanced Hebrew taught by Jim VanderKam. To begin the semester we translated the book of Nehemiah, and we pressed on to read and translate unpointed texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls, including 1QS. That semester and throughout my studies I learned much from Jim about reading the text judiciously with a close eye to philological detail and the nuances of the Hebrew language. Moreover, the structure of Jim’s Hebrew course led me to begin considering connections and points of contact between postexilic texts such as Nehemiah and Jewish works from later in the Second Temple period, especially the Dead Sea Scrolls and Jubilees.1 This endeavor has proven fruitful and is extended here. The present study identifies correspondences among the kinship terms in Nehemiah, Ezra, and 1QSa and goes on to point out similarities in the identities of the Jewish groups responsible for these texts. It is with a debt of gratitude and very best wishes that I dedicate this article to Jim VanderKam, a renowned scholar of the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls and as well a superb teacher of Hebrew. 1.2. Recent Scholarship In the past ten years there have been some trenchant studies on the construction of group identity in Second Temple Judaism, with the focus on the first century of this era, commonly known as the postexilic

1

See for example my “Afterlife in Jubilees: Through a Covenantal Prism,” in Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Yearbook 2009: The Human Body in Death and Resurrection (ed. T. Nicklas, F. V. Reiterer and J. Verhyden; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 205–19.

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period or the Persian period.2 Jon Berquist has taken a postcolonial approach to argue that the Judeans’ identity formation in the Persian period involved kinship, ethnicity, religion, and politics.3 Ultimately, Berquist includes imperialization in the matrix of identity, not as an additional political force but as an overarching and subsuming principle. He understands all social dynamics to be conduits of imperialization as well as decolonization. Gary Knoppers has explored the value of biblical historiography as a vehicle to reshape community identity in the postexilic period.4 Historiography allowed the biblical writers at this time to construct textual identities and to assert, for example, that Ezra’s Diaspora community in Babylon is no less established and venerable than the indigenous community living in Judah and never subject to exile. Such a claim on behalf of the Diaspora community, Knoppers shows, is made historiographically through the accounts of Ezra as priest and scribe. Joseph Blenkinsopp, in his book titled Judaism, the First Phase, offers an explanation of group identity in the Second Temple period in terms of Jewish sectarianism.5 Blenkinsopp traces sectarianism back to its roots, which he finds documented in the books of Ezra-Nehemiah. The studies of Berquist, Knoppers and Blenkinsopp have several things in common. All suggest a wide historical scope but focus significant attention on the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. All understand the early Second Temple period to be a pluralistic political milieu that gave rise to myriad social groups. All find that group identity was a complex phenomenon; to paraphrase Berquist, identity is the pattern that multiple forces produce. Furthermore, all of these scholars identify, amid the multiple forces, a catalyst that is decisive in the construc-

2 In addition to the three major studies listed below, see Dalit Rom-Shiloni, “Group Identities in Jeremiah: Is It the Persian Period Conflict?” in A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel (ed. E. Ben Zvi, D. Edelman and F. Polak; Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 5; Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias, 2009), 11–46. 3 Jon L. Berquist, “Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (ed. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 53–66, esp. 63. 4 Gary N. Knoppers, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, Geography and Change: The Judean Communities of Babylon and Jerusalem in the Story of Ezra,” in Community Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative Perspectives (ed. G. N. Knoppers and K. Ristau; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 147–71, esp. 170. 5 Joseph Blenkinsopp, Judaism, the First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 196–214.

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tion of identity. For Berquist, the elements of identity revolve around imperialization and decolonization. For Knoppers historiography is the key to identity formation, and for Blenkinsopp sectarianism plays this role. Finally, these studies stand alongside one another quite comfortably; in their diverse approaches to understanding group identity, they complement one another and suggest that additional research may be in order. Indeed the data on group identity found in the late books of the Hebrew Bible is sufficiently rich that we will likely spend the next ten years in further analysis, advancing piecemeal toward a comprehensive understanding of how group identities were constructed early in the Second Temple period. 1.3. The Present Study I endeavor here to join the effort to explain group identity in the postexilic period in its complexity. I take seriously the many religious, political and socio-economic forces within Judean society that set the stage for social groups documented in the Hebrew Bible and elsewhere. My own study has led me to underscore the concept of kinship as that force which can compel the formation of social groups and explain their subsequent flourishing. Kinship is a catalyst and an interpretive key, as the title of this essay suggests. In a number of cases, kinship is combined with the concept of covenant to define a given group and provide it with direction. Finally, I observe continuities between the kinship patterns of groups early in the Second Temple period and of later groups described in texts from the first century b.c.e. I will indicate points of contact between select passages in Ezra and Nehemiah and a text from Qumran in order to suggest a trajectory of kinshipinspired community formation. My analysis at present, however, is centered in the postexilic period and focused upon familial concepts such as the tribe, the clan, and the ancestral household as they were invoked at this time. The tribe and clan as familial concepts carried weight in the postexilic period because there was history attached to these terms. In the centuries of the monarchy and earlier, tribes and clans functioned in tandem with the ancestral house, an Israelite’s most immediate point of familial identification and social interaction. The tribes, clans, and houses formed a tripartite structure of lineage that was concentric, inasmuch as there was clear linkage, discussed below, among these entities. Moreover, the kinship structure in question influenced how

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Israel understood and spoke about its own identity and its relationship with its God—in later times expressed as a covenant. As Frank Moore Cross has observed, the language of covenant is often synonymous with familial expressions grounded in the social organization of West Semitic tribal groups.6 2. The Role and Function of Kinship Prior to the Second Temple Period 2.1. The Premonarchic Period In early Israelite society when traditional agrarian families enjoyed permanent ties to their landholdings, a concentric structure of lineage prevailed. The household, or ‫בית אב‬, was the basic building block of the social network at this time, and the ‫ בית אב‬was a person’s primary point of identification within the kinship structure. Families subsequently banded together in a clan, or ‫משפחה‬, the suprahousehold social unit that is quite well attested (more than 140 times) in the Hebrew Bible. The clan has been described as a “protective association of families” because it allowed for a wider social structure to meet most effectively any acute economic, social, and military needs of its member families.7 Carol Meyers observes that the clan as a kinship network invoked a concept of “shared blood” to heighten the group’s cohesion despite the fact that the network’s foundation was not strictly biological.8 That is, at an early stage we observe fictive kinship, a phenomenon that is pronounced when we reach the Second Temple period. The tribe, when compared with the clan, is an equally prominent social unit in the biblical sources with 143 attestations of ‫ שבט‬or ‫ מטה‬in the relevant texts. Yet historically the tribe was not as important as the clan; the tribe was merely the collective that resulted when members of nearby villages might join forces ad hoc to provide military protection or large-scale agricultural work.9 In this scenario the clan took precedent over the tribe, and early Israel had neither a 6 See Frank Moore Cross, From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 3–21. 7 See Norman K. Gottwald, Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel, 1250–1050 b.c.e. (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1979), 267. 8 Carol Meyers, “The Family in Early Israel,” in Families in Ancient Israel (ed. L. G. Perdue et al.; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 1–47, esp. 37–38. 9 Ibid., 38.

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hierarchy nor a centralized power base. Israel began as “a social system based on a broad equality of kinship groups” with the ‫ בית אב‬serving as the basic building block of this system.10 2.2. The Monarchic Period Key developments in Israel’s monarchic state during the eighth and seventh centuries impacted the kinship system in diverse ways. The Deuteronomic reform of Josiah begun in 622 b.c.e. consolidated and stabilized the concept of Israel as “a people,” thereby laying the groundwork for a more robust understanding of theological concepts such as land and covenant. To an unprecedented degree, the concept of an Israelite people became linked to the motifs of covenant and land late in the monarchic period. But at the same time, certain initiatives of the state compromised existing traditions and customs, especially the connection of the ‫ בית אב‬to its inherited plot of land. A series of state incursions upon the ‫ בית אב‬led to a diminishment of the household in the face of the intrusive power of the state.11 Despite this diminishment, the terminology of the ‫ בית אב‬remained current. The ‫ בית אב‬came to serve as a model for different kinds of voluntary organizations in which the membership bonded together emotionally.12 Prophetic circles (2 Kgs 2:12) as well as groups such as the Rechabites (2 Kgs 10:15–16; Jer 35:6) recognized their authority figure as a father, or ‫אב‬, and thought of themselves as a ‫בית אב‬. So did certain craft guilds, such as the ‫ספרים‬, or scribes, in 1 Chr 2:55 and the weavers in 1 Chr 4:21. For reasons that I will discuss below, the craft guilds in Chronicles refer to themselves not as a ‫ בית אב‬but as a ‫משפחה‬ (1 Chr 2:55, 4:21). The point here is that by the postexilic period when Chronicles is composed, fictive kinship language appealed to social groups as they self-identified. 2.3. The Exilic Period Before turning to the postexilic period, I offer a word about the exile itself, a time of unprecedented change. In spite of the territorial dislocation that ensued after the events of 587 b.c.e., kinship continued 10

C. J. H. Wright, “Family,” ABD 2.762. Blenkinsopp, “The Family in First Temple Israel,” in Families in Ancient Israel, 48–103, esp. 91. 12 Ibid. 11

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to influence the identities that Judeans formed for themselves in the exilic period. A trajectory of thought persisted despite the loss of central political and religious institutions. In fact, the privation of the cult in exile led to the family becoming “a vehicle for the official religion of Israel”; in Babylon the family household handed down—and in some cases innovated—practices such as circumcision, celebrating Passover and the hallowing of the Sabbath.13 All of these customs served as markers of identity in a foreign land while supplying group cohesion. In a generic manner both circumcision (Gen 17:10–14) and Sabbath observance (Exod 31:16) gave expression to the covenant and reinforced the group identity of what would become the emboldened Diaspora in Babylon. In this context, we find Ezekiel complaining about Sabbath pollution (Ezek 20:12, 13, 16, 20, 21, 24) precisely because Sabbath has become a sign (20:12, ‫ )אות‬of the relationship between Israel and its God and so it is an ethnic marker that distinguishes the people. In the exile, the Deuteronomic calculus of covenant, people, and land was recalculated rather than rejected. In novel ways, family and covenant became the operative terms for social formation, with kinship playing a significant role in the process. Upon the return from exile, the tripartite, concentric structure of lineage was reengaged and reformulated even further. Friedrich Fechter examines this development at length in his work Die Familie in der Nachexilszeit, in which he argues that the reconstruction of Israelite society after the return from exile was heavily dependent upon kinship and structures of affiliation.14 13 Rainer Albertz reconstructs the Israelite families in exile, emphasizing that the fathers of the families campaigned for socio-religious practices such as Sabbath observance. See his A History of the Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period (2 vols.; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1994 [1992]), 407–11. 14 Friedrich Fechter, Die Familie in der Nachexilszeit: Untersuchungen zur Bedeutung der Verwandtschaft in ausgewählten Texten des Alten Testaments (BZAW 264; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1998), 37–43. Fechter’s thesis that Israelite society after the return from exile was heavily dependent upon kinship finds a modern parallel among Jews in America, especially New York City, in the twentieth century. For a time academics generally agreed that social atomization in the modern age undermined the solidarity of the Jewish family. One study in particular, however, has challenged this view and demonstrated that the Jewish family exhibits bonds among extended kin alongside a newer form of fictive bond that allows for voluntary associations such as the Jewish family club. The fieldwork of William Mitchell suggests that the flourishing of Jewish family clubs in New York “can be viewed from the perspective that the extended family is responsive to the threat to its viability and acts to combat the forces which endanger its survival.” Just as large corporate kin groups arose in New York City to help Jews function in a society that is highly urbanized and industrialized, so in postexilic Yehud traditional kinship units persisted and helped their members to function in a

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2.4. The Postexilic Period Although some of Fechter’s conclusions are open to debate, his work on the whole is persuasive. Fechter understands the concentric structure of kinship that one associates with monarchic Israel to be operative in the sixth and fifth centuries b.c.e.15 Most distinctive about Fechter’s analysis is his view that the intermediate social unit, the clan, is primarily expressed as ‫ בית אבות‬rather than ‫משפחה‬, which was the prevailing term for the clan in preexilic times.16 Fechter understands ‫ בית אבות‬to be a proper plural with a collective meaning of “lineage” within the larger genealogical structure. As such, the ‫בית‬ ‫ אבות‬verifies both an individual’s descent along patrilineal lines and his membership within the familial group.17 In the process, the ‫בית‬ ‫ אבות‬distinguishes itself from surrounding groups as an ethnic entity unto itself and as a Judean’s most immediate point of familial identification and social interaction. One recalls that this role was previously played by the ‫בית אב‬. In a book that explores the Sinai covenant, I devote a section to evaluating Fechter’s thesis.18 The section concludes positively with a determination that there are ample grounds for saying that in postexilic discourse the plural ‫ בית אבות‬becomes an expression of clan that is synonymous with ‫משפחה‬, a term which remains in usage and now, as we have seen, may refer as well to fictive kinships such as the guilds in 1 Chr 2:55, 4:21.19 This lexical development suggests an increasing focus in the postexilic period on familial and social groups that approximate the ancient clan, or ‫משפחה‬, in size and social prominence. The clan begins to refer to itself as the ‫בית אבות‬, a

society that was economically diminished, politically fragmented, and in many ways compromised by the Persian empire. See William E. Mitchell, Kinship, Ethnicity and Voluntary Associations: Jewish Family Life in New York City (New Brunswick, N.J.: Aldine Transaction, 1978), 9. 15 Ibid. Fechter credits DtrH with Josh 7:1b, 2–5, 6aα, 7, 10, 11aα, 11, 12–14, 15a, 15bβ, 16–17, 18, 19–24, 25bβ, 26aβ. 16 Ibid., 39, n. 13, 214–15. Fechter clearly distinguishes the ‫ בית אבות‬from the ‫בית‬ ‫ אב‬and focuses his discussion on the intermediate level of kinship in the traditional tripartite structure. For a related view, see J. P. Weinberg, “Das Bēit ’Ābōt im 6.-4. Jh. V. u.Z.,” VT 23 (1974): 400–14. 17 Fechter, Die Familie, 39. 18 Richard J. Bautch, Power and Glory, Ritual and Relationship: The Sinai Covenant in the Postexilic Period (LHBOTS 471; New York: T&T Clark/Continuum, 2009), 94–95. 19 Jer 33:24; Neh 4:13.

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collective made up of extended families. What of the extended family itself, the ‫ בית אב‬that had long been the basic unit of social interaction in Israel? Fechter is correct to say that with its newfound prominence the ‫ בית אבות‬has supplanted the ‫ בית אב‬as the basic building block of Judean society. 3. Using Kinship to Construct Group Identity in Early Judaism To apply Fechter’s thesis, we now study the key texts that illustrate how kinship was used to construct group identity early in the Second Temple period. This approach clearly appealed to the authors of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. On the one hand, these writers tend to align themselves with modalities of kinship such as “father’s house” (Ezra 10:16, ‫)בית אבות‬. On the other hand, these writers identify with a group known as the ‫ בני הגולה‬or “children of the exile” mentioned as well in Ezra 10:16. The writers responsible for Ezra and Nehemiah are convinced that this group, the golah returnees, is the legitimate heir of Israel’s religious traditions and the true followers of YHWH. Their writing epitomizes the exclusivist perspective. These partisan sources are important for our purposes because they extend the discourse on kinship and relate it to issues of identity, such as covenant. In fact, the collection of texts that comprises Ezra and Nehemiah features several reports of covenant-making in which the language of kinship is paramount. 3.1. Ezra 9–10 3.1.1. A Program of Forced Divorce The events in Ezra 9–10 revolve around conflict. Certain officials among the returned exiles, viz. the golah community, are chagrined that in Judah there are Jews married to non-Jews. The intermarriage is designated a trespass, in Hebrew a ‫( מעל‬9:2), and the foreign wives are said to practice abominations, Hebrew ‫( תועבת‬9:1, 14). As if to emphasize the sin’s gravity, the intermarriage is further described as a transgression of the Deuteronomic law (9:10–11), and the ensuing move to exclude foreign spouses involves inventive legal exegesis. It is essentially an attempt to purify and safeguard the entire golah community from a religious standpoint. To spark this effort, the figure of

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Ezra delivers in Ezra 9 an indicting sermon that enumerates no fewer than four times the sins of those who have intermarried. It is reported that in the wake of Ezra’s sermon, those gathered around him swear by a covenantal agreement to end the practice of intermarriage through forced divorce (Ezra 10:1–19). Elsewhere in Ezra 10 the writer emphasizes the competence of Ezra’s group in matters of covenant: the covenant is invoked (10:3), it is ratified by oath (10:5), its details are established (10:7–8), the covenant is put in public view (10:14), and it is finally sealed with a figurative handshake (10:19). All of these actions reflect the techniques of covenant-making to imply the competence of Ezra and his group as they launch a controversial, covenantal program of forced divorce. 3.1.2. ‫ הושיב‬Marriages What, one may ask, was at stake with the mixed marriages beyond the religious issues? In Ezra 10 the term for marriage is ‫ הושיב‬or ‫ ישב‬in the Hiphil (10:2, 10, 14, 17, 18), an expression that literally means to cause to settle or to set upon the land (Gen 47:11, Ps 107:36, 2 Chr 8:2). At issue is the nuance of this common root ‫ ישב‬as it informs the narrative in Ezra 10 and the larger Ezra-Nehemiah; the writer always uses the word ‫ הושיב‬in a marital context, but to what ends? Most commentators and translators of Ezra simply translate the word as “marry,” while a few approximate “cause to settle” by rendering ‫ישב‬ in the Hiphil as “bring into our homes.”20 In this vein, Tamara Cohn Eskenazi speculates that the use of the verb, if intended literally, could indicate settling women onto the land and conferring upon them a degree of ownership. Through ‫ הושיב‬marriage, she implies, property undergoes legal alienation because the bride in question is presumably a foreigner. The outsider bride has been “brought home” through a practice of marriage that reverses the traditional ownership of land.21 To repudiate such unions, Ezra and his group invoke the concepts of kinship and solidarity alongside that of covenant. An all-encompassing design for solidarity along covenantal lines becomes even clearer when Ezra 10 is set in a broader historical context. The text attacks mixed marriages in order to solidify the unity of 20 See Wilhelm Rudolph, Esra und Nehemia (HAT 20; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1949), 92; Hindy Najman, “Ezra,” in The Jewish Study Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 1685–86. 21 On kinship groups maintaining their land holdings via the marital practice of endogamy, see Blenkinsopp, “The Family,” 72–74.

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“Israel” (9:1; 10:1, 2, 5, 10). This aim is clearly reflected in 10:19 when Ezra’s partisans “give their hands” for the initiative of forced divorce, thereby borrowing a technical term with covenant implications from ancient Near Eastern literature.22 Synonymous with cutting a covenant, ‫ נתן יד‬in Ezra 10:19 signifies that the people were of one accord. In Paul Kalluveettil’s assessment: “They were united in undertaking the obligation [to send away foreign wives]. It was a sign of their firm determination to accomplish the task. The author wanted to stress that people acted as one person, they were united heart and soul in putting away the pagan wives.”23 3.1.3. Intermarriage Linked to the Prospects of Israel This newfound solidarity, however, would require some basis in Israelite culture. Thus, the biblical writer endeavored to place the offending spouses outside the kinship structure so that those left in it would be bound together in a single unity, Israel. Or, in the words of Michael Satlow, “For [Ezra’s] own ideological and political plans to succeed, it was vital that the members of the clans saw themselves first and foremost as members of ‘Israel.’ Ezra’s attack on intermarriage was an attempt to build this community.”24 Satlow correctly identifies both Ezra’s aim and the scribe’s operative social referent, the clan. Ezra is associated with the “fathers’ house” (Ezra 10:16, ‫)בית אבות‬, a modality of kinship that, in postexilic times, became synonymous with the clan, as Fechter has demonstrated. Ezra 10 exemplifies the contemporary shift whereby the clan as ‫ בית אבות‬predominates kinship language and provides a person’s primary affiliation. Ezra 10 reflects another shift as well. The agenda of Ezra’s clan, or ‫בית אבות‬, originates with its membership but would extend beyond the group to all who constitute the restored Israel. The group aims to make its opposition to intermarriage normative not simply for its members or even all Judeans, but indeed for all Israel.

22 See Paul Kalluveettil, Declaration and Covenant: A Comprehensive Review of Covenant Formulae from the Old Testament and Ancient Near East (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1982), 20–26. 23 Ibid., 24. 24 Michael L. Satlow, Jewish Marriage in Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 139.

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3.2. Nehemiah 10:1–40 3.2.1. Clans in a Covenant As a result of the penitential prayer in Nehemiah 9, a covenant is established in Neh 10:1 with a prominent role given to kinship, specifically the clan. In this text, the clan is synonymous with the ‫בית‬ ‫ אבתינו‬or “house of our fathers” mentioned in Neh 10:35. This particular clan is bound together by a covenant, the ‫“( אמנה‬commitment”) in Neh 10:1. What is the substance of this covenant? Among other things, the clans establish a rotation for bringing firewood to the temple. Each clan, or ‫בית אבתינו‬, takes its appointed turn in supplying wood so that the fire for the morning and evening sacrifice would burn continually. To carry out this sizeable task, the community gives a prominent role to the clans within Judah’s contemporary kinship structure. One recalls that at this time the clan, formerly denoted by the term ‫משפחה‬, is typically referred to as ‫בת אבות‬, the very term used in Neh 10:35 to name the kinship structure in which the people had their primary membership. 3.2.2. The Lists of Names in Neh 10:2–28 To probe this connection between clans and covenants, we focus first on the signatories to the lists in Neh 10:2–28. The lists show how this arrangement of names is reflective of the kinship dimension that can be associated with the making of covenants in this period. There are three lists in Neh 10:2–28 (priests in 10:3–9; Levites in 10:10–14; and laity in 10:15–28). We may assume that the writer of this section is making a point by presenting the lists as he does. That is, although the familial data in the lists may not be original to the writer, it constitutes “recognized editorial material.”25 First, the register of priests in 10:3–9 is parallel to lists in Neh 12:1–7, 12–21, but whereas the latter lists individual and family names, the list in Nehemiah 10 largely gives family names—twenty-one names in all.26 The list of the Levites (10:10–14)

25 “Recognized editorial material” comprises sections of text “which are supposed to come from the author/editor” of Nehemiah; see James C. VanderKam, “Ezra–Nehemiah or Ezra and Nehemiah?” in Priests, Prophets and Scribes: Essays on the Formation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp (ed. E. Ulrich et al.; JSOTSup 149; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 55–75, esp. 63. 26 Scholars endeavored to explain the difference between the two lists. Alfred Jepsen holds that the writer of Nehemiah 10 worked from a physically damaged list that was

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begins with two personal names linked to patronymics (Joshua, Binnui in 10:10). A pattern is set, but curiously not followed; the final thirteen Levitical entries are personal names. Of this development, Lisbeth S. Fried asks, “If the names are authentic, where are the patronyms of the other signatories?”27 Finally, in the list of the members of the laity there are forty-two patronymics, with the additions of Anathoth and Nebai (10:20), which are place names. In sum, roughly eighty percent of the names in 10:2–28 are family names, and the percentage would be higher but for the anomalous listing of the Levites. The reader is left with the impression that those who would sign such a list in the midfifth century b.c.e. would do so not in their own name but in that of their extended family, or clan, because families were then such readily identifiable social units. 3.2.3. Legal Norms in Neh 10:31–40 It is also worth pointing out that kinship and the familial dimension of the covenant are attested through the legal norms later in the chapter (Neh 10:31–40). The legislation that concludes the chapter is in part family centered, as in the laws on intermarriage (10:31) and the wood offering (10:35). In these cases, the main social unit in the covenant is clearly the clan (‫)בית אבתינו‬. Additionally, the legal material in Neh 10:31–40 is a good example of how exegetical work was done on existing Jewish laws at this time.28 In general, the work results in legal formulations that are more rigorous than those found in the Pentateuch. For example, the law cited in 10:30 prohibits intermarriage with “the peoples of the land,” a broader referent than the traditional list of seven outcast nations in Deut 7:3–4. When the prohibition’s scope is broadened, it is made more rigorous. Furthermore, it goes without saying that to legislate intermarriage implies a heightened concern for preserving family and family structures in society at this time. In Neh 10:32, the Sabbath law for the first

missing the portion where the personal names had been written. See his “Nehemia 10,” ZAW 66 (1954): 87–106, esp. 92. 27 Lisbeth S. Fried, “A Religious Association in Second Temple Judah? A Comment on Nehemiah 10,” Transeu 30 (2005): 77–96, esp. 85. 28 The exegetes in question, David J. A. Clines has shown, worked from a distinct set of interpretive principles. See his “Nehemiah 10 as an Example of Early Jewish Biblical Exegesis,” in On the Way to the Postmodern: Old Testament Essays, 1967–1998 Vol. 1 (JSOTSup 292; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 88–94; repr. from JSOT 21 (1981): 111–17.

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time outlaws buying goods along with selling them (the latter prohibited in Amos 8:5). This more comprehensive Sabbath restriction points toward the Mishnaic system of thirty-nine activities forbidden on the Sabbath; the trajectory of prohibition is an increasingly stringent one. Finally, the legislation to bring the wood offering to the temple in Neh 10:35 is illustrative. Bringing wood to facilitate temple sacrifice is not explicitly mentioned in the Pentateuch; rather Leviticus (Lev 6:5–6 and 12–13) implies this requirement by stating that the altar fire is to burn continually. Nehemiah 10:35, however, reflects newfound regulations and legislation around the matter. The common responsibility to supply the temple with wood rotates among the various fathers’ houses. In Nehemiah 10 there is a symmetrical relationship between kinship and these instances of exacting legal exegesis. Morton Smith contended that proto-sectarian clans developed the practice of molding particular interpretations of law.29 His view allows us to appreciate how within the set of laws marked by more rigorous exegesis one finds kinship thematized via intermarriage or the ‫בית‬ ‫אבות‬. In Smith’s analysis, all the laws in Nehemiah 10 have a demonstrable connection to the family, either directly or indirectly. 3.2.4. Think Globally, Act Locally Current research indicates that Nehemiah 10 describes covenant as a unilateral agreement that a group swears to uphold. The group’s members are united as kin, with the more prominent persons mentioned by name. Moreover, their agreement mandates the performance of certain ‫( מצות‬10:30, 33), which pertain to intermarriage or the Sabbath. The concern about particular ‫ מצות‬suggests that the group has been energized around a few select issues, and its covenant acts as a charge or mandate. The same group could simultaneously understand itself more globally and project its covenant broadly. How? As Neh 10:30 makes clear, the noble kinsmen bind themselves together by a covenant in order to follow all the laws of Moses. The Sinai covenant at this time was hardly passé and remained a font of ethics and law. The covenant makers in Nehemiah 10 use kinship language to speak of themselves as the heirs of Sinai’s legacy, and as the voice of a future Israel, the vox populi. The group or coalition of groups

29 Morton Smith, “The Dead Sea Sect in Relation to Ancient Judaism,” NTS 7 (1960/1961): 347–60, esp. 351–53.

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assumes the voice of Israel and purports to speak for the nation and its best interests, with regard to the intermarriage, Sabbath observance, and implicitly a host of related issues that inform the common identity. Paradoxically, a partisan group presents itself as the vanguard of national values. All the while, they are a group descended largely from returnees and narrow enough in its interests that it functions rather like the sectarian groups that multiply in the following centuries. In this sense the groups in Nehemiah 10 would, as the saying goes, think globally and act locally. Similarly, the author of Ezra 9–10 redesignates Ezra’s clan, or ‫בית אבות‬, as a broader kinship group, “the children of the exile” (Ezra 10:16, ‫)בני הגולה‬. Ezra 10:16 strategically clouds the distinction between Ezra’s immediate social group, the ‫בית אבות‬, and the larger collective of the returned exiles, the ‫בני הגולה‬.30 In both Ezra 10 and Nehemiah 10, the ‫ בית אבות‬functions as a local structure but is reconfigured on a larger scale, a much larger scale: that of incipient nationalism.31 4. Kinship and Covenant in the Dead Sea Scrolls 4.1. Covenant in the Damascus Document (CD) Recent scholarship on the Dead Sea Scrolls addresses the phenomenon that I have just highlighted in Ezra and Nehemiah, that of a kinship group’s covenant running in two quite different directions. In the Damascus Document, covenant ensured right conduct on a group’s key issue, as it offered the prospects of broad unity to all who would enter the group’s pact. Maxine Grossman notes how the claim in CD 3:13 that “God’s new covenant with this community is a covenant with Israel forever” is repeated more than once in the Damascus

Analogously, in Num 17:17 the ‫ בית אב‬is used to indicate the larger entity of the tribe and as well the entire collective of Israelites. 31 On the dawn of Jewish nationalism occurring in the Second Temple age, as early as the Persian period, see David M. Goodblatt, Elements of Jewish Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 22. Goodblatt’s work challenges the view that national self-consciousness is a modern phenomenon. He identifies elements of ancient Jewish nationalism, and some of them he effectively traces back to the sixth century b.c.e.: the priesthood as a local authority that could give expression to national identity (84–87), and the prospects of an “all-Israel” national identity (115–16). With other elements it is less clear that their origins date to the Persian period (e.g. public readings of ancient Bible manuscripts to inculcate a sense of common descent and shared culture in a mass audience [48]). 30

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Document.32 Her analysis of this language identifies “an overlay of two covenants upon one another. The first is the covenant at Sinai, which the people of Israel swore to uphold. The second is the covenant of the community, which causes the people to engage in proper Torah practices.” The ancient reader of the Damascus Document, however, apprehends a single covenant, “the special possession of the community described in the text and also fundamentally tied to the Sinai experience of the people of Israel.”33 John Collins also treats the covenant described in column three of the Damascus Document, where he observes an underlying belief that, “The Torah itself was revealed to all of Israel, . . . but in many cases its true interpretation was hidden. The hidden laws were known only to the sect and were revealed solely through sectarian exegesis.”34 From different perspectives, Grossman and Collins show that the Damascus Document provides hard data about an isolated group’s covenant claiming to embrace all Israel. There are other examples of this effect in the Scrolls; the covenant in 1QSa points toward both the sect with which it originated and Israel at the eschaton. And 1QSa describes this complex covenant community in kinship terms. 4.2. 1QSa 1QSa, the Rule of the Congregation, describes the eschaton as a time when the vindicated community expands to become “the congregation of Israel.”35 Newly included in the group are all the “native Israelites” (1QSa 1:6, ‫ )אזרח בישראל‬who would enter the assembly by accepting the precepts of the covenant so as not to err in their ways. In the subsequent description of the idealized Israelite who joins the community at this final juncture in history, kinship plays a significant role. The entrant to the covenant community is routinely identified in terms of his family. When he is enrolled at the age of twenty, he enters “the lot amongst his family” (1QSa 1:9, ‫ )בגורל בתוך משפ]ח[תו‬and so

32 Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 63–64. 33 Ibid. 34 John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 28. 35 Citations and translations of the scrolls follow Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (2 vols.; Leiden: Brill / Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997).

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joins the holy community. At thirty years of age the individual is eligible to become an arbiter in community disputes. Should he assume this role, his position is among the chiefs of the thousands, of a hundred, of fifty and of ten. These officials are referred to collectively as the judges and the officials “of their tribes in all their families” (1:15, ‫)לשבטיהם בכול משפחותם‬. The next verse continues the discussion of every chief “of the clans of the congregation” (1:16, ‫)אבות העדה‬, and later this individual is said to perform his duty “in the midst of his brothers” (1:18, ‫)בתוך אחיו‬. At a subsequent point in time, presumably after several years have past, the entrant becomes a person of strength and is assigned to the army, unless he is a simpleton. In this case, the unfit soldier merely “writes his family [name] in the register of the army” (1:21, ‫)רק בסרך הצבא יכתוב משפחתו‬. In the remainder of this relatively short, two-column document, there are additional references to clans (1:23–24, 25; 2:16) and tribes (1:29). There is a likely reference to the entrant’s spouse (1:11).36 In total there are ten familial references, and almost all are drawn from Israel’s traditional, tri-partite family structure. In 1QSa, the traditional kinship system is invoked to meet the challenge of accommodating at history’s decisive moment an influx of new members, all of whom as “native Israelites” must be of the proper bloodlines. When a member advances within the community to a new plateau, time-tested kinship rhetoric confirms that he is a “true Israelite.” In systematic fashion, the community’s integrity is ensured as entrants are linked to an acceptable tribe, clan or family name. As the covenant community expands to become “the congregation of Israel,” it implements safeguards ensuring that each member is a “true Israelite.” Kinship within Israel becomes the basis for covenantal membership, and the community thereby employs a fictive sense of family to achieve greater cohesion quantitatively and qualitatively. Although these processes are projected forward to the end of the era, they may also reflect contemporary practices in the first-century community.37

36 Although the grammatical subject of 1QSa 1:11 has been disputed, García Martínez and Tigchelaar follow David Barthélemy and J. T. Milik in reading: ‫ובכן תקבל‬ ‫“( להעיד עליו‬And then she [his wife] will be qualified to bring testimony against him”). See Barthélemy and Milik’s “28a. Régle de la Congrégation (1QSa),” in DJD 1:109. The reading of Barthélemy and Milik is consistent with Plate XXIII, which they reproduce in the same volume. 37 Cf. 1QSa 2:11–22, where the advent of the two eschatological messiahs is superimposed upon a contemporary session of the community council. The resulting inter-

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In 1QSa, the denotation of “clan” via the alternating terms ‫משפחה‬ and ‫ בית אבות‬conforms to linguistic practices begun in the postexilic period. At that time, the intermediate social unit, the clan, came to be expressed as ‫בית אבות‬, whereas ‫ משפחה‬was the prevailing term for the clan in preexilic times.38 In 1QSa, ‫ בית אבות‬is attested in 1:16, 23–24, 25, and 2:16, and García Martínez and Tigchelaar rightly translate ‫ בית אבות‬as “clan” in each instance. In 1QSa, ‫ משפחה‬is attested in 1:9, 15, and 21, where it also refers to clan (not ancestral house). It is thus curious when translators such as Geza Vermes render ‫ משפחה‬as “family,” and the intent is likely to distinguish the word itself from ‫בית‬ ‫אבות‬.39 It was an innovation of postexilic discourse to employ ‫בית אבות‬ as an expression of clan that is equivalent to ‫משפחה‬, a term which nonetheless remained in usage. This lexical development suggested an increasing focus on familial and social groups that approximate the ancient clan, or ‫משפחה‬, in size and social prominence. Such a focus may be observed three centuries later when 1QSa employs ‫משפחה‬, ‫בית‬ ‫ אבות‬and a surfeit of other kinship terms to delineate this eschatological community as the last of its members are carefully inducted into the covenant. This scroll provides further indication that the ‫בית אבות‬ or clan is the primary unit in the society that stands behind these writings. 4.3. Comparing 1QSa, Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 10 The kinship structure described in 1QSa is comparable to those indicated in Ezra 10 and Nehemiah 10 in another important respect. In 1QSa, ‫ בית אבות‬serves to demarcate the clan, and the clan becomes the core of the future, final Israel. In key respects these two entities are coterminous. The ‫ בית אבות‬functions similarly in Ezra 10:16, where one clan spearheads a program of forced divorce for foreign spouses and so seeks to impose broad legislation as to who may belong to the new Israel, after the return from exile. In Nehemiah 10, a group or perhaps a coalition of groups acts as the voice of Israel and speaks for the nation and its interests, with regard to intermarriage, Sabbath

play between the present and future suggests that the community associated with the Scrolls drew upon its own experience in creating an end-time scenario. 38 See n. 16. 39 E.g., Geza Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (4th ed.; London: Penguin, 1995), 120.

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observance, and presumably other issues related to national identity. In all three cases, a single group would rule decisively on what might be thought of as national issues. 5. Summary and Conclusions At the beginning of the Second Temple period, there were new developments in Jewish thinking about kinship and fictive kinship that are reflected in texts from that time. The clan’s denotation has changed and is now the ‫בית אבות‬. Moreover, the clan, or ‫בית אבות‬, has become the operative family unit, in contrast to the ancestral household, which held this role in the monarchic period. Also distinctive in the Second Temple period are various social groups appropriating the language of kinship to draw support for their policies and prerogatives. These groups were wont to state their aims in covenantal language. In three cases, the postexilic communities responsible for Ezra and Nehemiah articulate their covenants using the language of kinship.40 We have seen that in ancient Yehud segments within society defined themselves around issues such as intermarriage, circumcision, Sabbath observance, and celebrating festivals. Typically, the groups maintained a sharply defined, single-issue profile but tempered any perceptions of extremism and sought to stay within the mainstream of greater Israel. Such groups are reflected in Lawrence Schiffman’s definition of an ancient Jewish sect as a “religious ideology” that is politicized in order to defend its way of life without splitting from mainstream society (emphasis added).41 Rather than splitting from the mainstream, they claimed the mainstream and presumed to speak for it. In the passages from Ezra and Nehemiah studied here, groups formed on the basis of family and fictive kinship recapitulate themselves as large

40 In addition to the cases of Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 10, the interdependence of covenant and kinship may be observed in Neh 5:1–13. See Bautch, Glory and Power, 103–8. 41 Because ancient Jewish sects were often not schismatic groups, Schiffman notes, the way the term “sect” is used in the study of ancient Judaism differs from its standard usage in the discipline of Religious Studies. See his Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1994), 72–73.

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social entities that lay claim to the legacy of Israel.42 How did this dynamic arise? I think it was due to the fact that kinship boundaries, like ethnic boundaries, are subjective in nature and permeable to a certain degree.43 Kinship structures may be altered by the human imagination based on human needs and wants, and as a result the ‫ בית אבות‬became quite protean in the postexilic period, with implications for later generations of Second Temple Jews. The ‫ בית אבות‬could exclude persons hostile to the group’s views but absorb persons who resonated with the group’s agenda and would support its enactment as public policy. The house of the father becomes “a structuring symbol of social order” that unifies local groups as they seek to unify the nation once called Israel.44

42 By “centralized authority” I mean an establishment, a state-like polity that inculcates a sense of nationalism. A parallel is found in Melody Knowles’ depiction of the temple and its practices at this time as emblematic of the centrality of Jerusalem. She demonstrates that Jerusalem is symbolically and economically central for the various Yahwistic communities then extant, and some of the covenant legislation studied here (e.g. Neh 10:36–40) she attributes to authors or editors “rewriting centrality.” See her Centrality Practiced: Jerusalem in the Religious Practice of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period (SBLABS 16; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006), 7–8, 125. 43 See Berquist, “Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud,” 55. 44 The expression “a structuring symbol of social order” as descriptive of the ‫בית‬ ‫ אבות‬is taken from H. David Schloen, The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2001), 44.

LEVITICUS OUTSIDE THE LEGAL GENRE Sarianna Metso There are more than twenty non-biblical works found at Qumran that contain quotations from Leviticus, and it comes as no surprise that in the legal texts found at Qumran the book of Leviticus figures prominently. Excellent analyses on cases of halakhic use of Leviticus in nonbiblical Dead Sea Scrolls have been published by Lawrence Schiffman, Esther Eshel, and Robert Kugler, among others.1 But there are many Scrolls with quotations from Leviticus that fall outside the legal genre, and even in legal texts, quotations and allusions of Leviticus are often used to bolster arguments that in fact fall outside legal discourse. This article is part of my broader exploration of the innovative ways Essene writers combined different genres, or different modes of discourse, in their scriptural interpretation. In an earlier article I focused on covenantal ceremonies included in the Scrolls, and I detected a motivational shift from Law to Wisdom, particularly heightened in the language of blessings and curses. For example, in the Hebrew Bible curses are a function of the conduct-consequence relationship of covenantal discourse. In the Essene writings, however, they are often used in expressions of the dualistic worldview to declare the predestined fate of those outside the lot of the sons of light. In contrast to the sages who produced the earlier wisdom materials and who demonstrated little interest in the covenant, the Essene scribes envisioned the covenant as enveloping the realm of wisdom as well as that of legal discourse.2 1 Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Sacral and Non-Sacral Slaughter according to the Temple Scroll,” in Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness: Papers on the Qumran Scrolls by Fellows of the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1989–1990 (ed. D. Dimant and L. H. Schiffman; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 69–84; Esther Eshel, “4QLevd: A Possible Source for the Temple Scroll and Miqṣat Ma’aśe ha-Torah,” DSD 2 (1995): 1–13; Robert Kugler, “Rethinking the Notion of ‘Scripture’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Leviticus as a Test Case,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception (ed. Rolf Rendtdorff and Robert Kugler; The Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature 3, VTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 342–57. 2 See my “Shifts in Covenantal Discourse in Second Temple Judaism,” in Scripture in Transition: Essays on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of Raija Sollamo (ed. A. Voitila and J. Jokiranta; JSJSup 126; Leiden: Brill 2008), 497–512.

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In this paper I will continue exploring contexts in which Leviticus is used for ideological purposes. The text of Leviticus was essential in the battle of drawing the borderline between the outsiders and the insiders of the community and in the battle of guarding the community’s self-understanding in its dualistic framework. Essene scribes, in their quest to silence dissenters, effectively used in their interpretation of Leviticus elements from types of discourse foreign to the original legal discourse of Leviticus. (1) The Disobedient as Those Who Shall not Live The first example comes from the historical preamble of the Damascus Document. In a section describing the origins of the movement, a phrase from Leviticus is used to draw a line between those obedient to the law and those who reject it: But with those who held fast to the commandments of God, who were left over from them, God established his covenant with Israel for ever, revealing to them the hidden things in which all Israel had gone astray: his holy Sabbaths and his glorious feasts, his righteous testimonies and his true ways, and the desires of his will which a man must do that he may live through them (‫[ )אשר יעשה האדם וחיה בהם‬cf. Lev 18:5]. (These) he laid open before them, and they dug a well of abundant waters; those who reject them shall not live (‫)לא יחיה‬. They had defiled themselves through human transgression and through impure ways, and they had said: ‘This is ours’. But God in his wonderful mysteries made expiation for their iniquity and pardoned their transgression. He built for them a sure house in Israel, the like of which has not appeared in Israel from former times until now. Those who hold fast to it are (destined) for eternal life (‫)לחיי נצח‬, and all the glory of Adam (‫ )וכל כבוד אדם‬shall belong to them.” (CD 3:12–20)3

The phrase “which a man must do that he may live through them” comes from Lev 18:5, and the way the Essene scribe has interpreted it in this section is quite interesting, especially when contrasted with its original context. In the book of Leviticus this phrase, obviously referring to the commandments of God, forms part of an introductory exhortation to laws pertaining to sexual taboos.4 Some commen-

3 Translation from Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 32–33. Italics and additions of Hebrew mine. 4 The section on these laws comprises Lev 18:1–30. Similar laws are listed in Lev 20:9–21, but while the laws in ch. 18 are formulated apodictically, in ch. 20 they are

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381

tators understand the phrase “that he may live” quite literally, in the sense that obedience to laws prohibiting certain sexual relations was necessary for the health and survival of a nation.5 Whether such a literal connotation was in fact intended by the original author of the phrase can be debated, but it is quite certain that in the original context of the phrase, the notion of an eternal life was not present. In the Damascus Document, however, the connotation given to the phrase is clearly eschatological, drawing a borderline between those who “shall not live,” i.e., who are destined to eternal damnation, and those who are to inherit eternal life. Leviticus 18:5, containing the phrase “which a man must do that he may live through them,” was adopted by the writer of the book of Ezekiel and given heightened significance (Ezek 20:11, 13, 21; note also the phrase in the negative in Ezek 20:25 [cf. CD 3:17]).6 Although the notion that the punishment of the exile was a result of breaking the incest laws is already present in the text of Leviticus (Lev 18:25), for Ezekiel this notion became even more significant (Ezek 20:23).7 Importantly, in the text of Ezekiel, the transgression resulting in the punishment of the exile included not only the breaking of the incest laws, but the breaking of the Sabbath laws as well: “I gave them my statutes and showed them my ordinances, by whose observance everyone shall live. Moreover I gave them my sabbaths . . .” (Ezek 20:11–12). The writer of the Damascus Document, who according to 3:12 considers the movement to have originated with the righteous remnant after the exile, mentions “his holy Sabbaths” as the first of “the hidden things in which all Israel had gone astray.” Undoubtedly, the text of Ezekiel loomed in the mind of the Essene writer. formulated casuistically. There is considerable disagreement among scholars in regard to the relationship between Leviticus 18 and 20. See the summary of discussion by Jacob Milgrom in his Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1765–68. 5 See, e.g., Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus: A Continental Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 201: “The fulfillment of these laws gives life. In other words, life is built into these laws. Not God but the laws give life to those who fulfill them. Thus disobeying these laws by engaging in foreign incest practices shortens or deprives life.” 6 That the form of the phrase in the Holiness Code (Lev 18:5) is earlier than the one in Ezekiel is supported also linguistically; see Avi 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: Gabalda, 1982), 46–48. 7 The laws conclude with a statement in verse 25 that connects the punishment of the exile with the breaking of these specific laws. In the Damascus Document, too, a similar notion is perhaps present in the reference to the sons of Noah in the preceding passage of CD 3:1.

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But the special, eschatological connotation that the Essene writer gives to the phrase “which a man must do that he may live through them” is absent in the text of Ezekiel, as it is absent in the text of Leviticus. To my knowledge, this passage in the Damascus Document is the earliest text interpreting Lev 18:5 as a reference to eternal life. Later on, however, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Targum Onqelos as well as Ramban interpret it similarly.8 In the text of the Damascus Document, the eschatological connotation is further strengthened by the way the word “Adam” is treated by the Essene scribe. While in the text of Leviticus the word clearly signifies a human being in general (‫)האדם‬, the Essene interpreter reads into it a reference to Adam and the paradisical state he enjoyed before the fall.9 The “glory of Adam” (‫ )כבוד אדם‬will be given to those who hold fast to the “sure house” of the movement, while the outsiders “shall not live.” To sum up, in this example the text of Leviticus is interpreted in the dualistic framework of the community’s self-understanding, encapsulated in a mode of discourse that is more reminiscent of apocalyptic wisdom than that of the legal genre. A line is drawn between those obedient to the law and those who reject it; the obedient will be given the “glory of Adam” and eternal life, while those rejecting the covenant are destined to death.

8 For the editions of Targum Onqelos, see Alexander Sperber, ed., The Bible in Aramaic (3d impression; Leiden: Brill, 2004) and the electronic text of the Targums based on The Complete Aramaic Lexicon Project (CAL) of Hebrew Union College Cincinnati, Ohio, available by permission of Prof. Stephen A. Kaufmann on Accordance, version 7.4.1., copyright Oak Tree Software, Inc., November 2007. In both of these editions, the phrase ‫“( בחיי עלמא‬in eternal life”) is included. Note, however, that Israel Drazin in his translation of Targum Onqelos remarks that “TO texts vary” and that some manuscripts include the phrase while others do not. His translation omits the phrase; see Israel Drazin, Targum Onkelos to Leviticus: An English Translation of the Texts with Analysis and Commentary Based on the A. Sperber and A. Berliner Editions (New York: Ktav, 1994), 162 n. 5. The edition of Targum Pseudo-Jonathan used here is that of the CAL project and it includes the phrase ‫בחיי עלמא‬. For Ramban’s commentary on Leviticus, see The Torah: With Ramban’s Commentary (translated, annotated and elucidated by Yaakov Blinder; 5 vols.; Brooklyn, N.Y.: Mesorah, 2004) and Ramban (Nahmanides), Commentary on the Torah: Leviticus (trans. Charles B. Chavel; New York: Shilo, 1994). 9 See also 1QS 4:23 and 1QHa 4:27.

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383

(2) Apostates as Those Ruled by the Spirits of Belial A statement in the penal code of the Damascus Document presents the following case: “Everyone who is controlled by the spirits of Belial and advises apostasy will receive the same verdict as the necromancer and the medium” (CD 12:2–3//4QDf 5 i 18–19). The punishment for the necromancer and the medium (‫ )האוב והידעוני‬is stipulated in Lev 20:27: death by stoning. In Leviticus, the law concerns communications with the dead, but in the Damascus Document, this law is extended to include those possessed by spirits of Belial (‫כל איש‬ ‫)אשר ימשלו בו רוחות בליעל‬.10 A sign of such possession, the text of CD states, was preaching of apostasy (‫)דבר סרה‬. What exactly would constitute apostasy is not stated in CD, and the term is not used in the text of Lev 20:27. But some indication can perhaps be drawn from the occurrence of this same wording, ‫דבר סרה‬, in Deut 13:6, where it is linked to the worship of other gods. The same wording is also used in the book of Jeremiah (28:16), where Jeremiah announces to false prophet Hananiah in the Jerusalem temple: “Within this year you shall be dead, because you have spoken rebellion against the Lord” (‫כי־סרה‬ ‫)דברת אל־יהוה‬. In the Damascus Document, this rule regarding those controlled by the spirits of Belial is placed next to a case involving profaning the Sabbath and the festivals: “But no man who strays so as to profane the Sabbath and the feasts shall be put to death; it shall fall to men to keep him in custody. And if he is healed of his error, they shall keep him in custody for seven years and he shall afterwards approach the assembly” (CD 12:2–6).11 This rule probably does not discuss involuntary

10 For background, see, e.g, Theodore J. Lewis, Cults of the Dead in Ancient Near East and Ugarit (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989); Elizabeth Bloch-Smith, Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs About the Dead (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Karel van der Toorn, Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity ad Changes in the Forms of Religious Life (Leiden: Brill, 1996); and more specifically on this topic in the book of Leviticus, Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1768–85; and Rüdiger Schmitt, “The Problem of Magic and Monotheism in the Book of Leviticus,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8 (2008): 2–12. 11 Notable in this ruling is the possibility of supervised parole replacing the death penalty. The book of Jubilees, in contrast, assigns the death penalty for all Sabbath violations (Jub. 2:25, 27; 50:8, 13). For further discussion, see Lutz Doering, “The Concept of Sabbath in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. M. Albani, J. Frey and A. Lange; TSAJ 65: Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1997), 179–205 (199–200); and Joseph Baumgarten, “Avoidance of the Death Penalty in Qumran Law,” in

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transgressions of Sabbath laws, but should be interpreted in light of the dispute the Essenes had with the Jerusalem temple community regarding the festival and Sabbath calendar and thus involving fundamental disagreements regarding law interpretation. Although the adoption of the lunar calendar by the temple hierarchy may predate the Antiochian rule, in the memory of the Essene writer it may well have been connected with Hellenized practices, such as the ones introduced by high priest Jason and described in 2 Macc 4:13–17.12 If this is correct, one may perhaps assume that the preceding rule regarding apostasy may also have been written as an implicit denunciation of those having capitulated to Hellenization within the temple community. Although the precise time period and the historical circumstances behind the writing of the rule of apostasy in the Damascus Document are unknown, one can speculate that the potential apostates in the Essene community might have been those siding with the Jerusalem community in later Hasmonean and Roman periods in matters regarding law and practice, perhaps allowing worshiping practices influenced by the Greek culture. To summarize, although our passage in the Damascus Document is formulated as a casuistic legal judgment, its underlying argument moves beyond an individual legal case and aims at drawing a borderline between the members of the community and those outside. The terrifying law regarding the necromancer and the medium in Lev 20:27 is extended in the Damascus Document to include those possessed by spirits of Belial, and a sign of such possession, the text states, was preaching of apostasy (‫)דבר סרה‬. This may have been written as an implicit denunciation of those having capitulated to Hellenization in the temple community. Although our sources give no clear indication, the potential apostates in the Essene community might have been

Reworking the Bible: Apocryphal and Related Texts at Qumran (ed. E. G. Chazon, D. Dimant, and R. A. Clements; STDJ 58; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 31–38. 12 This is the argument of Shemaryahu Talmon, “Calendars and Mishmarot,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 1:108– 17 (115). James C. VanderKam points out, however, that “[t]he first hint that the cultic calendar of the Jerusalem Temple became a point of dispute is found in Dan. 7:25,” in Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), 114. For further discussion on the extent of Hellenism in Palestine during the Second Temple period, see, e.g., Erich S. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998) and Tessa Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 61–80.

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385

those siding with the Jerusalem community in matters regarding law and practice, perhaps allowing worshiping practices influenced by the Greek culture, which were understood as stemming from the realm of Belial. (3) Insiders as Those to be Saved by Melchizedek My final example comes from 11QMelchizedek (11Q13), three fragmentary columns of which are preserved. In this surprising text, which is often characterized as an early eschatological midrash,13 Melchizedek is not presented as an earthly figure as in the biblical book of Genesis, where he is introduced as the king of Salem and priest of God Most High (Gen 14:18–20). Instead, he is portrayed as a heavenly high priest, eschatological savior of the righteous ones. He appears to be similar to, or perhaps even identical with, the Prince of Truth in the Community Rule (1QS 3:20), and the archangel Michael in the War Scroll (1QM 17:6–8). In the text, he is referred to by the name ‫אלוהים‬. He presides over the final day of judgment and participates in the destruction of Belial, the Prince of Darkness, also called Melchiresha elsewhere in the Scrolls (4Q280). Quotations from the book of Leviticus occur both at the beginning and at the end of the preserved portion of this peculiar text. These quotations are essential for the framework of the entire preserved text, so much so that Anders Aschim has characterized 11QMelch as “a pesher on (a part of ) Leviticus.”14 Only the immediate contexts of the Leviticus quotations are presented here: . . . And concerning that which He said, In [this year] of Jubilee [each of you shall return to his property (Lev 25:13); and likewise, And this is

13 This characterization was already given in the editio princeps by A. S. van der Woude, “Melchisedek als himmlische Erlösergestalt in den neugefundenen eschatologischen Midraschim aus Qumran Höhle XI,” Oudtestamentische Studiën 14 (1965): 354–73. The DJD edition is by F. Garcia Martinez, E. J. C. Tigchelaar, and A. S. van der Woude, DJD 23:221–41 + pl. XXVII. The translated passages below are adapted from DJD 23. 14 See Anders Aschim, “The Genre of 11QMelchizedek,” in Qumran Between the Old and New Testaments (ed. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 17–31. He adds, however: “A word of caution is appropriate. It is difficult to detect references to Leviticus in the remaining parts of the work (i.e. outside col. 2). There is also a formal problem in that the citations do not always occur in the sequence of the biblical text. Thus, 25.13 is quoted early in col. 2, 25.9 later” (28–29).

386

sarianna metso the manner of release:] every creditor shall release that which he has lent [to his neighbour. He shall not exact it of his neighbour and his brother,] for God’s release [has been proclaimed] (Deut 15:2). [And its interpretation] for the end of days concerns the captives who [. . .] and whose teachers have been hidden and kept secret, and from the inheritance of Melchizedek; f[or . . .] and they are the inheritan[ce of Melchize]dek, who will make them return. And liberty shall be proclaimed to them [cf. Isa 61:1], to free them from [the debt of ] of all their iniquities. (11QMelch 2:2–6) . . . This is the day of [Peace ab]out which he said[. . . through Isa]iah the prophet, who said, [How] beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who proclaims peace, who brings good news, who proclaims salvation, who says to Zion: Your Elohim [reigns] (Isa 52:7) . . . (11QMelch 2:15–16) . . . Zion is [the congregation of all the sons of righteousness, who] uphold the covenant, who turn from walking [in] the way of the people. And your Elohim is [Melchizedek, who will save them from] the hand of Belial. As for that which He said, Then you shall have the trumpet [sounded loud in] all the [la]nd . . .” (Lev 25:9) (11QMelch 2:23–25)

As numerous commentators of this document have pointed out, the proclamation of liberty to the captives in Isa 61:1 has been interpreted in light of Lev 25:13 as part of the general restoration of property during the Jubilee Year, which in Deut 15:2—another source text here—is taken as a remission of debts.15 For the writer of 11QMelch, the captives are members of his own community living in the time period reigned by Belial, and debts are their sins that will be forgiven. Thus, the enslavement and loans, which in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy are used to describe the economic conditions of ancient Israel, have been spiritualized here.16 In the Jubilee of the end of days,

15 The manuscript has been studied extensively, see, e.g., Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “Further Light on Melchizedek from Qumran Cave 11,” JBL 86 (1967): 25–41; É. Puech, “Notes sur le manuscrit de XIQMelchîsédeq,” RevQ 12 (1987): 483–513; P. J. Kobelski, Melchizedek and Melchiresa‘ (CBQMS 10: Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1981); Martin Bodinger, “L’énigme de Melkisédeq,” RHR 211 (1994): 297–333; James R. Davila, “Melchizedek, Michael, and War in Heaven,” SBL Seminar Papers 35 (1996): 259–72; Harold W. Attridge, “How the Scrolls Impacted Scholarship on Hebrews,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Princeton Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. J. Charlesworth; 3 vols.; Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2006), 3:203–30. 16 See Lester Grabbe, “Maccabean Chronology: 167–164 or 168–165 BCE?” JBL 110 (1991): 59–74 (60–63), and idem, Leviticus (Old Testament Guides: Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 97: “The existence of a sabbatical year is attested in historical

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the community will be given the inheritance of Melchizedek. Although the text in the manuscript is barely legible at this point, the idea of secret knowledge being revealed only to the elect, i.e., the community, seems to be imbedded in the statement about the teachers that have been kept hidden. The great day of deliverance, on which Melchizedek will free the righteous ones from the hand of Belial, is to occur during the atonement at the end of the tenth Jubilee cycle (11QMelch 2:7–8). As in the Day of Atonement ordained in the biblical book, on the final day of atonement the trumpet (ram’s horn) shall sound, and it is this statute from Lev 25:9 that is quoted toward the end of the preserved text in 11QMelchizedek. In the next column, only a few words are preserved, but the complete destruction of Belial is indicated by the words “[they] shall devour Belial with fire” (11QMelch 3:7). The dualistic and apocalyptic framework in which the statutes of the Day of Atonement and of the Jubilee Year are interpreted is a radical departure from the world of the biblical writers. To summarize, in 11QMelchizedek the statutes of the book of Leviticus regarding the Day of Atonement and of the Jubilee Year are interpreted in a dualistic and apocalyptic framework, which is a development away from the meaning of Leviticus 25 in its compositional context. The enslavement and loans, which in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy are used to describe legal directives about the economic conditions of ancient Israel, have been spiritualized, and the Day of Atonement is portrayed as the final, great day of deliverance, on which Melchizedek will free the righteous ones from the hand of Belial. Conclusion The quotations of and allusions to Leviticus embedded in the nonbiblical manuscripts found at Qumran attest to the scribes’ thorough familiarity with the text of this book. At the same time, they felt considerable freedom to interpret it in ways that often had little in

sources of the Second Temple period. . . . It is known from actual documents found in the Judaean desert that the cancellation of debts and return of property in the seventh year was an accepted institution (Murabba’at 18:24). There is no mention of a Jubilee year, except in literature such as the book of Jubilees.”

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common with the intention of the original text.17 Particularly striking in the Essene writers’ treatment of the text of Leviticus is the tendency to encapsulate their quotations and allusions to Leviticus in a framework more reminiscent of the conceptual world of the wisdom and apocalyptic writers than that of traditional legal discourse. Such exegetical moves are not altogether anomalous but reflect broader theological currents of Second Temple Judaism: the tendencies of combining law and wisdom can be found in Ben Sira, Baruch and 1 Enoch as well. Such interpretive tendencies, however, appear to have been particularly common and apocalyptically colored in the Essene writings. Not infrequently, the Essene writers’ treatment of Leviticus reveals a specific ideological framework in which humankind is divided between those belonging to the sons of darkness and those belonging to sons of light. As the examples discussed above demonstrate, the text of Leviticus was used as an ideological hammer in the community’s handling of internal disputes and in attempts to deter community members from falling into apostasy and from falling under the dominion of Belial. Leviticus also served as an inspiration in their expectation of the apocalyptic day of deliverance.

17

An analogy can be made with the treatment of biblical text in the pesharim, where the writers have idiosyncratically interpreted the words of the prophets from their own viewpoint, in the light of contemporary historical events and of events relating to the life of the community.

THE INTERPRETATION OF SCRIPTURAL ISAIAH IN THE QUMRAN SCROLLS: QUOTATIONS, CITATIONS, ALLUSIONS, AND THE FORM OF THE SCRIPTURAL SOURCE TEXT* Peter W. Flint The large number of copies of Isaiah (most of them fragmentary) found at Qumran and the many quotations of and allusions to Isaiah in the non-biblical scrolls indicate that the book of Isaiah was one of the three most popular compilations for the Yahad, a collection of Essene communities for which the Qumran site became a prominent settlement.1 Any full treatment of the interpretation of “scriptural” Isaiah in the Scrolls is beyond the scope of this essay, and is in fact worthy of an entire monograph. This treatment is in four parts. First, it seems prudent to begin with a brief overview of the scriptural Isaiah scrolls. The second section is far more detailed, discussing the use of Isaiah outside scriptural Isaiah in the Qumran Scrolls (including criteria for gathering data; a detailed table of quotations, citations and allusions in one of the works that interpret Isaiah, and a complete list for the other works that do so). The third part considers whether any of the works that quote or allude to Isaiah may have used a textual form of the

* It is with pleasure that I dedicate this essay to James VanderKam, whom I have known over twenty years as teacher (at the University of Notre Dame), collaborator on two edited volumes, and co-author of one. I count myself fortunate to have worked with this finest of scholars and most kind and honourable man. I am grateful to C. Patrick Davis, my senior Canada Chair research assistant, for helping collect the data and organize of the material for the essay. 1 In this study, designating the community associated with the writing and collection of the Scrolls found in the Qumran Caves as the Yahad reflects recent proposals by John J. Collins and Alison Schofield that the Yahad was a Second Temple movement or collection of Essene communities, spread throughout Palestine, of whom the settlement at Qumran and its manuscript depository represent one prominent group. See J. J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010); A. Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 14–15; and H. Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (SDSSRL; SSAP; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2008), 205–208.

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book (the “source text”) that is closer to one of the versions or Hebrew sources that differ from the proto-Masoretic form of the book. 1. The “Scriptural” Isaiah Scrolls A total of twenty-two copies of Isaiah have been identified at Qumran and other sites. Two were discovered in Cave 1, eighteen in Cave 4, one in Cave 5, and one more at Murabba‘at farther down the western coast of the Dead Sea. All have appeared in the official series Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, culminating with the complete two-volume edition of 1QIsaa and 1QIsab in 2010.2 The full listing is as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

1QIsaa (The Great Isaiah Scroll) 1QIsab (1Q8) (The Hebrew University Isaiah Scroll) 4QIsaa (4Q55) 4QIsab (4Q56) 4QIsac (4Q57) 4QIsad (4Q58) 4QIsae (4Q59) 4QIsaf (4Q60) 4QIsag (4Q61) 4QIsah (4Q62) 4QIsai (4Q62a) 4QIsaj (4Q63) 4QIsak (4Q64) 4QIsal (4Q65) 4QIsam (4Q66) 4QIsan (4Q67) 4QIsao (4Q68) 4QIsap (4Q69) 4QIsaq (4Q69a) 4QIsar (4Q69b) 5QIsa (5Q3) MurIsa (Mur 3)

With respect to contents preserved, 1QIsaa preserves all sixty-six chapters of the book, with the exception of a few small lacunae. Other scrolls 2

32.

Eugene Ulrich and Peter W. Flint, with a Contribution by Martin G. Abegg, DJD

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391

that are relatively well preserved are—in descending order of contents preserved—1QIsab, 4QIsab, 4QIsac, 4QIsaa, and 4QIsaf. Conversely, the manuscripts preserving just a few words or verses are 4QIsai, 4QIsaj, 4QIsal, 4QIsap, 4QIsaq, and 4QIsar. Both the beginning of Isaiah (1:1) and its end (66:24) are preserved in only three scrolls: 1QIsaa, 1QIsab, and 4QIsab. The beginning of Isaiah is also preserved in 4QIsaa and 4QIsaj, and the end is extant in 4QIsac. The vast majority of Isaiah’s sixty-six chapters are represented in more than one of the Isaiah scrolls; however, chapters 31, 32, 34 are only preserved in the Great Isaiah Scroll. At least six scrolls, when fully extant, contained all sixty-six chapters of the book (1QIsaa, 1QIsab, 4QIsab, 1QIsac, and 4QIsae), but several others may have comprised only chapters 1–33 (or 1–39),3 and some very fragmentary scrolls may have contained only part of the book or may even be part of a pesher.4 With respect to datings, on the basis of palaeographic analysis at least eighteen Isaiah scrolls were copied before the Common Era.5 The oldest of these are 1QIsaa (125–100 b.c.e.) and seven Cave 4 manuscripts that date to the first half of the first cenury b.c.e.6 Two of the Qumran scrolls are generally classified as “Herodian” (30 b.c.e. to 70 c.e.),7 one is placed in the middle third of the first century c.e.,8 and the sole manuscript from Murabba‘at was copied at the very end of the Herodian period.9

3 On the bifurcation of Isaiah, see William H. Brownlee, “The Literary Significance of the Bisection of Isaiah in the Ancient Scroll of Isaiah from Qumran,” in Trudy Dvardtsat Pyatogo Mezhdunarodnogo Kongressa Vostoko-kovedov (Tome 1; Moscow: Tzolatel’stvo Vostichnoi Literatary, 1962), 431–37; Peter W. Flint, “The Book of Isaiah in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries. Proceedings of the Conference Held at Hampton Court, Herefordshire, 18–21 June 2000 (ed. Edward D. Herbert and Emanuel Tov; London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2002), 229–53, esp. 234; George J. Brooke, “On Isaiah at Qumran,” in “As Those Who Were Taught”: The Interpretation of Isaiah from the LXX to the SBL (ed. C. M. McGinnis and P. K. Tull; SBLSymS 27; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006), 69–85. 4 For example, 4QpapIsap, the only Isaiah fragment that was written on papyrus. For the proposal that some copies of biblical books written on papyrus—which is a rare phenomenon among the biblical scrolls—were personal rather than official copies, see Flint, “The Book of Isaiah in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 234, 245 (and bibliography). 5 1QIsaa, 4QIsaa, 4QIsab, 4QIsad, 4QIsae, 4QIsaf, 4QIsag, 4QIsah, 4QIsai, 4QIsaj, 4QIsak, 4QIsal, 4QIsam, 4QIsan, 4QIsao, 4QpapIsap, 4QIsaq, 4QIsar. 6 4QIsaf, 4QIsah, 4QIsai, 4QIsam, 4QIsan, 4QIsao, 4QpapIsap. 7 1QIsab and 5QIsa. 8 4QIsac. 9 MurIsa, ca. 70 c.e.

392

peter w. flint 2. The Use of “Scriptural” Isaiah in the Sectarian Qumran Scrolls 2.1. Gathering Data and Identifying Key Compositions

When the “scriptural” Isaiah scrolls are excluded, considerable data pertaining to Isaiah appear in other scrolls that were found at Qumran. Any sound investigation of the interpretation of Isaiah among the Yahad must be restricted to the sectarian scrolls or others that seem to reflect the movement’s distinctive ideas. Twenty-seven compositions may be identified as such, and are listed below. Scholars view the vast majority of these as composed by the Yahad or the predecessors of their group;10 while the sectarian origin of a few others is not assured, these also feature in the list because they seem to reflect the Yahad’s distinctive ideas.11 CD (Damascus Document) 4Q266 (4QDa, Damascus Document) 4Q267 (4QDb, Damascus Document) 6Q15 (6QD, Damascus Document) 4Q185 (Sapiential Work) 1QS (Community Rule) 1Q28b (1QSb, Rule of the Blessing) 1QpHab (Pesher Habbakkuk) 1QHa (Hodayot) 1QM (War Scroll) 3Q4 (3QpIsa, Isaiah Pesher) 4Q161 (4QpIsaa, Isaiah Peshera) 4Q162 (4QpIsab, Isaiah Pesherb)

4Q174 (4QFlor, Florilegium) 4Q176 (4QTanh, Tanhumim) 4Q177 (4QCatena) 4Q265 (Miscellaneous Rules) 4Q285 (War Scroll, Sefer ha-Milhamah) 4Q434 (Barki Nafshia [= 4Q435]) 4Q437 (Barki Nafshid) 4Q471 (War Scroll-Like Text B) 4Q471b (Self-Glorification Hymn) 4Q509 (papPrFêtes c, Festival Prayers) 4Q511 (Shir b, Songs of the Sage) 4Q521 (Messianic Apocalypse) 11Q5 (11Q6) (part of 11QPsa, Psalms Scroll) [from the “Plea for Deliverance”]

10 The Damascus Document, the Community Rule, the Rule of the Blessing, Pesher Habbakkuk, the Hodayot, the War Scroll, the Florilegium, Miscellaneous Rules, the War Scroll (Sefer ha-Milhamah), the War Scroll-Like Text B, the Self-Glorification Hymn, Festival Prayers, the Songs of the Sage, and the six continuous pesharim of Isaiah. 11 Notably the Sapiential Work, Tanhumim, 4QCatena, the Messianic Apocalypse (or Eschatological Midrash), and Barki Nafshi. Two Psalms scrolls from Cave 11 (11Q5 and 11Q6) also feature because they include the “Plea for Deliverance,” which refers to Isa 38:19 (see below).

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4Q163 (4QpIsac, Isaiah Pesherc) 4Q164 (4QpIsad, Isaiah Pesherd) 11Q13 (11QMelch, Melchizedek) 4Q165 4QpIsae, Isaiah Peshere)

The use of the Isaianic text in these documents takes several forms: representations of pericopae from Isaiah; quotations using various formulae; and allusions to discernible themes from the book. This study will document some 101 such cases from the twenty-seven named compositions. It is often assumed that the authoritative status for any given scriptural text in the Dead Sea Scrolls may be easily discerned by the clear presence of a citation formula, or by how closely it mimics an established version of the text. However, this study does not employ such anachronistic methodology. One reason is that in many discussions concerning the distinction between citations, quotations, and allusions or “echoes,” relegating pericopae to the latter two categories tends to prejudice their status with a sense of lesser authority in the mind of the modern reader.12 Furthermore, most of the examples listed below seem to reflect the pervasive Essene worldview, which employs Scripture as part of a program establishing the Yahad’s identity. The writers and collectors of the Scrolls convey the impression that they are “living” history, with themselves a continuous extension of the past which was recorded and predicted in Scripture.13 This approach accounts for the

12

For the definition of “citations” and the differences between these and “allusions” cf. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Use of Explicit Old Testament Quotations in Qumran Literature and in the New Testament,” NTS 7 (1961): 297–333; Stanley E. Porter, “The Use of the Old Testament in the New: A Brief Comment on Method and Terminology,” in Early Christian Interpretation of the Scriptures of Israel: Investigations and Proposals (ed. C. A. Evans and J. A. Sanders; JSNTSup 148/SSEJC 5; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 79–96; Christopher D. Stanley, “The Social Environment of ‘Free’ Biblical Quotations in the New Testament,” in Evans and Sanders, eds., Early Christian Interpretation of the Scriptures, 18–27. For an excellent summary, see Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 41–55. 13 Cf. Martin G. Abegg, “The Covenant of the Qumran Sectarians,” in The Concept of the Covenant in the Second Temple Period (ed. Stanley E. Porter and Jacqueline C. R. de Roo; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 81–98. Also see George J. Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (ed. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), 339–53: “When the scriptural citation is properly put first in our consideration of these texts, it immediately becomes apparent how much it determines the way the commentary runs” (340).

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great variance in the Yahad’s employment of Scripture; accordingly, it seems best to consider all examples that may be clearly distinguished as citations of or allusions to Isaiah. Isaiah is used in varied ways by several compositions. While the scriptural book seems to have been authoritative for each author, this status is not necessarily assumed for every citation or an allusion. For example, Isaiah in the Damascus Document is cited with a direct quotation (CD 7:11–12; cf. Isa 7:17), by a more general reference (14:1; cf. Isa 7:17), and in a variety of allusions with no indication of a reference (e.g. 1:20 [cf. Isa 24:5]; 5:13–4 [cf. Isa 50:11; 59:5]). In such instances there is no good reason to assume that certain uses of Isaiah impart a higher level of authority than others, and so all should be considered as reflective of the very high status accorded to Isaiah. Such examples suggest that a true understanding of what constituted authority in the ancient world, and how it was employed, is complex, and that “citation” of or “allusion” to Scripture extended beyond the presence and status of “texts.” 2.2. Distinguishing between Quotations, Citations and Allusions Since it is difficult to discern how these texts were perceived or functioned in the mind of the writer(s) as well as the intended receiving community,14 too much distinction should not be placed between citation and allusion. Nevertheless, it is necessary to classify individual cases according to how each appears. In this study, and the table below, types of “Quotations” (Q1, Q2) and “Citations” (C) are distinguished on literary grounds, in accordance with Stanley Porter’s definition of quotation as “formal correspondence with actual words found in antecedent texts.”15 Types of “Allusions” to the Isaianic text (A1a, A1b, A1c, A1d) are distinguished in accordance with the seven categories proposed by Julie A. Hughes:

14 An approach that attempts to make this distinction explicit was employed by Robert Gordis, “Quotation in Wisdom Literature,” JQR 30 (1939/40): 123–47. 15 Porter, “Use of the Old Testament,” 95.

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Distinguishing Quotations, Citations, and Allusions16 Quotation = Q: (Q1) Appearance of biblical passage with +50% correspondence in lexemes, with citation formulae but without clear delimitation (Q2) Appearance of biblical passage with +50% correspondence in lexemes, and identified with a specific figure or previously known writing Citation = C: Appearance of a biblical passage with +50% correspondence in lexemes, but with no citation formulae Allusion = A: Where there is less than 50% correspondence in lexemes: (A1a) Correspondence with a hapax legomenon in the Isaianic text (A1b) A group of words in a similar syntactical relationship in both passages, occurs in this combination in only one identifiable passage of Isaiah. (A1c) A more commonly occurring phrase but with similarities of meaning or context to one identifiable passage of Isaiah (A1d) Where for A1b or A1c the “one identifiable passage of Isaiah” may constitute a group of passages, if there is some exegetical or other relationship between them that enables them to be viewed as an entity

3. Listing of Citations of and Allusions to “Scriptural” Isaiah In the twenty-seven compositions named above, some 101 cases of quotation, citation or allusion may be identified. Since space constraints preclude an exhastive listing, the pertinent references in the Damascus Document (twelve in CD, together with overlapping material from 4Q266, 4Q267, and 6Q15, for a total of seventeen references in four sources) will be detailed. (All seven categories are featured, except for A1a [correspondence with a hapax legomenon in the Isaianic text, which is rare].) The remaining eighty-four references to Isaiah in the other twenty-four scrolls appear in a list that follows. Liberal reconstruction has generally been avoided, even where relative certainty exists with regards to a text’s appearance. Consequently, where the official editions and other published transcriptions may have reconstructed sections to match the Masoretic Text (MT), a more

16

Adapted from Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis, 50–54, esp. 52–53.

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conservative approach of retaining material gaps is usually taken. Places where the text diverges from the MT are so indicated by large print, and in bold in the accompanying translations.

Ref. +Category CD 1:1 (Isa 51:1, 7) Category: A1c, A1d

1:8–9 (Isa 59:10, 12) Category: A1c

1:20 (Isa 24:5) Category: C

2:14–15 (Isa 51:1) Category: A1b

Quotation, Citation, Allusion

Isaiah Passage (MT)

‫ִשׁ ְמעוּ ֵא ַלי ר ְֹד ֵפי ֶצ ֶדק ְמ ַב ְק ֵשׁי יְ הוָ ה ועתה שמעו כל יודעי צדק‬ ‫ובינו במעשי אל‬ ‫ִשׁ ְמעוּ ֵא ַלי י ְֹד ֵﬠי ֶצ ֶדק‬ “Now listen! All you knowers of righteousness, and perceive the works of God!”

“Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness, seekers of Yahweh!” “Listen to me, you knowers of righteousness!”

‫וּכ ֵאין ֵﬠינַ יִ ם ויבינו בעונם וידעו כי אנשים‬ ְ ‫נְ גַ ְשׁ ָשׁה ַכ ִﬠוְ ִרים ִקיר‬ ‫י־פ ָשׁ ֵﬠינוּ ִא ָתּנוּ וַ ֲﬠוֹנ ֵֹתינוּ אשימים הם ויהיו כעורים‬ ְ ‫נְ גַ ֵשּׁ ָשׁה ִכּ‬ ‫וכימגששים דרך שנים‬ ‫יְ ַד ֲﬠנוּם‬ ‫“ עשרים‬We grope like blind men “And they will fully acknowledge their wrongdoing and will know that they are guilty men. And they were like blind men and like those groping in the way, twenty years.”

‫ויעבירו ברית ויפירו חוק‬ ‫ויגודו על נפש צדיק‬ “So they breached the covenant, and broke the regulation; they conspired against the righteous soul.”

against the wall, and like those who have no eyes we are groping. We stumbled at noon as at twilight, with the healthy as with those who are dying.” “For our transgressions remain with us, and our wrongdoing we fully acknowledge.”

‫י־ﬠ ְברוּ תוֹר ֹת ָח ְלפוּ חֹק ֵה ֵפרוּ‬ ָ ‫ִכּ‬ ‫עוֹלם‬ ָ ‫ְבּ ִרית‬ “Since they transgressed instructions, they altered the regulation; they broke the eternal covenant.”

‫ִשׁ ְמעוּ ֵא ַלי ר ְֹד ֵפי ֶצ ֶדק ְמ ַב ְק ֵשׁי יְ הוָ ה ועתה בנים שמעו לי ואגלה‬ ‫“ עיניכם לראות ולהבין‬Listen to me, you who pursue ‫ במעשי אל‬righteousness, seekers of “And now, sons, listen to Yahweh!” me, and I will uncover your eyes to see, and to perceive the works of God!”

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Table (cont.) Ref. +Category 4:14 (Isa 24:17) Category: Q2 5:13–14 (Isa 50:11; 59:5) 6Q15 2 1–2 (1–100 c.e.) Category: C

5:16 (Isa 27:11) 4Q266 3 ii 4 (ca. early– mid 1st cent. b.c.e.) Category: C

Quotation, Citation, Allusion

Isaiah Passage (MT)

‫יוֹשׁב ָה ָא ֶרץ פחד ופחת ופח עליך יושב‬ ֵ ‫ַפּ ַחד וָ ַפ ַחת וָ ָפח ָﬠ ֶליָך‬ ‫“ הארץ‬Dread and pit and snare upon “Dread and pit and snare upon you, dwellers of the land.”

‫ קדחי אש ומבערי‬17‫כלם‬ ‫זיׄ קות קורי עכביש קוריהם‬ ‫ ביציהם‬18‫וביצי צפעונים‬ “All of them are kindlers of fire, burners of firebrands.” “Their webs are the webs of spiders, and the eggs of adders are their eggs.”

‫כי לא עם בינות הוא‬ “For this is not a people of understanding.”

you, dwellers of the land.”

‫ֵהן ֻכּ ְלּ ֶכם ק ְֹד ֵחי ֵאשׁ ְמ ַאזְּ ֵרי זִ יקוֹת‬ ‫קוּרי ַﬠ ָכּ ִבישׁ‬ ֵ ְ‫יצי ִצ ְפעוֹנִ י ִבּ ֵקּעוּ ו‬ ֵ ‫ֵבּ‬ ‫יהם יָמוּת‬ ֶ ‫יצ‬ ֵ ‫יֶ ֱאר ֹגוּ ָהא ֵֹכל ִמ ֵבּ‬ ‫זּוּרה ִתּ ָבּ ַקע ֶא ְפ ֶﬠה‬ ֶ ‫וְ ַה‬ “See! All of you are kindlers of fire, who arm yourselves with firebrands.” “They hatch the eggs of adders, and the webs of spiders they weave. He who devours their eggs will die, and the crushed egg hatches a viper.”

‫ם־בּינוֹת הוּא‬ ִ ‫ִכּי לֹא ַﬠ‬ “For this is not a people of understanding.”

6:8 ‫מוציא כלי למעשיהו‬ ‫וּמוֹציא ְכ ִלי ְל ַמ ֲﬠ ֵשׂהוּ‬ ִ (Isa 54:16) “The one who brings a tool “And he who brings a tool for Category: Q2 for his labours.” his labour.” 6:16–17 (Isa 10:2) 4Q266 3 ii 21–22 Category: C

17 18

‫ולגזול את עניי עמו להיות‬ ‫וְ ִלגְ זֹל ִמ ְשׁ ַפּט ֲﬠנִ יֵּ י ַﬠ ִמּי ִל ְהיוֹת‬ ‫תוֹמים יָ בֹזּוּ אלמנ֯ ]ו[ת שללם ואת יתומים‬ ִ ְ‫ַא ְל ָמנוֹת ְשׁ ָל ָלם וְ ֶאת־י‬ ‫“ ירצחו‬And to rob justice from the “And lest he not (l. 14) rob poor among my people, to the poor among his people, make widows their booty, and making widows their booty, plundering orphans.” and murdering orphans.”

(‫ )הנה כולם‬1QIsaa 42:12 (‫ )בצי צפעינים‬1QIsaa 48:15.

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Table (cont.) Ref. +Category 7:11–12 (Isa 7:17) Category: Q2

Quotation, Citation, Allusion

‫יבוא עליך ועל עמך ועל בית‬ ‫אביך ימים אשר לא באו‬ ‫מיום סור אפרים מעל יהודה‬ “Days are coming upon you, upon your people and the house of your father that have never come before, since the day that Ephraim turned away from Judah.”

8:5–6 (Isa 58:7) Category: A1b

14:1 (Isa 7:17) 4Q266 9 iii 17–18; 4Q267 9 v 2–4 (ca. late 1st cent. b.c.e.) Category: Q1

Isaiah Passage (MT)

‫ל־ﬠ ְמָּך וְ ַﬠל־‬ ַ ‫ִיָביא יְ הוָ ה ָﬠ ֶליָך וְ ַﬠ‬ ‫א־באוּ‬ ָ ֹ ‫יָמים ֲא ֶשׁר ל‬ ִ ‫ֵבּית ָא ִביָך‬ ‫הוּדה‬ ָ ְ‫סוּר־א ְפ ַריִ ם ֵמ ַﬠל י‬ ֶ ‫ְל ִמיּוֹם‬ “Yahweh will bring upon you, upon your people and the house of your father days that have never come before, not since the day that Ephraim turned away from Judah.”

‫וניטור איש לאחיו ושנוא‬ ‫וּמ ְבּ ָשׂ ְרָך‬ ִ ‫י־ת ְר ֶאה ָﬠר ֹם וְ ִכ ִסּיתוֹ‬ ִ ‫ִכּ‬ ‫איש את רעה ויתעלמו איש‬ ‫לֹא ִת ְת ַﬠ ָלּם‬ ‫“ בשאר בשרו‬When you see a naked man, “Each man begrudged his brother, every one hating his friend; and every man conceals his true self from his closest relatives.”

do you not cover him? And you abstain from concealing yourself from your own relatives?

‫אש ֯ר ֯ד ֯ב ׄר‬ ׄ ‫א־באוּ בבו֯ ]א ה[דבר‬ ָ ֹ ‫יָמים ֲא ֶשׁר ל‬ ִ . . . ‫ִיָביא יְ הוָ ה‬ ‫אשר לא באו מיום‬ ׄ ‫ׄיבוׄ או‬ ‫הוּדה‬ ָ ְ‫סוּר־א ְפ ַריִ ם ֵמ ַﬠל י‬ ֶ ‫ְל ִמיּוֹם‬ 19 ‫מעל יהודה‬ ׄ ‫“ סור א]פ[ ֯רים‬Yahweh will bring . . . days that “When [the] word that he spoke comes to [pass]: ‘These things will come which have not come since the day that Ephraim turned away from Judah.’ ” (cf. 7:11–12)

have never come before, not since the day that Ephraim turned away from Judah.”

19 4Q267 9 v 2. See J. M. Baumgarten with J. H. Charlesworth, L. Novakovic, and H. W. M. Rietz, “Damascus Document,” in PTSDSSP 3:6–185, 98–99; Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” in PTSDSSP 2:4– 57, 56–57. Cf. Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1:572–73; Michael O. Wise, Martin G. Abegg, and Edward Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls, A New Translation (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1999), 71.

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The remaining eighty-four cases of quotation, citation or allusion are listed in three columns, with a solid horizontal line marking content from the next composition or group of compositions.

Reference in NonBiblical Scroll 1QS 1:3–5 3:2 4Q257 3 4 5:17 8:7 4Q259 2 16 (50–25 b.c.e.) 8:14 4Q259 3 5 9:19–20 4Q259 3 17–19 1QSb 5:21–22 5:24–26 1QpHab 6:11–12 (1–68 c.e.) 1QHa 11:8–11 4Q428 4 1–2 (ca. 125–50 b.c.e.) 16:5–6 1QM 11:11–12 3QpIsa 1 1–2 4QpIsaa 2–4 2–3 2–4 6–10 5–6 5–9 8–10 2–3 8–10 11–16 4QpIsab 1 1 1 3–4 2 2–6 2 7–9 3 1–3 38 4QpIsac 2–3 1–4 4–7 i 3 4–7 i 5–8 4–7 i 13–18 4–7 ii 1–3

Isaiah Passage Cited or Alluded to

Quotation, Citation, Allusion

Isa 7:15, 16 Isa 9:4

Q1, A1b A1a

Isa 2:22 Isa 28:16

Q1 A1a

Isa 40:3

Q1

Isa 40:3

A1b

Isa 11:4 Isa 11:4, 2, 5 Isa 13:18

C A1b, A1d C

Isa 21:3; 37:3; 66:7; 9:5

A1c, A1d

Isa 44:3; 41:18; 35:7; 41:19; 60:13 Isa 31:8 Isa 1:1 Isa 10:22 Isa 10:24–27 Isa 10:28–32 Isa 10: 34 Isa 11:1–5 Isa 5:5 Isa 5:6 Isa 5:11–14 Isa 5:24–25 Isa 5:29–30 Isa 6:9 Isa 8:7–9 Isa 9:11 Isa 9:13–16 Isa 9:17–20 Isa 10:12–13

A1b, A1c Q1 C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C

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Table (cont.) Reference in NonBiblical Scroll 4–7 ii 10–13 4–7 ii 19–21 8–10 2–3 8–10 4–7 8–10 11–14 11 ii 1–5 17 1 18–19 2–6 21 1 21 9–15 23 ii 3–9 23 ii 15–19 24 1 25 5–7 26 1 4QpIsad 1 1–4 4QpIsae 1–2 4 31 4 1–3 5 3–5 57 6 2–6 4QFlor 1–2 i 15–16 15 2–3 4QTanh 1–2 i 4–8 1–2 i 9–11 1–2 ii 1–6 3 1–3 4–5 1–4 6–7 1–3 8–11 2–4 8–11 5–12 12–13 2–3 4QCatena A 5–6 2 5–6 5–6 5–6 15 4Q185 1–2 i 10–11 4Q265 1 4–5 4QSM (4Q285) 7 1–2 4Q434 1 i 9 4Q435 1 7–8 4Q437 2 i 8–9 4Q471a 1 8

Isaiah Passage Cited or Alluded to Isa 10:20–22 Isa 10:23, 24 Isa 14:8 Isa 14:26–27 Isa 14:28–30 Isa 19:9–12 Isa 29:15 Isa 29:19–23 Isa 29:17 Isa 30:1–5 Isa 30:15–18 Isa 30:19–21 Isa 30:29 Isa 31:1 Isa 32:5–6 Isa 54:11–12 Isa 40:12 Isa 14:19 Isa 15:4–6 Isa 21:11–15 Isa 21:2 Isa 32:5–7 Isa 8:11 Isa 65:22–23 Isa 40:1–5 Isa 41:8–9 Isa 49:7, 13–17 Isa 43:1–2 Isa 43:4–6 Isa 51:22–23 Isa 52:1–3 Isa 54:4–10 Isa 52:1–2 Isa 37:30 Isa 32:7 Isa 22:13 Isa 40:6–8 Isa 54:1–2 Isa 10:34–11:1 Isa 42:16 49:2 Isa 5:20

Quotation, Citation, Allusion C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C C Q2 C Q2 C C C C C C C C Q2 Q2 C A1b C Q2 C C C

scriptural isaiah in the qumran scrolls

401

Table (cont.) Reference in NonBiblical Scroll 4Q471b 1a–d 2–3 4Q509 275 1 4Q511 30 5 4Q521 2 ii + 4 12 11Q5 19 2 11Q6 4–5 4 11QMelch 2 8–9 2 19–20 2 15–16 2 23

Isaiah Passage Cited or Alluded to

Quotation, Citation, Allusion

Isa 53:3 Isa 10:12 Isa 40:12 Isa 61:1 Isa 38:19

A1b C C A1a A1b

Isa 61:1–2 Isa 52:7 Isa 61:2 Isa 52:7

A1b Q2 Q2 Q2

4. Relationship to the Versions or Hebrew Sources Other than the Proto-Masoretic Text 4.1. Evidence Most citations from Isaiah show extensive agreement with the consonantal MT; however, the difficulty in discerning the textual nature of Vorlagen in various pericopae is compounded by determining whether each is to be classified as a citation or allusion. In the listing in Section 3 above, the process used for making this distinction has been quite liberal, with cases showing at least a 50% convergence in lexemes classified as a form of citation. Nevertheless, for many such cases it seems impossible to establish a textual base in the absence of any clear convergence. It thus seems best to restrict textual analysis to pericopae that have been clearly marked as citations from another text through the employment of a citation formula, or to those texts that are clearly distinguished as textually-based expositions. There seems to be a distinction in the appearance of Scripture that corresponds loosely with the genre or function of a given text. Compositions that exhibit poetic elements (for example, the Hodayot and parts of the Admonition of the Damascus Document) seem to gravitate towards a more allusive approach, whereas more technical texts (notably the pesharim) are more explicit in their use of Scripture.20 Thus, the

20

Jonathan G. Campbell, The Use of Scripture in the Damascus Document 1–8, 19–20 (BZAW 228; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995), 35–41, discusses the difficulty in assessing

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textual bases of Scripture citations have been factored in for only those texts that employ citation formulae, or for the designated, continuous pesharim in 3QpIsa and 4QpIsaa–e. 4.2. Discussion of Examples There are six continuous Isaiah pesharim in the Qumran collection, preserving material from Isa 1:1, 5:5–6:9, 8:7–32:6, 10:22–11:5, 14:19– 32:7, and 54:12. With the lone exception of the last passage from a single fragment of 4QpIsad, the evidence suggests that the surviving Isaiah pesharim are restricted to the first bi-section of Isaiah (chapters 1–33), according to the arrangement of the text in 1QIsaiaha.21 Of the six pesharim, only four preserve enough text from which anything definitive may be said regarding their sources. Among these larger texts, a total of 484 words from citations of scriptural Isaiah have been either fully or partially preserved, according with the text of the MT 90.3% of the time. Differences in the remaining 9.7% are distributed as follows: 4QpIsae (4Q165) shows a divergence from the MT in 3/47 words for a rate of 6.4%; 4QpIsac (4Q164) = 23/275 or 8.4%; 4QpIsaa (4Q162) = 8/67 or 11.8%; and 4QIsab (4Q163) = 13/94 or 13.8%. Some differences show levels of convergence with either the LXX22 or 1QIsaa,23 but was either of these texts (or its Vorlage) the basis for any of the pesharim? Two noteworthy examples of such agreement are in 4QpIsac 23 ii 2–9 (with four clear convergences with the LXX and against the MT), and in the highly fragmentary remains of 4QpIsaa 2–4 10 (where the text has been plausibly reconstructed to reflect the hip‘il imperfect ‫ויעריר‬ in1QIsaa). While none of the Isaiah pesharim may be considered as completely based on the LXX or 1QIsaa, several readings in 4QpIsaa that deviate from the text of MT and closely approximate readings from 1QIsaa indicate that this text (or one very like it) formed the basis of the pesher’s composition.24

the “poetry” in the Admonition. He nevertheless concludes that this text is best read as “rhythmic prose,” a designation first suggest by J. Murphy-O’Connor, “An Essene Missionary Document? CD II,14–IV,1,” RB 77 (1970): 201–29, 203. 21 On the bifurcation of Isaiah, see note 3 above, with bibliographical references. 22 4QpIsab 1 1 (cf. also 1QIsaa); 2 3–4; 4QpIsac 23 ii 2–9; 4QpIsae 1–2 4. 23 4QpIsaa 2–4 6–10; 8–10 11–16; 4QpIsab 1 1 (cf. also LXX); 3 8. 24 But compare Isa 54:16 in CD 6:8, which is identical to the uncorrected text in 1QIsaa 45:15.

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403

There is also evidence for an alternative version of Isaiah in 4QTanhumim (4Q176). Of the fourteen alternative readings preserved in 4QTanh, eight show clear agreement with 1QIsaa against the consonantal MT. These convergences are particularly noteworthy in frgs. 8–11, which contain seven variants in eight lines of text. For example, for Isa 54:7, line 8 reads ‫אלוהיך‬, which agrees with 1QIsaa ‫ אלוהיך‬. . . . (“Yahweh your God”), against the MT which only has ‫( אלוהיך‬without the Tetragrammaton). In addition, passive reflexive forms of the verb ‫ מוט‬are used in both 1QIsaa and in 4QTanh 8–11 12 (plausibly “the hills will be shaken”) at Isa 54:10, as opposed to the qal active form ‫ תמוטנה‬in the MT. The relatively prominent agreement of this text with 1QIsaa supports the notion that the latter (or its parent text) was a prominent version used by the Yahad. Various citation formulae appear in four places in the Damascus Document with reference to scriptural Isaiah, three mentioning Isaiah by name (CD 4:14; 6:8; 7:11–12, see below). While only the first pericope in 4:14 (citing Isa 24:17) is a verbatim match with the consonantal MT, the remaining two citations in 6:8 and 7:11–12 are so close to the consonantal MT that this seems to be the base text, which was only corrected on literary grounds in CD.25 The final citation in CD 14:1 is the only appearance of scriptural Isaiah outside the Admonition, and is introduced by a citation formula that fairly closely approximates that in CD 7:10, but without any mention of Isaiah. While this final example does not show total agreement with the consonantal text of the MT, the changes appear to have been made to suit the surrounding context rather than to reflect an alternative Vorlage. The collected evidence thus suggests that where scriptural Isaiah appears in CD following a citation formula, the text used is a very close approximation of the consonantal MT. Three other texts among the sectarian scrolls employ citation formulae with reference to scriptural Isaiah. Three citations appear in 1QS (1QS 1:2–3; 5:17; 8:14); Isaiah is never mentioned explicitly, most likely because of the global citation formula applied to the entire text: ‫“( כאשר צוה ביד מושה וביד כול עבדיו הנביאים‬according to what he commanded by the hand of Moses and by the hand of all of his

25 On the distinction between “textual criticism” and “literary criticism,” see Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2d rev. ed.; Assen: Van Gorcum; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 313–19.

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servants, the prophets”). This formula is followed by a conflation of terms that allude to Isa 7:15 and 61:8, but it seems impossible to determine an underlying Vorlage. The remaining two citations from 1QS (5:17 and 8:14) are verbatim reflections of the consonantal MT. Two citations from 4QCatena A (frgs. 5–6 2, quoting Isa 37:30; and line 2, quoting Isa 32:7) reflect the consonantal MT exactly, except for a spelling variation that is otherwise unattested. In 11QMelchizedek (11Q13), three citations from Isa 52:7 and 61:2 are found in frg. 2, lines 15–16, 19–20, and 23. The final pericope in line 23 matches the consonantal text of the MT, while there are unattested, albeit minor, alternative readings in lines 15–16 and 19–20 (the definite article instead of ‫ כל‬in the former, and no definite article with ‫ ההרים‬in the latter). For the remaining five referenced citations from scriptural Isaiah (in 1QM 11:11–12, 4QpIsab 1 3–4, 4QFlor 1–2 i 15–16, 4QTanh 1–2 i 4–11 and 4Q285 7 1–2), the text very closely follows the consonantal MT, but for some noteworthy exceptions. In 4Q285 7 1–2, for Isa 10:34 the verb ‫ נקף‬occurs as a pu‘al plural instead of the pi‘el singular found in the MT. Perhaps more significantly, in 4QFlor 1–2 i 15–16 the text of the oracle from Isa 8:11 generally resembles the MT, but whereas the scriptural text credits Yahweh for this word explicitly, ‫כי‬ ‫“( כה אמר יהוה אלי‬for thus has Yahweh said to me . . .”), the Florilegium has replaced this with its own citation formula ‫בספר‬ ׄ ‫אשר כתוב‬ ‫ישעיה הנביא לאחרית ]ה[ימים ויהי‬, “what was written in the book of Isaiah the Prophet concerning [the ]last days: and it shall so happen that. . . .” In so doing, this text situates Isaiah’s words on an equal level with the original utterance of Yahweh, thus reinforcing the permanence of the authority within the scriptural text itself. 4.3. Summary Based on those places in the Qumran corpus that make explicit use of the text of scriptural Isaiah, the following conclusions can be drawn. First, consonantal MT Isaiah may have been the most prevalent text available to the Qumranites, since the majority of individual, clear citations seem to be of the proto-Masoretic type.26 Second, the pesharim, as expositions of Scripture, are best classified as textually-based studies, but none of the individual pesharim conforms entirely with

26

Cf. Brooke, “On Isaiah at Qumran,” 82.

scriptural isaiah in the qumran scrolls

405

any of the extant editions. Finally, despite their general agreement with the consonantal text of the MT, the pesharim include distinctive readings also found in 1QIsaa and LXX Isaiah; in particular, the text found in 1QIsaa (or one very like it) may well have formed the basis of 4QpIsaa. 5. Conclusion This essay has offered a a brief overview of the scriptural Isaiah scrolls, and investigated the use of Isaiah outside “scriptural Isaiah” in the Qumran Scrolls, with reference to twenty-seven manuscripts found at Qumran that are sectarian or otherwise seem to reflect the distinctive ideas of the Qumran group. With reference to the detailed table of quotations, citations and allusions from the Damascus Document, and the list for the other works that refer to Isaiah, seven categories of usage were identified (two of quotation, one of citation, and four of allusion). The 101 cases of quotation, citation or allusion that were identified confirm the importance of the Isaiah Scriptures for the Yahad movement, which is not surprising in view of the large number of copies (twenty-one) of the scriptural book found in the caves at Qumran. The wide range of references are from virtually every part of scriptural Isaiah; the question of whether this was so during the various stages of the Yahad’s history (that is, diachronically) will be addressed in a future study. As regards the relationship between the identified quotations, citations, and allusions from Isaiah to the versions or Hebrew sources other than the Proto-Masoretic text, most show extensive agreement with the consonantal MT, which may thus have been the most prevalent text of Isaiah available to the Qumranites. While none of the individual pesharim conforms entirely with any of the extant editions, there is general agreement with the consonantal text of the MT. 4QpIsaa and 4QpIsac, however, include distinctive readings also found in 1QIsaa and LXX Isaiah; the text found in 1QIsaa (or one very like it) may well have formed the basis of 4QpIsaa. As pointed out in the introduction to this essay, a full treatment of the interpretation of scriptural Isaiah in the Scrolls merits an entire monograph. This essay has laid the groundwork for this eventual goal. My future research program on this topic will include: a complete detailed table of quotations, citations and allusions in works that interpret

406

peter w. flint

Isaiah (including all the quotations, citations and allusions from Isaiah that were only listed above); the appearance of the citation formulae; the quotations, citations and allusions to Isaiah in diachronic perspective; distinctions in uses according to literary genre; the theme and function of the Isaianic text in the sectarian scrolls; imagery drawn from Isaiah Scriptures; and how the book of Isaiah reinforced the selfidentity of the Qumran community).

THE STATUS AND INTERPRETATION OF JUBILEES IN 4Q390* Todd R. Hanneken The study of the book of Jubilees connects several areas of scholarship on Jewish thought and literature in antiquity. The Dead Sea Scrolls cast light on our understanding of Ethiopic Jubilees, and Ethiopic Jubilees casts light on our understanding of the Scrolls. Jubilees witnesses to the growing authority of the Pentateuch, and the ongoing pluriformity of texts. Jubilees can be studied as interpretation, and also as a source for interpretation. This contribution addresses the authority of Jubilees as reflected in the way it is used in 4Q390. Parallels between Jubilees and 4Q390 have long been noted. Careful examination of the parallels indicates that 4Q390 interprets Jubilees as Scripture.1 The two parts of this essay treat two major foundations of this claim. The first is the way 4Q390 continuously adopts language and themes from Jubilees. The second is the way 4Q390 wrestles with the plain sense of the text to fit a different set of beliefs. This creative adaptation does not negate the claim that Jubilees was used as authoritative literature, but rather strengthens it. One measure of a text’s authoritativeness is the attention paid to adapting it to fit new and different meanings.2 This example from 4Q390 has broader implications. It adds to the evidence challenging the use of the category “biblical” in the study of the Scrolls, especially if the category excludes Jubilees. The appreciation of 4Q390 as a form of scriptural interpretation in turn casts light on our understanding of scriptural interpretation in general.

* We are all indebted to James VanderKam for his contributions to these questions, and particularly the connections between them. I am pleased to offer this study in his honor. I am also grateful to Alex Jassen, Michael Segal, Atar Livneh, and others for suggestions, comments, and discussion of the topics addressed in this paper. 1 In order to conform to editorial standards, titles of non-canonical books are distinguished from those of canonical works by italics, and the word “Scripture” is capitalized. It should be clear, however, that these modern conventions are not indicative of the centuries before the Common Era. 2 John Barton, “The Significance of a Fixed Canon of the Hebrew Bible,” in Hebrew Bible / Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, vol. 1 (ed. Magne Sæbø; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 67–83, here 78.

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The present argument does not require a firm stance on the issues of relationship to other fragments, title, chronology, or date. It is legitimate to focus on 4Q390 as a unit of text without committing to any one of the numerous possible ways of characterizing the relationship between 4Q390 and other fragments labeled “Apocryphon of Jeremiah.” Similarly, referring to the text by number aids clarity in comparing the text to Jubilees, an address to Moses, without denying that a similar revelation could have been addressed to Jeremiah.3 The chronology proposed by 4Q390 involves some complexity beyond the scope of the present essay, but it warrants a brief discussion in that all of the likely possibilities support a date of composition of 4Q390 much later than that of Jubilees. The “historical apocalypse” in Jubilees 23 corresponds with the events described in 1 Maccabees, perhaps up through the retreat of Bacchides in 159 b.c.e., but there is strikingly no trace of the high-priesthood of Jonathan starting in 152. Even the latest possible date of composition before the oldest copy, dated by J. T. Milik to the second half of the second century, would still leave plenty of time before 4Q390. While Jubilees predicts an eschatological restoration (such as it is) in the same generation as the Maccabean revolt, 4Q390 allows for 140 years following the revolt, or at least seventy years.4 Eschatological chronologies are usually revised to “correct” unfulfilled predictions and still keep the promise in the

3 In an early study Devorah Dimant called 4Q390 “Pseudo-Moses” and subsequently concluded that 4Q390 is part of a larger composition addressed to Jeremiah. Cana Werman defends Dimant’s earlier judgment, that 4Q390 is an independent work addressed to Moses. See Devorah Dimant, “New Light from Qumran on the Jewish Pseudepigrapha—4Q390,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid 18–21 March, 1991 (ed. Julio Trebolle Barrera and Luis Vegas Montaner; STDJ 11; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 405–48, here 408; D. Dimant, DJD 30:3; and Cana Werman, “Epochs and End-Time: The 490-Year Scheme in Second Temple Literature,” DSD 13 (2006): 229–55, here 243–49. 4 Hanan Eshel favors the interpretation that 4Q390 counts seventy years after the Maccabean revolt, but Eshel also notes the possibility that 140 years should be counted. See Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 26 n. 37, 131. Eshel reads the seven jubilees of the devastation of the land (4Q390 1 7–8) as starting after the seventy years of exile, but admits the problem that the devastation of the land should have started with the exile. If seven jubilees (343 years) preceded the revolt (seven years, 4Q390 2 i 4), and the total chronology is 490 years, then 140 years remain afterwards. If this is the case, seventy of those years are mentioned in 4Q390 2 i 6 as internal strife. Explicit mention of another seventy years would have to be imagined in the unreadable second column. The paleographic dating of 4Q390 allows for 140 years after the Maccabean revolt. Cana Werman reads the periods in the first fragment out of textual order, producing a chronology of 343 years + 70 years + 7 years + 70 years. See Werman, “Epochs and End-Time,” 244–45.

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409

foreseeable future. The “prediction” in 4Q390 suggests a date of composition in the first century, perhaps not long before the one preserved copy, dated from paleography by Devorah Dimant to 30–20 b.c.e.5 Dependence on Jubilees The first part of this essay will characterize the parallels between 4Q390 and Jubilees as sustained and direct dependence. The dependence can be seen in the persistence with which 4Q390 echoes Jubilees (even if they are not all exclusive), the similarity in themes and emphases, and the use of distinctive words and phrases. 4Q390 also contains significant parallels with the Damascus Document, which can be explained as both texts depending on Jubilees. Finally, the case for understanding 4Q390 as directly dependent on Jubilees, rather than influenced by the same milieu or a milieu influenced by Jubilees, will be reinforced by considering external evidence for the status and influence of Jubilees. Many of the parallels between 4Q390 and Jubilees have been noted, but they have not been adequately appreciated or explained.6 It does not do justice to the relationship to include Jubilees in an indiscriminate list of parallels with other Jewish works from antiquity. If one filters the parallels suggested by Dimant to exclude much later works such as 2 Baruch, or parallels of a word or two without context, one would find that the list grows much shorter. Although the Damascus Document also merits discussion, Jubilees is dominant in frequency of parallels throughout 4Q390. Indeed, the following table shows that almost every phrase in 4Q390 could come from a parallel phrase in Jubilees, especially chapters 1 and 23. The discussion is hampered somewhat by the fact that Jubilees is preserved in its entirety only in Ethiopic, and reconstruction of the Hebrew original is by no means trivial. Yet, the dependence is not necessarily word-for-word quotation with grammatical nuances intact, although that sometimes occurs, but in paraphrased language and ideas that are evident even in translation. The table does not alter the translations by Dimant for 4Q390 and 5 Dimant argues for a much earlier date of composition. In DJD 30 she argues for the last quarter of the second century, and later suggests it could have been written around the same time as the Animal Apocalypse (164 b.c.e.). See D. Dimant, DJD 30:115– 16; idem, “Israel’s Subjugation to the Gentiles as an Expression of Demonic Power in Qumran Documents and Related Literature,” RevQ 22 (2006): 373–88, here 388. 6 Dimant, “New Light from Qumran,” 437–439; idem, DJD 30:102–103, 238–243, 246–249.

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James VanderKam for Jubilees, even when the same Hebrew idiom likely underlies different expressions in English.7 Significant portions of Jubilees preserved in the Scrolls are also provided (excluding cases where the Hebrew reconstructed by Milik and VanderKam matches 4Q390). The left column gives 4Q390 in its entirety, other than some stray words at the end, while the right column selects parallels and echoes from Jubilees. Parenthetical comments are italicized, and major differences are in bold face.

4Q390 (Dimant)

Excerpts from Jubilees (VanderKam)

Frg. 1, line 2

[and ]be[fore me and I will deliver them into the control of the a]gain I shall [deliver them nations (1:13) (Other than the crisis of the ]into the hand of the sons of 160s, Jubilees is strongly pro-priest.) Aar[on ] seventy years [ ] 3

And the sons of Aaron will rule over them, and they will not walk [in ]my[ wa]ys,

Do not deliver them into the control of the nations with the result that they rule over them lest they make them sin against you . . . away from every proper path (1:19–20)

which I command you so that 4 you may warn (‫)תעיד‬ them.

For this reason I am commanding you and testifying to you so that you may testify to them (6:38; cf. 1:1)

And they too will do what is evil in my eyes,

all that was on the earth had acted wickedly before his eyes (5:3)

like all that which the Israelites had done 5 in the former days of their kingdom,

(1:11 seems to refer to the pre-exilic period)

except for those who will come first from the land of their captivity to build 6 the Temple.

(Other than Levi, Jubilees never singles out a group within Israel for elite status.)

And I shall speak to them and I shall send them commandments,

I will give you the . . . commandments which I have written so that you may teach them. (1:1)

7 D. Dimant, DJD 30; James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees: A Critical Text (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989).

the status and interpretation of jubilees in 4q390

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Table (cont.) 4Q390 (Dimant)

Excerpts from Jubilees (VanderKam)

and they will understand everything which 7 they and their fathers had abandoned.

They will not listen until they acknowledge their sins and the sins of their ancestors. (1:22) they abandoned my statutes, my commandments (1:10; 23:26)

And from (the time) when that generation comes to an end, in the seventh jubilee 8 of the devastation of the land,

(Although the counting of time with jubilees is fundamental and distinctive to Jubilees, Jubilees never fixes sin or restoration to a predetermined time.)

they will forget statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant.

They will forget all my law, all my commandments, and all my verdicts. They will err (4Q216: [‫ושכ]חו‬, forget) regarding the beginning of the month, the sabbath, the festival, the jubilee, and the decree. (1:14, cf. 1:10; 6:37; 23:19)

And they will violate everything and they will do 9 what is evil in my eyes.

They will abrogate everything and will begin to do evil in my presence (literally: what is evil in my eyes, ‫ ‬בעיני‬in 4Q216). (1:12)

Therefore I shall hide my face from them and deliver them into the hands of their enemies, ‫והסתרתי פני מהמה‬

Then I will hide my face from them. I will deliver them into the control of the nations, ‫ונת]תי אותם ביד הגוי[ ֯ם‬ ֯ ‫ואסתי֯ ]ר פנ[י֯ מהם‬ (1:13; 4Q216; “enemy” in 1:10)

‫ונתתים ביד איביהם‬ and [I] shall deliver [them up] 10 to the sword.

He will deliver them to the sword (23:22)

But I shall leave among them refugees (‫)פליטים‬,

(Jubilees never describes a remnant within Israel. For possible ironic allusions to a remnant, see 21:25 [all Israel is the “remnant” of Isaac] and 23:21 [those who escape are wicked])

s[o] that [t]he[y] should not be an[nihi]lated in my wrath[ and] when [my ]fa[ce ]is hidden 11 from them.

so that they may [not] be destroyed from your presence. (1:20)

And the Angels of Mas[te]mot will rule over them,

May the spirits of Mastema not rule over you and your descendants to remove you from following the Lord who is your God from now and forever. (19:28) (Mastema is a distinctive term in Jubilees, but Mastema never rules over Israel. God alone rules Israel [15:32].)

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Table (cont.) 4Q390 (Dimant)

Excerpts from Jubilees (VanderKam)

and[ I shall ]sp[urn them and they] will return 12 to do [wh]at is evil

Those who escape will not turn from their wickedness to the right way (23:21)

in[ my ]eyes, and they will walk in the will[fulness of their heart ]

following their eyes and their hearts (20:4)

Frg. 2 Col. i, line 2 [and my ]house[ They will defile the holy of holies with the and my altar and th]e Holy of impure corruption of their contamination. Ho[lies ] 3 so it was done [ ] (23:21)

for these things will befall them[ ]

So it will be that when all of these things befall them (1:6)

and[ there ]will be 4 the rule of Belial over them

May the spirit of Belial not rule over them (1:20)

so as to deliver them to the sword

He will deliver them to the sword (23:22)

for a week of years[ and ]in (see above; Jubilees never fixes sin or that jubilee restoration to a predetermined time) they will be 5 violating all my statues and all my commandments which I shall have commanded th[em and

For they will forget all my commandments— everything that I command them . . . they abandoned my statutes, my commandments (1:9, 10)

sent in the ha]nd of my servants, the prophets.

I will send witnesses to them so that I may testify to them (1:12, in context the witnesses are prophets, but prophets are not lawgivers in Jubilees. See 4Q390 1 6 || 4Q216 II 12, ‫ואשלחה אל֯ ]יהם[ || ואשלחה אליהם מצוה‬ ‫)עדים‬

6 And[ t]he[y ]will be[gi]n to quarrel among themselves

One group will struggle with another . . . regarding the law and the covenant. (23:19)

for seventy years,

(see above; Jubilees never fixes sin or restoration to a predetermined time)

from the day of the violation of the[ oath and the ] covenant which they will have violated.

a covenant—accompanied by an oath—with the Israelites during this month (6:11)

the status and interpretation of jubilees in 4q390

413

Table (cont.) 4Q390 (Dimant)

Excerpts from Jubilees (VanderKam)

So I shall deliver them 7 [into I will deliver them into the control of the the hand of the An]gels of nations . . . with the result that they rule over Mastemot, and they will rule them. (1:13, 19; 23:22–23) over them. And they will not know and they will not understand

They will recognize that I have been more faithful than they in all their judgments and in all their actions. They will recognize that I have indeed been with them. (1:6) They will know that the Lord is one who executes judgment but shows kindness to hundreds and thousands and to all who love him. (23:31)

that I was angry with them because of their trespass, 8 [by which they will have for]saken me,

Then there will be great anger from the Lord against the Israelites because they neglected his covenant, departed . . . provoked . . . blasphemed . . . did not perform. (15:34)

and will have done what is evil in my eyes, and what I did not want they will have chosen:

(see above, 4Q390 1 8–9)

to pursue wealth and gain (‫ )בצע‬9 [and violence, ea]ch robbing that which belongs to his neigh[b]our, and oppressing each other. They will defile my Temple,

for (the purpose of ) cheating and through wealth so that one takes everything that belongs to another. . . . They will defile the holy of holies (23:21)

10

[they will profane my sabbaths,] they will for[ge]t my[ fes]tivals,

(see above, 4Q390 1 8)

and with fo[reign]ers [t]he[y ]will profane their offspr[ing].

The man who has defiled his daughter [with intermarriage] within all of Israel is to be eradicated because he has given one of his descendants to Molech and has sinned by defiling them . . . defile the Lord’s sanctuary and . . . profane his holy name. (30:10, 15)

Their priests will commit violence 11 [ ] [ ] and the 12 [ ]their sons

much blood is shed on the earth by each group (23:20)

Frg. 2 Col. ii

[very fragmentary]

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Not all of the parallels match the idiom perfectly, and the parallel is not always exclusive. That is, in some cases 4Q390 could just as easily have taken the phrase from Ezekiel, Psalms, Deuteronomy, or some other authoritative work, just as Jubilees itself presumably did. However, no such source recurs in 4Q390 with as much context or with the same frequency as Jubilees. This is not to say 4Q390 interprets Jubilees and not other sources. Rather, 4Q390 interprets Jubilees among other sources in a process of mutual illumination. It should also be noted that the parallels are not sequential. 4Q390 is not a continuous reworking of Jubilees. Rather, the language and ideas are thoroughly mixed around in the mind of an author producing a new text. The fact that the language and themes are so internalized, not recycled in a linear, perfunctory way, supports the claim that Jubilees was received and used as authoritative Scripture. 4Q390 does not interpret only Jubilees, it interprets Scripture, among which Jubilees is integral and key. The most interesting parallels go beyond a distinctive word or phrase, to a major theme or idea. For example, 4Q390 1 3–4 echoes a major theme in Jubilees, the theme of testimony and warning, as discussed by James Kugel.8 . . . which I command you so that 4 you may warn (‫תעיד‬, testify to) them. (4Q390 1 3–4) For this reason I am commanding you and testifying to you so that you may testify to them. (Jub. 6:38; cf. 1:1)

The terms “testify” and “testimony” appear thirty-eight times in VanderKam’s translation. It is clear from the Qumran fragments that the underlying Hebrew uses the same root as ‫ תעיד‬in 4Q390.9 A similar notion of warning appears in Ezekiel 3, but with a different verb, ‫להזהיר‬. Also, 4Q390 twice mentions forgetting festivals. . . . they will forget statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant. (4Q390 1 8) . . . [they will profane my sabbaths,] they will for[ge]t my[ fes]tivals . . . (4Q390 2 i 10) They will forget all my law, all my commandments, and all my verdicts. They will err (4Q216: [‫ושכ]חו‬, forget) regarding the beginning of the

8 9

James L. Kugel, “The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 (1994): 322–37, here 328–31. ‫ תעודה‬in 4Q216 II 5; IV 4; VII 17.

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month, the sabbath, the festival, the jubilee, and the decree. (Jub. 1:14, cf. 1:10; 6:37; 23:19)

Forgetting commandments is ubiquitous, but Jubilees is at the forefront of the explicit argument that the 364-day calendar is a legal requirement of the covenant, and that celebrating a festival on the wrong day is as bad as not celebrating the festival at all. In this case it may be possible that 4Q390 depends on another text that in turn depends on Jubilees or the same calendrical crisis. Even here it can be said, as developed below, that among the texts known to be authoritative based on the evidence found at Qumran, none is more likely the source of this idea than Jubilees. Another distinctive idea is the connection between intermarriage and defiling the sanctuary, specifically through the interpretation of “giving offspring to Molech” in Leviticus as intermarriage. Although Jubilees is distinctive in persistently and emphatically condemning exogamy, it hardly stands alone in the inclusion of this general idea. A slightly more specific claim that foreigners and sexual relations with foreigners are defiling could come from Ezek 23:30 or Ezra 9:11, and perhaps Jubilees was partially influenced by these verses. However, the central argument for Jubilees is the interpretation of Leviticus. I myself will set my face against them, and will cut them off from the people, because they have given of their offspring (‫ ) ִמזַּ רעוֹ‬to Molech, defiling my sanctuary (‫ת־מ ְק ָדּ ִשׁי‬ ִ ‫ ) ַט ֵמּא ֶא‬and profaning (‫וּל ַח ֵלּל‬ ְ ) my holy name. (Leviticus 20:3, see also 18:21)

Jubilees also drew from the context of illicit unions in Lev 21:15, where a priest profanes his offspring (‫ )יְ ַח ֵלּל זַ ְרעוֹ‬if he marries a non-virgin.10 The main innovation in Jubilees is to understand “giving offspring to Molech” as intermarrying with foreigners, and thus concluding that intermarriage defiles the sanctuary.11

10 Ezekiel 23:37–39 would appear to support the modern interpretation that immolating children is what defiles the sanctuary. Perhaps, if this passage was also in mind, the author of Jubilees understood “causing children to pass over to idols for food” as “giving children in marriage to idolaters for destruction.” 11 A similar interpretation, as a prohibition against impregnating a foreign woman, appears in rabbinic sources, m. Meg. 4:9, b. Meg. 25a. James L. Kugel, “On the Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees,” RevQ 24 (2009): 215–272, here 268. Géza Vermès, “Leviticus 18:21 in Ancient Jewish Bible Exegesis,” in Studies in Aggadah, Targum and Jewish Liturgy in Memory of Joseph Heinemann (ed. Jakob J. Petuchowski and Ezra Fleischer; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1981), 108–124.

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todd r. hanneken The man who has defiled his daughter [with intermarriage] within all of Israel is to be eradicated because he has given one of his descendants to Molech and has sinned by defiling them. . . . defile the Lord’s sanctuary and . . . profane his holy name. (Jub. 30:10, 15)

4Q390 not only associates defiling the sanctuary and intermarriage in the same context, it uses specific language that depends on Jubilees’ interpretation of Leviticus. They will defile my sanctuary12 (‫)את מקדשי יטמאו‬, [they will profane my sabbaths,] they will for[ge]t my[ fes]tivals, and with fo[reign]ers [t]he[y ]will profane their offspr[ing] (‫)ובבני] נכר [י֯ ֯ח ̇ל ̇ל]ו [ ֯את זר]ע[ם‬. (4Q390 2 i 9–10)

The language of profaning offspring and the context of defiling the sanctuary evoke Leviticus, but “with foreigners” (partially reconstructed) reflects the interpretation found in Jubilees. The fact that 4Q390 does not mention Molech implies that it depends on the interpretation, rather than argues for the interpretation. Jubilees makes the argument more explicitly. The broader list of sins shows that Jubilees is central, but not exclusive, as a source for 4Q390. The sins match emphases in Jubilees, but several could have been culled from the book of Ezekiel as a whole.13 Ezekiel 23:37–39 in particular may be on the interpretive horizon, since it associates immolating children (perhaps understood as intermarriage) with profaning the Sabbath as well as defiling the sanctuary, as in 4Q390 (reconstructed). Jubilees is an essential ingredient in 4Q390 for forgetting festivals, and the interpretation of intermarriage. Yet, the point is not that 4Q390 interprets Jubilees and not Leviticus or Ezekiel. The point is that 4Q390 uses Jubilees as the key for understanding Leviticus and Ezekiel. 4Q390 accepts without further argument the meaning of Leviticus as proposed by Jubilees, and the major lessons of Ezekiel as emphasized (and supplemented) by Jubilees. As the next section will explore further, the use of Jubilees in 4Q390 does not distinguish it from Scripture, but rather places it in the category

12

Dimant translates “Temple.” For example, both of the words “wealth” (‫ )הון‬and “cheating” (‫ )בצע‬are found in Ezekiel, but not in proximity, as they are in Jub. 23:21 (Hebrew not preserved). The pair is not as generic as it may first appear. Besides 4Q390, it appears only in sectarian literature, which also could have been influenced by Jubilees. See below for the probability that 4Q390 shared a common influence with, but was not influenced by, the sectarian literature. 13

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of Scripture, a category in which any member can be taken as the key to understanding any other member. Some of the more obvious parallels indicate dependence, but not necessarily direct dependence. Jubilees is original in its use of the term “Mastema” for a cosmic figure, and “jubilee” for a period of history, although the words already appeared in Hosea and Leviticus, respectively. As I have argued elsewhere, Jubilees does not adopt Mastema as a synonym for Satan, but introduces the term to discuss a figure that resembles Satan at first glance, but subverts the typical function of that figure.14 The originality of the use of the term in Jubilees is confirmed by empirical evidence, as other attestations of the term Mastema appear in texts that certainly or probably post-date Jubilees.15 4Q390 depends on the sense of the term “Mastema” as a cosmic figure in fragment 1 line 11 and fragment 2 line 7, “the Angels of Mastemot.” The most obvious adaptation is that 4Q390 uses a construct double plural, perhaps reflecting the belief that the present world is dominated by a multitude of evil cosmic forces, contrary to the simple sense of Jubilees, as discussed in the following section.16 It may indeed be the case that ‫ משטמות‬is a common noun in this phrase, better translated “Angels of Loathings.”17 But even so, it is part of title that refers to a particular class of cosmic beings. The translation “Angels of Mastemot” is preferable because it preserves the allusiveness of the noun.18 Although this use of the term can be traced to Jubilees, it does not follow from this point alone that 4Q390 uses Jubilees directly, since the term becomes reasonably common in the decades following the composition of Jubilees.

14 Todd R. Hanneken, “The Book of Jubilees Among the Apocalypses” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2008), 287–88. Online: http://etd.nd.edu/ETD-db/theses/ available/etd-06302008–112007. 15 Kugel (“Interpolations in Jubilees,” 221) also rejects the possibility that Mastema (as a name) in Jubilees depends on earlier sources. 16 There is also an innovation in the term “angel,” whereas Jubilees uses the title “prince” and mentions Mastema in the heavenly court without explicitly calling Mastema an angel. 17 So Kugel, “Interpolations in Jubilees,” 221 n. 11. Kugel suggests lowercase letters, but context supports capitalization for a title of a specific class of cosmic beings. 18 Indeed, even in Jubilees one could question whether Mastema is necessarily a proper noun. The point here is not so much whether it is a proper or common noun, but whether it refers to a cosmic entity. In Hos 9:7–8 it is a human attribute; in Jubilees and following texts it becomes cosmic, often associated with Belial. See further Hanneken, “The Book of Jubilees Among the Apocalypses,” 286–89; James C. VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 266.

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Similarly, counting history in jubilee periods is a major and original feature of Jubilees. Leviticus uses the term for a year of release and return, not a period of history. Jubilees is not the first heptadic chronology, but it is the first to relate history in jubilee periods.19 Again, this originality is more than an accident of preservation. The term “jubilee” is not only frequent in Jubilees, it is fundamental to the chronological structure of the book. Jubilees understands the exodus and conquest as release and return in the fiftieth period of history since creation, adapted from Leviticus 25.20 4Q390 depends on the idea of a jubilee as a period of history in fragment 1 line 7 and fragment 2 line 4. Again, there is an adaptation in the usage, to be addressed in the second section. Another formal parallel is worth mentioning, even if it alone is not distinctive. 4Q390 and Jubilees, particularly chapter 1, both follow the form of heavenly direct address in the first person (God in 4Q390 and Jubilees 1, an angel in the rest of Jubilees) to a transmitter of law and testimony in the second person. The strong correlation between 4Q390 and Jubilees can be seen from the persistence with which 4Q390 echoes Jubilees, the shared major themes, and the overlap in distinctive formal features. Individual phrases could also have come from an older authority, but no other single text echoes as strongly through 4Q390 as Jubilees. The closest competition for this claim is the Damascus Document. The parallels are best explained if the Damascus Document and 4Q390 made use 19 James C. VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998), 91–109; idem, “Studies in the Chronology of the Book of Jubilees,” in From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 522–44, here 522–28, translated from “Das chronologische Konzept des Jubiläenbuches,” ZAW 107 (1995): 80–100. Daniel 9 is a good example of a heptadic chronology that would have been compatible with counting in jubilee periods if the idea had been known, which makes it all the more striking that it is not mentioned. 11QMelchizedek and the Testament of Levi are later than Jubilees. The Testament of Moses is also later, and raises the further question of whether the jubilee period should have been 49 years or 50 years. Even if the word ‘jubilee’ could have been understood as a period of history prior to the composition of Jubilees, it could still be an innovation to count the period as forty-nine years—thus adapting it to fit heptadic chronology—rather than fifty, which may have been the more obvious implication of Leviticus 25. For the claim that the jubilee period was fifty years in sources before Jubilees see Devorah Dimant, “The Biography of Enoch and the Books of Enoch,” VT 33 (1983): 14–29, here 21. For an alternative explanation of Jub. 4:21, see Hanneken, “The Book of Jubilees Among the Apocalypses,” 130–32. 20 VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls, 102; idem, “Studies in the Chronology of the Book of Jubilees,” 540–43.

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of Jubilees. One alternative possibility is that 4Q390 depends on the Damascus Document, but if the author held the Damascus Document as authoritative, one might expect some allusion to the Teacher of Righteousness or distinctive sectarian terminology. Most scholars recognize that 4Q390 does not come from the sect described by the Damascus Document, even if some similarities suggest a proximity of some sort.21 It is neither possible nor necessary to rule out the probability that the interpretation of Jubilees in 4Q390 is influenced in some small way by the Damascus Document. It is unlikely that the Damascus Document depends on 4Q390, given the date of the oldest manuscript and other indicators of the date of composition. It is clear enough that the Damascus Document depends on Jubilees. The most famous example is column 16, which cites Jubilees by its ancient title, “the book of the Divisions of the Times into Their Jubilees and Weeks.” In the same context the Damascus Document elaborates on the distinctive themes of Mastema and the immunity from Mastema learned by Abraham, namely circumcision as the marker of protection from demons, and the related protection of studying the Law of Moses. Also, column 2 of the Damascus Document seems to depend on Jubilees 2 for the idea that God elected the chosen people from the beginning of creation. The claim in column 10 that knowledge departs at age sixty fits Jubilees 23 particularly well. There is one scholar who claims that the Damascus Document does not depend on Jubilees. It is certainly significant that this scholar is the DJD editor of 4Q390, Devorah Dimant.22 Dimant’s understanding of “dependence” is unusually narrow. Consequently, one should take it with a grain of salt that Dimant does not identify 4Q390 as particularly dependent on Jubilees. Dimant does discuss the parallels between 4Q390 and the sectarian literature, and she suggests a little too vaguely, “it may

21

D. Dimant, DJD 30:112; idem, “Israel’s Subjugation.” The exception is Werman, but she defines the category “Qumran community” as a broad plurality of groups that also produced the Animal Apocalypse and Jubilees. She explains the lack of reference to the sect in Jubilees and 4Q390 as the result of being addressed to an outside audience. See Werman, “Epochs and End-Time.” See also Cana Werman, “The Book of Jubilees and the Qumran Community,” Meghillot 2 (2004): 37–55 [Hebrew]; idem, “The Eschaton in Second Temple Literature,” Tarbiz 72 (2003): 37–57 [Hebrew]. 22 Devorah Dimant, “Two ‘Scientific’ Fictions: The So-Called Book of Noah and the Alleged Quotation of Jubilees in CD 16:3–4,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint: Essays Presented to Eugene Ulrich on the Occasion of his SixtyFifth Birthday (ed. Peter W. Flint, et al.; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 230–49, here 242–48.

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be assumed that both drew on the same tradition or on a biblicizing composition.”23 The evidence examined in this essay suggests that the biblicizing composition in question is none other than the book of Jubilees. More can be said in support of the suggestion that 4Q390 depends directly on Jubilees, and not the same intellectual milieu, or a hypothetical intermediate document. Copious evidence outside 4Q390 indicates that Jubilees was highly authoritative at Qumran, and additional evidence suggests that some of that authority extended to larger, not strictly sectarian, circles. First, the number of copies of Jubilees found at Qumran is surpassed only by Psalms, Deuteronomy, Isaiah, Genesis, and Exodus.24 In addition to these, numerous texts bear enough resemblance to Jubilees that they were labeled Pseudo-Jubilees (4Q225–227). Imitation and re-working may be an even greater indicator of a text’s authority than additional copies. Among works not canonical in rabbinic Judaism, Jubilees also has the rare distinction of apparently being cited as Scripture (that is, 4Q228 1 i 9, ‫כי כן֯ ֯כתוב‬ ‫)במחלקות‬.25 Besides the aforementioned citation in the Damascus Document, the ancient title “Divisions of the Times” also appears in 4Q384, a text originally grouped with 4Q390 but identified by Dimant as Jeremiah Apocryphon “B” rather than “C.” This does not exhaust

23 D. Dimant, DJD 30:103. Similarly, Tamási suggests a “Levite tradition” as the source of parallels between CD, ALD, Jubilees, and 4Q390. On the issue of forgetting festivals, Tamási suggests that CD and 4Q390 depended on “the original source of Jubilees.” See Balázs Tamási, “Prophesized History of the Postexilic Period and Polemics against Priests in 4Q390 from Qumran: Levite Authorship behind the Fragments?” in With Wisdom as a Robe: Qumran and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Ida Fröhlich (ed. Karoly Daniel Dobos and Miklos Koszeghy; Hebrew Bible Monographs 21; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2008), 310–28, here 320, 328. A virtually identical article with the same title appeared in Henoch 31/2 (2009). 24 Milik counted 15 copies of Jubilees including 4Q217, which VanderKam excluded to count 14. See James C. VanderKam, “The Jubilees Fragments from Qumran Cave 4,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid, 18–21 March, 1991 (ed. Julio C. Trebolle Barrera and Luis Vegas Montaner; STDJ 12; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 635–48, here 640, 648. The latest counts for other Hebrew texts found at Qumran are 35–37 for Psalms, 28–30 for Deuteronomy, 21 for Isaiah, 20–21 for Genesis, and 16 for Exodus. 25 Line 1 of the same fragment, partially reconstructed, uses the ancient title of the book of Jubilees, ‫]במחל[ ֯ק]ו[ ̇ת העתים‬. Other language in the fragment is reminiscent of Jubilees. See VanderKam, “The Jubilees Fragments from Qumran Cave 4,” 644; J. VanderKam and J. Milik, DJD 13:178; James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402, here 393.

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the catalog of the influence of Jubilees among the Scrolls, which will likely grow with additional study.26 It is slightly more difficult to gauge the influence of Jubilees outside the narrow confines of the sectarian literature. Cana Werman has even argued that Jubilees itself is a sectarian composition.27 If that were the case, however, Jubilees would be the only sectarian composition preserved and used by a scribal tradition outside the sect. As VanderKam has suggested, the canonical status of Jubilees in Ethiopic Christianity likely reflects a judgment by an ancient Jewish community.28 Other Christians stopped short of treating Jubilees as canonical, but the text was at least known to a wide circle of Syriac, Greek, and Latin speaking Christians. A Hebrew copy found its way to the medieval Asaph the physician by unknown channels.29 Even if Jubilees was less authoritative in circles distant from Qumran, the circle of 4Q390 is not distant from Qumran, as indicated by the copy found at Qumran and other similarities discussed in the next section of this essay. External evidence indicates that Jubilees was authoritative in the world around 4Q390, and internal evidence indicates that 4Q390 dwells on Jubilees from beginning to end, adopting language, style, and some ideas. This close and persistent use of authoritative literature brings us to the category of interpretation. The case for identifying

26 Expanding on an observation made by VanderKam, Shemesh argues that 4Q265 is a rewriting of Jubilees (the connection between Leviticus 12 and Eden) and concludes that Jubilees had canonical status at Qumran. Shemesh also points to Jub. 22:16–22 as a source for 1QS 5, and to Jub. 2:29 and 50:8 as sources for the Sabbath halakha in 4Q251 11 3 and CD 11:1–2. See Aharon Shemesh, “4Q265 and the Authoritative Status of Jubilees at Qumran,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 247– 60. Cf. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature”; idem, “Questions of Canon Viewed Through the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Canon Debate (ed. Lee Martin McDonald and James A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 91–109, here 106. See also Joseph M. Baumgarten, “Purification after Childbirth and the Sacred Garden in 4Q265 and Jubilees,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992 (ed. George J. Brooke and Florentino García Martínez; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 3–10; Charlotte Hempel, “The Place of The Book of Jubilees at Qumran and Beyond,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their Historical Context (ed. Timothy H. Lim; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 187–196. 27 Werman, “Jubilees and the Qumran Community,” 37–55 [Hebrew]. See note 21 above. 28 VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature,” 400. 29 For a discussion of the evidence that Asaph depends on a Hebrew copy of Jubilees (rather than a source or translation of Jubilees) see Michael Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 171–74.

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4Q390 as interpretation of Jubilees is strengthened by the tension between the simple sense of Jubilees and the use to which it is put in 4Q390. Simply put, the authority of Jubilees for the author of 4Q390 is evident not only in the extent to which the author adopts Jubilees as it stands, but in the extent to which the author insists that the text concords with the author’s own ideas, contrary to the simple sense. As John Barton has discussed, the need for interpretation is a hallmark of Scripture.30 Deviation from Jubilees The first major way that 4Q390 adapts the simple sense of Jubilees pertains to the issue of angels ruling over Israel. 4Q390 follows Jubilees three times almost verbatim for the image of angels of Mastema or Belial ruling over Israel. And the Angels of Mas[te]mot will rule over them . . . (4Q390 1 11) May the spirits of Mastema not rule over you and your descendants to remove you from following the Lord who is your God from now and forever. (Jub. 19:28, emphasis mine) . . . and[ there ]will be the rule of Belial over them . . . (4Q390 2 i 3–4) May the spirit of Belial not rule over them . . . (Jub. 1:20, emphasis mine) So I shall deliver them [into the hand of the An]gels of Mastemot, and they will rule over them. (4Q390 2 i 6–7) I will deliver them into the control of the nations . . . with the result that they rule over them. (Jub. 1:13, 19; 23:22–23, emphasis mine)

The biggest difference in the first two examples is that Jubilees has in the middle the word “not,” which changes the meaning entirely. It is not simply the case that different grammatical constructions apply to different points in the narrative. Jubilees does not imply that direct rule by God is merely wishful thinking or the exception. Jubilees allows that individuals and even a whole generation can sin, but chastisement and repentance occurs between God and Israel with no angelic outsourcing. Jubilees never compromises on the principle in chapter 15, [God] made spirits rule over all [the nations] in order to lead them astray from following him. But over Israel he made no angel or spirit

30

Barton, “Significance of a Fixed Canon,” 78.

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rule because he alone is their ruler. He will guard them and require them for himself from his angels, his spirits, and everyone, and all his powers so that he may guard them and bless them and so that they may be his and he theirs from now and forever. (Jub. 15:31–32, emphasis mine)

Jubilees 10 accounts for the existence of demons, but rather than dominating and afflicting the righteous, they are diminished and restricted to punishing the wicked Gentiles. Israelites can be in danger in as much as they may be tempted to join with Gentiles, but the righteous who study the sacred books have immunity. The absence of angelic agency is especially striking in Jubilees 23, where one would expect angelic rule, conflict, and judgment to appear in the eschatological climax of a historical apocalypse. In fact, angels never appear in the chapter, and accusers or satans are mentioned only as being absent. Elsewhere in the book, Mastema is more a parody of an evil ruler who afflicts Israel. Mastema takes on unbecoming functions attributed to God in Genesis-Exodus, such as proposing a test that Abraham sacrifice Isaac. In each case, Mastema never claims any victory, only immediate shame.31 For example, the folly of the Egyptians is attributed to Mastema, but successful evil, such as throwing babies into the Nile, is not attributed to Mastema. In general, Jubilees rejects the view of the world as corrupt, ruled by evil powers, and in need of radical divine intervention. 4Q390 takes the opposite view. One might expect a text like 4Q390 not to use a text with such a different tone. The fact that 4Q390 uses it anyway, and projects onto it a view of the world at odds with the simple sense, even while borrowing the same literary formulae, indicates the status of Jubilees as a received authority. This relationship is more than simply dependence on a source, as could be said of less tendentious borrowed language and even whole copies. It is the relationship of interpretation and that which requires interpretation, which partly defines the category “Scripture.” A second area in which the pessimistic view in 4Q390 clashes with the optimistic view in Jubilees is the view of the priesthood and the temple. From the top of fragment 1 we learn that Israel is delivered into the hands of the sons of Aaron, to rule over them. The language here parallels three other instances in which Israel is handed over to or ruled over by the angels of Mastemot and Belial. The view of the

31 Todd R. Hanneken, “Angels and Demons in the Book of Jubilees and Contemporary Apocalypses,” Henoch 28/2 (2006): 11–25, here 20.

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Second Temple priesthood is certainly negative, although the polemic should not be overstated.32 Similarly, the temple, though originally built by good people, becomes corrupt and seems to remain so for an extended period of time, from the top to the bottom of fragment 2. In Jubilees the view of the priesthood is overwhelmingly positive. The apostate priests and defiled sanctuary of the 160s are exceptional and temporary.33 The praise of Levi spans three chapters from 30 to 32 and goes to the extreme of overkill with six arguments for the elevation of Levi.34 This is in addition to references throughout the book, such as the hierarchy of three types of angels created on the first day to mirror the hierarchy of Levites, Israel, and other nations (Jub. 2:2, 18–19; 15:31; 30:18). There is no suggestion that some Levites will be wicked. The praise of Levi without mention of Aaron fits with the emphasis on unity in Jubilees, not an anachronistic polemic between Levites and Aaronides.35 The praise of Levi is amplified with language of eternality, without eschatological reform. It is possible that an interpreter saw the positive view in Jubilees as the original plan that later became corrupted, but the simple sense of Jubilees leaves no suggestion that the teaching and cultic authority of the Levites will disintegrate. Similarly, Jubilees has a very positive view of the temple, with no indication that there would be anything wrong with it other than the crisis of the 160s b.c.e.36 32 Hanan Eshel views the priests as singled-out for condemnation, but it could be that all Israel sins under the rule of the priests. The time when Israel is ruled by priests could be a relatively neutral way of describing the Second Temple period, without implying that all sons of Aaron are inherently evil. See Hanan Eshel, Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, 22, 24, 26. See also Werman, “Epochs and End-Time,” 248–49. 33 Jubilees refers to a generation of warring and corrupt claimants to the high priesthood, “They will mention the great name but neither truly nor rightly. They will defile the holy of holies with the impure corruption of their contamination” (Jub. 23:21). This chapter emphasizes, however, that this would occur for only one generation (Jub. 23:14, 15, 16, 22) before divine punishment and human repentance would reverse the situation. 34 Hanneken, “The Book of Jubilees Among the Apocalypses,” 499–505. 35 The battles between priestly families that raged in the First Temple period through the early Second Temple period were not the same battles that raged in the late Second Temple period. Starting with Chronicles, the status of the Levites was established enough that one could say positive things about Levites without being anti-Aaronide or anti-Zadokite. For a different view, that 4Q390 opposes the Aaronides and therefore was written by a Levite, see Tamási, “Polemics against Priests in 4Q390,” 310–28. 36 Hanneken, “The Book of Jubilees Among the Apocalypses,” 429–30. This is not to deny that Jubilees still imagined a more perfect, ideal functioning of the temple in the future.

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A third area concerns the unity of Israel in general. For this point it is necessary to distinguish two senses of the word “sectarian.” The first sense is belonging to the particular family of sects described with distinct terminology among the Dead Sea Scrolls. The second sense is a broader quality of rejecting the unity of Israel in favor of a small group that differs from everyone else in knowledge and eschatological vindication. 4Q390 does not reflect the specific history and language of the Damascus Document, but it does reflect the broader sense of rejection of most of Israel. Besides the aforementioned disparaging of the ruling priesthood, 4Q390 first reflects the view that the righteous are exceptional: And they too will do what is evil in my eyes, like all that which the Israelites had done in the former days of their kingdom, except for those who will come first from the land of their captivity to build the Temple. (4Q390 1 4–6)

These few are characterized by reception of commandments and understanding that distinguish them from the rest of Israel (4Q390 1 6). The majority persists in ignorance with no hope of return (4Q390 2 i 7). Most of Israel is given over to annihilation, while only a remnant is separated: “But I shall leave among them refugees so that they should not be annihilated in my wrath and when my face is hidden from them” (4Q390 1 10). The permanent rejection and rule by Mastema that Jubilees applied to foreign nations applies to most of Israel in 4Q390. Jubilees frequently emphasizes the permanent election of all of Israel, from the first week of creation through eternity. Other than the elevation of Levi, no divisions within Israel are imagined. As Martha Himmelfarb observed, sin in Jubilees is not sectarian but generational.37 Indeed, more often it is personal. Jubilees might be called protosectarian in some respects. Some of the positions defended strongly in Jubilees, such as the solar calendar, went on to be rejected in the forms of Judaism that retained dominance. Jubilees also maintains the threat, at least on the issue of circumcision, that Jews can forfeit their divine protection and even their status as Jews, which could have serious sectarian implications.38 Even if the author was naïve about some

37 Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 81–83. 38 In particular, Jub. 15:26 defines two groups (included in and excluded from the covenant), and suggests that one can forfeit inclusion, “Anyone who is born, the flesh

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implications, there is no sense that most of those who claim to be Jews are not really Jews, or that a certain group of Jews who follow different legal rulings are beyond repentance. The sinners are uninformed individuals, not a sect. When language of “elect,” “remnant,” and “righteous plant” does occur, it strikingly refers to all of Israel, as in Jub. 21:25, where Jacob is the “remnant” of Isaac, while Esau is excluded.39 In the eschatological sequences in Jubilees 1 and 23 there is no vengeance against other parts of Israel; rather, the whole nation eventually returns. Similarly, Jubilees rejects the necessity of esoteric or elite knowledge. The heavenly tablets are revealed and made plain to all Israel at Sinai, not an elect few. The Levites have the role of teaching the commandments to the people, not hoarding secret knowledge. Again in 4Q390, similar language varies mainly with the word “not.” And they will not know and they will not understand . . . (4Q390 2 i 7, emphasis mine) They will recognize that I have been more faithful than they in all their judgments and in all their actions. They will recognize that I have indeed been with them. (Jub. 1:6) They will know that the Lord is one who executes judgment but shows kindness to hundreds and thousands and to all who love him. (Jub. 23:31)

of whose private parts has not been circumcised by the eighth day does not belong to the people of the pact . . . but to the people (meant for) destruction” (Jub. 15:26). Jubilees often contrasts Jews and Gentiles, and warns against Jews going in the ways of Gentiles. Thus, one who avoided or covered circumcision entirely (see 1 Macc 1:15) would be counted among the Gentiles. The controversy in Jub. 15:26 is that it seems to deny the Jewishness not only of those who reject circumcision entirely, but also those for whom it is delayed for any reason. The Mishnah would indicate that the Pharisees allowed circumcision to be slightly delayed (m. Šabb. 19:5). It is clear that the author of Jubilees had strong opinions and knew of other opinions, but the sociological dimension—defined groups or sects within Judaism—is far from clear. It is not clear that Jubilees knew anything about the Pharisees, or thought of any group as enemies of God because they tolerated ninth-day circumcision, or would have thought of someone circumcised on the ninth day as permanently excluded from any hope of repentance. It may be the case that the author viewed boys circumcised late as temporarily unprotected from demons, or rejected adult converts, or simply had the status of Ishmael in mind more than contemporary legal debates (see Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 241–43). 39 There may be an exception in Jub. 1:29, “all the elect ones of Israel,” but in light of the rest of the book it is best to understand the verse as identifying the chosen people with Israel, not isolating a chosen people within Israel.

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Jubilees even rejects the view of revelation as coded such that elite wisdom is necessary to decode the true meaning. As Armin Lange has shown, Jubilees rejects revelation encoded in symbolic dreams even when it occurs in Genesis.40 Jubilees and 4Q390 share a common notion of salvific knowledge that is strictly limited to one group while all others lack knowledge and are abandoned to demonic rule and destruction. The fundamental difference is that in Jubilees the elect group is all of Israel apart from the Gentiles, but in 4Q390 the elect group is a sect apart from the rest of Israel. One last example will show how the same language can be adapted to a different context to convey a significantly different meaning. 4Q390 draws from Jubilees for the idea of counting history in jubilee periods. Jubilee periods are indeed frequent and fundamental to the book, and particularly to its argument that the jubilee of jubilees was the release and return of Israel from Egypt. Equally striking, however, is the exception. Jubilees never mentions determined times for sin and repentance.41 All events, even divine actions, are conditional on human action.42 The basic message to humans is that they should repent, not persevere until a particular time appointed for divine intervention. Like Deuteronomy, Jubilees predicts the occurrence of sin, punishment, repentance, and restoration, but it does not present it as temporally pre-determined. 4Q390 adopts the idea of relating history in jubilee periods, but applies the idea to precisely the area that the book of Jubilees did not, the prediction of sin.

40 Armin Lange, “Divinatorische Träume und Apokalyptik im Jubiläenbuch,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. Matthias Albani, et al.; TSAJ 65; Tubingen: Mohr, 1997), 25–38. 41 Martha Himmelfarb, “Torah, Testimony, and Heavenly Tablets: The Claim to Authority of the Book of Jubilees,” in A Multiform Heritage: Studies on Early Judaism and Christianity in Honor of Robert A. Kraft (ed. Benjamin G. Wright; Scholars Press Homage Series 24; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 19–29, here 24. 42 This remains true even if one accepts David Lambert’s claim that the human action, in the case of Jubilees, is not repentance in the sense of turning away from sin, but recognition of human sinfulness and the need for divine transformation. However, the two options are not mutually exclusive in Jubilees, and human action precedes divine action. Returning to God and the law appears frequently in Jubilees, even in Lambert’s central passage, where Israel “will return to me [God] in a fully upright manner” before God circumcises their minds (Jub. 1:23). Lambert’s arguments for discounting other passages that describe repentance are not convincing (Jub. 1:15; 5:17; 23:26). See David Lambert, “Did Israel Believe That Redemption Awaited Its Repentance? The Case of Jubilees 1,” CBQ 68 (2006): 631–50.

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todd r. hanneken And from (the time) when that generation comes to an end, in the seventh jubilee of the devastation of the land, they will forget statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant. (4Q390 1 7–8) [And] in that jubilee they will be violating all my statues and all my commandments . . . (4Q390 2 i 4–5)

4Q390 adopts the authority of Jubilees, but projects onto it a view of evil as temporally predetermined, contrary to the original sense of the source. Conclusion In conclusion, 4Q390 interprets Jubilees as Scripture. That entails relying on the authority of Jubilees by adopting its language, style, imagery and motifs. It also entails adapting the apparent meaning of the text to concord with the ideas of the interpreter. The tensions do not diminish but strengthen the case for the status of Jubilees. As Scripture, Jubilees needs to be interpreted. It can and must be understood differently as applying to different circumstances.43 As indicated by column 16 of the Damascus Document, Jubilees was received as the authoritative specification of the times of Israel’s blindness. An author who accepted such a status of Jubilees was compelled to give the impression of conformity with Jubilees, even if interpretive labor was required.

43

Cf. 4Q252 1 i 7–10 as a “correction” of Jub. 5:27, and other examples discussed by James C. VanderKam, “The Origins and Purposes of the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. Matthias Albani, et al.; TSAJ 65; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 3–24, here 3.

RUNNER, STAFF, AND STAR: INTERPRETING THE TEACHER OF RIGHTEOUSNESS THROUGH SCRIPTURE Kelli S. O’Brien The Dead Sea Scrolls are, to us at least, coy about their founding events. Those wishing to reconstruct those events are left with just a handful of tantalizing clues, couched in dramatic rhetoric, which hint at the perfidy of the Man of the Lie and the cunning of the Wicked Priest but provide few details and even fewer names. After more than sixty years, we have achieved only greater uncertainty about the identity of one of its founding figures, the Teacher of Righteousness.1 Then we are reminded that even if the Scrolls presented fewer lacunae and more names, we might well still be dealing with documents that represent less biographical fact than collective memory, a memory perhaps as fragmentary and reconstructed as the Scrolls themselves are today.2 Analogous to the gospels of the New Testament, the Scrolls seem to be more concerned with the beliefs of the community than with the exact biography of its founder. Those beliefs are sometimes expressed in and through the language of Scripture.3 Most of our clues about the Teacher come from the pesharim, which are interpretations of Scripture. Some clues from the Damascus Document likewise come wrapped in Scripture. So even if it cannot lead us to the historical Teacher, it seems appropriate to ask what we can learn about the community’s beliefs about the Teacher from the way its members used Scripture to interpret his life.

1 John J. Collins, “The Time of the Teacher: An Old Debate Renewed,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (ed. Peter W. Flint et al.; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 212–29. 2 Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Teacher of Righteousness Remembered: From Fragmentary Sources to Collective Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity (ed. Stephen C. Barton et al.; WUNT 212; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 75–94. 3 Though the canon was not yet fully defined, the idea of authoritative texts existed. See James C. VanderKam, “Revealed Literature in the Second Temple Period,” in From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 1–30.

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This task is made more difficult by the multiple complexities involved in determining which documents, in fact, portray the Teacher. There is no consistent use of titles for him. The same figure is called simply Teacher (CD B 20:28), Teacher of Righteousness (CD 1:11), and unique Teacher (CD B 20:1), but also priest (4QpPsalmsa [4Q171] III 15), Interpreter of the Law (CD 6:7), and Interpreter of Knowledge (4Q171 I 27). Similar titles are given to ongoing roles within the community, such as “one who interprets” (1QS 6:6–7) or the Instructor (1QS 3:13). Some of the same titles are used for a future figure, an eschatological teacher with functions similar to the historical Teacher: one who teaches righteousness at the end of days (CD 6:11) or Interpreter of the Law (4QFlor [4Q174] III 11–12).4 The community’s views on the future figure are unclear. Was this figure an eschatological prophet or a priestly messiah? Other elements, such as the sequence and circumstances in which the community’s beliefs developed, are equally uncertain. What is clear is that the community believed that the functions of the historical Teacher would be matched by a future, eschatological teacher, and the beliefs about both are in some ways intertwined. In this study, we will examine both the historical Teacher and the eschatological teacher, calling both the “teacher figure.” Quite a number of texts have been proposed as sources for this figure. Some of these texts are very fragmentary, some controversial. While it is certainly not only profitable but necessary to study all of these texts, this particular study will limit itself to the clearest possible ones. For example, since it is uncertain which of the Thanksgiving Hymns are by the Teacher or about him, those texts are omitted. The Deuteronomy 33 passage in 4QTestimonia may well describe the future teacher figure, but because 4QTestimonia omits interpretations of its passages and never declares itself to be speaking about such a figure, it too is omitted from the study.5 Other passages speak clearly about the figure but do not clearly refer to Scripture. For example, the Damascus Document states that God “raised for them a Teacher of Righteousness to guide them” (CD 1:11), 4

Michael A. Knibb, “Eschatology and Messianism in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls After Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (ed. Peter W. Flint and James C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 2:379–402, esp. 384–89; John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 102–35. 5 Other passages that possibly refer to the teacher figure but that are omitted here include 1QpMic 11; 1QSa II 11–21; 1QSb III 1–21; 4QpIsae 1–2 3; 4Q252 V 5; 4Q427 7; 4Q471b; 4Q491c; 4Q541 9 i 2–3; 4Q558 1 ii 3–4; 11QMelch II 15–20.

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without obvious reference to Scripture.6 Some of these passages may contain faint allusions, but nevertheless, here they are skipped.7 Some texts clearly refer to the teacher figure and Scripture, but are also not addressed here because it is not clear that the Scripture is applied to the teacher figure rather than to someone else. For example, 4QFlorilegium, after quoting 2 Sam 7:14, states, “He is the Branch of David who shall arise with the Interpreter of the Law [to rule] in Zion [at the end] of time” (4Q174 III 11–12). Here the Scripture passage is taken to apply to the Branch of David rather than to the teacher figure, the Interpreter of the Law. This type of passage is fairly common. When the teacher figure is mentioned with a Scripture reference, more often than not, the interpretation concerns the community or various unsavory characters who have displayed all manner of infidelity, from the House of Absalom (which failed to stand up for the Teacher of Righteousness, 1QpHab 5:8–11) to the Wicked Priest (who tried to kill him, 4Q171 IV 8) and everyone in between. This phenomenon is so common that attempts to identify the historical Teacher are really attempts to identify the Wicked Priest, paired with knowledge that the Teacher must have been his contemporary.8 Indeed, it is striking how little is said about the Teacher in any of the passages that mention him. Notice the brief mention of the Teacher’s death in CD B 19:35–20:1, where it serves merely as a marker of time: “from the day of the gathering in . . . of the unique Teacher until there arises the messiah out of Aaron and Israel.”9 In some texts, the Scripture passage is said to apply to other individuals but still has some application to the teacher figure. For example, 4Q171 II 16–20 applies the passage to “the wicked of Ephraim and Manasseh, who shall seek to lay hands on the Priest and the men of his Council” and states that they will be delivered up to the nations for judgment. Still, the application notes that God will save “them,” presumably the priest and council (similarly, 4Q171 IV 7–10).

6 Unless otherwise noted, translations of the Dead Sea Scrolls are by Géza Vermès, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (New York: Penguin, 2004). 7 Other such passages include: CD 12:23–13:1; 14:19; CD B 19:35–20:1; 20:28, 32; 1QS 6:6–8; 9:11. 8 See, e.g., Collins, “The Time of the Teacher.” 9 Translation by Martínez and Tigchelaar, DSSSE. Some passages are simply too fragmentary to know how they are applied, such as 1QpHab 1:13; 4Q171 III 17–19; IV 26–V 2; 4QpPsalmsb (4Q173) 1 1–2; 2 1–2. Other texts more clearly apply the Scripture to others: CD B 19:9–11; 20:13–17; 1QpHab 2:1–8; 7:17–8:3; 9:9–12; 11:4–5; 4Q171 I 25–27.

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Finally, some passages clearly refer to Scripture and the teacher figure and clearly apply the one to the other. These passages are surprisingly few. All but one (some would argue all) apply to the historical figure, not the future one. The passages are: • • • • •

1QpMicah 8–10: Mic 1:5 1QpHab 6:12–7:5: Hab 2:1–2 4QpPsalmsa III 14–20: Ps 37:23–24 CD 6:2–11: Num 21:18; Isa 54:16 CD 7:13–21: Amos 5:26–27 (with Amos 9:11); Num 24:17 Pesher Micah

1QpMicah (1Q14) is particularly fragmentary, but enough is extant to indicate that fragments 8–10 interpret Mic 1:5 (“What is the transgression of Jacob? Is it not Samaria? And what is the high place of Judah? Is it not Jerusalem?”) to refer to the Spouter of Lies and the Teacher of Righteousness. The application to the Teacher is a reversal of the sense of the passage. In Micah, the actions and fate of Jacob and Judah are seen to be the same. In the pesher they are seen, at least in part, as contrasting. Both the Jacob and Judah sections of the verse appear to be applied to the Spouter of Lies, who misled the simple (presumably his condemnation is described in fragment 11). The Judah section is applied to the “Teacher of Righteousness who [expounded the law to] his [Council] and to all who freely pledged themselves to join the elect of [God to keep the Law] . . . who shall be saved on the Day [of Judgment].” Other early treatments of this section of Micah take it eschatologically (e.g., 1 En. 1:4; 4 Ezra 8:23; T. Mos. 10:3), but here the focus is on the historical actions of the Teacher and the Liar. The expected salvation and judgment are not explained in the extant fragments. They may be eschatological, but that is not necessarily the case, as 4QpPsalmsa demonstrates (4Q171 II 16–20; IV 7–10). What caused the pesherist to apply this phrase in Mic 1:5 to the Teacher of Righteousness and the community is unclear. Part of the reasoning may be that the sect describes itself as Judah (e.g., 1QpHab 8:1; 4Q171 II 14) and those it considers unfaithful as Ephraim and Manasseh (e.g., 4Q171 II 18; cf. Ephraim as Northern Israel in Isa 7:17; Ezek 37:16; Hos 5:13). Too little of the pesher remains to offer further clues to either the interpretation or its bases.

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Pesher Psalmsa Most of what is extant in 4QpPsalmsa interprets Psalm 37 and applies it to the general community or its opponents, sometimes applying verses to particular acts of treachery (4Q171 I 26–27; II 13–20; IV 7–10). The teacher figure appears in the interpretation at a number of points (4Q171 I 27; II 19; IV 8).10 In the interpretation of Ps 37:23–24, he is the main subject: The steps of the man are confirmed by the Lord and He delights in all his ways; though [he stumble, he shall not fall, for the Lord shall support his hand.] Interpreted, this concerns the Priest, the Teacher of [Righteousness whom] God chose to stand before Him, for He established him to build for Himself the congregation of [his chosen ones of the truth] for him [and] straightened out his [pa]th, in truth. (4Q171 III 14–17)11

Here the interpretation seems more obviously to work from the scriptural text than in 1QpMicah. “A man’s steps are established (‫ )כוננו‬by the Lord” is interpreted as God establishing (‫ )הכינו‬the Teacher to build the congregation. “God delights in his ways” (‫ )ודרכו‬is interpreted as God straightening out the Teacher’s path (‫ )]ודר[כו‬in truth. The Lord keeps a man from falling headlong and chooses the Teacher to stand. So, as we see later in the pesher (IV 7–10), “the just man,” presumably the Teacher, is protected from the schemes of the Wicked Priest out of justice; perhaps also based on the lines above, the Teacher is protected because God has chosen him to build the congregation and has chosen to “support his hand” and keep him from falling. Psalm 37:23–24, a verse that reads like a proverb, applicable to any just person, is here applied particularly to one man and seen to indicate that God chose him for one particular task.

10 The teacher may also appear in 4Q171 III 19, where there is a lacuna, and in IV 11–12, which states that the community and “his chosen one” will see judgment of wickedness and enjoy their true inheritance. Based on III 16, the chosen one may mean the Teacher. 11 Translation from Vermès, with additions from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, DSSSE.

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In one of the better known texts on the Teacher, 1QpHab 6:12–7:5 applies Hab 2:1–2 to the Teacher of Righteousness: And I will take my stand to watch and will station myself upon my fortress. I will watch to see what He will say to me and how [He will answer] my complaint. And the Lord answered [and said to me, ‘Write down the vision and make it plain] upon the tablets, that [he who reads] may read it speedily. . . . and God told Habakkuk to write down that which would happen to the final generation, but He did not make known to him when time would come to an end. And as for that which He said, That he who reads may read it speedily: interpreted this concerns the Teacher of Righteousness, to whom God made known all the mysteries of the words of his servants the Prophets.

The pesher acknowledges the revelation to the prophet, but qualifies it. God revealed something to Habakkuk but did not make everything clear to him. This qualified acknowledgement can be said to come organically from the text. Note that ‫באר‬, translated in Hab 2:2 as “make (it) plain” (that is, “write clearly”), can also be understood to mean “expound,” as it is used in Deut 1:5, where Moses expounds the law. What Habakkuk writes in clear letters, the Teacher of Righteousness turns into clear teaching. Even without the wordplay, the prophet Habakkuk makes it plain that he does not fully understand the ways of God, who seems to be answering the evil of injustice in Israel with a still greater evil, the Chaldeans (cf. Hab 1:2–3). In the passage interpreted here, Habakkuk poses his question about God’s justice, and God answers with, “write down the vision and make it plain on tablets so that a runner may read it.” This is not an answer. Then God tells Habakkuk that if things seem to be delayed, wait for them, they will happen (Hab 2:3–4). Again, this is not an answer. The book closes with Habakkuk waiting things out, without ever having received a satisfactory answer, declaring his faith in God, come what may (Hab 3:16–19). From the perspective of the pesherist, however, this all makes perfect sense. God gives Habakkuk a genuine vision but does not explain how matters end. The last days have been delayed, and to Habakkuk as well as to the community, they seem to tarry; but the prophet is told to write things plainly so that someone else might read them. For the pesherist, the implication is that someone else might understand them better than the prophet, and that someone is the Teacher of

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Righteousness. Both the prophet and the Teacher of Righteousness are recipients of God’s revelation, and each of them has half of the puzzle. The prophet receives the vision but not the interpretation, at least not insofar as the end of time is concerned. The Teacher of Righteousness does not receive the visions themselves but reads the visions of others and receives their interpretation. The vision is a raz, a mystery that cannot be solved by human means and requires divine revelation.12 The Teacher of Righteousness is like Daniel who interprets the dream and the handwriting on the wall, seen by others (Dan 2:36–45; 5:25–28; cf. Genesis 40–41). In this view, God’s will is revealed in two parts—vision and interpretation—to two people, with both required for full understanding. The community’s view on understanding the law is similar (1QS 8:11–12; CD 3:13–14). The men of Truth, the House of Judah believe this. They will keep the law and wait, and “God will deliver” them from judgment “because of their faith in the Teacher of Righteousness” (1QpHab 7:10–8:3). Early on, Pesher Habakkuk notes the revelation given to the “Teacher of Righteousness from the mouth of God” and condemns the unfaithful who do not believe what he said about the final generation (1QpHab 2:1–10). The pesher goes on to apply Hab 1:6 to the Kittim (that is, the Romans). It does not say that this interpretation came from the Teacher himself, but the juxtaposition implies it. The lines in cols. 6–7 explaining God’s revelation to the Teacher hearken back to the similar message of col. 2 and the moral for the whole: that God makes known the mysteries to the Teacher of Righteousness and the only righteous thing to do is to believe what he said. Damascus Document 6 The Damascus Document contains some key passages on the teacher figure, including two involving Scripture in CD 6–7. The exhortation of the Damascus Document states that Israel struggles because it does not understand or follow the law and cunning rebels lead it astray. Still, there is always a faithful remnant, and God, remembering the covenant,

12

Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (CBQMS 8; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1979), 237.

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kelli s. o’brien raised from Aaron men of discernment and from Israel men of wisdom, and He caused them to hear. And they dug the Well: the well which the princes dug, which the nobles of the people delved with the stave (Num 21:18). The Well is the Law, and those who dug it were the converts of Israel who went out of the land of Judah to sojourn in the land of Damascus. God called them all princes because they sought Him, and their renown was disputed by no man. The Stave is the Interpreter of the Law of whom Isaiah said, He makes a tool for His work (Isa 54:16); and the nobles of the people are those who come to dig the Well with the staves with which the Stave ordained that they should walk in all the age of wickedness—and without them they shall find nothing—until he comes who shall teach righteousness at the end of days. (CD 6:2–11)

Here we have a contrast between the historical Teacher, called the Interpreter of the Law (line 7), and a future teacher, “he who teaches righteous (‫ )וירה הצדק‬at the end of days” (line 11). Because the future figure here seems to function only as a marker of a future era (cf. CD B 19:35–20:1) and plays no role in the application of the Scripture passages, our efforts will be focused on the historical figure. One of the first questions one asks in interpreting this passage is how the author moved from a song about a well, celebrating God’s provision in the wilderness, to an interpretation focusing on the correct application of the law. Interestingly, though this is the first explicit quotation and explanation of the Song of the Well, column 3 uses the passage in a similar manner: God reveals to the faithful remnant of the wilderness generation the hidden things of the law, “and the desires of His will which a man must do in order to live. And they dug a well (‫ )ויחפרו באר‬rich in water; and he who despises it shall not live” (CD 3:14–17). The Damascus Document is not the only text to make this move. While most other early uses of Num 21:18 speak of the well miraculously traveling with Israel in the wilderness, the Targumim, though much later, seem to have an interpretation much like that of the Damascus Document.13 Targum Neofiti reads, “It is the well which the princes of the world, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob dug from the beginning; the intelligent ones of the people perfected it, the seventy sages who were distinguished; the scribes of Israel, Moses, and Aaron measured it with their rods; and from the wilderness it was

13 James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible As It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998), 817; cf. L.A.B. 10.7; t. Sotah 4.1.

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given to them (as) a gift.”14 That is, the Song of the Well is not about water, traveling or otherwise, but about law, which the patriarchs (in rabbinic thought, followers of the law before it was given) “dig”, and Moses and Aaron, sages, and scribes attend to it. Similarly, Philo (Ebr. 112–113) tells us that the well gives wisdom. This interpretation of the Song of the Well in conjunction with law and wisdom is either part of an interpretative tradition or something that springs so readily from the text in the minds of early interpreters that a number of them come to this conclusion independently. The spark for this may have been one of the words for the tools used to dig the well, a “stave” or “staff ” (‫)מחוקק‬, which as Joseph Fitzmyer points out, is a singular tool for well-digging.15 We might also note that princes are not the most common personnel to engage in digging projects. Early interpreters could also be expected to notice these oddities and consider them clues to the passage’s deeper meaning. As for the staff portion of the difficulty, the verb ‫חקק‬, from which it comes, means “to inscribe,” including especially inscribing laws (a common derivation from the root is ‫חֹק‬, “decree”), and the Poel participle used here, ‫מחוקק‬, means “prescriber of laws” or “commander,” and metonymically, “commander’s staff ” or “scepter.”16 So early interpreters looking for an explanation of a verse in which princes dig a well with upscale sticks may have been inclined to see the whole thing as metaphorical. If the sticks with which the well was dug are really prescribers of laws, then the well is easily the law itself. Such interpreters may have also noted that ‫באר‬, vocalized as ‫ ְבּ ֵאר‬for “well,” could also be vocalized as ‫ ֵבּ ֵאר‬, which is used in Deut 1:5 for Moses expounding the law.17 Thus both ‫ באר‬and ‫ מחוקק‬point to the well as the law. The princes who dug the well would then be seen as authoritative with respect to the law. In the LXX and Philo, we find kings; in the Targumim, the patriarchs, Moses and Aaron, sages, and

14

Targum translations from Martin McNamara et al., eds., The Aramaic Bible: The Targums (21 vols.; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1987–). 15 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J., “The Use of Explicit Old Testament Quotations in Qumran Literature and in the New Testament,” in Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1971), 1–58, here 39 n. 55. 16 Martin McNamara et al., Targum Neofiti 1, Numbers (ArBib 4; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1995), 119; Fitzmyer, “Explicit Old Testament Quotations,” 39–40 n. 55. 17 William H. Brownlee, “Biblical Interpretation among the Sectaries of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” BA 14 (1951): 54–76, esp. 56. While the verb is quite common, it also figures in the interpretation of Hab 2:2 in 1QpHab, regarding the teacher as the recipient and expounder of divine revelation.

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scribes; in CD 6:2–4, wise and knowledgeable men from Aaron and Israel. The Damascus Document also treats the princes and nobles who dug the well as those who kept the law faithfully: the faithful remnant of the wilderness generation (CD 3:12–16) and the converts of Israel (i.e., the community: CD 6:5–9). For the Damascus Document, however, the truly authoritative one in the sentence is the staff or lawgiver, the ‫מחוקק‬: “The ‫ מחוקק‬is the Interpreter of the Law” (CD 6:7). The text plays with the word in a pun: “the nobles of the people are those who come to dig the Well with the staves with which the Stave ordained (‫במחוקקות אשר חקק‬ ‫ )המחוקק‬that they should walk in all the age of wickedness” (CD 6:9).18 In other words, the staff is the lawgiver, and the lawgiver is the Interpreter of the Law; those who came (that is, the community) to dig the well (that is, the law) do so with the staves (what has been decreed, if taken as Pual) as the Interpreter of the Law decreed, which means they live out the law as he expounded it. The ‫ מחוקק‬is so authoritative that such obedience is the community’s means to salvation (CD 6:10; 7:4–5).19 The Interpreter of the Law is also connected in this passage with Isa 54:16: “The Stave is the Interpreter of the Law of whom Isaiah said, He makes a tool for His work.” Again, it is not clear how the author understood the verse in Isaiah and connected it with the teacher figure. Unlike the Numbers passage, nothing at all is said to explain the meaning of Isa 54:16. However, a look at Isa 54:11–17 indicates general themes of importance to the community. Isaiah 54:11 speaks of those who are persecuted by an enemy but who are protected by God. Isaiah 54:13–14 speaks of children being taught by God and the people being established in righteousness. The entire passage assures the reader that security and peace are the heritage of God’s servants. It is not hard to imagine that this passage spoke movingly to the people of the Qumran community. 4QpIsaiahd (4Q164) interprets Isa 54:11–12, where “I will found you in sapphires” (Isa 54:11) seems to be understood to 18 The “nobles of the people” (‫ )נדיבי העם‬is also interpreted to mean the community, which makes sense, since ‫ מתנדב‬means one who does something voluntarily and is used for those who voluntarily join the community (e.g., 1QS 5:10; 1Q14 8–10 7). 19 ‫ מחוקק‬is a word which denotes authority. Clearly the Interpreter of the Law is one with supreme authority to interpret the Law, to make decrees through which the people are saved. Interestingly, it is also the word for scepter used in Gen 49:10 (though not in Num 24:17). Yet there do not seem to be messianic connotations here or in other uses of Num 21:18.

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indicate that the priests and people will found the community. “I will make all your battlements of rubies” (Isa 54:12) is interpreted to mean “[the priests who] illuminate with the judgment of the Urim and the Thummim . . . like the sun in all its light.”20 These interpretations have similarities to material on the teacher figure, a priest who founded the community (4Q171 III 15–17) and gave enlightened judgment.21 An interpretation of Isaiah 54 similar to that of 4QpIsaiahd may have been on the mind of the Damascus Document author. This author may also have understood the rubies of Isa 54:12 as the Urim and Thummim, pointing to priests, and establishment in righteousness (Isa 54:13–14), as pointing to the right application of the law. If so, when he looked at Isa 54:16 regarding the blacksmith created by God who fashions the tool (singular) for his labor, he understood the singular priest as God’s tool for the labor of righteousness, just as the staff, the Interpreter of the Law, is God’s tool for digging the well of the law. Fitzmyer notes that many Scripture passages are not interpreted consistently in the Scrolls, but as John Collins notes, some passages are.22 That the author of the Damascus Document does not explain Isa 54:16 (as he does Num 21:18) suggests that he expected his readers to understand it without his help and suggests it did have a consistent interpretation in the community; that we see some commonality in the two interpretations supports this conclusion. Thus through the use of Num 21:18 and Isa 54:16, the Interpreter of the Law is shown to be God’s tool to teach rightly. By means of his teaching the people are able to follow God rightly, be established in righteousness, and avoid the rebellion of those who shift the boundaries or prophesy deceit (CD 5:20; 6:1).

20

Translations from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, DSSSE. The idea of priests who “illuminate” with judgments that are somehow “like the sun in all its light” bears resemblance to the interpretation of Num 24:17 in T. Levi 18.3–4. See below. Isaiah 54 figures prominently in two other Qumran texts. Isaiah 54:1–2 appears in 4QMiscellanious Rules (4Q265) 2 4–5, which, in the midst of rules that are similar to those of CD or 1QS, speaks about the barren woman who rejoices over her children. Isaiah 54:4–10 appears in 4Q176 8–11 5–12, a catena of verses without interpretation similar to 4QTestimonia, a text which works its way through Isaiah and reads it eschatologically. 22 Fitzmyer, “Explicit Old Testament Quotations,” 55; Collins, Scepter, 64–67. 21

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kelli s. o’brien Damascus Document 7

The Damascus Document goes on to describe some of the behaviors required for salvation. After citing the destruction of Israel as a warning about the consequences of apostasy, it reassures the reader that the faithful will be protected: those who held fast escaped to the land of the north; as God said, I will exile Sakkuth (‫ )סכות‬your king and the Kaiwan of your images from my tent to Damascus (Amos 5:26–27). The books of the law are the tabernacle (‫ )סוכת‬of the king; as God said, I will raise up the tabernacle (‫)סוכת‬ of David which is fallen (Amos 9:11). The king is the congregation; and the Kaiwan of your images are the books of the prophets whose sayings Israel despised. The star is the Interpreter of the Law who shall come to Damascus; as it is written, A star shall come forth out of Jacob and a scepter shall rise out of Israel (Num 24:17). The scepter is the prince of the whole congregation, and when he comes he shall smite all the children of Seth. (Num 24:17; CD 7:13–21)23

The text of Amos 5:26–27 is substantially modified, as is its meaning. In the original, God accuses Israel of idolatry and says that as a punishment, Israel will be deported beyond Damascus. In the Damascus Document, the passage is taken to mean that God deports the people, with the books of the law and prophets, safely to Damascus, presumably to secure them from the ravages of Israel by the Assyrians. Some of the changes to the passage are understandable. For example, the difference in the quotation from the MT’s ‫מהלאה לדמשק‬ (“beyond Damascus”) to CD’s ‫“( מאהלי דמשק‬my tent Damascus,” missing the apparently requisite “to”) is the sort of change that occurs in transmission. The change in the interpretation from ‫( סכות‬an unusual term)24 to ‫“( סוכת‬tabernacle”) appears to be standard at the time, since the same change is made in the LXX and reflected in Acts 7:43. A change regarding the name of the similarly unfamiliar term ‫( כיון‬Kaiwan) would also be understandable, though the application of these terms to the books of the law and prophets is unexpected. What

23

Vermès’ translation modified. The terms ‫ סכות‬and ‫ כיון‬are variously reconstructed by modern scholars and may already have been unfamiliar by the time the Damascus Document was written. Cf. Stanley Gevirtz, “A New Look at an Old Crux: Amos 5:26,” JBL 87 (1968): 267– 76, esp. 271; Charles D. Isbell, “Another Look at Amos 5:26,” JBL 97 (1978): 97–99; Samuel A. Meier, “Sakkuth and Kaiwan,” ABD 5:904. 24

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is especially puzzling is what is done with the familiar words, especially ‫“( צלמיכם‬your images”) which almost always indicates idolatry and seems to do so here, since it is modified with yet another difficult passage, often rendered as, “your star-gods which you made for yourselves.” Though the latter part of the verse is omitted in the quotation, the author seems to be familiar with it, since it is alluded to in the interpretation. So, once again, the use of Scripture is puzzling. Some earlier scholars were fairly hard on the author for this apparent misuse of the passage, but we must recall that this interpretation made sense to him. This is not a pesher, where the interpreter generally keeps to the sequence of the biblical text. The author of the Damascus Document was free to choose any passage suitable to support his argument. Even if the author desired here to connect a star passage with the star of Num 24:17, which is also quoted, there are many star passages to choose from. The author chose this one. It seems best to try to make sense of it. The verses that precede the Amos 5:26–27 passage may help to explain its appeal. Amos 5:25 asks the rhetorical question, “Did you bring to me sacrifices and offerings the forty years in the wilderness, O house of Israel?” This question touches on two matters important to the community: the wilderness and the tabernacle, where offerings would be made. The community saw itself as living according to the wilderness model and did not make offerings because it separated itself from the temple where offerings could legitimately be made. In context it is clear that Amos 5:25 implies that no offerings were necessary in the wilderness, a potentially reassuring message to the group. The verses leading up to that question would have provided still more reassurance: I hate, I despise your festivals. . . . Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them. . . . Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream. (Amos 5:21–24)

Amos condemns the conduct of festivals and offerings in his day, just as the community does. The futility of these things leads to Amos 5:25, which implies that offerings were not necessary in the wilderness and are therefore not necessary at all. What is necessary? Justice and righteousness. These, not offerings, are the focus of the community’s

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life. And these, in the view of the community, depend on the inspired instruction of the Interpreter of the Law regarding the books of the law and prophets, all of which are included in the interpretation of the passage. The Interpreter of the Law seems to have been suggested to the author by the word “star” in Amos 5:26, in connection with Num 24:17 (lines 18–19). More difficult to understand is how the author interprets the “‫‘( סוכת‬tabernacle’) of your king” as “the books of the law.”25 Again, Amos 5:25 may provide a clue. Its rhetorical question about offerings in the wilderness would bring to mind the tabernacle. Since people of this period understood Amos 5:26 also to be speaking of a tabernacle, it is easy to imagine that the author connected the tabernacle implied in 5:25 with the tabernacle understood in 5:26 and then associated it with the tablets of the Law it contained.26 George Brooke suggests that the author may have associated “the Kaiwan of your images” (‫כיון‬ ‫ )צלמיכם‬with “the books of the prophets” by transposing the letters of ‫ צלם‬to get ‫( מלץ‬from ‫)ליץ‬, meaning spokesman and intermediary.27 Examples of its use in the Hebrew Bible are not ideal, but Isa 43:27 does convey the sense of false prophet (cf. Gen 42:23; Job 33:23; 2 Chr 32:31). Finally, the king of “the tabernacle of your king” is associated with the assembly, the faithful community. This move from king to community strikes us as strange, but the period presents further examples of such shifts. A number of texts apply Psalm 2 to a faithful group, rather than to the king or messiah (4Q174 III 19; cf. Midr. Ps. 2.9; Acts 4:25–31; Rev 2:26–27). Second Corinthians 6:16–7:1 uses 2 Sam 7:14 as a promise to the whole church. Amos 9:11, cited in our

25 This interpretation is connected to Amos 9:11, which does not seem to explain the move. 26 George Brooke objects that since the Torah is never explicitly associated with the tabernacle or temple in the Old Testament, “any suggestion that the two are linked because one was kept in the other is probably to be abandoned.” He proposes instead that the author was motivated to think of the Torah because ‫ סכות‬ended in a tav (“Amos-Numbers Midrash [CD 7 13b—8 1a] and Messianic Expectation,” ZAW 92 [1980]: 397–404, esp. 400). In my opinion, particularly considering the frequency of words ending in tav, that seems more difficult to imagine than that the author made the association of tabernacle, tablet, and books of the law through synecdoche (in this case, the whole standing for a part) or metonymy (where something is identified by naming something closely associated with it, such as using “Wall Street” to denote financial businesses or “the crown” for a king). That there is no example of this particular association in the Hebrew Bible does not make it unthinkable. Jewish and Christian exegesis have not lacked for ingenuity. 27 Brooke, “Amos-Numbers,” 401.

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text, seems to make a similar change, as it changes from the singular tabernacle of David, to the plural “that they might possess the remnant of Edom.” In short, CD 7:13–21 presents us with similar ideas to those presented in CD 6:2–11. There the Interpreter of the Law, as the staff, indicated to the people how to live out God’s law righteously and thereby gain salvation. Here, the Interpreter of the Law, as the star, is associated with the books of the law and prophets and with the people who live out their lives of devotion by modeling them on God’s instructions to the wilderness generation. Rather than offerings at the temple, they present lives lived out in justice and righteousness. And though they are a relatively powerless group, they depend on God’s protection. By “deporting” them to the literal or figurative Damascus, God does indeed protect them, along with the books of the law and prophets, even while God brings judgment on the apostates and rebels (CD 7:20–8:3). The quotation of Amos 5:26–27 is connected, by means of the word “star,” to the quotation of Num 24:17. As James Kugel explains, both “scepter” (‫שבט‬, from Gen 49:10 and Num 24:17) and “star” (Num 24:17) become messianic keywords.28 Here the scepter is interpreted as the “prince of the whole congregation,” who becomes the focus of the exposition (“when he comes he shall smite all the children of Seth”), and the star is understood to be the Interpreter of the Law, who would come to Damascus. Since Num 24:17 has an exegetical tradition associated with it, we can compare its use elsewhere for clues about what the author of the Damascus Document might have been thinking. In the Damascus Document, there is a separation of function between scepter and star. This is similar to the use of the passage in the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs: And after this there shall arise for you a star from Jacob in peace: And a man shall arise from my posterity like the sun of righteousness, walking with the sons of men in gentleness and righteousness. . . . Then he will illumine the scepter of my kingdom, and from your root will arise the shoot, and through it will arise the rod of righteousness for the nations, to judge and to save all that call on the Lord. (T. Jud. 24.1–6)

28

Kugel, Traditions, 470–71, 806–8; 1QSb 5:27; 1QM 11:6–7; 4Q175 1 9–13.

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kelli s. o’brien [The new priest] shall effect the judgment of truth over the earth for many days. And his star shall rise in heaven like a king; kindling the light of knowledge as day is illumined by the sun. . . . This one will shine forth like the sun in the earth; he shall take away all darkness from under heaven, and there shall be peace in all the earth. (T. Levi 18.2–4)29

Both passages speak of a highly exalted star figure. The possibility that the passages contain Christian interpolations is real. Yet there is probably a traditional Jewish basis, since the star figure seems similar to the description of the priests in 4QpIsaiahd discussed above, who “illuminate with the judgment of the Urim and the Thummim . . . like the sun in all its light.” It is possible that a similar portrait is sketched also in 4QFlorilegium and 4QTestimonia. Both quote Deut 33:8–11 (“Give to Levi your Thummim and your Urim,” etc.). In 4QFlor I 9–13, the text is quite fragmentary and little can be said about the quotation or its interpretation. In 4QTestimonia (4Q175), no explanation is provided, but the quotation is somewhat modified. Key here is line 17, which has “They shall cause Thy precepts to shine (‫ )ויאירו‬before Jacob,” where the MT reads, “They teach (‫ )יורו‬Jacob your precepts.” Though neither text contains an explanation of its priestly figure, Michael Knibb and Collins argue that these texts demonstrate expectation of two messiahs, one Davidic and one priestly.30 In 4QTestimonia, that figure makes God’s laws shine before Jacob, just as the priests of 4QIsaiahd and the priestly figure of T. Levi 18. It does not seem overly bold to assume that CD 7 considers the star of Num 24:17 to be a similarly exalted priest. Numbers 24:17 was interpreted both at Qumran and elsewhere as a messianic passage. In CD 7:18–20, it is cited and paired with the star of Amos 5:26, and in both applied to the Interpreter of the Law, that is, the teacher figure. This naturally leads to the question of whether the community thought of the historical Teacher as a messiah. Some scholars argue that they did. After all, the Amos passage is quoted in a passage about the historical conquest of Israel and the protection of the faithful remnant, which parallels CD 1:3–12 and 6:3–11, both of which describe unmistakably the historical Teacher. Knibb and Collins

29

Translations by H. C. Kee, “Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” in OTP. Knibb, “Eschatology,” The Dead Sea Scrolls After Fifty Years, 2:387–88; Collins, Scepter, 74–75, 85–86, 94. 30

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argue that the messianic star figure is in the future.31 There is no place in the Scrolls that indicates clearly that the community understood the historical Teacher to be a messiah. Here the star is paired with the Davidic messiah, who is certainly a figure of the future, which implies that the messianic star figure is also still to come. Unhappily, the relevant verb for the Interpreter of the Law, ‫הבא‬, is ambiguous, and the passage can mean either that the Interpreter of the Law “has come” or “will come” to Damascus. We have a passage that seems to look both to the past, with the Amos quotation, and to the future, with the Numbers quotation, with the Interpreter of the Law as the pivot point. It is possible that the use of ‫ הבא‬is ambiguous on purpose, that the text is playing with language to speak of both a past and future Interpreter of the Law. The past Interpreter of the Law, connected with Amos and its historical, non-messianic interpretation, participated in the historical clarifying of the books of the law and prophets for the community, as the Teacher of Righteousness is said to have done (e.g., CD 1:11–12). The messianic, future Interpreter of the Law (e.g., 4Q174 III 11–12) is connected with Num 24:17 and the messianic, future prince of the whole congregation. We tend to think of intentional ambiguity as a literary device. The Damascus Document is not literary; yet it does play with language. Column 6 provides a pun on ‫מחוקק‬. The presence of intentional ambiguity here would not necessitate a belief that the historical Teacher is expected to return, but simply that the two Interpreter of the Law figures, past and future, are so related in the mind of the author that he can playfully speak of them both in a single phrase with two very different star referents. Or it may be simply that the star points solely to Num 24:17, not to Amos, since the star portion of Amos 5:26 is omitted from the quotation. Whatever the best explanation for this ambiguity may be, I would have to agree with Knibb and Collins that the balance of evidence does not indicate a messianic interpretation of the historical Teacher. In an analysis of the use of Scripture to describe the teacher figure, however, it is of no small significance that Num 24:17, with its traditionally messianic and exalted interpretation, is applied to the figure.

31 Knibb, “The Interpretation of the Damascus Document VII,9b–VIII,2a and XIX,5b–14,” RevQ 15 (1991): 243–51, esp. 248–50; Collins, Scepter, 113–14.

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kelli s. o’brien Conclusion

A close look at these texts allows some themes to emerge prominently. Many passages used indicate God’s protection of the Teacher and the community. For example, in the use of Amos 5:26–27, when God punished those who deceive regarding the law, God protected the community, along with the books of the law and prophets that were interpreted by the Interpreter of the Law. Protection or salvation of the community is seen also in the use of Mic 1:5; Hab 2:1–4; Num 21:18; and Isa 54:16. Nearly all of the passages point to a confidence in the Teacher’s authority as an interpreter. Psalm 37:23–24, which in the original was applicable to any righteous person, is applied particularly to the Teacher and indicates that God chose him for one particular task. Isaiah 54:16 also indicates the Teacher as God’s particular tool, possibly assuming the exalted view of priestly authority we see in 4QIsaiahd. In the use of Hab 2:1–2, the prophet’s uncertainty becomes certainty in the Teacher’s interpretation. The righteous believe it, remain loyal, and therefore are saved. Likewise in the use of Mic 1:5, the Teacher is understood to offer the correct and authoritative teaching that allows the willing ones of the community to be saved in the time of judgment. Numbers 21:18 is used to indicate the Teacher’s supreme, lawgiving authority, comparable to that of the patriarchs, Moses, and Aaron. Numbers 24:17 appears to be applied to the future Interpreter of the Law, potentially with its exalted, messianic implications. These texts point to a belief in the Teacher himself, past and future, that is not entirely unlike the early Christian view of Jesus. Scripture passages interpreted to refer to Jesus also point to salvation and exaltation. Christian texts go further in applying Scripture about God to Jesus in a way that seems to indicate a belief in Jesus’ divinity (e.g., Rev 1:13–14).32 The extant Scrolls do, at least at one point, interpret the Teacher in a passage where the Scripture speaks of God, but in this case, the passage merely says “him,” referring to God, rather than “Lord” or “God” (1QpHab 7:17–8:3; Hab 2:4). It is clear from the context that the author changes the referent from God to the Teacher, with no indication at all that the Teacher could be put in the place 32

Many studies have been done on the use of Scripture regarding Jesus. Here I will refer to my own, shaped under the direction of James C. VanderKam: The Use of Scripture in the Markan Passion Narrative (LNTS 384; London: T&T Clark, 2010), 3–4; 191–200.

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of God. Still, the beliefs about the Qumran community regarding its Teacher are surprisingly strong; they appear to believe that faith in the authority of the Teacher and adherence to the law as he taught it are necessary to salvation. This belief, reflected in multiple scrolls, makes it all the more remarkable that the Teacher is never named, so little is said about his life or death, and so often, texts mentioning the Teacher speak of the Teacher’s enemies or friends but not the Teacher himself. In the end, the interpreter of mysteries is to history a mystery himself.

WHO IS THE TEACHER OF THE TEACHER HYMNS? RE-EXAMINING THE TEACHER HYMNS HYPOTHESIS FIFTY YEARS LATER Angela Kim Harkins Scholars have long been struck by the strong and dramatic language in the compositions that are clustered in what are now numbered columns 10–17 of the Hodayot scroll from Cave 1.1 Those who favor the

1

Mention must be made here of the complex history of the many numberings for the Hodayot scroll. Readers should be aware that the widely accessible edition by Florentino García Martínez and Eibert T. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (vol. 1; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 146–205, differs by a few lines and in other details from the newly published critical edition by Hartmut Stegemann with Eileen Schuller, Qumran Cave 1: III. 1QHodayota with Incorporation of 1QHodayotb and 4QHodayota–f (trans. Carol Newsom; DJD 40; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2009). A summary of this history is available in Hartmut Stegemann’s essay, “The Material Reconstruction of 1QHodayot,” The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After Their Discovery 1947–1997: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman, Emanuel Tov, and James C. VanderKam; Jerusalem: IES in cooperation with The Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 272–84. This history is also briefly discussed by Eileen Schuller in “Some Contributions of the Cave Four Manuscripts (4Q427–432) to the Study of the Hodayot,” DSD 8 (2001): 279–80 n. 8. Important work for the material reconstruction of the Cave 1 scroll is found in Hartmut Stegemann’s unpublished dissertation “Rekonstrucktion der Hodajot: Ursprüngliche Gestalt und kritisch bearbeiteter Text der hymnenrolle aus Höhle 1 von Qumran,” (Ph.D. diss., University of Heidelberg, 1963). Both Stegemann (in his unpublished dissertation) and, some years later, Émile Puech (in his study “Quelques aspects de la restauration du rouleau des hymnes (1QH),” JJS 39 [1988]: 38–55) arrived at largely identical reconstructions independently from one another. Stegemann’s reconstruction is the basis for DJD 40, which appeared some sixty years after Sukenik’s initial discovery of the scroll and his first publications of it. These early glimpses of the scroll were published in Eleazar L. Sukenik, ‫מגילות גנוזות מתוך גניזה קדומה שנמצאה במדבר יהודה׃ סקירה רישונה‬ (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1948). Two years later, Sukenik published more texts from 1QHa in ‫( מגילות גנוזות מתוך גניזה קדומה שנמצאה במדבר יהודה׃ סקירה שנייה‬Jerusalem: Bialik, 1950). The first publication contained images and transcriptions of two hodayot, identified here according to the new revised numbering of DJD 40: 1QHa 10:22–32; 11:20–37. Sukenik’s second publication included the following texts: 1QHa 10:22–32, 33–41; 11:20–37; 12:6–41; 18:4–14, with photos and transcription. The first editio princeps of 1QHa is Eliezar L. Sukenik, ‫( אוצר המגילות הגנוזות‬prepared for press by Nahaman Avigad; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1954 [Heb.]; Eng. = The Dead Sea Scrolls of the Hebrew University, 1955; hereafter DSSHU). All of the column and line numberings for this scroll follow the reconstruction and unit divisions published by the late Hartmut Stegemann, “The Number of Psalms in 1QHodayota and some of their Sections,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry

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Teacher Hymns Hypothesis, which presumes that the compositions in 1QHa 10–17 can be traced back to the Teacher of Righteousness himself, appeal to, among other things, these texts’ strong and distinctive literary style—what I will refer to as the texts’ “strong I.” The positive identification of these compositions as writings of the Teacher of Righteousness was first proposed by Gert Jeremias, who had reasoned that the extraordinary experiences in the scroll could only be identified with a single figure, the Teacher of Righteousness. In DJD 29, Eileen Schuller gave the early scholars associated with the Teacher Hymn Hypothesis (Gert Jeremias, Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn, and Jeremias Becker) the moniker “the Heidelberg School.”2 These scholars who published nearly fifty years ago built upon the literary studies of Günter Morawe, although they differed from him in small details. Like the many striking coincidences which surround this scroll, Morawe’s form-critical sorting of the compositions in 1QHa coincided exactly with the groupings proposed by Svend Holm-Nielsen, which appeared one year earlier.3 Morawe observed that the literary coherence of cols. 10–17 was due to the presence of two elements: (1) dramatic reports of distress and (2) claims of special deliverance.4 He used the term

in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Fifth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 19–23 January, 2000 (ed. Esther G. Chazon with the collaboration of Ruth Clements and Avital Pinnick; STDJ 48; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 191–234. 2 Schuller, DJD 29:74. The Heidelberg School scholars are Gert Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (SUNT 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963); Jürgen Becker, Das Heil Gottes: Heils-und Sündenbegriffe in den Qumrantexten und im Neuen Testament (SUNT 3, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1964); and Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn, Enderwartung und Gegenwärtiges Heil: Untersuchungen zu den Gemeindeliedern von Qumran mit einem Anhang über Eschatologie und Gegenwart in der Verkündigung Jesu (SUNT 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966). Michael C. Douglas refers to this group of scholars as the “Göttingen School” in his dissertation, “Power and Praise in the Hodayot: A Literary Critical Study of 1QH 9:1–18:14” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1998). 3 Günter Morawe, Aufbau und Abgrenzung der Loblieder von Qumran: Studien zur gattungsgeschichtlichen Einordnung der Hodajoth (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1961) and Svend Holm-Nielsen, Hodayot Psalms from Qumran (ATD 2; Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1960). 4 Morawe (Aufbau und Abgrenzung der Loblieder von Qumran, 37) writes, “Bilden die Notberichte gemeinsam mit den Rettungsberichten unerläßliche Elemente im Aufbau der ersten Gruppe der Lieder.” The compositions that Morawe included in this category correspond to Stegemann’s unit divisions: 10:5–21; 10:22–32; 10:33–11:5; 11:6–19; 11:20–37; 11:38–12:5; 12:6–13:6; 13:7–21; 13:22–15:8; 15:9–28; 16:5–17:36. Morawe did not include the small compositions 15:29–36 and 15:37–16:4 in this group.

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“Danklieder” to refer to these texts that Holm-Nielsen called “psalms of thanksgiving.”5 Subsequent scholars of the Heidelberg School built upon Morawe’s initial literary observations.6 The coherence of the Teacher Hymns collection was an important observation of these early scholars, and their historical-critical approaches to these texts led to later studies that attempted to either further the Teacher Hymn Hypothesis or identify possible candidates for the Teacher of Righteousness himself.7 In this essay, I wish to reexamine the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis, which is commonly associated with the compositions in 1QHa 10–17. The first part of this essay discusses and critiques the arguments in favor of the view that the Teacher Hymns were composed by a historical figure, the Teacher of Righteousness known from other Qumran texts. I conclude by proposing a rhetorical understanding of the Teacher Hymns. 5 Holm-Nielsen wrote, “The more one busies oneself with the Hodayot, the more their apparent uniformity disappears. In the treatment of the individual psalms, I have attempted to demonstrate that, on the basis of their content, they can be divided into two large groups, of which the one is concerned in a more technical way with the conditions of the community, while the other expresses, on the basis of this same community, the view of the surrounding world based upon its relationship to God. This division I have further confirmed on the basis of style, since the group which is more closely linked to the community can be described, on the basis of the Old Testament examples, as hymns, while the other group belongs to the category of psalms of thanksgiving, even if they are strongly influenced by the psalms of complaint,” Hodayot, 320. 6 Jeremias also identified a qualitative difference between the “I” in Morawe’s Danklieder group with the rest of the scroll. He writes: “Das ‘Ich’, das in diesen Psalmen redet, untersheidet sich so deutlich von dem ‘Ich’ in den anderen PsalmenGruppen, daß schon dieser Tatbestand gegen die literarische Einheitlichkeit der Hodajot spricht” (Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 171). 7 The Teacher Hymns Hypothesis experienced a resurgence of popularity in the late 1990s. One of the most extensive studies in favor of the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis is Douglas, “Power and Praise in the Hodayot.” The core of his study was published in article form as Michael C. Douglas, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited: New Data for an Old Crux,” DSD 6 (1999): 239–66. Douglas can be situated within the historical-critical tradition of the Heidelberg School. Other studies that can be grouped with this understanding of the Teacher Hymns include Michael O. Wise’s popular book, The First Messiah: Investigating the Savior Before Christ (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999); and Israel Knohl, The Messiah Before Jesus: The Suffering Servant of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). Like the original scholars of the Heidelberg School, recent scholars interested in the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis share an interest in the study of the New Testament as well; see Stephen Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 66; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 409–59. Hultgren, who is by training a NT scholar, builds his work predominantly on that of the Heidelberg-School scholars Jeremias, Becker, and Kuhn (and also Morawe).

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angela kim harkins Modern Assumptions about Authorship: The Heidelberg School

For the scholars associated with the Heidelberg School, the investigation into what is now popularly known as the Teacher Hymns is an endeavor driven by historical-critical questions and reflects presuppositions about these texts that are worth re-examining. The remainder of this essay will consider the following claims of the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis: (A) the Teacher Hymns collection is a literary unity presumably composed by a single hand; (B) vivid and dramatic language is a marker of an authorial voice; and (C) the speaker’s claim to unique extraordinary experiences is a marker of an autobiographical and historical report. The Literary Unity of the Teacher Hymns Collection The Teacher Hymns Hypothesis relies upon the literary unity of the compositions in 1QHa 10–17. Sukenik first interpreted the Hodayot scroll’s use of the first person singular and the repetition of certain phrases as a sign of the unity of the entire Hodayot collection, but this coherence is only superficial.8 Scholars from the beginning have disputed the literary unity of the Hodayot scroll. Svend Holm-Nielsen in the early sixties did not think that it was possible to consider the Hodayot scroll as the work of a single hand; instead he proposed that it was a collection like the biblical Psalter, compiled from different sources.9 Holm-Nielsen’s proposal is a reasonable one, given the internal formal and orthographic variations in the Teacher Hymns. The most important hodayah for the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis is 1QHa 12:6–13:6. Sukenik’s early comments on the following excerpted passage propose that the speaker was a leader of a community who had been forced into exile: “For he has expelled me from my land, like

8 Some literary expressions are repeated throughout the collection and provide some coherence to the collection. Examples of these are as follows: “tongue’s reply,” “true/righteous reprovers,” “mediator/mediators of knowledge,” “the flow of my lips,” “your wonderful mysteries,” “source” as a metaphor for wisdom, and “mournful groaning.” It is often said that the Teacher Hymns consistently use the formulaic “I give thanks to you, O Lord,” yet this claim overlooks the intentional editing in 1QHa 13:22 which deletes the usual phrase and replaces it with a blessing formula. A series of cancellation dots appear above and below the words “I give thanks to you” (‫)אודכה‬, and an editor has added a supralinear “Blessed are you” (‫)ברוך אתה‬. 9 Holm-Nielsen, Hodayot.

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a bird from its nest. And they have banished all of my companions and my friends away from me” (1QHa 12:9–10). Here Sukenik had in mind a passage in Pesher Habakkuk that refers to a wicked priest who forced the Teacher of Righteousness into exile (1QpHab 11:4–5). Yet another reference in this composition suggests that this speaker was also a community leader: You do not cover with shame the faces of all tho[s]e who are sought by me; the ones who meet in the Yahad for Your covenant. And the ones who walk in the way of your heart have listened to me. And they line up for you in the council of the holy ones. (12:25–26)

While 1QHa 12:6–13:6 uses suggestive language that may support the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis, it is not clear from the manuscript evidence that this composition was composed with other compositions in the Teacher Hymns collection. The editing of the orthography underscores its dissimilarity to the surrounding Teacher Hymns compositions and may point to the composite nature of the Teacher Hymns collection.10 An unusually large number of scribal corrections are clustered in this composition, which is copied by Scribe A. Various corrections are then made in the hand of a different editor scribe, known as Scribe B.11 While the Teacher Hymns show a general preference for plene orthography, this composition alone shows at least five instances where a mater lectionis was inserted after the copying of the text had taken place. The first two instances appear in 12:6 where an aleph is inserted for each instance of (‫כי)א‬. Three other editorial

10 The reasoning is that a single author who has composed each and every composition in the Teacher Hymns collection would follow a consistent orthographic system. The presumption is that the copies of the Hodayot, especially 1QHa, were done by scribes who copied exactly what their Vorlage text read without revising and changing the text; on the faithful copying by the scribes, see Annali Aejmelaeus, “Septuagintal Translation Techniques: A Solution to the Problem of the Tabernacle Account,” in On the Trail of the Septuagint Translator: Collected Essays (ed. Annali Aejmelaeus; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1993), 119–30. 11 There were at least three scribes who worked on this scroll. The first scribe, Scribe A, copied many of the Teacher Hymns. A second scribe took up the task where Scribe A finished at 19:25, and he is known as Scribe B. He was responsible for a small section of col. 19. The remainder of the scroll was copied by the large hand of Scribe C. It is thought that Scribe B was also the editorial hand who corrected the work of Scribe A. See Malachi Martin’s discussion in The Scribal Character of the Dead Sea Scrolls (vol. 1; Bibliothèque du Muséon 44; Louvain: University of Louvain, 1958), 59–64, where he writes, “But Scribe B returns over both the work of Scribe A and Scribe C and corrects and emends the work of both scribes. We are forced to give Scribe B, then, a certain predominance over the other two” (63).

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corrections appear in 12:31, 32. After these two lines were copied, another hand has returned to insert a vav for each instance of ‫ל)ו(א‬. This editorial revision seeks to even out and systematize the orthography of the Teacher Hymns collection, and such signs of different sources would then become invisible in subsequent copies of these texts. It is worth noting as well that no clear physical evidence of 1QHa 12:6–13:6 has survived among the oldest Hodayot manuscripts, again a detail that may suggest a development of the Teacher Hymns over time and an indirect sign of the composite nature of the Teacher Hymns collection.12 In addition to the example of 1QHa 12:6–13:6, other examples of orthographic variations that may be signs of a composite collection are worth noting.13 While literary themes recur throughout the Teacher Hymns collection project coherence, such unity is superficial and not mirrored in the orthographic systems of these compositions. Both 1QHa 11:6–19 and 1QHa 13:22–15:8 use the same three literary motifs: a ship on the depths of the sea, a fortified city before its enemies, and a woman in labor. These three motifs are introduced together in 1QHa 11:7–9 and reappear in varying degree throughout that composition. The same three motifs of ship, fortified city, and laboring woman appear later in the hodayah of 1QHa 13:22–15:8. The recurrence of the same three literary motifs suggests a relationship between these two compositions, yet the orthographic systems in these two

12

See the dating in DJD 29:195 and 421–32. No corresponding fragments of this composition have survived in the earliest copy of the Hodayot (4Q428). The only corresponding fragments of it in any of the earlier Cave 4 manuscripts are to 4Q430 (4QHd) and to 4Q431 (4QHe), both of which are dated to the Herodian period, thus making these Cave 4 Hodayot contemporaries of 1QHa and not necessarily source material for 1QHa. It should also be noted that the composition in 12:6–13:6 takes up exactly one complete manuscript column of approximately forty lines, according to the particular scroll 1QHa. 13 There are peculiar instances where paleo-Hebrew appears in the scroll at 1QHa 7:38; 9:28; and 10:36. Paleo-Hebrew is also used in another copy of 1QHa, known as 1QHb, which preserves overlapping parts to the compositions 15:30–36; 15:37–16:4; and 16:5–17:36. See Milik, DJD 1:136–8, pl. XXXI; see also the discussion by Émile Puech, “Restauration d’un texte hymnique à partir de trois manuscrits fragmentaires: 1QH(a) xv 37–xvi 4 (vii 34–viii 3), 1Q35 (Hb) 1, 9–14, 4Q428 (Hb) 7,” RevQ 16 (1995): 543–58; and Schuller, DJD 40:43–46. The inconsistent use of paleo-Hebrew suggests that the scribes who copied 1QHa were reproducing the text exactly as it was found in their sources. Emanuel Tov suggests that these instances should be understood as quotations (Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert [Leiden: Brill, 2004], 242, where he writes, “’El; probably all quotations.”

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hodayot suggest that they were not composed by the same hand. The orthography shows that the author of 1QHa 11:6–19 preferred to use the expanded orthography for both ‫( כיא‬five out of six times) and ‫כול‬ (six out of six times), while the author of 1QHa 13:22–15:8 consistently preferred the defective form of ‫( כי‬twelve out of twelve instances) but the expanded orthography for ‫( כול‬eighteen out of eighteen times).14 This orthographic variation among two Teacher Hymns that reuse the same three literary motifs can be seen as evidence of multiple authorship within the Teacher Hymns collection.15 Vivid and Dramatic Language as a Marker of Authorial Voice Scholars of the Heidelberg School were influenced by, among many other things, the literary style of the texts in 1QHa 10–17 when they formulated the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis. The vivid and dramatic language in the Teacher Hymns was presumed to be unique to this collection and a sign of a “strong I.” However, the assumption that unique literary style and a “strong I” are markers of an authorial voice reflects an expectation about texts that may mischaracterize writings from the Second Temple period. Such a view wrongly assumes that more vivid and dramatic texts possess an authenticity that is not found in writings that use more stereotypical language. Gert Jeremias, Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn, and Jürgen Becker all appeal to the distinctive and qualitative difference between the voice of the speaker in the Teacher Hymns and the voice of the speaker in other sections of the scroll that came to be known as the “Community Hymns.”16 Jeremias described the quality of the speech in the Teacher Hymns as “lebendigen Sprache,” in contrast to the rest of the scroll, which he described as “erstarrte Wendungen und monotone Wiederholungen.”17 14 N.B. 1QHa 13:22–15:8 shows a general preference for the full orthography in the spelling of the 2ms suffix. 15 The relationship between these two compositions, I think, is an exegetical one. The shorter composition with more mythological elements (1QHa 11:6–19) is being interpreted by the later more expanded piece (1QHa 13:22–15:8). I refer you to my discussion of these two hodayot in my forthcoming work, Reading with an “I” to the Heavens: Looking at the Qumran Hodayot through the Lens of Visionary Traditions for the Ekstasis series (Berlin: de Gruyter). 16 For a discussion of the so-called Community Hymns, see Angela Kim Harkins, “The Community Hymns Classification: A Proposal for Further Differentiation,” DSD 15 (2008): 121–54; and eadem, “Observations on the Editorial Shaping of the SoCalled Community Hymns in 1QHa and 4Q427 (4QHa),” DSD 12 (2005): 233–56. 17 Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 171.

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The vivid literary style of the Teacher Hymns significantly influenced early Scrolls scholars to prioritize these texts over others, since literary originality was prized over other more traditional and stereotypical formulations. This model of authorship associates authorship with literary originality and authenticity. The judgment that esteems lively literary style over stereotypical language can be said to be anachronistic. Since the Heidelberg School, studies have critiqued the operative understanding of the ancient authorship of Jewish literature. Important work on the authorship of texts from this time period has been done by Judith Newman, Esther Chazon and others.18 The Heidelberg School sought to argue for the authorship of the Teacher Hymns on the grounds of the literary cohesiveness of the collection. This was done by identifying vocabulary that was distinctive to the Teacher Hymns. Jeremias succeeded in isolating some thirtynine phrases in the Teacher Hymns that were not shared by the surrounding material in the scroll. Later scholars critiqued Jeremias’s literary approach for failing to isolate truly distinctive vocabulary.19 Michael Douglas notes that Jeremias’s study “catalogued . . . predominately common words.”20 Douglas offers his own work as an improve-

18 See Judith Newman (Praying by the Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism [SBLEJL 14; Atlanta: Scholars, 1999]), whose book has highlighted the important ways that prayer texts from this time period appeal to stereotypical “biblical” language; also Esther Chazon, “Scripture and Prayer in ‘The Words of the Luminaries’,” and other essays in Prayers that Cite Scripture (ed. James L. Kugel; Cambridge: Harvard University, 2006), 25–41. An example of anachronistic models of authorship is Jed Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship: Attribution and Canon Formation in Jewish, Hellenistic, and Christian Traditions (Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 49; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004). Hindy Najman has done much to critique the modern terminology of pseudepigrapha as anachronistic and deeply problematic. Hindy Najman, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–36; eadem, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 4–13; eadem, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410; “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attributions in Second Temple Writings,” Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. Craig A. Evans; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202– 216; eadem, “Angels at Sinai: Exegesis, Theology and Interpretive Authority,” DSD 7 (2000): 313–333; and James A. Sanders, “Introduction: Why the Pseudepigrapha?” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 14; SSEJC 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 13–19, esp. 13–14. 19 Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 173. 20 Douglas, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited,” 246–47.

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ment on Jeremias’s flawed study by claiming to have isolated the truly unique expression, “when you [God] exercise your power through me” (‫)הגבירכה בי‬.21 Like the other scholars who favor the Teacher identification, Douglas presumes an understanding of authorship whereby an author would seek to distinguish his work by using a distinctive literary style—“a literary style peculiar to each author.”22 Here Douglas appeals to the medieval historian Maurice Bloch, who writes that “really exceptional expressions can identify an author; assuming of course that its repetitions are sufficiently numerous.”23 The operative assumption here is that a distinctive phrase can be correlated with the existence of a single author. The conclusion is made, then, that only one individual could have been responsible for it. The search for a distinctive literary style presumes a modern attitude toward composition that favors what is original over what is stereotypical, and it assumes that rewriting and reusing language did not take place for the authors of the Hodayot. On the contrary, studies of compositional techniques of prayers during this time have demonstrated the preference for using what is familiar and stereotypical over what is original.24 Douglas’s arguments in favor of the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis rely on historical Jesus methodology, and this is problematic in the case of the Hodayot. He reasons from the criterion of dissimilarity that distinctive speech can authenticate texts.25 Yet, unlike the Jesus sayings, which have the benefit of ancient attributions of a phrase to Jesus, no such attributions connect the Teacher Hymns or any of the other Hodayot hymns with a historical figure, and no ancient texts associate the Hodayot with the Teacher of Righteousness. The earliest attribution of these writings to the Teacher of Righteousness comes from Eleazar Sukenik in the modern period. The literary exercise of isolating a distinctive phrase does not demonstrably identify the author as a historical figure.

21

Douglas, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited,” 239–66. Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship, 388. 23 Maurice Bloch, The Historian’s Craft (trans. Peter Putnam; New York: Random House, 1953), 128. (Note the dating of Bloch.) See Douglas, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited,” 248–49. 24 See especially the discussion of compositional techniques in the prayer literature from this time period by Esther Chazon, “Scripture and Prayer in ‘The Words of the Luminaries’,” 25–41. 25 Douglas, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited,” 248. Here he cites the example of Norman Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (New York: Harper & Row, 1976), 38. 22

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Gert Jeremias elevates the strong dramatic literary style of the Teacher Hymns as compelling evidence for a historical author. In doing so, he can be said to privilege an understanding of authorship that is influenced by Romanticism, which presumes that lively and dramatic language reflects the passionate interiority of the author. Like Jeremias, Jürgen Becker also assumes that literary originality is a sign of an individual author. He, too, places a premium on the vividness of the literary style of the Teacher Hymns and the uniquely exceptional qualities of the speaker: Daß ein Teil der Lieder vom Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit stamen warden, darf man darum mit gutem Recht annehmen, weil in einigen Psalmen die hinter dem Ich des Beters stehende Person so konkret, exzeptionell und pregnant in den Aussagen zutage tritt, daß man in ihr deutlich den Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit als den Gründer der Gemeinde erkennt. Das Hauptmerkmal ist dabei die Struktur des Ichs der Psalmen.26

Both Jeremias and Becker presume that an author can be identified by a distinctive literary style, and they both presume that the strong, authoritative “I” of the Teacher Hymns is a marker of a uniquely extraordinary author. The Heidelberg school, and scholars who situate themselves in that tradition, assumes an understanding of authorship that privileges the work of the writer as an individual who creates by means of a unique literary style. Such a view of authorship runs counter to how scribes of the Second Temple period actually engaged in the production of sacred writing—namely, they sought to erase signs of individuality for the sake of attaching their new compositions to the true authority of revealed literature. The authorship of the Hodayot should not be understood according to anachronistic models of authorship which search for signs of a single historical author by isolating a distinct literary compositional style. I propose that the Heidelberg scholars, classically educated German scholars of the early twentieth century, may have been unduly influenced by models of the poet as author, which are rooted in Romanticism.27 Jeremias’s and Becker’s positive assessments of the vivid and

26

Becker, Das Heil Gottes, 51. For an account of Romanticism in Germany in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, see M. H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1953); and Monika SchmitzEmans, “Theories of Romanticism: The First Two Hundred Years,” in Nonfictional Romantic Prose: Expanding Borders (ed. Steven P. Sondrup and Virgil Nemoianu, in collaboration with Gerald Gillespie; Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2004), 13–36. See 27

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dramatic literary style of the Teacher Hymns as a marker of a historical author reflects a model of authorship that befits a Romantic poet whose passionate interiority is reflected by the intense and dramatic qualities of his writing.28 I propose that the expectations of authorship held by these early Scrolls scholars of the mid-twentieth century were shaped by models of the Romantic hero as author which were rooted in late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries expectations, and reexperienced in Germany as the neo-Romanticism of the early twentieth century.29 The moody and wildly emotional temperaments of the Romantic-era writers were presumed to be reflected in the vivid and dramatic qualities of the writings themselves. The presumption is that the interior passion of a literary genius would be mirrored in the creative brilliance of his writing, resulting in the readerly expectation that the personality of the author is fused with his art—the authenticity of an authorial voice can be measured by the dramatic qualities in the writing itself. too the recent studies critiquing the influence of ideological models on German biblical scholarship by Michael C. Legaspi, The Death of Scripture and the Rise of Biblical Studies (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010); Suzanne L. Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: Religion, Race, and Scholarship (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009); Jonathan Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). 28 Such a concern fits well the expectations about the Romantic poet or author that circulated in the eighteenth century, namely that only the original authentic author (e.g., Moses) can be the true creative genius. So it follows that writings produced by authors who fraudulently pass themselves off as another are derivative and inferior. This negative judgment about works that are written pseudepigraphically bears upon the negative judgments early scholars had about the way the non-Teacher Hymns, which Kuhn named the Community Hymns, reuse scriptural texts and allude to biblical traditions. In one of the earliest publications on the Hodayot, Jacob Licht writes: “It makes rather awkard (sic) use of a great many biblical phrases, and although some passages have a bizarre grandeur, [the “Thanksgiving Scroll”] is on the whole rather humdrum, and does not seem to possess any high degree of literary merit. It is also very repetitive, to the point of monotony” (“The Doctrine of the Thanksgiving Scroll,” IEJ 6 [1956]: 1–13, 89–101, here 1–2). Later on, he writes that the author of the Hodayot reiterates the doctrine found in 1QS “in a poetically confused manner” (4). 29 The scholarly distinction between various national forms of Romanticism (e.g., British, German) made by Arthur O. Lovejoy (“On the Discriminations of Romanticisms,” PMLA 29 [1924]: 229–53; repr. in Essays in the History of Ideas [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1948], 228–53) has been famously and roundly criticized by René Wellek, “The Concept of ‘Romanticism’ in Literary History: I. The Term ‘Romantic’ and Its Derivatives,” Comparative Literature 1 (1949): 1–23. While Wellek’s positions has become the more standard view, such a totalizing view of Romanticism has been critiqued and nuanced by more recent studies, such as Jerome J. McGann, The Romantic Ideology: A Critical Investigation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), 18. See the discussion of Neo-Romanticism in Germany by Schmitz-Emas, “Theories of Romanticism,” 22–36.

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Some of the characteristics of the Romantic hero fit in a striking way the portrait of the speaker in the Teacher Hymns, especially this expectation that authorial authenticity can be equated with dramatic and strong literary style. These literary expectations, shaped by an understanding of the Romantic hero as author, may have influenced how early Scrolls scholars sought to situate and understand the speaker and author of the Teacher Hymns. The Romantic hero was more than an ordinary human; he was uniquely situated between the ordinary world and the divine. Northrop Frye writes that the Romantic hero was “balanced midway between godlike heroism and all-too-human irony.”30 Walter L. Reed describes the unique characteristics of the Romantic hero as being threefold: (1) the hero has a privileged status with respect to the divine; (2) the hero is both beleaguered by and also a potential redeemer of his society; and (3) the hero himself experiences transformation in a significant way.31 The influence of the Romantic hero model of authorship can be detected in the Heidelberg School’s reasoning in favor of the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis. For example, as we will see in the next section, this understanding of authorship relies upon an idea that it was impossible for more than one figure to have enjoyed the uniquely privileged status of the speaker in the same community.32 The expectation that the author of the Teacher Hymns was also a revolutionary leader fits well the expectations of the Romantic hero who was also seen as an inspired revolutionary figure, whose tragic existence was beleaguered yet instrumental during the bleakest of moments.33 Such a role was presumed to have been filled by the Teacher of Righteousness who was persecuted and attacked by his enemies, as some references in the Teacher Hymns and other scrolls suggest.

30 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 37. 31 Walter L. Reed, Meditations on the Hero: A Study of the Romantic Hero in Nineteenth-Century Fiction (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), 10. 32 Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 176. 33 See Zachary Leader, (Revision and Romantic Authorship [1996; repr., New York: Oxford University Press, 2002]), who describes the passionate and creative aspects of Romantic authorship and its association with inspiration. Reed (Meditations on the Hero, 5) describes the tension experienced by the Romantic author who is not only at odds with his society, but also “pictured as an eventual redeemer of society.”

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Extraordinary Unique Experiences Are Taken as Autobiographical and Assumed to Be Historical Traditional arguments in favor of Teacher Hymns Hypothesis frequently appeal to the powerful authoritative claims that the speaker makes of having a privileged relationship with the supernatural. This aspect of the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis capitalizes on the uniqueness of the strong literary style of the Teacher Hymns and the extraordinary events that they describe. Oftentimes the events include the granting of special revelation by God or a testimony of some other transformative experience.34 Jeremias’s argument in favor of a historical author emphasizes the unique and revolutionary aspects of the speaker’s authority and role. He reasons that it could not have been the case that more than one individual enjoyed the same authority as the speaker of these writings. He writes: Es is völlig undenkbar, daß es in der Gemeinde von Qumran in kürzester Zeit zwei Männer gegeben hat, die beide mit dem revolutionären Anspruch vor die Gemeinde traten, mit ihrer Lehre das Heil zu bewirken, und daß beide Männer von dem Gemeinde akzeptiert wurden. Es kann nu rein und derselbe Man sein, der aus den Schriften der Gemeinde als sie prägend hervortritt.35

Thus, the authoritative author of Die Danklieder and the leader known from other scrolls as the Teacher of Righteousness must be one and the same person, whose role in society is much like the revolutionary leadership associated with the Romantic hero. In Jeremias’s mind, it was impossible to think that two different men could have made such similar claims for authority and had such a similar role in the same community. Jeremias reasoned that there could have been only one unique figure who could have experienced what was described in the compositions known as the Teacher Hymns. This reasoning reflects a common early assumption in Qumran studies that the collection known as the Dead Sea Scrolls was preserved by a single community. Such an assumption has been rightly disproven in recent studies such as that by Alison Schofield whose important examination of the textual development of the Qumran Community Rule demonstrates that, in fact, the Dead Sea Scrolls reflect multiple communities.36 34

Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 175. Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 176. 36 Alison Schofield, “Rereading S: A New Model of Textual Development in Light of the Cave 4 Serekh Copies,” DSD 15 (2008): 96–120 and eadem, From Qumran to the 35

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The “strong I” in the Teacher Hymns was taken to be a sign of a strong authorial voice that was assumed to be speaking autobiographically, with the assumption that autobiographical writings contain historical data. Sukenik was the first to introduce the idea that these writings were autobiographical meditations by the Teacher of Righteousness, but ironically, around the same time, literary critics were challenging the operative assumptions surrounding autobiography as a vehicle of truth-telling.37 In Georges Gusdorf ’s important critical essay on autobiography, published in 1956, he concludes that the genre of autobiography does not provide details of how a person existed historically, but rather how a person would like to be remembered as being.38 Around the same time, Northrop Frye described the creative impulses that motivate the writing of an autobiography as identical to the ones that drive one to write fiction.39 Even though these critiques were raised about autobiography in the mid-twentieth century, Ann Jefferson, writing in the late 1980s, states pointedly that the genre continues to be approached uncritically when she writes that “the conjunction of autobiography and fiction in actual writing

Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for the Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009) and also most recently John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010). For an excellent discussion of the many changes in the scholarly assumptions about the community of Qumran, see Charlotte Hempel, “Shared Traditions: Points of Contact between S and D,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts (ed. Hindy Najman, Sarianna Metso, and Eileen Schuller; STDJ 92; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 115–31. 37 In the editio princeps of 1QHa, Sukenik (DSSHU, 39) writes: “Most of the hymns strike a distinctive personal note. Of particular interest from this viewpoint is the long chapter in column 4 in which the author refers to himself as a man who hoped for special revelations from the godhead and who, despite his opponents, had many followers flocking to him to listen to his teaching. A possible inference is that the author was the Teacher of Righteousness often mentioned in these scrolls as well as in the ‘Zadokite Document’ of the Damascus Covenanters.” Sukenik had made similar statements in his earliest publications of these texts, dating as early as 1948. 38 Georges Gusdorf, (“Conditions and Limits of Autobiography,” Autobiography: Essays Theoretical and Critical [trans. James Olney; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980], 28–48, here 45; trans. of “Conditions et limites de l’autobiographie,” in Formen der Selbstdarstellung: Analekten zu einer Geschichte des literarischen Selbstportraits [ed. Günther Reichenkron and Erich Hasse; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1956]. Gusdorf writes, “Autobiography is not a simple repetition of the past as it was, for recollection brings us not the past itself but only the presence in spirit of a world forever gone” (38). See also the introductory essay (“Autobiography and the Cultural Moment”) in Olney, Autobiography, 3–27, which provides an excellent survey of the history of the critical discussion of the genre of autobiography to the 1980s. 39 Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 307.

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practice is still apt to be felt as something of a scandal.”40 The prevailing approach toward autobiography by literary critics today takes the autobiographical “I” as a fictive persona, not as a historical reality.41 This can also be a helpful way of considering the “I” in the Qumran Teacher Hymns as well.42 The judgment that the Teacher Hymns were autobiographical meditations can also be related to the above critique that the Heidelberg school’s conceptualization of the Teacher Hymns author is modeled on a Romantic hero. Romanticism’s emphasis on the interiority of the hero can in fact be considered as the impetus for the rising interest in the genre of autobiography during the eighteenth century. Eugene Stelzig writes that “the sense of the individual self as a private possession is associated with the emergence in the later eighteenth century of a more subjective awareness of human experience.”43 Stelzig goes on to characterize autobiography as a “distinctive romantic genre.”44 For

40 Ann Jefferson, “Autobiography as Intertext: Barthes, Sarraute, Robbe-Grillet,” in Intertextuality (ed. Michael Worton and Judith Still; New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), 108–29, here 108. 41 The study by Carolyn Barros (Autobiography: Narrative of Transformation [University of Michigan Press, 1998], 19–49) analyzes autobiography according to three elements: persona, figura and dynamis (19–49). That the persona described in autobiographical texts is fictive and not historical is a prevailing view. Barros’s discussion of autobiography’s persona as rhetorical (and not historical) is helpful to keep in mind in the case of the Hodayot. 42 Examples of studies of the Hodayot that consider the Teacher Hymns to be rhetorical texts include Carol Newsom, who has published significantly on the question of the authorship of these texts and has gone so far as to rename the traditional Teacher Hymns material as the “Hodayot of the Leader” to avoid any association with the Teacher of Righteousness; see Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill 2004). Note, however, that Newsom’s views on this topic have developed from her earlier study where she states: “I am persuaded that there is good reason for concluding that the Qumran community read the compositions listed above (with the possible exception of 14:8–22 [P. 6:19–33]) as referring to the Teacher of Righteousness” (“Kenneth Burke Meets the Teacher of Righteousness: Rhetorical Strategies in the Hodayot and the Serek HaYahad,” in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins [ed. Harold W. Attridge et al.; Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1990), 121–31, here 123. Another recent study that situates itself in line with Newsom’s view (that the traditional Teacher Hymns material are not the Teacher’s but can be identified more generically with any leader) is Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 16, 234; her ultimate conclusions, however, seem to confuse rather than clarify the issues; see Angela Kim Harkins, review of Julie Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, JSJ 38 (2007): 398–99. 43 Eugene Stelzig, “The Romantic Subject in Autobiography,” in Nonfictional Romantic Prose, 223–241, here 224. 44 Stelzig, “The Romantic Subject,” 224.

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literary critics, the genre of autobiography is problematic when used in historical reconstruction, and Scrolls scholars who insist on understanding the Teacher Hymns as autobiographical should be aware of these criticisms. Romantic models of the author presume that a text’s vivid and dramatic literary style can be an authentic expression of the interiority of the author himself. The genre of autobiography would have been readily associated with Romanticism and fits well with the interest in interiority during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Germany in the twentieth century would have prized Romanticism, which continued to be an influential movement well into the Third Reich. The German scholars associated with the Heidelberg school valued aspects of authorship like uniqueness and originality, which fit well Romantic models of authorship but not the ancient context of Qumran. Conclusion In closing, I wish to propose that the vivid and dramatic language in the Teacher Hymns should not be understood as evidence of a real person’s experience but rather as a marker of a textualized self, a rhetorical persona that seeks to describe phenomenal, extraordinary experiences through an imaginal body. This view goes against a long-held scholarly view that has hypothesized that these compositions can be traced back to the experiences of the founder of the community, the Teacher of Righteousness. The Teacher Hymns Hypothesis has never been the consensus view among Scrolls scholars,45 yet it has unduly influenced the popular understanding of these texts. The “concrete” language of the Teacher Hymns that was so compelling for the Heidelberg scholars can be redescribed as vivid and dramatic language about the body. References to the body, both to the body’s parts and also to the body’s extension and locomotion, can account for what Morawe observed are two important literary features of these compositions: reports of dire need and claims of special revelation. References to the body mark sites of the speaker’s extraordinary

45 Strong skepticism about the Teacher Hymn Hypothesis has always been a part of the scholarly discussion of the Hodayot. See Holm-Nielsen, Hodayot; Denise Dombkowski Hopkins, “The Qumran Community and 1QHodayot: A Reassessment,” RevQ 10 (1979–81): 323–64, esp. 336; and Bonnie Kittel, The Hymns of Qumran: Translation and Commentary (SBLDS 50; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981).

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suffering, but more importantly his extraordinarily striking encounters with the divine.46 In this way, both of Morawe’s formal elements can be understood as figuring into a larger discussion of the body. Descriptions of bodily suffering are highlighted in the anguished laments of the Teacher Hymns. The speaker’s body is also instrumental in citations of his exaltation and elevation, where the body becomes the special site for God’s special encounter. In other words, the speaker’s body becomes imagined as the liminal space where the encounter of the divine is possible, and as such, it becomes the site for extraordinary experiences of extreme suffering and extreme exaltation. My understanding of the body images in the Hodayot owes much to Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher’s study of body images in the Psalms. She writes that the body in the Psalms is not a real body: “In the Psalms the language of the body is based on an experienced reality. Nevertheless, the depiction of the body presented is a fictitious model.”47 While her study is enormously useful, the language of “fictitious model” as a description of the psalmist’s (or psalmists’) experiential understanding of the body sets up a dichotomy between rhetorical (fiction) and historical (non-fiction). While such polarized categories may well serve the literary discussion of genres like the classic autobiographical genre, they are inadequate for speaking of religious and liturgical texts. The understanding of the body in the Qumran Hodayot is not real, but it is also not strictly rhetorical in Judaism’s imagination. The term rhetorical in fact diminishes the actual theological depths and complexity of the Qumran understanding of the body. While the word rhetorical is helpful insofar as it pushes against the historical author hypothesis known as the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis, it can suggest that its referent is a completely literary construct. I propose that references to the body are prominent within the Teacher Hymns, but they do not point to the experiences of a historical being, the Teacher of Righteousness. While the constructed body of the Teacher Hymns allows for phenomenal and sensory experiences,

46 Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher offers many observations that are helpful in understanding the Hodayot. I wish to draw attention to her observation that the body in the Psalms allows for communication between the psalmist and God (see GillmayrBucher, “Body Images in the Psalms,” JSOT 28 [2004]: 301–326, here 305). See also H. Kalverkämper, “Literatur und Körpersprache,” Poetica 23 (1991): 328–73. I will return to the idea of the body as a locus for divine communication later in this essay, although space limitations do not permit me to develop this in great detail. 47 Gillmayr-Bucher, “Body Images in the Psalms,” 305.

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it does not describe a historical body that existed in time and space. Ultimately, the terms rhetorical and fictitious model cannot adequately describe the complexity of the phenomenon of embodiment in the Psalms and Hodayot. A better way to think of the body of the speaker of the Teacher Hymns, and the way that is proposed for this study, is to conceptualize it as an imaginal body which functions to assist the reader in entering into the world of the text. The language of imaginal is associated with Henry Corbin, in Temple and Contemplation, who uses it to refer to texts’ phenomenal religious worldview.48 Corbin describes his use of the word “imaginal” in the following way: “It is the world situated midway between the world of purely intelligible realities and the world of sense perception; the world that I have called the imaginal world (ʿālam al-mithāl, mundus imaginalis) in order to avoid any confusion with what is commonly designated imaginary.”49 Corbin’s understanding of the imaginal world can be enormously helpful for understanding how early Judaism imagined a non-earthly world with spatial dimensions within liturgical and visionary contexts. Recently, Joseph Angel has used Corbin’s understanding of the Imago Templi to highlight how Qumran scrolls scholars have sought to correlate sociological and historical events with the production of texts. Such a methodological approach prioritizes history and results in an impoverished understanding of how this literature was experienced within an actual living community as religious texts.50 Corbin’s idea of imaginal has been applied by Elliot Wolfson to the Jewish idea of the body of both the worshiper and of God himself within texts that speak of religious experience. Wolfson writes that the imaginal body is a “symbolic construct that allows human consciousness to access the transcendent reality as a concrete form manifest primarily (if not 48

Henry Corbin, Temple and Contemplation (London: KPI in association with Islamic Publications, 1986), 263–390. For Corbin the Imago Templi is the “meetingplace of the two seas.” Corbin’s image of the Imago Templi refers to the interiorization of the sacred space after the destruction, the “visionary perception of the prophet Ezekiel,” that came into being after its destruction in the sixth century b.c.e. (268–69). See also the excellent discussion by Elliot R. Wolfson, “Imago Templi and the Meeting of the Two Seas: Liturgical Time-Space and the Feminine Imaginary in Zoharic Kabbalah,” RES 51 (2007): 121–35. 49 Corbin, Temple and Contemplation, 265. 50 Joseph L. Angel, Otherworldly and Eschatological Priesthood in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 86; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 83–106. See also Eibert C. Tigchelaar’s use of the term imaginal in his essay, “The Imaginal Context and the Visionary of the Aramaic New Jerusalem,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 257–70.

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exclusively) in the sacred space of the two major forms of worship of the heart: prayer and study.”51 The starting point for this study was the popular Teacher Hymns, those texts found in 1QHa 10–17, but like Angel’s criticism of an overly historical approach, this study has also sought to critique the motivations that lie behind the traditional Teacher Hymns Hypothesis. The popular name “Teacher Hymns” presupposes a conceptualization of authorship that is influenced by modern assumptions and should now be re-examined given the new understandings that scrolls scholars have. The traditional Teacher Hymns Hypothesis relied upon what scholars would now say is an overly simplified understanding of the Qumran texts and their contexts. The strong literary style of the Teacher Hymns is best explained by the remarkable references to concrete imagery that is used; the speaker’s body has spatial dimensions, specific parts, locomotion, and all of the experiential aspects associated with the phenomenon of physicality. Such a literary style succeeds in constructing an imaginal body but does not give evidence for a real historical body belonging to a historical figure. When references to the body appear in the Teacher Hymns and make vivid mention of the speaker’s physical experiences, they speak of phenomenal and sentient experiences which do not need to be understood historically. This essay has asked whether the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns is a historical Teacher-figure. My conclusion to this question, first asked more than fifty years ago by Sukenik, is that this is not a historical person. The vivid and dramatic references to the speaker’s experiences in the Teacher Hymns do not point to a historical flesh and blood Teacher but rather construct an imaginal body that assists the reader in entering into the world of the Hodayot. Yet the Teacher whom this essay seeks to honor is very real. He is a teacher of great patience, abundant generosity, and infinite knowledge. I am grateful to have learned from him about the world of the Second Temple period.52

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Elliot R. Wolfson, “Judaism and Incarnation: The Imaginal Body of God,” in Christianity in Jewish Terms (ed. Tikva Frymer-Kensky et al.; Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 2000), 239–54, here 240. 52 A version of this paper was presented under the title “Images of the Body in the Qumran Hodayot: Real or Rhetorical?” in the Qumran section at the International Society of Biblical Literature Meeting, Tartu, Estonia, July 2010. I am grateful to the organizers of that panel, Alison Schofield and Eibert Tigchelaar, for inviting me to present in the session on non-biblical scrolls. I wish to also express my thanks to Franklin Harkins, Bob Epstein, Elizabeth Petrino, and Giovanni Ruffini, who offered comments on an earlier version of this essay.

RE-PLACING PRIESTLY SPACE: THE WILDERNESS AS HETEROTOPIA IN THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS* Alison Schofield Landscapes are culture before they are nature; constructs of the imagination projected onto wood and water and rock. Simon Schama1 Human beings are not placed, they bring place into being. Jonathan Z. Smith2

Landscapes are, in essence, geographies of the human imagination. They, like other spaces, are social constructs, and the desert, or wilderness, was no less so for the authors of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Yahad).3 Through the language of their texts, the Yahad members constructed the desert as a particular imagined space, one that was fashioned out of earlier biblical traditions for their own sectarian ends. Yet, at least for some Yahad members, the desert was the meeting point of literary, discursive space as well as lived space, raising some questions about how they negotiated the two. What was the relationship between this priestly group who wrote about the desert as part of their theological self-understanding and those who potentially embodied the space of the Judean Desert? This priestly community understood itself to be a communal substitution for temple sacrifices, but did they consider the site of Qumran to be sacred ground? This brief study is not about the desert coordinates of Qumran per se. Instead, I borrow from the toolbox of critical spatial theory to offer * James C. VanderKam has contributed important works on the place of the Judean Desert for the Yahad, and it is with great pleasure that I dedicate this essay to him. I am grateful for his sound scholarship, meticulous care for detail, and the extraordinary investment that he makes in his students. 1 Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory (London: HarperCollins, 1995), 61. 2 Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (ed. J. Neusner; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), esp. 14. 3 Here I use the English terms “wilderness” and “desert” interchangeably, as they both are legitimate translations of the Hebrew term, ‫מדבר‬.

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some new observations about the ambiguous relationship between sect and land, Qumran and temple, priest and sanctuary (or lack thereof ). It is timely to consider new dimensions to the Yahad beyond just their literary selves or simply their material culture. Engaging critical spatial analysis proves to be a useful way to uncover how this priestly movement navigated both the desert as conceived and the desert as experienced. In this essay I offer three proposals. (1) In their texts, the Yahad members re-inscribed the desert as a new priestly space, both conceptually and, for some, literally. This new desert “camp” functioned as a heterotopia, following Michel Foucault’s epistemology of space. (2) As such, this sectarian space contested the alleged coherence and dominance of the Jerusalem temple, but did not entirely supersede it.4 (3) The creation of this new social space was a necessary part of cementing their sectarian movement, finalized through their practice, or regimentation, of space. Theoretical “Ground”ing Although it is neither necessary nor possible here to review all of the relevant studies on critical spatiality, it is important to outline the two primary theoretical bases upon which this study rests. First, I agree with Henri Lefebvre, who emphasizes that all (social) space is socially produced (L’espace [social] est un produit [social]), and I consider the wilderness space to be socially construed through the language and actions of the Yahad.5 Secondly, social space can be understood in three primary dimensions, following the taxonomy of Lefebvre and others. The first category of analysis is perceived space (l’espace perçu), or that which can be seen, touched, or empirically measured. The second category is conceived space (l’espace conçu), consisting of mental spaces, or that which is conceptualized through language, maps or blueprints, etc. Finally, we are left with a third category of space as experienced (l’espace vécu), or “Thirdspace,” following Edward Soja, a space which is in many ways the intersection of the first two. That is, experienced space reflects the actual encounter with space, lying

4 I hope to find a pragmatic center to some of the more extreme arguments that either find the Yahad to be wholly pro- or anti-temple, the latter having dominated the conversation during the earliest years of Scrolls scholarship. 5 Henri Lefebvre, La production de l’espace (Paris: Anthropos, 2000), 35; The Production of Space (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991), 26.

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somewhere between the imagination of space and that which is tangible to the senses.6 One could consider the desert simply as an imagined space, such as that of a utopian space, but indeed we cannot neglect the material reality of this space for the desert-dwellers near the Dead Sea. When I speak here about the desert as a heterotopian space in the Scrolls, I primarily refer to the second category, conceived space, as it is literarily represented through their texts, and to the third dimension of space, how that imagination may have been actually experienced or lived out in space, as best we can determine.7 The Place of the Jerusalem Temple Theorists generally define place (lieu) as the locus of geographical coordinates, or that which can be fixed on a map. Yet place is relational in that it is one part of a larger fabric of interrelated wholes. Specific sites, particularly those set apart as sacred, can influence the way people think, behave, and shape the rhythm of their lives.8 For Second Temple Jews, the temple was place par excellence. It was, as J. Z. Smith concludes, a “place of clarification—most particularly of the hierarchical rules and roles of the sacred/profane, pure/impure.”9 The temple was place in its purist sense of fixity, both in geographical coordinates as well as in the priestly hierarchy it delimited. Yet it is worth noting, alongside J. Z. Smith, that unlike other sacred sites, such as the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, St. Catherine’s Monastery, or the Dome of the Rock, the Jerusalem temple was not

6 Lefebvre uses this taxonomy of space when describing the individual’s experience with space, in La production de l’espace, 50; The Production of Space, 40. Although he uses other categories for analysis elsewhere, with this analysis he approaches the camp of other human geographers such as Michel de Certeau and Yi-Fu Tuan (De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life [trans. S. Rendall; Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984]; Tuan, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience [Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977]). 7 Foucault initially speaks of the heterotopia as a tangible place but later recognizes some of the nuances of the literal place versus the articulated space. He eventually shifts his focus to heterotopias as existing primarily in the non-place of language, or as “absolutely differentiated discursive spaces.” See The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (New York and Paris: Routledge, 2002); and Soja, “Heterotopologies: A Remembrance of Other Spaces in the Citadel-LA,” in Postmodern Cities and Spaces (ed. S. Watson and K. Gibson; Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 13–34. 8 Phillip Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory and Identity (London: SCM Press, 2001), 4. 9 Smith, To Take Place, 84.

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originally founded on its Jerusalem location because a specific event had sanctified the place, even though such events were later associated with the site. Theoretically, it could have been constructed anywhere and been the same in that it “required no rationale beyond the obvious one that, once having been declared a temple and accepted as such (by YHWH, king, priests, and people) . . .,” it effectively delimited the priestly sphere and the sacred and the profane within Second Temple Jewish life.10 The site itself was generally accepted, but the temple’s priestly space itself did not go uncontested. Space, as usually construed, expands the limits of place.11 It is less tangible but further-reaching in terms of its many dimensions. Or, as Michel de Certeau notes, in contrast to the rigidity and tangible nature of one place, “space exists when one takes into consideration vectors of direction, velocities, and time variables. Thus space is composed of intersections of mobile elements.”12 Yet, still, we must ground ourselves to some place before we can understand ourselves as taking up some kind of space, in the whole or in the abstract. As Philip Sheldrake remarks, “a sense of place actually precedes and creates a sense of space.”13 To use a modern example, at least one physical place of a university campus must exist, complete with its book-filled libraries and towering brick buildings arranged just so, before one can construct a sense of academia, or academic space, with all of the trappings and gestures that come along with it. So in this regard, the Jerusalem temple may have set the paradigm of the priestly place, with its concentric spheres of holiness and the rituals

10

Ibid., 83–84. Theorists, such as Michel Foucault, Pierre Bourdieu, and Michel de Certeau, grapple with the illusive characteristics of space, reminding us that certainly no fixed definition exists in reality. See also Mark George, Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space (ed. B. D. Sommer; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), esp. 17–19; Max Jammer, Concepts of Space: The History of Theories of Space (New York: Dover, 1993); and the bibliographies listed therein. 12 De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 117. 13 Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred, 7. Sheldrake also mentions other relevant works, such as Edward S. Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Stretch of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” in Senses of Place (ed. S. Feld and K. H. Basso; Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press, 1996); Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994); and Heidegger, Poetry, Language and Thought (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 154. In the latter, Heidegger himself noted that “Spaces receive their being from locations and not from ‘space’.” 11

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required therein, but as the Yahad itself shows us, it held no monopoly on sacred space in the context of Second Temple Judaism.14 At least by the time of the expulsion of their Teacher, the Yahad had disconnected from this hierarchical center in Jerusalem and had disputed its efficacy. Yet that leaves one with the nagging question: can priests function as priests without a sanctuary?15 Although the sect appears to have lacked a physical sanctuary or altar, they did not establish new coordinates of a physical temple or altar, as far as we can determine, but instead staked out a different kind of priestly space.16 Without denying the place of the temple, a persisting reality in Jerusalem, they challenged its efficacy by constructing an alternate sectarian space (espace), one that was articulated through a discourse of wilderness. Foucault’s Heterotopian Spaces Our analysis of this sectarian space is aided by the works of Michel Foucault. In his lecture entitled, “Des espaces autres” (“Of Other Spaces”), Foucault describes spaces of otherness or marginality, which he terms heterotopias. In contrast to utopias, which are essentially visionary, non-places (οὐ + τόπος), heterotopias are real spaces yet ones that are “other” than the norm. Heterotopias are “outside of all places, even though it may be possible to indicate their location in reality.”17 They are primarily composed of multiple spatio-temporal realities overlaid on

14 Examples would include the sacred sites at Mt. Gerizim, Elephantine, or Leontopolis. Then, as now, sacred space was that which was collectively interpreted and communicated as such. For a related study, consult Karen Wenell (Jesus and Land: Sacred and Social Space in Second Temple Judaism [New York: T&T Clark, 2007], esp. 3), who offers us a deeper discussion of what constituted sacred space in early Judaism. Cf. Jorunn Økland, “The Language of Gates and Entering: On Sacred Space in the Temple Scroll,” in New Directions in Qumran Studies: Proceedings of the Bristol Colloquium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, 8–10 September 2003 (ed. J. G. Campbell, et al.; LSTS 52; London: T&T Clark International, 2005), 149–65. 15 Compare the discussion in Florentino García Martínez, “Priestly Functions in a Community without Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel/Community without Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (ed. B. Ego, et al.; WUNT 118; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 303–17. 16 I am following Jodi Magness (Debating Qumran: Collected Essays on its Archaeology [Leuven, Peeters, 2004], 93) and others here, contra Jean-Baptiste Humbert (“L’espace sacré à Qumrân,” RB 101 [1994]: 161–214). 17 Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” Diacritics 16, no. 1 (1986): 22–27, esp. 24.

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one location; that is, heterotopias superimpose persons, places, periods, and/or things which would normally never occur together.18 Examples of heterotopias would include the theater, airport, or cemetery. The botanical garden is another heterotopian space, where otherwise unrelated flora are gathered together in one place. Concerning the latter, Foucault cites the great Persian gardens of antiquity, which were heterotopian spaces meant to represent in microcosmic form the four corners of the world.19 Heterotopias are, in essence, impossible spaces. The museum is the quintessential example, where normally incommensurable persons, places or cultures are juxtaposed to create a surreal space, yet one literally experienced by individuals. Further, the museum also has the ability to challenge the categories of other normative places, the very ones it is meant to mirror, for a museum is never neutral in selecting which objects it exhibits or in what manner they are displayed. For example, a visitor to an exhibit on American maritime history could encounter an unexpected display of eighteenth-century sailing ships, shipbuilders, fishing crafts, military submarines, nineteenth-century steamboats, and merchant mariners, all within the same physical room, and yet the juxtaposition and re-presentation of these would inevitably reflect a specific interpretation of the United States’ role as a naval power. Foucault addresses primarily modern, social spaces with an eye towards how they affect related power dynamics. Yet when read through a critical eye, a fruitful conversation can unfold between his heterotopology and the discursive space of the Scrolls sect. Examining the Yahad through this critical spatial lens reveals that they constructed a new, heterotopian space, one that moved fluidly between the Teacher and Moses, Jerusalem and camp, Judea and Sinai. For them, the desert became just such a counter-site, a place of otherness, and yet one able to reflect and simultaneously critique the contingent realities of the Jerusalem priesthood. Such a multivalent, heterotopian

18 Ibid.; see also Foucault, The Order of Things (New York: Vintage, 1980), xv–xxiv. Benjamin Gennochio’s critical analysis of Foucault’s heterotopias is also useful (“Discourse, Discontinuity, Difference: The Question of ‘Other’ Spaces,” in Postmodern Cities and Spaces [ed. S. Watson and K. Gibson; Oxford: Blackwell, 1995], esp. 38). 19 These gardens came to be represented on the famous Persian rugs, a fact which illuminates why these carpets were later seen to have magical powers to move across space (Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” 25–26).

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space allowed the sect new alternatives for imagined—and for some, lived—spaces over against the dominance of the Jerusalem temple. Spaces of “Otherness” The usefulness of this endeavor becomes clearer as we encounter the ways in which the desert functioned as a heterotopian space for the Yahad. First and foremost, Foucault identifies heterotopias as marginal spaces. In modern times they can include the rest home, psychiatric hospital, and the prison, where individuals whose behavior is deviant to the norm are placed and often sent to be reformed.20 In the Yahad’s own texts, a strong sense of inhabiting spaces of “otherness” is present, usually cast in the mold of personal or collective exile (‫)גלות‬. In Pesher Habakkuk the Wicked Priest is said to have chased the Teacher of Righteousness to “his place of exile” (1QpHab 11:4–8), while the Hodayot contain the first-person narrative of the Teacher being driven from his land: Mediators of deceit . . . [carry out] their deeds in folly. For I have been rejected by them, and they do not esteem me . . .; for they drive me from my land like a bird from its nest; all my friends and acquaintances have been driven away from me, and rank me like a broken jug. (1QHa 12:7–9)

Similar language of exile is elsewhere used to describe the community in general (4QCatenaa [177] i 8–9). The Damascus Document (D) locates the very origins of the community in exile (CD 1:1–2:1; cf. the exile of the community “beyond Damascus,” 7:14–19) and never implies that this state of displacement has reached its end. This collective “exilic consciousness” is one Michael Knibb would describe as defying the chronological limits of the Babylonian Exile; further, we could add, this conceptual space of exile had little to do with the geography of Babylon either.21 In heterotopian fashion, then, the

20 Ibid. I would critique Foucault’s binary categories of normative and deviant spaces as two categories which are not so clearly monolithic. Ideally, we should consider there to be a sort of spatial continuum, approaching that described by Genocchio, “Discourse, Discontinuity, Difference”; and in S. Best, “Window Dressing Up as Art,” Transition 35 (1991): 21–31. 21 Michael Knibb, “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” Heythrop Journal 17 (1976): 253–72; “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99–117. See also John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 35.

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sectarians understood themselves to live in a liminal expanse between time and space, what Carol Newsom recognizes as “exile, between cultures, at the point of transition between empires, and at the intersection of heaven and earth.”22 At times they further specify that this “other” space is linked to the desert, calling themselves the “exiled of the wilderness” (‫גולת מדבר‬, 1QM 1:2) or the “returnees/penitents of the wilderness” (‫שבי המדבר‬, 4QpPsa [4Q171] 1–10 iii 1), thus translating their sense of displacement into spatial terms. However, it is worth noting that the sectarians subtly subvert their own disenfranchised state by casting their desert exile in the language of empowered choice; their space of separation is necessary, even good, and more importantly, one they have constructed. For example, in the passages from the Community Rule (Serekh ha-Yahad or S) examined below, the sect’s desert calling is closely linked with a call for the members to distance themselves from regular society—to detach oneself from the unjust person (1QS 9:21) or to segregate from the “dwelling of the men of sin to walk to the desert” (1QS 8:13). Elsewhere, the authors of Miqsat Ma’aseh Ha-Torah (MMT) state explicitly: “[we] have separated ourselves from the majority of the people” in light of certain legal disagreements.23 Reimagining their own disempowerment in spatial terms allowed them to re-order the direction of the proper “path,” so to speak, and to challenge the halakhic ways of their contemporaries; they refashioned their deviant spaces—at least from the perspective of the Jerusalem elite—into a new center, into a desertturned-destination. In the heterotopian space of the wilderness, the sectarians found an opportunity to recreate themselves and produce a new space of their own. The Desert as Liturgical Space A second way in which heterotopias call into question normative spaces is the way in which they juxtapose disparate realities onto one, unexpected place.24 Such heterotopian potential is found in the liturgical texts, which create a similar conceptual space of the wilderness. 22

Carol Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 50. 23 Elisha Qimron and John Strugnell, DJD 10:59, composite text, C7. 24 Foucault here describes the heterotopia as the superimposition “in a single, real place [of ] several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible” (“Of Other Spaces,” 25).

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This liturgical space has the potential to move beyond the discursive realm and allow this space potentially to be experienced somewhere between the written and performed word (cf. Soja’s “Thirdspace”). The performative nature of these texts leaves us clues as to how these texts may have been experienced, or em-bodied (below). In Words of the Luminaries (4Q504–506), communal prayers are offered which draw heavily from the wilderness wandering narratives; these prayers likely pre-date the Qumran community, an important point explored below, but are found in clearly sectarian contexts and were likely performed there as well.25 If they were indeed rehearsed at Qumran, these prayers would have offered a particularly poignant means for the speaker to move from real time to that of the earlier Israelite wilderness community. Drawing from biblical passages, they proclaim: (Exod 19:4–5 4Q504 6 6–7 ‫ל־כנְ ֵפי נְ ָשׁ ִרים וָ ָא ִבא‬ ַ ‫] ז[כור נא כיא עמכה כולנו ותשאני פלים וָ ֶא ָשׂא ֶא ְת ֶכם ַﬠ‬ ‫ֶא ְת ֶכם ֵא ָלי‬ ‫]על כנפי[ נשרים ותביאנו אליכה‬ I bore you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself )26

[Re]member that all of us are your people. You have born us wondrously [upon the wings of] eagles and you have brought us to yourself.

(Deut 32:11 4Q504 6 7–9 ‫וכנשר יעיר קנו] על[ ]גוזליו [ ירחף יפרוש ְכּנֶ ֶשׁר יָ ִﬠיר ִקנּוֹ ַﬠל־גּוֹזָ ָליו יְ ַר ֵחף יִ ְפר ֹשׂ ְכּנָ ָפיו‬ ‫ל־א ְב ָרתוֹ‬ ֶ ‫יִ ָקּ ֵחהוּ יִ ָשּׂ ֵאהוּ ַﬠ‬ [‫כנפיו ויקח וישאהו על] אברתו[ ] [ ] ש‬ [ ]‫כנו בדד ובגוים לוא נתחשב וא‬ As the eagle stirs up its nest and hovers over its chicks, spreads its wings, takes one and carries it aloft on its pinions)

25

And as the eagle who stirs up its nest, hovers [over its chicks,] spreads its wings, takes one and carries it aloft on [its pinions, so we] dwell apart and are not reckoned among the nations.

4Q506 was copied alongside the War Scroll, for instance. Esther Chazon notes, “Divrei Ha-me’orot presents us with just such a case in which there is no positively sectarian terminology, yet there is nothing incompatible with sectarian belief and practice,” in “Is Divrei Ha-Me’orot a Sectarian Prayer?,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (ed. D. Dimant and U. Rappaport; STDJ 10; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 3–17, esp. 14. Yet the paleographical dating of the earliest copy, 4Q504, (150 b.c.e.), makes it older than the earliest date of the sectarian settlement at Qumran (Period Ib, 103–76 b.c.e., following Magness). 26 All Hebrew translations are my own, unless otherwise noted. Parentheses around biblical passages indicate that they are allusions rather than citations in 4Q504.

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alison schofield 4Q504 6 10–11 [ ]‫[ אתה בקרבנו בעמוד אש וענן ב‬ [ ‫] קוד[שכה הולך לפנינו וכבודכה בתוכ]נו‬ [O Lord,] it is you who is in our midst in the pillar of fire and cloud; [ ] your [hol]iness goes before us, your glory [dwells] among [us].

The two lemmata (Exod 19:4; Deut 32:11) are thematically linked by the image of the eagle hatching her chicks, a powerful image of God who broods over and nurtures Israel in the wilderness. But in fashioning the prayer, the author chose a different voice than that represented in the MT; through strategic intertextual allusion and citation, the author fashions a communal prayer that addresses God directly. In doing so, the present community, when performing the prayer in the first person, would have been fluidly overlaid with that of the wilderness generation. Taking up the position of Israel at Sinai, they proclaim “all of us are your people” and that “you have brought us to yourself ” (col. 6, lines 6–7). The speaker further blurs the line between past and present by insisting, “[so we] dwell apart and are not reckoned among the nations” (lines 7–9, emphasis mine) and by announcing that God is presently accessible in the “pillar of fire” and the “cloud” of the desert camp (lines 10–11). The culminating event being relived is that at Sinai/Horeb, mentioned explicitly in col. 11, where they address God: “You established a covenant with us on Ho[reb . . . by the hand of ] Moses.”27 Literarily, these prayers represent a conceptual heterotopia, where impossible actors, places, and notably, times, converge. A poignant disconnect from contemporary time takes place in these texts, as past generations seem as tangible as the present, illustrating what Foucault himself notes, that “the heterotopia begins to function at full capacity when men arrive at a sort of break with their traditional time.”28 One can only imagine how this experience of the wilderness time may have been experienced as it was mediated through the body of the speaker, particularly if this text had been enacted at Qumran, where it was discovered in multiple copies. Yet wherever it was read, the performance

27 28

4Q504 3 ii 13–17 (emphasis mine); cf. 4Q506 125+127 2. Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” 26.

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of these communal prayers would have set apart a special liturgical space that suspended contemporary time and reflected upon the biblical wilderness age. Re-enacting this desert space would have produced in its speakers an embodied cognition of a space at the intersection of story and reality, or text and experience, prayers through which the speakers could take on new virtual vestments of older priestly spaces. Perhaps this was a moment in which the power of place (temple) was neutralized or inverted under new spaces of power (those of the desert camp and its tabernacle).29 The Desert Calling in the Community Rule A similar understanding of the desert is found in a key portion of the Community Rule (1QS 8:1–16a and 9:3–10:8a).30 As part of the Manifesto, scribes here draw from Isa 40:3, which was particularly meaningful to the authors of the sectarian scrolls, as it was for the New Testament writers who linked this verse to John the Baptist, himself a marginal character.31 And when these have become a yahad (‫ )ליחד‬in Israel in compliance with these arrangements, they are to be segregated from within the dwelling of the men of sin to walk to the desert in order to open there His path. As it is written (Isa 40:3): “In the desert, prepare the way of ****, straighten in the steppe a roadway for our God.” This is the study of the law which he commanded through the hand of Moses, in order to act in compliance with all that has been revealed from age to age. . . . (1QS 8:12–15, emphasis mine)

29

Cf. the assessment of Foucault in Soja, “Heterotopologies,” 19. The description of the desert calling in 1QS 8:12–15 is preserved only fragmentarily in 4QSd 6:6–7 (which lacks the citation of Isa 40:3) and in 4QSe 3:17–19. Of the latter text, the wilderness calling is put forward as conditional, preserving a subtle difference from the more developed 1QS version. That is, 4QSe records, “if the way of the Community Assembly becomes perfect [by each man walking in perfection] . . ., then is the time of preparing the way into the wilderness” (emphasis mine). Most plausibly, the sect’s theological notion of a wilderness calling preceded their literal move to Qumran, and therefore, the founding of the Yahad was earlier than when a sectarian group settled at this site. See also Schofield, From Qumran to the Yahad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 159–62; and Collins, The Qumran Community, 88–121. 31 This verse is also cited in 4QTanḥumim (4Q176) 1 5–9. See also Matt 3:3; Mark 1:2; Luke 3:4–6. 30

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The authors do not cite the beginning of Isa 40:3, “a voice is calling” (‫)קול קורא‬, but begin the quote using disjunctive syntax with ‫במדבר‬ in first position, emphasizing that the wilderness reference is the key point of connection to the pretext.32 Such an emphasis on the desert is supported by a second reference to Isa 40:3, found later in the next column: These are the regulations for the Instructor by which he shall walk with every living being in compliance with the regulation of every period . . . so that they [the Yahad] walk perfectly, one with another, in all that has been revealed to them. This is the time for making ready the path to the desert and he will teach them about all that has been discovered so that they can carry it out in this moment so they will be detached from anyone who has not withdrawn his path from all injustice. (1QS 9:12–21; emphasis mine)

As a heterotopian space, the “otherness” of this imagined space is immediately apparent. They are to be segregated (‫ )יבדלו‬from the dwelling of the sinful and the unjust (8:13; 9:20–21). As mentioned above, in S they recast themselves as the dominant producers of priestly space, as they imagine themselves to self-segregate rather than suffer forced exile (but cf. the Teacher Hymns, above). As the heterotopian qualities of this desert space become clearer, we find that this imagined space is a palimpsest of sorts, where past, present, and future time converge. One should comply with the “regulation of every period” (9:12) and with that “revealed from age to age” (8:15) by the hand of Moses, who elsewhere fluidly intersects with the qualities of their own Teacher.33 32 See James Charlesworth, “Intertextuality: Isaiah 40:3 and the Serek ha-Yahad,” in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (ed. C. Evans and S. Talmon; BI 28; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 199–224, esp. 209–11. George Brooke reaches a similar conclusion that this verse was adopted to describe the community’s literal experience of the wilderness, in “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992 (ed. G. Brooke and F. García Martínez; STDJ 15; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 117–32, esp. 132. 33 See N. Wieder, “The ‘Law-Interpreter’ of the Sect of the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Second Moses,” JJS 4 (1953): 158–75, esp. 172. As P. Kyle McCarter notes, the language of the wilderness camp is used in sectarian literature, especially in the Community Rule (1QS), where the community is organized on the pattern of the tribes encamped in the wilderness. McCarter addresses their use of seemingly contradictory geography drawn from Scripture. On one hand, the center of the ideal, Scripturebased geography was Jerusalem, which was understood as the chosen place, and on the other, the center is the camp in the wilderness described in Numbers 1–10. McCarter points out that this ideal geography is not contradictory. The center of the camp, which is also the center of Israel, should be Jerusalem. However, in the present age

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Interestingly, the sectarians ground the metaphor of their own selfidentity, one which is very praxis-based (those who “study,” “walk,” “comply”), in spatial terms. The metaphor of life as a journey is a common one, but their “way” is one specifically of righteousness (cf. Jub. 23:26). Those who “walk perfectly” (9:19) are described using the root hlk, a likely play on halakhah, and their legal lifestyle is cast in the language of a pathway and therefore one of movement.34 And in both columns eight and nine, this pathway is linked to the desert. Particularly in 1QS 9:12–21 the text specifies that the sect prepares the path to the desert, evoking a sense of locomotion or transition, rather than a set place. But had they not yet arrived at the time of writing? And to which desert are they referring? Certainly, they do not call for a return to the temple; instead, they conjure a mobile destination that defies geographical coordinates. Theirs is an unnamed desert that challenges the very moorings of fixed place, specifically that represented by the temple. Their choice to set themselves up as desert-dwellers further could reflect their desire to reestablish a priestly space which hearkens back to the revealed presence of YHWH, or what Baruch Levine describes as the “Potent Presence” that tabernacled among the wilderness camp.35 Biblically speaking, the wilderness was the frequent backdrop for divine self-revelation, but what is more for the sectarians, it is way the place for divinely-sanctioned legal practice, spoken from the authoritative perspective of Sinai. The choice to establish themselves “in the desert” or “on the path to the desert,” symbolizing the study of the Law, reflects their desire to appeal to the sacred ground of Sinai.36

this center had been transferred temporarily to the wilderness, and the center usually held by the temple had been replaced by the Community Council (“Geography in the Documents,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls [ed. L. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000], 1.307–8). See also more recently James C. VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited,” in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. M. Henze; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 44–66. 34 Ideally, those who walk perfectly in the desert-way are held in great regard; they are described in similar terms as those who “walk in perfect holiness” in D (CD 7:4–5; 20:2, 5, 7), which may refer to a celibate lifestyle but not clearly so. 35 Baruch A. Levine, “On the Presence of God in Biblical Religion,” in Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Honor of Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough (ed. J. Neusner; Leiden: Brill, 1968), also cited in Baruch Bokser, “Approaching Sacred Space,” HTR 78 (1985): 279–99, esp. 281. 36 Here I follow Mark George, who confirms that space “reflects, or re-presents, the society that produces it” (Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, 20). Compare as well Lefebvre, La production de l’espace, 35; The Production of Space, 26.

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alison schofield Sinai as Priestly Space

Sinai was, as Jon Levenson notes, the original axis mundi for the Israelites, and it is from this setting that the Yahad draws in their narration of self.37 They conceptualize themselves as Israel redivivus at the foot of Sinai. Following Numbers 1–2, they divide themselves into “camps” (‫)מחנות‬, and they appropriate the language of Exodus 18 by organizing themselves into subunits of 1,000, 100, 50, and 10.38 Sinai forms an important backdrop to D, S, Jubilees, and other examples of Rewritten Bible.39 In his article “Sinai Revisited,” James VanderKam has argued convincingly that Sinai was recollected in the Yahad’s annual covenant renewal ceremony described in S and may even be the source of the term Yahad, which appears in the description of the Sinai community in Exod 19:8.40 Jubilees, an authoritative text for Yahad, also retells the Sinai experience, beginning with Moses ascending Mt. Sinai at the command of God and closing by referring to the same event on the mountaintop.41 As VanderKam notes, “the covenantal setting at Sinai is not merely a formal literary device placed at the beginning and end by the author,” but rather it ties the entire book together.42

37 Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (Chicago: Winston Press, 1985), esp. 15–86. For recent bibliography on Sinai at Qumran, see George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren T. Stuckenbruck, eds., The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity (Themes in Biblical Narrative 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008). 38 1QS 2:21–22; CD 13:1. See also Wieder, “The ‘Law-Interpreter’ of the Sect,” 172; Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 165; and Frank M. Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 70–71. 39 Sinai appears as the backdrop to other such texts, such as Apocryphon of Moses (2Q21), the Discourse on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition (4Q374), Apocryphon of Moses B (4Q375–77), Words of Moses (1Q22, esp. 1 i 4) and Pseudo-Moses (4Q385a), and Apocryphon Pentateuch B (4Q377). 40 VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited.” Compare also his “The Judean Desert and the Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Antikes Judentum und Frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. B. Kollmann, et al.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 159–71. 41 While Jubilees pre-dates the Yahad, it must have been authored in circles related to the sect given its affinity for the solar calendar, priestly language, and purity concerns. It came to be an important text for the sectarians, who considered it to be Scripture. They cite it as an authoritative text (CD 16:2–3), and a relatively large number of copies (fifteen) were found at Qumran. 42 James C. VanderKam, “Covenant and Biblical Interpretation in Jubilees 6,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (ed. L. H. Schiffman, et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration

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It is in the shadow of Sinai, then, that the desert camp becomes a workable model of (sacred) space for these priests, the camp being itself an extension of the graded holiness of the Tabernacle space (cf. Numbers 5). Particularly in D the authors imagine themselves to be living in “camps,” a term occurring over fifteen times (CD 9:11; 10:23; 14:3; 4QDa 11 17; 4QDe 7 ii 14, etc.; cf. 4Q511 2 i 7), and camp terminology pervades the War Scroll (fourteen times), a text in which the sectarians apply the purity rules of the wilderness camp to the sectarian war camp.43 Francis Schmidt suggests that the choice of the camp as a model would have been appropriate for a community waiting for the Messiah, hearkening back to a time when God directly intervened for Israel.44 Yet the conceptual space of the camp functioned in an even more nuanced way for the sect. The wildeness camp was as translatable and transitory as the space in which they imagined themselves, on a pathway towards a new age and one mapped out according to inspired interpretation. This pathway recalls the characteristics of space by de Certeau, named above, where multiple vectors of times and places intersect.45 By activating Sinai-like desert space, they could evoke access to divine revelation similar to that of the past and enact a “new covenant” (cf. D), even if the physical place of Sinai—as they understood it—was far removed from the Judean Desert. Transgressing the Temple But why turn to the place of Sinai when the immediate concern was the efficacy of the Jerusalem temple? Recently, some scholars have confirmed that Sinai was of utmost importance at Qumran, but George Brooke rightly reminds us that the sectarians were still very much concerned about the temple. He concludes that the Yahad continued to be theologically engaged with the temple, indeed, with many temples, present and future.46 In this light, Brooke goes even further to state, Society, in cooperation with The Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 92–104, esp. 93. 43 See e.g., 1QM 7:6–7, discussed also in Bokser, “Approaching Sacred Space,” 283. 44 Frances Schmidt, How the Temple Thinks: Identity and Social Cohesion in Ancient Judaism (trans. J. E. Crowley; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 145. 45 De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 117. 46 See George Brooke, “The Ten Temples in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (ed. J. Day; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 422; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 417–34.

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“they have their backs to Sinai and are looking forward to Jerusalem.”47 He is right to temper some overly Sinai-centric viewpoints in Scrolls scholarship today, but I would disagree with Brooke about the degree to which the Yahad had moved on, so to speak, from a Sinai-consciousness. Sinai is still a driving, even critical, place for them even while they await a future, restored temple; they continue to map the Sinai camp onto their own experienced space, even onto Jerusalem and the temple itself. One example of such Sinai-mapping is found in the Temple Scroll (TS), which expands the limits of sacred space around Jerusalem’s Temple Mount and conceptualizes a temple that is modeled on Ezekiel’s visionary temple (Ezekiel 40–48). In TS, this future temple is dictated from the vantage point of Sinai (cf. also 4Q365 [Reworked Pentateuchc] 26a–b 4) and, more importantly, is described using the language of Israel’s encampment of tribes around the tent of meeting in the desert (Exodus 25–40).48 Yadin notes that in TS Jerusalem is made equivalent to the wilderness camp, in that “just as the [camp] surrounded Sinai during the revelation, so the [city] surrounds the Temple.”49 This superimposition is seen in TS’s ban on any person with a nocturnal emission from entering the entire temple city for three days (cf. Deut 23:11), modeled upon the rule of exclusion for Mount Sinai (Exod 19:10–15). A similar move is made in the War Scroll, noted above, where the regulations for sacred space in the Israelite camp are superimposed upon the sectarian war camp as described therein (e.g. 1QM 7:6–7, following Deut 23:10, 15).50 This view of sacred space in TS is similar to that reflected in Jubilees, which outlines the sacred places of the known world: “there are four places on earth that belong to the Lord: (a) the Garden of Eden; (b) the mountain of the east; (c) this mountain on which you are today, Mount Sinai; and (d) Mount Zion, which will be sanctified in the new

47 George Brooke, “Moving Mountains: From Sinai to Jerusalem,” in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity (ed. G. Brooke, et al.; Themes in Biblical Narrative 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 73–89, esp. 89. 48 Dwight D. Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT (STDJ 14; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 3. 49 Yigael Yadin, Megilat ha-Mikdash (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 1.223, as summarized in Bokser, “Approaching Sacred Space,” 282. 50 For further discussion, see ibid., 282–83.

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creation of the sanctification of the earth” (4:26, emphasis mine). The current vantage point of the speaker in Jubilees is Sinai, and from this position, the temple was clearly ineffective as it stood. Until it was to be properly sanctified, the presently effective place was viewed to be Sinai (“this mountain on which you are today”). If similar views were maintained by the Yahad, it is not surprising that the sectarians reinscribed the laws of the wilderness camp onto the temple city in TS, as the former were viewed to be more halakhically effective. The wilderness camp, then, becomes a potent and simultaneously translatable space for the sect, one not limited by historical and geographical boundaries and therefore able to contest the temple as it presently stood. A Heterotopian Site of Resistance In this way, this heterotopian desert space transcends the particularity of place, which in this case is the Jerusalem precinct. The sectarian conception of the wilderness camp comes to resemble Foucault’s heterotopia par excellence: the boat. It is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. According to Foucault, the boat is “is a floating piece of space, a place without a place that that exists by itself, that is closed in on itself and at the same time is given over to the infinity of the sea.”51 The boat defies fixed coordinates and moves from port to port without regard to political or geographical limits and frequently to the law of the land (as with pirates, etc.), thereby making the boat an object of fascination and fantasy.52 But could a boat be analogous to Jewish conceptualizations of space? The Israelite wilderness camp, an extension of the Tabernacle’s holy of holies, could also be here today and gone tomorrow, with its exacting gradations of holiness mapped upon a new site at the next stop. There was no one immutable sacred place during the wilderness wanderings, but as enacted through the current priestly precinct, the divine could be experienced virtually anywhere, conditions perhaps not overlooked by the sectarian authors. More importantly, the sanctity of this camp could question the current law of the land, so to speak, insofar as it

51

Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” 27. Here Foucault primarily considers these to be the borders of modern nationstates, which hardly apply in antiquity. Nevertheless, the image still usefully shows how the heterotopia defies defined geographical limits. 52

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defied the limits of the temple precinct as it stood. It functioned as a spatially discontinuous heterotopia, and as such, it offered one “the ability to transgress, undermine and question the alleged coherence or totality of self-contained orders and systems.”53 In the language of the Yahad, the concentric circles of holiness in the camp challenged the “alleged coherence” of the Jerusalem temple and the boundaries of its priestly power. This dispute is made explicit in MMT, where the sectarian authors contest the halakhic practices of their Jerusalem contemporaries, and concerning such proper legal praxis, they say, “we are of the opinion that the sanctuary [‫]מקדש‬ [is the ‘tent of meeting’] and that Jerusalem is the ‘camp,’ and that ‘outside the camp’ [is outside Jerusalem], that is, the encampment of their settlements . . .” (4QMMTa [4Q394] 3–7 ii 29–31).54 They literally re-envision the temple precinct through the language of the camp, as mentioned also in the examples above. For them, the rules of the desert camp dictate the proper priestly functions more so than those currently generated from the Jerusalem temple. In this way, the desert camp functions like other heterotopian spaces, which have the “curious property of being in relation with all other sites, but in such a way as to suspend, neutralize or invert the set of relations they happen to designate, mirror or reflect.”55 In MMT and TS, at least, the sectarians attempt to negate the very priestly praxis of Jerusalem that they themselves mirror. This is the new path upon which they believe one can “walk” (‫ )הלך‬their legal prescriptions perfectly. The Desert as Embodied Space The production of this new desert space was a constitutive step in cementing sectarian identity. The Yahad members negotiated their ambiguous power relations and finalized their new movement by necessarily creating themselves “in space,” by producing for themselves a lived or embodied space. More characteristically for this sect, it was a regimented space. As Lefebvre himself notes, new social relationships must necessarily produce themselves in a new social space, or as Mark George summarizes, “if new social relationships, new configurations of society, are to survive as more than mere slogans or ideas, then they 53 54 55

Genocchio. “Discourse, Discontinuity, Difference,” 37. Following Qimron and Strugnell, DJD 10:49–50. Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” 24.

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must be capable of creating their own social space, at least insofar as they claim to be ‘real’ and have a social existence.”56 The wilderness became just such a space for the Yahad, the very intersection between ideal space and the physical world and one which could be located wherever their legal “way” was lived out. Like other heterotopias, this enacted wilderness was a “practiced utopia,” lying somewhere between imagined space and one’s physical environment.57 Others have noted that human praxis is an important component of human spatiality.58 Actions define a space. Alternately, activities can also re-inscribe a space, enacted even by those who are disempowered. For instance, to return to our example of a university campus as academic space, teenage skateboarders who utilize areas of a campus as a skate park may by their very actions re-define an academic space, turning it into something very different from what it was intended to be, and not because they are necessarily authorized to do so. Through actions, “users” of space can turn into new “producers” of space and thereby challenge current hegemonic definitions of space.59 Similarly, the Yahad members cemented their new priestly hierarchy through praxis, or the practice of desert space.60 The Jerusalem

56 George, Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, 42. George follows Lefebvre to question whether new social relationships can exist if the relevant actors are unable to create “real” space or to produce new spatial practice(s). Lefebvre emphasizes that to be effective, any revolutionary social transformation must reproduce itself in language, in daily life and in space. Yet he emphasizes that these three areas do not need to be impacted to equal degrees (La production de l’espace, 66). 57 See Lefebvre, The Critique of Everyday Life (London: Verso, 1991), 11. Foucault would describe it in similar terms, as well as Edward Soja, who relies on Lefebvre when describing this “Thirdspace” (Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and other Real-and-Imagined Places [Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 1996]; “Heterotopologies”; and Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory [London: Verso, 1989]). 58 De Certeau (The Practice of Everyday Life, 91–110) affirms this dictum. David Canter (The Psychology of Place [London: The Architectural Press, 1977], 9–10, 158– 59) suggests that “we have not fully identified the place until we know what behaviour is associated with, or it is anticipated will be housed in, a given locus . . .”; see also Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred, 12 and the useful summary in Liv I. Lied, “Another Look at the Land of Damascus: The Spaces of the Damascus Document in the Light of Edward W. Soja’s Thirdspace Approach,” in New Directions in Qumran Studies: Proceedings of the Bristol Colloquium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, 8–10 September 2003 (ed. J. G. Campbell, et al.; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 105–8. 59 Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 26. He claims that although space is used as a means of control and domination, it is not fully in the hands of the primary producers. Other spaces always exist that compete with the dominant space(s). See also Wenell, Jesus and Land, 22–23. 60 See also De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 91–110.

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center had traditionally defined what constituted priest and temenos; but through the desert way, and its resulting spaces, the sect could reconstruct new priestly realms outside of the physical limits of the Jerusalem temple. Based on their exegesis of Isa 40:3, this “path” was constructed through the study of the law, which elsewhere takes on a semi-technical meaning for the law-centered lifestyle lived by the community.61 Members and proselytes must “walk the walk” (‫)הלך‬, regimenting their own bodily practice in order to approach this new sacred space of the Yahad and its hierarchical leadership.62 We are left with no sectarian bodies in space, but from their language, the sectarians reveal an intense concern over regulating the actions and bodily processes within their communities. The penal code, found in various forms in D, S, and 4Q265, is an important example in this regard. With some variation among the different versions, the penal codes prohibit falling asleep during the session of the Many, walking naked in front of another, interrupting the speech of a fellow, speaking folly, guffawing foolishly, gesticulating with the left hand, and spitting, etc.63 Tellingly, it is after these regulations in 1QS that the authors describe their desert calling. 1QS 8:12 says that when they comply with these bodily practices, then they open up the pathway of YHWH in the wilderness, thereby inscribing their movement in literary and likely also lived space. The Desert as Mappable Space We cannot know whether or not the Yahad actually followed all of these practices—although there are reasons to suspect that they did. Nevertheless, they set apart new space in the conceptual realm (e.g., the very articulation of the penal code) and most likely lived out this

61 1QS 1:13; 2:2; 3:10, 20; 4:2, 15, 17, 22, etc. They also frequently call themselves the “Perfect (ones) of the Way” (‫תמימי דרך‬, 1QS 4:22; 8:10–11, 22; 1QM 14:7; 1QHa 9:36; 4Q511 10, 8; 63 iii 3; etc.). 62 To some degree, this resembles what Mircea Eliade describes as “gestures of approach” required before entering a sacred space (Patterns in Comparative Religion [London: Sheed and Ward, 1958], 370–71). Similarly, Foucault describes “purification rites or certain gestures” necessary to approach a heterotopian space, a space that that he affirms is by its very essence not freely accessible to all (“Of Other Spaces,” 26). 63 See 1QS 6:24–7:25; CD 14:20; 4QDa 10 ii 2–15; 4QDe 7 i 1–11. Note the mix of rules found in 4Q265, formerly called Serekh Damascus, which also suggests that these rules reflect living regulations, utilized and updated in various contexts over time.

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code within various contexts.64 Yet a question remains as to the connection between the Yahad’s imagined and lived desert experience, especially as related to Qumran. Although this question is not entirely answerable here, our spatial analysis of the desert in the sectarian texts allows us to affirm a few new perspectives on their wilderness calling. (1) Sinai and its desert camp were the anchoring place to which the Yahad tied its new priestly space, even though they maintained a continuing interest in the Jerusalem temple. (2) In fitting heterotopian fashion, this sectarian “camp” could be and was mapped on multiple places, such as onto Jerusalem or even on the temple itself, allowing the authors to question the ascendancy of this place. (3) Further, this discursive space for the sect also had a lived or experienced component, one which proved to be an essential part of establishing their new movement in space. As a result, the legal prescriptions of the penal code are an essential part of, rather than a jarring intrusion into, the theological self-understanding expressed in S, D, and elsewhere. (4) The finalization of this priestly space through study and living out the law meant that theoretically this “path” to the desert could be lived out anywhere. Sinai space could be activated by their very actions, which, if the variety of penal material is any indication, took place in various contexts over some period of time. Concerning the latter point, a word is in order about the dating of many of the texts cited above. Most of the texts that mention the camp (Words of the Luminaries, Jubilees, TS, D, and some S traditions) originate quite early in the Yahad’s history, attesting to the fact that a desert theology was deeply embedded in the sectarian consciousness and most likely preceded any move to Qumran itself. “Sinai space” could have been generated in a multiplicity of contexts not limited to Qumran proper, even though its desert surroundings may have encouraged an eventual settlement there.

64 Schofield, From Qumran to the Yahad, 180–90. For an alternate view, see Sarianna Metso, “In Search of the Sitz im Leben of the Community Rule,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations, New Texts, & Reformulated Issues (ed. D. Parry and E. Ulrich; STDJ 30; Leiden: Bill, 1999), 306–15.

490

alison schofield Conclusion

The authors of the sectarian scrolls communicate a creative tension between place and placelessness, a tension that is negotiated in large part through their wilderness discourse. By re-imagining Sinai space, the Yahad expanded the limits of priestly, sacred space, and in both the conceptual and (eventually) physical realms, its members became the new producers of space rather than simply the users of the dominant priestly space. The wilderness became for them the site where their imagined utopian space met lived space, an intersection best understood as a heterotopia. Because the sacredness of the desert camp defied geographical boundaries, it enabled the sectarians to question the dominance of the Jerusalem temple without completely rejecting it. And in heterotopian fashion, this wilderness space allowed the priests to navigate the tenuous sea between the sanctuary and the profane.

A Teacher for All Generations

Supplements to the

Journal for the Study of Judaism Editor

Benjamin G. Wright, III Department of Religion Studies, Lehigh University Associate Editors

Florentino García Martínez Qumran Institute, University of Groningen

Hindy Najman Yale University and Department and Centre for the Study of Religion, University of Toronto Advisory Board

g. bohak – j.j. collins – j. duhaime – p.w. van der horst – a.k. petersen – m. popoviĆ – j.t.a.g.m. van ruiten – j. sievers – g. stemberger – e.j.c. tigchelaar – j. magliano-tromp VOLUME 153/II

A Teacher for All Generations Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam Volume Two

Edited by

Eric F. Mason (general editor) Kelley Coblentz Bautch (lead volume editor) Angela Kim Harkins Daniel A. Machiela

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2012

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A teacher for all generations : essays in honor of James C. Vanderkam / edited by Eric F. Mason . . . [et al.]. v. cm. — (Supplements to the Journal for the study of Judaism ; v. 153) Includes index. “This collection of essays honors James C. VanderKam on the occasion of his sixty-fifth birthday and twentieth year on the faculty of the University of Notre Dame”—ECIP data view. ISBN 978-90-04-21520-7 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Dead Sea scrolls. 3. Qumran community. 4. Judaism—History—Post-exilic period, 586 B.C.–210 A.D. 5. Ethiopic book of Enoch—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 6. Book of Jubilees—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 7. Bible. N.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. VanderKam, James C. II. Mason, Eric Farrel. III. Title. IV. Series. BS1171.3.T43 2012 220.092—dc23 2011030949 Brill has made all reasonable efforts to trace all rights holders to any copyrighted material used in this work. In cases where these efforts have not been successful the publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters.

ISSN 1384-2161 ISBN 978 90 04 21520 7 (set) 978 90 04 21535 1 (vol. I) 978 90 04 21536 8 (vol. II) Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, 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 Koninklijke Brill NV 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.

CONTENTS Volume One Introduction ...................................................................................... Acknowledgments ............................................................................ List of Contributors ......................................................................... Abbreviations ................................................................................... James C. VanderKam—A Teacher for All Generations ........... Publications of James C. VanderKam (Through 2010) ............ Ph.D. Dissertations Directed by James C. VanderKam (Through 2010) ............................................................................

xi xvii xxi xxv xxxv xli lxix

PART ONE

THE HEBREW BIBLE AND THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies ..................................... Hindy Najman The Relevance of Textual Theories for the Praxis of Textual Criticism ....................................................................................... Emanuel Tov Sea, Storm, Tragedy, and Ethnogenesis: Living the Blues and (Re)Building Community in Post-Katrina America and Early Israel .................................................................................... Hugh R. Page, Jr. Cain’s Legacy: The City and Justice in the Book of Genesis ..... Sejin (Sam) Park The Biblical Manumission Laws: Has the Literary Dependence of H on D Been Demonstrated? ........................ John S. Bergsma

3

23

37

49

65

vi

contents

The History of Pentecontad Time Units (I) .................................. Jonathan Ben-Dov

93

The Egyptian Goddess Ma‘at and Lady Wisdom in Proverbs 1–9: Reassessing Their Relationship .......................... Steven Schweitzer

113

From Name to Book: Another Look at the Composition of the Book of Isaiah with Special Reference to Isaiah 56–66 .......... J. Todd Hibbard

133

LXX Isaiah or Its Vorlage: Primary “Misreadings” and Secondary Modifications .............................................................. Donald W. Parry

151

Isaiah and the King of As/Syria in Daniel’s Final Vision: On the Rhetoric of Inner-Scriptural Allusion and the Hermeneutics of “Mantological Exegesis” ................................ Andrew Teeter

169

The Parallel Editions of the Old Greek and Masoretic Text of Daniel 5 ........................................................................................... Eugene Ulrich

201

Daniel and the Narrative Integrity of His Prayer in Chapter 9 ........................................................................................ Kindalee Pfremmer De Long

219

PART TWO

QUMRAN AND THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS Qumran: Caves, Scrolls, and Buildings .......................................... Sidnie White Crawford

253

Digital Qumran: Virtual Reality or Virtual Fantasy? .................. Jodi Magness

275

Seven Rules for Restoring Lacunae ................................................ James Hamilton Charlesworth

285

contents

vii

Collecting Psalms in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls ..................... Armin Lange

297

L’épilogue de 4QMMT revisité ........................................................ Émile Puech

309

Identifying Reuse of Scripture in the Temple Scroll: Some Methodological Reflections .......................................................... Molly M. Zahn

341

Biblical Antecedents of the Kinship Terms in 1QSa ................... Richard J. Bautch

359

Leviticus Outside the Legal Genre .................................................. Sarianna Metso

379

The Interpretation of Scriptural Isaiah in the Qumran Scrolls: Quotations, Citations, Allusions, and the Form of the Scriptural Source Text .................................................................. Peter W. Flint The Status and Interpretation of Jubilees in 4Q390 ..................... Todd R. Hanneken

389

407

Runner, Staff, and Star: Interpreting the Teacher of Righteousness through Scripture ................................................ Kelli S. O’Brien

429

Who is the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns? Re-Examining the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis Fifty Years Later .......................... Angela Kim Harkins

449

Re-Placing Priestly Space: The Wilderness as Heterotopia in the Dead Sea Scrolls ...................................................................... Alison Schofield

469

viii

contents Volume Two

Abbreviations .....................................................................................

xi

PART THREE

EARLY JUDAISM Tobit as Righteous Sufferer .............................................................. Gary A. Anderson

493

The Growth of Belief in the Sanctity of Mount Gerizim ............ Hanan Eshel ‫ז״ל‬

509

Peton Contests Paying Double Rent on Farmland (P.Heid.Inv. G 5100): A Slice of Judean Experience in the Second Century b.c.e. Herakleopolite Nome ......................................... Rob Kugler Ascents to Heaven in Antiquity: Toward a Typology ................. Adela Yarbro Collins Eternal Writing and Immortal Writers: On the Non-Death of the Scribe in Early Judaism .................................................... Samuel I. Thomas The Rabbis’ Written Torah and the Heavenly Tablets ............... Tzvi Novick Demons of Change: The Transformational Role of the Antagonist in the Apocalypse of Abraham ................................ Andrei A. Orlov Sefer Zerubbabel and Popular Religion .......................................... Martha Himmelfarb

537

553

573

589

601

621

contents

ix

PART FOUR

STUDIES ON ENOCH AND JUBILEES Enmeduranki and Gilgamesh: Mesopotamian Figures in Aramaic Enoch Traditions .......................................................... Ida Fröhlich

637

The Parables of Enoch and the Manuscripts from Qumran ...... George W. E. Nickelsburg

655

The Social Setting of the Parables of Enoch ................................. Leslie W. Walck

669

1 Enoch 73:4–8 and the Aramaic Astronomical Book ................. Henryk Drawnel

687

Reflections on Sources behind the Epistle of Enoch and the Significance of 1 Enoch 104:9–13 for the Reception of Enochic Tradition ......................................................................... Loren T. Stuckenbruck On the Importance of Being Abram: Genesis Apocryphon 18, Jubilees 10:1–13:4, and Further Thoughts on a Literary Relationship .................................................................................... Daniel A. Machiela The Genre of the Book of Jubilees .................................................. John J. Collins A Note on Divine Names and Epithets in the Book of Jubilees ............................................................................................. James Kugel

705

715

737

757

Revisiting the Rebekah of the Book of Jubilees ............................ John C. Endres

765

Judah and Tamar in Jubilees 41 ...................................................... Devorah Dimant

783

Enoch and Jubilees in the Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church ............................................................................................. Leslie Baynes

799

x

contents PART FIVE

THE NEW TESTAMENT AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY Aspects of Matthew’s Use of Scripture in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls ....................................................................................... George J. Brooke

821

Surprises from Law and Love: In Tribute to Dr. James C. VanderKam .................................................................................... John P. Meier

839

The Meaning of Εὐαγγέλιον in the Inscriptiones of the Canonical Gospels ......................................................................... David E. Aune

857

One Ethiopian Eunuch is Not the End of the World: The Narrative Function of Acts 8:26–40 ................................... Curt Niccum

883

“Sit at My Right Hand”: Enthronement and the Heavenly Sanctuary in Hebrews ................................................................... Eric F. Mason

901

Christians and the Public Archive .................................................. William Adler

917

Three Apocryphal Fragments from Armenian Manuscripts ...... Michael E. Stone

939

Index of Ancient Sources ................................................................. Index of Modern Authors ................................................................

947 992

ABBREVIATIONS In general the essays in this volume follow the conventions of The SBL Handbook of Style, edited by Patrick H. Alexander, John F. Kutsko, James D. Ernest, Shirley A. Decker-Lucke, and David L. Petersen (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999). General Abbreviations AASOR Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research AB Anchor Bible ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York, 1992 ADAJ Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums AHw Akkadisches Handwörterbuch. Edited by W. von Soden. 3 vols. Wiesbaden, 1965–1981 AnBib Analecta biblica ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. Princeton, 1969 ANF Ante-Nicene Fathers ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972– ANTC Abingdon New Testament Commentaries AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament AOS American Oriental Series AR Archiv für Religionswissenschaft ArBib The Aramaic Bible ASP American Studies in Papyrology ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch BA Biblical Archaeologist BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research

xii BDAG

abbreviations

Bauer, W., W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, and F. W. Danker. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 2d ed. Chicago, 1979 BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium BGU Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. 15 vols. Berlin, 1895–1983 BHT Beiträge zur historischen Theologie BI Biblical Interpretation Bib Biblica BibOr Biblica et orientalia BibS(F) Biblische Studien (Freiburg, 1895–) BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester BJS Brown Judaic Studies BN Biblische Notizen BO Bibliotheca orientalis BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament BZABR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago, 1956– CAH Cambridge Ancient History CahRB Cahiers de la Revue biblique CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series CC Continental Commentaries CEJL Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature ConBNT Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series CP Classical Philology CPJ Corpus papyrorum judaicorum. Edited by V. Tcherikover. 3 vols. Cambridge, 1957–64

abbreviations CRINT CSCO

xiii

Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum Corpus scriptorium christianorum orientalium. Edited by I. B. Chabot et al. Paris, 1903– DDD Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst. Leiden, 1995 [2d ed., 1999] DSD Dead Sea Discoveries EDSS Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by Lawrence Schiffman and James C. VanderKam. 2 vols. Oxford, 2000 EncJud Encyclopedia Judaica. 16 vols. Jerusalem, 1972 EvQ Evangelical Quarterly ETL Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses ExpTim Expository Times FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GCS Die griechische christliche Schriftsteller der ersten [drei] Jahrhunderte HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament HS Hebrew Studies HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HTR Harvard Theological Review HUBP Hebrew University Bible Project HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual ICC International Critical Commentary IEJ Israel Exploration Journal Int Interpretation JAAS Journal of Asia Adventist Seminary JANESCU Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JCT Jewish and Christian Texts JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies

xiv JEOL JETS JJS JNES JNSL JQR JRT JSJ JSNT JSNTSup JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSQ JSS JTS KAT KEK KHC KS LCL LHBOTS LNTS LSTS MBPF MVAG NCBC NICOT NIDB

abbreviations Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex oriente lux Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religious Thought Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer-Kommentar) Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Kirjath-Sepher Loeb Classical Library Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Library of New Testament Studies Library of Second Temple Studies Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtgeschichte Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-ägyptischen Gesellschaft. Vols. 1–44. 1896–1939 New Century Bible Commentary New International Commentary on the Old Testament The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville, 2006–2009

abbreviations NovT NovTSup NTL NTOASA NTS OBO OBT OCD OLA OrNS OTL OtSt PAAJR PCPS PEFQS PMLA PO PRSt PTSMS RAC RB RechBib REJ RelSoc RES RevQ (RdQ) RHR RSR SAOC SB SBLABS SBLDS SBLEJL

xv

Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum Supplements New Testament Library Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus Series Archaeologica New Testament Studies Orbis biblicus et orientalis Overtures in Biblical Theology Oxford Classical Dictionary. Edited by S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth. 3d ed. Oxford, 1996 Orientalia lovaniensia analecta Orientalia (Nova Series) Old Testament Library Oudtestamentlische Studiën Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statement Publications of the Modern Language Association Patrologia orientalis Perspectives in Religious Studies Princeton Theological Seminary Monograph Series Reallexicon für Antike und Christentum. Edited by T. Kluser et al. Stuttgart, 1950– Revue Biblique Recherches bibliques Revue des etudes juives Religion and Society Revue des etudes sémitique Revue de Qumran Revue de l’histoire des religions Recherches de science religieuse Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations Sources bibliques Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature

xvi SBLMS SBLRBS

abbreviations

Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study SBLSP Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers SBLSymS Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series SBLTT Society of Biblical Literature Texts and Translations SBLWAW Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World SBM Stuttgarter biblische Monographien SBT Studies in Biblical Theology ScrHier Scripta hierosolymitana SDSSRL Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature SEÅ Svensk exegetisk årsbok SJLA Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series SOTSMS Society for Old Testament Studies Monograph Series SP Sacra pagina SSAP Series of Studies on the Ancient Period SSEJC Studies in Early Judaism and Christianity STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah StPatr Studia patristica StPB Studia post-biblica SUNT Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments SVTP Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigraphica TBN Themes in Biblical Narrative TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids, 1964–76 TLOT Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by E. Jenni, with assistance from C. Westermann. Translated by M. E. Biddle. 3 vols. Peabody, Mass., 1997 TLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung TQ Theologische Quartalschrift Transeu Transeuphratène TSAJ Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum TU Texte und Untersuchungen UF Ugarit-Forschungen VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum Supplements

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WBC Word Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament YCS Yale Classical Studies ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZDMG Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft ZDPV Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik Editions of the Dead Sea Scrolls The following editions of the Dead Sea Scrolls are cited in these volumes. DJD 1

Barthélemy, D. and J. T. Milik. Qumran Cave 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 1. Oxford: Clarendon, 1955. DJD 3 Baillet, M., J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux. Les ‘petites grottes’ de Qumrân. 2 vols. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 3. Oxford: Clarendon, 1962. DJD 4 Sanders, J. A. The Psalms Scroll of Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 4. Oxford: Clarendon, 1965. DJD 6 de Vaux, R. and J. T. Milik. Qumrân grotte 4.II. I Archéologie, II. Tefillin, Mezuzot et Targums (4Q128–4Q157). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 6. Oxford: Clarendon, 1977. DJD 9 Skehan, P. W., E. Ulrich, and J. E. Sanderson. Qumran Cave 4.IV: Palaeo-Hebrew and Greek Biblical Manuscripts. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 9. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992. DJD 10 Qimron, E. and J. Strugnell. Qumran Cave 4.V: Miqsat Maʿase ha-Torah. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 10. Oxford: Clarendon, 1994. DJD 13 Attridge, H. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam. Qumran Cave 4.VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 13. Oxford: Clarendon, 1994.

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DJD 15 Ulrich, E. et al. Qumran Cave 4.X: The Prophets. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 15. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997. DJD 16 Ulrich, E. et al. Qumran Cave 4.XI: Psalms to Chronicles. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 16. Oxford: Clarendon, 2000. DJD 18 Baumgarten, J. M. Qumran Cave 4.XIII: The Damascus Document (4Q266–273). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 18. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. DJD 22 Brooke, G. J. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam. Qumran Cave 4.XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 22. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. DJD 23 García Martínez, F., E. J. C. Tigchelaar, and A. S. van der Woude. Qumran Cave 11.II: (11Q2–18, 11Q20–31). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 23. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. DJD 25 Puech, É. Qumran Cave 4.XVIII: Textes hébreux (4Q521–528, 4Q576–579). Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 25. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. DJD 28 Gropp, D. Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri for Wadi Daliyeh; Schuller, E., et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam and M. Brady. Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII: Miscellanea, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 28. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 29 Chazon, E. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam and M. Brady. Qumran Cave 4.XX: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 2. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 29. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. DJD 30 Dimant, D. Qumran Cave 4.XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 30. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 31 Puech, É. Qumrân Grotte 4.XXII: Textes araméens, première partie, 4Q529–549. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 31. Oxford: Clarendon, 2001. DJD 32 Ulrich, E. and P. W. Flint, Qumran Cave 1.II: The Isaiah Scrolls. 2 vols. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 32. Oxford: Clarendon, 2011. DJD 36 Pfann, S. J. Qumran Cave 4.XXVI: Cryptic Texts; Alexander, P. S. et al., in consultation with J. VanderKam

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and M. Brady. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 36. Oxford: Clarendon, 2000. DJD 37 Puech, É. Qumrân Grotte 4.XXVII: Textes araméens, deuxième partie, 4Q550–575, 580–582. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 37. Oxford: Clarendon, 2009. DJD 39 Tov, E., ed. The Texts from the Judaean Desert: Indices and an Introduction to the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Series. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 39. Oxford: Clarendon, 2002. DJD 40 Newsom, C., H. Stegemann, and E. Schuller. Qumran Cave 1.III: 1QHodayot a, with Incorporation of 4QHodayot a–f and 1QHodayot b. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 40. Oxford: Clarendon, 2008. DSSR Parry, D. W. and E. Tov. The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. 6 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2004. DSSSE García Martínez, F. and E. J. C. Tigchelaar. The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. 2 vols. Leiden and Grand Rapids: Brill and Eerdmans, 1999. PTSDSSP 2 Charlesworth, James H., ed. Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 2. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995. PTSDSSP 3 Charlesworth, James H., ed., with Henry W. L. Reitz, along with J. M. Baumgarten. Damascus Document Fragments, Some Works of the Torah, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005. PTSDSSP 4A Charlesworth, James H. and Henry W. L. Reitz, eds. Pseudepigraphic and Non-Masoretic Psalms and Prayers. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 4A. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997. PTSDSSP 6B Charlesworth, James H., ed. Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 6B. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002.

xx PTSDSSP 7

abbreviations Charlesworth, James H., ed. Temple Scroll and Related Documents. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations 7. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010.

PART THREE

EARLY JUDAISM

TOBIT AS RIGHTEOUS SUFFERER Gary A. Anderson A few years ago I wrote an article with a quite improbable title, “Mary in the Old Testament.”1 One of my colleagues who read the essay was struck to see that a typological reading of the Old Testament need not efface either the simple sense of the biblical text nor its place within the Jewish canon. What struck me about all of this was that though he had been educated in a Catholic context he had never thought that one could read the Old Testament in light of the New. Only by keeping the two Testaments completely separate could one avoid the admittedly horrible sin of supersessionism. Catholic education, understandably perhaps, but also lamentably, had taught him to read the two Testaments as two wholly different worlds. In this essay, I would like to come at the problem of how to read our two-Testamented Bible from the perspective of the book of Tobit.2 Though this book was written in either Hebrew or Aramaic by a Jew in either the third or second century b.c.e., it is not found in the Jewish Bible. It was translated into Greek, however, and became part of the Greek Jewish Bible (LXX) and from there came into the Christian Bible where it remained until the sixteenth century when some Protestant groups removed it.3 It will be my thesis that a Christian reader can detect imbedded in the plot line of this Jewish book a profound Christological pattern. But in order to approach this problem, I will need to survey the way the story unfolds.

1

Pro Ecclesia 16 (2007): 33–55. The best work on the theological challenge of reading the Christian Bible is that of B. S. Childs and C. R. Seitz. For the former see his Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992); for the latter see his Word without End (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998) and Figured Out (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001). Also important is the Pontifical Biblical Commission’s The Jewish People and their Sacred Scriptures in the Christian Bible (Boston: Pauline Books and Media, 2002). 3 For general introductory matters to the book such as date and language of composition and canonicity, see the excellent discussion in J. A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003), 3–57. 2

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gary a. anderson Tobit’s Devotion to the Temple in Jerusalem

The first point that needs to be made is that Tobit was a righteous sufferer within the people Israel. As the book opens we learn that Tobit was in the habit of going to Jerusalem to offer sacrifices (1:6–8). This behavior is quite striking because Tobit hails from the Northern Kingdom of Israel, in other words, that kingdom in which there were two competing worship centers: Dan and Bethel. King Jeroboam, Israel’s first king, had established these cult sites in order to provide an alternative center for worship from the city of Jerusalem (1 Kgs 12:25–33). Yet it is also important to note that the biblical author condemns in the harshest terms possible this decision of the king. Though Jeroboam had been offered the promise of an eternal kingdom like that of David by the prophet Ahijah (11:38), after his act of apostasy his own dynastic house was condemned to ruin (13:33–34). Given that all the power of the state was invested in the cult sites of Dan and Bethel it is quite impressive that Tobit chose to deliver his gifts to the temple in Jerusalem in conformity with the laws of the Torah (see Deut 12:1–14). All the more impressive is the fact that Tobit was from the tribe of Naphtali (Tob 1:1), a tribe that was located in the northern reaches of the kingdom. That made the trek to Jerusalem all the more arduous and taxing. His devotion to Jerusalem must have depended on a very deep and abiding faith. Sadly for Tobit, he was a unique individual within the Northern Kingdom. Everyone else had chosen to follow the lead of King Jeroboam (1:6). According to the book of Kings, this placed the entire nation in the position of apostasy and would eventually lead to the destruction of that nation at the hand of the Assyrian empire (2 Kgs 17). Tobit, it should be noted, was among those unfortunate individuals whom the Assyrians forcibly exiled. The poignancy of Tobit’s plight cannot be understood without a careful consideration of the prominence of Jeroboam’s sin in the book of Kings. This work emphasizes that each and every king in the Northern Kingdom followed the path of apostasy that Jeroboam had laid down. To recall the words of the apostle Paul, not one was found righteous, all were guilty of grievous sin. In light of this background, the character of Tobit as a just and righteous man shines through all the more brilliantly. He alone was obedient to the divine commands. Yet he did not profit in any observable way from his courageous display

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of piety; he was forced to suffer the fate of his nation in spite of his innocence. Tobit Buries the Dead and Gives Alms while in Exile While in exile, Tobit continued to practice his piety. He refused to consume food that did not conform to Levitical strictures (1:10–11). But just as importantly, he replaced his obedience to the temple in Jerusalem with the practice of various acts of charity (1:16–17), of which pride of place goes to the giving of alms and the burying of the dead (1:18). It is worth noting that in Second Temple Judaism, the giving of alms became a suitable substitution for animal sacrifice.4 Rabbinic Judaism went even further: the giving of alms was equated with fulfilling all the commandments in the Torah. It is important to note this because it allows us to see the continuity in Tobit’s character before and after the exile. Wherever Tobit finds himself, his consummate devotion to the God of Israel is always manifest. In the land of Israel he excelled in devotion to the Temple, in the Diaspora in works of loving kindness to the poor and disadvantaged. But just as Tobit suffered in spite of his devotion to the Temple in Jerusalem, so his acts of kindness put his life in mortal danger. At one point in the story, King Sennacherib wished to punish the Jews by putting some of them to death and then leaving their corpses exposed to the elements of nature (1:18–20). In spite of the force of this royal edict, Tobit continued to bury the dead. Tobit’s efforts to frustrate the edict of the king were not looked upon with favor. With the death penalty attached to his head, he was forced to flee into a second exile. As with the first, he lost everything. But when that king had died, Tobit was granted a reprieve and allowed to return home (1:21–22). Tobit, not surprisingly, picked up where he left off; he continued to bury the dead. But his troubles did not come to an end. His fellow Israelites found his behavior to be ill-advised and taunted him for his piety. “Is he still not afraid?” they 4 On the importance of alms in Second Temple Judaism (and early Christianity) see my essay, “Redeem Your Sins by the Giving of Alms: Sin, Debt, and the ‘Treasury of Merit’ in Early Judaism and Christianity,” Letter & Spirit 3 (2007): 37–67. This theme is dealt with much more extensively in my book, Sin: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009).

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asked in disbelief. “He has already been hunted down to be put to death for doing this, and he ran away; yet here he is again burying the dead!” (2:8). But this was hardly the end of the matter. Tobit was not only forced to endure these taunts from his neighbors (and here one is reminded of the frequent theme of the Psalms in which the righteous Israelite suffers at the hands of his enemies), but he was forced to endure even greater suffering by his God. Adding insult to injury, at the end of this episode, Tobit became blind (2:9–11). Tobit is truly a Joban figure—his piety was not only unrewarded; it had become the occasion for a considerable trial.5 Tobit’s Prayer In despair over his plight, Tobit turns to God in prayer and begs to die (3:1–6). This prayer, in my estimation, is one of the most moving texts in all of Scripture. For what one would have expected is a moving and tearful lament; a prayer that would have underscored the righteousness of Tobit and implored God to visit the sins of his enemies. Psalm 26 would have been an excellent candidate: 1. Vindicate me, O Lord, for I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering. 2. Prove me, O Lord, and try me; test my heart and mind. 3. For your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in faithfulness to you. 4. I do not sit with the worthless, nor do I consort with the hypocrites. 5. I hate the company of evildoers, and will not sit with the wicked.6

But instead of words like these, let us listen to what Tobit actually says in his prayer:

5 On the relationship of Tobit to Job see the essay of A. Portier-Young, “Eyes to the Blind: A Dialogue between Tobit and Job,” in Intertextual Studies in Ben Sira and Tobit: Essays in Honor of Alexander A. Di Lella, OFM (ed. J. Corley and V. Skemp; CBQMS 38; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 2005), 14–27. 6 This text, like the rest of the biblical passages in this essay, are taken from the nrsv.

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2. You are righteous, O Lord, and all your deeds are just; all your ways are mercy and truth; you judge the world. 3. And now, O Lord, remember me and look favorably upon me. Do not punish me for my sins and for my unwitting offenses and those that my ancestors committed before you. They sinned against you, 4. And disobeyed your commandments. So you gave us over to plunder, exile, and death, to become the talk, the byword, and an object of reproach among all the nations among whom you have dispersed us. 5. And now your many judgments are true in exacting penalty from me for my sins. For we have not kept your commandments and have not walked in accordance with truth before you. 6. So now deal with me as you will; command my spirit to be taken from me, so that I may be released from the face of the earth and become dust. For it is better for me to die than to live, because I have had to listen to undeserved insults, and great is the sorrow within me. Command, O Lord, that I be released from this distress; release me to go to the eternal home, and do not, O Lord, turn your face away from me. For it is better for me to die than to see so much distress in my life and to listen to insults.

Two features of this prayer are, in my mind, quite striking. The first is Tobit’s open acknowledgement that the ways of God are righteous and just (v. 2). This is an audacious claim given the fact that God’s ways appear to be less than just in the case of his own life. I had mentioned above that Tobit was something of a Joban character. This is true in so far as he suffers in spite of his innocence.7 What separates Tobit from

7 Of course it must be conceded that once he becomes blind he does sharply rebuke his wife in a quite unflattering and uncivil way. This leads to a harsh rebuke on her part: “Where are your acts of charity? Where are your righteous deeds? These things are known about you.” (2:14). There can be no question that the two difficult questions that Anna poses focus the problems of Tobit in such a fashion that his prayer for an early death in the very next set of verses (3:1–6) makes perfect sense. But I think it would be a gross misreading to suppose that the error in judgment that Tobit makes in this episode of his life suggests that he is no longer a righteous sufferer. Anna’s

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Job is his tenacious adherence to his faith. God, he declares, remains righteous and just in his guidance of the world. The second striking feature is the way Tobit understands his relationship to his fellow Israelites. Though he has ample opportunity to trumpet his own innocence in the face of great apostasy (see Ps 26:1–5), he does not march down that path. Instead, when he catalogues the sins of Israel that have led the nation to its current predicament, he does not distinguish his own behavior from that of his peers. He asserts quite remarkably in 3:5: And now your many judgments are true in exacting penalty from me for my sins. For we have not kept your commandments and have not walked in accordance with truth before you.

For Tobit, the present predicament of Israel is not simply the result of the sin of others; he identifies himself among the guilty.8 Tobit’s Request to Die The prayer of Tobit ends with a request that he die (3:6). In a wonderful ironic turn, we learn that Tobit’s prayer is in fact answered but not in the way that he expects (3:16–17). For as soon as Tobit concludes his prayer, he summons his son Tobias so that he can instruct him in Torah one more time before he dies (4:3–19). His speech was prompted by the memory that he had once left money on deposit during his travels to Media (4:1 and cf. 1:14–15). These funds, Tobit reasoned, would be necessary for his son Tobias to maintain his mother

rebuke seems to highlight the fact that it is his virtue that has gone unrewarded and this is, no doubt, the cause of his terrible despair. 8 Many modern readers of the Gospels have been puzzled how it could be that Jesus would have consented to John’s baptism which was explicitly said to be given for the purpose of forgiving sins (see Mark 1:4 and parallels). Some interpreters have taken this as unassailable evidence that the “historical” Jesus saw himself as a sinner— something that the gospel writers did their best to cover up. Yet as John Meier has shown (A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume II: Mentor, Message, and Miracles [New York: Doubleday, 1994], 106–116) such accusations are hard to square with contemporary Jewry which frequently understood the need for forgiveness in corporate terms. The point of emphasis for Jesus would have been “our” rather than “my” sin. Tobit’s prayer is an outstanding example of this. Though innocent of the sins that led to Israel’s exile, he continues to see himself as organically linked to the fate of his people, even to the point of identifying with their sin.

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and to continue to give alms. Unknown to Tobit, however, is the larger providential plan that this journey will set in motion. For during this journey Tobias will secure two things that will prove far more valuable than the money his father had left on deposit: a proper wife and an unguent that will heal his father’s blindness. The book ends with Tobit living to the ripe old age of one hundred and twelve (14:2). Given that he was sixty-two when he was struck blind, his life expectancy was nearly double what he had initially imagined. In the end, his life of charity was fully rewarded. In what he thought were his last words to his son he had asserted: “almsgiving would deliver one from death” (4:10). In their original setting the words were quite ironical, for Tobit made this gnomic assertion against the background of his own personal despair. In the context of his life up to that point, it would have been more accurate to say that almsgiving had been the cause of death! Resurrection in Its Old Testament Inflection Here it is absolutely important to recall what the concepts of “death” and “life” mean within the cultural world of the Old Testament. Prior to the advent of an idea of bodily resurrection the Bible imagines the descent into Sheol—a place bereft of any contact with God or kin— as the plight of all those who fall terribly ill, as well as those who die prematurely and without a family of any significance. For the former consider the first few verses of Psalm 30: 1. I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, And did not let my foes rejoice over me. 2. O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, And you have healed me. 3. O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, Restored me from among those who have gone down to the Pit.

It is crucial to note that the reference to God’s raising this person from the underworld is not a reference to a post-mortem resurrection as one might be inclined to think. Instead, being brought back from Sheol refers to God’s miraculous act of healing a person who felt himself slipping into the netherworld. Being dead in the Hebrew Bible encompasses more than what we identify with physical death. Though many handbooks will say that because there was no doctrine of physical resurrection in the Hebrew Bible all were doomed,

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eventually, to enter and dwell in Sheol, this is not quite accurate.9 Indeed Philip Johnson has noticed that the distribution of the term “Sheol” in the Old Testament is quite different from the distribution of the term for death. Whereas the root for death can be found nearly a thousand times in the Bible, the word Sheol occurs fewer than seventy times. How should one account for the paucity of references to the underworld? Johnson writes, The term [Sheol] occurs mostly in psalmodic, reflective and prophetic literature, where authors are personally involved in their work. By contrast it appears only rarely in descriptive narratives, and then almost entirely in direct speech. In particular, “Sheol” never occurs in the many narrative accounts of death, whether of patriarchs, kings, prophets, priests or ordinary people, whether of Israelite or foreigner, of righteous or wicked. Also, “Sheol” is entirely absent from legal material, including the many laws which prescribe capital punishment or proscribe necromancy. This means that “Sheol” is very clearly a term of personal engagement.10

It seems that the Bible keeps the terms for the grave and Sheol distinctly separated. What then would be the reason for an author to make special reference to the domain of Sheol? As Jon Levenson has persuasively argued, the location of Sheol is an appropriate location for those who live incomplete lives, that is, those who die young and without a family to continue their legacy.11 It is for this reason that Jacob refuses the comfort of his sons upon learning of Joseph’s demise: “No, I shall go down to Sheol to my son, mourning” (Gen 37:35). Yet when he hears that Joseph not only had not died but had become second in command over all of Egypt, he exclaims: “Enough! My son Joseph is still alive. I must go and see him before I die.” Significantly, he does not say “I must go and see him before I die and descend to Sheol.” The Hebrew Bible, strikingly, does not use the term Sheol as a matter-of-fact “address” for the place where all the dead reside. If there is an equivalent to the beatific vision in the Old Testament it is the opportunity to live to a ripe old age and to be given the privilege

9 Consider the statement of J. Pederson, “everyone who dies goes to Sheol,” which is to be found in his classic work, Israel: Its Life and Culture (London/Copenhagen: Oxford University Press/Poul Branner, 1926–40; repr., South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 28; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 461. 10 P. S. Johnson, Shades of Sheol: Death and Afterlife in the Old Testament (Downers Grove, Ill.: Intervarsity Press, 2002), 72. 11 J. D. Levenson, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 67–81.

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of seeing one’s extended family gathered around one at point of death. Abraham, Jacob and Job are three figures who merit such a benefaction. And in each case the blessing of many children at the end of life was completely unexpected. As Jon Levenson has written, [The] biblical Sheol is the prolongation of the unfulfilled life. There is no equivalent prolongation of the fulfilled life precisely because it is fulfilled. The prolongation of those who die fulfilled comes, rather, not in the form of residence in a place, the joyful antipode to the miserable Sheol, but in the form of descendants, such as those three or four generations that Jacob, Joseph, and Job are privileged to behold just before they die.12

I would like to argue that we could put Tobit in that list as well. There are, indeed, many parallels between his life and those of Jacob and Job. After being rescued from what appeared to be an abrupt and tragic end, he was granted a full and prosperous life. Like Jacob and Job, he was fortunate enough to lay his eyes upon his children and grandchildren as he prepared himself to die (Tob 14:3–11). Thus, when Tobit declares in his song of thanksgiving that “[God] afflicts, and he shows mercy; he leads down to Hades in the lowest regions of the earth, and he brings up from the great abyss” (13:1–2), he is not only echoing the verses from Psalm 30 quoted above, he is describing his own earthly life. God had afflicted him with blindness and left him and his wife with only a single child. His premature death prior to the chance to see any grandchildren was tantamount to being led to the realm of Sheol. The dramatic, if not miraculous, restoration he experienced (blindness to sight; one child to a large extended family; little money to wealth of great proportions) was an unexpected miracle, an act he could honestly identify as resurrection from the dead. The final scene of the book gives clear testimony to a scriptural truth that Tobit had uttered many decades earlier: “almsgiving saves from death.” Though his citation of this teaching was originally tinged with a considerable degree of irony, the reader learns at the end that this apothegm was a trustable piece of wisdom. It cannot be accidental that Tobit’s last words return to the need for living a life characterized by charity: “So now my children, I command you, serve God faithfully and do what is pleasing in his sight. Your children are also to be commanded to do what is right and to give alms . . .” (14:8).

12

Levenson, Resurrection, 78.

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Tobit’s Plea for Israel within His Prayer of Thanksgiving But the resurrection of Tobit was the occasion for another surprise. Just as Tobit refused to see himself as superior to his fellow Israelites in regard to their exilic plight, so now in his hymn of praise he uses the occasion of his own restoration to life not to beat his own drum but to exhort Israel to a similar sort of hope.13 Tobit asks Israel to: 3. Acknowledge [God] before the nations, O Children of Israel for he has scattered you among them. 4. He has shown you his greatness even there. Exalt him in the presence of every living being, because he is our Lord and he is our God; he is our Father and he is God forever. 5. He will afflict you for your iniquities, but he will again show mercy on all of you.14 He will gather you from all nations among whom you have been scattered. 9. O Jerusalem, the holy city, he afflicted you for the deeds of your hands, but will again have mercy on the children of the righteous. 10. Acknowledge the Lord, for he is good, and bless the King of the ages, so that his tent may be rebuilt in you in joy. May he cheer all those within you who are captives, and love all those within you who are distressed, to all generations forever.

13 It should be noted that many of the individual laments in the Psalms end not simply with thanksgiving over what God has done or will do for the supplicant himor herself but with a word of exhortation to God to do the same for the nation at large. Two outstanding examples can be found in Psalms 25 and 34, where the redemption of the nation (25:22 and 34:23) both concludes the Psalms and falls outside the acrostic sequence. This late redactional move within the Psalter anticipates, in my view, the move Augustine makes to understand the Psalms within the framework of the totus Christus; the “whole Christ” refers to the complete “body of Christ”: head (Christ) and members (the Church). When Christ takes up the voice of Israel in praying the Psalms, the voice of Israel becomes one with his. Here would be the analogy: the redeemed Israelite is to the nation Israel as the head of the church (Christ) is to his members (the church at large). This famous patristic insight, we can conclude, has deep biblical roots. 14 Note the parallelism of vv. 2 and 5. In verse two Tobit had declared that God had afflicted him and shown him mercy. Now he affirms the same for Israel. Whereas God had “raised Tobit from Hades” (13:2), now he promises to “gather [Israel] from all the nations.” That sounds a lot like the promise of national restoration expressed by the concept of resurrection in Ezekiel 37, the famous vision of the valley of dry bones.

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George Nickelsberg has noted that Tobit’s life runs parallel to that of the nation Israel.15 The book of Tobit, it turns out, is really the pairing of two stories: at one level we see the suffering of Tobit and his eventual resurrection, but at another level the suffering of the nation and its hope for restoration. The key difference between the two stories is also the point of tension that probably led to the composition of the book itself: while the resurrection of Tobit was an accomplished fact, the restoration of Israel remained a living but fragile hope. This very fragility is no doubt the reason why the angel Raphael’s last piece of advice to Tobit is to tell the story of what God has done to him to everyone he meets. “Bless God and acknowledge him,” Raphael exhorts, “in the presence of all the living for the good things he has done for you” (12:6). For, though it is proper to keep the council of a human king to oneself, the exact opposite is true for the works of God. They are to be revealed and acknowledged to anyone who wishes to hear.16 The underlying logic of Raphael’s advice is clear: from your own personal story, Tobit, the faith of the nation Israel can be nourished. For the miraculous resurrection that you have undergone is what God has in store for the people he loves so dearly. Tobit proves himself obedient to the words of Raphael. He makes haste to offer his words of thanksgiving but expresses his gratitude not in a manner that would put the spotlight on what God has done for him alone, but what God wishes to do for the people among whom Tobit is part. Tobit As Imitator of Christ Let us step back and take stock of where we have come. We have followed the story of a righteous Israelite, a man in whom there were no 15 In his short commentary on the book (The HarperCollins Bible Commentary [ed. James L. Mays; San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2000], 719), Nickelsburg writes: “Parallel to the story of Tobit is the uncompleted story of Israel. Tobit’s situation is paradigmatic for the exiled nation. As God has chastised Tobit, so Israel, suffering in exile, is being chastised. But God’s mercy on Tobit and his family guarantees that this mercy will bring the Israelites back to their land. Since this event, described only in predictions, awaits fulfillment, one level of the double story is incomplete.” 16 Raphael is simply giving voice to standard protocol for those who would offer words of thanksgiving beside the sacrificial altar after an experience of deliverance. The Psalms are full of such testimony. For a particularly robust example, see Ps 22:25– 31. On the sacrificial character of such acts of praise, see G. A. Anderson, “The Praise of God as a Cultic Event,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (ed. G. A. Anderson and S. M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 15–33.

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egregious faults.17 Indeed we can say more than that: we have followed the life of a man who fulfilled the mandates of the law in the deepest way imaginable, even at the risk of his own life. His faith in and obedience to the God of Israel became the occasion for his conflict with the pagan elite as well as his own native race; a conflict that led to what Tobit thought was his own premature death. Yet, in spite of all this, Tobit never condemns his Israelite brethren; quite remarkably he identifies with them. And at the midnight hour, when all hope had vanished and Tobit felt himself slipping into the domain of Sheol, God intervened and restored him to life. Tobit, in turn, was prompt to praise God for this marvelous act of mercy, but he was not satisfied with viewing this saving act solely within the confines of his own life. God’s work would not be complete until it was realized in Israel at large. This righteous sufferer cannot be disarticulated from the nation he serves. Does this not sound like the message of the gospel in miniature? Can it be accidental that if we replace the name of Tobit with Jesus the basic narrative plot of Jesus’ own life emerges? For Jesus too was a righteous Israelite who kept the law of the God of Israel (as he understood it) in the deepest way imaginable. It was precisely his obedience to the law that brought him into conflict with both the pagan rulers of his day as well as with many of his co-religionists.18 At the midnight hour it looked as though Jesus’ own life would come to ruin and rest on the shoals of bitter disappointment. Yet Jesus did not use the occasion of his own demise to trumpet his innocence over against the depraved mores of those he traveled with and met. Rather, he identified himself with them.19 When God miraculously intervenes to raise 17 Let me reiterate what I mentioned earlier—Tobit though innocent is not without fault. His accusation that his wife had stolen a young goat that was in fact a gift from her employer (see 2:11–14) is a low point for him and his marriage. Yet at the major structural pieces of the plot—Tobit’s actions within the body Israel—he is emphatically innocent. Nay even more—he is heroically obedient to the will of God even when he knows it will cost him dearly. 18 The relationship of Jesus to Jewish law has been a very problematic subject in New Testament scholarship, often generating much more heat than light. For a sober view of the whole question, see J. P. Meier’s recent volume, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume IV: Law and Love (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009). 19 A point made most emphatically in Luke wherein Jesus says, “Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (23:34). The saying is not in all manuscripts and may have originated with Stephen’s similar cry in Acts 7:60. In any event, at the very least it reflects how the early church understood the identity of Jesus.

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Jesus from the dead on the third day, this is also not the occasion of a simple vindication of the innocent. For the early church the raising of Jesus was an initial pledge on a much larger act of restoration that God had in mind for the nation he loved so dearly (1 Corinthians 15). God’s action in the man Jesus of Nazareth was at the same time a foretaste of an action-to-come within the nation Israel. Let me summarize. Many interpreters of Israel’s Scriptures rightly worry that any move to correlate the two Testaments will result in a measurable loss to the integrity of the Old Testament witness. Although I sympathize with these concerns to a considerable degree, there is a danger of isolating the figure of Jesus from the Old Testament. First of all, we will miss the way in which the narrative shape of the life of Jesus evolves from the nature of Jewish Scriptures themselves. Though Jewish readers will naturally have reservations about specific claims Christian make about Jesus (specifically that he is God incarnate), this should not blind us to the fact that the cruciform shape of his life conforms to an important segment of the Old Testament witness. Jews are skeptical about a suffering Messiah for good reasons, but I do not think they would reject the claim that a righteous sufferer might have a role in the redemption of Israel.20 The book of Tobit is a case in point that this aspect of Jesus’ identity emerges quite naturally from Second Temple Judaism. But just as important, I would claim—somewhat paradoxically— that this move to integrate Jesus into the Old Testament has considerable benefits for Jewish-Christian relations. What we see, if we tell the story the way I have, is that Jesus also dies and rises in unity with his people Israel. The redemption that Christ has wrought must be grasped, at first, as an event within the history of God’s relationship to the people he chose over all others. As Michael Wyschogrod has so aptly put the matter:

20 The association of chosenness with suffering is basic to the narratives of Genesis and much of the remainder of the Old Testament. On this subject see J. D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). To some degree it is also part and parcel of the story of David (consider the suffering he undergoes while Saul is alive). But the passages that speak to the restoration of Israel and her coming Messiah (e.g., Isa 9:1–6) do not foreground this theme. Isaiah 53 is not an exception because this text does not claim that the suffering servant has a messianic identity.

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gary a. anderson If we are prepared to take seriously the implanting of Jesus in his people, if the Israel that gave birth to him and whose boundaries (spiritual, geographical, linguistic, intellectual, etc.) he never left, is more than just a backdrop to the drama, a backdrop from which Jesus is to be distinguished rather than into which he is to be integrated, if all this is to change, then what is true of Jesus must in some fundamental way also be true of the Jewish people.21

In other words, attention to the Old Testament type—exemplified in the person of Tobit—provides us with a check on the all too common tendency of Christian readers to extract Jesus from the Jewish world in which he lived, taught, and from which derived his identity. As biblical scholars have come to emphasize, the universalism of the New Testament derives from the universalism that is already present in the great eschatological promises of Israel’s prophets. When redemption comes to the nation Israel, it will be of such magnitude that it will redound to the nations round about. Tobit himself makes this a point of emphasis when he says: A bright light will shine to all the ends of the earth; Many nations will come to you from far away, The inhabitants of the remotest parts of the earth to your holy name, Bearing gifts in their hands for the King of heaven. (13:11)

The mission to the Gentiles is a clear interest of Tobit (derivative, of course, from Isaiah 60) but it does not compromise in any way Israel’s favored place in the eyes of God. Only when Israel is freed from captivity and restored to Jerusalem shall the nations come to recognize the sovereignty of her God. As Robert Jenson once remarked, it is important to attend carefully to what Jesus says in Acts 1:6–11, the narrative of the ascension.22 As the disciples prepare to take their leave they sound a note of puzzlement over the fact that the resurrection of Jesus has left one terribly important matter unsolved: “Lord,” they asked, “is this the time when you will restore the kingdom of Israel?” And note how Jesus responds. He does not wave it off as some might expect: “Oh are you still so ignorant! My kingdom was solely spiritual in nature. Look within, there you will find it.” Rather Jesus says, “It is not for you to know 21

M. Wyschogrod, “A Jewish Perspective on Incarnation,” Modern Theology 12 (1996): 207. 22 R. W. Jenson, “Toward a Christian Theology of Israel,” Pro Ecclesia, 9 (2000): 43–56.

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the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.” The Pontifical Biblical Commission picked up this theme quite nicely when it declared that in the present both Jews and Christians pray for the coming of the Messiah. For the work of Messiah is not finished; as in the case of Tobit, what we see in the resurrection of Jesus is a pledge toward a much larger redemption that is to come. On this point let me cite the recent Pontifical Biblical Commission document, The Jewish People and their Scriptures in the Christian Bible: Insistence on discontinuity between both Testaments . . . should not lead to one-sided spiritualization. What has already been accomplished in Christ must yet be accomplished in us and in the world. The definite fulfillment will be at the end with the resurrection of the dead, a new heaven and a new earth. Jewish messianic expectation is not in vain. It can become for us Christians a powerful stimulant to keep alive the eschatological dimension of faith. Like them, we too live in expectation. The difference is that for us the One who is to come will have the traits of the Jesus who has already come and is already present and active among us.23

Just as the book of Tobit revolves around two poles, the character of Tobit and the nation of Israel, so too the person of Jesus and the people from whom he came. Just as the redemption of Israel, in Tobit’s eyes, will be of such magnitude that even the nations will be transformed, so for the kingdom that Jesus initiates. Though the nations have streamed to Zion, the Christian who ignores the Jewish roots of this idea does so at his or her own peril.

23 The Jewish People and their Scriptures in the Christian Bible (Boston: Pauline Books and Media, 2002), 60.

THE GROWTH OF BELIEF IN THE SANCTITY OF MOUNT GERIZIM* Hanan Eshel ‫ז״ל‬ The Land of Samaria during the Persian Period Over the course of the period when the Assyrians assumed governorship over Samaria, the population inhabited areas of the Kingdom of Israel that had formerly been populated by Israelites, some of whom still remained in their ancestral land after 720 b.c.e., and of exiles brought to the region of Samaria from Syria, Babylon, and Elam.1 We possess testimonies that these exiles settled themselves in the Samaritan cities of Gezer and Hadid, and also in various villages to the north of the central mountain (i.e. north of Shechem and Tirzah). It is difficult to determine the nature of the relations that prevailed during Assyrian and Babylonian rule among the exiles who settled in Samaria and the native Israelites who remained on Mount Ephraim following the destruction of the Kingdom of Israel. It seems that at the beginning of Josiah’s reform, in 622 b.c.e., there was a portion of the residents of Mount Ephraim who took part in worship at Jerusalem (cf. Jer 41:5). We do not, however, possess details about the existence of a central temple in Judea or Samaria in the period following the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. The city of Samaria continued to be one of the important cities in the land of Israel, even after the destruction of the Kingdom of Israel. * Due to the sad death of Hanan Eshel before he could prepare an essay for this Festschrift, the editors decided to translate an earlier article, hitherto published only in Hebrew. The translation is also intended as a small token of condolence and appreciation to Hanan’s wife, Esti Eshel, who was unable to contribute to this volume as a result of Hanan’s death. The Hebrew version of this essay was first published as “‫התפשטות של האמונה בקדושתו של הר גרזים‬,” in ‫( ספר השומרונים‬ed. E. Stern and H. Eshel; Yad Ben-Zvi/Israel Antiquities Authority/Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria, Staff Office of Archaeology, 2002), 192–209. The translation is by D. A. Machiela, in warm memory of Hanan, a beloved teacher. 1 H. Tadmor, “The History of Samaria from its Foundation to the Macedonian Conquest,” in The Land of Samaria (ed. Y. Abiram; Jerusalem, 1973), 69–71 [Hebrew]; H. Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods: Formation of a Religious Community (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1993), 9–18 [Hebrew].

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Sargon declared that he would make it greater than it had been in the past, and its importance during the Assyrian and Persian periods is borne out by archeological and numismatic finds uncovered in the city of Samaria and its environs.2 Biblical testimonies make clear that the people of Samaria abided by Persian rule during the fifth century b.c.e. The significance of the city of Samaria in the fourth century b.c.e. is evidenced by the fact that Mazday, ruler of the Persian satrapy “Across the River,” minted coins in his name at the mint of Samaria.3 Thus far, no coins struck at other mints in the land of Israel have been discovered bearing the name of Mazday.4 According to biblical, epigraphic, and numismatic sources, a portion of the inhabitants of the region of Samaria in the Persian period saw themselves as bound to the Israelite heritage, the roots of which stretched back to the period of the monarchy. From biblical testimonies it is apparent that Samaritan officials in the fifth century b.c.e. interfered with the affairs of the Jerusalem temple, and even tried to gain various religious privileges with respect to it. A considerable portion of the 102 names recorded in the Wadi Daliyeh documents and in Samaritan coins contain an Israelite theophoric component.5 The sons of Sanballat I were called Delaiah and Shelemaiah, while the son of Sanballat II was named Isaiah. An important additional witness to this Israelite heritage, rooted in the monarchical period, was the surprise find of the name “Jeroboam” on Samaritan coins.6 Biblical sources attest to uncertainties prevailing in Jerusalem during the Persian period over the question of how to refer to the residents of Samaria. Nehemiah and the editor of the story of the temple construction (Ezra 1–6) disparaged “the Samaritans.” In contrast, we learn from a papyrus discovered at Elephantine, in Egypt, that Bagohi, who acted as governor in Jerusalem after Nehemiah returned to Baby-

2

Tadmor, “The History of Samaria,” 71–72. See Y. Meshorer and S. Qedar, The Coinage of Samaria in the Fourth Century b.c.e. (Jerusalem: Numismatic Fine Arts International, 1991), 17; idem, Samarian Coinage (Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society, 1999), 25–26. 4 See L. Mildenberg, “Notes on the Coin Issues of Mazday,” INJ 11 (1993): 14–15. 5 H. Eshel, “Israelite Names from the City of Samaria in the Persian Period,” in And These are the Names: Studies in Jewish Onomastics (ed. A. Demsky, J. A. Reif, and Y. Tabori; Givat Ram: Bar-Ilan University, 1997), 17–31 [Hebrew]. 6 See Meshorer and Qedar, The Coinage of Samaria, 13; A. Spaer, “A Coin of Jeroboam?” IEJ 29 (1979): 218; idem, “More about Jeroboam,” INJ 4 (1980): 2–3; Y. Tabori, “The Days of the Return to Zion,” in The History of Eretz Israel, 2: Israel and Judah in the Biblical Period (ed. I. Eph’al; Jerusalem: Keter, 1984), 283 [Hebrew]. 3

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 511 lon, coordinated relations between the Midianites and Dalaiah son of Sanballat I, governor of Samaria (Cowley 32). Even Eliashiv, the high priest in the days of Nehemiah, gave his son in marriage to the daughter of Sanballat I (Neh 13:28). The author of Chronicles, who derided those who questioned the chosenness of Jerusalem, did not view the inhabitants of Samaria as foreigners, but rather referred to them as if they were Israelites upon whom it was incumbent to participate in worship at the Jerusalem temple (cf. 2 Chr 30, 34–35). There is evidence hinting at the prospect that Nehemiah 9 and Psalm 20 are musical hymns which were composed to the north of Judea and reached the scribes of Jerusalem in the Persian era.7 This evidence suggests that connections existed in the Persian period between Jerusalem scribes and hymnists residing in the regions north of Jerusalem, and that they were strengthened by works composed in the Israelite royal court, and at the temple of Bethel. However, the nearly complete absence of Samaritan coins in Judea, and of Judean coins in the hordes uncovered in Samaria witnesses to the fact that there was not commercial contact between Samaria and Jerusalem in the fourth century b.c.e. Consequently, it appears that during the fourth century b.c.e. there were strained relations between Jerusalem and Samaria, and because of their discord there was no shared economic activity for the people of the two regions. This contrasts with the fifth century b.c.e., during the course of which there were periods when close relations prevailed between the rulers of Samaria and Jerusalem. It is true that the author of Chronicles, who was active in the fourth century b.c.e., explained that the people of Samaria were Israelites by their ancestry, but by contrast there were other scribes active in Jerusalem (such as the composer of the temple construction account in Ezra 1–6) who viewed the Samaritans as foreigners, and portrayed them as culpable for most of the troubles that came upon the returning exiles. It appears, then, that in the fifth and fourth centuries b.c.e. disagreements emerged in Jerusalem over the status of the people of Samaria. Hence, in the fifth century b.c.e. it is manifest that relations between the leaders of Samaria and Jerusalem ebbed and flowed, while in the fourth century b.c.e. economic links

7 See A. C. Welch, “The Source of Nehemiah IX,” ZAW 47 (1929): 130–37; Z. Zevit, “The Common Origin of the Aramaicized Prayer to Horus and Psalm 20,” JAOS 110 (1990): 213–28.

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languished between the people of Jerusalem and Samaria—even if we still hear voices advocating the close proximity of the Samaritans to the Judeans (as represented by the Chronicler). Concerning the city of Shechem, G. E. Wright claimed in the 1960s that during the Persian period Shechem was an unwalled city of little consequence, and that its florescence in the Hellenistic period stemmed from the transfer of Samaritans to it after the Macedonian conquest and installation of a military garrison at the city of Samaria. Wright based his judgment about Shechem’s lack of importance during the Persian period on discoveries unearthed in Areas 7 and 9 of the excavations at Tell Balata, belonging to Stratum V of the tell. In Area 7 only a few discoveries were made for this stratum, all of them within fill, and Wright opined that Stratum V of this area was completely destroyed. In Area 9 remains of Stratum V were found on the area’s surface.8 N. Lapp analyzed the ceramics of this level, and fixed the date of Stratum V between 525 and 480 b.c.e.9 As a result, Wright surmised that Shechem was destroyed around the year 475 b.c.e. and then abandoned for approximately 150 years, until it was reestablished by way of settlement in the days of Alexander of Macedon.10 However, in 1976, ten graves adjoining Tell Balata were revealed by chance, along with discoveries from the Persian period. These were published by A. Stern, who dated them to the second quarter of the fifth century b.c.e. The discovery of these graves witnesses, according to Stern, to the fact that Persian soldiers resided at Shechem, demonstrating that, contrary to the conclusion of Wright, Shechem was not a city of negligible importance during the Persian period.11 This discovery, placed slightly later than the date fixed by Wright for the destruction of Shechem, attests that there is no firm chronological hook upon which to hang the meager finds made by Wright in the fill layer and on the surface area of Tell Balata, and that there is reason to believe Shechem was a significant city even over the course of the Persian period. There is no evidence whatsoever that the residents of Shechem or Samaria believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim during the Persian

8 See G. E. Wright, ed., Shechem: The Biography of a Biblical City (New York and Toronto: McGraw-Hill, 1965), 166–72. 9 N. R. Lapp, “Some Black and Red Figured Attic Ware,” in Shechem: The Biography of a Biblical City, 238–241. 10 See G. E. Wright, “The Samaritans at Shechem,” HTR 55 (1962): 357–66. 11 A. Stern, “Achaemenid Graves from Shechem,” Eretz-Israel 15 (1980): 312–30.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 513 period, and no reason to assume that the Jerusalemite works composed during the fourth century b.c.e., such as the Book of Chronicles or the story of the Temple construction (Ezra 1–6), were ignoring a claim that Mount Gerizim was the only place chosen by God. It appears, then, that during the Persian period Mount Gerizim was not yet considered the single, sacred place at which it was permitted to worship the God of Israel according to the acknowledged opinion of the majority of residents in Samaria at that time. The Rebellion of Samaria against Alexander of Macedon and Its Impact A decisive event in the history of the city of Samaria, and by all appearances in the crystallization process of the Samaritan congregation, was its rebellion against Alexander of Macedon. This rebellion is known through an excerpt from the writings of Curtius Rufus on Alexander of Macedon. Curtius wrote his Latin book in the first century c.e., apparently during the reign of Claudius.12 The majority of details provided in Curtius’s book pertain to Alexander of Macedon’s wars in the land of Israel, also known of from the accounts of Plutarch, Diodorus, and Arrian. It is uncertain whether Curtius also employed other historical sources that we do not possess.13 In Curtius Rufus’s composition there is one detail pertaining to the land of Israel that is not present in the compositions of the Hellenistic authors who narrated the life of Alexander of Macedon. Curtius recounts that while Alexander was in Egypt, at the time when he was mourning the death of Hector son of Parmenion, news reached him that the city of Samaria had risen up against him:14

12 See M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, I: From Herodotus to Plutarch (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974), 447; J. E. Atkinson, A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni Books 3 and 4 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1980), 19–57. 13 See A. Momigliano, Quarto contributo alla Storia Degli Studi Classici e del Mondo Antico (Raccolta di Studi e Testi 115; Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1969), 616; L. Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (Oxford: Blackwell, 1960). 14 For the text see Quintus Curtius: History of Alexander, Volume 1, Books 1–5 (trans. J. C. Rolfe; LCL 368; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1946), 238–41. Also see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors I, 448.

514

hanan eshel ‫ז״ל‬ Yet his sorrow [i.e. of Alexander] grew even greater at news of the death of Andromachus, whom he had appointed as commander of Syria. The Samaritans [Samaritae] had burned him alive. With the intent of avenging this assassination he [Alexander] hastened to the place [of the murder] with all possible speed. At his arrival to the place, those who were guilty of such a heinous offense were handed over to him. Afterwards, Menon was appointed in place of Andromachus, and he ordered that those who assassinated his commander be put to death. (History of Alexander 4.8.9–11)

There is reason to place this assassination at the end of winter or beginning of spring of 331 b.c.e.15 These same events are also recounted in an Armenian version of the Chronicle of Eusebius:16 Alexander besieged the city of Tyre, subdued Judea and was received there with honor. He offered sacrifices to God and honored the high priest. He appointed as ruler Andromachus, whom the residents of Samaria murdered. Upon the return of Alexander from Egypt he punished them, took their city away from them, and settled Macedonians in it.

A detail appears in this chronicle that was not recalled in Curtius’s account: Alexander settled Macedonians in Samaria as part of the punitive steps taken against the rebels following the assassination of Andromachus. Similar traditions, in which it is noted that it was Alexander of Macedon who settled Macedonians in Samaria, are found in the Chronicle of Hieronymus (Jerome) and in the Greek Chronicle of George Syncellos. By way of contrast, in the Chronicle of Eusebius, preserved in Armenian and quoted above, a yet different tradition is introduced: Prodicus was the one who built and fortified the city of Samaria. This tradition is also attested in the Chronicle of Hieronymus.17 In light of the contradiction between the different traditions over the matter of the Macedonian settlement of Samaria, it may be that Alexander destroyed the city of Samaria in 331 b.c.e. and from there hastened off to Mesopotamia to wage war against Assyria and Babylon while Prodicus

15 See the notes of Marcus in his commentary: Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, Books IX–XI (trans. R. Marcus; LCL 326; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937), 526. 16 Translated by J. Karst, Eusebius Werke, Band 5: Die Chronik des Eusebius aus dem Armenischen übersetz mit textkritischen Kommentar (GCS 20; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1911), 197; see Marcus, Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, Books IX–XI, 523–24. 17 See Karst, Die Chronik des Eusebius, 197; Marcus, Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, Books IX–XI, 523–24.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 515 established the Macedonian settlement in Samaria at the time of his treks to Egypt, before his death in 321 b.c.e.18 Alternatively, some have suggested that Prodicus established the Macedonian city in Samaria on the order of Alexander of Macedon already in 330 b.c.e., after Alexander had continued on in his campaigns toward Mesopotamia.19 In either case, in 1962 discoveries were made in a cave in Wadi Daliyeh, about 14 kilometers northwest of Jericho, that confirmed and filled out the testimonies offered by Curtius Rufus and Eusebius. The discoveries attest that about 300 of the residents of Samaria fled to this cave. These people, who escaped from the soldiers of Alexander, hoped to find temporary refuge in the cave in Wadi Daliyeh, far away from any settlement. In the cave were found storage and cooking vessels, witnessing to the fact that refugees settled in for a prolonged stay in the cave. They also brought to the cave deeds demonstrating their ownership of servants and immobile possessions in the city of Samaria. Jewelry, cosmetic containers, and seals were also found in the cave. These discoveries, and the fact that the names of the Persianperiod Samaritan leaders were recorded in various documents, demonstrate that those who fled to Wadi Daliyeh were from the wealthy elite of Samaria. Alexander’s soldiers surrounded the hiding place of this gathering of compatriots and, by all appearances, lit a fire at the cave’s entrance; the smoke that filled the cave ultimately suffocated the people hiding inside. A number of skulls were found in the cave covered in fine garments, which it appears the refugees moistened in the conflagration in order to avoid choking from the smoke. The lighting of a fire at the entrance of the cave and the ensuing death by smoke of those hiding in it was, on the one hand, the easiest way to bring to an end the pursuit of these people, and, on the other, to put to death some of those from the Samaritan populace who had mistreated Andromachus.20

18 A. Tcherikover, The Jews and the Greeks in the Hellenistic Age (Tel Aviv, 1962), 83 [Hebrew]; F. M. Cross, “The Papyri and Their Historical Implications,” in Discoveries in the Wâdi ed-Dâliyeh (ed. P. W. Lapp and N. L. Lapp; AASOR 41; Cambridge, Mass.: American School of Oriental Research, 1974), 17. 19 See E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (rev. & ed. G. Vermes, F. Millar, and M. Black; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1979), 2.160. 20 On the Wadi Daliyeh discoveries see P. W. Lapp and N. L. Lapp, eds., Discoveries in the Wâdi ed-Dâliyeh (AASOR 41; Cambridge, Mass.: American School of Oriental Research, 1974).

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Evidence was also found in archeological excavations at the city of Samaria of building activities undertaken along with the erection of the Macedonian city. On the acropolis of Samaria, on top of Iron Age layers, were found remnants of the Macedonia settlement built at the end of the fourth century b.c.e. These remains include a district of dwellings designed according to a hippodamian (i.e. grid) plan characteristic of the fourth century b.c.e.21 On the eastern slope of the acropolis a round tower was revealed, 13 meters in diameter and built of dressed stones in courses of “headers” only. In every course the stones were laid in three rows, each after the next, so that the thickness of the wall is 2.5 meters. This tower is dated to the end of the fourth century b.c.e., relying on stratigraphic data and archeological parallels, and is one of the most impressive structures surviving from the Hellenistic era in the land of Israel.22 In the city of Samaria no assemblages of ceramics were uncovered on the floors of buildings in destruction layers dating to the time of Alexander of Macedon, and therefore there is no evidence thus far proving that the Macedonians destroyed the city before founding it anew. However, the foreign architectural changes introduced on the acropolis of Samaria at the end of the fourth century b.c.e. do attest that this part of the city was planned and newly built at that time. Moreover, the cache of clay vessels discovered in pit number 7 on the acropolis of Samaria suggests that this quarter was excavated by the Macedonians. The vessels found in this pit are typical of the end of the fourth century b.c.e.,23 and it seems likely that they reached the pit through the leveling work done by the Macedonians on the upper portion of the city of Samaria, before they built the hippodamic residential quarter upon it.24

21

See G. A. Reisner, C. S. Fisher, and D. G. Lyon, Harvard Excavations at Samaria, 1908–1910. Vol. I: Text (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1924), 134–66. 22 See J. W. Crowfoot, K. M. Kenyon, and E. L. Sukenik, The Buildings at Samaria (London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1942), 24–27. 23 See Reisner, Fisher, and Lyon, Harvard Excavations at Samaria, 284–92. 24 Ibid., 62. A similar ceramic assemblage was found under the foundations of the theater at Samaria: F. Zayadine, “Early Hellenistic Pottery from the Theater Excavations at Samaria,” ADAJ 11 (1966): 56–64. The two assemblages are similar to the ceramic assemblage found in the Wadi Daliyeh cave. See N. R. Lapp, “The Late Persian Pottery,” in Discoveries in the Wâdi ed-Dâliyeh; the group of vessels unearthed under the foundations of the theater is slightly later, and dates, by all appearances, to the first half of the third century b.c.e.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 517 Following the erection of the Macedonian settlement in Samaria its residents took part in the battles that broke out between the successors of Alexander of Macedon, which were waged over rule over the land of Israel during the fourth, and beginning of the third, centuries b.c.e. In 312 b.c.e. Ptolemy I destroyed Samaria at the time of his retreat from the land of Israel.25 Eusebius and Hieronymus record that the city of Samaria was again destroyed by Demetrius Poliorketes around 296 b.c.e., during his war against Ptolemy I.26 It is impossible to know the extent of the destruction effected by Ptolemy I and Demetrius on Samaria, since no evidence of these events has been found reflected in the excavations. During the course of Ptolemy’s rule in Samaria (third century b.c.e.) a sanctuary to the gods Isis and Sarapis was erected to the north of the acropolis, from which a sacred inscription has survived.27 Various signs attest that the city of Samaria preserved a Hellenistic character up to the second century b.c.e. So, for example, Apollonius, the governor of Samaria, conscripted many gentiles in Samaria at the outset of the Hasmonean uprising.28 It is possible that the character of Samaria as a Hellenistic military settlement is detectable in Josephus’s account in Ant. 13.275, which tells that John Hyrcanus loathed the people of Samaria because they had injured the residents of Maresha. It is difficult to estimate the number of the residents of the city of Samaria who were exiled from their city after the failure of the rebellion against the Macedonians. As we shall see below, there is reason to suppose that, following the construction of the Hellenistic settlement in the city of Samaria at the end of the fourth century b.c.e., a portion of the city’s inhabitants who had been removed from their city at the hands of the Macedonians tried to preserve the ethnic identity and cultural heritage that had crystallized in the city of Samaria throughout the Persian period. These people saw themselves as continuing the ways of the original inhabitants of the city of Samaria.

25

Diodorus Siculus, World History, 19.7.93. See Schürer, The History of the Jewish People, 2:161–62; Karst, Die Chronik des Eusebius, 199. 27 See J. W. Crowfoot, G. M. Crowfoot, and K. M. Kenyon, The Objects from Samaria (Vol. 3 of Samaria-Sebaste: Reports of the Works of the Joint Expedition in 1931–33 and the British Expedition in 1935; London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1957), 37. Also Jodi Magness, “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods,” HTR 94:2 (2001): 157–77. 28 Josephus, Ant. 12.287; 1 Macc 3:10. 26

518

hanan eshel ‫ז״ל‬ Belief in the Sanctity of Mount Gerizim in the Hellenistic Period

From the period when Persian rule ceased in Samaria—or, to be more precise, from the time following the rebellion of the residents of Samaria against the Macedonians in 331 b.c.e. up to the end of the third century b.c.e.—little knowledge remains of the history of the region. Following this period of darkness, which stretches for nearly 230 years, the pictures sharpens and there is evidence that at the beginning of the second century b.c.e. a religious group formed in the locale of Shechem that believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim. Hence, there are substantial signs that this belief formed near that time—that is to say, around the end of the third century b.c.e. At a somewhat later time (in the first century c.e.) this religious group was given the name “Samaritans.” From passages in Hellenistic Samaritan compositions preserved in the writings of the church fathers and from the passages that remains from the composition of Pseudo-Eupolemus, it is possible to learn that at the beginning of the second century b.c.e. the Samaritans believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim, and strove to relate sundry biblical traditions to this mountain.29 The claim of Pseudo-Eupolemus that the city of Salem is to be identified with Mount Gerizim was a tradition not ultimately adopted by the Samaritans (in the Byzantine period the Samaritans identified Salem [‫ ]שלם‬with Kefar Salem [‫קפר‬ ‫]סלם‬, which is east of Shechem), but it is instructive for discerning the process by which the Samaritans adjoined to Mount Gerizim a large portion of the traditions recounted in the Pentateuch, begun already in the Hellenistic period.30 The presence of Samaritan traditions in Jewish works composed in the third century b.c.e. (e.g. Testament of Levi) and second century b.c.e. (e.g. Jubilees and Testament of Judah),31 and the presence of many Jewish traditions in the work of the Samaritan scribe called

29 See C. R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, I: Historians (Chico, Calif.: Society of Biblical Literature, 1983), 171–75. 30 See C. R. Conder, “Samaritan Topography,” PEFQS 8 (1876): 190–91. 31 See J. T. Milik, “Ecrits préesseniens de Qumrân: d’Hénoch à Amram,” in Qumrân: sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu (ed. M. Delcor; BETL 46; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978), 96–106.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 519 “Pseudo-Eupolemus,” who was active around the year 200 b.c.e.,32 combine to support the proposal that the rift between the Jews and Samaritans occurred only in the second century b.c.e. Before this time one group borrowed traditions from the other, such that Samaritan traditions were reused by Jewish authors, and vice versa.33 In the second century b.c.e. we hear of one or two disputes between Jews and Samaritans in Egypt. These disputes concerned the sending of money for the sacrifices to different temples in the land of Israel.34 It seems that there were two reasons for the eruption of such arguments in the second century b.c.e. The first was the fact that the temple on Mount Gerizim had been newly rebuilt as a competing sanctuary to the one in Jerusalem. The second concerned efforts by the Hasmoneans to set up fixed institutions for the collection of monies from the Diaspora in order to send them to the temple in Jerusalem. It appears that during the Hellenistic period Samaritans dwelled chiefly in central Egypt (in the Faiyum region) and in Alexandria. These inhabitants lived in communities joined both to one another and to the Jews up to the second century b.c.e., but then separated from the Jews. The process of the Samaritans being cut off from the Jews in Alexandria was accompanied, it would seem, by conflicts which, as mentioned earlier, revolved around the question of where to send money for the sacrifices. The rule of the Ptolemies became intertwined with these conflicts, and gave rise to the disputes attested in the Jewish Antiquities of Josephus.35 The Greek inscriptions from the island of Delos, which date to the end of the third or beginning of the second century b.c.e., attest that, as in Alexandria, Samaritans also lived in close relation to Jews in Delos, and that there may even have been common institutions linking the two communities during the second century b.c.e.36 The inscriptions from Delos teach that the Samaritan community on the island saw itself as part of the Kingdom of Israel from the First Temple period. The sending of monetary donations from Diaspora communities to Mount Gerizim explains the great wealth that was revealed in

32 B. Z. Wacholder, “Pseudo-Eupolemus’ Two Greek Fragments on the Life of Abraham,” HUCA 34 (1963): 83–113. 33 Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 88–117. 34 Josephus, Ant. 12.10; 13.74–79. 35 Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 134–53. 36 See P. Bruneau, “Les Israélites de Délos et la Juiverie délienne,” Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 106 (1982): 465–504.

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the archeological excavations carried out in the Hellenistic city built up around the Samaritan temple. Additional inscriptions discovered in western Iran and the Mediterranean Sea Basin witness to the presence of “Samaritans” and “Shechemites” in these regions during the Hellenistic period.37 It is impossible to determine to whom exactly these titles refer —are these the residents of Samaria and Shechem, or those belonging to the Samaritan congregation? The contents of the Greek inscriptions uncovered around the Mediterranean Sea Basin, along with the writings of Josephus, call those belonging to the Samaritan community by many names (Σαμαρεὺς, Σαμαρίτης, Shechemites, Israelites, and the people of Gerizim), demonstrating that in the Hellenistic period the Samaritans were a group that had taken form only recently, and hitherto were marked by association with the customary clan name. Only beginning in the first century c.e. are the “Samaritans” as a group mentioned, as in the New Testament, the writings of Josephus, and thereafter. In the papyri from Egypt we also find use of the ethnic name “Samaritan.” Consequently, it seems that only in the first century c.e. was the name “Samaritans” established as the label for a group that believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim. The inscriptions from Delos suggest that, by all appearances, the process of separation between the residents of the former Kingdom of Israel and the residents of Judea was lengthy, with roots lying in the era of the monarchy. The fact that already in the second century b.c.e. people in Delos and Alexandria sent money to the temple on Mount Gerizim shows that the erection of the temple met a spiritual need for people in the Hellenistic Diaspora whose ancestry was from the Kingdom of Israel. These people considered themselves distinct from the people of Judea, who were linked tightly to the Jerusalem temple. The inscriptions from Delos may possibly hint that the formation of the Samaritan congregation arose as a response to the arrival of the concept of “Judaism” in the Hellenistic period.38 The concept of “Judaism” on the one hand, and the various names by which those of the Samaritan community were called on the other, seem to have expressed first and foremost spiritual needs of people dwelling in the Diaspora, 37

Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 154–57. First in 2 Maccabees, which was written outside the Land of Israel; see Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period, Volume I (trans. J. Bowden; London: SCM, 1974), 1–5. 38

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 521 who considered themselves to be connected to the Hellenistic world, but also adherents of a different religious tradition which they strove to preserve and articulate.39 The growth of the Samaritan belief in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim, along with their unwillingness to recognize the temple on Jerusalem as the only legitimate temple to the God of Israel, led to the development of animosity between Jews and Samaritans in the Second Temple period. We find echoes of such animosity in Jewish compositions from this period: in T. Levi 7:2 the residents of Shechem are called “fools”; in Jdt 5:16 the Samaritans are reckoned as one of the Canaanite peoples dwelling in the land of Canaan, stressing that the ancestry of the Samaritans was non-Israelite; in Sir 50:25–26 the Samaritans are described as “the foolish nation residing in Shechem”; Megillat Ta’anit recalls the “Day of Mount Gerizim,” which memorializes the victory of John Hyrcanus I over the Samaritans; in the Scholion (the commentary appended to the Megillat Ta’anit) an anti-Samaritan tradition appears, recounting how the Samaritans tried to attack the Jerusalem temple at the time of the Macedonian conquest of the land of Israel, and suggesting that Alexander of Macedon struck the Samaritans because of this attempt. This tradition resembles in many details Josephus’s account of the Macedonian conquest in Ant. 11.302–347. Here Josephus joined Samaritan traditions, which specified that Alexander of Macedon was the one who permitted the Samaritans to build a temple on Mount Gerizim, to anti-Samaritan traditions recounting that the temple on Mount Gerizim was built because no position commensurate with his standing was found for a Jerusalem priest, resulting in his threat to divorce the daughter of Sanballat. An anti-Samaritan tradition was also included asserting that Alexander of Macedon did not accord the same freedoms to the Samaritans as to the Jews. The account of Alexander of Macedon’s meeting with the Jerusalem high priest in Antiquities 11 was taken from the source also reflected by the tradition in the Scholion of Megillat Ta’anit. It seems Josephus omitted the conclusion of the Jewish tradition specifying that Alexander allowed the Jews to strike out at Mount Gerizim because he was aware that it was John Hyrcanus who destroyed the temple there. A. Momigliano 39

Y. Amir, “The Term ιουδαισμος: On the Self-understanding of Hellenistic Judaism,” in Proceedings of the Fifth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Vol. 3 (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1972), 263–68 [Hebrew]; D. R. Schwartz, Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity (WUNT 60; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 11–13.

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assumed that the pro-Samaritan and anti-Samaritan traditions were created to undergird disputes which took place in Alexandria in the days of Ptolemy VI.40 At Qumran, too, works are found in which animosity between the Jews and Samaritans may be discerned. In the Prayer of Joseph (4Q371, 4Q372) the Samaritans are described as fools and a foreign nation, builders of a high place on the desolate mountains of Joseph, arousing the God of Israel to anger.41 In an additional composition (4Q550), written in Aramaic and describing the royal Persian court, a man is by all appearances qualified as a “Cuthite.”42 It seems that in this fragment the first epithetical use of “Cuthite” is attested, derived from the toponym Cuthah mentioned in 2 Kgs 17, and was later used in the writings of Josephus and in the language of the rabbis as a derisive name for the Samaritans.43 We also find this animosity in the pseudepigraphic and apocryphal literature: in the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 89:72) the Samaritans are described as wild pigs, and as such they are equated to the Edomites (a motif also detected in Sir 50:25–26). In 2 Macc 6:2 there is a polemical note against the Samaritans. This note does not have any readily evident purpose, but seems to signal that even though the Samaritans suffered together with the Jews during the persecutions of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the name given by the Seleucids to the temple on Mount Gerizim—“The Temple of Zeus who Prospers Visitors”— referred to the Samaritans, considered foreigners not from among the peoples of the Land.44 In the pseudepigraphic Ascension of Isaiah it is stressed that all of the people of the Kingdom of Israel were exiled except for a handful that escaped to Judah, and that the false prophet who brought about the murder of the prophet Isaiah was a Samaritan

40 See A. Momigliano, “Flavius Josephus and Alexander’s Visit to Jerusalem,” in idem, Settimo contributo alla storia degli studi classici e del mondo antico (Storia e Letteratura 161; Roma: Edizioni de Storia e Letteratura, 1984), 319–329. 41 See E. Schuller, “4Q372.1: A Text about Joseph,” RevQ 14 (1990): 349–76; H. Eshel, “The Prayer of Joseph from Qumran, a Papyrus from Masada, and the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim,” Zion 56 (1991): 125–36 [Hebrew]. The editio princeps of these texts may be found in D. M. Gropp, Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh, and E. Schuller et al., DJD 28. 42 The passage location in the editio princeps is frg. 5 + 5a.5 (in É. Puech, DJD 37:25– 30). Note, however, the opinion of Puech, who understands this word differently. 43 See J. T. Milik, “Les modèles araméens du livre d’Esther dans les Grotte 4 de Qumrân,” RevQ 15 (1992): 321–408. 44 Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 188–91.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 523 named Bahirah. The detail that a man of Samaritan extraction was guilty of the murder of Isaiah, along with Bahirah’s accusation that Isaiah was guilty of claiming superiority over Moses, appears to reflect the Samaritan opinion that Moses was the only prophet, and that none of the deeds of the prophets could rival his sanctity. In the Copper Scroll from Cave 3 of Qumran it is noted that a treasury is concealed at Mount Gerizim. This description appears to be based on an interpretation fixing the locations of Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal in the area of Jericho—by all appearances at the outlet of Wadi Qelt to the plain of Jericho, at Tell el-Aqabeh and Nuseb alAwesira. If these suppositions are correct, then it seems evident that this polemical explanation, also recorded in the Talmud, the Onomasticon of Eusebius, and the Medaba Map, was formulated in the Second Temple period, and that certain scribes during the Herodian period adopted this interpretative approach even outside of the framework of the explicit Jewish-Samaritan polemic.45 A small fragment of papyrus, found at Masada, contains a prayer in which appear the words “for singing/joyfulness” (‫ )לרננה‬and “MountGerizim” (‫)הרגריזים‬. Though it is possible that this prayer is Samaritan, it seems that on this papyrus—as in the Prayer of Joseph from Qumran—we find an anti-Samaritan prayer praising God for assisting John Hyrcanus in the destruction of the temple on Mount Gerizim. It is possible that the Prayer of Joseph and the Masada prayer were thus speaking of the twenty-first of Kislev, the “Day of Mount Gerizim.”46 Some Jewish compositions from the Second Temple period (various bits of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the War Scroll from Cave 1 of Qumran) make the claim that the Jews were the only Israelites remaining after the devastation of the Kingdom of Israel. This claim, even if not made in the setting of a Jewish-Samaritan polemic, attends a widespread outlook in Judah at the end of the Second Temple period that characterized Samaritans as foreigners.47 It is possible to sum up by saying that according to the testimonies in our possession, during the portion of the Hellenistic era preceding the second century b.c.e., the Samaritans believed in the sacred status of Mount Gerizim. We find testimonies to this effect among a small

45 46 47

Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 193–95. Eshel, “The Prayer of Joseph from Qumran.” Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 201–209.

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number of passages remaining to us from the writings of the Samaritan religion, and also among polemical passages written against this perspective by Jewish scribes. It seems that this view was articulated after the conversion of the city of Samaria into a Hellenistic settlement in the fourth century b.c.e. and before the beginning of the second century b.c.e. In addition, archeological discoveries point to a rise in construction at the Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim around the end of the third century b.c.e.48 There is reason to believe that as a result of the Hellenistic colony being founded at the city of Samaria, people who lived in Samaria before the Macedonians settled there organized themselves into a group that tried to preserve the ethnic identity and cultural heritage of the city of Samaria, which had taken form from the ninth century b.c.e. up to the its conversion into a Macedonian colony. The nucleus of this group comprised residents who had departed the city of Samaria and settled, it would seem, in various villages around the region of Samaria. It is true that the city of Samaria was not an important religious center during the biblical and Persian periods, but it is known to have had great importance from historical and economic perspectives. Nevertheless, people presumably dwelled there who saw in their city not simply a place of residence, but also a cultural center for those who believed in the God of Israel, though without connections to Jerusalem. It is possible to adduce that the Ptolemaic rulers viewed with distrust the circles that strove to observe the cultural heritage of the city of Samaria and were hostile toward the new residents of Samaria—that is, to the residents of the first Hellenistic settlement to be established in the land of Israel. One might guess, therefore, that the people of these circles were those exiled to Egypt in the days of Ptolemy I. The papyri uncovered in Middle Egypt attest that the exiles from the region of Samaria, who were brought to Egypt by Ptolemy I in 312 b.c.e., settled in the Fayum district around 270 b.c.e. These residents set up a village and named it Samaria (‫)סאמריה‬, which memorializes the name of the city of Samaria in the land of Israel.49 Since there was no special

48 Y. Magen, “Mount Gerizim, Temple-City,” Qadmoniot 23:3–4 (1990): 70–96 [Hebrew]. 49 For an overview of these papyri see Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 134–43. For a similar phenomenon from an earlier period see I. Eph‘al, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th Centuries B.C.:

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 525 ethnicon for the Samaritan exiles, these people were called “Judeans” (or “Jews”) in sources from the third century b.c.e.; only in the first century b.c.e., when quarrels broke out between the Jews of Egypt and the Greek residents, do the sources in the Fayum district use the ethnicon “Samaritan.” It should be stressed that the epigraphic sources of Samaritan origin in Egypt have been discovered in Middle Egypt, and it is therefore possible to surmise that in this region the people of Samaria maintained their distinctiveness from the third century b.c.e. up to the Byzantine period. Sources dating to the Byzantine period were discovered from this region in which the Samaritans were called “Samaritans according to their religion,” and also specifying that they swore oaths in the name of Mount Gerizim.50 The community that strove to keep the heritage formed in the city of Samaria during the Israelite and Persian periods seems to have been impelled by people who comprised the economically elite of the city of Samaria before the Macedonian conquest. These people lost the source of their wealth and were exiled from the economic center to villages on the periphery. It is possible to describe these circles as people cultivating “the enclave culture”51—that is, people who feel that the future of their culture is uncertain, and that it is possible their culture may disappear due to members of their community leaving because of a strong attraction to a centralized, neighboring community.52 Since these communities lacked sufficient economic resources to be able to reward their members, moral conviction remained the only means of retaliation for them to preserve their culture, and this conviction grew out of their resistance to the outside society.53 There is reason to conclude that belief in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim crystallized during the return to ancient religious traditions of a group exiled from its home. Accordingly, it is plausible that a spread of belief in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim occurred only after people Maintenance and Cohesion,” Orientalia 47 (1978): 74–90; and from a later period M. Stern, “Jerusalem which is in the Land of Assyria in a Fragment from the Work of the Historian Asinius Quadratus,” Zion 42 (1977): 295–97 [Hebrew]. 50 See B. Kraemer and D. Hagedorn, Griechische Texte der Heidelberger PapyrusSammlung (P. Heid. IV) (Heidelberg, 1986), 225–36. 51 See the definition and detailed discussion of A. Sion, “The Enclave Culture,” Alpayim 4 (1991): 45–98 [Hebrew]. 52 The centralized community in this instance was the Hellenistic city of Samaria, and also the various Hellenistic centers in the Diaspora, such as Alexandria and Delos. 53 Sion, “The Enclave Culture,” 50–51.

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were exiled from the city of Samaria, in spite of the fact that there were people who maintained worship on Mount Gerizim even before the city was converted into a Macedonian settlement. This assumption is based on examples of development of “the enclave culture” by exiled peoples, a culture based on religious observance that drew people together to preserve their culture and to stand against the danger of assimilation. We may note three such cases by way of example: at the end of the eighteenth and throughout the nineteenth centuries various Anabaptist groups (Hutterites, Mennonites, and the Amish) arrived in North America from Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and the Netherlands; they settled in different regions in the United States and Canada (mainly in South Dakota and Pennsylvania), and some keep the European Anabaptist culture, the language and clothing that they used in Europe to this day; some have gone to great lengths in order that they might not assimilate in their new land. It should be noted that Anabaptist theology did not come to a standstill after emigration, but rather continued to develop and equip itself with arguments to forestall assimilation into a surrounding group.54 Another example of an “enclave culture” whose origin lies in emigration is the groups of Haredi Jews who immigrated to the land of Israel and the United States in the first half of the twentieth century. These groups strive to preserve the Jewish culture of Eastern Europe, the dress and language hailing back to the lands of their emigration, and this out of a fear that their culture is in danger.55 Although this response is characteristic of a more modern era, there is reason to believe that the formation of normative behaviors among the exiles from Judah in the period of the Babylonian Exile stemmed from similar factors.56 The people of Judah who were exiled to Babylon supposed that, without strict religious observance, the cultural heritage rooted in the Kingdom of Judah would likely be absorbed into its 54 On the Anabaptist groups which settled in America, and the theology that developed therein following emigration, see F. H. Littell, The Origins of Sectarian Protestantism (New York: MacMillan, 1964); C. J. Dyck, An Introduction to Mennonite History (Scottdale, Penn.: Herald Press, 1967), 145–238; J. Horsch, The Hutterian Brethren 1528–1931 (Macmillan Bruderhof, 1986), 115–16. 55 See Y. Katz, Tradition and Crisis (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1958) [Hebrew]; A Ravitzky, “Exile in the Holy Land: The Dilemma of Haredi Jewry,” in Israel: State and Society, 1948–1988 (Studies in Contemporary Jewry 5; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 89–125. 56 On the modern setting of the phenomenon see Sion, “The Enclave Culture,” 45–49.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 527 surroundings. Consequently, they fashioned in Babylon a religious framework through which they maintained an “enclave culture,” against the danger of assimilation with exiles from other ethnic communities that had also been brought to Babylon.57 It is thus possible to explain, for example, the return to Judean names in the midst of the fifth century b.c.e. (as demonstrated by N. Avigad and E. Bickerman).58 In light of these examples, it seems justified to assume that it was a similar process, indeed less extreme, that brought the people exiled from the city of Samaria to seek a sacred place that might provide a focal point around which it was possible to preserve the Israelite religious heritage that had coalesced in Samaria before its transition to a hellenized city. Two traditions attributing sacred status to Mount Gerizim are attested in the book of Deuteronomy: When the Lord your God has brought you into the land that you are entering to occupy, you shall set the blessing on Mount Gerizim and the curse on Mount Ebal. As you know, they are beyond the Jordan, some distance to the west, in the land of the Canaanites who live in the Arabah, opposite Gilgal, beside the oak of Moreh. (Deut 11:29–30)59

The second passage reads: The same day Moses charged the people as follows: When you have crossed over the Jordan, these shall stand on Mount Gerizim for the blessing of the people: Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Joseph, and Benjamin. And these shall stand on Mount Ebal for the curse: Reuben, Gad, Asher, Zebulun, Dan, and Naphtali. (Deut 27:11–14)

Yet, another tradition also appears in Deuteronomy: Then Moses and the elders of Israel charged all the people as follows: Keep the entire commandment that I am commanding you today. On the day that you cross over the Jordan into the land that the Lord your God is giving you, you shall set up large stones and cover them with plaster. You shall write on them all the words of this law when you have crossed over, to enter the land that the Lord your God is giving you, a land flowing with milk and honey, as the Lord, the God of your ancestors, promised you. So when you have crossed over the Jordan, you

57 Eph‘al, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia”; ibid., “Babylonian Exile,” in The History of the People of Israel: Return to Zion—the Persian Period (ed. H. Tadmor and I. Eph‘al; Jerusalem: Am Oved, 1983), 24–27 [Hebrew]. 58 N. Avigad, “Seals of the Exiles,” IEJ 15 (1965): 222–32; E. J. Bickerman, “The Generations of Ezra and Nehemiah,” PAAJR 45 (1978): 1–28. 59 Biblical quotations are from the nrsv.

528

hanan eshel ‫ז״ל‬ shall set up these stones, about which I am commanding you today, on Mount Ebal, and you shall cover them with plaster. And you shall build an altar there to the Lord your God, an altar of stones on which you have not used an iron tool. You must build the altar of the Lord your God of unhewn stones. Then offer up burnt offerings on it to the Lord your God, make sacrifices of well-being, and eat them there, rejoicing before the Lord your God. You shall write on the stones all the words of this law very clearly. (Deut 27:1–8)

In the Samaritan version of Deut 27:4, the verse says: “So when you have crossed over the Jordan, you shall set up these stones, about which I am commanding you today, on Mount Gerizim,” and not “on Mount Ebal” as in the Masoretic Text. There has been widespread disagreement in studies of the character of this version; a majority of researchers consider this to be a tendentious, sectarian change made by the Samaritans, so that “for the Masoretes there was no reason to belittle the image of Mount Gerizim, which in any case was already known to bear the blessing. Not so with those responsible for the Samaritan version, for whom there was a reason to exalt Mount Gerizim.”60 Contrastingly, there are those who argue that the “Mount Gerizim” version is the original, and that it was altered to Mount Ebal by the Judeans as part of their anti-Samaritan polemic.61 The appearance of the reading Mount Gerizim in the Vetus Latina has provided support for this view, with some of those studying that version taking the phrase “Mount Gerizim” to reflect an ancient reading that is not from a Samaritan sect.62 Even without deciding on the questions of whether there was only one original version of the book of Deuteronomy or whether Deut 27:4 read Mount Gerizim or Mount Ebal, and even without adopting a stance on the question of whether it is possible to discern in this verse which reading is the more original, and which secondary (i.e. developed as a reaction to the earlier text), it remains necessary to

60 The opinion of M. Haran, “Shechem Studies,” Zion 38 (1973): 6–15 [here 7, n. 14; Hebrew]; also see A. Rofé, Introduction to the Book of Deuteronomy (Jerusalem: Akademon, 1988), 19–26; and the bibliography provided in these essays. 61 See O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction (New York and Evanston: Harper and Row, 1965), 216, n. 9, and 695. 62 See E. Tov, “Pap. Giessen 13, 19, 22, 26: A Revision of the LXX?” RB 78 (1971): 376, n. 29; idem, Textual Criticism of the Bible (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1989), 75, n. 67 [Hebrew]. Apropos this discussion is a small fragment containing this verse, and purportedly originating from Cave 4 of Qumran, which reads “Mount-Gerizim.” The fragment was first made public in 2008, but has yet to be published officially.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 529 explain the appearance of traditions ascribing sanctity to Mount Gerizim in the book of Deuteronomy (11:29–32; 27:11–14). It is necessary to remember that in Deuteronomy, Jerusalem is not mentioned at all except in the locution “in the place that he will choose.” Over this question, too, there are different opinions among scholars. Until recently, it was widely accepted that the traditions about Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal in Deut 11 and 27 originated with Israelite scribes who fled to Jerusalem following the destruction of the Kingdom of Israel in 720 b.c.e. By the reckoning of these scholars, the traditions ascribing sanctity to Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal were older and belonged to the earliest layer of Deuteronomy.63 In contrast, N. Na’aman has recently opined that these traditions originated in a place of cultic worship situated near Shechem, to which Josh 24 is also connected. These traditions were thus composed in order to ascribe a sacred status to this location. According to Na’aman, the traditions in Deuteronomy and Joshua coalesced in the period following the destruction of the First Temple, at a time when belief in the sanctity of Jerusalem was shaken. Na’aman found signs of this in the fact that, in the book of Deuteronomy, an effort was made to graft in a legitimization of the temple in Shechem through additional verses and a muting of certain traditions. By Na’aman’s account, all of the traditions in Deut 11:6–27 and Josh 8:6–24 referred to the single sacred site that was erected in close proximity to Tell Balata, and they do not have a connection to other holy places on the heights of Mount Gerizim or Mount Ebal. Na’aman dates these traditions no later than the sixth century b.c.e.64 Despite disagreements over the dating of the traditions in Deut 11:29–30 and Deut 27, and regardless of a lack of knowledge surrounding Mount Gerizim during the course of the Iron Age, it seems widely agreed that there were traditions that ascribed a sacred status to Mount Gerizim, that these traditions derived from well before the

63 See E. W. Nicholson, Deuteronomy and Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1967), 58–106; M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), 366–70; Haran, “Shechem Studies,” 7–51; Rofé, Introduction to the Book of Deuteronomy, 19–26; M. Weinfeld, From Joshua to Josiah (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), 140–52 [Hebrew]. A great deal of additional literature is provided in these discussions. 64 N. Na’aman, “Shechem and Jerusalem in the Days of the Babylonian Exile and the Return to Zion,” Zion 48 (1983): 7–32 [Hebrew].

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Hellenistic period, and that they should be dated to the Babylonian period at the latest.65 It is reasonable to suggest that the group exiled from the city of Samaria resigned themselves at a certain stage to the fact that the city of Samaria had been converted into a Hellenistic city, and that there was no prospect that it would be possible for its devotees to return and reinstitute their culture in that city. They therefore searched for a sacred place around which it would be possible to observe the cultural tradition that had taken form in the city of Samaria. As a result, the importance of earlier traditions that ascribed sacred status to Mount Gerizim rose to prominence. This process took place over the course of the third century b.c.e., since in the fourth century b.c.e. we find no witnesses to the sanctity of Mount Gerizim, while in the beginning of the second century b.c.e. a consolidated community in the region of Shechem already existed that believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim. It is possible to deduce that the process of Mount Gerizim’s sanctification was a graduated one. In the beginning, Mount Gerizim gained importance in the eyes of those exiled from the city of Samaria, since it was possible in its surrounding areas to keep the tradition that had been formed in that city. Over the course of the third century b.c.e. they went up to Mount Gerizim for the celebration of religious feasts and, when it became possible for them in the second century b.c.e., they built on Mount Gerizim a temple to the God of Israel. During the second century b.c.e., as the temple in Jerusalem became the temple of central importance, the Samaritans began (like those in Jerusalem) to claim a unique status for their temple, so as to assert that it was the only place that God had chosen, and that only there was it proper to worship the God of Israel. There is good reason to assume that the attitudes between the ruling authorities and “those going out from the city of Samaria” were tense throughout the entire period of Ptolemaic rule in the Land of Israel. The people of Samaria were the first to rebel against Alexander 65 It should be noted that in addition to the traditions in Deut 11:29–30, Deuteronomy 27, and Josh 8:30–35 (which depends on Deuteronomy), Mount Gerizim is mentioned only one other time in the Bible—in Judg 9:7. This verse explains that Jotham, son of Gideon, uttered his oracle on the top of Mount Gerizim. We do not find in this verse the idea that Mount Gerizim was considered sacred during the period of the judges. See H. Eshel and Z. Ch. Ehrlich, “Abimelech’s First Battle with the Lords of Shechem,” Tarbiz 58 (1988): 114–15 [Hebrew].

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 531 of Macedon, and they similarly despised the Hellenistic residents who had settled in the city of Samaria following the revolt. These circumstances do not suggest that the Ptolemies permitted these people to settle in Shechem, which was situated on a central mountain at the most strategic of crossroads. It seems, then, that in the Ptolemaic era “those going out from the city of Samaria” consolidated themselves in various small villages in the region, the allotment of which is recounted in traditions written down in the Testament of Levi, Jubilees, and the Testament of Judah.66 With the Seleucid conquest, a change in relations took place between these people and the ruling authorities. By all appearances, in the days of Antiochus III authority was given to the Samaritans to set up a temple and fortified city on the peak of Mount Gerizim.67 This city was apparently called Mount-Gerizim (written simply as one word: ‫)הרגריזים‬.68 Archeological excavations conducted over recent years have taught us that this city was very magnificent.69 The source of the great wealth of the city may be explained by the money collected for the temple on Mount Gerizim from the offerings of people who lived in the Diaspora. This practice is attested in Alexandria and Delos, though we might suspect that it extended to additional locations as well.70 The hometown of those who sent gifts of money to Mount-Gerizim was, it seems, the city of Samaria, and the erection of the temple on the peak of Mount Gerizim helped these people to define their religious distinctiveness, a need that existed especially in the Diaspora. It seems that the erection of the city on Mount-Gerizim also brought economic growth to Shechem (Tell Balata and environs). One may surmise that during the Seleucid period a portion of the residents of Tell Balata joined in the belief of Mount Gerizim’s sanctity, and took part in worship at the temple built at the top of the mountain. In contrast, there were also residents in Shechem who did not see themselves as connected to this temple.

66

Milik, “Ecrits préesseniens de Qumrân,” 96–106. U. Rappaport, “The Samaritan Sect in the Hellenistic Period,” Zion 55 (1990): 375–77 [Hebrew]; Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 133. 68 Magen, “Mount Gerizim, Temple-City,” 78; Eshel, The Samaritans in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods, 135–36. 69 Y. Magen, “A Fortified City from the Hellenistic Period on Mount Gerizim,” Qadmoniot 19 (1986): 91–101 [Hebrew]; ibid., “Mount Gerizim, Temple-City.” 70 For Alexandria, see Josephus, Ant. 12.10, 13.74–79; and on the writings from Delos, see Bruneau, “Les Israélites de Délos.” 67

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With the construction of the temple on the peak of Mount Gerizim a rift grew between the residents of Judah and those residents of Samaria who believed in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim, and as a result a tendency took hold among the Judeans to define the god of those believing in Mount Gerizim’s sanctity as a non-Israelite deity. The harmonistic version that provided the foundation for the Samaritan Pentateuch was apparently adopted by the Samaritans around the time that their temple was erected on Mount Gerizim. In light of the similarities between the scrolls discovered in Cave 4 at Qumran and the Samaritan version, F. M. Cross proposed that the origins of the editing of the Samaritan version were to be found in the Hasmonean period. Thus, in light of the publication of these biblical scrolls, it becomes evident that it is now possible to push back slightly the date of the formation of the Samaritan Pentateuch. In this way the harmonizing scrolls found at Qumran attest that the harmonistic version standing behind the Samaritan version is reflected in the scrolls dated by paleographic study to the second century b.c.e., while the scrolls written down in the first century b.c.e. bear witness to a harmonizing version attested more broadly than among the Samaritans alone. Consequently, there is evidence to suggest that this more common harmonizing version served as the basis for the Samaritan version, adopted by the latter at the beginning of the second century b.c.e. when the temple was built on Mount Gerizim; however, the sectarian changes in the Samaritan version that express the singularity of Mount Gerizim were added to the harmonizing version by Samaritan scribes, who worked in connection with the temple on Mount Gerizim, in the second century b.c.e. The good relations that existed between the Samaritans and the Seleucid authorities during the days of Antiochus III may be seen in the construction of the temple and the fortified city on Mount Gerizim,71 in addition to the fact that large sums of money reached this temple from the native land and the Diaspora, changing completely the situation of the community that had been called “those going out from the city of Samaria” after a hundred years or more spent in the situation of an “enclave culture.” At this time, after the Seleucid occupation in the beginning of the second century b.c.e., they acquired for themselves economic and foreign political status. It seems that this reality

71 See the two articles of Magen already mentioned: “Mount Gerizim, TempleCity,” and “A Fortified City from the Hellenistic Period on Mount Gerizim.”

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 533 is reflected in a passage from Ant. 12.156, “After the daughter of Antiochus was betrothed to Ptolemy, the Samaritans were flourishing and making many troubles for the Jews, wreaking havoc on their land and taking people captive.” The marriage of Antiochus III’s daughter to Ptolemy V took place in 193 b.c.e. It thus appears that Josephus was mistaken when he made the connection to the Tobiads at the beginning of the second century b.c.e.; it is possible that this error arose from the fact that, in the body of the story, it is noted that the Samaritans attacked the Judeans before the Tobiads were appointed as tax farmers. Josephus, it would seem, had information that the Samaritans accrued significant political strength during the Seleucid era, and therefore he narrated the story about the Tobiad dynasty in the period following the Seleucid conquest, and joined to the story of Joseph son of Tobias the notification that the Samaritans cut off regions of Judea. Since all the details of the story of the Tobiads are linked to Ptolemaic rule, Josephus argues that the land of Israel reverted to Ptolemaic control after the betrothal of Antiochus III’s daughter to Ptolemy V.72 The Greek inscription from Yavneh-Yam recalling “the Sidonians [who harbored in Yamnia]”73 demonstrates that underlying the statements found in Ant. 12.258–64 are authentic testimonies written down by the Sidonians who were appointed by chiefs of the municipal administration in Tell Balata. These Sidonians did not want the Seleucids to equate them with the Samaritans and Judeans, and thus they sent the letters cited in Antiquities to Antiochus IV. It is possible that these testimonies witness to disputes between some of the municipal leaders dwelling in Tell Balata (and its environs) and the residents of Mount-Gerizim. Accordingly, it seems that in 167 b.c.e., when Antiochus IV enacted his “religious decrees,” the Sidonians turned away from Shechem to Antiochus IV with the request that the temple on Mount-Gerizim be made the temple of Zeus (Ant. 12.259–61). The request is known to have emphasized the difference between the people of Jerusalem and Shechem. It may be that, as a result of this turn,

72 On this see D. Gera, “On the Credibility of the History of the Tobiads,” in Greece and Rome in Eretz-Israel (ed. A. Kasher, G. Fuks, and U. Rappaport; Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 1989), 68–84 [esp. 80; Hebrew]. This volume was translated into English under the above title (published also by Yad Ben-Zvi) in 1990. 73 See B. Isaac, “A Seleucid Inscription from Jamnia-on-the-Sea: Antiochus V Eupator and the Sidonians,” IEJ 41 (1991): 132–44; A. Kasher, “A Greek Inscription from the Harbor of Yavneh-Yam from 163 b.c.e.,” Cathedra 63 (1992): 3–21 [Hebrew].

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or perhaps even without a turn such as this, the Seleucids did convert the temple on Mount-Gerizim into a temple dedicated to “Zeus who Prospers Visitors.” From 2 Maccabees we learn that the Samaritans were persecuted at the time of the decrees—as were the Jews—because of their faith (2 Macc 5:23, 6:2), but we have no evidence suggesting that the Samaritans joined the army of Judah the Maccabee. Recently, Seth Schwartz proposed that the temple on MountGerizim remained dedicated to Zeus until it was destroyed by John Hyrcanus I. According to his proposal, “the Sidonians that were in Shechem” mentioned in Ant. 12.257–64 were Hellenized Samaritans who managed this temple until its destruction. The destruction of the temple by John Hyrcanus thus served the interests of those Samaritans who observed the traditions of their ancestors.74 This is difficult to maintain, for 2 Macc 11:22–25 indicates that Antiochus V abolished the religious decrees. Hence, it is plausible that the temple on MountGerizim was dedicated to Zeus only until the abolition of the religious decrees in the days of Antiochus V,75 especially if Schwartz is correct in his proposal that Pompey had built Mount-Gerizim anew following the Roman conquest in 63 b.c.e., just as he rebuilt the city of Samaria which had been destroyed three years after Mount-Gerizim. Because Pompey built only the city of Samaria, there is reason to suppose that the Romans did not see the city of Mount-Gerizim as a Hellenistic city. The archeological findings that were revealed on the peak of Mount Gerizim also argue against the view that this city was a Hellenistic city, since no evidence of Hellenistic cultic activity was found in it, nor any remains of religious statuary—this despite the fact that areas of foreign occupation were excavated. The fact that the Hasmoneans left a military force stationed in a number of houses west of the mountaintop proves, moreover, that contrary to the theories of Schwartz tension was prevalent between the Hasmoneans and Samaritans after John Hyrcanus I destroyed the temple on Mount-Gerizim.76 The joint suffering of the Jews and Samaritans in the period of the religious decrees brought about a certain sense of solidarity, which came to expression in 2 Macc 5:22–23. The fact that this solidarity is expressed only in 2 Maccabees, which is a composition reflecting the 74

S. Schwartz, “John Hyrcanus I’s Destruction of the Gerizim Temple and JudeanSamaritan Relations,” Jewish History 7 (1993): 9–25. 75 Rappaport, “The Samaritan Sect in the Hellenistic Period.” 76 For the archeological evidence see Magen, “Mount Gerizim, Temple-City,” 90.

the growth of belief in the sanctity of mount gerizim 535 worldview of Diaspora Judaism, and that even in 1 Maccabees there is no echo of Samaritan persecution at the hands of the Seleucids, or of solidarity with them, is no accident; it is plausible to assume that the people of Judah had more difficulty than Jews in the Diaspora voicing solidarity with a people who disputed the sanctity of Jerusalem. It seems that the course of the Samaritan community’s formation was very protracted.77 The roots of the differences between the Samaritans and the Jews began, by all appearances, in the monarchical period, and the final split between them seems to have occurred shortly after the Bar-Kokhba revolt.78 In this essay we have attempted to demonstrate that the historical sources and archeological findings testify that the belief in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim developed over the course of the third century b.c.e. The meager knowledge that we possess about the events that took place in the land of Israel during this century renders it impossible to determine with certainty what the historical circumstances were that over time caused people who lived in the region of Samaria to begin to propound a belief in the sanctity of Mount Gerizim. Due to our lack of knowledge about what took place in the region of Samaria in the decades after the fourth century b.c.e. (after the revolt against the Macedonians) and during the course of the third century b.c.e., we are only left to suppose that it was the establishment of the Hellenistic colony in the city of Samaria following the revolt against the Macedonians that brought about the crystallization of a community that strove to keep “the Israelite heritage,” to which the residents of the city of Samaria had held fast before the Macedonian conquest. Within the framework of an “enclave culture” there was joy in the outlook that saw in Mount Gerizim the place chosen by God, in which his name should dwell.

77 See R. J. Coggins, Samaritans and Jews: The Origins of Samaritanism Reconsidered (Atlanta: John Knox, 1975). 78 See R. J. Coggins, “The Samaritans and Northern Israelite Tradition,” in Proceedings of the First Congress of the Société d’Études Samaritanes (ed. A. Tal and M. Florentin; Tel-Aviv: Tel-Aviv University, 1991), 99–108.

PETON CONTESTS PAYING DOUBLE RENT ON FARMLAND (P.HEID.INV. G 5100): A SLICE OF JUDEAN EXPERIENCE IN THE SECOND CENTURY B.C.E. HERAKLEOPOLITE NOME* Rob Kugler The papyri archive from a Judean politeuma in second century b.c.e. Herakleopolis has spectacular implications for understanding the Judean experience in Hellenistic Egypt; with regard to this papyri archive published in 2001 there is much yet to be explored.1 The most immediate impact of the archive has been to settle finally the question of whether Judeans were permitted by the Ptolemaic government to form politeumata in Hellenistic Egypt.2 The papyri have also been important for the effort to understand the degree to which Judeans under Ptolemaic rule hewed closely to their ancestral law. At the same time, they shed light on whether Judeans were more likely to live by the Greek legal customs the imperial rulers favored, or even by local Egyptian norms. The jury is still out on the latter question, and is likely to remain so for some time to come, especially inasmuch as thorough study of the legal reasoning in each of the papyri still remains to be done.3 In addition, there are other documentary papyri from the

* Throughout this essay it will be my practice to refer to Peton and other Judeans not as “Jews” or as “practitioners of Judaism qua religion,” but rather as Judeans, members of an ἔθνος that hails from Judea and derives customs, laws, and notions of God from the traditions of that place. For a strong defense of this resistance to the language of “religion” in describing Judeans in the Hellenistic era, see Steve Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” JSJ 38 (2007): 457–512. 1 James M. S. Cowey and Klaus Maresch, Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (144/3–133/2 v. Chr.) (P.Polit.Iud.): Papyri aus Sammlungen von Heidelberg, Köln, München und Wien (Papyrologica Coloniensia 29; Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag, 2001). 2 See the formulaic address in P.Polit.Iud. 8.4–5: τοῖς ἄρχουσι τὸ λζ (ἔτος) τοῦ ἐν Ἡρακλέους πόλει πολιτεύ[μα]τος τῶν Ἰουδαίων. 3 Preliminary assessments are available in Cowey, “Das ägyptische Judentum in hellenistischer Zeit—Neue Erkentnisse aus jüngst veröfftentlichten Papyri,” in Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta. Studien zur Enstehung und Bedeutung der griechischen Bible (ed. S. Kreuzer and J. P. Lesch; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2004), 2:24–43; Sylvie Honigman, “The Jewish Politeuma at Heracloepolis (review of J. M. S. Cowey and

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second century Herakleopolite nome that give evidence of Judean legal reasoning that also require careful study in the effort to assess these particular Judeans’ relationship to their ancestral traditions and multicultural context.4 I am delighted to offer this brief study of one of these texts, P.Heid.Inv. G 5100, in honor of my teacher and mentor James C. VanderKam.5 Text and Translation (2nd hand) Ἡ̣φ̣α̣στίωνι. π̣ρ̣[οσ]κ̣αλέσασθαι τὸ̣ν ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ν̣ ἡμετέραι γνωμῃ επ̣ ̣ ε ̣ ̣ νι ̣ ̣ η ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ν ̣̣̣ (1st hand) Κ̣ τη̣ ̣σίαι ἀρχιφυλακίτη̣ ι ̣ 5 παρὰ Πέτωνος̣ τοῦ Φιλοξένου ̣ ̣ τῶν ἐκ Φνεβ̣ιέιως. ̣ Ἰουδα̣ίο̣ υ τ[̣ ο]ῦ̣ προωνομασ̣μ̣έ̣ν̣ου μου πατρ̣ ̣ὸς [Φι]λ̣ο̣ξένου μ̣ι̣σθωσαμέ[ν]ο̣υ̣ δ̣ι ̣ ̣ ̣ Ἡρακλ̣είους καὶ ∆ημητρίου ̣ όδ̣ ου ̣ γῆς ἀρούρας δ 10 ἀπὸ τῆς προσ ἐκ τοῦ Χαύρου κλ̣ή̣ρου περὶ Φνεβιέια καὶ ἐν τῶι Παῦ̣ν̣ι

K. Maresch, Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (144/3–133/2 v. Chr) (P.Polit.Iud.)],” SCI 21 (2002): 251–66 (see also Maresch and Cowey, “‘A Recurrent Inclination to Isolate the Case of the Jews from their Ptolemiac Environment’? Eine Antwort auf Sylvie Honigman,” SCI 22 [2003]: 307–10); Honigman, “Politeumata and Ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt,” Ancient Society 33 (2003): 61–102; Thomas Kruse, “Das politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis in Ägypten,” in Die Septuaginta— Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten. Internationale Fachtagung veranstaltet von Septuaginta Deutsch (LXX.D), Wuppertal 20.–23. Juli 2006 (ed. Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 166–75. 4 Among others, see P.Phrur.Diosk. 1 in J. M. S. Cowey, K. Maresch and C. Barnes, Das Archiv des Phrurarchen Dioskurides (154—145 v.Chr.?) (P.Phrur.Diosk.) Papyri aus den Sammlungen von Heidelberg, Köln, München und Wien (Papyrologica Coloniensia 30; Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2003), which presents a police account of a brawl involving a Judean. 5 Charikleia Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri der Heidelberger Sammlung,” ZPE 132 (2000): 225–39, esp. 233–39. This essay is one of several studies of individual documents from Judeans in the Herakleopolite nome in the second century b.c.e. that I am preparing; see, for example, my “Dorotheos Petitions for the Return of Philippa (P.Polit.Iud. 7): A Case Study in the Judeans and their Law in Ptolemaic Egypt,” in Proceedings of the Twenty-Fifth International Congress of Papyrology: American Studies in Papyrology (ed. Traianos Gagos et al.; Ann Arbor, Mich.: University of Michigan Press, 2010), 389–97; see also idem, “Dispelling an Illusion of Otherness? A First Look at Juridical Practice in the Heracleopolis Papyri,” in The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins (ed. M. Goff, D. Harlow, K. M. Hogan, and J. Kaminsky; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 457–70.

peton contests paying double rent on farmland

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τοῦ λδ (ἔτους) μετρησάντω̣ [ν] ἡμων τὰ ἐκφόρια τοῖς δ̣η15 λουμένοις Ἡρακλείωι καὶ ∆ημητρίωι, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἐν τῶι Ἐπεὶφ τοῦ αὐ̣το̣ ̣ῦ ἔτους μετὰ τὴν [μ]έτρ̣ ̣ησ[ι]ν Ἀ̣π̣ολλωνίου τοῦ προ̣ ̣ντος τῆς προσ̣όδου ἐνεχυράστά 20 σαντος̣ ἡμᾶς μέχ̣ρι ̣ τοῦ ἐκ [[τ]]δευ[τέρας τὰ ἐκφόρια ] μ̣ε̣τρ̣ ̣ῆ̣[σ]α̣ι ̣ τοῦ

(2nd hand) To Hephaistion: summon the . . . in our opinion . . . (1st hand) To the Chief of Police, Ktesias, from Peton, son of Philoxenes, a Judean of those from Phnebeius. My father, whom I just mentioned, rented four arouras through Herakles and Demetrios from the Prosodos-Land from the cleruchy of Chauros in the region of Phnebeius. In Pauni of the thirty-fourth year we paid to the previously named Herakles and Demetrios rent, yet also in Epeiph of the same year, after the payment, Apollonios, the overseer of the Prosodos, distrained us until we paid the rent a second time . . .

Summary The single preserved column of P.Heid.Inv. G 5100 amounts to twenty lines of nearly gap-free text. The left margin is about 2.5 cm and the script runs parallel with the grain of the papyrus. Charikleia Armoni, who first presented the papyrus, notes that only about half of the original petition survives. She identifies the hand as belonging to the second half of the second century b.c.e.6 The notice in line 13 narrows this dating; the thirty-fourth year of a Ptolemaic ruler’s reign in this period can only refer to 148/7 (Ptolemy VI Philometor, 148/7 b.c.e.) or 137/6 b.c.e. (Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II, 137/6 b.c.e.).7 Lines 1–2, written in a second hand, contain the fragmentary procedural directions (a rescript) that responded to the petition (which begins in line 4). The rescript is addressed to a certain Hephaistion (Ἡφαιστίωνι), and was issued by several officials together, a fact evidenced by the first person plural ἡμετέραι γνώμῃ in line 2. Their

6 According to Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 233, this is by comparison with P.Amh. 2.35 (132 b.c.e., Soknopaiu Nesos). 7 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 233, also observes that since the month of Epeiph was already past (line 17) the petition had to have been composed late in August, and that the thirty-fifth year of the relevant king’s rule had probably already begun by the time the petition was made.

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instruction was that Hephasition was to summon someone, whose name is lost due to damage to the papyrus surface. Peton’s petition begins in lines 4–6 with a formulaic introduction: Peton, son of Philoxenes, a Judean among those in Phnebieus, appeals to Ktesias, Chief of Police. The rest of the preserved material explains the circumstances leading up to the wrong Peton complains about: his father, Philoxenes, had rented four arouras of τῆς προσόδου γῆς, “Prosodos-Land” (= Crown land), of the cleruchy of Chauron, situated in the region of Phnebieus; he had done so through Herakles and Demetrios, probably joint holders of Crown land (βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί). Peton goes on to relate that in Pauni of the thirty-fourth year he and his father paid rent to Herakles and Demetrios (lines 12b–16a). However, in the following month of Epeiph, Apollonios, overseer of the “Prosodos-Land” distrained them—that is, seized something of their property—until they paid the rent a second time. The petition breaks off before revealing precisely what Peton wanted Ktesias to do for him. Commentary Inasmuch as the terminology and concepts in documentary papyri can be somewhat arcane, and this one offers its own special challenges, I provide the following commentary on specific elements in the rescript and petition; I do so with the hopes of providing some ideas as to Peton’s legal reasoning and its implications for understanding his experience as a Judean in Hellenistic Egypt. Since the rescript in lines 1–2 is a response to the petition, I begin with the petition itself in lines 4–21 and come at the end of the commentary to the rescript. Line 4. Κ̣τη̣ ̣ σίαι ἀρχιφυλακίτη̣ι.̣ The local chief of police, a royal official, was a normal point of access to the bureaucratic structures that assured justice for those who considered themselves wronged in some way by another.8 Petitions to an ἀρχιφυλακίτης typically requested that he take action on and/or refer the concern of the petitioner to another level of the bureaucracy. They were common and covered a wide range of concerns, including desire for redress in the case of an

8 See John Bauschatz, “Archiphylakitai in Ptolemaic Egypt: A Hierarchy of Equals?” SyllClass 18 (2007): 181–211, and esp. 183–86 on petitions to chiefs of police.

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abusive official, such as may have been the case here.9 To ensure that citizens had access to the legal system everywhere, chiefs often had jurisdictions as small as a village. We know that Phnebeius did have its own ἀρχιφυλακίτης as late as the middle of the first century b.c.e.10 Lines 5–6. παρὰ Πέτωνο̣ς τοῦ Φιλοξένου Ἰουδα̣ίο̣ ̣υ τῶν ἐκ Φνεβ̣ιέ̣ ιως. Peton was almost certainly purposive in his ethnic self-identification as a Judean; that is, he understood his ethnic identity to be a factor in the success of his petition to Ktesias.11 Indeed, one’s ethnicity was administratively and socially important.12 Administratively, certain ethno-geographical identifications qualified one as a Hellene (including “Judean”), a status that brought with it certain tax privileges;13 further, 9 Bauschatz, “Archiphylakitai in Ptolemaic Egypt,” 185 n. 11. See in particular P.Tebt. 1.41 (105–90 b.c.e., Kerkeosiris) where a komarch and the renters of Crown land complain to a chief of police about a topogrammateus who comes with armed gangs to extort wealth from the farmers and their families. 10 BGU 8.1798.1 (64–44 b.c.e., Herakleopolites). 11 Oddly, studies devoted to the formal elements of petitions often treat the occasional ethnic self-identification as unworthy of attention. John L. White, The Form and Structure of the Official Petition: A Study in Greek Epistolography (SBLDS 5; Missoula, Mont.: Society of Biblical Literature, 1972), 13 n. 14, says it is too infrequent to merit attention in his otherwise helpful study; and in another otherwise stellar resource, Joachim Hengstl, “Petita in Petitionen gräko-ägyptischer Papyri,” Symposion: Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte 10 (1997): 265–89, gives no heed to the topic at all (see esp. 280–81). Yet the primary evidence itself makes clear that the practice was purposive. See, for example, the sixteen Ptolemaic-era petitions gathered in the Appendix to White, The Form and Structure of the Official Petition, 71–97. Of the sixteen, five contain petitioners’ ethnic self-identification: P.Cair.Zen. 2.59236 (253–252 b.c.e., Philadelphia [Arsinoite]) is from a Macedonian; P.Enteux. 48 (218 b.c.e., Magdola [Arsinoite]) is from a “Persian of the Epigone”; P.Lond. 1.23 (157 b.c.e., Memphis) is from a Macedonian (of the Epigone); BGU 6.1256 (147 or 136 b.c.e., Philadelphia [Arsinoites]) is from a Macedonian; and P.Ryl. 4.578 (= C.Pap.Jud. 1.43) (159/158 b.c.e., Arsinoites) is from a Judean. Macedonians were the privileged class of Ptolemaic Egypt; “Persian of the Epigone” was a fictive status that gave a poor credit risk some fiscal advantages. Judeans, of course, had access to politeumata, and, as we shall see, claimed the privileges of Hellenes with the ethnic moniker. Checks of additional petitions from the Ptolemaic period reveal the same pattern of purposive self-identification. 12 On the complex matter of ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt, see especially Dorothy Crawford, “Hellenistic Hellene: The Case of Ptolemaic Egypt,” in Ancient Greek Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity (ed. Irad Malkin; Center for Hellenic Studies Colloquia 5; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 301–22; Willy Clarysse and Dorothy Thompson, Counting the People in Hellenistic Egypt (2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 2:123–206. For the added complexity introduced by the colonial context of Ptolemaic Egypt and more theoretical considerations of the concept of ethnicity, see, for example, Denise Eileen McCoskey, “Race before ‘Whiteness’: Studying Identity in Ptolemaic Egypt,” Critical Sociology 28 (2002): 13–39. 13 E.g., Judeans were classified in the village of Trikomia as Hellenes for tax purposes, exempting them from the obol tax that was levied separately between 254–231

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some of the same ethnicities (and perhaps others) had the right to form politeumata that provided in turn a venue for dispute resolution by the ethnic group’s own juridical standards.14 From a social perspective, in the midst of Hellenistic Egypt’s hegemonic pluralism one’s ethnic identity helped to define one’s customs, familial ways, religio-cultural interests and commitments, and juridical standards.15 Obviously, the administrative and social functions of ethnicity were not unrelated; when a person’s socio-ethnic identity entitled him to membership in a politeuma it was precisely one’s social identity that compelled the individual to self-identify for administrative reasons in a legal dispute; doing so gave the person access to the legal perspectives of his/her own ethnicity as they were applied by the politeuma’s leaders. That seems likely to be the case here: Peton’s home village, Phnebeius, was in the Mese toparchy of the Herakleopolite nome, located to the northeast of Herakleopolis;16 we now know that as a resident in the Herakleopolite nome, Peton did have a politeuma and its archons to appeal to in the nome capital, Herakleopolis. He even makes clear with the phrase

b.c.e.; see Clarysse, “Jews in Trikomia,” Proceedings of the 20th International Congress of Papyrologists, Copenhagen 23–29 August 1992 (ed. Adam Bülow-Jacobsen; Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 1994), 193–203; Clarysse and Thompson, Counting the People, 2:147–48, argue further that this favored status for Judeans persisted long after the period when the obol tax was collected separately. 14 On defining Hellenes under Ptolemaic rule as immigrants to Egypt from Greekspeaking lands who served the empire, see Joseph Mélèze-Modrzejewski, “Jewish Law and Hellenistic Legal Practice in the Light of Greek papyri from Egypt,” in An Introduction to the History and Sources of Jewish Law (ed. N. S. Hecht et al.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 77; on the nature of politeumata and the debate— now settled—over whether Judeans had the right to form them, see Aryeh Kasher, The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1985), passim; idem, review of Cowey and Maresch, Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (144/3–133/2 v. Chr) (P.Polit.Iud.),” JQR 93 (2002): 257–68, esp. 258–59; E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 225–26; C. Zuckerman, “Hellenistic politeumata and the Jews: A Reconsideration,” Scripta Classica Israelica 8–9 (1985–1988): 171–85; Gert Lüderitz, “What is the Politeuma?” in Studies in Early Jewish Epigraphy (ed. Jan Willem van Henten and Pieter Willem van der Horst; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 204–8; and Honigman, “Politeumata and Ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt,” 61–102. Considerable uncertainty remains as to the precise qualifications required for a people to form a politeuma and further, about the origins of the concept; still a consensus does seem to be growing around the view that it started as cultural, social, and political associations of immigrant soldiers in the Ptolemaic armed forces who shared the same ethnic origin. 15 On this distinction between social and administrative functions of ethnicity, see especially Clarysse and Thompson, Counting the People, 2:203–205. 16 M. R. Falivene, The Herakleopolite Nome: A Catalogue of the Toponyms with Introduction and Commentary (ASP 37; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 148–51.

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τῶν ἐκ Φνεβ̣ιέ̣ ιως that he is just one member of a larger community of Judeans in Phnebeius who had access to the politeuma and its leadership in Herakleopolis. Line 8. μ̣ισ̣ θωσαμέ[ν]ο̣υ̣ δ̣ι.̣ This is the language of leasing. The active verb is used of the sublessor and the middle form of the verb occurs for the sublessee.17 Although Armoni argues that if this were a case of subletting one would have expected the preposition παρά, διά is used in precisely this fashion of a sublessee in P.Tebt. 1.141 (115 b.c.e., Kerkeosiris), a land register of crown tenants in Kerkeosiris.18 John Shelton deciphers lines 65–66 as a scribal correction meant to ensure that there is no doubt that Penerophos, son of Peteimouthes, rented land as a sublessee through a certain Dionysios (∆ιονύσιος δἰ αὐ(τοῦ) Πνερεφῶς Πετειμοῦθου).19 Line 9. Ἡρακλ̣είους καὶ ∆ημητρίο̣υ̣. That two persons were the βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί, making their control of the land a partnership and them the sublessors together, is unsurprising. Shelton’s study of P.Tebt. 1.141 reveals that two or more individuals often went together to rent Crown land.20 And for good reason: βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί received extraordinary legal privileges in exchange for insuring the productivity of Crown land. They were protected from extortion of money and land by unscrupulous officials; one whole house and half of any other buildings possessed by qualified βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί were exempt from the Ptolemaic practice of billeting soldiers in citizens’ homes without compensation. “Collectors of foreign debts” could neither force repayment via paramone labor, nor seize their property, farming equipment, or livestock. Furthermore, for suits regarding private debt, βασιλικοὶ

17 On use of the active verb for sublessors see, for example, P.Tebt. 3.805.3–4 (113 b.c.e., Oxyrhyncha [Arisonoites]), μισθώσαντός μου Πετεσούχωι. On sublessee see P.Enteux. 60.3 (218 b.c.e., Kaminoi [Arsinoites]), ἐμοῦ γὰρ μισθωσαμένου ἀπὸ τῆς Χρ[υ]σέρμου δωρεᾶς (a δωρέα being a land gift by the crown to a citizen); English translation in Naphtali Lewis, Greeks in Ptolemaic Egypt (Oxford: Clarendon, 1986), 62. 18 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 239, does acknowledge the use of διά in P.Rainer Cent. 40.1 (256 b.c.e., Herakleopolite), but only “um die Tätigkeit von Beamten des Verwaltungsapparatus beim Verkauf oder der Verpachtung . . . königlichen Landes zum Ausdruck zu bringen.” 19 See the text and comments in John C. Shelton, “Land Register: Crown Tenants at Kerkeosiris,” in Collectanea Papyrologica. Texts Published in Honor of H. C. Youtie (ed. Ann Ellis Hanson; München: Rudolf Habelt Verlag, 1976), 119, 130, 145, n. on lines 65–66. 20 Shelton, “Land Register,” 117–18.

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γεωργοί could only be brought before courts friendly to those producing wealth for the Crown.21 Line 10. ἀπὸ τῆς προ̣σό̣δο̣υ γῆς. Because it is the earliest known instance of the enigmatic land term προσόδου γῆ, “Prosodos-Land,” Peton’s description of the land he and his father rented as τῆς προσόδου γῆς occupies pride of place in the sole discussion of the petition to date.22 Suffice it to say that with the addition of this occurrence, Armoni is able to argue strongly that all signs point to the term referring to a sort of βασιλική γῆ, Crown land for rent that came into royal possession through confiscation by the treasury, often from cleruchies that were neglected in some way (see further below). In short, Peton and his father Philoxenes were sublessees of Crown land leased first by Herakles and Demetrios, who were thereby the βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί in the transaction. As sublessees from βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί, Peton and Philoxenes were mere renters and did not obtain that privileged status. In any case, it was ultimately to the state treasury that some rental payment was owed, which may explain the involvement of Apollonios, τοῦ προστάντος τῆς προσόδου, the overseer of the “Prosodos-[Land]” (see further on lines 18–19 below). Line 10. ἀρούρας δ: This is a small piece of land to lease from the Crown lands, but this instance is not without precedent. In P.Tebt. 1.141.43, 103 we see two holdings of 3½ and 1¾ aouras held in common by several partners. As Shelton points out, this most of all underscores the fact that the original lessees of Crown land often engaged in the practice chiefly to gain the legal benefits that came with being βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί, since such a small holding among several partners cannot have been intended to provide much of a living.23 It is not surprising, then, that small-scale βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί immediately rented their holdings to local farmers; their interest was not in agriculture but in status and its attendant perquisites. Line 11. ἐκ τοῦ Χαύρου κλ̣ή̣ρου: The description of the land as being of the cleruchy of Chauron seems to contradict the conclusion reached above that the petition involves Crown land leased to Herakles and

21 Jane Rowlandson, “Freedom and Subordination in Ancient Agriculture: The Case of the basilikoi georgoi of Ptolemaic Egypt,” History of Political Thought 6 (1985): 327–47, esp. 331; see also P.Tebt. 1.5.138–44, 207–20 (118 b.c.e., Kerkeosiris?); 3.707 (118 b.c.e., Tebtunis [Arsinoites]). 22 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 234–36. 23 Shelton, “Land Register,” 118.

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Demetrios, and sublet to Peton and his father. A cleruchy was land given by the Crown to Ptolemaic military men to tie them to the land from which they were called up from reserve status in order to protect the interests of the Crown. In exchange, cleruchs were expected to ensure the land’s productivity for the Crown. However, it is clear that officials often continued to refer to land by its cleruchic title, even long after it had been separated from the cleruch and transferred back to royal control because it had, for one reason or another, become fallow.24 Lines 12–16. ἐν τῶι Παῦ̣ν̣ι τοῦ λδ (ἔτους) μετρησάντω̣[ν] ἡμων τὰ ἐκφόρια τοῖς δ̣ηλουμένοις Ἡρακλείωι καὶ ∆ημητρίωι. The month Pauni in the thirty-fourth year of Ptolemy VI Philometor would have been June 26 to July 25, 147 b.c.e., or June 23 to July 22, 136 in the thirtyfourth year of Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II, the two possible years to which the events recalled in the petition date. In either case, Pauni was the normal month in which to collect rent-in-kind on land cultivated in grains (since it was two months after normal planting time).25 Lines 16–18. ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἐν τῶι Ἐπεὶφ τοῦ αὐ̣το̣ ̣ῦ ἔτους μετὰ τὴν [μ]έτρ̣ ̣ησ[ι]ν. By contrast, the month of Epeiph (July 26 to August 24, 147; July 23 to August 21, 136) would have been an unusual time to collect the rent-in-kind on property planted with grains, although it was not unheard of that collection could occur some time well after harvest.26 Armoni suggests that perhaps Apollonios did not know—or chose not to know!—that the ἐκφόρια had already been collected in Pauni.27 Lines 18–21. Ἀ̣π̣ολλωνίου τοῦ προστά̣ ̣ντος τῆς προσ̣όδου ἐνεχυράσαντος̣ ἡμᾶς μέχ̣ρι ̣ τοῦ ἐκ [[τ]]δευ[τέρας τὰ ἐκφόρια ] μ̣ε̣τ̣ρ̣ῆ̣[σ]α̣ι ̣

24 Friedrich Zucker, “Beobachtungen zu den permanenten Klerosnamen,” in Studien zur Papyrologie und antiken Wirtschaftsgeschichte Friedrich Oertel zum achtzigsten Geburtstag gewidmet (ed. Horst Braunert; München: Rudolf Habelt Verlag, 1964), 101–6; see more recently, Jean Bingen, “The Thracians in Ptolemaic Egypt,” in Hellenistic Egypt: Monarchy, Society, Economy, Culture (ed. with introduction by Roger S. Bagnall; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 83–93 (both cited in Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 235 n. 37); see esp. 84–85, where Bingen affirms that the practice, though traced by Zucker only so far back as the beginning of the first century b.c.e., was quite a bit older. 25 Dieter Hennig, Untersuchungen zur Bodenpacht im ptolemäisch-römischen Ägypten (München: Rudolf Habelt Verlag, 1967), 22–24, cited in Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 239. 26 Johannes Hermann, Studien zur Bodenpacht im Recht der graeco-ägyptischen Papyri (MBPF 41; München: Beck, 1957), 107, cited in Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 239. 27 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 239.

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τοῦ. Apollonios fulfills a standard role in the Ptolemaic hierarchy of officials charged with ensuring the productivity of the land. The προστάτης, “overseer” of Crown lands, is a familiar figure in the papyri, and can be understood as a government official who was responsible for the reclamation of uncultivated royal land.28 The evidence indicates that it was within the purview of the προστάτης to collect the ἐκφόρια directly from a sublessee, so Apollonios was not overstepping his authority, at least in a formal sense.29 That said, he clearly coerced Peton and Philoxenes in some way to obtain a (second) rental payment, as evident in the appearance of the term ἐνεχυράσαντος. The use of the verb ἐνεχυράζω or a related term by a petitioner with respect to an official obtaining payment of legitimate or illegitimate ἐκφόρια occurs, as far as I can tell, only one other time in the papyri: in P.Erasm. 1.1.23–26 (148–147 b.c.e., Oxyrhyncha [Arsinoites]), a petitioner complains, as does Peton, that he was forced to pay a second rent: ὁ αὐτος Ἡρκλείδης καὶ Ὡρίων ἐπιπορευόμενοι ἐπὶ τὴ[ν] οἰκίαν μου ποιοῦνται ἐνεχυρασίας πράσοντες ἐμὲ ἐκ δευτέρας τὰ ἐκφόρια. In our text and this one it seems the action of the abusive official entails taking something necessary to the farmer for the exercise of his profession to compel payment of the outstanding ἐκφόρια. While neither Peton, nor Harendotes mentions an item in his petition, in another petition a certain Dionysios complains that his donkey had been taken in pledge against payment for ostensibly outstanding ἐκφόρια.30 Thus it seems likely that similar circumstances pertain here. Unfortunately, the amount of the petition lost to us—as much as half of it, according to Armoni (see above)—makes it impossible to be certain if that is so, and if it is, what it was that Apollonios took from Peton and his father. In any case, P.Enteux. 88 makes clear that the aim of ἐνεχυράζειν and/ or ἐνεχυρασία was to make it impossible for the farmer to continue his work until he had satisfied the official’s demands.31 28 See for example, ∆[ιονυσίου τοῦ προστάντος κεχωρισμένης προσόδου in P.Tebt. 1.60.126 (118–117 b.c.e., Kerkeosiris); Ἀσκληπι]άδου τοῦ προ[στάντος τῆς κεχωρισμένης προσόδου in P.Tebt. 1.64B.14–15 (115 b.c.e., Kerkeosiris). Also see Dorothy Crawford, Kerkeosiris: An Egyptian Village in the Ptolemaic Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 119, n. 3; see P.Tebt. 1.60.125–26; 61B.121– 25 (118–117 b.c.e.), and still others. 29 P.Tebt. 3.805. 30 P.Enteux. 88 (221 b.c.e., Magdola [Arsinoites]). 31 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 233, cites as further evidence of petitions concerning over- or underpayment of rent P.Enteux. 73 (222 b.c.e., Magdola [Arsinoites]), addressed as an enteuxis to Ptolemy, on the basis that the petitioner possessed

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Line 1. Ἡ̣φ̣α̣στίωνι. π̣ρ̣[οσ]κ̣αλέσασθαι τὸ̣ν. This first line of the rescript written in response to Peton’s (unknown) request to Ktesias is typical of its congeners: the addressee’s name is given in the dative case as the recipient of the rescript author’s or authors’ instructions. That Hephaistion receives the instruction, instead of the addressee of the petition (Ktesias, Chief of Police), is not surprising; as Armoni comments, he is probably “einer der Untergebenen des Ktesias,”32 a subordinate of Ktesias. This is not an unreasonable surmise given what is known about the hierarchy of policing in the chora: that chiefs of police worked with and over other officials, including φυλακῖται to whom the ordinary duties of daily police work were often assigned (such as the arrest, detention, and transport of suspects and the like).33 The infinitive-as-imperative + direct object in line 1 (with only the definite article legible), προσκαλέσασθαι τὸν, suggests that the instruction to Hephaistion was that he summon someone, presumably an alleged wrongdoer named in the petition. The use in rescripts of the aorist infinitive as a second-person imperative denoting an action to be taken by the rescript’s recipient is common.34 As for the likely identity of the person summoned, the masculine singular definite article signals that it was Apollonios, since if it were Herakles and Demetrios we would expect the plural instead. There is little doubt that an imperial official could be corrupt; the evidence is well known.35 Line 2. ἡμετέραι γνωμῃ. This phrase, “in our opinion,” suggests that Ktesias had referred Peton’s request to an adjudicatory body made up

a receipt for payment and was still being required to pay double rent; BGU 8.1822 (60–55 b.c.e., Herakleopolites), sent by a petitioner to the strategos, because he was overcharged for rent; BGU 8.1856 (64–44 b.c.e., Herakleopolites), an enteuxis from a lessor to the king because a lessee had not paid rent on land leased. The only known criminal complaint to a police official involving rented land is SB 8.9674 (131 b.c.e., Euhemeria), and there is no evidence that the complainant is concerned about overpayment of rent. 32 Armoni, “Drei ptolemäische Papyri,” 238. 33 Bauschatz, “Archiphylakitai in Ptolemaic Egypt,” 182 n. 4. 34 See, for example, ἐξαποστεῖλαι in P.Münch. 3.51.2 (134 b.c.e., Sebennytos [Arsinoites]); on the construction, see Edwin Mayser, Grammatik der griechischen Papyri, II.1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1926), 150–51. 35 See Crawford, “The Good Official in Ptolemaic Egypt,” in Das ptolemäische Ägypten. Akten des internationalen Symposions 27.–29. September 1976 in Berlin (ed. Herwig Maehler and Volker Michael Strocka; Mainz am Rhein: von Zabern, 1978), 195–202; Willy Peremans, “Die Amtsmissbräuche im ptolemäischen Ägytpen,” in Korruption im Altertum: Konstanzer Symposion, Oktober 1979 (ed. Wolfgang Schuller; München: R. Oldenbourg, 1982), 103–33.

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of several people who had then ruled on Peton’s request. Examination of other petitions to chiefs of police and other officials confirms that this is a typical course of events. Petitioners routinely asked the ἀρχιφυλακίτης and other officials to write on their behalf to yet another official or adjudicatory body in order to involve them in the disputed matter.36 Of course, we can assume that requests for referrals, like ethnic self-identification in a petition, were purposive and reflected actual possibilities. Given the comments above on Peton’s self-identification as a Judean in the Herakleopolite nome, it seems most likely that if he had asked for a referral to an adjudicatory body composed of several members, it might well have been the archons of the politeuma in Herakleopolis. Indeed, where rescripts from the archons are preserved, like this one they are written in the first person plural and petitioners in P.Polit.Iud. 1.19–20 (135 b.c.e., Herakleopolites); 11.10 (133–132, b.c.e., Herakleopolites); 12.24–25 (135 b.c.e., Herakleopolites) urge the archons to summon offending parties for judgment using the verb προσκαλέομαι (see commentary on line 1 above).37 Further, P.Polit.Iud. 19 (141–131 b.c.e., Penei [Herakleopolites]) and 20 (143–132 b.c.e., Tebetnoi [Herakleopolites]) demonstrate that the archons responded positively to such requests: the two texts are the affirmative responses from village officials at Penei and Tebetnoi to summonses of individuals from their communities made by the archons in Herakleopolis. What was Peton’s Request and the Juridical Reasoning behind It? Thus far the evidence, even in the absence of the actual request itself, suggests that Peton’s petition might have triggered a referral of his case to the Judean politeuma leaders in Herakleopolis, and that they responded by summoning Apollonios to their jurisdiction. Yet what Peton’s complaint against Apollonios may have been exactly and how he persuaded Ktesias and the archons that it came under the jurisdiction of the archons of the Judean politeuma remain to be clarified.

36 See, for example, P.Tebt. 3.1.796 (185 b.c.e., Tebtunis); BGU 8.1822; P.Ryl. 4.578 (= C.Pap.Jud. 1.43) (159/158 b.c.e., Arsinoites); P.Polit.Iud. 4 (134 b.c.e., Herakelopolites); P.Polit.Iud. 8 (133 b.c.e., Herakelopolites). 37 See also P.Polit.Iud. 6 (134 b.c.e., Herakelopolis), 7 (134 b.c.e., Herakleopolis), 8 (133 b.c.e., Herakleopolis), 16 (43–132 b.c.e., Herakleopolites (?)]).

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Fortunately, there are sufficient clues in what has survived to provide some possible answers to these questions. Peton’s complaint can be fairly surmised from the remains of the rescript and the legal options open to him, given the circumstances he described. If Herakles and Demetrios were βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί, Peton had no remedy from them. As their sublessees, Peton and his father owed them the rental payment without question, and the two βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί had collected it at the expected time of the year. Moreover, the legal protections their status afforded them made it very difficult to bring βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί to any tribunal, let alone win a judgment against them. While their pockets may have been deep, they were largely closed to Peton and his father. By contrast, Apollonios had behaved oddly in collecting rent as late as Epeiph, and his coercive behavior would arouse greater concern than the normal business transaction between Peton and the βασιλικοὶ γεωργοί. Peton’s complaint, then, was almost certainly that Apollonios had acted corruptly in forcing a second rental payment from father and son. He would hardly have been the first resident of Ptolemaic Egypt to complain of a dishonest official.38 It is the way that Peton describes Apollonios’ corruption that sets his complaint apart and suggests he sought to bring Apollonios before the archons. As it turns out, the Greek Torah uses the same verb employed in the petition, ἐνεχυράζειν, in declaring certain kinds of pledge-taking against a debt to be prohibited acts. Exodus 22:25–26 (Eng. 22:26–27) decrees that if you ἐνεχύρασμα ἐνεχυράσῃς, “take in pawn (for a debt owed)” your neighbors garment, you have to restore it before sundown so that s/he is protected from the night air (see the similar sentiments and use of the verb and related substantives in Deut 24:12–13, 17). In another passage in Deut 24:6 (οὐκ ἐνεχυράσεις μύλον οὐδε ἐπιμύλον, ὅτι ψυχὴν οὕτος ἐνεράζει, “No one shall take a mill or an upper millstone in pledge, for that would take a life in pledge”), it states clearly that any pledge-taking which undercuts a person’s ability to prepare bread to sustain himself deprives him of life itself and is prohibited. So too Deut 24:10–11 says that when one makes a neighbor a loan,

38 See above; see also the comments regarding abuse of the poor by officials in Eccl 5:7, a passage many think was written during the days of Ptolemaic rule over Judea:

Ἐαν συκοφαντίαν πένητος καὶ ἁρπαγὴν κρίματος καὶ δικαιοσύνης ἴδῃς ἐν χώρᾳ, μὴ θαυμάσης ἐπὶ τῷ πράγματι· ὅτι ὑψηλὸς ἐπάνω ὑψηλοῦ φυλάξαι καὶ ὑψηλοὶ ἐπʼ αὐτούς.

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οὐκ εἰσελεύσῃ εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν αὐτοῦ ἐνεχυράσαι τὸ ἐνέχυρον, “You shall not go into the house to take the pledge” (i.e., remove it forcibly). The use of the same verb to describe Apollonios’ behavior, and its paucity in other documentary papyri relating to extortionary collection of excessive land rent payments (see above) suggests the influence of the LXX on Peton’s legal reasoning. In short, the evidence points to the likelihood that Peton charged Apollonios with violating his unique rights under the Torah in matters of debt and collateral, and it was on this basis that he urged Ktesias to refer his case to the archons. Thus the rescript could be the archons’ reply that Apollonios should appear before them for judgment according to the standards of the Torah.

Concluding Reflections on Judean Life and Legal Reasoning in Hellenistic Egypt If we assume the foregoing inference regarding Peton’s basic legal claim, some modest conclusions follow. Firstly, this petition and the likely response it received confirm the well-documented formal and structural cooperation among different legal systems in Ptolemaic Egypt.39 A clear instance of this is the likelihood that in this petition’s rescript the Judean politeuma summoned Apollonios, a Ptolemaic official, to account for his actions under Judean law. That the politeuma leaders were thought by their constituents to have jurisdiction over non-Judeans is clear already from P.Polit.Iud. 1 (135 b.c.e.), where Andronicus, a Judean, appeals to the archons of the politeuma to summon for punishment a certain Nicharchus, a non-Judean, because he abused Andronicus verbally in public. Secondly, if Peton reasoned as this analysis suggests he did, we have good evidence that while the legal systems of Ptolemaic Egypt were designed to cooperate in formal and substantive ways, ordinary citizens knew well how to exploit those formal and substantive pathways 39 For an introduction to the legal context of Ptolemaic Egypt and basic bibliography, see Uri Yiftach-Firanko, “Law in Graeco-Roman Egypt: Hellenization, Fusion, Romanization,” in The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology (ed. Roger S. Bagnall; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 541–60. For a compelling hypothesis on how this cooperation among systems might have worked in the case of the Torah, see Mélèze Modrzejewski, “The Septuagint as Nomos: How the Torah became a ‘Civic Law’ for the Jews of Egypt,” in Critical Studies in Ancient Law, Comparative Law and Legal History (ed. John W. Cairns and Olivia F. Robinson; Oxford/Portland, OR: Hart Publishing, 2001), 183–99.

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to achieve their litigation aims. The fusion of normative systems was no mere theory; it was a practical reality understood and embraced by those who counted most, the people governed by those systems. This too finds further confirmation in petitions from the Judean politeuma in Herakleopolis. For instance, my study of P.Polit.Iud. 7 (134 b.c.e., Herakeleopolis) indicates that Dorotheos, a Judean of the politeuma, was enormously eclectic in his legal argument that he had been treated unjustly when his betrothed was given by her father to another man.40 Thirdly, this petition reinforces the widely held view that Judeans in Hellenistic Egypt were deeply integrated into the diverse and complex social, cultural, political, bureaucratic and economic realities of the Ptolemaic world. Peton was a sublessee of non-Judean sublessors, who in turn were lessees of the Crown; he appealed to a Ptolemaic official, using a Greek documentary form, to achieve justice in a Judean court by alluding to Judean law. This certainly adds substantially to the evidence for Judean integration in the Ptolemaic context beyond that which is conventionally cited, the case of a Judean family sharing crockery with Egyptian neighbors.41 Lastly, and most promisingly, the foregoing conclusions reinforce my own view that further close analysis of the legal reasoning of Judeans from Hellenistic Egypt constitutes a worthy contribution to the larger effort to understand the experience of ethnic Judeans in the hegemonic pluralism of the Ptolemaic kingdom.

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Kugler, “Dispelling an Illusion of Otherness? A First Look at Juridical Practice in the Heracleopolis Papyri,” passim; see also Mélèze Modrzejewski, “The Septuagint as Nomos,” 190–99. 41 C.Pap.Jud. 1.46 (II–I b.c.e., Arisinoites [?]).

ASCENTS TO HEAVEN IN ANTIQUITY: TOWARD A TYPOLOGY Adela Yarbro Collins Ascents to heaven and journeys to the ends of the earth in the literature of antiquity do not constitute a genre since writings of several different kinds include accounts of them. It seems better then to take such ascents and journeys as a theme in the Bible, post-Biblical Jewish and Christian texts, as well as in Greek and Roman works. Some earlier texts from Mesopotamia are included to fill out the picture.1 Two general types may be discerned in ancient literature. In the first, the ascent occurs instead of death or at death. The person or soul that ascends remains in heaven.2 In the second, the ascent occurs during the traveler’s lifetime. The person or soul that ascends returns home after visiting or touring heaven or the ends of the earth.3 Brief History of Scholarship Members of the history of religion school were the first to study texts about ascents to heaven in a comprehensive way. Scholars of this “school” approached both biblical and extra-biblical texts by placing them in their cultural contexts. In a related development in the field of classics, Albrecht Dieterich published a text giving instructions for an ascent to heaven. This text is part of the collection known as the Greek magical papyri. Dieterich gave the work the title “a Mithras liturgy.”4

1 Due to the limits of time and space, Egyptian texts and the works discovered at Nag Hammadi are not discussed here. 2 Carsten Colpe, E. Dassmann, J. Engemann, and P. Habermehl, “Jenseitsfahrt I (Himmelfahrt),” RAC 17 (1996): 407–66. 3 Carsten Colpe and P. Habermehl, “Jenseitsreise (Reise durch das Jenseits),” RAC 17 (1996): 490–543. 4 Albrecht Dieterich, Eine Mithrasliturgie (Leipzig: Teubner, 1903; 3d ed. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1966). See now the commentary by Hans Dieter Betz, The “Mithras Liturgy”: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 18; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003).

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The major contribution of the history of religion school was to show the way in which ancient Jewish and Christian religious ideas and practices were embedded in the Hellenized and Romanized cultures of the eastern Mediterranean world. The failure of specific hypotheses or terminology does not undercut the value of this achievement. Wilhelm Bousset was probably the most influential member of the history of religion school. He published a study of ascent texts in 1901.5 In it he argued that the two general types of ascent are closely related: the ascent during life through the practice of ecstasy anticipates the final ascent after death. He had two aims in writing this essay. One was to show that the great religions of the Hellenistic and Roman periods, on this point at least, have a common history and have influenced each other. The other was to show that one particular religion has priority on this point and had the greatest influence on the others (the Iranian).6 He began with Jewish, Christian, and Gnostic materials because they can be dated most precisely.7 Then came a survey of Iranian religion, the mysteries of Mithras, Mandaean religion, and Babylonian religion. Next came a synthesis of the related Greek material (including Philo), followed by a comparison of Greek and oriental eschatology. Finally, he offered a brief discussion of certain mixed entities (Greek-oriental): Chaldean Oracles and the Hermetic corpus.8 Carsten Colpe is the author of a more recent study of ascents to heaven in antiquity.9 He argued that the ascent of the soul and journeys of the soul are closely related to the inter-religious phenomenon of shamanism studied by Eliade and others.10 In archaic culture, the

5 Wilhelm Bousset, “Die Himmelsreise der Seele,” AR 4 (1901): 136–69, 229–73. See also the discussion of his work by Alan Segal, “Heavenly Ascent in Hellenistic Judaism, Early Christianity, and Their Environment,” ANRW 23.2:1333–94, esp. 1341. 6 On the influence of Persian tradition on the theme of ascents, see also Segal, “Heavenly Ascent,” 1342–43. On the “Mesopotamian background,” see ibid., 1343. In the latter discussion, he follows Geo Widengren, The Ascension of the Apostle and the Heavenly Book (King and Saviour III) (Uppsala: Uppsala Universitets Årsskrift, 1950). 7 On the variety of uses of the theme of ascent in the Nag Hammadi corpus, see Segal, “Heavenly Ascent,” 1384–85. 8 The word “oriental” was used at the time to refer to Near and Middle Eastern cultures. See now Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978). 9 Carsten Colpe, “Die ‘Himmelsreise der Seele’ ausserhalb und innerhalb der Gnosis,” in Le Origini dello Gnosticismo (ed. U. Bianchi; Leiden: Brill, 1967), 429–47. 10 Mircea Eliade, Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy (Bollingen Series 76; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1964). See also Colpe and Habermehl, “Jenseitsreise,” 494–98.

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ecstasy of the shaman has two main purposes: healing and hunting.11 This ecstasy is not mystical and not redemptive.12 He also argued that, with regard to urban civilizations (“der hochkulturliche Bereich”), there is evidence that Zoroaster was an ecstatic. There is an ecstatic tradition in early Greece and the same in Iran.13 In his view there are two main types of ascents: (1) those spoken of by the Orphics, those depicted in Plato’s stories, Plutarch’s On the Face of the Moon, the inscription of Antiochus of Commagene, traditions in Lucian, Hellenistic astrology, and Seneca; (2) speculation on the correspondence between the macrocosmos and the microcosmos; examples: Middle Platonism, especially Philo; Hermetic literature; the “Mithras Liturgy;” Chaldean oracles; and Neo-Platonic texts. Another comprehensive study of ascents is that by Ioan Couliano.14 He concluded that Babylonian tradition had a variable number of heavens. He also argued that the association of seven heavens with seven planets could not have derived from Babylon because the idea that planets orbited at different distances from the earth was first developed by Greeks in the time of Plato.15 Thus, the study of ancient religion must be informed by the study of ancient science. Furthermore, one cannot use late Iranian texts as evidence for early Iranian religion.16 He agreed with Wilhelm Anz that the ascent of the soul is

11 Colpe, “Himmelsreise,” 434. See also Eliade, Shamanism, 182, 302–4 (healing), 299, 459 (hunting). 12 According to Eliade, however, “It is always the shaman who conducts the dead person’s soul to the underworld, for he is the psychopomp par excellence” (Shamanism, 182). 13 On Greek “shamanic” tradition, see Colpe and Habermehl, “Jenseitsreise,” 502–4. 14 Ioan P. Couliano, Expériences de l’extase: Extase, ascension, et récit visionnaire de l’Hellénisme au moyen âge (Paris: Payot, 1984). See also Ioan P. Culianu, Psychanodia: A Survey of the Evidence concerning the Ascension of the Soul and Its Relevance (Leiden: Brill, 1983) and Ioan P. Couliano, Out of This World: Otherworldly Journeys from Gilgamesh to Albert Einstein (Boston: Shambhala, 1991). 15 The flaw in this argument is that the Babylonians associated the seven heavens with the seven planetary gods, not the orbits of the planets. Similarly, Jewish and Christian ascents through seven heavens presuppose a series of firmaments or layered heavens, not planetary spheres. See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Seven Heavens in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses,” in Death, Ecstasy, and Other Worldly Journeys (ed. J. J. Collins and M. Fishbane; Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995), 59–93. 16 In support of this conclusion, he cited Gherardo Gnoli, “Questioni comparative sull’Ascensione d’Isaia: la tradizione iranica,” in (ed. M. Pesce; Isaia, il Diletto e la Chiesa: visione ed esegesi profetica cristiano-primitiva nell’Ascensione di Isaia: Atti del Convegno di Roma, 9–10 aprile 1981 (Brescia: Paideia, 1983), 117–32; see, however, Geo Widengren, Anders Hultgård, and Marc Philonenko, Apocalyptique iranienne

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the central motif of Gnosticism.17 Couliano also argued that the practice of ecstasy may be inferred from Nag Hammadi texts and from Hippolytus’s accounts of Gnostics. He believed that it was not necessary to posit Iranian influence on Greek texts of ascent because of the tradition about “shamans” in early Greek culture.18 He discerned two types of ascents in ancient literature: (1) the “Greek” type in which beliefs about ascents are conformed to scientific hypotheses; examples are the Gnostics, Hermetic literature, Numenius, Macrobius, Servius, Proclus, and other Neo-Platonists;19 (2) the “Jewish” type in which the seven heavens are not identified with seven planetary spheres; examples are Jewish apocalyptic texts, Christian apocalyptic texts, and texts about the ascent of Mohammed. He also included in this type Plato’s story about Er and Plutarch.20 James D. Tabor distinguished four types of ascent: (1) ascent as an invasion of heaven; (2) ascent to receive revelation; (3) ascent to heavenly immortality; and (4) ascent as a foretaste of the heavenly world.21 Toward a Typology of Ascents Type 1: Ecstatic journeys of shamans As more or less the oldest type of ascent to heaven, the ecstatic journeys of shamans may be designated type 1. Eliade defined shamanism in the strict sense as a phenomenon of Siberia and central Asia.22 In this region the shaman is the dominant magico-religious figure. Similar phenomena have also been observed in North America, Indonesia,

et dualisme qoumrânien (Recherches Intertestamentaires 2; Librairie Adrien Maisonneuve, 1995); Anders Hultgård, “Persian Apocalypticism,” in The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity (ed. J. J. Collins; vol. 1 of The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism; New York: Continuum, 1998), 39–83. 17 Couliano, Expériences, 11–12; Bousset and Colpe had qualified this claim. 18 Couliano, Expériences, 25–43. 19 This type overlaps a good deal with Colpe’s type involving a comparison of the macrocosmos and the microcosmos. 20 This type overlaps with Colpe’s first type. 21 James D. Tabor, Things Unutterable: Paul’s Ascent to Paradise in its Greco-Roman, Judaic, and Early Christian Contexts (Studies in Judaism; Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1986), 69–95. 22 For more recent research on shamanism, see the discussion, based on the work of Åke Hultkrantz, by James R. Davila, Descenders to the Chariot: The People behind the Hekhalot Literature (JSJSup 70; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 43–48. See also Segal, “Heavenly Ascent,” 1351.

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Oceania, and elsewhere.23 In these societies the dominance of the shaman is the exception rather than the rule. Among magicians and medicine men, the shaman is distinctive in specializing in a particular kind of “trance during which his soul is believed to leave his body and ascend to the sky or descend to the underworld.”24 The journeys of shamans are ecstatic and out of the body. They have two main purposes: initiation of the shaman and service to the community (healing, assistance with hunting, divination). Type 2: Ascents of the king The traditional notion of the ascent of the king involves his deification and role as a mediator between heaven and earth. During the king’s lifetime, he is portrayed as ascending to heaven to obtain things and knowledge of use to his people. A certain Etana, a shepherd, is listed as one of the kings of the Sumerian city-state, Kish. Cylinder seals of the Old Akkadian period depict a shepherd rising heavenwards on the wings of an eagle. A legend, known in the Old Babylonian, Middle Assyrian, and Neo-Assyrian periods, says that he was destined to establish kingship on earth for the security of humankind. This project was hindered by his lack of a child. So Etana was to go to heaven to get the plant of birth. The texts are incomplete, but he was apparently successful since he is listed as having a son.25 Enmeduranki was the seventh antediluvian king of Sippar in Mesopotamian tradition.26 He ascended to heaven and was received by Shamash [the sun god] and Adad [god of storm and rain]. There he learned oil- and liver-divination and a ritual involving a cedar-rod. The same “mythological fragment” says he learned astrology and related mathematics. Later texts speak of the king’s final ascent to heaven to become a god. King Antiochus I of Commagene had his tomb constructed and placed an inscription on it probably between 50 and 35 b.c.e. The 23 On shamans and soul journeys among the Mayan people of Mexico, see Robert M. Laughlin and Carol Karasik, The People of the Bat: Mayan Tales and Dreams from Zinacantan (Washington, D.C.; Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988). I am grateful to my former student, Ireri Chavez Barcenas, for bringing this study to my attention. 24 Eliade, Shamanism, 4–5; here p. 5. 25 E. A. Speiser, “Etana,” in Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (3d ed.; ed. James B. Pritchard; Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969), 114–18. See also Colpe and Habermehl, “Jenseitsreise,” 498–99. 26 W. G. Lambert, “Enmeduranki and Related Matters,” JCS 21 (1967): 126–38.

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inscription says that his outer form would be preserved in the tomb and rest there for an immeasurable time, after his soul had ascended to the heavenly thrones of Zeus Oromasdes. Since the preface to the inscription describes him as a god, the idea seems to be that he would dwell in heaven as a god.27 Romulus, the legendary first king of Rome, disappeared suddenly. Some thought he had been murdered and dismembered by his enemies, but the dominant interpretation was that he had been taken up to heaven and deified by his father Mars.28 The language of “disappearing” indicates that he was taken up body and soul. After Julius Caesar’s enemies murdered him, his body was cremated and his ashes placed in the family tomb. It was believed, however, and officially declared by the Senate, that his soul had ascended to heaven and become a god in the form of a star.29 When Augustus died in 14 c.e., the senate voted his deification immediately after the funeral.30 A junior senator, Numerius Atticus, swore in public that he had seen the late emperor ascending to heaven.31 Type 3: Ascent as a problem Some texts explore the ambiguities of the quest for immortality and deification and express the impossibility of such for most humans, sometimes including the king. Some of these texts assert that deification and immortality were once possible, but the opportunity was once lost or has since become unavailable. One version of the story of Adapa is attested in the archives of El-Amarna in Egypt (fourteenth century b.c.e.) and three others were found in the library of

27 Wilhelm Dittenberger, ed., Orientis graeci inscriptiones selectae: Supplementum Sylloges inscriptionum graecarum (2 vols.; Leipzig: Hirzel, 1903–05) 1:383 (pp. 591– 603). For an English translation, see Frederick C. Grant, Hellenistic Religions (Library of the Liberal Arts; Indianapolis, Ind.: Bobbs-Merrill, 1953), 20–25. 28 Livy 1.16.3–7; Ovid, Metam. 14.805–828. On the ascent of Romulus as a model for the ascent of Julius Caesar, see Segal, “Heavenly Ascent,” 1347–48. On the deification of Romulus as modeled on that of Herakles, see Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 421–22. 29 Ovid, Metam. 15.745–870. On Caesar’s burial, see Mary Beard, John North, and Simon Price, Religions of Rome (2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) 1:180. On his deification, see Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 427–28. 30 The fullest description is that of Cassius Dio 56.31.2–43.1; see also Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars, Divus Augustus 2.100; Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 428–29. 31 Suetonius says that an ex-praetor swore that he had seen Augustus’s spirit ascending to heaven; Divus Augustus 2.100.

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Ashurbanipal (ruled from 668–627 b.c.e.).32 According to one of the latter versions, Adapa, son of the god Ea, “breaks the wing of the south wind” by cursing it. When the south wind ceases to blow, the god Anu hears about this cessation and summons Adapa to heaven. Ea instructs him to refuse the bread of death and the water of death when they are offered to him in heaven. When they offer him a garment, he is to put it on, and when they offer him oil, he is to anoint himself with it. Ea then made him take the road to heaven, so he ascended and approached Anu. They offered Adapa bread of life and water of life, but he refused them. When they brought him a garment, he put it on, and when they gave him oil, he anointed himself with it. Anu then declared to him that, since he neither ate nor drank, he would not have eternal life. He then commanded that Adapa be returned to the earth.33 Type 4: Ascents of cultural heroes Texts that describe the ascents of cultural heroes, such as prophets, wise men, lawgivers, founders, and teachers, are common in ancient Jewish literature. Paul’s account in 2 Corinthians 12 also fits here. Type 4a: Legitimation of the hero, mediation, and intercession In the Greek Testament of Levi, Levi says that an angel opened the gates of heaven to him, and he saw the Lord sitting on a throne in the holy temple. God addresses him, saying “Levi, to you have I given the blessings of the priesthood until I come and dwell in the midst of Israel” (5:1–2).34 This passage seems to have as its aim a legitimation of the Levitical priesthood, telling the story of its origin in the divine will.35

32 Donald B. Redford, “Amarna, Tell El-,” ABD 1:181–82; A. Kirk Grayson, “Ashurbanipal,” ABD 1:494. 33 “Adapa,” translated by E. A. Speiser (ANET, 101–2). See also Colpe and Habermehl, “Jenseitsreise,” 499. 34 “The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs”: “The Testament of Levi,” translated by M. de Jonge (The Apocryphal Old Testament [ed. H. F. D. Sparks; Oxford: Clarendon, 1984], 528). 35 Segal argues that the rhetoric of the text aims at legitimating the priestly claims of the Hasmonean dynasty (“Heavenly Ascent,” 1360–62).

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Type 4b: To obtain revelation In other cases, the purpose of the ascent is to gain or be granted revelation. The Greek Testament of Levi has this purpose as well. Levi travels through three heavens (T. Levi 2) and is told “about the seven heavens” by the angel of the Lord (T. Levi 3). In the second heaven are fire, snow, ice, and spirits (or winds) of retribution to be unleashed in the righteous judgment of God for vengeance on the wicked. The third heaven holds warrior hosts “appointed to wreak vengeance on the spirits of error and of Beliar at the day of judgment.” Levi also receives the revelation that angels (apparently in the sixth heaven) make expiation for the unwitting sins of the righteous. The emphasis is on sin, expiation, and judgment, though other details of the higher heavens are revealed as well.36 In the Apocalypse of Abraham, the patriarch ascends to heaven with an angel, both of them riding on the pigeon and the turtledove that Abraham had offered to God (Apoc. Ab. 12–15, based on Genesis 15). The revelation that Abraham receives in the account of chapters 15–32 is summarized beforehand, when God says to Abraham, “I will show you the things [that] were made by the ages and by my word and affirmed, created, and renewed. And I will announce to you in them what will come upon those who have done evil and just things in the race of man” (Apoc. Ab. 9:9–10).37 The “Eternal Mighty One” shows Abraham the divine plan for creation in the form of a picture located in the third heaven (21:2; 22:2). It depicts the works of creation, including paradise and hell, and humanity divided into two groups, Abraham’s descendants on the right side and all other people, some righteous, some evil, on the left. It also contains a review of history, which seems to contain one or more Christian interpolations.38 The description of the end in 29:17–20 is plausibly Jewish. In the Similitudes of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71), Enoch travels to heaven in a whirlwind and later reveals what he experienced when he ascended to heaven (1 En. 39:3–14).39 He sees the resting places of

36

T. Levi 3 in The Apocryphal Old Testament, 526–27. R. Rubinkiewicz, “Apocalypse of Abraham,” OTP 1:693. 38 E.g., Apoc. Ab. 29:3–13. 39 All translations of 1 Enoch are from George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A New Translation Based on the Hermeneia Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004). 37

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the righteous, which are with the righteous angels and in the presence of the Chosen One.40 The dwelling of the Chosen One is “beneath the wings of the Lord of Spirits” (1 En. 39:7). The Ascension of Isaiah also portrays the purpose of Isaiah’s ascent as the reception and communication of revelation. The cosmology of this work distinguishes primarily between the earth and firmament on the one hand and the seven heavens, which are holy, on the other. There are distinctions among the heavens as well. The sixth and seventh are considerably more holy and glorious than the lower five. Only the lower five have, respectively, a ruler or throne in its midst and angels on the left who are inferior to those on the right. When the Beloved (Jesus Christ) descends, he does not need to be transformed in the sixth heaven, because it is in harmony with the seventh. In the lower five, however, he is transformed. In addition he must give a password in the lower three. This mild opposition between the lower and the upper heavens may be related to reports about the theories of Basilides, the Valentinians, and the Ophites in Irenaeus and Tertullian.41 Early Jewish and Christian apocalypses do not link the seven heavens to the seven planets. The oldest text to make such a link is the pagan tractate Poimandres (of the Corpus Hermeticum), which dates to the second century c.e.42 The angel who guides Isaiah on his tour of the seven heavens reveals to him that he and all the just will receive a throne, a robe, and a crown, which await them in the seventh heaven. Upon hearing this revelation, Isaiah rejoices “that those who love the Most High and his Beloved will at their end go up [to the seventh heaven] through the angel of the Holy Spirit” (Mart. Isa. 7:21–23).43 Paul refers to his own ascent to heaven, introducing it in an indirect way by attributing it to “a man in Christ” (2 Cor 12:2). He asserts twice that he does not know whether the ascent occurred in the body or out 40 This figure is also called “that son of man” (in an allusion to Dan 7:13–14), the Righteous One, and Messiah; see James C. VanderKam, “Righteous One, Messiah, Chosen One, and Son of Man in 1 Enoch 37–71,” in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (ed. James C. Charlesworth; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 169–91. 41 Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1987), 420–25; Culianu, Psychanodia, 9. See also the opposition to Isaiah’s ascent in Mart. Isa. 9:1–5. 42 Layton, Gnostic Scriptures, 445–62. 43 All references to “Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah,” are taken from the translation by Michael A. Knibb in OTP 2:143–76, here 167; see also Mart. Isa. 8:5.

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of the body (12:2–3). He states that in Paradise the ascender “heard inexpressible words that no man is permitted to speak” (12:4). If this statement implies that Paul received revelation in Paradise, it is not a revelation received in order to communicate it to other human beings. Paul does speak about receiving a revelation about his “thorn in the flesh,” namely, that it was given to him to keep him from exalting himself. He also reveals that the risen Christ refused to remove it and spoke to Paul, saying “My help is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (12:7–9). Type 4c: Ascent as a foretaste of permanent ascent The first ascent of Enoch in the Similitudes of Enoch is of this type (1 En. 39:3–14). A whirlwind snatches him up, and he sees, among other things, the dwelling of the Chosen One beneath the wings of the Lord of Spirits (39:7). He then says, “There I wished to dwell, and my spirit longed for that dwelling. There my portion has been from the first, for thus it has been established concerning me in the presence of the Lord of Spirits” (1 En. 39:8). In the Ascension of Isaiah, his angelic guide informs him, “[when from the body by the will of God you have come up here], then you will receive the robe which you will see” (Mart. Isa. 8:11–14).44 When he sees the sixth heaven, Isaiah already entreats his guide that he “should not return to the world of flesh” (8:23). The angel informs him that he must return because “your days are not complete for coming here” (8:28). When he hears this, Isaiah is sad. Type 4d: Final or permanent ascent to a heavenly, god-like existence Examples of this type include the ascent of Elijah in a chariot and whirlwind (2 Kgs 2:1–18) and the disappearance of Enoch (Gen 5:21– 24), the latter especially as interpreted in later texts.45 The Similitudes of Enoch concludes with Enoch’s final ascent (1 En. 70–71). When he sees the Head of Days, his flesh melts and his spirit is transformed (71:10–11). What happens next is unclear and disputed. He is addressed as “that son of man who was born for righteousness” upon whom righteousness dwells. It is not clear whether he is being identified 44

See also Mart. Isa. 7:22 and 9:24–26. Josephus says that “Elijah disappeared from among men” (Ἠλίας ἐξ ἀνθρώπων ἠφανίσθη) and that he, like Enoch, became invisible (γεγόνασιν ἀφανεῖς), and “no one knows of their death;” Ant. 9.2.2 §28, (Marcus, LCL). 45

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as “that son of man” who is the Chosen One and the Messiah or as a human being who is righteous in an exemplary way.46 According to Deuteronomy, Moses died in the land of Moab “but no one knows his burial place to this day” (Deut 34:1–6). The remark that no one knows his burial place suggested to Josephus that Moses did not actually die. In any case, Josephus wrote that while he was saying farewell to Eleazar and Joshua, a cloud descended upon him and he disappeared in a ravine. “But he has written of himself in the sacred books that he died, for fear lest they should venture to say that by reason of his surpassing virtue he had withdrawn to the deity.”47 Philo also implies that Moses did not die. He says that God “resolved his twofold nature of soul and body into a single unity, transforming his whole being into mind (νοῦς), pure as the sunlight.”48 He prophesied the story of his own death “while he was already being exalted (ἀναλαμβανόμενος) . . . ready at the signal to direct his upward flight to heaven.”49 The case of Herakles is analogous.50 His wife, Deianira, smeared on his clothing a mixture of the blood and semen of Nessus, a centaur whom Herakles had killed for attempting to violate his wife. Nessus had tricked Deianira into thinking that the blood was a love charm. So she put it on Herakles’s garment, fearing that he would love Iole more than herself. The blood, however, was poisonous. To escape the resulting agony, Herakles had a pyre built, mounted it, and persuaded someone to light it. According to the Library, “While the pyre

46 VanderKam (“Righteous One,” 182–85) concludes that Enoch is identified with the Son of Man and that chapter 71 is an integral part of the Similitudes. John J. Collins allows that the address may be interpreted as identifying Enoch with the Son of Man or as extolling him as a righteous human being. If the former is the case, the identification is secondary and a response to the identification of Jesus with the Son of Man of Daniel 7. See Adela Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins, King and Messiah as Son of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 92–93. 47 Josephus, Ant. 4.8.48 §323–326 (Thackeray, LCL). I have changed Thackeray’s translation of ἀναχωρῆσαι from “he had gone back” to “he had withdrawn” and “divinity” to “deity.” See also Josephus’s remark about Enoch: “he withdrew to the deity” (ἀνεχώρησε πρὸς τὸ θεῖον); Ant. 1.3.4 §85. 48 Philo, Moses 2.51 §288 (Colson, LCL). 49 Ibid. §291 (Colson, LCL). 50 An account of his life appears in Apollodorus, Library 2.4.6–2.7.8. On the relation of this text to Mark and ancient “lives” or “biographies,” see Adela Yarbro Collins, The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992; repr., Eugene, Oreg.: Wipf and Stock, 2001), 17–23. On Heracles’s ascent and deification, see Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 418–20.

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was burning, it is said that a cloud passed under Hercules and with a peal of thunder wafted (ἀναπέμψαι) him up to heaven. Thereafter he obtained immortality (ἀθανασία), and being reconciled to Hera he married her daughter Hebe, by whom he had sons.”51 Other examples of this type include the ascension of Jesus according to Acts 1, the permanent ascent of Enoch in 2 Enoch 67, and the prediction of the same experience of Baruch in 2 Baruch 76. Philostratus includes several accounts of the end of Apollonius.52 According to one, he disappeared (ἀφανισθείς) in the temple of Athena in Lindus. Another relates his spectacular entrance into the temple of Dictynna in Crete, where he was instructed to “go upwards from the earth” (ἴθι ἐκ τῆς γῆς ἄνω).53 After his disappearance, Apollonius appeared to a skeptical youth and convinced him that the soul is immortal.54 Peregrinus, later called Proteus, was a Cynic philosopher from northern Asia Minor, active in the second century c.e. Aulus Gellius considered him to be a man of dignity and fortitude, but Lucian wrote a satirical essay on his career, portraying him as a self-serving imposter. His fame rests mainly on his self-immolation at the Olympian Games of 165 c.e.55 He apparently did so in imitation of Herakles in order to teach others “to despise death and endure what is fearsome.”56 Lucian says Peregrinus claimed that he would become a guardian spirit of the night (δαίμων νυκτοφύλαξ) and coveted altars and being imaged in gold.57 He evidently expected that he would ascend to Mount Olympus and become immortal, as Herakles did.58 Lucian’s avowedly fictional account of Peregrinus’s passing satirizes the apotheosis of the emperors. When he flung himself on the pyre, a vulture (γύψ) flew up from the midst of the flames saying, “I am through with the earth; to Olympus I fare.” Lucian also says that he met a man telling people that he had seen Proteus after his crema-

51 Apollodorus, Library 2.7.7; text and trans. from James George Frazer, Apollodorus: The Library (2 vols.; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1921) 1:270–73. See also Yarbro Collins, Beginning, 141–42. 52 On the ascent of Apollonius, see Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 421. 53 Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 8.30 (Conybeare, LCL). 54 Vit. Apoll. 8:31 (Conybeare, LCL). 55 C. P. Jones, “Peregrinus,” OCD (3d ed. 1996), 1138. See also Colpe et al., “Jenseitsfahrt,” 421, who date the event to 167 c.e. 56 Lucian, Peregr. 23 and 33 (all citations from Harmon, LCL). 57 Peregr., 27, 30–31. 58 Peregr., 29 and 32–33.

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tion, clothed in white raiment and wearing a garland of wild olive.59 Whereas Lucian thought Peregrinus laughable, he provides evidence that many believed he had ascended to Mount Olympus and become immortal. Type 4e: Self-presentation as such a divinely inspired cultural hero or wise man Parmenides was a pre-Socratic philosopher, born around 515 b.c.e. (he is said to be 65 years old in Plato, Parmenides 127b). A. H. Coxon argued that his philosophical poem was probably published about 480 b.c.e.60 This poem was written in hexameters and survives only in large fragments. Martha Nussbaum notes that the poem is infused with religious language and conjectures that “an initiation in reason is being substituted for the perception-suffused initiations of religious cult.” The main points of the poem are (1) if something can be thought or spoken about, it must be. We cannot think or talk about nothingness or the non-existent. (2) We cannot talk about temporal change, internal qualitative variation, and plurality without making contrasts and thus using negative language. Therefore, whatever can be talked about must be “without birth or death, whole, single-natured, unaltering, and complete.”61 The speaker of the poem is carried aloft in a chariot drawn by horses and driven by maidens. These charioteers are the daughters of the sun, the god Helios. On their journey, the speaker and his entourage leave “the abode of night for the light.” They bring the speaker to a great gate, which is described in an impressive, realistic, and detailed manner. This gate is in the aether, the highest, lightest part of the cosmos. It is bolted and locked. A divine being has charge of the keys, ∆ίκη, that is, retributive justice. It is necessary to persuade this divine being to allow a living human being to pass through. The maidens do so, and the speaker goes through the gate. On the other side of the door is a goddess (θέα) who gives revelation to the one who has ascended. In this case, the content of the revelation is philosophical.

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Peregr., 39–41, and 44–47. A. H. Coxon, The Fragments of Parmenides: A Critical Text with Introduction, Translation, the Ancient Testimonia and a Commentary (Assen: Van Gorcum: 1986). 61 Martha C. Nussbaum, “Parmenides,” OCD (3d ed. 1996), 1113–14; here 1113. 60

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adela yarbro collins Type 5: Ascents of magicians and other religious specialists

The main example of this type is the text Dieterich named “a Mithras liturgy.”62 In the present form of the text, the ascent has two purposes, which are distinguished here as two subtypes. Type 5a: Initiation and deification or immortalization The ascent is presented as, or closely associated with, an initiation of the type known from the mystery cults. The one who has ascended is called a μύστης (line 744). The ritual (called “the immortalization” or “deification”) is said to occur three times a year (line 747). According to line 627, it is the πνεῦμα of the person that ascends. Type 5b: Divination In the seventh scenario or stage (lines 692–732), the practitioner addresses the god as “lord” and asks, “Give revelation concerning the NN matter.” To give revelation here means to give an oracular response (χρηματίζειν) (717).63 The formulation makes clear that the ascent may be performed in order to inquire about any matter of concern to the magician or his or her clients. The account of the ascent seems to end abruptly without any account of the god’s dismissal or a ritual of return (195–96). Type 6: Ascent to immortality as a possibility for every human being Those who are rightly instructed and have the proper disposition are able to actualize this possibility. Type 6a: Visit to heaven as an educational experience The purpose of the visit may be to instruct the one who ascends about his or her true nature, to provide a foretaste of one’s ultimate destiny, or to give reassurance. An example is Cicero’s Dream of Scipio (De republica 6.9–29). The dialogue is set during the last year of Scipio’s life (129 b.c.e.), in his garden.64 The account that contains the dream is set in 149 b.c.e. When Scipio Africanus the Younger returned to celebrate his triumph over 62

See the section “Brief History of Scholarship” above. Betz, The “Mithras Liturgy,” 189. 64 Scipio is Scipio Aemilianus Africanus Minor (the Younger), Publius Cornelius, who lived from about 184–129 b.c.e. 63

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Numantia in 132, he found the political scene transformed by the tribunate and death of Tiberius Gracchus. Scipio took the lead among the anti-Gracchians and championed the discontented Italians, thus provoking a major political storm. He died suddenly at the height of the crisis. In his dream he rises to a lofty place bathed in starlight where he has conversations with both his adoptive father (Africanus the Elder) and his biological father (L. Aemilius Paullus). They show him the Milky Way where the souls of those live who loved justice and duty during their lives. They also show him the nine spheres, the first being that of the fixed stars and the ninth that of the earth. He hears the music made by the revolving of the eight spheres from the moon to the fixed stars. The key to the rhetoric of the dream is the promise that all those who have preserved, aided, or enlarged their fatherland have a special place prepared for them in the heavens, where they may enjoy an eternal life of happiness (6.13). The final exhortation (second half of section 26) states: since the spirit or soul is immortal, it should be dedicated to the best pursuits, and the best tasks are those taken in defense of [Scipio’s] native land, that is, Rome. The flight to heaven will be more rapid for those spirits who have detached themselves from the body, that is, those that rule over their desires for sensual pleasures rather than being enslaved by them. Type 6b: Final or permanent ascent at death An example of this type occurs in a work entitled Poimandres and attributed to Hermes Trismegistus.65 For the one who has knowledge, the material body is stripped away at death, and the soul rises to the eighth heaven where it becomes god.66 Not only does the body dissolve but the faculties and passions of the soul are given back to their various sources in each of the lower seven heavenly spheres. Only the intellect or true self is left after this process.67 In the eighth heaven this true self joins others who are there and they praise god, who is with

65

For an introduction and English translation, see Layton, Gnostic Scriptures, 449–59. All citations of this work are taken from here. 66 Poimandres, 24–26. 67 Poimandres 24–26; and note at §26.

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higher powers above the eighth heaven. Then they ascend to god, the parent, and become powers, thus coming to be within god.68 Certain other works, although they may not describe ascents to heaven, are related to those of type 6. They are discussed below as types 6c–d. Type 6c: Journey of the soul after death to various parts of the cosmos The primary example of this type is Plato’s story of Er, which concludes his Republic (10.614a–621d). This text most likely served as a model for Cicero’s Dream of Scipio. Plato included the story in order to complete the account of “the prizes, the wages, and the gifts that the just man receives” during his life by describing those that he receives after death.69 At the beginning of the story, Er is “slain” in battle but remained intact. When he was laid upon the pyre during his funeral, he revived and told the story of what he had seen in the world beyond. His soul had gone with many other souls to a “mysterious region” (τόπον τινὰ δαιμόνιον).70 In this place there are four openings, two in the earth and two in heaven. Two of each are for souls entering those realms and the other two are for those exiting them. Er is told by the judges that he is to be a messenger to human beings to tell them about “the other world.”71 Thus he does not enter either of the openings. When souls emerge from the openings in the earth and heaven, they go to a meadow (λειμών).72 Er reports the case of Ardiaios the Great, who was tyrant in a city of Pamphylia a thousand years previously. He had killed his father and elder brother and done many other unholy deeds. The audience learns from this report that some sinners are unredeemable, that is, that the truly wicked have no hope (615c–616a). The rhetorical purpose of the narration of this case is clearly to deter others from committing such crimes. The meadow is not the final abode of the souls. They go on a new journey after resting for seven days (616b). After a journey of four

68

Poimandres 26. Plato Republic 10.614a (Shorey, LCL). 70 Resp. 614c (Shorey, LCL). This region is analogous to those to which Enoch travels in the Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36). 71 Resp. 614d (Shorey, LCL; slightly modified). 72 Resp. 614e (Shorey, LCL). Cf. Homer, Od. 4.561–69; Hesiod, Op. 167–73. 69

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days, they see a column of light penetrating both heaven and earth (616b). They continue for another day and discover that the light is the belt of heaven that holds together the entire revolving circle of the universe (616c). Within the light they see the spindle of Necessity, which has eight whorls or small flywheels on the spindle corresponding to the eight spheres: fixed stars, sun, moon, and five planets (616c–617d).73 The Fates, the daughters of Necessity, were enthroned here. A prophet assists one of them, Lachesis (617c–d). He takes from her lap lots and patterns of lives and announces to the souls that each of them will choose a life in the order determined by lot. When all the souls had chosen and their destinies were determined, they all journeyed to the plain of oblivion and drank of the river of forgetfulness. They slept and then were “wafted thence, one this way, one that, upward to their birth like shooting stars” (620e–621b).74 At the conclusion of the story, Socrates remarks, “And so, Glaucon, the tale was saved, as the saying is, and was not lost. And it will save us if we believe it, and we shall safely cross the River of Lethe, and keep our soul unspotted from the world.” He goes on to affirm the immortality of the soul and the importance of holding to justice and wisdom.75 Another example of this type occurs in a work of Plutarch, On the Delays of the Divine Vengeance.76 It includes the story of Aridaeus, who lived a dissipated life until a near death experience that led to a complete reform of his character.77 He fell from a height, struck his neck and died. During his funeral, he revived and related his experiences while he appeared to be dead. The apparently evil souls were in frenzy and panic. Other souls were in a pure region, joyful in aspect,

73 Plato’s cosmos has eight spheres rather than nine because he does not include a sphere for the earth as Cicero does in the Dream of Scipio. See type 6a above. 74 Quotation from Resp. 10.621b (Shorey, LCL). 75 Resp. 621b–d, quotation from 621b–c (Shorey, LCL). 76 According to Frederick E. Brenk, the last section of this work “contains Plutarch’s most unoriginal eschatological myth;” In Mist Apparelled: Religious Themes in Plutarch’s Moralia and Lives (Mnemosyne Supplements 48; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 26. For an analysis of Plutarch’s eschatological myths in comparison with those of Plato, see pp. 136–42. 77 Brenk has argued that Plato’s story of Er is more socio-political, whereas this story is more theological in tone; “The Origin and Return of the Soul in Plutarch,” in Frederick E. Brenk, Relighting the Souls: Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion, and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background (Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag, 1998), 28–49, esp. 36.

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and friendly.78 He met a kinsman who told him his name would henceforth be Thespesius rather than Aridaeus. He also tells him that he is not dead; rather his intelligence (τὸ φρονοῦν) has left the rest of his soul behind, like an anchor, in his body.79 His kinsman then gives him a tour of the places of punishment.80 The final spectacle was the souls returning to a second birth.81 Also belonging to this type is the story of Timarchus in another of Plutarch’s works, On the Sign of Socrates.82 Wishing to discover the nature of Socrates’s sign (δαιμόνιον), he consulted the oracle of Trophonius, performing the customary rites and descending into the cave of the oracle. He remained underground for two nights and a day. When he returned he said that his soul had left his body and risen into pure air where he saw islands, a sea or lake, two rivers of fire, and a great abyss. A voice explained that the higher regions are for the gods (θεοί). It also says that “we,” apparently deities of another kind (δαίμονες), administer one of the four portions of Persephone, the portion below the path of the moon. The earth is Hades and its shadow is the Styx, the river of Hades. The moon belongs to terrestial daemons (δαίμονες). Some souls (ψυχαί) “swim up from below and are rescued by the Moon, the foul and unclean excepted. These the Moon, with lightning and a terrible roar, forbids to approach, and bewailing their lot they fall away and are borne downward again to another birth, as you see.”83 Timarchus sees stars that seem to be extinguished. These are “the souls that sink entirely into the body; in the stars that are lighted again, as it were, and reappear from below” are “the souls that float back from the body after death, shaking off a sort of dimness and darkness as one might shake off mud; while the stars that move about on high

78

Plutarch, Divine Vengeance 22–23 = Mor. 563b–564c (Philip de Lacy and Benedict Einarson, LCL). 79 Divine Vengeance 24 = Mor. 564c. 80 Brenk points out that Plutarch does not envision reincarnation for all souls; for example, in this work (564f) the souls past all healing do not return to earth (“Origin and Return,” 41). 81 Divine Vengeance 25–33 = Mor. 564e–568a. 82 Plutarch On the Sign of Socrates 21–23 = Mor. 589f–592f. The story of Timarchus, like that of Thespesios, is more theological than socio-political in Brenk’s view (“Origin and Return,” 37). See also his analysis of De genio Socratis in In Mist Apparelled, 104–5. 83 Sign of Socrates 22 = Mor. 591c.

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are the daimons of men said ‘to possess understanding’ (νοῦν ἒχειν).”84 The voice also tells him, “from those other souls, which from their very beginning and birth are docile to the rein and obedient to their daemon, comes the race of diviners and men inspired.”85 Soon thereafter Timarchus lost consciousness and then recovered, finding himself in the cave of Trophonius.86 Type 6d: The souls of the good ascend after death According to Plutarch, the souls of the good (χρηστοί) ascend to the moon after death. There they lead an easy life but not blessed or divine until their second death.87 The human being is composed of body, soul, and mind.88 Earth “furnishes the body, the moon the soul, and the sun furnishes the mind. . . . One death reduces the man from three factors to two and another reduces him from two to one.” The first death takes place on earth and Demeter separates the soul from the body quickly and violently. The second death takes place on the moon where Persephone detaches the mind from the soul gently and slowly.89 The good souls pass to the outer side of the moon, the side facing heaven, on their way to the second death. That side of the moon is called the Elysian plain. When they have experienced the second death, they become deities (δαίμονες). On their way back to earth, they dwell on the side of the moon that faces earth. They then return to the earth “to take charge of oracles, they attend and participate in the highest of the mystic rituals, they act as warders against misdeeds and chastisers of them, and they flash forth as saviours manifest in war and on the sea.”90 The “better” daimones, some sooner and some later, achieve the ultimate alteration.91

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Sign of Socrates 22 = Mor. 591f. Sign of Socrates 22 = Mor. 592c. 86 Sign of Socrates 22 = Mor. 592e. 87 Plutarch On the Face of the Moon 27 = Mor. 942f (Cherniss and Helmbold, LCL). 88 On the threefold division of man in Plutarch’s myths, see Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, 133–34. 89 Moon 28 = Mor. 943a–b. 90 Moon 29–30 = Mor. 944c–d; (see Cherniss and Helmbold, LCL, n. c, p. 211). 91 Moon 30 = Mor. 944e; Brenk speaks about “the last transformation” (“Origin and Return,” 42–43). 85

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adela yarbro collins Conclusion

The typology proposed here is meant to be heuristic, not definitive. There are other ways in which the material could be organized, for example, according to the stated or implied purpose of the account of an ascent. In some texts the purpose is the initiation of the one who ascends, including the shaman (type 1) and the magician (type 5a). A related purpose is divination by the shaman (type 1) and the magician (type 5b). Some ascents involve the deification or immortalization of the one ascending; examples are the king or emperor (type 2), the magician (type 5a), and (in type 4d) the prophet (Elijah, Enoch, Moses, Baruch, and Jesus from one point of view) or cultural hero (Herakles, Apollonius, and Peregrinus from the point of view of his admirers). In some works an important purpose seems to be the legitimation of the one who ascends, the establishment of the authority of such a person who thus becomes a mediator and sometimes even a model for the audience. Examples are Enoch in the Similitudes of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71, type 4b) and Levi in the Testament of Levi (type 4a). In some of the same works and even more so in others, the ascent is attributed to a famous figure from the past in order to legitimate the revelation allegedly received and reported by him (type 4b). In the case of Parmenides (type 4e), he himself is apparently the one who ascends, and it is the form of ascent (as initiation and for reception of revelation) that legitimizes his philosophical teaching. Finally a number of texts clearly have a rhetorical and hortatory purpose. They encourage their audiences to adopt a particular way of life by pointing out the post-mortem rewards to which it leads and sometimes the post-mortem punishments or misfortunes of those who choose less worthy ways of life. Examples are the Ascension of Isaiah (type 4c) and especially Cicero’s Dream of Scipio (type 6a), Plato’s story of Er, and Plutarch’s stories concerning Aridaeus/Thespesius and Timarchus (type 6c). The Poimandres (type 6b) and Plutarch’s On the Face of the Moon (type 6d) may also be understood as exhortations to particular ways of life.

ETERNAL WRITING AND IMMORTAL WRITERS: ON THE NON-DEATH OF THE SCRIBE IN EARLY JUDAISM* Samuel I. Thomas Theodore Dalrymple recently wrote in the New English Review, “I have taken to inscribing all the books I read, in a bid no doubt to outlast my own death.”1 Inscription, or reinscription, simultaneously enshrines and effaces the writer in a way that blurs the distinction between author and text—and in a way that can serve, at least in metonymic or symbolic fashion, to usurp death’s prerogative. The relationships among death and knowledge, language, writing, and books are in many ways at the center of social life and human experience in general, and thus it should not come as a surprise that their intersections have been explored from the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Garden of Eden to Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida. Modern and postmodern authors have explicitly addressed the relationship between writing and death with reference to modern conceptions of authorship.2 In this essay, however, I wish to explore a broad landscape of texts in which ideas about textuality and immortality are not always explicitly related, yet are part of a matrix of perceptions of sacred writing, and by extension, of sacred writers (if not authors) in early Judaism. I will focus my attention here on the figures Enoch, * It is an honor to dedicate this essay to James VanderKam. It would be difficult for me to name someone for whom I have more admiration both professionally and personally, and I am deeply grateful for his scholarship, mentorship, and friendship over the years. 1 “Of Bibliophilia and Biblioclasm,” New English Review (November, 2008), http:// www.newenglishreview.org/custpage.cfm/frm/28194/sec_id/28194. 2 For example, Roland Barthes, “The Death of the Author,” in Image-Music-Text (trans. Stephen Heath; New York: Hill and Wang, 1977), 142–48 (trans. of “La morte de l’auteur,” Mantéia 5 [1968]); Michel Foucault, “What Is an Author?” in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews (trans. Donald F. Bouchard and Sherry Simon; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1977), 113–38; Maurice Blanchot, “Death of the Last Writer,” in The Book to Come (trans. Charlotte Mandell; Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2003), 118–23. Cf. Maxine Grossman’s recent article, “Roland Barthes and the Teacher of Righteousness: The Death of the Author of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 709–22.

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Elijah, Moses, Ezra, and Baruch—each of whom is a scribal figure who is said, in one way or another, to have eluded death. The interpretive non-death of these scribes provides a new lens through which to view several passages in the Dead Sea Scrolls in which ideas about writing and non-death are similarly intertwined. Writing and Death in the Ancient World It is well known that overcoming death is a common motif in writings of the Greco-Roman period. This motif has several valences or trajectories including eternality of the soul, resurrection of the body, and human divinization (e.g. θεῖος ἀνήρ traditions), and these often overlap in interesting ways.3 Of course, there are also important ancient Near Eastern examples of immortalized human figures such as Utnapishtim and his wife, or figures who “almost” gain eternal life such as Adapa and Gilgamesh. In any case, specific concepts of immortality, eternality, and deification or divinization display significant variations from one cultural context to another.4 Many of these variations are also related to the theme of ascent to (or “invasion of ”) heaven, which is widespread in Second Temple Jewish literature and in classical Greco-Roman texts.5

3 See, for example, Carl H. Holladay, Theios Aner in Hellenistic Judaism: A Critique of the Use of This Category in New Testament Christology (SBLDS 40; Missoula, Mont.: Society of Biblical Literature, 1977); Charles H. Talbert, “The Concept of Immortals in Mediterranean Antiquity,” JBL 94 (1975): 419–36. 4 For a brief review of relevant Mesopotamian sources and issues, see William W. Hallo, “Adapa Reconsidered: Life and Death in Contextual Perspective,” Scriptura 87 (2004): 267–77. Cf. Andrew George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts (2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). For immortality in the Egyptian context see Jan Assmann, Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2006). Cf., for example, the Hittite text “Voyage of the Immortal Soul,” in Harry A. Hoffner, Jr., Hittite Myths (SBLWAW 2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 32–33; and additional discussion in Calvert Watkins, How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 284–91. 5 The literature on heavenly ascents in early Judaism and Christianity is extensive; see especially Martha Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993); John J. Collins and Michael Fishbane, eds., Death, Ecstasy, and Other Worldly Journeys (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1995), esp. 3–152; David Halperin, “Ascension or Invasion? Implications of the Heavenly Journey in Ancient Judaism,” Religion 18 (1988): 47–67; Alan F. Segal, “Heavenly Ascent in Hellenistic Judaism, Early Christianity, and Their Environment,” ANRW II.23.3, 1333–94; Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Heavenly Ascent, Angelic

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It is especially the exalted, revered figures of a given society who are understood to take on immortal—and in some cases even divine— character. The broad notion of non-death can thus be seen in a wide variety of social types: kings, prophets, philosophers and sages, healers, culture-bringers, and founders of cities or nations. Given this widespread complex of traditions and ideas about immortality, it is not particularly surprising that Jewish texts of the Second Temple and early rabbinic periods take up these themes in new ways. I am interested here in the particular intersection of the alleged nondeath of certain Jewish figures and their role as scribes—or at least as participants in the scribal tradition, even if they “become” scribes only ex post facto (like Enoch), or are “rescued” from death after their earthly demise (like Moses). Is there something distinctive about the fact that those who are explicitly said to avoid death in a variety of Jewish texts happen to be (or to have become) scribal figures? A further question—cloaked in the form of a suggestion—is whether Second Temple period traditions about scribal non-death are tied to a greater emphasis on conceptions of divine writing. The Hellenistic era brought new ideas about the heavenly tablets, written and oral torah, esoteric revelation, logos theology, and so on. If this development runs alongside (or comes after) the increasing “textualization” of Judean (and later, by extension, Jewish) culture during the Second Temple period, what relationship might we posit between non-death and scribal selfunderstanding?6 I focus here on the two motifs of eternal writing and immortal writers to see if the juxtaposition can tell us anything new about ancient Jewish conceptions of scribes and their “books.”7

Descent, and the Transmission of Knowledge in 1 Enoch 6–16,” in Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions (ed. Ra‘anan S. Boustan and Annette Yoshiko Reed; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 47–66. 6 On this process see especially William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book: The Textualization of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 7 In recent years there has been a flurry of new studies on scribes and scribalism in ancient Israel and early Judaism and Christianity. See especially Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007); Richard Horsley, Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007); idem, Revolt of the Scribes: Resistance and Apocalyptic Origins (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009); Christine Schams, Jewish Scribes in the Second-Temple Period (JSOTSup 291; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998). The present essay does not engage the multiple terms and social contexts (and thus meanings) for “scribes” in the history of Second Temple Judaism; for a thorough treatment see Schams, Jewish Scribes.

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samuel i. thomas Enoch and Elijah

Biblical texts appear to make the claim of non-death for Enoch and Elijah even though neither figure is presented in the Hebrew Bible as a scribe (Enoch: Gen 5:24; Elijah: 2 Kgs 2:1–12). Such apparent nondeath is, among other factors, responsible for the high status of these figures in early Jewish and Christian apocalyptic traditions. Enoch and Elijah play different roles in different compositions, and though it is clear that for the most part there were distinct traditions about these two ideal figures and their functions, they are brought together in intriguing ways in some early Jewish and Christian texts with an eschatological orientation, e.g. the Coptic Apocalypse of Elijah, probably in the dream visions of 1 Enoch (89:52, 90:31; cf. 93:10) and possibly in the book of Revelation (11:3—the δυσίν μάρτυσιν).8 In the earlier works of 1 Enoch and in the book of Jubilees, the characteristics of the elusive Enoch are elaborated and special emphasis is placed upon Enoch’s role as a scribe—a scribe who knows not only the sacred public traditions but also many more things (e.g. 1 En. 12:3–4; 15:11; cf. 74:2, 92:1). Enoch’s knowledge is derived from his cosmic tours (as in the Book of the Watchers), angelic revelations (as in the Astronomical Book and Dream Visions), and from direct consultation of the heavenly tablets. According to 1 Enoch 81–82, Enoch in fact knows everything: And he said to me, “Look, Enoch, at the heavenly tablets, read what is written on them, and understand each and every item.” I looked at all the heavenly tablets, read everything that was written, and understood everything. . . . Now my son Methuselah, I am telling you all these things and am writing (them) down. I have revealed all of them to you and have given you the books about all these things. My son, keep the book written by your father so that you may give (it) to the generations of the world. Wisdom I have given to you and to your children and to those

8 This tradition as found in the Coptic Apocalypse of Elijah is probably dependent on the “two witnesses” motif in Rev 11:3. Though some early interpreters understood this to be a reference to Elijah and Moses (probably in conjunction with the accounts of the transfiguration in Mark 9:2–10 par.), others such as Irenaeus and Hippolytus interpreted the “two witnesses” to refer to Elijah and Enoch (cf. 1 En. 90:31). See O. S. Wintermute, “Apocalypse of Elijah,” OTP, 1:746–47. For a list of the Christian texts that couple Elijah and Enoch in this way, see W. Bousset, Der Antichrist in der Überlieferung des Judenthums, des Neuen Testaments und der Alten Kirche (Göttingen, 1895), 203–208; and R. Bauckham, “The Martyrdom of Enoch and Elijah: Jewish or Christian?” JBL 95 (1975): 447–58.

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who will be your children so that they may give this wisdom which is beyond their thought to their children for the generations. They who understand will not sleep and will listen with their ear to learn this wisdom. It will be more pleasing to them than fine food to those who eat. (1 En. 81:1–82:3)9

In the book of Jubilees, by comparison, Enoch’s knowledge is explicitly tied to the fact that he has taken up residence in the place of both knowledge and immortality—the Garden of Eden—where as sage and scribe he transmits crucial knowledge to subsequent generations through his son Methuselah ( Jub. 4:16–26; 7:38–39). Enoch, who does not die, takes the place of Adam in the garden, gaining what Adam is said to have forsaken (life without death) while retaining that which Adam gained by transgression (knowledge), which Enoch then passes along to his progeny.10 This issue of the transmission of scribal learning is one we should pause to consider, since it receives great emphasis in texts like 1 Enoch, Jubilees, the Aramaic Levi Document, and other “testamentary” literature. In Jubilees, for example, the patriarchs pass knowledge down through the generations—often in the form of books—beginning with Enoch, who “is the first of mankind who were born on the earth who learned (the art of ) writing, instruction, and wisdom and who wrote down in a book the signs of the sky in accord with the fixed patterns of their months so that mankind would know the seasons of the years according to the fixed patterns of each of their months. He was the first to write a testimony” ( Jub. 4:17–18).11 Or in other words, he learned and wrote the things that certain kinds of scribes learn and write. In the Aramaic Levi Document, the “testimony” of the patriarchs culminates in the priestly-scribal learning of Levi and his descendents, who

9 Translation from George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A New Translation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 111–13 (emphasis mine). The reference to “they who understand will not sleep” is ambiguous. If “sleep” is a metaphor for “death” here, this passage would offer another interpretive layer for the present project. 10 According to Jubilees, after Adam died at the age of 930 years, “all his children buried him in the land where he had been created. He was the first to be buried in the ground” (4:29). 11 All translations of Jubilees in this essay are from James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees: A Critical Text (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989).

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trade in the erudite disciplines of astronomy and metrology.12 But as Christine Schams is correct to note, “since T. Levi 13.2 and [Aramaic Levi] 88–90 are part of an exhortation, these passages may not reflect historical realities with regard to the descendents of Levi. However, they suggest that knowledge and wisdom on the one hand, and the ability to read and write on the other hand, were closely associated.”13 The “knowledge” in all these texts likely has its basis in some concept of torah-learning, but expands beyond this to include other, perhaps more esoteric, dimensions of the scribal craft.14 In a number of important texts Enoch, who starts out as a nondescript and elusive figure in Genesis, becomes the paradigmatic scribe. His superlative ability in this regard is related to his non-death, which becomes the occasion for his initiation to the heavenly temple (and/or the Garden of Eden). It is interesting that the writer of Jubilees chooses to locate Enoch’s acquisition of knowledge before his assumption/removal—ostensibly so that the testimony would be able to remain on earth. This seems to be in contrast to Enochic traditions that portray the continued access that Enoch’s progeny have to him even after he takes up his new residence (e.g. in 1 Enoch 106). In any case, Jubilees narrates the way in which the eternal writing is mediated: in terms of the narrative, it is by generational transmission; in terms of the story, it is by Jubilees itself, which is both ‫ תורה‬and ‫תעודה‬, or torah and testimony—or in other words, a written copy of (at least part of ) the heavenly tablets.15

12 See especially Henryk Drawnel, “Priestly Education in the Aramaic Levi Document (Visions of Levi) and Aramaic Astronomical Book (4Q208–11),” RevQ 22 (2006): 547–74. 13 Schams, Jewish Scribes, 86. 14 See Samuel I. Thomas, The “Mysteries” of Qumran: Mystery, Secrecy, and Esotericism in the Dead Sea Scrolls (SBLEJL 25; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), 76. 15 Following Helge Kvanvig, “narrative” here refers to the narrative frame of Jubilees, which begins and ends with Moses on Mount Sinai, and “story” refers to what is recounted within the narrative frame (the story from creation to the Sinaitic revelation); see Kvanvig, “Jubilees—Between Enoch and Moses: A Narrative Reading,” JSJ 35 (2004): 243–61. For a discussion of the “authority conferring” aspects of Jubilees, see Hindy Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410. The literature on the “heavenly tablets” motif is voluminous, but see for example Florentino García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. M. Albani, J. Frey, and A. Lange; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 243–60. For the argument that the ‫ תעודה‬is identifiable with Jubilees itself, see James C. VanderKam, “Moses

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The eschatological traditions about Elijah begin to appear with Malachi (Mal 3:22–24 [4:4–6]) and are elaborated through the Second Temple and into the early Christian and rabbinic periods.16 Here it is worth pointing out simply that Elijah—who is a charismatic prophet and wonder worker in the monarchical narrative of 1 and 2 Kings— becomes, by the time of the Chronicler, a figure who composes a letter (even after the moment at which he was supposed to have been removed!).17 This by no means clinches the argument that non-death and scribal self-understanding have something to do with one another, but it is a curious intervention on the part of the Chronicler, one that seems not to accomplish anything crucial for the meaning of the story itself. In fact, the entire Elijah narrative from Kings is omitted by the Chronicler, and the only mention of him has to do with this letter, which, according to the chronology of Kings, would have been sent after his departure in the fiery chariot. In other words Elijah, at least in this instance, becomes a kind of scribe ex post facto. In any case, the later and well-known passage in the second dream vision of 1 Enoch alludes to both Enoch and Elijah, and according to Richard Bauckham, “1 Enoch 90:31 does seem to refer to the return of Enoch and Elijah specifically, probably at a period when only these two were thought to have escaped death.”18 These two late-comers to scribalism have important eschatological roles because of their apparent non-death, but other scribal figures will be granted non-death, it seems, because they are prominent scribes, i.e. mediators of sacred, scriptural traditions. Moses Perhaps the most famous example of this kind of interpretive transformation involves the figure of Moses and his death. According to the end of Deuteronomy, Moses does indeed die, though the passage about his death is enigmatic and gives the impression that his demise is

Trumping Moses,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts (ed. H. Najman et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 25–44. 16 See Samuel I. Thomas, “Enoch, Elijah, and the (Eschatological) Torah,” Henoch 30 (2009): 54–59. 17 1 Kgs 17–2 Kgs 2; 2 Chron 21:12–15. 18 Richard Bauckham, “The Martyrdom of Enoch and Elijah: Jewish or Christian?” JBL 95 (1976): 447–58, here 451.

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unusual and important. Moses, the paradigmatic recipient/inscriber of torah, is brought to Mount Nebo and is shown the land that Israel was to inhabit. He dies, and is buried in an undisclosed location in Moab so that “no one knows his burial place to this day” (Deut 34:1–8). The entire sequence of Deuteronomy 31–34 has been one of the most copiously interpreted sections of the Torah, and at least a few early Jewish writers attempted to find a way to re-interpret the death of Moses—perhaps that he might “compete” with Enoch and Elijah—in order to claim that he did not really die. For example, Philo, in his many writings about Moses, takes it for granted that Deuteronomy’s reticence about Moses’ burial place signifies that he did not experience death but instead was translated, or divinized, in a fashion reminiscent of a Platonic transformation. Moses, according to Philo, experienced the resolution of his two natures (his mind and his body) into a single nature (εἰς μονάδος φύσιν), that of pure “mind” (νοῦς).19 In collapsing this translation of Moses with his ascension of Sinai, Philo connects his non-death with his special role as the transmitter of sacred text. He does this naturally enough: throughout the writings of Philo, Moses is enshrined as “the most holy man who ever lived” (e.g. Mos. 2.192), and this claim is always tied to his role as law-giver.20 Indeed, Moses is himself an embodiment of “ensouled law,” and for Philo the Law of Moses is a written copy of the law of nature, to which Moses had the most perfect access.21 According to 2 Baruch, Moses receives not only torah on Mount Sinai, but also learns many things—to the effect that his sojourn on Sinai sounds like a summary of Enoch’s cosmic journeys in 1 Enoch.22 Pseudo-Philo will also take up this theme but will transfer the setting to Nebo, so that Moses acquires the cosmological and eschatological secrets as he ascends to his death (here he is said actually to die).23 Finally the author of the Assumption of Moses combines all these

19

Mos. 2.288. Cf. Josephus, Ant. 4.328: Moses “surpassed in understanding all men that ever lived and put to noblest use the fruit of his reflections.” 21 See Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” Studia Philonica Annual 11 (1999): 55–73; eadem, “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” Studia Philonica Annual 15 (2003): 51–56. 22 2 Bar. 59:3–11. 23 L.A.B. 19:8–16. 20

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motifs to suggest that there is both translation and death, and they happen simultaneously.24 In later rabbinic texts as varied as 3 Enoch, Midrash Tanhuma, and Gedulat Mosheh, Moses ascends to Sinai (i.e., heaven) and is enthroned among the angels. In other texts such as Yalkut Šimoni and the Yelammedenu midrash, the “death” of Moses is reinterpreted as his final ascension/translation by way of a creative midrash on Deut 34:5, which states about Moses, “And he died there (‫)שם‬.” Citing a passage from Exodus, these readings provide the solution for how to think about the death of the lawgiver: “in another place it is written ‘he was there (‫ )שם‬with the Lord’” (Exod 34:28).25 Of course, there are many good reasons why in early Jewish apocalyptic and mystical literature Moses should achieve such status, and it would be foolish to insist that this was due solely to his role as a “scribal figure.” And yet, wherever we turn in the later Moses traditions, there he is receiving and authoring new sacred traditions whose provenance is said to be heavenly. There he is, functioning not only as one who receives the divine word but as one who is continually and repeatedly brought to bear in the process of sacred traditioning.26 If writers like Philo and Josephus are concerned to re-present Moses’ death to be something other than what Deuteronomy plainly states, this need not be simply (or only) because the classical writers are worried about the status of Moses vis-à-vis Enoch and Elijah (and therefore need to compensate for Deuteronomy’s less-than-satisfying conclusion in which the protagonist dies). Whatever their specific apologetic goals in presenting the founder of the nation in a positive light that would resonate with Hellenistic audiences, they were participating in a more widespread tradition of rewriting and re-casting ideal scribal figures in a way that connected them with superlative knowledge, heavenly writing, transmission of sacred tradition, and non-death.

24

As. Mos. 10:12–11:8. For discussion of these rabbinic texts, see Wayne Meeks, The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology (NTSup 14; Leiden: Brill, 1967), 209–10. 26 See for example Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003); Brian Britt, Rewriting Moses: The Narrative Eclipse of the Text (JSOTSup 402; T&T Clark, 2004), esp. 168–76. 25

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samuel i. thomas Ezra

The figure Ezra is explicitly called a scribe in the book of Ezra, and this function (which, in Ezra traditions, is thoroughly “Mosaic”) seems to give Ezra his primary significance. His role in the Hebrew Bible is important insofar as he was a “scribe skilled in the law of Moses that the Lord the God of Israel had given” (Ezra 7:6); he famously (and again, “Mosaically”) recited the law of Moses from a platform and thus signified the reconstitution of the covenant people under the law (Neh 8:1–12). While it may be only indirectly relevant to the present essay, one must note that the text of Nehemiah states that the sense of the law had to be interpreted (or translated) for the people (Neh 8:7–8). In other words, Ezra-Nehemiah exhibits perhaps the earliest (levitical-scribal?) self-conscious awareness of a need to bridge the gap between an “author,” a text, and its (or their) interpretive Nachleben. Here the text of Nehemiah displays a subtle subversion of the simple Deuteronomic command not to add to or subtract from the law (Deut 4:2), and stands toward the beginning of an interpretive continuum that leads to Jubilees and other “rewritten” scriptural texts that emerge during the latter half of the Second Temple period. In 4 Ezra—as in the book of Ezra—the chief concern of the author appears to be that the “exilic community be provided with the law.”27 This law includes not only the law of Moses but also a number of heavenly, esoteric books that pertain to secret cosmological and eschatological matters (4 Ezra 14), a motif reminiscent of Jubilees, Daniel, and other apocalyptic texts.28 Like Moses before him, the figure Ezra also undergoes a transformation that involves his being taken up before death (my emphasis in the following quotations): And it shall come to pass that whoever remains after all that I have foretold to you shall himself be saved and shall see my salvation and the end of my world. And they shall see them who were taken up, who from their birth have not tasted death; and the heart of the earth’s inhabitants shall be changed and converted to a different spirit. (4 Ezra 6:25–26) And now I say to you [Ezra]: Lay up in your heart the signs that I have shown you, the dreams that you have seen, and the interpretation that you have heard; for you shall be taken up from among men, and hence27 Shannon Burkes, God, Self, and Death: The Shape of Religious Transformation in the Second Temple Period (JSJSup 79; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 215. 28 E.g. Jub. 1:26–29, 4:16–26, Dan 12:1–9 (note the juxtaposition of ideas about revelation and resurrection/immortality).

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forth you shall be with my servant and with those who are like you, until the times are ended. (4 Ezra 14:7–9) At that time Ezra was caught up, and taken to the place of those who are like him, after he had written all these things. And he was called the Scribe of the knowledge of the Most High forever. (4 Ezra 14:50)29

By the end of the book of 4 Ezra, it becomes clear that the author wished to ordain the same fate for Ezra as for those who preceded him as righteous scribes. Of course, the broader point of the book has to do with judgment and the ultimate immortality of all the righteous who prevail in obedience to the law, and yet Ezra himself is not required to await such judgment. As the purveyor of the law itself, and the guardian of its esoteric portions, he transcends any such requirement and according to 4 Ezra he is removed from the earthly scene. Baruch Baruch, the scribe of the biblical Jeremiah (e.g., Jeremiah 36), becomes a prophet and “apocalyptic seer” in his own right in some later Jewish and Christian traditions. In reference especially to 2 Baruch and 3 Baruch, J. Edward Wright aptly summarizes the situation: This evolution of the persona of Baruch as it can be traced in the texts pseudepigraphically attributed to him parallels a cultural shift in early Judaism: there was an evolution from the priority of the sage/scribe who inscribed and transmitted the divine words to that of the sage/scholar who interpreted and extended the divine words for the benefit of the community. The Baruch of history was clearly a member of the former group: as a scribe he wrote down the words of God and Jeremiah. By way of contrast, the Baruch of the pseudepigraphic imagination took those ancient texts and traditions and reinterpreted them, breathing new life into them and making them applicable in new ways for later generations.30

As part of this transformation in 2 Baruch there is yet another example of scribal non-death, one which mirrors closely the presentation of

29 All translations of 4 Ezra are from Michael E. Stone, 4 Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of 4 Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990). 30 J. Edward Wright, Baruch ben Neriah: From Biblical Scribe to Apocalyptic Seer (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 124; cf. the later (sixth– seventh cent. c.e.) Ethiopic Apocalypse of Baruch, edited and translated in Wolf Leslau, Falasha Anthology (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1951), 57–76.

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the protagonist in 4 Ezra. There are two passages that are particularly relevant (emphasis mine): And I [Baruch] said to them, “I cannot resist the throne of the Mighty One; nevertheless, Israel will not lack a wise man, nor the race of Jacob, a son of the Law. But only prepare your hearts, that you may obey the Law, and be subject to those who, in fear, are wise and understanding. . . . But concerning the word that I shall be taken, I did not make (it) known to them, not even to my son. (46:4–7)31 And [the Most High] answered and said to me, “Since the revelation of this vision has been explained to you as you requested, hear the word of the Most high that you may know what will happen to you after these things. For you will surely depart from this world, yet it will not be unto death, but you will be kept unto the completion of the times.” (76:1–2)

Like Enoch, Moses, and Ezra, Baruch mediates the law and receives additional esoteric knowledge, and like these figures he does not die—a subject about which the books of Jeremiah and Baruch are silent. Like in the cases of Enoch, Moses, and Ezra, Baruch’s status appears to derive in part from his access not only to the already-given exoteric textual tradition but also to the not-yet-publicized “books” of heavenly provenance. Non-death thus has to do with the capacity for continued revelation, and more specifically, with the role of scribes in a process which involves not mere slavish transmission of text but the internalization of the divine word writ large. Scribal Figures in the Dead Sea Scrolls32 The foregoing discussion, while necessarily brief and at points somewhat anachronistic, can help to provide a new lens through which to 31 Translations of 2 Baruch from Daniel M. Gurtner, Second Baruch: A Critical Edition of the Syriac Text (JCT 6; London: T&T Clark, 2009), italics mine. In 46:7 Gurtner notes the possibility that the Syriac text may correspond to the Greek ἀναλαμβάνομαι of LXX Gen 5:24 and 2 Kgs 2:5. 32 Carol Newsom and others have called attention to the fact that the Scrolls evince little in the way of “scribal self-consciousness,” or in other words, they lack explicit statements about the scribal way of life. “Although many scribal activities occurred at Qumran—reading and interpreting scripture; keeping written records of property transfers, community rank, and formal rebukes; composition, revision and copying of community documents; copying of biblical manuscripts—the sectarian compositions never draw attention to writing and the written word in a manner similar to Jubilees, nor do they invoke the image and ideology of the learned scribe as a form of self-identification, as one finds in Ben Sira and Daniel.” See Newsom, The Self as

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view several passages in the Dead Sea Scrolls.33 For example, in the so-called “Elect of God” or “Birth of Noah” composition (4Q534–36), which is one of the fragmentary Aramaic texts dealing with the birth of Noah or some other righteous figure, there is a clear association between eternality and writing and perhaps a reference to one not dying “in the days of wickedness.”34 One should also note in the present discussion that other compositions depict Noah not only as a reader but as a writer of “books.”35 In any case, Dorothy Peters is correct to conclude that the characteristics of the extraordinary individual in this text “may not have been intended to be limited to any one character but may have applied to an entire lineage of exceptional people, chosen by God, through whom wisdom and esoteric knowledge were properly transmitted from Enoch to Noah, Levi, and through to the wise and inspired teachers of the writer’s day.”36 The extant text begins with a description of the protagonist, stating: In his youth he will be adept[ and like a m]an who does not know anything until he knows the three books (‫)תלתת ספריא‬. vacat Then he will be wise . . . prudence and wisdom will be with him, [and] he will know the mysteries of men, and his wisdom shall come to all peoples, and he will know the mysteries of all living things. (4Q534 1 i 4–8) vacat Blessed be every man] [who teaches wise] dis[cipline to his sons and he will not die in the days of wickedness.] vacat [Would that someone

Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 69; cf. Schams, Jewish Scribes, 251, 257–60. Newsom reasonably speculates that this is related to the fact that the Yahad was a voluntary community and not a professional guild of scribes, though there may be other possible explanations for this reticence. 33 There are doubtless additional texts that could be adduced in the following discussion; I have focused on several passages that are especially well illumined by the preceding parts of this essay. 34 There is continued scholarly debate surrounding the identity of the main figure. For a summary of the debate, see Dorothy Peters, Noah Traditions in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Conversations and Controversies of Antiquity (SBLEJL 26; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature), 101–106; cf. Jeremy Penner, “Is 4Q534–36 Really about Noah?” in Noah and His Book(s) (ed. Michael E. Stone, Aryeh Amihay, and Vered Hillel; SBLEJL 28; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010), 97–112. 35 E.g. 1QapGen 5:29; Jub. 10:13; and ALD 10:10 (as cited in Peters, Noah Traditions, 53, 121–24). Much has been written about the “book of Noah” mentioned in several sources; for summary and bibliography see Peters, Noah Traditions, 121–27. Here Peters discusses the important distinction between “Noah as a writer” and the existence of a “book of Noah” as a source for the Aramaic Levi Document or the Book of the Watchers, etc. See also the recent volume of essays, Stone, Amihay, and Hillel, eds., Noah and His Book(s). 36 Peters, Noah Traditions, 106.

586

samuel i. thomas would write these words of mine in a book that will not wear out and] this [ my utterance] keep [in a scroll that will not pass away. . . .] (4Q534 7 0–4; par. 4Q536 2 ii 11–12; my emphasis)37

Though the text places his acquisition of “mysteries” in the future— after he has read the “three books”—it also presumes that the protagonist has already done so and has duly learned about such “mysteries,” and that “he will reveal mysteries like the Most High ones” to the remnant elect (4Q546 2i+3 8–13).38 The books he writes (or has commissioned) are ostensibly eternal—they do not pass away, or at least he wishes that they would not—it seems, because they transmit the perfect knowledge and wisdom that the figure has acquired. While other Noah texts do not deal explicitly with his death, they are of course very interested in his extraordinary birth, in which he enters the world as a quasi-angelic figure (cf. 4Q534 1 i–ii; 1 Enoch 106–107; 1QapGen 0–2).39 Here we may wish that the manuscripts were more complete in order to know more about how these ancient writers of Aramaic texts understood the deaths of their ideal figures. It is at least worth pointing out that the Visions of Amram states about its eponymous figure that “[ the elect?] of God you will be, and the angel (‫ )מלאך‬of God you will be called [. . .]” (4Q543 2a–b 4), though this statement is admittedly ambiguous. In another well-known text, the so-called “Self-Glorification Hymn,” the speaker makes several astonishing claims about his status (my emphasis):40 [vacat I am] recko[ned with the angels, my dwelling is in] the holy [council.]. . . [No teaching] compares with my teaching. [For] I sit [in

37

Translation of 4Q534–36 by E. Cook, DSSR 3:373–79. For discussion of the significance of the “three books” in this passage, see É. Puech, DJD 31:137–38; he discusses here J. T. Milik’s association of this reference with the Samaritan esoteric Book of the ’Asaṭir, which states that “ ‘A l’âge de 7 ans (Noé) apprit les trios livres de la creation: le Livre des Signes, le Livre des Étoiles et le Livre des Guerres, c’est-à-dire le Livre de la Génération d’Adam’, Kitâb al-’Asâṭir (f 4r 18–21).” 39 See Aryeh Amihay and Daniel A. Machiela, “Traditions of the Birth of Noah,” in Noah and His Book(s) (ed. Michael E. Stone, Aryeh Amihay, and Vered Hillel; SBLEJL 28; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010), 53–70. 40 The recensional history of this composition is complex. See Esther Eshel, “4Q471B: A Self-Glorification Hymn,” RevQ 17 (1997): 175–203; cf. Michael O. Wise, “‫מי כמוני באלים‬: A Study of 4Q491c, 4Q471b, 4Q427 7 and 1QHa 25:35–26:10,” DSD 7 (2000): 173–209. Here I have used the reconstruction and translation of Eshel in DJD 29:428. 38

eternal writing and immortal writers

587

heaven]. . . . Who is like me among the angels? [Who would cut me off when I open my mouth? And] who could measure [the flow] of my lips? Who [can associate with me in speech, and thus compare with my judgment? For I] am the beloved of the King, a companion of the ho[ly ones, and no one can accompany me. And to my glory ]no one can compare, for I [have my station with the angels, and my glory with the sons of the King. (4Q471b/4Q431; par. 4Q427 7 I; 1QHa 26:6–16)

While the text as it has been incorporated into the Hodayot may have later taken on other communal functions, the primary thrust of the passage is that the speaker has taken his place in the divine council and is incomparable among the divine beings. It is not possible to say for certain whether this represents a mystical ascent tied to liturgical or exegetical activity—or just when during the speaker’s life such an ascent is thought to occur. Elsewhere in the Hodayot, the text states that everything the speaker might say has already been “engraved before you [God] in an inscription of record” (‫הכול חקוק לפניכה‬ ‫)בחרת זכרון‬, and all these things the speaker has come to know because God has “opened [his] ear to the mysteries of wonder” (‫גליתה אוזני‬ ‫)לרזי פלא‬.41 Though it poses potential historical or chronological problems, I would like to make a connection here with the so-called “vision of Hagu” known from 4QInstruction and the “book/scroll of Hagu/o” of the Rule of the Congregation and the Damascus Document. In 4QInstruction there is reference to a “book of remembrance” (‫)ספר זכרון‬ (4Q417 1 i 15–16; cf. Mal 3:22), which is tied to the “vision of Hagu” (‫)חזון ההגוי‬. As Geo Widengren articulated more than half a century ago, the “book of remembrance” is at least partially analogous to the notion of the heavenly tablets elsewhere in early Jewish literature, and it pertains to the heavenly record of the course of predestined history.42 The “book of remembrance” of 4QInstruction bears considerable resemblance to this, and understanding it requires intensive study and

41

1QHa 9:23–26; see Eileen Schuller, DJD 40:130. Widengren, The Ascension of the Apostle and the Heavenly Book (Uppsala: A. B. Lundequist, 1950), 38; cf. Cana Werman, “What is the Book of Hagu?” in Sapiential Perspectives: Wisdom Literature in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 20–22 May, 2001 (ed. J. J. Collins, G. E. Sterling, and R. Clements; STDJ 51; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 125–40; Matthew Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom of 4QInstruction (STDJ 50; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 82–94; D. Steinmetz, “Sefer HeHago: The Community and the Book,” JJS 52 (2001): 40–58. 42

588

samuel i. thomas

seeking rooted in the proper “vision” given to the Mevin (“the one[s] who understands”) and to the elect described in that text. In the sectarian rules, Hagu is called not a “vision” but a “book” (‫)ספר‬. In the Damascus Document, only those learned in this book may judge and lead the community (CD 10:6; 13:2–3; 14:6–8), and in the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa 1:6–7), each member of the community must begin to learn from this “book” at a young age. It is difficult to know what form this “book” may have taken—and what its contents may have been—but it is interesting that in 1QSa (which was encrypted in Cryptic A script) only those who know this “book” will be present at the eschatological banquet at which the Messiah of Israel presides—a time when, the text seems to presume, death itself would have been overcome. Conclusion In all of the texts discussed above, there is a complex association between righteous scribal figures, the appeal to heavenly or eternal forms of writing or speech, and some version of immortality. I have tried to focus on those texts that appear to claim non-death for a figure as a way to crystallize an important aspect of scribal self-understanding (if we may speak of such a thing). Being a scribe makes one immortal at least insofar as death may be overcome in the transmission, elaboration, and new life of sacred tradition, which itself is understood to come from an eternal and often esoteric source. In the examples I have presented—and perhaps more broadly in Second Temple Jewish scribal self-consciousness—eternal writing and scribal non-death are two sides of the same coin, a coin that is the currency of scriptural innovation and transmission in early Judaism.

THE RABBIS’ WRITTEN TORAH AND THE HEAVENLY TABLETS* Tzvi Novick In the book of Jubilees, Moses receives two torahs at Sinai: ‫התורה‬ ‫והמצוה‬, the torah of the commandments, i.e., the Pentateuch, and ‫התורה והתעודה‬, the torah of the te‘udah, evidently the equivalent, or at least a subset, of the heavenly tablets.1 Scholars have compared these two torahs of Jubilees to the two torahs, written and oral, of rabbinic literature.2 On this comparison, Jubilees’ heavenly tablets correspond to the rabbis’ oral torah. But some motifs connected in Jubilees with the heavenly tablets come to attach in rabbinic literature precisely to the rabbis’ written torah. I trace two such motifs here, with a focus on the tannaitic corpus. I. Texts on High In Numbers 27, the daughters of Zelophehad claim that they should inherit their father’s tribal plot because he died without leaving sons. * My thanks to Prof. Michael Segal for his comments on an earlier draft of this essay. It is my great pleasure to contribute to a volume honoring Prof. VanderKam, who epitomizes not only sound scholarship but what goes in Yiddish by the word mentshlichkeyt. He has thoroughly understood the angel of the presence, but remains thoroughly down-to-earth. I am grateful to Prof. VanderKam for discussing with me some aspects of Jubilees that found their way into this essay. 1 See Cana Werman, “ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫ ’תעודה‬Engraved on the Tablets,” DSD 9 (2002): 75–103, and especially 88–89 for the equivalence of ‫ התורה והתעודה‬and the heavenly tablets. Against Werman, and with Michael Segal (The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology [Jerusalem: Magnes, 2007], 227), I take ‫ התורה והמצוה‬and ‫ התורה והתעודה‬as cases of hendiadys. I have left ‫תעודה‬ untranslated. The usage in Jubilees clearly depends, as the Hebrew fragments from Qumran now prove, on Isa 8:16–20, where the terms ‫ תורה‬and ‫ תעודה‬are paired. What interested Jubilees (or its source) is the mention of a different sort of torah, an esoteric one (bound up and sealed, per Isa 8:16), and one that recalls, through the word ‫תעודה‬, the Sinaitic tablets (Exod 31:18 ‫)לחת העדת‬. I venture that the book’s circle did not particularly care about—perhaps did not even have a considered view of—the precise meaning of ‫ תעודה‬in Isaiah, or in the coinage ‫התורה והתעודה‬. They cared instead about the phrase’s biblical basis and its reference, the esoteric torah. 2 See Werman, “ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫תעודה‬,’ ” 96–100; Florentino García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. Matthias Albani et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 243–60, here 258–59.

590

tzvi novick

God agrees: “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just” (Num 27:7).3 On this verse Sifre Num. 134 comments: ‫ויאמר ייי אל משה כן בנות צלפחד דוברות יאה תבעו בנות צלפחד שכך‬ ‫פרשה כתובה לפניי במרום‬ “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘The plea of Zelophehad’s daughter is just’ ” (Num 27:6–7). Well do Zelophehad’s daughters claim, for so is the section written before me on high.4

The first half of the comment, “well do Zelophehad’s daughters claim,” rewrites the lemma. But what is the exegetical basis for the notion that the daughters’ proposal was already inscribed in heaven, if this notion is not simply apologetics, directed against the implication that the divine law, as originally conceived, was insufficient? Possibly the rabbinic interpreter takes ‫ כן‬concretely, to signify (like other usages of the root ‫ )כון‬establishment or pre-existence, or even vocalizes the word as ‫“ ַכן‬here,” so that God is claiming that what the daughters have said is already in his presence. But the reference to a specific segment of written text situated on high—a motif that is, to my knowledge, without parallel in tannaitic literature—recollects Jubilees’ heavenly tablets.5 The work of Cana Werman, Menahem Kister, and most recently Aharon Shemesh has demonstrated the foundational importance of the word ‫ כן‬in the rhetoric of the heavenly tablets in

3

Biblical translations follow the njps. Quotations from Sifre Numbers come from ms Vatican 32, as transcribed in the online Historical Dictionary of the Hebrew Language (Maagarim) [cited April 22, 2010]. Online: http://hebrew-treasures.huji.ac.il. See also the Hebrew edition of H. S. Horovitz, ed., Siphre d’be Rab (Leipzig: Libraria Gustav Fock, 1917; Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1966), 177. The translation of this and other passages from rabbinic literature are my own. The commentary in Sifre Num. 134 echoes in Tg. Ps.-J. to Num 27:7: ‫יאות בנת צלפחד ממללן כתיבא הוות דא קדמי אלהין זכאן לאתאמרא‬ ‫“ על ידיהן‬Well do the daughters of Zelophehad speak. This was written before me, but they merited that it be said through them.” For the dependence of this targum elsewhere on works from the school of R. Ishmael see Menahem I. Kahana, The Two Mekhiltot on the Amalek Portion (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999), 361–62. 5 I distinguish this motif from that of the preexistence of the torah in general, on which see Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (trans. I. Abrahams; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1975), 197–201. See also Abraham Joshua Heschel, Heavenly Torah: As Refracted Through the Generations (ed. and trans. Gordon Tucker and Leonard Levin; New York: Continuum, 2006), 321–40, and especially 331 (on Sifre Num. 134) and 334–36 (on the heavenly tablets). Heschel seems to gesture toward a link between the role of the heavenly tablets in Second Temple literature and the characterization of the written Torah in rabbinic texts. 4

the rabbis’ written torah and the heavenly tablets 591 Jubilees (and, mutatis mutandis, at Qumran).6 Jubilees deploys the word in such formulae as “for so (‫ )כי כן‬it is written” and “it was therefore (‫ )על כן‬written,” to introduce quotations from the heavenly tablets.7 Kister suggests that these formulae derive from Gen 32:33, where the words ‫“ על כן‬therefore” bridge from the story of Jacob’s struggle with the angel to the custom of refraining from consumption of the thigh sinew.8 It seems to me not unlikely that the passage from Sifre Numbers depends on the same exegetical association of the word ‫ כן‬with heavenly writing, but the rabbinic interpreter finds on high not a distinct work, the heavenly tablets, but the template of the “written torah” itself. II. Torah as Register In the ancient Near East, the heavenly tablets record the individual’s deeds and misdeeds, and his or her corresponding fate.9 The usage continues in Jubilees.10 Thus, for example, Jub. 19:9 reports that Abraham “was found to be faithful and was recorded on the heavenly tablets as the friend of the Lord.”11 The heavenly tablets seem to have been

6 On the Qumran material see Aharon Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making: The Development of Jewish Law from Qumran to the Rabbis (Berkeley: University of California Press), 110–11. 7 See Werman, “ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫תעודה‬,’ ” 86. 8 “Two Formulae in the Book of Jubilees,” Tarbiz 70 (2001): 289–300, at 292–93. 9 See Shalom M. Paul, “The Heavenly Tablets and the Book of Life,” JANES 5 (1973): 345–53. 10 See García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets,” 246–47. In her appendix (“ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫תעודה‬,’ ” 100–03), Werman divides the items that Jubilees associates with the heavenly tablets into “laws” and “events.” But all of the events on the list are more precisely characterized as verdicts on individuals’ fates. Thus the laws and events of the heavenly tablets are alike decrees. Cf. the Boethusians’ ‫“ ספר גזרתא‬book of decrees,” of which Werman makes mention (“ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫תעודה‬,’” 99), and cf. the usage of the semantic equivalent in Akkadian, purussû, “decision,” in such astrological determinations as the following (from Francesca Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing: Divination, Horoscope, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture [New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004], 108): “If the moon is dark in the region of Leo, the decision: the king will die and lions will go wild.” Could the “decrees” of the ‫ספר‬ ‫ גזרתא‬have looked quite like the laws and verdicts of Jubilees? 11 Quotations from Jubilees follow James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989). Cf. CD 3:2 ‫ויעל אוהב‬, with reference to Abraham, and, in the next line, CD 3:3 ‫ויכתבו אוהבים‬, of Isaac and Jacob. In light of the fact that Jubilees (as noted in Vanderkam, The Book of Jubilees, 149 [ad 23:32]) employs the roots ‫ כתב‬and ‫ עלה‬interchangeably to signal recording in the heavenly tablets, the formula in CD 3:2 emerges as the precise

592

tzvi novick

understood, at least in biblical circles, as something like the celestial equivalent of a royal chronicle.12 The books of Ezra and Nehemiah— where the torah as a written document first becomes prominent— appear to construct the torah itself on the analogy of a record in the divine archive. As Jacob L. Wright has observed, the motif of consultation of written texts occurs very frequently in these two books, sometimes with respect to archival records (Persian or priestly), and sometimes with respect to the torah.13 The distribution thus suggests that the authoritative status of the torah as written text depends in part on an analogy between the torah text and administrative, especially imperial, archives. Or in Wright’s words: “the Judeans follow the example of the empire in mimetic fashion.”14 Below I survey rabbinic comments in which, like Ezra and Nehemiah’s torah text, and Jubilees’ heavenly tablets, the rabbis’ written torah has the character of a register.

equivalent of that in Jub. 19:9. R. H. Charles (The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913], 2:806) long ago pointed out this equivalence, and adduced 1 Chr 27:24 (Qal) and 2 Chr 20:34 (Hophal) for further evidence of ‫ עלה‬with the sense of entering material into a record. Cf. Akk. šūlû, the C-stem of elû (cognate with ‫)עלה‬, with the meaning, “to enter upon a tablet” (CAD 4.132); Kallah Rab. 2:7: ‫“ הריני עוקר את שמכם שלא תעלו בחשבון עולם‬I am uprooting your name, so that you not enter into the eternal accounting.” 12 Thus as the heavenly tablets are a ‫( ספר זכרון לפניו‬Mal 3:16; and for ‫זכר‬ elsewhere in connection with the heavenly tablets see, e.g., Isa 43:25; 1QHa 9:26), so Ahaseurus’ chronicles are ‫( ספר הזכרנות דברי הימים‬Esth 6:1). In both 1 Chr 27:24 and 2 Chr 20:34, where the root ‫ עלה‬occurs in the sense of entrance into a record (see the previous note), the record in question is a royal chronicle. The Greek verb that renders ‫ עלה‬in 1 Chr 27:24, καταχωρίζειν, also occurs in Esth 2:23, again with reference to Ahaseurus’ chronicles. Esther 2:23 may shed further light on Jub. 19:9. The sequence ‫ ויכתב‬. . . ‫( וימצא‬both in the Niphal) in Esth 2:23 recollects that in Jub. 19:9: “found to be faithful . . . and was recorded.” “Found to be faithful” in Jub. 19:9 depends on Neh 9:8 ‫ומצאת את לבבו נאמן לפניך‬. It is conceivable that Jub. 19:9 reads Neh 9:8 against the pattern attested in Esth 2:23 to generate “and was recorded,” and thus a reference to the heavenly tablets. For ‫ מצא‬in connection with the heavenly tablets, see also Dan 12:1: ‫כל הנמצא כתוב בספר‬. 13 “Seeking, Finding and Writing in Ezra-Nehemiah,” in Unity and Disunity in EzraNehemiah: Redaction, Rhetoric, and Reader (ed. Mark J. Boda and Paul L. Redditt; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008), 277–304. 14 “Seeking, Finding,” 282. On the reconceptualization of prophecy as heavenly writing in Ezekiel and in the Persian-period redaction of the literary prophets see Joachim Shaper, “The Death of the Prophet: The Transition from the Spoken to the Written Word of God in the Book of Ezekiel,” in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (ed. Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak; New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 63–79; and from the same volume, Armin Lange, “Literary Prophecy and Oracle Collection: A Comparison Between Judah and Greece in Persian Times,” 248–75.

the rabbis’ written torah and the heavenly tablets 593 The first example comes from Sifre Num. 88 which lists a series of cases involving unmarked shifts of speaker (or topic) in the Bible.15 ‫ויכר יהודה ואמ׳ צדקה ממני והמק׳ הכתיב על ידו ולא יסף עוד לדעתה כיון‬ ‫שידע שכלתו היא ול׳ יס׳ עו׳ לדע׳‬ “Judah recognized them, and said, ‘She is more righteous than I.’ ” (Gen 38:26a) And the Place had it written concerning him, “and he was not intimate with her again.” (Gen 38:26b) Once he knew that she was his sister-in-law, “and he was not intimate with her again.”

The speech in the first part of Gen 38:26 belongs to Judah.16 But the last phrase in the verse represents the contribution of God, who “had it written” concerning Judah that he refrained from further intercourse with Tamar.17 Sifre Num. 88 conceives of the biblical text as a register in which God makes note of individuals’ deeds. The verb ‫הכתיב‬ recalls the usage of ‫ כתב‬Hiphil in Jubilees in the context of dictating from (or otherwise bringing about a [partial?] written copy of ) the heavenly tablets.18

15 See Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 87. For an attempt to map out the relationship between Sifre Num. 88 and parallel traditions in rabbinic literature see Gershon Brin, “‫הנוסחה׃ ”כל הפרשה עירובי דברים— מה שאמר זה לא אמר זה‬, Beit Mikra 163 (2000): 329–49. 16 The rabbinic text’s failure to specify the speaker—something like ‫יהודה אמר‬, as in other cases in the list, e.g., ‫ ישראל או׳‬and ‫—אמרה אמו שלסיסרא‬is odd. I am inclined to think that confusion arose in the transmission of this passage between the direct speech marker in the biblical text, ‫]ויכר יהודה[ ויאמר‬, and an exegetical indication of the speaker along the lines of ‫יהודה אמר‬. 17 The exegete’s attention was probably drawn to this verse by the brief, appendixlike quality of the phrase ‫ולא יסף עוד לדעתה‬, or more precisely, by the brevity of the distance from the end of the last character speech (“She is more righteous than I”) to the end of the story. See likewise ‫( ונכפר להם הדם‬Deut 21:8), taken up in one of the parallel rabbinic traditions, t. Soṭah 9:2; and ‫( וכן לא יעשה‬Gen 34:7). For the history of interpretation, see Kister, “Two Formulae,” 292 n. 15, and add frg. 6–7 of Theodotus (James Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha [New York: Doubleday, 1985], 2:792–93). What is the point of the comment on Gen 38:26b (“Once he knew that she was his sister-in-law, ‘and he was not intimate with her again’ ”)? It appears to originate in the ambiguity of the verb ‫יסף‬. The njps translation, employed here, assumes that the sense is “to continue” (cf. the root ‫)יסף‬. But other attestations of the verb (e.g., in Deut 5:18) are understood elsewhere in rabbinic and targumic literature to mean precisely the opposite, “to cease” (cf. the roots ‫ ספה‬and ‫)סוף‬. Indeed, ‫יסף‬ in Gen 38:26 itself is so interpreted in one passage in the Bavli (b. Soṭah 10b). Sifre Num. 88 reads the verse both ways—he did not continue to know her, i.e., sexually to consort with her, and he did not cease to know her, i.e., to be cognizant of her identity—and combines both readings into a single paraphrase; because he did not cease to know who she was, he was never again intimate with her. 18 See 4Q216 iv 6. The occurrence of ‫ כתב‬Hiphil in Jubilees was predicted before the publication of this text in James C. VanderKam, “The Putative Author of the

594

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The notion of the torah as register becomes particularly explicit in an amoraic text, Lev. Rab. 34:8 whose terminology recollects that of Sifre Num. 88.19 For the sake of space I provide only the translation. Said R. Isaac b. Marion: The torah has taught you proper conduct, that when one performs a mitzvah, one should do so wholeheartedly (lit. with a happy heart). For if Reuben knew that the Holy One, blessed be He, was writing about him (‫)כותב עליו‬, “But when Reuben heard it, he tried to save him from them” (Gen 37:21), he would have borne him on his shoulders, and taken him to his father. If Aaron had known that the Holiness was writing about him, “Even now he is setting out to meet you, and he will be happy to see you” (Ex 4:14), he would have come out to meet him with drums and dancing. . . . Said R. Kohen and R. Joshua of Sikhnin in the name of R. Levi: In the past, one would perform a mitzvah, and the prophets would write. Now that there are no prophets, who

Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 209–17, at 215–17; repr. in idem, From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 439–47. In rabbinic Hebrew, ‫ כתב‬Hiphil is employed almost exclusively for composition of the torah, in most cases with God as subject, but in one case ( y. Soṭah 7:5 [21c]) it is predicated of the Sadducees, who are said to introduce the word Shechem at the end of Deut 11:30 in “their torah.” In various places, e.g., Gen. Rab. 70 (H. Albeck and J. Theodor, eds., Bereshit Rabba [Jerusalem: Wahrman, 1965], 807), the Roman empire is identified as that which ‫מכתבת טירוניה מכל אומות‬ ‫העולם‬, “inscribes a levy from all the peoples of the world.” The latter usage confirms that ‫ כתב‬Hiphil bears a bureaucratic or “officialese” connotation. Cf. BH ‫ סגר‬Hiphil in Lev 13:4; 14:38, which seems (per Menahem Moreshet, “The Hif ‘il in Mishnaic Hebrew as Equivalent to the Qal,” Bar-Ilan 13 [1976]: 249–81, at 251–52) to convey that the priest does not personally quarantine, but instead orders or sees to it that quarantining occur. Thus we may be fairly certain that, despite the prevalence of total interchangeability of Qal and Hiphil in connection with other roots in the Hebrew of the late biblical books, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and rabbinic literature (on which see Moreshet, “The Hif ‘il ”), and despite the fact that, as we will observe below, ‫כתב‬ sometimes also occurs in the Qal in connection with the production of the torah, ‫כתב‬ Hiphil should not be conflated with ‫ כתב‬Qal in rabbinic Hebrew. Menachem Kister suggests (“Commentary to 4Q298,” JQR 85 [1994]: 237–49, at 240 n. 9) that the interchange between the Qal and Hiphil forms of ‫ כתב‬in Jubilees may be connected to the linguistic phenomenon isolated by Moreshet, but given the contextual considerations identified by VanderKam in favor of a real distinction between the two forms of the root in Jubilees, and given, too, the existence of a comparable (though not identical) distinction in rabbinic Hebrew, it seems to me—and Kister may himself be positing no more than this—that the equivalence of Qal and Hiphil forms in other roots explains only the confusion in the transmission and/or translation of Jubilees; we should not suppose that ‫ כתב‬Qal and ‫ כתב‬Hiphil freely interchanged in the original text. For a collection of references to ‫ כתב‬Hiphil in rabbinic exegesis see Wilhelm Bacher, Die exegetische Terminologie der jüdischen Traditionsliteratur (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965 [1899]), 2:90. Bacher, for reasons unclear to me, includes ‫ כתב‬Hiphil only in his analysis of amoraic, not tannaitic exegesis. 19 Following the edition of Mordecai Margulies, ed., Midrash Wayyikra Rabbah (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1993), 790–91.

the rabbis’ written torah and the heavenly tablets 595 writes it? Elijah and the king Messiah, and the Holiness seals thereon, as it says, “In this vein have those who revere the Lord been talking to one another. The Lord has heard and noted it, and a scroll of remembrance has been written (‫ )ויכתב‬at His behest concerning those who revere the Lord and esteem His name” (Mal 3:16).

R. Isaac observes that Reuben and Aaron, had they known that God was recording their good deeds, would have done much more than they did. The term for recording ‫כותב עליו‬, is close to that in Sifre Num. 88, ‫הכתיב על ידו‬. The second comment, by R. Levi, addresses the obvious problem that arises when the written torah absorbs the recording function of heavenly books: what of individuals who live after the biblical period? Malachi 3:16, the prooftext upon which R. Levi rests his solution, incorporates what scholars recognize as a reference to the heavenly tablets.20 The identification of the speakers in the verse as Elijah and the messianic king depends on the verse’s immediate literary context, where Elijah figures prominently as herald of the endtime (Mal 3:1, 23). In Sifre Num. 137 the motif of the torah as register recurs in a different fashion.21 Again I cite only the English. Two leaders arose. One said: let my sin be recorded (‫)יכתב‬. And one said: let it not be recorded (‫)לא יכתב‬. David said: let my sin not be recorded, as it says, “Happy is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered over.” (Ps 32:1) Moses said: let my sin be recorded, as it says, “for you disobeyed my command.” (Num 27:14)22 A parable to which it may be compared: to two women who were being lashed in court. One was being lashed because she went bad (i.e., committed adultery), and the other was being lashed because she had stolen unripe fruit of the sabbatical year. The one who had stolen unripe fruit of the sabbatical year said: please, make known my sin, lest the bystanders think, as this one went bad, so did that one go bad. They hung the unripe fruit on her neck, and the herald announced before her: she is being lashed for the unripe fruit.

Moses asks that his sin (in the parable: the peccadillo of stealing unripe fruit on the sabbatical year) be recorded, lest observers attribute his 20

See Paul, “Heavenly Tablets,” 347. See Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 183. 22 The Hebrew is ‫על אשר מריתם פי‬, a conflation of Num 27:14 and Num 20:24, but the former, from the context of Moses’ death notice, is clearly meant. Between the death notice in Num 27:13 and the apparently superfluous reference to Moses’ transgression in Num 27:14 the rabbinic interpreter interpolates Moses’ request, and thus justifies the seeming superfluity. 21

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death to a more serious crime (in the parable: adultery).23 But what is the nature of David’s request? That his transgression, i.e., the one involving Uriah and Bathsheba, not be recorded (presumably, to spare him the embarrassment), or that it be forgiven? The prooftext for David’s request, Ps 32:1, suggests the latter. The same approach is more or less explicitly assumed in the parallel in Sifre Deut. 26 which informs us of God’s response to David: “Said the Holy One, blessed be He, it is not worthy of you (‫ )לא שוה לך‬that the creatures should say: because he loved him, he forgave him.”24 On this approach, which I believe represents the original sense of the homily, there is a curious disjunction between the two figures’ requests: Moses seeks to disclose his sin, while David seeks not to conceal his, but to have it forgiven.25 This disjunction attests to an important difference between the heavenly tablets and the rabbis’ written torah. The former is esoteric; the latter, exoteric. Hence, when the written torah takes on the accounting function of the heavenly tablets, to register deeds simultaneously means to broadcast or publicize them. This aspect of publicity, manifested in the parable about Moses through the figures of the bystanders, is arguably present in the two

23 Insofar as adultery is David’s crime, the parable implicitly figures Moses as the first woman, and David as the second. Thus Moses is, in essence, expressing concern that he might be confused with David. The irony is that it is, of course, the rabbinic interpreter who in the first place pairs Moses with David. 24 See L. Finkelstein, ed., Siphre ad Deuteronomium, Corpus Tannaiticum (Berlin: Gesellschaft zur Forderung der Wissenschaft des Judentums, 1939), 37–38. My translation depends on the text of ms Vatican 32. Cf. Job 33:27 “He declares to men, ‘I have sinned; I have perverted what was right; but I was not paid back for it (‫)ולא שוה לי‬.’ ” The njps rendering of the last phrase depends on the vocalization of ‫ שוה‬in the Piel—cf. Marvin H. Pope, Job: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 15; New York: Doubleday, 1965), 252—against the MT, which vocalizes it in the Qal. The masoretic vocalization may depend on the usage of the phrase -‫ לא שוה ל‬that is attested in Sifre Deut. 26 and elsewhere in rabbinic literature. I doubt the reverse, i.e., that ‫ לא שוה ל־‬in rabbinic literature depends on Job 33:27, because the contexts in which the rabbinic phrase occurs do not otherwise allude to the verse. 25 For the other approach, that David sought to have his sin concealed, see Sifre Zuṭa Num. 27:14 (Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 319). With its symmetric formulation of the two requests, this version constitutes the lectio facilior. For another parallel see Deut. Rab. Va’etḥanan (the edition of Saul Lieberman, ed., Midrash Devarim Rabbah [Jerusalem: Bamberger and Wahrman, 1940], 50 and n. 1). See also the strikingly similar case involving David and the root ‫ עלה‬in Lev. Rab. 32:2 (Margulies, Midrash Wayyikra Rabbah, 737).

the rabbis’ written torah and the heavenly tablets 597 previously analyzed rabbinic texts, and in others as well.26 Thus, while in the case of David, the written torah (or the Bible more broadly) operates precisely like the heavenly tablets, so that the sin, if unwritten, is as good as forgiven, in Moses’ case, the torah has instead the character of a public document, so that the question of whether the sin is to be recorded or not impacts only public knowledge, not guilt.27

26 To return, for example, to the first text: The comment on Gen 38:26 in Sifre Num. 88 occurs immediately after a similar comment on Num 11:6–7. Numbers 11:6 is identified as Israel’s complaint about the manna, while Num 11:7 represents God’s defense of the manna, addressed to “all comers” (‫)כל באי העולם‬. Thus, within Sifre Num. 88, the recorded entry in Gen 38:26b structurally parallels the public announcement in Num 11:7. Another example, whose terminology is particularly striking, occurs in Sifre Num. 105 (Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 105): “R. Judah b. Bathyra said: One who claims that Aaron was afflicted (as Miriam was, in the incident reported in Numbers 12) will have to give an account. If the one-who-spoke-and-the-worldwas concealed on his behalf (‫)כסה עליו‬, will you be the one to reveal him (‫המגלה‬ ‫ ”?)עליו‬The locution ‫ כסה על‬occurs in Deut 13:9, and echoes in Neh 3:37, where ‫ ואל תכס על עונם‬parallels language characteristic of the heavenly tablets: ‫וחטאתם‬ ‫מלפניך אל תמחה‬. The locution also recalls Ps 32:1 ‫כסוי חטאה‬, the prooftext cited in Sifre Num. 137 for David’s request that his sin not be recorded. While ‫ כסה על‬contrasts with ‫ גלה על‬in Sifre Num. 105, where the publicity function is more prominent than the accounting function, its opposite in connection with the accounting function is arguably (‫הכתיב על )יד‬, the locution employed in Sifre Num. 88. R. Judah b. Bathyra’s claim makes manifest a tension between the conceptualization of the torah as public document and the exegetical impulse: the latter attempts to identify and fill narrative gaps, while the former implies that gaps are divinely intended, hence not to be filled. 27 Does David’s request meet with success? In Sifre Deut. 26 and Sifre Zuṭa Num. 27:14 it does not, but Sifre Num. 137 is silent. In any case, the notion that David sought to keep the sinful episode of Uriah and Bathsheba “off the record,” as it were, may shed light on a curious passage in CD 5:5–6: ‫ויעלו מעשי דויד מלבד דם אוריה‬ ‫ויעזבם לו אל‬. The second and third phrases are more or less clear (“save for the blood of Uriah, and God forgave him them”), but scholars have struggled to make sense of the first phrase, and in particular the verb ‫ויעלו‬. Charles (Apocrypha, 2:806) suggests: “now they glorified the deeds of David.” See likewise Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, DSSSE 1:557 (“and David’s deeds were praised”); Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, 2: Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents (ed. James H. Charleworth et al.; PTSDSSP; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 21 (“so David’s works were accepted”). Despite the resemblance of CD 5:5–6, on this approach, to 1 Kgs 15:5 (“For David had done what was pleasing to the Lord . . . except in the matter of Uriah the Hittite”), it is difficult to understand why praiseworthy or acceptable deeds should have to have been forgiven (assuming that the plural suffix ‫ ־ם‬of ‫ ויעזבם‬takes ‫מעשי‬ ‫ דויד‬as its antecedent, and not ‫דם‬, conceived as a collective plural). Moreover, as the text’s very aim is to excuse, while not endorsing, David’s marriages to multiple wives, it could hardly characterize all of David’s deeds save the Uriah incident—a set that includes these marriages—as praiseworthy. Menahem Kister (“Plucking on the Sabbath and Christian-Jewish Polemic,” Immanuel 24/25 [1990]: 35–51, at 39 n. 19) takes the text as claiming that David’s bad deeds (except the blood of Uriah) were

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I conclude this survey of the motif of torah as register with a variation thereof that offers a particularly close parallel for the interweaving of narrative and law in Jubilees. Sifre Num. 114 comments on the case of the man who gathered wood on the Sabbath (Numbers 15), where Moses consults with God to determine the proper penalty.28 ‫אמר ר׳ חידקא שמע׳ השקמוני היה לי חבר מתלמידי ר׳ עקיבה ואמר יודע‬ ‫היה משה שמקושש במיתה אבל לא היה יודע באי זו מיתה ימות ראויה‬ ‫היתה פרשת מקושש שתיכתב ]על ידי משה[ אלא שנתחייב מקושש ונכתב‬ ‫על ידו לכך מגלגלין זכות על ידי זכיי וחובה על ידי חייב‬ Said R. Ḥidqa: Shimon of Shikmona was a colleague of mine from among R. Akiva’s students, and he said: Moses knew that the woodgatherer was to die, but he didn’t know by what mode of execution. The section of the wood-gatherer was worthy to have been written on Moses’ account, but the wood-gatherer incurred liability and it was written on his account. Thus merit devolves through the meritorious, and liability through the liable.29

“wiped away,” or made to disappear. But if ‫ ויעלו‬itself describes the disappearance of David’s sins, then the subsequent notice of their forgiveness becomes superfluous. Gary A. Anderson (“The Status of the Torah Before Sinai: The Retelling of the Bible in the Damascus Covenant and the Book of Jubilees,” DSD 1 [1994]: 1–29, at 19) renders: “The deeds of David were reckoned [as inadvertent sins].” Hence his sins (again, aside from the blood of Uriah) could be forgiven. But on this approach, the crucial fact of inadvertence is left unmentioned. Let us suppose, instead, that ‫ויעלו‬ here carries the same meaning as ‫ ויעל‬earlier in the Damascus Document’s historical review, at CD 3:2 (see n. 11 supra), thus: David’s deeds were recorded on the heavenly tablets. The claim of CD 5:5–6 would then be that all of David’s bad deeds were entered, then forgiven, but the blood of Uriah did not enter the record in the first place. Reading 2 Sam 12:13–14 along the lines implicit in Sifre Num. 137 and parallel texts, the Damascus Document is arguably claiming that David’s repentance (with his son’s death) succeeded in altogether excluding the blood of Uriah from his heavenly account. On this approach, the text assumes that while unintentional sins alone can be erased from the record, it is possible to block the initial entry of intentional sins into one’s record. Even if one adopts the first approach, that the words ‫ויעלו מעשי דויד‬ signal praise of David’s deeds, one should probably take ‫ ויעלו‬as signaling entrance into a record, and understand the record as implicitly the one of “life,” or of good deeds. Cf. Exod 32:32, where God’s “book” is in fact specifically the book of life. 28 See Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 123. 29 The words ‫על ידי משה‬, missing from ms Vatican 32, are supplied from ms Oxford 151. The verb ‫מגלגלין‬, rendered here with “devolve,” appears to have an astrological connotation—cf. the noun ‫“ גלגל‬the sphere of the zodiac”—and thus recollects the determinative force of the heavenly tablets. Cf. the saying in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies 12.29.1, attributed to Jesus: “The good must come, but blessed is he through whom it comes. Likewise, too, it is necessary that the bad come, but woe to him through whom it comes.” On this saying—paralleled in Aphrahat’s Demonstrations and in the Manichaean Psalms—see Leslie L. Kline, The Sayings of Jesus in the PseudoClementine Homilies (Missoula: Society of Biblical Literature, 1975), 160–62.

the rabbis’ written torah and the heavenly tablets 599 The same comment occurs, mutatis mutandis, in connection with the other “oracular novellae” in the Pentateuch (the Second Passover in Numbers 9, the blasphemer in Leviticus 24, the daughters of Zelophehad in Numbers 27).30 A more general statement of the relationship between “sections” and the merit of those involved occurs in t. Yoma 4:12: ‫מגלגלין זכות על ידי זכיי לעמוד הימנו פרשיות של זכות הראויות לעמוד‬ ‫הימנו וחובה על ידי חייב לעמוד ממנו פרשיות של חובה הראויות לעמוד‬ ‫הימנו‬ Merit devolves through the meritorious, that sections of merit arise from him that are worthy to have arisen from him, and liability through the liable, that sections of liability arise from him that are worthy to have arisen from him.

The language of ‫ כתב על יד‬in the first of the two passages (Sifre Num. 114) recollects ‫ הכתיב על ידו‬in Sifre Num. 88 concerning Judah. Here, however, what is recorded does not concern the protagonist alone: it is law. A similar pattern is evident in Jubilees, where narrative regularly gives rise to law.31 I see no positive evidence in Jubilees for the rabbinic notion that the promulgation of a law itself constitutes (depending on the nature of the law) praise or condemnation of the character whose circumstances generate it. But Jubilees’ heavenly tablets, insofar as they embrace both verdicts about individuals, such as that concerning Abraham in Jub. 19:9, quoted above, and general laws that are topically related to these individuals’ actions, arguably anticipate this development.32

30 See, e.g., Sifre Num. 68 (Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 63); 133 (Horovitz, Siphre d’be Rab, 177); b. B. Batra 119a. In some of these cases, ‫ אמר‬occurs instead of ‫;כתב‬ cf. the quotation from Tg. Ps.-J. in n. 4 supra. For the term “oracular novella” see Simeon Chavel, “Law and Narrative in Four Oracular Novellae in the Pentateuch: Lev 24:10–23; Num 9:1–14; 15:32–36; 27:1–11” (Ph.D. diss.; Hebrew University, 2006). 31 See, e.g., Jub. 3:8–11; 4:1–6; 6. On the relationship between the narrative and legal passages in the book see Segal, Book of Jubilees, summarized in idem, “The Composition of Jubilees,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 22–35. 32 On the verdicts in the heavenly tablets see n. 10 supra.

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I have identified two commonalities between, on the one hand, the characterization of ‫ התורה והתעודה‬and the heavenly tablets in Jubilees and, on the other, the depiction of the written torah in rabbinic literature. First, as the word ‫ כן‬serves as an exegetical trigger for reference to the heavenly tablets in Jubilees, so in Sifre Num. 134, it is associated with the claim that the law of inheritance in Numbers 27 existed on high before God communicated it in response to Zelophehad’s daughters’ claim. Second, as the heavenly tablets serve as a register of decrees, whether concerning the fate of individuals or general laws, so the rabbis imagine the written torah as a register in which God records deeds and misdeeds, and in which he also unveils laws in connection with such deeds. The development from Jubilees to the rabbinic texts surveyed above attests to the disappearance, among the rabbis, of an exegetical function for the heavenly tablets. The heavenly tablets in rabbinic literature belong to the economy of divine justice (especially in relation to the New Year and the Day of Atonement); they have little or no place in the house of study.33 The rabbis’ written torah is explicated by no other writing than the written torah itself. Hence exegetical motifs and functions associated in Jubilees with the heavenly tablets migrate in rabbinic literature to the written torah.

33

See Paul, “Heavenly Tablets,” 350–52.

DEMONS OF CHANGE: THE TRANSFORMATIONAL ROLE OF THE ANTAGONIST IN THE APOCALYPSE OF ABRAHAM* Andrei A. Orlov The Apocalypse of Abraham, a Jewish pseudepigraphon written in the first centuries c.e., baffles its readers’ imaginations with a plethora of sacerdotal motifs. From its very first lines, this enigmatic text strives to portray young Abraham and his relatives as cultic servants performing priestly duties in a sanctuary filled with idolatrous statues. The readers of the text soon recognize that its peculiar cultic concerns permeate the fabric of the entire pseudepigraphon. Indeed, its authors appear to assign specific cultic roles to almost all of the story’s characters. As the narrative progresses, and the deity removes the young hero of the faith from the defiled house of worship and sets him on a celestial journey to the true sanctuary in heaven, new characters endowed with sacerdotal functions begin to enter the story. The most spectacular cultic responsibilities are given to Abraham’s celestial guide, the angel Yahoel, whom the text envisions as the heavenly high priest and the celestial choir-master of the living creatures. Both his peculiar liturgical duties vis-à-vis the throne room’s angelic creatures and his bold access to the divine presence reveal Yahoel’s status as a very special celebrant ministering in the celestial sanctuary. As has been noted before, some of Yahoel’s actions are reminiscent of the cultic acts of the high priest, that singularly unique sacerdotal servant who was able to enter the divine presence in the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur. Indeed it seems, in light of the striking panoply of priestly motifs in the Apocalypse of Abraham, that its authors had not forgotten this central sacerdotal ordinance of the Jewish tradition—a major cultic event laden with portentous revelatory opportunities. As the story develops, and Yahoel leads his human apprentice, Abraham, into the celestial Holy of Holies located in the upper heaven, the cluster

* It is a source of great pleasure to be able to contribute an article for a volume honoring Professor James VanderKam, a scholar from whom I have learned so much.

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of motifs pertaining to this special atoning rite become more and more distinctive. Scholars have noted previously that the instructions Yahoel conveys to Abraham invoke the memory of peculiar symbolic actions and rituals which took place on the Day of Atonement.1 Moreover, it has even been suggested that in chapters 13 and 14 Yahoel performs the climactic action of the atoning ceremony on Yom Kippur, that is, the enigmatic scapegoat ritual, by which impurity was transferred onto a goat named Azazel and then, through him, dispatched into the wilderness.2 Yet despite striking similarities with Yom Kippur traditions found in biblical and rabbinic accounts, the authors of the Slavonic apocalypse strive to refashion the ancient rite in accordance with a new apocalyptic outlook, which sees the earthly version of the atoning ritual as a reflection of celestial and eschatological realities. In this perspective, one may recognize a new cosmic dimension of the atoning ordinance, which is envisioned in the Slavonic text as the eschatological Yom Kippur. That we find this emphasis on the heavenly and eschatological dimensions of the sacerdotal symbolism in a transitional text like the Apocalypse of Abraham is no coincidence. It was written during

1 See, for example, C. Fletcher-Louis, “The Revelation of the Sacral Son of Man,” in Auferstehung-Resurrection. The Fourth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium: Resurrection, Transfiguration and Exaltation in Old Testament, Ancient Judaism, and Early Christianity (Tübingen, 1999) (ed. F. Avemarie and H. Lichtenberger; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 282; L. L. Grabbe, “The Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation,” JSJ 18 (1987): 165–79, esp. 157; R. Helm, “Azazel in Early Jewish Literature,” Andrews University Seminary Papers 32 (1994): 217–226, esp. 223; B. Lourié, “Propitiatorium in the Apocalypse of Abraham,” in The Old Testament Apocrypha in the Slavonic Tradition: Continuity and Diversity (ed. L. DiTommaso and C. Böttrich, with the assistance of M. Swoboda; TSAJ 140; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 267–77; A. A. Orlov, “Eschatological Yom Kippur in the Apocalypse of Abraham. Part I. The Scapegoat Ritual,” in Symbola Caelestis. Le symbolisme liturgique et paraliturgique dans le monde chrétien (Scrinium 5; ed. A. Orlov and B. Lourié; Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2009), 79–111; D. Stökl Ben Ezra, “Yom Kippur in the Apocalyptic Imaginaire and the Roots of Jesus’ High Priesthood: Yom Kippur in Zechariah 3, 1 Enoch 10, 11QMelkizedeq, Hebrews and the Apocalypse of Abraham 13,” in Transformations of the Inner Self in Ancient Religions (ed. J. Assman and G. Stroumsa; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 349–366; idem, “The Biblical Yom Kippur, the Jewish Fast of the Day of Atonement and the Church Fathers,” StPatr 34 (2002): 493–502; idem, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity: The Day of Atonement from Second Temple Judaism to the Fifth Century (WUNT 163; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 94. 2 Orlov, “Eschatological Yom Kippur in the Apocalypse of Abraham. Part I. The Scapegoat Ritual,” 79–111.

demons of change

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a unique period in Jewish history, when apocalyptic authors, faced with a wide array of challenges stemming from the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, embraced various theological alternatives for preserving and perpetuating traditional priestly practices. When it envisions heaven as the true place of worship, and depicts Abraham as an adept of the heavenly priestly praxis entering the celestial Holy of Holies, the Apocalypse of Abraham evinces one such sacerdotal option. Veiled symbolism, which reveals both apocalyptic and sacerdotal realities, accompanies the seer’s cultic entrance into heaven. Thus in the Apocalypse of Abraham, as in many other Jewish pseudepigraphical narratives, the hero’s entrance into the sacred realm coincides with his peculiar transformation as celebrant of the celestial liturgy. This metamorphosis, hinted at symbolically via the change in Abraham’s ontological garments, was often taken to mark the transition from an earthly to a celestial condition. Here, as in the Yom Kippur ordinance, the metamorphosis of the celebrant’s wardrobe is the pinnacle of transformational experience. Although previous studies have explored many facets of the Yom Kippur imagery in the Apocalypse of Abraham, sufficient attention has not yet been paid to the peculiar metamorphoses which the story’s (human and angelic) protagonists and antagonists seem to experience in the course of their participation in the drama of the eschatological Yom Kippur ritual. The present study aims to further explore the Yom Kippur traditions in the Slavonic apocalypse by paying special attention to the transformational aspects of this enigmatic atoning ritual. Lost Attire The Apocalypse of Abraham can be divided into two parts. The first, a “haggadic” section (chs. 1–8), depicts the young hero of the faith as a paladin against his father Terah’s idolatrous statues. The second, an “apocalyptic” section (which occupies the work’s remaining chapters), describes Abraham as he prepares for his heavenly journey, progresses into the abode of the deity, and acquires eschatological mysteries. This second section unveils one of the most important dynamics to be found in the Jewish apocalyptic accounts. In this conceptual framework, both positive and negative characters progress into the respective realms of their eschatological opponents, and frequently assume the roles and

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offices of their counterparts.3 In such accounts, a seer and his demoted opponent(s) often confront each other on their journeys to their new habitats.4 Apocalypse of Abraham 13, where Abraham encounters his eschatological antagonist in the form of the fallen angel Azazel, may represent a crossroads in the text of this dynamic of exaltation and demotion. In the course of this encounter, Abraham’s angelus interpres, Yahoel, informs both parties that the celestial garment of the demoted angel must now be transferred to a new owner—the translated hero of the faith. Thus Apoc. Ab. 13:7–14 reads: Reproach is on you, Azazel! Since Abraham’s portion is in heaven, and yours is on earth, since you have chosen it and desired it to be the dwelling place of your impurity. . . . For behold, the garment which in heaven was formerly yours has been set aside for him, and the corruption which was on him has gone over to you. (Apoc. Ab. 13:7–14)5

The pivotal transformational motif invoked in this passage—namely, the promise of new attire to the translated hero—signifies not merely a rather unusual expansion of the patriarch’s wardrobe, but his ontological transition from the form of a human being to the status of celestial citizen. Such endowments with celestial attire are not unusual in apocalyptic literature. Seers often receive angelic garments. In 2 Enoch 22, for example, Enoch is clothed with a luminous angelic garment, which makes his body similar to the glorious bodies of the angelic servants. Such a metamorphosis is of great anthropological significance:

3 This peculiar dynamic of apocalyptic accounts is already present in early Enochic booklets, where the antagonists represented by the fallen angels assume a wide array of human roles on earth, while a human protagonist—Enoch—assumes their celestial and priestly offices in the heavenly realm. 4 One of the instances of such an encounter between exalted hero and demoted antagonists can be found in 2 Enoch, where the seventh antediluvian patriarch meets, on his celestial journey, a group of incarcerated watchers in the second heaven. On this tradition see A. Orlov, “The Watchers of Satanail: The Fallen Angels Traditions in 2 (Slavonic) Enoch,” in Divine Manifestations in the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha (ed. Orlov; Orientalia Judaica Christiana 2; Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2009), 237–68; repr. in The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. A. K. Harkins, J. Endres, and K. Coblentz Bautch; CBQMS; Washington D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, forthcoming 2012). 5 All citations of Apoc. Ab. in this essay are taken from the translation by A. Kulik in Retroverting Slavonic Pseudepigrapha: Toward the Original of the Apocalypse of Abraham (SBL Text-critical Studies 3; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004; repr. Leiden: Brill, 2005), here 20.

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it signals a return to the original luminosity the first humans lost after their transgression in Eden. In the Apocalypse of Abraham the hero’s transition also seems to invoke the memory of the protological story in which the luminous clothes of the heavenly beings were exchanged for garments of skin. Abraham’s endowment with angelic garments may, therefore, signal an eschatological return to the Protoplast’s original condition. Several of the text’s students have, in fact, noted this possibility. Louis Ginzberg, for one, suggested the possible Adamic background and pointed to parallels in the targumic materials and in Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 20.6 Indeed, the transference of a garment from the demoted angelic antagonist to an exalted human protagonist is an important theme throughout the Adamic lore. Some of the currents within this tradition entertain the unusual notion that even the original, luminous garments of the first humans had come from a demoted celestial being. This can be seen, for example, in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Gen 3:21, a passage which treats the etiology of the first humans’ luminous attire. According to this targumic interpretation, the original humans were endowed with luminous garments that had been stripped from the serpent: And the Lord God made garments of glory for Adam and for his wife from the skin which the serpent had cast off (to be worn) on the skin of their (garments of ) fingernails of which they had been stripped, and he clothed them.7

Later midrashim are also aware of the enigmatic provenance of the protoplasts’ luminous garments; thus, for example, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 20 reads: Rabbi Eliezer said: From skins which the serpent sloughed off, the Holy One, blessed be He, took and made coats of glory for Adam and his wife, as it is said, “And the Lord God made for Adam and his wife coats of skin, and clothed them.”8

6

See L. Ginzberg, “Apocalypse of Abraham,” Jewish Encyclopedia 1:91–92; esp. 92. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis (trans. M. Maher, M.S.C.; AB, 1B; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1992), 29. Later rabbinic traditions also hold that the glorious garments of Adam and Eve were made from the skin of the female Leviathan. 8 Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer (trans. G. Friedlander; 2d ed.; New York: Hermon Press, 1965), 144. 7

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These passages seem to unveil the dynamic of exaltation and demotion noted above; they suggest that the protagonist’s apotheosis, signaled through his acquisition of luminous attire, comes as a result of the denigration of the erstwhile favorite, who is now stripped of his exalted status. While the new possessors of exalted status are drawn, by the will of God, to their dignified abodes, their antagonistic counterparts are forced into exile from their elevated domiciles. The tradition of the first humans’ clothes of glory, mentioned in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, is important for our study. The motif of Abraham’s endowment with a garment stripped from the fallen angel cannot be properly understood without exploring the array of traditions associated with Adamic clothing metaphors—a seminal conceptual cluster whose roots can be traced already to some biblical developments.9 The Glory of the Fallen Angel The biblical Adamic tradition represents, in many ways, the formative bedrock of the later apocalyptic and mystical developments; this tradition centers on the eschatological re-clothing of the translated patriarchs and prophets, who change the attire of their ontological conditions often at their opponents’ expense. In the Adamic lore one also finds the roots of the peculiar etiology, noted above, according to which the first humans themselves received their unique status, manifested in luminous garments, as a result of the demotion of an exalted angelic being which fell out of favor with the deity. In these traditions, the Protoplast literally takes the place, glory, and garments of the demoted angelic antagonist. One of the early specimens of such a tradition can be found again in the Primary Adam Books, where Satan’s removal from his special glorious place is set in conceptual symmetry with the creation and exaltation of Adam. Moreover, the very fact of the first human’s entrance into the world serves, in this text, as the reason for Satan’s dismissal; several versions of the Life of Adam and Eve connect Satan’s removal from his exalted

9

One such cryptic allusion to the Protoplast’s glorious garments can possibly be found in Ezekiel 28, which tells the story of a glorious being, originally installed in the Garden of Eden but then forcefully expelled from this lofty location. The text describes the peculiar garment of this being as decorated with precious stones and gold.

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dwelling with his refusal to bow down before the deity’s newly created favorite. Thus, for example, in the Armenian version of the Life of Adam and Eve 12:1–16:2, the infamous celestial rebel himself describes the reason for his dramatic exile from the throne of the cherubim and the dwelling of light: Satan also wept loudly and said to Adam. “All my arrogance and sorrow came to pass because of you; for, because of you I went forth from my dwelling; and because of you I was alienated from the throne of the cherubs who, having spread out a shelter, used to enclose me; because of you my feet have trodden the earth. . . . Thereupon, God became angry with me and commanded to expel us from our dwelling and to cast me and my angels, who were in agreement with me, to the earth; and you were at the same time in the Garden. When I realized that because of you I had gone forth from the dwelling of light and was in sorrows and pains.”10

This enigmatic passage graphically reveals the origins of the longlasting drama of competition and revenge that will later overshadow the whole history of humankind. Yet it also hints at the mysterious dynamics of the celestial realm, a hierarchical world where the rise of the deity’s new favorite almost inevitably leads to demise of the old, who now must surrender his unique status, reflected in his garment, to his replacement. It would seem that this unique wardrobe, which signifies the distinctive status of the servant vis-à-vis the Divinity, cannot be divided among many. In the Life of Adam and Eve, Satan repeatedly describes his original condition through metaphors of glory and light. These are precisely the formulae often used in the Primary Adam Books to describe first humans’ celestial attire. Thus, in the Latin version of the aforementioned text (12:1–16:2), the adversary describes his lost condition through the symbolism of glory: O Adam, all my enmity, jealousy, and resentment is towards you, since on account of you I was expelled and alienated from my glory (gloria mea), which I had in heaven in the midst of the angels. Then the Lord God grew angry with me and sent me forth with my angels from our glory (gloria nostra). On account of you we were expelled from our dwelling into this world and cast out upon the earth. Immediately we

10 A Synopsis of the Books of Adam and Eve (ed. G. A. Anderson, M. E. Stone; 2d rev. ed.; SBLEJL 17; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 15E–18E.

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andrei a. orlov were in grief, since we had been despoiled of so much glory (gloria), and we grieved to see you in such a great happiness of delights.11

The demoted antagonist’s alienation from his former glorious state, then, is several times set in parallel to the exaltation and gifts given to the Protoplast: “since we had been despoiled of so much glory ( gloria), and we grieved to see you in such a great happiness of delights.”12 Priestly Garments of Abraham It is now time to return to the Apocalypse of Abraham, where the transference of Azazel’s angelic garment to the patriarch reflects similar conceptual developments. Scholars have previously noted that the details in the enigmatic story of Abraham’s changing wardrobe also seem to invoke traditions from several biblical prophetic texts. Recall that in Apocalypse of Abraham 13 Abraham is caught up in an arcane interaction between the demon Azazel and the angel Yahoel. Azazel attempts to discourage Abraham from ascending into the celestial realm, warning him that he will be destroyed there by fire, while Yahoel tries to strengthen the will of Abraham and rebuke the demon. That fact that Abraham stands between two celestial figures, one of whom is a good angel and the other his evil counterpart, is reminiscent of the account in Zechariah 3, where the high priest Joshua is depicted as standing between two spirits.13 In Zechariah, as in the

11 Ibid., 15–18E. On the Latin version of the Primary Adam Books, see also W. Meyer, “Vita Adae et Evae,” Abhandlungen der königlichen Bayerischen Akademie des Wissenschaften, Philosoph.-philologische Klasse 14 (1878): 185–250. 12 A Synopsis of the Books of Adam and Eve, 18–18E. 13 Marc Philonenko, analyzing the symmetrical nature of the positions of Yahoel and Azazel in the Apocalypse of Abraham, notes the peculiarity of the interaction between these two spirits, one good and one malevolent. He notices that their contention does not occur directly but rather through a medium of a human being— Abraham. In the Slavonic pseudepigraphon, Abraham thus becomes a place of the battle between two spiritual forces. Philonenko sees in such struggle a peculiar mold of the dualism present also in a Qumran material known to scholars as the Instruction on the Two Spirits (1QS 3:13–4:26), where the Prince of Lights and the Angel of Darkness are fighting in the heart of man. Philonenko-Sayar and Philonenko, L’Apocalypse d’Abraham. Introduction, texte slave, traduction et notes (Semitica 31; Paris: Librairie Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1981), 31–32. The unique position of Abraham, standing between Azazel and the Name of God (Yahoel), evokes the memory of the Yom Kippur ritual, where the high priest stood between two earthly counterparts of these celestial realities: the scapegoat and the goat for the Name of the Lord. See

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Slavonic apocalypse, distinctive priestly concerns are conflated with the motif of the change of garments; thus Zechariah 3–4 reads: Then he showed me the high priest Joshua standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the Lord said to Satan, “The Lord rebuke you, O Satan! The Lord who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this man a brand plucked from the fire?” Now Joshua was dressed with filthy clothes as he stood before the angel. The angel said to those who were standing before him, “Take off his filthy clothes.” And to him he said, “See, I have taken your guilt away from you, and I will clothe you with festal apparel.” And I said, “Let them put a clean turban on his head.” So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him with the apparel; and the angel of the Lord was standing by. Then the angel of the Lord assured Joshua, saying “Thus says the Lord of hosts: If you will walk in my ways and keep my requirements, then you shall rule my house and have charge of my courts, and I will give you the right of access among those who are standing here. Now listen, Joshua, high priest, you and your colleagues who sit before you! For they are an omen of things to come: I am going to bring my servant the Branch. For on the stone that I have set before Joshua, on a single stone with seven facets, I will engrave its inscription, says the Lord of hosts, and I will remove the guilt of this land in a single day. On that day, says the Lord of hosts, you shall invite each other to come under your vine and fig tree.” The angel who talked with me came again, and wakened me, as one is wakened from sleep. He said to me, “What do you see?” And I said, “I see a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl on the top of it; there are seven lamps on it, with seven lips on each of the lamps that are on the top of it. And by it there are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and the other on its left.” (nrsv)

In this striking passage we find a description of the priestly initiation in which a high priest receives the pure garment. This invokes the memory of other cultic initiations in Jewish apocalyptic texts, like Testament of Levi 8 and 2 Enoch 22, where the exalted patriarchs receive priestly robes. Like Zechariah 3, these texts allude to the anthropological significance of priestly initiation, which symbolizes return to the original condition of the Protoplast by stripping the filthy garments of fallen humanity. The parallels between Zechariah 3–4 and the Apoc. Ab. 13–14 allow us to better understand the sacerdotal context of the Slavonic account, and its connection with the Day of Atonement. Indeed, as Daniel Stökl

R. Rubinkiewitz, Die Eschatologie von Henoch 9–11 und das Neue Testament, 101–102; 110–113; Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity, 94.

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Ben Ezra has observed, in comparison it seems that the Apocalypse of Abraham develops the cultic imagery more decisively: “compared to Zechariah 3, the Apocalypse of Abraham embellishes the Yom Kippur imagery.”14 Unlike Zechariah, where the soiled garment of the priestly figure is simply exchanged for the pure one, in the Apocalypse of Abraham the transformational pattern appears to be more radical; it involves the memory of the specific context of the Yom Kippur ritual, where the scapegoat took upon itself humanity’s defilement. In the Apocalypse of Abraham, the priestly initiate’s soiled garments are not simply, as in Zechariah, exchanged for pure ones. They are transferred to Azazel. This evokes the cathartic nature of the Yom Kippur ritual, in which the sin of humanity was transferred to the scapegoat. The Apocalypse of Abraham 13 graphically underlines this exchange: And he said to him, “Reproach is on you, Azazel! Since Abraham’s portion is in heaven, and yours is on earth. . . . For behold, the garment which in heaven was formerly yours has been set aside for him, and the corruption which was on him has gone over to you.” (Apoc. Ab. 13:7–14)

David Halperin previously reflected on the importance of the motif of the wardrobe-exchange between positive and negative characters: [W]e see here the theme, which we have already met in the stories of Enoch in the Book of the Watchers and of Adam in the “Apocalypse of Moses,” of the exaltation of the human and the degradation of the angel corresponding to each other and to some extent depending on each other. If Azazel can persuade Abraham not to make his ascent, he will perhaps be able to keep his own privileged status.15

It should be stressed again that the connections between the initiation scenes in Apoc. Ab. and Zechariah are important since they help to illumine the priestly nature of the peculiar transitions that the hero of the faith undergoes immediately before his entrance into the throne room in the upper heaven, the sacred locale envisioned in the text as the celestial counterpart of the earthy Holy of Holies.16

14

Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity, 94. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot, 111. 16 The previous studies of the Apocalypse of Abraham suggested that the seer’s entrance into the celestial realm reveals the cultic dimension and is envisioned as a visitation of the heavenly temple. In this respect, Himmelfarb (Ascent to Heaven, 66) observes that: the heaven of the Apocalypse of Abraham is clearly a temple. Abraham sacrifices in order to ascend to heaven, then ascends by means of the sacrifice, and joins 15

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Scholars have lamented the apparent dearth of decisively priestly transformation in the Apocalypse of Abraham.17 Yet I think Martha Himmelfarb is right when she suggests that the promise of a garment given to a seer immediately before his entrance into heaven fulfills, in this text, the function of the actual re-clothing. Although “Abraham does not undergo a transformation as explicit as that of Enoch, Isaiah, or Zephaniah,” he “is never actually provided with a garment”; rather, “he has been promised one.”18 From Sacrificial Animal to Fallen Angel On the basis of our previous investigation it seems that the transformation of the patriarch in the Apocalypse of Abraham depends in many ways on the peculiar changes affecting his antagonistic counterpart— the fallen angel Azazel. The exaltation of the one depends on the demotion of the other, who had once prospered in an elevated domicile but is now forcefully expelled from this domain. As with entrance into the upper realm, removal too is laden with profound changes in the spiritual and physical states of the characters. Like the heroes of the apocalyptic accounts who undergo spectacular metamorphoses preparing them for the novel conditions of their newly acquired celestial domains, the metamorphoses of the antagonists have an ontological significance, foreshadowing the fate of the deity’s former favorites

in the heavenly liturgy to protect himself during the ascent. . . . The depiction of heaven as a temple confirms the importance of the earthly temple. The prominence of the heavenly liturgy lends importance to the liturgy of words on earth, which at the time of the apocalypse provided a substitute for sacrifice, a substitute that in the apocalypse’s view was to be temporary. 17 Yet the repeated references to a seer’s encounter with fire appear to be significant for the authors of the pseudepigraphon, who envision fire as a theophanic substance surrounding the very presence of the deity. Thus, later in the text Abraham’s transition into the divine realm is described as his entering into the fire. Cf., for example, Apoc. Ab. 15:3: “And he carried me up to the edge of the fiery flame”; also Apoc. Ab. 17:1: “And while he was still speaking, behold, a fire was coming toward us round about, and a sound was in the fire like a sound of many waters, like a sound of the sea in its uproar.” Could the promise of a celestial garment to the patriarch in the Apocalypse of Abraham signify here, as in many other apocalyptic accounts, that his “mortal” body must be “altered” in the fiery metamorphosis? On this point, it should be noted that the entrance of a visionary into a fire and his fiery transformation represent common apocalyptic motifs found in texts ranging from Daniel 3 to 3 Enoch, where Enoch undergoes the fiery metamorphosis that turns him into the supreme angel Metatron. 18 Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven, 64.

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now transported, by the will of the Creator, into the lower realms. From this negative transformation, often conveyed in detail in various pseudepigraphical accounts, readers gain insight into the peculiar refashioning of the celestial garments of the demoted antagonists who undergo transitions into new forms suited to their exilic realms. By observing these ominous changes in the antihero (who, paradoxically, mocks the protagonist’s metamorphosis) readers of the visionary accounts gaze into the logic of a kind of negative transformational mysticism.19 This process plays an important role in apocalyptic stories as an apophatic reaffirmation of the hero’s transformative motifs. The complexity of the negative routine endured by the demoted agents should not be underestimated. The acquisition of the novel ontological garments bestowed on an antagonist is often surrounded with the most recondite and puzzling imagery to be found in the apocalyptic accounts. These accounts offer the eyes of their beholders a plethora of cryptic depictions, in which the composite physiques of the demoted heroes often represent a bizarre mixture of demonic and heavenly attributes. This hybrid nature of the negative heroes’ visible manifestations suggests that, despite their exile into the lower realms, these formerly celestial creatures were never intended to function as the harmonious inhabitants of their newly acquired environments; rather, they were predestined to become the agents of a foreboding, corrupting change—a change often fatal to the realms of their exile. In this respect, it is no coincidence that in the Slavonic apocalypse (as in many other pseudepigraphical accounts dealing with the demotion of fallen angels) so much attention should be spent on depictions of Azazel’s various transitional shapes, the portrayals that represent creative improvisations on the theme of the corruption of an antagonist’s original celestial form. Thus already in his debut at Apoc. Ab. 13, Azazel is designated as an “impure bird,” a sobriquet which, in the peculiar symbolic code of the apocalypse’s pteromorphic angelology, points to the corruption of his celestial form.20 This reference to an angelic form of the antagonist brings us again to the cluster of sacerdotal motifs associated with apocalyptic reinterpretation of the Yom Kippur festival. 19

On transformational mysticism, see C. R. A. Morray-Jones, “Transformational Mysticism in the Apocalyptic-Merkabah Tradition,” JJS 43 (1992): 1–31. 20 On the pteromorphic angelology of the Apocalypse of Abraham, see A. Orlov, “The Pteromorphic Angelology of the Apocalypse of Abraham,” CBQ 72 (2009): 830–42.

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It has been noted that the sacerdotal context of the atoning ordinance seems to affect the chief antagonist’s complex profile in the Slavonic apocalypse. In this text, allusions to Yom Kippur seem to have been reshaped deeply by the Enochic apocalyptic reinterpretation of the scapegoat ritual; its antagonist, the scapegoat Azazel, is envisioned not as a sacrificial animal but as a demoted heavenly being. In the Book of the Watchers, the scapegoat rite receives a striking angelological reinterpretation; it merges the peculiar dynamic of the sacrificial ritual with the story of its main antagonist, the fallen angel Asael. 1 Enoch 10:4–7 brings us to the very heart of this conceptual development: And further the Lord said to Raphael: “Bind Azazel by his hands and his feet, and throw him into the darkness. And split open the desert which is in Dudael, and throw him there. And throw on him jagged and sharp stones, and cover him with darkness; and let him stay there for ever, and cover his face, that he may not see light, and that on the great day of judgment he may be hurled into the fire. And restore the earth which the angels have ruined, and announce the restoration of the earth, for I shall restore the earth.”21

Scholars have previously pointed to the fact that several details in the account of Asael’s punishment are reminiscent of the scapegoat ritual.22 Lester Grabbe’s research outlines the specific parallels between 21 All citations of 1 Enoch follow the translation by M. A. Knibb and E. Ullendorff, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea fragments (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon; New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 2:87–88. 22 R. H. Charles, The Book of Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1893), 72; D. Dimant, The Fallen Angels in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Related Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha (Ph.D. diss.; The Hebrew University in Jerusalem, 1974) [Hebrew]; idem, “1 Enoch 6–11: A Methodological Perspective,” SBLSP (1978): 323–39; A. Geiger, “Zu den Apokryphen,” Jüdische Zeitschrift für Wissenschaft und Leben 3 (1864): 196– 204; Grabbe, “Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation,” 165–79; P. Hanson, “Rebellion in Heaven, Azazel, and Euhemeristic Heroes in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 195–233; Helm, “Azazel in Early Jewish Literature,” 217–226; G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 383–405; R. Rubinkiewicz, Die Eschatologie von Henoch 9–11 und das Neue Testament (trans. H. Ulrich; Osterreichische Biblische Studien 6; Klosterneuberg, 1984), 88–89; D. Stökl Ben Ezra, “Yom Kippur in the Apocalyptic Imaginaire and the Roots of Jesus’ High Priesthood,” 349–66; idem, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity, 85–88; D. C. Olson, “1 Enoch,” in Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible (ed. J. D. G. Dunn and J. W. Rogerson; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 904–41, esp. 910; C. Fletcher-Louis, “The Aqedah and the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36),” in Studies in Jewish Prayer (ed. R. Hayward and B. Embry; JSSSup 17; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 1–33, esp. 24.

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the Asael narrative in 1 Enoch and the wording of Leviticus 16, which include: (1) the similarity of the names Asael and Azazel; (2) the punishment in the desert; (3) the placing of sin on Asael/Azazel; and (4) the resultant healing of the land.23 Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra supports this position; he observes that “the punishment of the demon resembles the treatment of the goat in aspects of geography, action, time and purpose.”24 Moreover, the place of Asael’s punishment, designated in 1 Enoch as Dudael, also recalls the rabbinic terminology used for the designation of the ravine of the scapegoat in subsequent interpretations of the Yom Kippur ritual. Several Qumran materials also seem to be aware of this angelological reinterpretation of the scapegoat figure; they choose to depict Azazel as the eschatological leader of the fallen angels, and thus incorporate him into the story of the Watchers’ rebellion.25 Later rabbinic materials also link the sacrificial animal known from the scapegoat ritual to the story of the angelic rebels.26

23

Grabbe, “The Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation,” 153. Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity, 87. 25 Thus, 4Q180 1 i 1–10 reads: “Interpretation concerning the ages which God has made: An age to conclude [all that there is] and all that will be. Before creating them he determined [their] operations [according to the precise sequence of the ages,] one age after another age. And this is engraved on the [heavenly] tablets [for the sons of men,] [for] /[a]ll/ the ages of their dominion. This is the sequence of the son[s of Noah, from Shem to Abraham,] [unt]il he sired Isaac; the ten [generations . . .] [. . .] Blank [. . .] [And] interpretation concerning ‘Azaz’el and the angels wh[o came to the daughters of man] [and s]ired themselves giants. And concerning ‘Azaz’el [is written . . .] [to love] injustice and to let him inherit evil for all [his] ag[e . . .] [. . .] (of the) judgments and the judgment of the council of [. . .].’ Lester Grabbe points to another important piece of evidence—a fragmentary text from the Book of Giants found at Qumran (4Q203). In this document the punishment for all the sins of the fallen angels is placed on Azazel. 4Q203 7 ii 1–7 reads: ‘[. . .] . . . [. . .] and [yo]ur power [. . .] Blank Th[en] ’Ohyah [said] to Hahy[ah, his brother . . .] Then he punished, and not us, [bu] t Aza[ze]l and made [him . . . the sons of ] Watchers, the Giants; and n[o]ne of [their] be[loved] will be forgiven [. . .] . . . he has imprisoned us and has captured yo[u];” (trans. taken from DSSSE, 1:411). 26 Thus, for example, b. Yoma 67b records the following tradition: “The School of R. Ishmael taught: Azazel—[it was so called] because it obtains atonement for the affair of Uza and Aza’el,” see The Babylonian Talmud. Yoma (ed. I. Epstein; London: Soncino, 1938), 316. On the afterlife of the Asael/Azazel tradition see A. Y. Reed, “From Asael and Šemihazah to Uzzah, Azzah, and Azael: 3 Enoch 5 (§§7–8) and Jewish Reception-History of 1 Enoch,” JSQ 8 (2001) 105–36; idem, What the Fallen Angels Taught: The Reception-History of the Book of the Watchers in Judaism and Christianity (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 2002); idem, Fallen Angels and the history of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 24

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Nevertheless, for our study the evidence of the early Enochic materials plays the most important role. In this respect, it is important to note that Asael’s transformation into an animal is not limited solely to the Book of the Watchers. The same imagery also occupies an important place in the Animal Apocalypse, which depicts the fall of the Watchers as the mutation of stars into animals.27 In this Enochic booklet, the theriomorphism of the former angels is juxtaposed with the angelomorphism of Noah28 and Moses,29 whose bodies undergo an inverse refashioning that transforms them from animals into humans. In the peculiar symbolic code of this apocalyptic work, this imagery signals the fact that Noah and Moses have thus acquired angelic bodies. The Garment of Darkness In the aforementioned passage about the binding of Asael during the sacrificial ritual in the desert (1 Enoch 10) we find an intriguing tradition about clothing the demon with darkness: And throw on him jagged and sharp stones, and cover him with darkness; and let him stay there for ever, and cover his face, that he may not see light, and that on the great day of judgment he may be hurled into the fire. (1 En. 10:5–6)30

The antagonist’s covering with darkness is a pertinent motif for our investigation, as it may represent a conceptual correlative to the hero’s clothing with light. Asael’s covering with darkness appear to be a sort of counterpart to the garment of light which Enoch receives in heaven.

27 Cf. 1 En. 86:1–4: “And again I looked with my eyes as I was sleeping, and I saw heaven above, and behold, a star fell from heaven, and its arose and ate and pastured amongst those bulls. . . . And again I saw in the vision and I looked at heaven, and behold, I saw many stars, how they came down and were thrown down from heaven to that first star, and amongst those heifers and bulls; they were with them, pasturing amongst them. And I looked at them and saw and behold, all of them let out their private parts like horses and began to mount the cows of the bulls, and they all became pregnant and bore elephants and camels and asses.” 28 Cf. 1 En. 89:1: “He was born a bull, but became a man, and built for himself a large vessel and dwelt on it.” 29 Cf. 1 En. 89:36: “And I looked there at the vision until that sheep became a man, and built a house for the Lord of the sheep, and made all the sheep stand in that house.” 30 Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2:87–88.

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This ominous attire deprives its wearer from receiving the divine light—the source of life for all God’s creatures. That it is the face of the demon which is thus clothed with darkness may recall a series of transformational motifs involving, respectively, God’s Panim and the panim of the visionary. This terminology is quite well known in Jewish apocalyptic literature. It does not merely designate the protagonist’s or deity’s visage per se, but symbolizes their complete covering with luminous attire. The Impure Bird The Enochic demonological template factors significantly in the Apocalypse of Abraham, which envisions Azazel, like the Enochic antagonist, as a fallen angelic being. Indeed, the Azazel narrative of this later apocalypse reflects several peculiar details from the Enochic myth of the fallen angels as described in the Book of the Watchers.31 Thus Ryszard Rubinkiewicz has argued that the author of the Apocalypse of Abraham follows the tradition of 1 Enoch 1–36. The chief of the fallen angels is Azazel, who rules the stars and most men. It is not difficult to find here the tradition of Genesis 6:1–4 developed according to the tradition of 1 Enoch. Azazel is the head of the angels who plotted against the Lord and who impregnated the daughters of men. These angels are compared to the stars. Azazel revealed the secrets of heaven and is banished to the desert. Abraham, as Enoch, receives the power to drive away Satan. All these connections show that the author of the Apocalypse of Abraham drew upon the tradition of 1 Enoch.32

In the Slavonic apocalypse, as in the Enochic and Qumran materials, Azazel is clearly no longer a sacrificial animal, but an angelic being. Already in his first appearance at Apoc. Ab. 13:3–4, the text depicts Azazel as an unclean or impure bird (Slav. птица нечистая).33 In the

31 B. Philonenko-Sayar and M. Philonenko, L’Apocalypse d’Abraham. Introduction, texte slave, traduction et notes, 31–33; R. Rubinkiewicz, L’Apocalypse d’Abraham en vieux slave. Édition critique du texte, introduction, traduction et commentaire (Towarzystwo Naukowe Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego: Źródła i monografie 129; Lublin: Lublin Société des Lettres et des Sciences de l’Univ. Catholique de Lublin, 1987), 50. 32 R. Rubinkiewicz, “Apocalypse of Abraham,” OTP 1:681–705, at 685. 33 Apoc. Ab. 13:3–4: “And an impure bird flew down on the carcasses, and I drove it away. And the impure bird spoke to me.” The reference to the impurity of the ‘bird’

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pteromorphic angelological code of the Apocalypse of Abraham, which portrays Yahoel with the body of a griffin, Azazel’s bird-like appearance signals his possession of an angelic form. This angelic shape appears to be compromised and soiled, which renders it impure. It is not entirely clear, in this context, if the term “impure bird” signifies the antagonist’s compromised angelic status absolutely, or rather the impropriety of his wearing the angelic garment in the current moment. Conclusion It is now time to return to the motif of the special celestial garment found in the Apocalypse of Abraham, and the significance of this theme for the sacerdotal framework of the Slavonic pseudepigraphon. It is no accident that the promise of a mysterious garment to Abraham occurs in the very chapters of the apocalypse that represent the text’s sacerdotal nexus—the conceptual crux that intends to bring its readers into the heart of the apocalyptic Yom Kippur ritual. In Apoc. Ab. 13 and 14, Abraham’s celestial guide, Yahoel, appears to perform one of the central ordinances of the atoning ceremony, by means of which impurity is transferred to Azazel and dispatched into the wilderness. Consider, e.g., Yahoel’s arcane address to Azazel: Reproach is on you, Azazel! Since Abraham’s portion is in heaven, and yours is on earth, since you have chosen it and desired it to be the dwelling place of your impurity. Therefore the Eternal Lord, the Mighty One, has made you a dweller on earth. And because of you [there is] the wholly-evil spirit of the lie, and because of you [there are] wrath and trials on the generations of impious men. Since the Eternal Mighty God did not send the righteous, in their bodies, to be in your hand, in order to affirm through them the righteous life and the destruction of impiety . . . Hear, adviser! Be shamed by me, since you have been appointed to tempt not to all the righteous! Depart from this man! You cannot deceive him, because he is the enemy of you and of those who follow you and who love what you desire. For behold, the garment which in heaven

betrays the connection to the scapegoat figure, who, in the materials pertaining to the Yom Kippur ritual, is understood as an impure entity, a sort of a ‘gatherer’ of pollution which contaminates anyone who comes in contact with him—including his handlers, who must perform purification procedures after handling the goat. Jacob Milgrom observes that Azazel was “the vehicle to dispatch Israel’s impurities and sins to wilderness/netherworld.” Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 1621.

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This address—which the celestial cultic servant of the highest rank delivers to the demoted angel who bears the name of the scapegoat— is ritually significant, because it appears to reflect some of the actions of the high priest on Yom Kippur. For this reason, the phrase “dwelling place of your impurity” is especially intriguing. It alludes to the purgative function of the scapegoat ceremony, which centered on the removal of the impurity heaped on the sacrificial animal to the “dwelling place” of the demon in the wilderness. The corruption of Abraham, the forefather of the Israelite nation, is now transferred to Azazel.34 Yahoel appears to perform the so-called “transference function”—the crucial part of the scapegoat ritual—when the high priest passes Israel’s sins onto the scapegoat’s head through confession and the laying-on of hands.35 This, it seems, may also explain why Yahoel’s speech contains a command of departure (Apoc. Ab. 13:12: “Depart from this man!”) rather like the dispatch-formula given to the scapegoat in m. Yoma 6:4: “Take our sins and go forth.”36 In this climatic point of the apocalyptic Yom Kippur ceremony, Abraham’s infamous opponent, stripped of his lofty celestial clothes, takes on a new, now sacrificial role in the principal purifying ordinance of the Jewish tradition by assuming the office of the cosmic scapegoat who is predestined to carry the celebrant’s impurity into the netherworld. This mysterious burden of the ambiguous sacrificial agent, dispatching its ominous gift not to the divine, but to the demonic realm has puzzled generations of interpreters who often wondered if this oblation was a sacrificial portion to the Other Side. Thus, in the Book of Zohar and some later Jewish mystical writings the scapegoat

34 Helm (“Azazel in Early Jewish Tradition,” 223) sees in this utterance a connection to the Yom Kippur settings by proposing that “the transference of Abraham’s corruption to Azazel may be a veiled reference to the scapegoat rite.” Similarly, Grabbe (“The Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation,” 157) argues that the phrasing in the statement that “Abraham’s corruption has ‘gone over to’ Azazel suggest[s] an act of atonement.” 35 Lev 16:21–22: “Then Aaron shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins, putting them on the head of the goat, and sending it away into the wilderness by means of someone designated for the task. The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a barren region; and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness.” On the “transference” function, see also Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1041. 36 Fletcher-Louis, “The Revelation of the Sacral Son of Man,” 282.

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was often understood as “the principal offering that is destined in its entirety for ‘the Other Side.’ ”37 In light of these later traditions it is not entirely impossible that in the dualistic framework of the Slavonic apocalypse where the antagonist’s abode imitates the realm of the deity one can have such peculiar understanding of the scapegoat’s functions. But this is the subject for another lengthy investigation.

37 I. Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar (3 vols; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 2:821.

SEFER ZERUBBABEL AND POPULAR RELIGION* Martha Himmelfarb Our knowledge for the classical rabbinic period of popular religion, by which I mean the beliefs and practices of Jews outside the rabbinic elite, is extremely limited. The literary evidence for Judaism in this period is almost exclusively rabbinic, and any picture of other strands must be pieced together from archeology, epigraphy, perhaps liturgy and some of the targumim, and the brief glimpses offered by rabbinic texts and non-Jewish sources, Christian and pagan.1 Here I would like to suggest another source for popular Judaism, a literary source: the early seventh-century Hebrew apocalyptic work Sefer Zerubbabel. By the time of the composition of Sefer Zerubbabel, the age of classical rabbinic literature was over.2 In Palestine, where Sefer Zerubbabel was probably written, the tannaitic midrashim and the Jerusalem Talmud were long complete, and most of the important homiletical midrashim had taken shape more than a century earlier. In the other great center of rabbinic activity, the Babylonian Talmud was reaching its final form.3 Sefer Zerubbabel’s occasional use of proof texts

* It is a pleasure to contribute to a volume honoring Jim VanderKam, whose work has been so important to me over the years. This article is based on a paper delivered at the World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem in August 2009. I would like to thank those present at the session, particularly Lee Levine of the Hebrew University and Lawrence Schiffman of New York University, for their helpful comments. I would also like to thank Israel Knohl of the Hebrew University for taking the time to send me written comments on the paper, which were extremely useful. 1 See, e.g., Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (2d ed.; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), esp. 466–98; Seth Schwartz, Judaism and Imperialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 201–92, esp. 238–39, 259, 275–92; Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Pagan and Christian Evidence on the Ancient Synagogue,” in The Synagogue in Late Antiquity (ed. L. I. Levine; Philadelphia: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1987), 159–81. 2 For a recent view of the dates of rabbinic works, see the time line in The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature (ed. Charlotte Elisheva Fonrobert and Martin S. Jaffee; Cambridge Companions to Religion; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), xiii–xvi. 3 The timeline in Cambridge Companion (Fonrobert and Jaffee) gives 620 c.e. as the date for the completion of the Talmud (xvi). For a brief discussion of the issues involved in dating, see Richard Kalmin, “The Formation and Character of the Babylonian Talmud,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, Vol. 4: The Late Roman-Rabbinic

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introduced by rabbinic formulas for citation offers a clear indication of its acquaintance with rabbinic literature, and most scholars have understood it to draw on rabbinic literature for elements of its content as well.4 Here I shall argue that on closer examination many of the parallels between Sefer Zerubbabel and rabbinic texts turn out to reflect not Sefer Zerubbabel’s dependence on the rabbinic corpus or rabbinic traditions but rather independent use of popular traditions on which the rabbis also drew. Thus, though it postdates the rabbinic period, I believe that a careful consideration of Sefer Zerubbabel in relation to rabbinic literature can illumine non-rabbinic eschatological expectations and perhaps other popular religious attitudes of the rabbinic period. In this article I focus on the two messiahs, but there are other elements of Sefer Zerubbabel, such as the figure of Hephzibah, the mother of the Davidic messiah, and the attitude toward the restoration of sacrifice and the eschatological temple, that would merit consideration. I begin with Menahem b. Ammiel, as Sefer Zerubbabel calls the Davidic messiah. The name Menahem for the messiah appears several times in rabbinic literature. It is the name of a disappearing baby messiah in a story in the Yerushalmi (y. Ber. 2:4), to which I shall return, and it is also one of the names proposed in a discussion of names for the messiah in the Bavli (b. San. 98b). The discussion relates the name Menahem to the verse in Lamentations, “Far from me is any comforter (menaḥem)” (1:16); a version of the Yerushalmi’s story appears in Lamentations Rabbah in the comments to this verse, in the middle

Period (ed. Steven T. Katz; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 840–42. Kalmin dates the completion of the Bavli to sometime between the mid-sixth and mid-seventh century. 4 The assumption that the work draws on rabbinic literature extends at least as far back as Israël Lévi, “L’Apocalypse de Zorobabel et le roi de Perse Siroès,” in Lévi, Le Ravissement du Messie à sa naissance et autres essais (ed. Evelyne Patlagean; ParisLouvain: Peeters, 1994), 173–227, here 189 n. 12; the piece was originally published in REJ 68 (1914): 129–60. Page numbers in my citations refer to Ravissement. I am guilty of making the same assumption: Martha Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” in Rabbinic Fantasies: Imaginative Narratives from Classical Hebrew Literature (ed. David Stern and Mark Jay Mirsky; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 68, and see below. For a full discussion on Sefer Zerubbabel’s use of proof texts introduced by rabbinic formulas, see Martha Himmelfarb, “Revelation and Rabbinization in Sefer Zerubbabel and Sefer Eliyyahu,” in Revelation, Literature and Community in Late Antiquity (ed. Philippa Townsend and Moulie Vidas; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming [2011]).

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of a discussion of the names for the messiah that shares traditions with the passage in the Bavli.5 Sefer Zerubbabel is the first place Menahem receives the patronym b. Ammiel, a name with only obscure biblical precedents. Both the Yerushalmi and the Bavli identify Menahem’s father as Hezekiah, and in light of the fact that Menahem’s mother, Hephzibah, bears the name of a wife (or perhaps the only wife) of King Hezekiah (2 Kgs 21:1), Ammiel may well be intended as another name for Hezekiah.6 In any case b. Ammiel as a patronym for the messiah is not attested in rabbinic literature, nor is there anything to suggest that Sefer Zerubbabel is directly dependent on rabbinic traditions for the name Menahem. Indeed, given the suitability of the name for the messiah, it is not unlikely that that Sefer Zerubbabel and the rabbinic traditions both reflect a widespread association. According to Sefer Zerubabbel Menahem b. Ammiel awaits the eschaton imprisoned in Rome.7 The Bavli too places the messiah, in this case unnamed, in Rome, where he sits at the entrance to the city among the poor and diseased as he awaits the call to undertake his mission (b. San. 98a);8 this description appears in the course of a story about R. Joshua b. Levi, a first-generation Palestinian amora. In both Sefer Zerubbabel and the Bavli the description of the messiah is inspired by Isaiah’s suffering servant, and both texts draw on the language of Isa 53:3–4, as does the Bavli’s discussion of names of the messiah, which appears on the page following the story of R. Joshua b. Levi.9 Isaiah’s suffering servant also had an impact on Jesus’ early

5 The first edition of Lamentations Rabbah lacks the saying that identifies the name of the messiah as Menahem. See Salomon Buber, Midrasch Echa Rabbati (1899; repr., Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1967), 89, n. 450 (ad loc.) for a discussion of how this happened. 6 For the associations of the name, Martha Himmelfarb, “The Mother of the Messiah in the Talmud Yerushalmi and Sefer Zerubbabel,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture III (ed. Peter Schäfer; TSAJ 93; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2002), 369–89, here 386–87. 7 For the text of Sefer Zerubbabel with French translation, Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 173–204. For an English translation, Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 67–90. For the passage discussed above, Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 176; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 72. 8 The printed text of the Bavli reads “entrance of the city,” but see Raphael Nathan Nata Rabbinovicz, Dikduke Sofrim (1867–96; repr., Jerusalem: Ma’ayan Haḥokhmah; Brooklyn: Yerushalayim; and Montreal: Radal, 1959), 9.292. 9 For discussion of the passage and its textual difficulties, Michael Fishbane, “Midrash and Messianism: Some Theologies of Suffering and Salvation,” in Toward

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followers’ account of his career, and while there is little in the literature of the Second Temple period to suggest a messianic interpretation of the servant songs, it is certainly possible that Christian use of the songs reflects Jewish traditions later abandoned by Jews precisely because of their adoption by Christians.10 The similarities between Sefer Zerubbabel’s description of the messiah in Rome and the Bavli’s are evident. Now I turn to the differences. Sefer Zerubbabel does not mention the entrance to the city and the crowd of the lowly around it, nor does it include the Bavli’s memorable description of the messiah binding and unbinding his wounds one at a time so as to be ready for the call whenever it comes. Indeed, other than the location of the messiah in Rome, the only element common to the two passages that cannot be traced back to Isaiah 53 is the root ’sr (‫)אס״ר‬, used in the Bavli for the binding of the messiah’s wounds and in Sefer Zerubbabel for the messiah’s imprisonment. Since each text draws on different aspects of the root’s semantic range, its appearance in both may be no more than coincidence. But it is also worth noting that ’sr appears in another of the servant songs in Isaiah, where it is used of the prisoners the servant will liberate (Isa 49:9); the same meaning is found in Sefer Zerubbabel, where, however, it is used of the messiah himself. This parallel makes it even more unlikely that Sefer Zerubbabel took the root from the Bavli. Altogether, then, there is no reason to believe that Sefer Zerubbabel draws on the Bavli for its picture of the suffering messiah.11 A better explanation for the similarities and differences of the two descriptions is that Sefer Zerubbabel and the Bavli reflect independent adaptations of popular Jewish traditions from the centuries before the Muslim conquest.12 the Millenium: Messianic Expectations from the Bible to Waco (ed. Peter Schäfer and Mark R. Cohen; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 57–71; here 59. 10 For recent scholarship on the subject, see, e.g., some of the essays in Jesus and the Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 and Christian Origins (ed. William H. Bellinger and William R. Farmer; Harrisburg, Penn.: Trinity, 1998); and The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources (ed. Bernd Janowski and Peter Stuhlmacher; trans. Daniel P. Bailey; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004). 11 As I assumed in “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 81–82 n. 6. 12 The most elaborate discussion of a suffering messiah in late rabbinic literature appears in Pesiqta Rabbati 34, 36, and 37, which probably dates to the period shortly after the Muslim conquest. On this messiah, who bears the name Ephraim, see Fishbane, “Midrash and Messianism,” 60–71, and Peter Schäfer, Die Geburt des Judentums aus dem Geist dem Christentums: Fünf Vorlesungen zur Entstehung des rabbinischen Judentums (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 133–78. Fishbane considers only Jewish influences; Schäfer reads the figure as shaped by the impact of Christianity.

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Whether the suffering messiah of the Bavli, Sefer Zerubbabel, and the traditions that lie behind them is a new idea for Jews or the revival of an old idea, the Jews among whom these traditions were current could hardly have been unaware of the centrality of suffering to the story of the Christian messiah. Yet the suffering of the messiah according to Sefer Zerubbabel and the Bavli is very different from that of Jesus in one crucial respect: it does not culminate in death. This is evidently not because Jews found the idea of a dying messiah unthinkable. Both Sefer Zerubbabel and the Bavli know a dying messiah who is descended from Joseph. A full treatment of this figure and its place in ancient Judaism is beyond the bounds of this study, but I hope to offer a more extended discussion in the near future.13

13 See below, n. 29, for a brief indication of the content of other rabbinic material clearly linked to the messiah descended from Joseph. For older scholarship on the subject, see the bibliography in Joseph Heinemann, “The Messiah of Ephraim and the Premature Exodus of the Tribe of Ephraim,” HTR 8 (1975): 1–15, here 1 n. 1. For a recent discussion of the figure, which also considers the passages from the Bavli discussed below in relation to the New Testament but reaches very different conclusions, Holger Zellentin, “Rabbinizing Jesus, Christianizing the Son of David: The Bavli’s Approach to the Secondary Messiah Traditions,” in Discussing Cultural Influences: Text, Context, and Non-Text in Rabbinic Judaism (ed. Rivka Ulmer; Studies in Judaism: Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 2007), 99–127. I unfortunately became aware of Zellentin’s article only after completing this piece. In the last decade two scholars, Israel Knohl and David C. Mitchell, have argued from different angles for the origins of the figure of the messiah son of Joseph in the Second Temple period. Knohl’s work includes “On ‘the Son of God,’ Armilus and the Messiah Son of Joseph,” Tarbiz 68 (1998): 13–38 [Hebrew]; The Messiah before Jesus (trans. David Maisel; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); “Studies in the Gabriel Revelation,” Tarbiz 76 (2007): 1–26 [Hebrew]; “ ‘By Three Days Live’: Messiahs, Resurrection and Ascent to Heaven in Hazon Gabriel,” JR 88 (2008): 147– 58; and Messiahs and Resurrection in ‘The Gabriel Revelation’ (London: Continuum, 2009). The last three discuss the Revelation of Gabriel, a recently published turn-of-the era inscription that Knohl sees as displaying significant affinities to Sefer Zerubbabel (“Studies,” 4–5, 19). The relationship between the two works calls for further consideration. Mitchell argues for a date in the Second Temple period not only for the emergence of the figure of the messiah son of Joseph but also for the belief in the atoning power of his death in articles including “The Fourth Deliverer: A Josephite Messiah in 4QTestimonia,” Bib 86 (2005): 545–53; “Rabbi Dosa and the Rabbis Differ: Messiah ben Joseph in the Babylonian Talmud,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 8 (2005): 77–90; “Firstborn Shor and Rem: A Sacrificial Josephite Messiah in 1 Enoch 90.37–38 and Deuteronomy 33.17,” JSP 15 (2006): 211–28; “Messiah bar Ephraim in the Targums,” Aramaic Studies 4 (2006): 221–41; “Messiah ben Joseph: A Sacrifice of Atonement for Israel,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 10 (2007): 77–94; and “A Dying and Rising Josephite Messiah in 4Q372,” JSP 18 (2009): 181–205. The articles offer many suggestive insights, but the arguments are too often compromised by the author’s desire to make the texts fit his schema (see below).

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The two passages in the Bavli that allude to the death of the messiah son of Joseph appear on the same page (b. Suk. 52a). The first passage forms part of a discussion of the “great improvement” (tiqqun) in the women’s court of the Temple mentioned by the Mishnah (m. Suk. 5:2). The discussion in the Bavli is not easily dated, but it may well be tannaitic.14 According to the gemara this improvement was a gallery for women, built to ensure the separation of men and women and so to prevent inappropriate levity (b. Suk. 51b). In search of scriptural justification for such architectural innovation in the Temple, Rav cites Zech 12:12, “The land shall mourn, each family by itself; the family of the house of David by itself, and their wives by themselves . . . ,” concluding that if even in the last days, at a time of mourning, separation of men and women is advisable, all the more was it advisable in the era of the Temple at a time of celebration. The Bavli then suggests two possibilities for the cause of the eschatological mourning to which it understands the verse in Zechariah to refer: the death of the messiah son of Joseph or the death of the evil impulse. It devotes considerably more attention to the latter. For the death of the messiah son of Joseph the Bavli contents itself with a single proof text, a verse from Zechariah preceding the verse previously cited: And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of compassion and supplication, so that they will look to

14 The difference of opinion about the cause of the eschatological mourning is presented as a disagreement between “R. Dosa and the rabbis,” and the order in which the opinions are presented suggests that it is R. Dosa who attributes the mourning to the death of the messiah son of Joseph. While the Bavli does not use the standard formula for introducing a baraita, the traditions about the cause of mourning are in Hebrew, which fits a tannaitic date. The best attested R. Dosa in rabbinic literature is R. Dosa b. Harkinas, a second-generation tanna, who is sometimes mentioned without his patronymic (Shmuel Safrai, “Dosa ben Harkinas,” EncJud, 6:178). But there also appear to have been a fourth-generation tanna named Dosa (Wilhelm Bacher, Die Agada der Tannaiten, vol. 2: Von Akiba’s Tod bis zum Abschluss der Mischna (135 bis 220 nach der gew. Zeitrechnung) [Strassburg: Trübner, 1890], 389–90) and two fourth-century amoraim named Dosa (Bacher, Die Agada der palästinsischen Amoräer (1899; repr. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1965), 3.693–94), none well-attested. To further complicate matters, the parallel passage in the Yerushalmi (y. Suk. 5:2 [23b]) offers the two opinions anonymously rather than in the name of R. Dosa and the rabbis and refers to mourning for “the messiah” rather than the messiah son of Joseph. Mitchell (“Rabbi Dosa,” 79–80, 89–90) offers a forceful argument for a date no later than the middle of the first century c.e. for this tradition but misrepresents Safrai (“Dosa ben Harkinas”), who states that R. Dosa without a patronym can often be shown to be Dosa b. Harkinas, not that any reference to R. Dosa in the Mishnah and Talmud is by necessity to Dosa b. Harkinas.

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me concerning the one they have pierced; they shall mourn for him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps over a first-born. (Zech 12:10)15

Both the Gospel of John (19:34, 37) and the Book of Revelation (1:7) associate this verse with the death of Jesus. Unlike the passage just considered, the second passage from the Bavli, a baraita that follows the discussion of the eschatological slaughter of the evil impulse, is not linked in any way to the discussion of the Mishnah, and its focus is not on the messiah son of Joseph but on the Davidic messiah. It reports a conversation between God and the Davidic messiah in which God, quoting Ps 2:7–8, offers the messiah anything he desires: I will tell of the decree of the Lord: He said to me, “You are my son, today I have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession.”

Upon seeing that the messiah son of Joseph has been killed, the Davidic messiah asks God for life. God reminds him that he has already been granted life, quoting Ps 21:5 [21:4, rsv], “He asked life of you; you gave it to him, length of days forever and ever.”16 This passage suggests a number of links between the messiah son of Joseph and Jesus. To begin with, like the verse from Zechariah, part of the passage from Psalm 2, “You are my son, today I have begotten you” (Ps 2:7), is applied to Jesus in the New Testament, once in the Book of Acts (13:33), and twice in the Epistle to the Hebrews (1:5, 5:5).17 Another similarity between the dead messiah of the Bavli passage and Jesus is that Jesus too, at least from one point of view, is son of Joseph.18 Furthermore, the messiah son of Joseph in the Bavli passage does not 15 Unless otherwise noted, translations of biblical texts are taken from the rsv. The translation of Zech 12:10 above is based on the rsv and revised on the basis of the translation of Carol L. Meyers and Eric M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 9–14 (AB 25C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 8. 16 I have changed rsv’s archaic language here. 17 Israel J. Yuval, “All Israel Have a Portion in the World to Come,” in Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders (ed. Fabian E. Udoh with Susannah Heschel et al.; Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008), 114–138, here 125–29, suggests that the Joshua b. Levi story in b. San. 98a represents a response to the Epistle to the Hebrews’ extended interpretation of Psalm 95 (Hebrews 3–4). 18 Israel Jacob Yuval, Two Nations in Your Womb: Perceptions of Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (trans. Barbara Harshav and Jonathan Chipman; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 35–36.

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simply die: like Jesus, he has been killed. It seems unlikely that the parallels are accidental. Rather, the passage subtly attacks the Christian narrative about Jesus. According to the Bavli, Jesus’ fate clearly demonstrates that he is not God’s son, for even before the messiah son of David asked, God had granted him life. It is striking that both passages in the Bavli that refer to the death of the messiah son of Joseph make use of biblical passages that Christians applied to Jesus. Neither passage is obviously polemical, but if I am correct that the use of Ps 2:7 to prove that the messiah will not die is a jab at Christians, perhaps we should also read the application of Zech 12:10 to the messiah son of Joseph, the lesser messiah, as an attempt to turn a favorite passage of Christians against them. The passages in the Bavli allude to the death of the messiah son of Joseph without providing any narrative context for it. Presumably they are able to do so because they are confident that their audience already knows his story. Sefer Zerubbabel provides that story or rather its own version of it. Sefer Zerubbabel’s messiah son of Joseph bears the significant name Nehemiah b. Hushiel. Nehemiah, “God comforts,” shares the root of the name Menahem; it is also the name of one of the most important leaders of the period of the return from Babylonia. Hushiel means something like “God hastens.” Sefer Zerubbabel has nothing to say about Nehemiah’s life before he manifests himself as messiah except to note that he has been hidden away in Rakkath, a city in the territory of Naphtali (Josh 19:35), which it identifies with Tiberias.19 Nehemiah will appear five years after Hephzibah, the mother of the Davidic messiah, has begun to defeat Israel’s enemies. His first act will be to “gather all Israel as one,” perhaps implying the return of the ten tribes associated with the northern kingdom, which was dominated by the tribe of Ephraim, the son of Joseph. The children of Israel will then offer sacrifices in Jerusalem for forty years while Nehemiah establishes genealogical records for the people as did his ancient namesake (Neh 7:5). Shiroi, the king of Persia, will attack, and Hephzibah and Nehemiah will defeat him.20 But Nehemiah will die at the hands of Armilos, the enemy born from the union of Satan and a beautiful statue of a virgin. All Israel will mourn Nehemiah’s death for forty-one

19 So too does the Bavli (b. Meg. 5b–6a), although it also contains an identification of Rakkath with Sepphoris (b. Meg. 6a). 20 Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 179–80; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 74.

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days.21 When Menahem b. Ammiel arrives, he and Elijah will bring Nehemiah back to life, inspiring the doubters to believe in Menahem b. Ammiel.22 The resurrected Nehemiah will then participate in further battles and other events of the eschaton together with Menahem, Elijah, and Zerubbabel himself, Hephzibah now having disappeared from the scene.23 There is a certain overlap between Sefer Zerubbabel and the Bavli on the subject of the death of the messiah son of Joseph, but there are also some significant differences. Both texts are interested in the mourning attending the death of this messiah. But in the Bavli the interest derives from the description of the separation of men and women as they mourn, while in Sefer Zerubbabel the focus is on the participation of the entire people in the mourning and its great length, longer even than the thirty days of mourning for Aaron (Num 20:29) or Moses (Deut 34:8). According to the Bavli, the messiah’s death is the result of piercing. In Sefer Zerubbabel there is no mention of the manner of death, although the messiah’s body is said to be broken.24 Whereas in the Bavli the Davidic messiah sees the fate of the messiah son of Joseph, and, distressed by what he sees, asks God for life, in Sefer Zerubbabel the first great deed the Davidic messiah performs in the course of his mission is to bring the messiah son of Joseph back to life. The Bavli depicts its Davidic messiah as fearful and dependent on God; Sefer Zerubbabel’s is bolder and more independent. The passages in the Bavli, I have suggested, attempt to deflate the Christian story by pointing out that the ultimate messiah does not die. Sefer Zerubbabel’s narrative gives no indication of an effort to undercut the Christian story. Rather, it appears to reflect the attraction of that story. At the same time, its division between two different messiahs of the suffering and death Christians attributed to Jesus hints at anxiety about the adoption of themes so central to Christianity. 21

Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 180–81; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 75. Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 182; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 77. 23 Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 182–86; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 77–80. 24 Mwdkdkt in the Bodleian ms (Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 181). The reading of Lévi’s ms C (Oxford 160), ’dwqrwt (Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 181 n. 9), may reflect the influence of the Bavli’s citation of the verse from Zechariah, where the verb for piecing is dqr. The printed editions of Adolph Jellinek, Bet ha-Midrasch (1853–78; repr., Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1967), 2:56, and S. A. Wertheimer, Batei Midrashot (2d ed.; Jerusalem: Ktab Wa-sepher, 1968), 2:499, lack a word describing the fate of the body, but Wertheimer’s text, although confused, includes the information that Nehemiah dies by piercing (dqr) (2:499). 22

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Sefer Zerubbabel also splits the traits Christians attributed to the Virgin Mary between two different figures, for similar reasons, I believe. Like the Virgin Mary, Hephzibah is the mother of the Davidic messiah, and even her role as warrior derives from the Virgin, whose icons were used by the Byzantines in war, yet Hephzibah is never depicted acting motherly, nor does she have any notably feminine traits. In contrast, the stone statue that gives birth to the antichrist is beautiful and feminine but evil or at least a source of evil.25 Peter Schäfer has recently argued that the Bavli’s stories about Jesus reflect textual knowledge of the gospels, particularly the Gospel of John, not merely knowledge of the stories contained in them.26 The passages from the Bavli considered above also provide evidence of rabbinic knowledge of the New Testament; they respond to passages in the Christian Bible and offer competing exegesis of passages from the Hebrew Bible. Sefer Zerubbabel reflects a more popular approach to Christianity.27 The impact of the Virgin Mary on Sefer Zerubbabel seems to have come not from texts but rather the Byzantine “sculptural environment.”28 So too, while the depiction of the suffering messiah son of David and the dying messiah son of Joseph clearly responds to the central Christian story, there is no indication that Sefer Zerubbabel’s knowledge of that story was acquired by way of texts. Under the influence of Sefer Zerubbabel the dying messiah son of Joseph becomes a central figure in medieval Jewish eschatological scenarios, yet only a few brief passages in classical rabbinic literature outside the Bavli know a redeemer descended from Joseph, and none of them designates the figure “messiah son of Joseph,” nor do any of

25 For a more extensive discussion of the impact of the figure of the Virgin Mary on Sefer Zerubbabel, including evidence for the use of icons of Mary in war, Himmelfarb, “Mother,” 384–85. 26 Peter Schäfer, Jesus in the Talmud (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), esp. 122–24. The knowledge may have come by way of the Diatessaron, Tatian’s harmony of the four gospels in which John played a particularly prominent role. 27 In contrast to Sefer Zerubbabel, the contemporary Hebrew apocalyptic work Sefer Eliyyahu appears to have made use of the New Testament Book of Revelation. See Martha Himmelfarb, “Sefer Eliyyahu: Jewish Eschatology and Christian Jerusalem,” in Shaping the Middle East 400–800 c.e.: Jews, Christians, and Muslims in an Age of Transition (ed. Kenneth G. Holum and Hayim Lapin; Studies and Texts in Jewish History and Culture; Bethesda, Md.: University Press of Maryland, 2011). 28 The phrase is taken from Yaron Z. Eliav, “Viewing the Sculptural Environment: Shaping the Second Commandment,” in Schäfer, ed., Talmud Yerushalmi III, 411–33.

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them report the figure’s death.29 The paucity of evidence suggests that while the rabbis knew the story others told about the messiah son of Joseph, they were not very enthusiastic about him; when he finally makes an appearance in the Bavli, it is in the service of undercutting Christian claims for Jesus. Israel Yuval has suggested that the messiah son of Joseph represents rabbinic “internalization” of the figure of Jesus, but in light of the evidence just discussed I would say that the figure reflects not rabbinic but more popular internalization.30 Finally, I would like to return to the messiah son of David in Rome to examine an idea that appears explicitly only in Sefer Zerubbabel, but that I believe is implicit also in the Bavli: the idea that the messiah has already been born but will remain hidden until the moment for his manifestation arrives. Zerubbabel’s angelic interlocutor tells him that Menahem b. Ammiel was “hidden (tsafun) in [Rome] until the end of time. . . . He was born in the time of David, king of Israel, and a wind lifted him up and hid him in this place until the end of time.”31 The messiah at the gates of Rome in the Bavli is not said to be hidden nor are any travels by wind mentioned, but he too is alive and biding his

29 Gen. Rab. 73.7, 75.5, and 99.2 predict the defeat of Esau at the hands of a descendant of Rachel; the last of these passages is preceded by a more elaborate explanation of the correlations between Joseph and Esau that make a descendant of Joseph an appropriate instrument of punishment for Esau. For parallels in later texts see the notes in J. Theodor and Ch. Albeck, Midrash Bereshit Rabba: Critical Edition with Notes and Commentary (3 vols; 2d printing with additional corrections by Ch. Albeck; Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1965). Genesis Rabbah reached its final form in the fifth century c.e., but the tradition appears to be earlier since it is transmitted by R. Phineas, a fifth-generation amora (late fourth century), in the name of R. Samuel b. Nahman, a third-generation amora (probably late third-early fourth century). The interpretation of the four smiths of Zech 2:3 as four eschatological deliverers found in Pesiq. Rab Kah. 5.9 and later parallels (Pesiq. Rab. 15.14, Song Rab. to 2:13, Num. Rab. 14.1) identifies one of the smiths as the “anointed of war”; the parallel in b. Suk. 52b (on the page following the traditions about the messiah son of Joseph discussed above) refers to him as the “messiah son of Joseph” (so too the parallel in the late Midrash Hagadol [to Exod 6:7]). For the assumption that the title “anointed of war” refers to the messiah son of Joseph, see, e.g., Heinemann, “Messiah of Ephraim,” 7. Pesiqta deRab Kahana dates to the fifth century c.e. For targumic texts on the messiah descended from Joseph, see Mitchell, “Messiah bar Ephraim.” The texts consist of the targumic tosefta to Zech 12:10, Targum PseudoJonathan to Exod 40:9–11, and Targum Song of Songs 4:5 and 7:4. As so often in his work, Mitchell ascribes very early dates to the first two passages. The relationship between these targumim and elite rabbinic culture requires further consideration. 30 Yuval, Two Nations, 36. 31 Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 178; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 73. The version of Sefer Zerubbabel in Wertheimer, Batei Midrashot, places Menahem’s birth at the time of the destruction of the First Temple (2.498; see also fragment 1, 2.503).

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time until the arrival of an eschaton that is by no means imminent, as Elijah’s explication of his apparent promise to come that very day makes clear. I have already alluded to the story in the Yerushalmi (y. Ber. 2:4) about the disappearing baby messiah named Menahem. In this story the mother of the baby harbors murderous thoughts toward her son because of the painful associations of his birth, which occurred on the day of the destruction of the Second Temple. But in the end, if the mother is to be believed, the baby is snatched away from her by forces of nature, “winds and whirlwinds.” For the Yerushalmi, the baby’s disappearance marks the end of his messianic career. Several years ago I argued that the story in the Yerushalmi was not a response to the story of the birth of Jesus, as others have argued, but a sarcastic rejection of a popular Jewish story about the birth of the messiah at the very moment of the destruction of the Second Temple.32 The popular story must have included the claim that the messiah whose birth it recounts was waiting somewhere to manifest himself, prepared to undertake his mission whenever the moment arrived. The Yerushalmi story is a slap in the face to such hopes. The messiah may already have been born, the Yerushalmi says, but that does not mean he is hidden away in readiness for the call; the messiah has disappeared, and there is no comfort to be gained from the fact of his birth. The rejection of popular messianism in the Yerushalmi story was apparently too pessimistic for later rabbinic texts. In the version of the story in Lamentations Rabbah (1.51, to Lam 1:16), the protagonist of the story, a Jew who has gone from town to town looking for the baby messiah, hears the news of the baby’s disappearance and repeats the words with which he comforted the mother on his first visit: “Just as [the Temple] was destroyed in his wake, so it will be rebuilt in his wake.” The baby’s disappearance, these words imply, is a part of

32 Himmelfarb, “Mother,” 370–83. For the story as a response to the Gospels’ birth story, Galit Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life: Folklore and Midrash in Rabbinic Literature (trans. Batya Stein; Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2000), 152–60. HasanRokem focuses on the version of the story in Lamentations Rabbah (see Himmelfarb, “Mother,” 373–76, for further discussion). For a reading of this passage as rabbinic reflection on the emergence of Christianity, Schäfer, Geburt, 1–31.

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the eschatological plan, and his birth is indeed cause for celebration despite his subsequent disappearance.33 The appeal of the idea of a messiah stored away until the time of the end is not hard to understand: it provides the comfort of knowing that the messiah already exists even if he has not yet manifested himself. The idea goes back at least as far as 4 Ezra (12:32, 13:25–26), which dates to the end of the first or beginning of the second century c.e. and is thus unlikely to reflect the impact of Christianity. Nonetheless, it is worth noting the structural similarity between the picture of a messiah hidden away to await the eschaton and the Christian claim that Jesus would return at the eschaton: both involve messiahs already in existence yet unavailable in the present. In my discussion of the Yerushalmi story I suggested that Sefer Zerubbabel’s picture of its messiah named Menahem reflected a continuation of the process already visible in Lamentations Rabbah’s reading of the story, in which the story is understood as genuine messianic lore and the disappearance of the baby messiah is thus interpreted in a more positive light. Sefer Zerubbabel’s picture of a full-grown messiah ready to emerge from hiding to undertake his mission transforms the disappearance from a disaster to part of the eschatological plan.34 Here I would like to suggest a somewhat different understanding of the relationship between the stories in Sefer Zerubbabel and the Yerushalmi. If I am correct that Sefer Zerubbabel elsewhere draws not on classical rabbinic literature for the figures of its messiahs, but rather on popular traditions that the rabbis too used, the source of Sefer Zerubbabel’s picture of the messiah hidden away to await his manifestation may not be a misinterpretation of the story in the Yerushalmi based on a more optimistic eschatology, but evidence of the continued vitality centuries later of the popular belief the Yerushalmi rejected. Nor is the Davidic messiah the only one hidden away according to Sefer Zerubbabel. The messiah son of Joseph is hidden away in the city of Rakkath before

33 In Lamentations Zuta (version 2, to Lam 1:2), which probably dates to the end of the first millennium, the mother reports not that the baby was snatched away by winds but that he was hidden away (nignaz) (Salomon Buber, ed., Midrash Zuta [2d ed., 1926; repr. Tel Aviv: [no publisher listed], 1963], 73). Since Lamentations Zuta identifies the baby as Menahem b. Ammiel, using the patronym that first appears in Sefer Zerubbabel, it is safe to conclude that its understanding of the fate of the baby messiah is influenced by Sefer Zerubbabel’s claim that the Davidic messiah was stored away (Himmelfarb, “Mother,” 377). 34 Himmelfarb, “Mother,” 376–77.

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his appearance, as is the miraculous staff used by Menahem’s mother; in both cases the verb is gnz rather than the word tspn used for Menahem himself.35 I know of no other text that describes this messiah or the staff as hidden away, so Sefer Zerubbabel’s picture may well reflect its own enthusiasm for the idea. As I noted above, the popular belief is also implicit in the passage about the messiah at the gates of Rome in the Bavli; the Bavli, of course, goes on to undercut its implications by making the messiah’s appearance dependent on Israel’s piety. I hope that I have shown here that Sefer Zerubbabel is not dependent on rabbinic texts or traditions for the figures of its two messiahs, but draws instead on the same popular traditions known to the rabbis, which it preserves in something closer to their original form. This finding fits well with other indications of Sefer Zerubbabel’s distance from rabbinic culture that I have discussed elsewhere, such as the limited impact of rabbinic literary practice on it, its depiction of the “elders and sages” as failing to recognize Menahem b. Ammiel as the messiah because of his humble appearance, and its emphasis on the resumption of sacrifice before the descent of the eschatological temple from heaven.36

35

Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 179; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 74. Himmelfarb, “Revelation.” For the elders and sages: Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 182; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 77; for sacrifice and temple: Lévi, “L’Apocalypse,” 184; Himmelfarb, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” 79. 36

PART FOUR

STUDIES ON ENOCH AND JUBILEES

ENMEDURANKI AND GILGAMESH: MESOPOTAMIAN FIGURES IN ARAMAIC ENOCH TRADITIONS Ida Fröhlich My first experience with James VanderKam was encountering his book on Enoch and the apocalyptic tradition.1 I was fascinated with his intelligent analysis of twentieth century scholarship concerning the Mesopotamian models for the figure of Enoch, his exposition of the main characteristics of the biblical and Jewish Enoch figures, and his conclusion that that the figure of Enoch was originally fashioned in the likeness of the seventh Mesopotamian king Enmeduranki. Both Enmeduranki and Enoch occupied the seventh position in antediluvian lists, enjoyed the company of celestial beings, and received instructions from heavenly beings in similar remote settings. In Mesopotamian traditions, Enmeduranki is considered the founder of the bārūtum, the priestly group of interpreters of omina; likewise, the Jewish apocalyptic figure, Enoch, is also associated with what are clearly mantic traits. Both Enmeduranki and Enoch are regarded as intermediaries between the heavenly and earthly realms, mediating divine revelation and heavenly knowledge. Shared or comparable terminology for Enoch’s heavenly tablets and Enmeduranki’s tablets, both of which contain the secrets of “heaven and earth” show additional similarities between the two figures.2 Enmeduranki was associated with the sun-god Shamash while Enoch was linked in postexilic tradition from early times to the solar year and associated with certain astronomical revelations.3 So too, both figures are said to experience similar ends to their earthly life: several incantation texts report that Enmeduranki “ascended to heaven” and the biblical narrative records that Enoch was “taken-up” from earth to the heavens and did not die.4 While the 1 J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1984). 2 This was noted by P. Grelot in “La Légende d’Hénoch dans les Apocryphes et dans la Bible,” RSR 46 (1958): 5–26, 181–210, esp. 15. 3 VanderKam, Enoch, 44, 116. 4 Cf. Gen 5:24.

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Mesopotamian figure of Enmeduranki likely served as a model for the Jewish figure known as Enoch, he is never mentioned by name in the Enochic corpus. Mesopotamian Names in the Enochic Collection The Aramaic Enochic tradition cites certain Mesopotamian names like Gilgamesh and Hobabish (the latter can be identified with Huwawa) which are worthy of discussion.5 These individuals are mentioned in the traditions preserved in the Book of Giants, a text found among the Enochic fragments and thought to have been regarded as part of the Enochic collection.6 These figures appear in the company of giants of uncertain origin named Ohyah, Hahyah, and Mahawai, and Watchers, some with names not attested in other lists of fallen angels. The fragments of the Book of Giants found in Qumran represent a literary tradition which is related to the main tradition in the Enochic collection, namely that of the Watchers (1 Enoch 6–11). This part of the work is represented among the oldest manuscripts at Qumran. Two distinct units can be observed in this text: the first refers to Shemihazah, and the second is a short report that refers to Asaʾel.7 According to the Shemihazah story (1 En. 6:1–7:62), a group of the sons of heaven (6:2) known as the Watchers (‫ )עירין‬glimpse the daughters of men, desire them, and decide to descend to them. They even make a vow together on Mount Hermon (1 En. 6:6). Then the Watchers

5

4Q530 f2ii+6–12(?):1; 4Q531 f22:12; 4Q203 f3:3. This tradition is neither contained in the Greek, nor in the Ethiopic tradition of 1 Enoch. At Qumran, the Book of Giants is represented by 4Q203 (4QEnGiantsa ar), 4Q530 (4QEnGiantsb ar), 4Q531 (4QEnGiantsc ar), 4Q532 (4QEnGiantsd ar), 4Q533 (4QEnGiantse ar). The first edition of these fragments was published by J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (London: Clarendon, 1976). Another publication of the texts (including 1Q23, 1Q24, 1Q26, 4Q206 2–3, 4Q556, 6Q8, and not including 4Q533) along with a commentary is L. T. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran: Texts, Translation, and Commentary (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1997. For the most recent critical edition with further additions and joins, see É. Puech, DJD 31:17–116. 7 Here see 1 En. 8:1–2; cf. 4Q202 f1ii:26. This fact has already been noted by early scholars dealing with the work. R. H. Charles, The Book of Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1893), 13–14, differentiated between two narratives in the text of 1 Enoch 6–11. More recently P. D. Hanson, “Rebellion in Heaven, Azazel and Euhemeristic Heroes in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 197–233 and G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 383–405 have analysed the constituents of the text and differentiated as well two sources. 6

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defile themselves with the earthly women and teach them sorcery and magic (7:1). The children issuing forth from this union are giants who devour the fruits of humanity’s labor (7:4). The giants then begin sinning against creatures by consuming flesh and engage in the scandal of drinking blood. The sins committed by them serve as the occasion for the punishment of the Flood which then destroys the entirety of the earth and all humans (7:5–6; 9:1–11). The Asaʾel story (1 En. 8:1–2) offers further details on certain points of the above narrative of the Watchers. Asaʾel is said to teach metalworking, the making of weapons and the cutting of jewels to men. He is also said to teach the knowledge of eye make-up and precious gems, and the technique of creating mineral-based dyes to women.8 Since there is no reference to when these things were taught, it is possible that these events preceded the descent of the heavenly beings. If so, the use of cosmetics by women serves as a fitting explanation for how the lust of the Watchers was aroused. Furthermore, the weapons that were made under the instruction of Asaʾel may have later become the very instruments unleashed against humanity and creatures by the giants.9 Here, the story is followed by a report on the instruction of Shemihazah and his companions, angels who teach the interpretations of heavenly omina. Each Watcher is said to teach the signs of the natural phenomenon associated with his name (1 En. 8:3–4). The whole section ends with an account of the punishment of Asaʾel and the Watchers. Asaʾel is to be bound and cast into darkness where the Watchers will remain until “the great day of judgment” (1 En. 10:4–7). In contrast, Shemihazah and his companions are to be bound by Michael “for seventy generations” after they are forced to witness the destruction of their offspring, the giants (1 En. 10:11–12). The perishing of the giants takes place in the devastating flood which also cleanses the earth (1 En. 10:1–3, 20–22).

8 The passage in 1 En. 65:6 supplements the list of the teachings of Asaʾel by adding that the Watchers also taught people to cast metal and to make cast metal statues. According to 1 Enoch 69 a certain Watcher named Pinemʾe taught people writing and the use of ink and papyrus—skills that later could be the source of misunderstandings. 9 According to the Shemihazah narrative the Watchers alone are responsible for the sinful unions; cf. J. C. VanderKam, Enoch: A Man for All Generations (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 1995), 32–33. On the Asaʾel tradition see Siam Bhayro, The Shemihazah and Asael Narrative of 1 Enoch 6–11: Introduction, Text, Translation and Commentary with Reference to Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Antecedents (AOAT 322; Münster: UGARIT-Verlag, 2005).

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The Book of Giants contains material related to the giants and refers to various events from antediluvian times. Its plot cannot be reconstructed from the fragmentary text, and only some details can be recovered. References are made to the deeds of the Watchers and to their defilement, as well as to the begetting of giants and monsters. It also recounts the devastation and bloodshed, (4Q531 1 2+3, 4, 5) and the “great corruption in the [earth]” which the giants caused (4Q532 2 9). References to dreams and dream-visions are also made in the fragments of the Book of Giants. These dreams are oracles that presage the destruction of the giants. The figure of Gilgamesh is mentioned twice in the fragments. In both instances, Ohya relays a message from Gilgamesh concerning the giants. The first message refers to the doom of the giants: “. . . concerns the death of our souls and all his comrades [en]tered, [and Oh]ya told them what Gilgamesh said to him and Ḥ [o]babis shouted (?) and a [jud]gement was pronounced against his soul and the guilty one cursed the potentates’ ” (4Q530 2 ii+6+7i+8– 11+12(?) 1–2). In the second reference, Ohya again relays a message from Gilgamesh, but the text is far more fragmentary here. Ohya says: “[and then G]ilgamesh said, ‘Your dream [. . .] pea[ce . . .’]” (4Q531 22 12). What can be ascertained from the Qumran manuscripts is that both references to Gilgamesh are connected with interpretation and in the second instance with that of a dream. It is not known whether they are interpretations of omina or whether both relate to a dream. It is not possible to determine from the fragments if Gilgamesh himself is a giant or not—only his function as a dream-interpreter is certain. In the same Qumran texts of the Book of Giants, Enoch is also mentioned by name. The first reference is to the familiar epithet “the noted scribe” who is said to be able to “interpret for us” (i.e. for the giants) a dream (4Q530 2 ii+6–12(?) 14). The second is a mention of Enoch by name when Mahawai is sent to him in order to learn their fate (4Q530 2 ii+6–12(?) 4). Previous Approaches to the Figure of Gilgamesh Revolve Around the Epic of Gilgamesh The reason why Gilgamesh is mentioned in the Book of Giants is not altogether clear; previous research largely associated his name with the figure known from the Epic of Gilgamesh. Similarly Hobabish/

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Huwawa, regarded as a key character, appears also in the epic and Book of Giants. D. R. Jackson argues that the Enochic mention of Gilgamesh is a reference to a giant, and that such an association reflects a demonization of the epic hero by an exilic Jewish author polemicizing against the dominant Mesopotamian culture of the galut.10 In addition to Gilgamesh and Huwawa, John C. Reeves proposes that yet another figure who is mentioned in the Manichean tradition the giant Atambīš, could be “a reflex of Mesopotamian ‘Utnapishtim,’ here transformed from Flood hero to Giant.”11 Reeves holds the view that the Book of Giants is in its entirety an anti-Gilgamesh text.12 In contrast to these views, Loren Stuckenbruck understands the Book of Giants to borrow general motifs from the Epic of Gilgamesh without any polemical engagement.13 So too, Matthew Goff ’s recent study focuses on the relationship between the Enochic composition and the Epic, and offers the conclusion that the portrayal of Gilgamesh in the Aramaic fragments cannot be explained as a polemic against Mesopotamian literary traditions. Instead, Goff proposes that the Gilgamesh character is best understood as having been created anew in the Enochic Book of Giants.14 Even the term “the tradition of the Gilgamesh Epic” is somewhat misleading. The Epic, “the most significant literary creation of the whole of the ancient Mesopotamia,”15 existed in several versions, with each one of them the result of a lengthy literary development at the hands of multiple authors and redactors. Akkadian copies of an epic composition centered on Gilgamesh date from the Old Babylonian

10 D. R. Jackson, “Demonising Gilgames,” in Gilgames and the World of Assyria (ed. Joseph Azize and Noel Weeks; Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 107–14. 11 J. C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmogony: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions (Monographs of the Hebrew Union College 14; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1992), 159 n. 373; idem, “Utnapishtim in the Book of Giants?” JBL 112 (1993): 110–15. 12 Reeves, Jewish Lore, 126; also L. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants, 72–74. 13 L. T. Stuckenbruck, “Giant Mythology and Demonology: From the Ancient Near East to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Die Dämonen: die Dämonologie der israelitischjüdischen und frühchristlichen Literatur im Kontext ihrer Umwelt (ed. A. Lange, H. Lichtenberger, D. Römheld; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 318–38. 14 The parallels between the Book of Giants and the Epic of Gilgamesh according to Goff are divine-human parentage, evil spirits, dreams, giant warriors, and Mount Hermon. With the exception of the evil spirits, these motifs are present in the epic. See Goff, “Gilgamesh the Giant: The Qumran Book of Giants’ Appropriation of Gilgamesh Motifs,” DSD 16 (2009): 221–53. 15 S. N. Kramer, History Begins at Sumer (Garden City: Doubleday, 1959), 180–81.

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period (2000–1600 b.c.e.) and are known from several sites in and around Babylonia. The so-called Standard Babylonian version, based on the Old Babylonian version, may have been composed in the last half or quarter of the second millennium. Both versions of the epic seem to have circulated widely in the 2d millennium b.c.e. and are attested at scattered sites in Mesopotamia, Anatolia, and Canaan. The epic is also known to have been translated into other foreign languages of the ancient Near East and the kernel of the literary tradition that underlies the Gilgamesh Epic may be recognized in the various Sumerian compositions associated with Gilgamesh which circulated independently.16 Gilgamesh and the Epic of Gilgamesh Sumerian compositions related to the person of Gilgamesh or to a theme of the epic (e.g., the Flood) are from the twenty-sixth or twentyfifth centuries, and from about 2100–2000 b.c.e.17 Sumerian compositions like “Gilgamesh and the Land of Living,” “Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven,” “The Deluge,” “The Death of Gilgamesh,” “Gilgamesh and Agga,” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld” likely circulated as independent narratives.18 These texts contain internal formal elements that suggest this possibility.19 Plots of certain Sumerian tales like “The Journey to the Cedar Mountain” and “The Bull of Heaven” go on to develop main themes of the epic, however these similarities are limited to the broad outlines of the plot; many details in the compositions themselves vary widely. The theme of the deluge in the Sumerian tradition was not originally associated with Gilgamesh. The section on the deluge was inserted only

16 For the texts see J. H. Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), 11 n. 39; also 13 n. 45. 17 Tigay, Evolution, 15–16. 18 S. N. Kramer, “The Epic of Gilgames and Its Sumerian Sources: A Study in Literary Evolution,” JAOS 64 (1944): 7–23, 83; Tigay, Evolution, 23. 19 E.g., “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld” and “The Deluge” begin with mythological introductions, a feature which typically appears at the beginning of a composition. “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living,” “Gilgamesh and Agga,” and “Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld” were listed by their opening phrases which functioned as titles and are listed as separate entries in Sumerian literary catalogues; see Tigay, Evolution, 28, esp. n. 28.

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later in the Akkadian epic.20 Other themes related to Gilgamesh in the Sumerian compositions, like that of mortality and immortality, had become paramount in the Akkadian epics. Three Sumerian compositions, “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living,” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld,” and “The Death of Bilgamesh (Gilgamesh),” all deal with the problem of death and immortality; the last of these includes a deathbed dream that introduces the idea that Gilgamesh was told that he could not have immortality. Enki’s compensation for having to die the hero was that Gilgamesh became a god but only in death.21 Furthermore, the theme of the quest for immortality appears differently in the Old Babylonian epic where Gilgamesh’s adventures became the story of how the hero—whose epithet refers to his partly divine origin—sought immortality, first by reputation, and later on, after Enkidu’s death, literal immortality.22 Not all of the Sumerian themes continue, however, in this version of the epic. Gilgamesh beyond the Epic of Gilgamesh The earliest mention of Gilgamesh is in the Fara god list (twentysixth or twenty-fifth century b.c.e.) where he is referred to as a god.23 Offerings were made to Gilgamesh in Early Dynastic Lagash before the middle of the twenty-fourth century, and in several towns at the end of the third millennium. Shulgi, king of Ur (twenty-first century), addressed two short hymns to Gilgamesh among the hymns under his (viz., Shulgi’s) name.24 Gilgamesh appears in the Sumerian king list as a successor and son of the divine king Lugalbanda with the words added in the text “his father is a lillū” (i.e. a spirit) referring thus to a demonic origin of Gilgamesh. The tradition is preserved in the classical

20

Tigay, Evolution, 25 n. 12. A. R. George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts (2 vols.; London: Oxford University Press, 2003), 1:126. 22 Tigay, Evolution, 53. 23 W. G. Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious, Historical and Omen Texts and the Historicity of Gilgameš” in Gilgameš et sa légende: Études recueillies par Paul Garelli à l’occasion de la VIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Paris 1958 (ed. P. Garelli; Cahiers du Groupe François-Thureau-Dangin 1, Paris: Klincksieck, 1960), 39–53, here 39. 24 Tigay, Evolution, 13–14. 21

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author Aelius Aristeides who refers again to the demonic origin of the hero.25 Gilgamesh and the Netherworld In Mesopotamian texts, it is clear that the figure of Gilgamesh, apart from the Gilgamesh Epic, is pictured as a netherworld ruler.26 Occasionally referred to as “Nergal’s little brother,” Gilgamesh is said to have a special relationship to Nergal, the ruler of the netherworld.27 Gilgamesh, mentioned with Nergal and Ereshkigal in the Sumerian poem “Death of Ur-Nammu,” was considered a senior chthonic deity or a king of the netherworld who is said to have received a gift of weapons as part of the funeral proceedings. Gilgamesh is described in this text as “he who sits in judgment in the Netherworld.”28 His name is very rarely found in Old Babylonian documents apart from several copies of the Epic.29 In turn, religious texts from the late libraries mention him frequently as one who, after his life on earth, became king of the underworld—a kind of Babylonian Osiris who is identified with Nergal.30 Gilgamesh was called a “supreme king,” “judge of the Anunnaki,” and “king of the underworld” whose vision was like that of a god’s.31 It was he who engaged in interrogation and in determining the final verdict of the deceased in the underworld. His authority to act as judge was conferred by the sun-god Shamash. The omina associated with Gilgamesh’s name are associated with a specific circle, “kings, regents and princes,” all who bow down in his presence: we read: “You watch the omens about them and give the decision” (VI 9–10). On the first tablet of the incantation series “Maqlû,” Gilgamesh’s name is mentioned in an invocation to the netherworld.32 Gilgamesh as judge and ruler of the shades in the netherworld held a specific role in the ancestor cult and in magical healing (incantations).33

25

On the story and its motifs see George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:60–62. It is to be noted that the Epic of Gilgamesh never describes Gilgamesh as one who becomes a netherworld god. 27 George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:107. 28 George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:127. 29 Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 46. 30 Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 40. 31 Cited by Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 39. 32 Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 41. 33 George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:127–35. 26

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The period known as Abu 27–29, otherwise known as the Babylonian “All Souls’ Night,” was a time when the gates of the netherworld were thought to be open, permitting the spirit of the dead to come and go between the netherworld and the land of the living. This was an especially good opportunity for dispatching all kinds of malignant beings down to the netherworld.34 The purifying ritual known as Maqlû (mentioned above) was typically performed at the end of the month of Abu. Texts related to this ceremony often call on the authority of Gilgamesh.35 Bilingual menology also reflect that Gilgamesh was especially honored during this time of the year as a deity capable of averting harmful magic. The figure of Gilgamesh was probably used in such ceremonies.36 Prayers to Gilgamesh as a judge of the netherworld are related to such ceremonies. His role as a netherworld judge is often associated with his healing functions. It is Gilgamesh who determines the destinies of the suppliants (that is, of the sick) by examining their omina, and eliminating sickness.37 Netherworld connections and mantic functions are regularly interrelated in religious traditions and therefore, the association of the two with regard to Gilgamesh is not a surprise. Gilgamesh as king of the netherworld interprets omina pertaining to kings. One such example, “The omen of Gilgameš the mighty king (amūt gilgameš šarru dannu), who had no rival,” as well as variations of this type are frequently attested in the omen tradition of the late period.38 Thus, Gilgamesh as ruler of the netherworld appears to have three distinct functions over humans in this religious system. As a judge, he is able to determine the verdict of those who suffer. In such texts, the prayers use legal terminology to detail the circumstances of the afflicted ones. As an omen-interpreter he can foretell future events and prognosticate whether the afflicted one will die or live. Finally, as one with authority over troublesome ghosts, Gilgamesh is able

34 See J. A. Scurlock, “Magical Uses of Ancient Mesopotamian Festivals of the Dead,” in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power (ed. M. W. Meyer; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 93–107. 35 For a discussion of the Maqlû ritual, see T. Abusch, “Mesopotamian AntiWitchraft Literature: Texts and Studies. Part I: The Nature of Maqlû: Its Character, Divisions, and Calendrical Setting,” JNES 33 (1974): 259–61. 36 George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:132–33. 37 George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:135. 38 Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 45; see also George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:113–14.

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to heal. These three roles are interrelated as each concerns the healing of a sickness thought to be caused by harmful magic. The name Gilgamesh, in its various forms, is also attested in Greek magical papyri and though I cannot elaborate on the topic in this context, the name continues to be used today in magical incantations. Late Assyrian documents related to burial rituals mention images or depictions of Gilgamesh.39 One common representation identified with Gilgamesh is one of two heroic figures in a scene detailing a victory over a monster. The other type of representation is exemplified in the statue of Ashurbanapli where the ruler is depicted as Gilgamesh holding a lion. This particular motif is of unknown origin since it does not originate in the Epic of Gilgamesh.40 In comparison to the animal, the human-figure has a gigantic stature. Mesopotamian Traditions at Qumran In all likelihood, the Gilgamesh motif comes from Mesopotamia, but how well acquainted were the Jews living in the Babylonian diaspora with Mesopotamian lore? Their familiarity with Mesopotamian tradition is well reflected in the Aramaic texts found at Qumran which contains many Mesopotamian elements.41 Some of the Aramaic manuscripts—fragments of the Astronomical Book, the Book of the Watchers, and the Book of Giants—represent the oldest layer of the Qumran manuscript tradition, dating to the end of the third century b.c.e. The Astronomical Book reflects a solid awareness of Mesopotamian astronomy. Literary Aramaic works found at Qumran (“The Prayer of Nabonidus,” 4Q550, Aramaic fragments of the book of Tobit) show a very good acquaintance with historical and literary traditions of the Eastern diaspora.42 Revelations of the secrets of the cosmos that were

39

Lambert, “Gilgameš in Religious,” 42. W. G. Lambert, “Gilgamesh in Literature and Art: The Second and First Millennia,” in Monsters and Demons in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (ed. A. Farkas; Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 1987), 37–52. 41 A tentative typology is given by B. Z. Wacholder, “The Ancient Judeo-Aramaic Literature 500–164 b.c.e.: A Classification of Pre-Qumranic Texts,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman; JSOTSup 8; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 257–81. 42 The most outstanding example is 4Q242, the Prayer of Nabonidus which is well acquainted with historical legends of the last Neo-Babylonian king Nabunaid (555–539 b.c.e.). On the historical background of the legend see R. P. F. Meyer, Das Gebet des 40

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given to Enoch during his heavenly journeys which are described in the Aramaic Enoch texts also attest to awareness of Mesopotamian cosmological lore.43 It may be assumed that the core of the Enochic tradition, including the Astronomical Book, the Book of the Watchers, and the Book of Giants, developed in a Babylonian Jewish Diaspora community or in a group of returnees that sought to preserve traditions from the Babylonian exile. This Enochic corpus was expanded at a later time by many additions.44 Furthermore, such a list of texts influenced by Mesopotamian traditions can include those treating physiognomy—a Mesopotamian genre par excellence—many of which were written in Aramaic.45 Mesopotamian schools of scribes had a two-level curriculum. Students of the first level memorized lists of words, learned cuneiform writing by copying literary texts, mastered computing, and acquired other necessary skills of administration. Higher knowledge, that of the scholarly tradition, included mathematics, astronomy and calendar, interpretation of omina, and physiognomy—such were the skills taught and developed in the second level of schools. Mesopotamian education underwent significant shifts in the first millennia b.c.e.: literary texts related to Babylon grew in importance while other lists dropped out of circulation. First-millennium scholarship reflects an increasing focus on magic and divination. Consequently texts related to these sciences become increasingly emphasized in the curriculum, and many omens and lists of incantations were assigned for copying

Nabonid: Eine in den Qumran-Handscriften wiederentdeckte Weisheitserzählung. Mit 1 Tafel (Sitzungsberichte der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig 107/3; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1962). 4Q550 uses Persian names and the story that it contains reflects the influence of the pattern of the Ahiqar novel; see I. Fröhlich, “Stories from the Persian King’s Court. 4Q550 (4prEsthar/a–f ),” Acta Antiqua (Hung) 38 (1998): 103–14. 43 P. Grelot, “La Géographie mythique d’Hénoch et ses sources,” RB 65 (1958): 33–69; idem, “La Légende d’Hénoch dans les Apocryphes et dans la Bible”; idem, “L’Eschatologie des Esséniens et le livre d’Hénoch,” RevQ 1 (1958–59): 113–31; idem, “Hénoch et ses écritures,” RB 82 (1975): 481–500, written before the publication of the Aramaic fragments. 44 A similar case is the Danielic collection, because the earliest selections demonstrate also a good knowledge of Mesopotamian lore. 45 On Qumran physiognomies see M. Popović, Reading the Human Body: Physiognomics and Astrology in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Hellenistic- Early Roman Period Judaism (STDJ 67; Leiden: Brill 2007).

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and memorization in the schools.46 Qumran Aramaic texts indicate that the Jewish authors of these texts were well-acquainted, not only with Mesopotamian literary traditions, but also with astronomy, calendar, and the tradition of the interpretation of omina. This knowledge may have been mediated through cuneiform sources—or Aramaic ones— and transmitted in Aramaic. The Gilgamesh Epic is among the core literary traditions in Mesopotamia. Although first-millennium Babylonian curricula focused on certain Babylonian themes in teaching, the Epic would have been known in the diaspora. Given the particular function that the figure of Gilgamesh enjoys in the Aramaic Book of Giants, the Jewish author(s) may have had a familiarity of Mesopotamian dream interpretations and omen literature, topics that would have been a part of an upperlevel scribal curriculum. This fact may be of interest to scholars of the giants in the Enochic tradition. The Giants and the Watchers in the Enochic Traditions The basic problem in the Book of Giants seems to be the mortality of the Giants. In fact, the mortality of human and semi-divine beings is a theme found in the Gilgamesh Epic and in several Sumerian poems. The Giants, sons of the heavenly Watchers, are destined to perish in the Flood alongside the humans.47 Their doom is presaged in several dream-visions related in the Book of Giants. The interpreter of these dreams is Gilgamesh who is probably a distinct type of being in this text and not one of the giants. Although interpretation of a dream by the visionary himself is not without example in Second Temple Jewish literature,48 authoritative interpreters typically explain the dreams of others.49 The interpreters are always highly esteemed individuals who have special authority to interpret dreams. In addition to Gilgamesh,

46 P. D. Gesche, Schulunterricht in Babylonien im ersten Jahrtausend v. Chr. (AOAT 275; Münster: UGARIT-Verlag, 2001), 81–152; D. M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 25–27. 47 The Watchers do not perish in the Flood—their punishment is binding; cf. 1 En. 10:4–7, 11–12. 48 Abraham interprets his own dream to Sarah in the 1QapGen 19:14–21. 49 Daniel interprets Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams and visions; cf. Dan 2, 4, and 5. Hereafter visions seen by Daniel are self-interpreted, cf. Dan 7, 8.

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the Book of Giants cites Enoch as an interpreter of dreams. The two figures seem to be paralleled with each other. The recipients of the interpretations, the giants, are usually considered in scholarly literature as mighty heroes or potentates. Their fathers, the Watchers, are understood as Prometheus-like figures who, having transgressed the boundaries of flesh and spirit—heaven and earth—rebelliously teach cultural secrets to humankind.50 Noteworthy is the Jewish assessment of the Watchers’ teachings—magic, sorcery, and interpretation of omina (mentioned in 1 En. 7:1, 1 En. 8:3–4)— as immoral sins that contaminate both the transgressor and the created world.51 Interpretation of omina (e.g., heavenly constellations and other natural phenomena) was frequently practiced in Mesopotamian culture—but the same practice was considered to be sinful in 1 Enoch, and thus condemned along with other forms of illicit magic.52 Here it should be noted that the motifs of metallurgy, gemstones, and cosmetics which were associated with Asaʾel —also carry magical connotations.53 The giants who issued from the Watchers and earthly women are not heroic but rather demonstrate a devastating nature. They are the negative result of forbidden unions and so embody a kind of cosmic dysfunction. According to the passage in 1 En. 15:8, the offspring of the giants are called “demons” (Ethiopic nafsat, Aramaic ‫)רוחא‬. Like their fathers, these beings are spirits. As such, they neither eat, nor

50 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 192. 51 I. Fröhlich, “Theology and Demonology in Qumran Texts,” Henoch 32 (2010): 101–29. 52 Cf. 1 En 7:1, 8:3–4, the teachings of omina by the Watchers. A collection of interpretations on heavenly phenomena and meteorological omina can be found in the series Enūma Anu Enlil (“When Anu and Enlil”) from the Neo-Babylonian era. It is often noted that the teachings of the Watchers show similarities concerning the content and the order of the omina, see R. Borger, “Die Beschwörungsserie bīt meseri und die Himmelfahrt Henochs,” JNES 33 (1974): 183–96; idem, “The Incantation Series Bīt Meseri and Enoch’s Ascension to Heaven,” in I Studied Inscriptions from before the Flood: Ancient Near Eastern, Literary, and Linguistic Approaches to Genesis 1–11 (ed. R. S. Hess and D. T. Tsumura; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 224–33. 53 On the magic of metallurgy, see M. Eliade, Forgerons et alchimistes (Homo Sapiens; Paris: Flammarion, 1956). On the magic of jewels and make-up in Mesopotamia, see V. Haas, Magie und Mythen in Babylonien: von Dämonen, Hexen und Beschwörungspriestern (Merlins Bibliothek der geheimen Wissenschaften und magischen Künste 8; Gifkendorf: Merlin, 1986), 197–98.

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drink, and have no obstacles. Their destructiveness is directed primarily against women and children, as they were born of women.54 Both the giants and the Watchers show demonic features already in the narrative on the Watchers (1 Enoch 6–11). The all-devouringnature of the giants and their consuming of blood evoke characteristics of the devastating demons that are described similarly in Mesopotamian traditions.55 The latter are called the utukku-s, a general term used for harmful demonic beings. These demons are described as tall and obtrusive beings, which roam in bands and attack their victims indiscriminately. They are ruthless, wind-nature beings, without compassion. As to their origin, they are sporadically referred to in various texts as the “spawn of Anu,” who originated from the union of the sky-god Anu and Earth (erṣetum).56 The presumption of the demonic character of the giants is confirmed by a description in the Book of Giants which states that one of the giants took to the air “as whirlwinds, and he flew with his hands/wings as [an] eagle.”57 This passage presumes that the giants possessed human shapes and the ability to fly like whirlwinds. The punishment for the sins of the Watchers is that they will be bound by angels and cast into darkness (1 En. 10:4–7, 11–12). Reports of banishing demonic beings to the netherworld, or to some other non-inhabitable world, and of binding and locking them up are fairly typical motifs in apotropaic and exorcistic texts.58 The story of the Watchers is a myth about the origin of evil in the world. Its focus is on an event that brought catastrophe to humanity from the beginning of the created world.59 The deeds of the Watchers

54 This part of the tradition is known only from the Greek and the Ethiopic translations. Unfortunately, 4QEnarc ar, the fragment which would have contained this part of the text, is not legible at this place. It is assumed that these details were also present in the Aramaic text tradition of the Enochic collection. 55 4Q531 5 1 speaks in more concrete terms than the Shemihazah story and reports that the giants were destroying fruit, wheat, trees, sheep, and cattle. 56 M. Stol, Epilepsy in Babylonia (Cuneiform Monographs 2; Groningen: Styx Publications, 1993), 13. 57 4Q530 (4QEnGiantsb ar 3 4). 58 V. Haas, Magie, 170. See also Kelley Coblentz Bautch, A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19: “No One Has Seen What I Have Seen” (JSJSup 81; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 149–51. 59 The material of Genesis 2–5 is not included in the Enochic collection. References are made to the work of the creation on 1 Enoch 1–5. The story of the Fall (Genesis 2–3) is missing from the collection, references to this tradition are not made in the collection.

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and the aftermath of these actions are all connected with the notions of sin and impurity.60 The first stage of the birth of evil is dysfunction in the cosmic order, the mixing of heavenly and earthly beings. Heavenly angels are the ones who initiate sins by descending to earthly women. Driven by their desire, they agree to commit the sin together. The narrative does not mention that the women are responsible—the authors and agents of the deeds are the Watchers alone.61 The giants, born from the cosmic dysfunction, initiate further havoc on the world. Like the sins of the Watchers, the deeds of the giants are cast in an ethical light as sins which result in the defilement of the earth. The impurity of the earth is the occasion for the punishment of the deluge. The cosmic dysfunction and impurity introduced by the sins of the Watchers is simultaneously the origin of the demons understood as the perpetual agents of natural evil in the created world. Here it seems that the Jewish author(s) of the Enochic story use Mesopotamian lore in a conscious manner by their explanation of evil in 1 Enoch. The origin of Giants, viz., sin and impurity, is the origin of evil in the world. The bearers of evil and impurity are demonic beings, the offspring of the Watchers. Demons are actively at work in human history. The story of the Watchers (1 Enoch 6–11) was written at some point after the Babylonian exile. The terminus ad quem is the end of the third century b.c.e. Its language is Aramaic, the vernacular of Mesopotamia and the lingua franca of the exiled Judaeans from the sixth century b.c.e. The figure of Enoch and the revelations given to him reflect a working knowledge of the Mesopotamian traditions about the apkallū, the antediluvian sages known from the priestly tradition of the city of Eridu.62 Mesopotamian elements in the Enochic literature are not, however, a matter of simple borrowing. Mesopotamian lore was incorporated consciously into a Jewish religious system of thought. The Enochic story of the Watchers reflects a monotheistic worldview and presumes a biblical worldview of ritual purity.

60

On this see Fröhlich, “Theology and Demonology in Qumran Texts.” On the women who mate with the Watchers in the Book of the Watchers, see Kelley Coblentz Bautch, “What Becomes of the Angels’ ‘Wives’? A Text Critical Study of 1 En. 19:2,” JBL 125 (2006): 766–80. 62 See VanderKam, Enoch; H. S. Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic: The Mesopotamian Background of the Enoch Figure and of the Son of Man (WMANT 61; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1988). 61

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The giants in the Enochic tradition are not heroes but ravaging demons.63 The Book of Giants concerns the portentous dreams of the giants, but this is unconnected to any known episode of the Gilgamesh Epic. The tradition that drew these figures, Gilgamesh, Huwawa, and perhaps Utnapishtim into the Book of Giants was not that preserved in the Epic of Gilgamesh. Rather the Mesopotamian tradition behind the epic which associates Gilgamesh with the netherworld and the demonic, is that which influenced the Book of Giants. Gilgamesh, in his widely known role as king and judge of the netherworld, interpreter of omina, and healer—beliefs never mentioned in the epic but only in exorcistic texts and omen literature—may indeed be the figure who is the interpreter of the dreams of the giants in the Book of Giants. The figures of Huwawa and Utnapishtim could have plausibly entered into the Enochic literature in a similar way; both are referred to in omen literature and magical texts apart from the Gilgamesh Epic. Further, the monster Huwawa (depicted in masques) was a wellknown demon in Mesopotamian and Syrian traditions, probably as a demon protecting trees.64 In Mesopotamian traditions, heroes of the flood were considered to be interpreters of omina. Both Utnapishtim and Atrahasis are portrayed in epic literature as interpreters of omina and dreams; Utnapishtim interprets polysemous signs and Atrahasis is said to interpret a dream.65 The survivor of the Flood in Mesopotamian tradition was granted “eternal life, like a god,” a motif that related him to the netherworld and to the mantic.66 In conclusion, the figure of Gilgamesh in Aramaic Enoch literature is neither the demonized hero known from the Mesopotamian epic, nor a character created wholly anew by the author(s) of the Book of Giants. He does enjoy a similar function to the chthonic figure of old Mesopotamian traditions of omens and magical literature. As a netherworld

63

Jubilees understands the demons at work in human history to originate from the angelic beings who descended to the human women; cf. Jub. 4:15; 5:1–19; 10:1–5. 64 J. G. Westenholz (ed.), Dragons, Monsters, and Fabulous Beasts (Jerusalem: Bible Lands Museum, 2004), 39. For Huwawa in the omen literature see George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:146. 65 J. Davila, “The Flood Hero as King and Priest,” JNES 54 (1995): 204–05, 213; S. B. Noegel, “Dreaming and the Ideology of Mantics: Homer and ANE Oneiromancy,” in Ideologies as Intercultural Phenomena: Proceedings of the Third Annual Symposium of the Assyrian and Babylonian Intellectual Heritage Project, held in Chicago, USA, October 27–31, 2000 (ed. A. Panaino and G. Pettinato; Melammu symposia 3; Milano: Università di Bologna, 2002), 167–82, esp. 174. 66 Tigay, Evolution, 53 cites various Mesopotamian sources.

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judge and authority on mantic knowledge, he interprets dreams revealed to kings and other authoritative figures. These are the aspects of the character of Gilgamesh that are consistent with the tradition that appears in the Watchers and in the demonic and netherworldallied giants in Aramaic Enochic literature. As the netherworld interpreter of dreams and transmitter of otherwordly secrets, Gilgamesh can be said to parallel the figure of Enoch/Enmeduranki in Aramaic Enochic tradition—it is he who reveals heavenly secrets in the Book of Giants.

THE PARABLES OF ENOCH AND THE MANUSCRIPTS FROM QUMRAN George W. E. Nickelsburg I. The Data and the Problem In his ground-breaking work on the Qumran Enoch fragments, published in article form in 1971 and then in book form in 1976, J. T. Milik lobbed a mortar shell into the camp of New Testament scholarship by claiming that the Book of Parables (1 Enoch 37–71) was composed by a Christian author in the mid-third century c.e.1 Since 1 Enoch’s first publication in English in 1821, the Parables’ teaching on the Son of Man was understood by many to be “strongly illustrative of Jewish opinion upon an important point of doctrine before the appearance of Christ upon earth.”2 Over the next 150 years there would be skeptics— those who thought that the Parables were a Christian composition, or that they were written sometime after the turn of the common era,3 or that if they were earlier, their Son of Man passages were irrelevant to a study of the Gospels and the teaching of Jesus of Nazareth.4 What made Milik’s discussion stand out among the naysayers was his revelation that the fragments that came from the caves of Qumran contained not a single scrap of text from the Enochic Book of the

1 J. T. Milik, “Problèmes de la littérature hénochique à la lumière des fragments araméens de Qumrân,” HTR 64 (1971): 333–78, esp. 373–78; and idem, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments from Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 89–98. 2 The quotation is from the book’s first editor, Richard Laurence, The Book of Enoch the Prophet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1821), 190. Laurence’s comment is, nonetheless, strikingly brief in the context of a forty-five page “Preliminary Dissertation” and thirty-four pages of “Remarks.” 3 On the minority of early dissenting voices that were cautious about ascribing “the Pseudepigrapha” to Jewish authors, see Robert A. Kraft, Exploring the Scripturesque: Jewish Texts and their Christian Contexts (JSJSup 137; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 14. 4 For a recent discussion of many of the issues regarding the Parables together with a comprehensive bibliography, see Gabriele Boccaccini, ed., Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). Specifically on the discussion regarding the Son of Man, see Delbert Burkett, The Son of Man Debate: A History and Evaluation (SNTSMS 107; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).

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Parables. Here were the remains of a manuscript “collection” preserved by an eschatologically oriented Jewish community that lived in the period between the second century b.c.e. and the latter part of the first century c.e. The fragments attested the presence of eleven manuscripts of four of the five major parts of what we now call 1 Enoch (in all, five of its six parts). Yet there was no evidence of what many scholars considered to be the centerpiece of the collection. Milik claimed, moreover, that one of the Enoch manuscripts attested an Enochic “pentateuch” that had in the place of the Parables the Enochic Book of the Giants, a work previously known only in Manichaean sources. This Book of the Giants was attested at Qumran in six manuscripts—as opposed to none containing the Parables.5 Noting the Parables’ absence at Qumran and the absence of quotations from the Parables in the Christian literature of the second to fourth centuries, Milik placed the composition of the Parables “around the year 270 a.d. or shortly afterwards.” The oft-disputed passage in 1 En. 56:5–7 dated, he claimed, from that time period, and the Christian fifth book of the Sibylline Oracles was a model for the composition of the Parables.6 If two scholars had previously entitled their articles “Exit the Apocalyptic Son of Man” and “Re-enter the Apocalyptic the Son of Man,” it was now time for the apocalyptic Son of Man to re-exit.7 As would be expected, Milik’s long-awaited publication of the Qumran Aramaic fragments was widely reviewed, sometimes in extensive review articles. The reviews were both appreciative and strongly critical on a number of grounds that do not concern us here. Of note, however, is the fact that few followed him in his dating of the Parables. My concern in this article is not the dating of the Parables per se, or the issue of the “Son of Man” in the early Jewish and Christian traditions.8 Instead, I turn my attention to two issues that do relate to Milik’s important announcement that no fragments of the Parables had been found in the caves of Qumran. First, from a methodological point of view, is the Parables’ absence from Qumran relevant for the dating of the Parables (section II below)? Second, does a comparison 5

Milik, Books of Enoch, 298–339. Milik, Books of Enoch, 91–97. 7 Ragner Leivestad, “Exit the Apocalyptic Son of Man,” NTS 18 (1972): 243–67; Barnabas Lindars, “Re-enter the Apocalyptic Son of Man,” NTS 22 (1975): 52–72. 8 I deal with these matters in George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011), 58–63, 113–23. Subsequent references to this commentary will cite only the author of the relevant section. 6

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of the Scrolls and the Parables enable us better to understand the respective texts? Are there elements present or absent in one or the other that facilitate our understanding of the Qumran milieu and/or Second Temple Judaism more broadly construed (sections III and IV below)? Among the Scrolls I confine my comparison to the “sectarian texts” from Cave 1 and Cave 4.9 II. Is the Parables’ Absence from Qumran Relevant for their Dating? The argument from silence is always a precarious one. Also absent from the Scrolls are Esther, Judith, the Testament of Moses, the Psalms of Solomon, and the Additions to Daniel, all of which were composed before or during the occupation at Qumran.10 Perhaps especially noteworthy among these examples are the Psalms of Solomon—two of which criticize the purity regulations that govern the temple cult (2:3; 8:12; cf. CD 5:6–7). Thus the absence of any fragments of the Parables in itself proves nothing about the dating of this text.11 Nonetheless, it must be acknowledged that the absence of identifiable fragments of the Parables is remarkable given the substantial number of Aramaic manuscripts that contain one or more of the other parts of the Enochic corpus: ten or eleven mss containing parts of what we call 1 Enoch, and ten mss of the Book of the Giants.12 These include: the Book of the Watchers (five mss); the Book of the Luminaries and/ or related texts (four mss); the Animal Vision (four mss); the Epistle 9 I use the term “sectarian texts” as shorthand for the corpus of texts composed at Qumran or in its immediately antecedent, its sister, and its satellite communities, specifically here CD, 1QS, 1QHa, 1QpHab, and 4QpPsa. 10 Michael E. Stone, “Enoch’s Date in Limbo; or, Some Considerations on David Suter’s Analysis of the Book of Parables,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 444–49, esp. 446–47. 11 Stone (“Enoch’s Date in Limbo,” 446–47) also points to “thousands” of unidentified fragments. 12 For a summary, see George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 9–11. There I am especially dependent on Milik, Enoch, 6; Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar and Florentino García Martínez, DJD 36:104–71; and Loren T. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran (TSAJ 63; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). See also Michael A. Knibb, “The Book of Enoch or the Books of Enoch? The Textual Evidence for 1 Enoch,” in The Early Enoch Literature (ed. G. Boccaccini and J. J. Collins; JSJSup 121; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 21–40. On the identification of 4QEnastra ar (4Q208) as a part of or a source of the Enochic Book of the Luminaries, see VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 341–42.

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of Enoch (two mss); the Birth of Noah (one ms); and the Book of the Giants (ten mss). Especially noteworthy are the fragments of five copies of the Book of the Watchers, which was a major “source” for the Book of the Parables.13 The presence of these Enochic texts, especially the Book of the Watchers, leads one to expect manuscript evidence of the Parables as well. David Flusser sought to explain the absence by citing chapter 41, which he claimed accorded equal status to the sun and moon in contrast to the sun in various Qumran writings.14 In fact, however, within the treatment of these two luminaries in 41:5–8, verse 5 explicitly states that “the one (i.e., the sun) is more praiseworthy than the other.” There is, however, a more compelling explanation for the Parables’ absence from Qumran. The Book of the Watchers, on which the Parables are partly based, dates from the third century b.c.e. and thus stems from one or more of the circles that predate the Qumran settlement. The fact that the Qumran fragments include manuscripts of other texts that are dependent on the Book of the Watchers in no way precludes the possibility (or even the likelihood) that the stream of the Enochic tradition split before “the founding” of the community at Qumran. Thus the Parables could have been composed in a “community” apart from Qumran that had also received and transmitted the Enochic tradition. Evidence for such a multi-streamed tradition is evident in the NT in 1 Pet 3:19–20; 2 Pet 2:4–5; and Jude 6, 14–15, as well as in some of the early patristic literature, all of which know the myth of the Watchers, but arguably none derives it from the sources that had been transmitted through the Qumran “community.”15 Thus there is no good reason to cite the absence of the Parables from Qumran as evidence for their composition after 68 c.e., and a majority of scholars place their composition around the turn of the era.16

13

See George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Discerning the Structure(s) of the Enochic Book of Parables,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 23–47, esp. 23–34, developed and summarized in 1 Enoch 2, 10–21; Michael Knibb, “The Structure and Composition of the Parables of Enoch,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 48–64, esp. 48–58, 64; and James C. VanderKam, “The Book of Parables Within the Enoch Tradition,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 81–99, esp. 84–88. 14 See Stone, “Enoch’s Date in Limbo,” 447. 15 On 1 Peter, 2 Peter, and Jude, see John H. Elliott, 1 Peter: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 637–710. On the patristic literature, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 87–95. 16 For a recent and extensive set of articles on the dating of the Parables, see Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 415–96. A number of these authors speak specifically to

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III. The Parables and the Qumran Sectarian Texts: Some Differences In this section I lay out some points of difference between the social settings implied in the Parables and the sectarian texts, and I bring in other parts of 1 Enoch for comparison. I also take up one element in the religious thought of the respective texts, namely their messianism. The points of difference underscore aspects of the uniqueness of the respective texts and their milieus. A. The Social Setting of the Parables If the Parables (and the other parts of 1 Enoch) were created apart from the Qumran community and its sister and satellite communities, what might this tell us about the sociology of Judaism in the GrecoRoman period? Over the years much has been written on the place of the “Qumran community” and its place in “sectarian Judaism.” Most recently the debate has turned around the developing history of the group(s) described in the sectarian documents themselves.17 Earlier, however, before this refining discussion began to take place, scholars placed the sectarian documents in the context of other non-sectarian or pre-sectarian texts found in the caves around Qumran, for example, Jubilees, 1 Enoch, one of the “apocryphal” compositions in 11QPsa, and, to a degree, the Aramaic Levi Document and the Temple Scroll. The Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36), the Animal Vision (1 Enoch 85–90), the Epistle of Enoch (1 Enoch 92–105), and perhaps separate from this, the Apocalypse of Weeks (1 En. 93:1–10 + 91:11– 17) represent a developing line of tradition associated with Enoch, and each of these segments is attested in two or more Cave 4 mss, as are the ten mss of the related Book of the Giants. At the same time it has been generally agreed that none of these texts was composed “at Qumran” or its sister communities. That is, these compositions were generated in “circles” represented by people who came to Qumran,

the issue of the absence from Qumran. For the details of my dating of the text, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 58–63. 17 For a summary and analysis of this prolific and wide ranging discussion and a new approach to the problem as it relates to the Community Rule, see Alison Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for the Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009). For a summary, see the review by John J. Collins in DSD 17 (2010): 131–33.

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or stated conversely, Qumran attracted to it the kind of people who belonged to the “circles” that composed these texts or were interested in the texts created in these “circles.” To broaden our view a bit more, the author of the book of Jubilees, extant in eight Qumran mss, also placed great value on the Book of the Watchers, the Animal Vision, and at least the Apocalypse of Weeks (as well as the Book of Luminaries, 1 Enoch 72–82).18 Taken together these texts provide a broader social and religious context for the communities that generated the Qumran sectarian texts—a context (or better, contexts) that in one way or another drew lines between insiders and outsiders in Israel.19 Now it is precisely both the existence of the Book of Parables and its absence from the caves of Qumran that complicate this situation. The Parables are an extension and enhancement of (material in) the Book of the Watchers.20 They carry forward that Enochic tradition, which was generated prior to and hence apart from the occupation at Qumran, and they continue and develop that tradition simultaneous with and apart from that occupation. Moreover, as I shall argue below, they attest developments in that tradition, watering down or ignoring the insider/outsider distinction and developing a messianic topos. Furthermore, if I am correct that the Son of Man “theology” in the Gospels and, I think, other parts of the New Testament reflect a knowledge of the Parables’ messianism,21 then several branches of the early Jesus movement carried forward a strand of the Enoch tradition that was composed apart from Qumran.22 Thus the existence of the Parables and their absence from Qumran enable us to see in more

18

Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 72–75. For an extensive treatment of the subject, see Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation (JSJSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1997). For my own discussion of the exclusivist outlook of the Qumran sectarian texts and others as well, see George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Religious Exclusivism: A Worldview Governing Some Texts found at Qumran,” in Das Ende der Tage und die Gegenwart des Heils: Begegnungen mit dem Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt: Festschrift für Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. M. Becker and W. Fenske; AGAJU 44; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 45–67, esp. 45–59; repr. in Jacob Neusner and Alan Avery-Peck, eds., George W. E. Nickelsburg in Perspective: An Ongoing Dialogue of Learning (JSJSup 80; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1:139–75, with a response by Carol A. Newsom and further comments by the author. For aspects of the overarching picture, see George W. E. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins: Diversity, Continuity, and Transformation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 167–84. 20 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 11–14, 55–56. 21 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 70–75, 121–22. 22 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 60. 19

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complexity the variety and proliferation of Jewish religious “groups” in the Greco-Roman period. Leaving out Josephus’s references to the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, et al, we may find testimonies to such different but related “groups” in the Aramaic Levi Document, Jubilees, the Enochic texts apart from the Parables, the Parables themselves, the communities represented by the Qumran sectarian documents, and various manifestations of the first century Jesus movement.23 B. “The Righteous and Chosen” The Parables’ designation “the righteous and chosen” provides continuity with the Book of the Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks but also indicates a point of distinction from those texts. The introduction to the Book of the Watchers is a prophetic oracle that anticipates the eschaton (chs. 1–5). At this time the righteous and the chosen (1:1) will be enlightened by the special revelation (5:8a-g) that will enable their salvation (5:7ab, 8a–g), while the sinners will fall under God’s wrath (5:5–6c, hi, 7c, 8h). Although the author (or authors) distinguishe(s) between the righteous and the sinners in Israel, the book also anticipates the salvation of some of the gentiles, when all iniquity and impurity are removed from the earth and all the sons of men will become righteous, and all the peoples will worship (me) and all will bless me and prostrate themselves” (10:20–21).24

The Apocalypse of Weeks provides a similar scenario. In the seventh historical period (“week”) a totally perverse period arises (93:9). Then the chosen are chosen as witnesses of righteousness and are given sevenfold wisdom and knowledge (i.e., the Enochic revelation; 93:10). They uproot the foundations of violence and the structure of deceit (91:11). They are given a sword to execute righteous judgment on all the wicked (91:12). Thereafter righteous law is revealed to all humanity, which walks in the path of everlasting righteousness. The Epistle

23 On the plurality of these communities represented by the Qumran sectarian documents, see Alison Schofield, “Rereading S: A New Model of Textual Development in Light of the Cave 4 Serekh Copies,” DSD 15 (2008): 96–120; discussed in full in idem, From Qumran to the Yaḥad. 24 That chapter 5 refers to a distinction between the chosen and the sinners in Israel, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 160–64, which places this text within the context of Isaiah 65–66. See also 1 Enoch 25–27.

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of Enoch (1 Enoch 92–105), the context of the Apocalypse of Weeks, distinguishes between the righteous and the sinners, who include both the oppressors of the righteous, as well as false teachers who pervert the everlasting covenant and compose deceitful writings, and it also anticipates the salvation of repentant gentiles (100:6).25 The Parables retain the use of the designation “the righteous and the chosen,” albeit in a way that diverges from the Book of the Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks. When this terminology is used, it refers almost always to them as the victims of persecution or oppression by their opposite number, the kings and the mighty, or as the recipients of eschatological deliverance and vindication in the coming judgment. As the audience of the book, they are, of course, uniquely privy to Enoch’s eschatological revelation. Moreover, we may presume that the terms “righteous” and “chosen” imply that others are unrighteous and not chosen. The book, however, never explicates this contrast. “The sinners” appear to be solely the kings and the mighty, and there is no reference to wrong torah, a malfunctioning temple cult, or false and deceitful teaching.26 The emphasis on the violence of the kings and the mighty, to the exclusion of inner-Israelite religious tensions, sets the Parables off from the Book of the Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks, and also from the dual emphases found in the Epistle of Enoch. If the Parables were created and functioned within an extension of the community that generated the earlier parts of 1 Enoch, it is a community that exists now in new circumstances and that has adjusted the emphasis of its religious teaching to adapt accordingly. Usage of “the chosen” in the Qumran sectarian texts indicates a situation and emphasis closer to the Book of the Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks than to those of the Parables. Here the term is used with some frequency to designate those who have adhered to or returned to right torah, in contrast to those who have apostatized (see, e.g., CD 4:3; 1QS 8:6; 9:14–17; 1QHa 6:15; 10:13 [“the chosen of righteousness”]; 4QpPsa 2:5; 3:5). Even in cases where the text depicts some sort of persecution, the issue is one of right and wrong teaching and/or practice (1QpHab 9:12; 4QpPsa 4:12, 14). This is in keeping with the polarizing rhetoric of these texts.27

25 26 27

On this element in 1 Enoch, see ibid., 52–53. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 64. Nickelsburg, “Religious Exclusivism,” 46–59 (repr.: 1:141–53).

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To summarize, in the use of “the chosen” to refer explicitly to the righteous as opposed to Israelite sinners and apostates, there is some similarity in the Enochic Book of the Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks on the one hand, and the Qumran sectarian texts on the other hand. By contrast, the Parables employ the earlier Enochic designation “the righteous and the chosen” to refer to the author’s audience as the objects of persecution by the kings and the mighty; they are never set over against those who teach and practice wrong torah and preside over a malfunctioning temple cult. C. Messianism: A Point of Difference in Theology The Parables’ messianism is a major point of difference from the eschatology of the Qumran sectarian texts. In contrast to the Book of the Watchers, where the four archangels (Sariel, Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael) are the agents of judgment, the Parables depict a single transcendent figure who combines the features of the Davidic Messiah, Second Isaiah’s Servant of the Lord, Daniel’s one like a son of man, and heavenly Wisdom.28 No such figure appears in the Qumran sectarian texts. Although fragments of five Daniel mss have been identified among the Cave 4 finds, reference to Daniel 7 and its heavenly figure is notably missing, except quite possibly in the reference to Michael in 1QM 17:7–8. Allusions to the Servant in the Hodayot are autobiographical in the context of the author’s persecution (1QHa 12:8, 22–23; 15:10; 16:35–36). Messianic references are tied to future Davidic and Levitic figure(s).29 Features of pre-existent heavenly Wisdom are not to be found in conjunction with eschatological figures. The closest analog to the Parables’ transcendent Son of Man is in the aforementioned references to Michael and to the four archangels whose names are inscribed on the shields in 1QM 9:14–16. Two non-sectarian texts that may have depicted a transcendent eschatological savior figure are 11Q13 and 4Q246, but their fragmentary condition does not allow a clear picture of Melchizedek and the “Son of God.”30

28 George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Salvation without and with a Messiah in Writings Ascribed to Enoch,” in Judaisms and Their Messiahs (eds. J. Neusner, W. S. Green, and E. Frerichs; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 49–68; repr. in Nickelsburg in Perspective, 61–82, with an extensive response by Wiard Popkes. For a detailed discussion of the Parables’ messianism, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 2, 113–21. 29 On messianism at Qumran, see John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: Messianism in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 52–190. 30 On these texts and the problems of their interpretation, see ibid., 171–90.

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george w. e. nickelsburg IV. A Few Parallels between the Parables and the Qumran Sectarian Texts

Although the Parables are not attested in the Qumran corpus, some scattered parallels between the Parables and the Qumran sectarian texts are suggestive of the broader environment(s) that generated these texts. I cite these parallels while being acutely aware of the perils of parallelomania, but in the hope of showing, among other things, how “literary” genres and historical contexts should not be compartmentalized as isolated entities. A. 1QS 11:3–7 The language in this “hymn” has always struck me as a possible allusion to something like Enoch’s vision in the Parables.31 For from the source of his knowledge, he has disclosed his light, and my eyes have observed his wonders, and the light of my heart, the mystery of existence. What always is, is support for my right hand, the path of my steps goes over firm rock, it does not waver before anything. For the truth of God is the rock of my steps, and his might, the support of my right hand. From the spring of his justice is my judgment and from the wonderful mystery is the light of my heart. My eyes have observed what always is, wisdom that has been hidden from humankind, knowledge and prudent understanding (hidden) from the sons of man, fount of justice and well of strength and spring of glory (hidden) from the assembly of flesh. To those whom God has chosen he has given them as an everlasting possession; and an inheritance in the lot of the holy ones. (1QS 11:3–7; DSSSE 1:97–99 adapted)

In both 1QS and the Parables an authority figure, speaking in the first person singular, claims to have received revelation, which is described with noetic vocabulary (“wisdom” in 1 En. 37:1, 2, 3, 4) and which his eyes have seen (39:4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 13; 40:1, 8; 46:1; 47:3; 48:1 and passim),

31

On the Enochic texts cited in this section, see my comments in 1 Enoch 2, ad loc.

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and which is then transmitted to “the chosen” but is hidden from the rest of humanity (48:6; 62:7). In both cases the object of this revelation is, among other things, “the spring of righteousness” (1 En. 48:1; cf. 39:5). In the two texts, God and the Son of Man respectively are described with the metaphor of “support” (48:4). Similarly, the metaphor of light in 1QS is consonant with the heavenly revelation received by Enoch (e.g., “the throne of glory,” 61:8; 62:2, 3, 5). The emphasis on “what always is” is consonant with the reference to God’s complete foreknowledge in 1 En. 39:11: In his presence there is no limit; He knew before the age was created what would be forever, and for all generations what will be.”

For the association of the righteous “holy ones” with the heavenly holy ones, see 1 En. 39:4–5 (cf. 41:2; 48:1). I am not suggesting that the author of the hymn in 1QS 11:3–7 knew the Parables—the Parables were composed later than 1QS was inscribed. Rather, the two texts draw on a common apocalyptic vocabulary. Whether the author of 1QS 11:3–7 claims to have had an apocalyptic vision or is “simply” employing apocalyptic language to describe his claim to revelation is a topic I leave for others to pursue. For another apocalyptic motif in a non-apocalyptic Qumran sectarian text, however, see 1QHa 9:23–24, which refers to the heavenly tablets on which are engraved all that was and will be from eternity to eternity, which “Enoch” elsewhere claims to have seen (82:2; 93:2) in (an)other of his heavenly ascents and which may be alluded to in 39:11, mentioned above. B. The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and 1 Enoch 61:6–13 Of equal note as a set of “crossover” texts are the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and the portrayal of the heavenly worship in 1 En. 61:6–13 (and to a lesser degree in chapters 39–40). In the former, the earthly worshiping community joins with the ranks of angels—called by title— that inhabit the heavenly temple and utter unceasing praise—described with a variety of verbs—to the enthroned Deity, often referred to as such, but never depicted, at least in the preserved fragments. In 1 En. 39–40; 61:6–13 those that sleep not (the Watchers), the four attendants of the throne, and “all who are in heaven” (namely, “the host of the heavens, the holy ones in the heights, all the angels of power, all the angels of dominion, and every spirit of light”), unite “with one voice,”

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“praising, blessing, glorifying, exalting, and sanctifying the name of the Lord,” whose presence is presumed but never described. In the one case we have a pair of apocalyptic visions of the heavenly throne room, in the other, a set of hymns that imagine the tumultuous praise that fills the heavenly sanctuary. It is difficult to know how these texts might relate to one another. Have texts like Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice colored the description in the Parables, have the Sabbath hymns been influenced by an apocalyptic vision similar to (but surely not the same as) that in the Parables, or do the two texts share a common religious environment? It might be worth pursuing this question also in conjunction with a study of the later Jewish mystical texts. C. 1 Enoch 41:8 and 1QS 3:13–26 Another apocalyptic passage in the Parables, this time about the activity of the sun and the moon, leads a reader back to a didactic passage in the Qumran sectarian texts: For the sun (makes) many revolutions for a blessing and a curse, and the course of the path of the moon is light to the righteous and darkness to the sinners. in the name of the Lord, who made a separation between light and darkness, and divided the spirits of humanity, and strengthened the spirits of the righteous in the name of his righteousness. (1 En. 41:8)

The Ethiopic of line 3b is a word-for-word echo of Gen 1:3 in its Ethiopic, Greek, and Hebrew forms. Beyond that, however, the polarity of light and darkness extended with reference to division of the respective spirits of humanity recalls the two spirits passage in 1QS 3:13–26. The passage is especially striking because in the thirty-six chapters of the Parables, it is the only place that posits a kind of divine determinism. Here, again, I do not propose a literary interdependence between 1QS and the Parables passage, this time a dependence of 1 En. 41:8 on 1QS 3:13–26. Rather, it seems best to suggest that this passage shows a familiarity with a form of light/darkness, righteous/sinner dualism that may or may not derive from a source related to (that of) 1QS 3:13–26.

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D. 1 Enoch 61:12–13 and the Hodayot Returning to 1 En. 61:12–13, we find language that is paralleled in the Hodayot: All who sleep not in the heights of heaven will bless him, and all the holy ones who are in heaven will bless him, and all the chosen who dwell in the garden of life. And every spirit of light that is able to bless and glorify and exalt and sanctify your glorious name, and all flesh that with great power glorifies and blesses your name forever and ever. For great is the mercy of the Lord of Spirits, and he is slow to anger; and all his deeds and all his mighty acts, as many as he has done, he has revealed to the righteous and the chosen in the name of the Lord of Spirits.

Perhaps the most remarkable parallels to these verses occur in the Hodayot. There “wonders” (‫ )נפלאות‬occurs repeatedly as the object of revelation (see also 1QS 11:3, section IV.A above) and as something to recount (‫ )ספר‬and for which to give thanks, or to praise or bless God (‫הודה‬, ‫הלל‬, ‫)ברך‬. These deeds relate in general terms to God’s work of creation and salvation and often focus on God’s mercy to the sinner (1QHa 9:26–34; 11:22–23; 14:8–14; 18:1–10, 14–21; 19:27–34). Thus together with the Hodayot, the Parables passage attests an idiom by means of which people who understand themselves as the chosen (1QHa 6:15; 10:13; Parables passim) praise God for the revelation of God’s mighty, wonderful deeds, not least his mercy and forgiveness. For a similar usage with reference to people who describe themselves as “the good” (‫)טובים‬, “the perfect” (‫)תמימים‬, “the righteous” (‫)צדיקים‬, and “the pious” (‫)חסידים‬, see also the psalm preserved in 11QPsa 18:1–16. Summary The absence of the Enochic Book of Parables from the caves at Qumran does not prove that they were composed after the occupation at Qumran, as Milik claimed, and internal data suggest a date of composition around the turn of the era, midway through the Qumran occupation. This dating allows us to compare aspects of the Parables not

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only with the earlier strata of the Enochic tradition attested in 1 Enoch but also with the sectarian texts in the Qumran corpus. In contrast to the earlier parts of 1 Enoch and the Qumran sectarian texts, the Parables indicate no concern about, or interest in, inner-Israelite religious tensions and schisms. Paradoxically, however, they both attest social and theological development of the Enochic tradition and provide within that tradition a transition into the form of Jewish sectarianism that we call the early Jesus movement, which in its own way is marked by a distinctive kind of exclusivism. The Parables’ absence from Qumran notwithstanding, there are points in which both the Parables and the sectarian texts appear to reflect common tradition. Thus we are able to see some aspects of the dynamic social and intellectual developments in Judaism of the Greco-Roman period.

THE SOCIAL SETTING OF THE PARABLES OF ENOCH* Leslie W. Walck The question of the social setting of the Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) continues to present a challenge for scholars because details relating to the milieu of the work are so few. By social setting I mean the social location of the real author and the intended audience in the period of composition and their relation to the apparent oppressors described in the Parables. In the past only a general impression has been elicited from the text regarding the group for whom the work was composed and who preserved it. The Parables, it is generally agreed, has a Jewish provenance.1 Because the Parables have not been found among the documents of the Qumran community, this text probably was composed outside that community by “a different conventicle from that of Qumran,” which identified itself as the “community of the righteous” (e.g., 1 En. 38:1) possibly using “a quasi-technical term or even title” for itself.2 It has been noted that, even though the author of the Parables viewed kings and mighty ones as the opposition, he did not envision a definite course of events or wars for the reversal of fortunes he desired, and so, in a sense, speaks on behalf of all the righteous of Israel.3

* The material in this essay comes from my revised dissertation which is published as The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch and in Matthew (London: T&T Clark, 2011). It is a great privilege for me to honor Dr. James C. VanderKam with this essay for his depth and breadth of scholarship and his understanding, encouraging manner. 1 For example, George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enoch,” ABD 2:508–16, here 513. 2 The first reference concerning conventicle is from John J. Collins, “The Son of Man in First-Century Judaism,” NTS 38 (1992): 448–66, here 452; on “community of the righteous,” see also his “The Heavenly Representative: The ‘Son of Man’ in the Similitudes of Enoch,” in Ideal Figures in Ancient Judaism (ed. G. W. E. Nickelsburg and J. J. Collins; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1980), 111–33, here 116–17; and “The Son of Man who has Righteousness,” in SBLSP 2 (1979): 1–13, here 3. 3 Pierluigi Piovanelli, “ ‘A Testimony for the Kings and the Mighty Who Possess the Earth’: The Thirst for Justice and Peace in the Parables of Enoch,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 363–79; cf. also Lester L. Grabbe, “The Parables of Enoch in Second Temple Jewish Society,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 386–402.

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This general impression of the provenance of the work and the characteristics of the group for which it was written can be made more specific by utilizing sociological methods. Two approaches for discovering the social location of the implied author and the implied reader will be used. The first is to follow Vernon K. Robbins’ analysis of the implied author of Luke-Acts, in which Robbins investigates the implied author’s competencies in nine social arenas.4 The second notes which of the nine social classes described by Gerhard Lenski are known by the implied author, and in which of those social classes the implied author places the righteous and elect ones for whom the Parables were written.5 It is important not to be too simplistic in analyzing ancient cultures and the place of particular documents within them.6 To assume upper, middle, and lower classes for ancient societies is too simplistic for the complexity of ancient cultures. Besides the economic factors, categories of honor, shame, authority, and power must be considered as well.7 Interactions, relationships, status, and geography also play roles in determining ancient cultures and documents.8 As the text is examined for these relational clues, a more precise judgment can be made regarding the place in society of the Parables, its author, the group it represents, and the group who preserved it.

4 Vernon K. Robbins, “The Social Location of the Implied Author of Luke-Acts,” in The Social World of Luke-Acts: A Model for Interpretation (ed. J. H. Neyrey; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1991), 305–332, here 306. It is helpful to distinguish the real author from the implied author. The implied author, a hypothetical figure, knows the sum total of what the characters, the narrator and implied reader or audience know, and has all their competencies. The implied author can be described from noticing the whole variety of social details regarding persons, places, technologies, and relationships depicted in the work. Even though the implied author is hypothetical, the real author knows everything the implied author knows, and more, for the real author is the one who is actually living and interacting in the society. Thus, discovering the implied author is partially to discover the real author. When the details of the social realities of life are sifted out of the text the social location of the implied author can be determined. As Robbins (“Location of the Implied Author,” 306) notes, “a ‘social location’ is a position in a social system which reflects a world view . . . a perception of how things work.” This in turn illuminates a partial view of the social location of the real author. Similarly, the social realities reflected in the text illuminate to some extent the social location of the group for whom the Parables were written. 5 Gerhard E. Lenski, Power and Privilege: A Theory of Social Stratification (New York: McGraw Hill, 1966), 189–296. 6 Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Methodological Considerations in the Debate over the Social Class Status of Early Christians,” JAAR 52 (1984): 519–46. 7 Rohrbaugh, “Methodological Considerations,” 521–22, 529. 8 Rohrbaugh, “Methodological Considerations,” 538.

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1. Arenas of the Social System and the Implied Author of the Parables Robbins, in his analysis of the social location of the implied author of Luke-Acts, examined nine arenas of the social system.9 These are: (a) (b) (c) (d) (e) (f) (g) (h) (i)

previous events that may be mentioned or alluded to in the text natural environment and resources population structure of the society technology socialization depicting conflict, or relationships to patrons or clients artistic, literary, historical, or aesthetic allusions10 awareness of foreign affairs belief system and ideology the political-legal-military system of the day

An examination of the Parables in the light of these nine social arenas can reveal some of the realities about the social location of the real author and the implied readers in the following ways: (a) The implied author of the Parables reveals little interest in previous events. However, persecution (1 En. 46:8), bloodshed (1 En. 47:2), and possibly Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ claim to rule the stars (1 En. 46:7) are a part of the implied author’s memory.11 An invasion by the Parthians and Medes is known (1 En. 56:5) and the implied author also seems to know of Herod’s visit to the hot springs of Callirhoe in the last decade of the first century b.c.e. (1 En. 67:8–13).12 Knowledge of previous events, however, is not very extensive, since no references are made to the Maccabees, Pompey’s visit, or the succession of kings before Herod. (b) Under the topic of natural environment and resources, the implied author is aware of geographical space, including cities, ports

9 Robbins, “The Social Location of the Implied Author of Luke-Acts,” 309, uses the comprehensive framework of T. F. Carney and J. H. Elliot for investigating phenomena in the Roman Empire. 10 Robbins, “The Social Location of the Implied Author of Luke-Acts,” 323. 11 Matthew Black in consultation with James C. VanderKam, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch: A New English Translation with Commentary and Textual Notes (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 208. 12 Josephus, Ant. 17.6.5.

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and other geographical features. The following are noted, but without much specificity: mountains seen on a tour of heaven (1 Enoch 52), as well as mountains in the west (1 En. 67:4), various metals both pure and alloyed, volcanic activity (1 En. 67:5–7), a possible allusion to the Gehinnom Valley and others like it that extended down to the Dead Sea, as well as hot springs.13 No mining towns are mentioned, no ports are named, and even Jerusalem is only alluded to as the “city of my righteous ones” (1 En. 56:7). This seems to indicate that the implied author was more familiar with the territory between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea than with the Mediterranean. (c) No details are revealed about the population structure. The righteous and elect are an identifiable group for they suffered persecution and bloodshed (1 En. 46:8; 47:2–4) and seek vindication. But no details regarding their numbers or the proportion of men, women, and children in the group are revealed. (d) Some knowledge of technology is revealed. Both palatial furniture, such as royal couches and thrones (1 En. 46:4) and agricultural life is acknowledged, such as burning stubble (1 En. 48:9) and rams and lambs jumping and skipping (1 En. 51:4). Some awareness of metallurgy and sorcery is revealed (1 En. 63:10), as well as the occupations of iron workers and idol makers (1 En. 53:3–4; 54:3). These meager allusions could be purely literary. Significantly, the author does know of books (1 En. 68:1) and likely either was a scribe or had access to a scribe since this work is written down and preserved. The mere existence of the text suggests significant knowledge of the scribal profession. (e) Socialization refers to self-perception and how one relates to others. The narrator claims a unique wisdom given by God (1 Enoch 37) and has a very positive attitude toward the righteous and elect and their future blessings (1 En. 45:5; 50:2). Sinners and evildoers will be destroyed (1 En. 45:6; 53:2), however, and no mercy shall be shown to the kings and mighty ones (1 En. 63; 68:1). Nevertheless, proper etiquette when addressing a king or other socially prominent person is known. Proskynesis and worship are normative even on the part of the condemned kings and mighty ones when they beg for mercy

13 On the valleys, see Black, The Book of Enoch, 242. The hot springs are probably Macherus and Callirhoe, which Josephus describes but the Parables do not name. Black, The Book of Enoch, 242. See Josephus, Ant. 17.6.5, and War 7.6.

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(1 En. 62:9; 63:2). This shows some familiarity in interacting with social superiors. (f ) The cultural awareness of the implied author is quite extensive. The author is well acquainted with Scripture and alludes to the creation story (1 En. 48:3) and the waters above and below the earth (1 En. 54:8). Further, the implied author distinguishes between the masculine waters above the earth and the feminine waters below the earth, seeing an eventual reunification of all the waters (1 En. 54:8). Characterizing the waters as male and female is an allusion to a Babylonian myth also referred to in the Jerusalem Talmud (y. Ber. 9:2).14 This could indicate quite a high level of education. The implied author also draws upon and interprets the vision of the Head of Days in Daniel 7 (1 En. 46:1–3; 71:10), as well as Nebuchadnezzar’s vision of the statue made up of the different materials in Daniel 2 (1 Enoch 52). He is aware of the flood story, interpolating a section of a Noachic work into the third parable (1 En. 65:1–69:25), and also of the etiological meaning of the rainbow (1 En. 55:1–2). The implied author shows quite an interest in the sapiential concern with meteorological phenomena, which are revealed to Enoch (1 En. 41; 44; 59; 60; 69:20–23; 71:4) and the calendrical calculation of festivals (1 En. 44:5), which indicates participation in religious decisions. Part of a wisdom song providing a different interpretation of wisdom than Proverbs 8 is also included (1 Enoch 42). Knowledge of the orders of angels (1 Enoch 69), gematria (1 En. 69:13; 71:8) and books (1 En. 68:1)—in particular a heavenly book in which all the names of the righteous are recorded (1 En. 47:3)—indicate education. Not only is the author able to read, but he is also able to write in a skilled manner, drawing on many different scriptural themes.15 All this indicates that the implied author was well-versed in Scripture and well-trained as a scribe. By implication the real author was a member of the scribal, retainer class and had important skills, becoming the spokesperson for the righteous and the elect in speaking out against the kings and mighty ones. (g) Foreign affairs are of minimal interest. The invasion of the Parthians and Medes (1 En. 56:7) is merely mentioned, and matters relating to the Roman Empire, which was establishing its authority

14 15

Black, The Book of Enoch, 219. See, though, 1 En. 69:9 on writing; also see below.

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over the region at the time, are ignored. This indicates that the wider world of foreign affairs is of little interest to the implied author of the Parables. (h) The belief system and ideology in the Parables are quite developed. The Lord of Spirits created the world and imparts wisdom (1 En. 37:4). Sin is considered to have originated with the fallen watchers (1 Enoch 64), while evildoers, the kings and the mighty ones, are followers of Azazel (1 En. 53:5; 54:5; 56:3). There will be a final judgment (1 En. 38:1) in which the righteous will be vindicated and the sinners and evildoers condemned to eternal punishment. The basis of judgment is treatment of the righteous and elect (1 En. 62:11). Heaven and earth will be transformed (1 En. 45:4–5; 50:1) and those who are not powerful now will inherit the earth; the Garden is the place for the righteous to dwell (1 En. 60:8, 23; 61:12).16 Missing is, however, an emphasis on temple sacrifice and following torah. The concerns that are expressed seem to fit the scribal, sapiential retainer class of the Second Temple period quite well. (i) The political-legal-military system of the late first century b.c.e. seems to be quite well known. The work is directed against the ruling class of Palestine and the references to those who occupy the land (1 En. 48:8) indicate an acquaintance with the land-owning, governing stratum of society. “Gifts and presents and tokens of homage” (1 En. 53:1) need to be paid, to maintain the favor of patrons. An allusion to government by intrigue, where brother does not trust brother (1 En. 56:7), suggests familiarity with the ruling stratum of society. This includes familiarity with punishment and imprisonment. Instruments for confining prisoners are mentioned four times, and the angels of punishment are seen to be preparing fetters for Satan/Azazel and for “the kings and mighty of this earth, that they may thereby be destroyed” (1 En. 53:3–4; 54:3–5; 56:1–3; 69:28). The multiplicity of references to fetters, one may speculate, may indicate that the real author either had been imprisoned by the legal system at some point, or was close to someone who had been imprisoned. The implied author also knows something of the military equipment of the day. While no descriptions of armor are present, he does allude to horse-mounted soldiers who found Jerusalem to be an obstacle 16 Only in the Parables do the righteous dwell in the garden. See Black, The Book of Enoch, 227.

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(1 En. 56:7) and warriors riding in chariots (1 En. 57:1–2). Both these forms of attack would have terrified foot-soldiers, while local inhabitants would have found them far superior power to their own military. Again one may speculate that the real author either witnessed riders and chariots or knew someone who had. Through examining details from these nine arenas of a social system, this analysis of the Parables reveals that the implied author was fairly knowledgeable in some areas, but quite uninterested in others. He seems to have a wide knowledge of cultural matters. He knows the Hebrew Scriptures, and interprets especially the Son of Man image in a way to suit his purposes. The implied author further reveals an extensive interest in sapiential subjects as suggested by the revelation of the storehouses of meteorological phenomena shown to Enoch and the list of angels to be punished. He betrays significant familiarity with the political, legal, and military aspects of the social system. He knows how to deal with superiors and makes the revolutionary claim that earthly kings and rulers are, in fact, subject to God and to God’s judicial representative, the Son of Man, by whom they will be judged. He knows about imprisonment and perhaps has witnessed attacking armies using horses and chariots. He mentions a variety of metals and alloys, and he does seem somewhat familiar with Jerusalem and the Dead Sea environs. The implied author does not, however, seem very interested in foreign affairs, in the make-up of the population of the land, nor in events that were part of the society’s heritage. These details mined from the text suggest that the real author is a scribe, who felt deep animosity toward and rejection of the current ruling stratum. He foresaw and hoped for the eventual reversal of their fortunes, if not in this life, then certainly in life after death. It seems likely that real author was a member of the elites, although, because of his opposition to the current rulers, he and the community for which the Parables were written were probably out of power at the time of composition. 2. Social Stratification and the Parables Another way to investigate the social setting of the Parables is to determine social classes in which the implied author located various persons of the text based on details in the text. For this part of our study, we consider the work of Gerhard Lenski who has described the

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different strata of an advanced agrarian society, one stage of societal development. The hunter-gatherer society and the horticultural society precede the agrarian stage. With the technological developments of the plow and wheel, an advanced agrarian society can develop a vastly more complex agricultural, political, and religious system. With further technological advances, the agrarian stage is replaced by an industrial society. The Roman Empire and the cultures it conquered fall within the description of an advanced agrarian society. Lenski’s macro-view of societies is helpful, since it takes seriously the relationships between a given society’s various groups and strata. Lenski presents the complexity of society, as he recognizes that the relative power and privilege of any group depends on its relationship to others within the society. From these perspectives, then, the social world of the author of the Parables within the Roman Empire may be investigated. Thus, following a brief outline of the social strata of an advanced agrarian society, we examine the strata revealed in the Parables and what these suggest about the social location of the “kings and mighty ones” and the “righteous and elect.” An advanced agrarian society consisted of nine successive strata. As noted, it developed out of a horticultural society through the invention of the plow and wheel, as well as by advances in metallurgy, all of which yielded greater and more efficient productivity. An agrarian society was characterized by great building projects such as pyramids and cathedrals and by advances in military technology. Greater social stratification also developed as individuals became specialized in their contributions to the social fabric. Urban communities developed, along with an increase in trade and commerce, which in return resulted in the emergence of a merchant class. The flow of agricultural goods generally went from villages to urban centers, with the villages receiving services, tools and salt in return for those products. Luxury items usually flowed only between urban centers due to the high cost of transportation, with the net effect being that wealth accumulated in those centers, especially around the highest level of society. Further, the invention of money and writing became necessary in order to control and enhance the flow of goods. Great social inequality marked an agrarian society. The ruler controlled the most power and wealth, with lower social groups controlling ever diminishing amounts. Since size of holdings was a visible measure of power, rulers engaged in constant warfare in order to gain more lands. Thus, the population of an agrarian society was generally

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made up of conquered peoples, which resulted in ethnic diversity in the society.17 Local cults often gave way to the state-sponsored cult, or were incorporated into it. Sometimes organized conflicts flared up between religious groups as one group was forced out of power and control because another was claiming it.18 The Strata of an Advanced Agrarian Society (a) The top of the steep pyramid of society was occupied by the ruler. All power, privilege and honor resided in the ruler due to the economic and military power that he or she exercised. The ruler was inordinately wealthy, receiving income from conquered lands and from the classes below the ruler. Wealth was funneled toward the ruler, who controlled four to forty times the wealth of the richest members of the governing class. This inordinate wealth was possible due to the “proprietary theory of the state,” in which the state was considered to be the personal property of the ruler and therefore was to be used for personal advantage. The ruler was considered to have full rights to booty, tributes, and taxation, and could even confiscate what was desired.19 The control of land, the government, and the nation was thus highly desirable for partisan or personal advantage, and the wealth gained from it was not distributed equitably but channeled into the control of a few. Most struggles were not over principles, but “between opposing factions of the privileged class.”20 (b) The next stratum of the social pyramid was the governing class. This stratum comprised about 2% of the population and was made up of aristocracy, which constituted the bureaucracy through which the ruler governed and exploited the land. These members of society shared in the economic surplus of the land, and in return for their privileges of wealth and control they were responsible for providing military support for the ruler. They realized personal financial gain from their administrative power and at times were exempted from taxes. Wealth followed power in an agrarian society, so that the governing class was much wealthier than the general populace. Often 17

Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 195–96. Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 209. 19 A scriptural example of the right to confiscate may be found in Ahab’s coveting and eventual confiscation of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kings 21). The issue for Elijah was not, however, that kings could arbitrarily confiscate a subject’s land. 20 Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 211–14. 18

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individuals of this class were land owners or had been rewarded with lands, which they then felt free to exploit. If they fell out of favor, their wealth and property were confiscated, however, by the ruler and awarded to others. This created tensions between the ruler and the governing class.21 (c) Below the governing class, at the third level from the top, came the retainers. Skilled in carrying out the tasks of governing and administering the land, their basic function was to serve the elite. This stratum consisted of 5–10% of the population and was made up of soldiers, officials, scribes, servants, and personal retainers. Occasionally, as administrators, they shared in the same privileges, wealth, and power as the governing class. As a class, they were very important for maintaining the distributive system of the empire and for performing the work of transferring wealth from the peasants to the ruler, but as individuals they were expendable. Once their services were no longer needed, they descended to one of the lower classes.22 Scribes were, however, the exception due to their writing skills. (d) The fourth stratum is the merchant class which stood in a market relationship with the elite. They possibly rose out of the ranks of younger sons who did not stand to inherit the family’s wealth. Entrepreneurial skills enabled them to profit from the sale of scarce merchandise and freed them to some extent from the strict authority of the elite who found it difficult to control and tax them fully.23 (e) The priestly class of religious leaders is the fifth stratum, mediating the relationship between God and humanity. Great variety was manifested in this class in different societies. Some religious leaders were married, others were celibate. Some functioned more as teachers, others more as mediators of spiritual resources. In some societies, membership in this class was determined by heredity, but in others— especially where celibacy was maintained—members were recruited. Sometimes both heredity and recruitment were means for becoming a member. Some controlled great wealth, while others advocated poverty. Sometimes they promoted the ideals of righteousness and justice, as can be seen in the law codes of Hammurabi and Moses. They might enjoy the respect of the ruler, nobles, and peasants, but if

21 22 23

Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 220–41. Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 243–48. Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 250–56.

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they fell out of favor whatever wealth and property they had might be confiscated. The priestly class and the elite coexisted in a symbiotic relationship. The religious leaders sought influence and power to spread their beliefs, to build temples, and to create art, while the elite needed the blessings of the religious establishment to legitimize their rule. Further, the literacy skills of the religious leaders were needed in the society, so that they became diplomats, clerks, officials, and educators. But because religious leaders derived their authority from a source other than the social elite, differences were bound to arise. The most potent weapon the priestly class possessed was the power of bestowing or denying salvation, while the weapons used by the elite were confiscation and persecution.24 (f ) The peasant class, the sixth level, produced most of the wealth of the society and was its largest component. Since they actually produced the crops and other products of the land, most of the tax burden was shifted to them at rates of 20%, 30%, or even 50% of produce, and as a result they generally lived in miserable poverty at a mere subsistence level. The elite considered them to be lacking in intelligence and exploitable as slaves. Often they were foreigners, subjugated during war and relocated to be under the control of the elite. Occasionally, peasant rebellions occurred, especially if the peasants of a particular region had been trained for war, but generally no lasting social change resulted. As a class they were particularly susceptible to plagues, disasters, inflation, and the whims of the elite. While they were the most numerous group in society, they were relatively powerless and poverty-stricken.25 (g–i) Artisans, unclean and degraded persons, and expendables formed the lowest three classes of the agrarian society. The artisans, about 3–7% of the population, are thought to have come from the dispossessed peasantry and the non-inheriting sons of families, if they were unsuccessful in joining the merchant class. Their income level was less than that of the peasants, and they were laborers for merchants, producing manufactured goods. Generally, they were a despised segment of the society. Unclean or degraded persons made up about 10% of the population, and they functioned as porters, laborers,

24 25

Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 256–66. Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 273–76.

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and prostitutes, barely able to sustain themselves. The expendables were the criminals and beggars. They also made up about 10% of the population, but were treated as deviants. In their outcast state, they gravitated to urban areas.26 These nine classes were not so much layers as continuous gradations. Some of the members of one class might overlap with members of another class in their control of wealth and power. Moreover, as a society could be conquered by another people, members of these strata considered replaceable might lose privileged positions. As people fell out of favor, they came to be in lower classes. Government was organized to channel wealth and power to the upper echelons of society. In that social dynamism, individuals and their clients and retainers could easily have had changes to their status occur in a relatively short amount of time.27 Social Classes Reflected in the Parables A number of these social classes are alluded to in the Parables, but some are not. The supreme, earthly ruler, the emperor or Caesar, is never mentioned. It seems to me, however, that the social location of the ruler is allocated to the divine. The Lord of Spirits, like the supreme, earthly ruler, holds all power to judge, vindicate and accord status to those who are judged. The Lord of Spirits is worthy of worship, and all inhabitants of heaven (e.g., angels, the righteous and holy), as well as all peoples on earth, bow down, praise, exalt, and bless the Lord of Spirits (1 En. 38:4–14; 40; 48:4–5; 61:9-12). Even the kings and mighty ones, when judged by God, fall down, worship, and beg for mercy (1 Enoch 62–63). While God is merciful and willing to accommodate those who repent (1 En. 50:3–4; 61:13), the kings and mighty ones are unable to obtain mercy (1 En. 50:5; 63). Reflection on power indicates that for the author of the Parables God is in place of the supreme, earthly ruler. Members of the governing class are mentioned in the Parables. The “mighty ones” and the “powerful and strong ones” are different designations for this group. They are currently wealthy, powerful, and possessors of the earth, but they are also capable of losing their power and status (1 En. 38:5; 48:8–10; 53:5). Some members of this governing 26 27

Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 281. Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 289.

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class are also called “kings.” Powerful for a time, they too can be cast down from their thrones and reduced to wormy beds like the peasant and lower classes (1 En. 46:4–6; 62:10; 63:11–12). For a short time they are the possessors of the earth (1 En. 38:4; 62:1; 63:1), but they shall be handed over to others (1 En. 48:9).28 They will bow down and praise the Son of Man, who is the viceroy of the Lord of Spirits, and petition and supplicate before him (1 En. 62:9). But when judgment is rendered, they will leave the presence of the judge with heavy hearts and downcast faces (1 En. 62:10; 63:11). The governing class will be replaced by the elect of the Son of Man, who will exult over those who formerly oppressed them (1 En. 62:11–12). In this transformed world order, the righteous and elect will be in the presence of the Son of Man, eat and sleep in his presence and wear never-fading garments of glory (1 En. 62:14–16), but those who are presently powerful will be punished. The kings and mighty ones, then, are members of the ruling elite. The retainer class is also spoken of in the Parables. This class is represented by those who have scribal skills. Those skills, however, are decried in the list of angels who are to be punished. The watcher Penemue is credited with instructing humanity in writing with ink and paper (1 En. 69:9–10). It is ironic that even as the author uses the skill to preserve his ideas, he condemns writing as the work of a fallen angel. Perhaps the reason is that he sees reading and writing as diverting human attention from the true vocation of being righteous and pure (1 En. 69:11). The author also speaks of the religious leaders, or priestly class. On the one hand, medical skills for discerning diseases are criticized along with their instructor, Kasdeya’ (1 En. 69:12). On the other hand, those who are thirsty for wisdom will drink from the fountain of wisdom and dwell among the righteous and holy and elect (1 En. 48:1). The only other social class referred to by this author is the artisan class. The members of this class are spoken of disdainfully, and connected with the kings and mighty ones whom the author vehemently opposes. The members of this class are the iron-workers who make fetters

28 Black (The Book of Enoch, 195, 235) identifies them with foreign oppressors of Israel. However, this does not seem likely. The argument above suggests that they are local rulers and governors, who support and are supported by the Romans.

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(1 En. 53:3–4; 54:3) and the idol-makers (1 En. 53:2; 68:4–5) who supply these goods to the kings and mighty ones. The other classes are not mentioned. No merchants are spoken of, no peasants or their activities, nor are any of the lowest classes of unclean or expendables mentioned. This seems to suggest that while the implied author revealed knowledge of wider arenas of activity, such as shepherding (1 En. 51:4), the characters of whom he speaks are not of those classes. Where these characters do fit in society must now be examined. The Social Location of the Kings and of the Righteous and Elect As noted above, in the perception of the author of the Parables, the kings and mighty ones belong to the governing class. The kings, although they bear a title which would seem to elevate them to the ruler class, nonetheless are spoken of with the same attributes as the governing class. The author conceives of the kings as temporary. They can be demoted. This suggests that the author saw them as those client kings who were set up or supported by the Romans to maximize the proceeds from Palestine to Rome. That they are depicted as bowing down to the heavenly judge also places them in the governing class in Palestine, for that group also owed allegiance to a higher ruler, the emperor, as his clients. In other words, they are members of the ruling aristocracy, and in the end (and most importantly in the author’s view) they will recognize their subservience to the divine ruler.29 The righteous and the elect, followers of the Son of Man, stand in opposition to the kings and mighty ones. Because Jerusalem is called “the city of my righteous” (1 En. 56:7), it appears that the righteous and elect are at home in urban areas. Further, because the kings and 29 The designation “kings and mighty ones” or “mighty kings” (1 En. 38:5) may come from Ps 135:10 (cf. Black, The Book of Enoch, 196). There the psalmist rejoices that the Lord slew the mighty kings Sihon, king of the Amorites, and Og, king of Bashan. In Ps 136:17–20 the psalmist is thankful that great and famous kings (again Sihon and Og are named) have been smitten and slain. Moreover, the psalmist is thankful that the Lord handed over their lands and heritage to Israel (Ps 135:12; 136:21–22). This double theme, the destruction of kings and the handing over of their possessions to others, matches the ideas of the author of the Parables in regard to the kings and mighty ones. A further similarity is that both Psalms 135 and 136 and the author of the Parables speak of kings in the plural. In both cases the kings are merely temporary, and will be replaced. They are not the supreme, earthly rulers, for they can be deposed by God. It seems likely, then, that one source of ideas for the author of the Parables when speaking of kings is Psalms 135 and 136.

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mighty ones shall be given over into their hands (1 En. 48:9), receiving their homes, property, and wealth, the righteous and elect are seen to be urban and able to manage wealth when it is returned to them. In addition, the light of the Lord of Spirits will shine on their faces (1 En. 38:4) and they will be radiant, full of blessing and praise for the Name of the Lord of Spirits (1 En. 39:7). Their former darkness will pass away (1 En. 58:3, 6) and the light of days shall remain on the holy and elect (1 En. 50:1). Here the light seems to refer to their future blessedness in contrast to the bleakness of their present existence. The righteous and elect also depend on God (1 En. 38:2; 40:5; 46:8) and the Son of Man will be like a staff for them on which they can depend and be held secure so as not to fall (1 En. 48:4). At the time of judgment, the angels will measure the righteous with cords, so that they may support themselves on God (1 En. 61:3). Even the righteous dead will return and stay themselves on the day of the Elect One (1 En. 61:5). Significantly, a reversal of status awaits the righteous and elect. Currently they may be oppressed (1 En. 53:7; 62:11), but in the future they will have rest and peace (1 En. 58:4) and vengeance will be executed on their behalf. They will stand before the heavenly judge, vindicated and honored to do so, while the kings and mighty will fall down as supplicants (1 En. 62:8–9). At that time they will exult over the kings (1 En. 62:12) and the kings and strong ones shall be given over into their hands (1 En. 38:5; 48:9). While the kings and mighty ones are banished from earth to the place of their punishment the elect ones will be given a place of privilege and honor in a transformed earth (1 En. 45:5). Thus, they will enjoy a reversal of status. It will be the privilege of this group to have the Son of Man, hidden before all ages, revealed to them as judge (1 En. 48:6–7; 62:7). This is a privilege not accorded to the kings and mighty ones (1 En. 62:3). Another advantage of the righteous and elect is that the secrets of the heavens will be available to them. Enoch saw all the storehouses of the winds and lightning and thunder and rain during his tour of heaven. By recording the description of these phenomena, Enoch made available also to this group the secrets of the heavens (1 Enoch 40–44). Some of the righteous and elect are, however, already dead, having been destroyed by the desert, devoured by fish in the sea, or devoured by wild beasts. Their deaths are not considered divine judgment against them, for it is envisioned that they shall be raised up to have their righteousness acknowledged (1 En. 61:5). While these three

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types of death seem to allude to literary sources, they do not, in fact, have precise parallels in biblical literature. Those who sleep in the dust and will be awakened in Dan 12:2 are not said to be in the desert. Those who perished in the wilderness in Num 14:29 were being punished, but punishment is not part of the deaths of the righteous in 1 Enoch 61. Jonah, another possible parallel, was devoured by a fish (Jonah 1:17) but did not die, and Joseph, reported to have perished as the prey of wild beasts (Gen 37:20), did not actually die either. Isaiah and Jeremiah also consign people to punishment through consumption by wild beasts and birds of prey (Isa 18:6; Jer 15:3; 16:4; 19:7), but neither punishment nor birds of prey are the reason for the deaths of the righteous in 1 Enoch 61. A possible non-biblical allusion may be the death of the sheep symbolizing the people of Israel in the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 89:68–69); in that passage, however, resurrection is not envisioned. The literary parallels do not seem to fit well enough. Another possibility may be that the righteous referred to by the author lost their lives through the dangers of travel, possibly as merchants; yet no merchant class activities, such as buying or selling or transporting goods, are mentioned in this connection. If they were not merchants, then perhaps they belonged to another stratum with means enough to travel; this would suggest that they were from the governing class or their retainers. Further, they may have been exiled and met their fate in that way.30 If they were exiles because of their opposition to the current regime, they would have been a kind of “shadow government,” again, members of the governing class, or their retainers, such as scribes, clerks, or other administrative officials. This possible social location of the righteous and elect, whether dead or alive, is affirmed by the fact that they joyously and gladly join in the angelic worship of God. They know how to be supplicants. They know how to worship and honor and praise patrons. And they know how to look with disdain on future supplicants, the erstwhile kings and mighty ones. Thus, they appear to be rivals to those currently in power. The righteous and elect will be clothed in never-fading garments of glory (1 En. 62:15–16). Like the kings now, they will be splendidly garbed in the future. The righteous and elect are also promised a special dwelling place. Their dwelling place is actually located in three different realms. One

30

Suggested to me by Prof. Jerome Neyrey. See also Black, The Book of Enoch, 232.

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is in heaven, where the group will join the angels in offering petitions (1 En. 39:4–5; 45:6). They are even said to dwell beneath the wings of the Lord of Spirits (1 En. 39:7). A second dwelling place is the transformed and renewed earth (1 En. 51:5) which will be renewed with all the forces of oppression removed. The third dwelling place for the righteous and elect is said to be the garden (1 En. 60:8, 23; 61:12), where many meteorological secrets are revealed—a sapiential interest especially of religious leaders. Further, sinners and evildoers shall be prohibited from setting foot there (1 En. 45:5–6).31 The idyllic existence is something greatly anticipated and indicates a reversal of present status. Possibly, the righteous and elect now suffer from having had their lands confiscated. They may be a part of a group of normally wealthy inhabitants of the environs of the ancient city, as David A. Fiensy has described.32 Fiensy argues that this group of landed aristocracy was Jewish, and that they owned modest homes. These homes were, however, lavishly decorated with fine pottery, frescoes, and mosaics. Further, they owned lands and probably slaves to work the lands. Some of their land was nearby, while for some they were absentee landlords. This was precisely the group which could have their lands and homes confiscated on the accession of a new ruler. They could fall victim to downward mobility, until a new ruler established himself and their fortunes were reversed.33 If that background is part of the social situation of the righteous and elect, then the promise of dwelling on a transformed, renewed earth without being hindered by sinners and evildoers would be very meaningful. This group then possibly looked forward to having their status reversed and their lands returned, together with its power and prestige. The picture emerging from these details is a picture of religious leaders who are ousted members of the governing class. The righteous and elect have all the skills and interests of the governing class. They are looking forward to that great day when the covenant will be enacted, when the sinners will be condemned (1 En. 60:6), and when the elect

31 “Sinners” and “evildoers” seem to be pejorative, judgmental synonyms for the kings and mighty ones. 32 David A. Fiensy, The Social History of Palestine in the Herodian Period: The Land is Mine (Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 20; Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1991), 49–55. 33 Lenski, “Agrarian Societies,” 289.

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will be restored to their rightful status. Currently, they are victims of downward mobility, but they are looking ahead to vindication and restoration. Not only are they members of the secular governing class, but they are also religious leaders, ready and anxious to establish the lordship of God in opposition to the current kings and mighty ones. Conclusions Regarding Social Setting These two approaches for investigating the social setting of the Parables, dependent on the work of Robbins and Lenski, have produced complementary results. The examination of the social location of the implied author revealed that the author is familiar with the environs of Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. His thorough grasp of Scripture, his interest in sapiential matters, and his scribal skills place him at least in the retainer class or among the class of religious leaders, as does his familiarity with the political, legal, and military arenas of the social system. The social location of the main characters as described by the author suggests an even higher level, the governing stratum. The kings and mighty ones are the ruling elite, knowing how to pay homage to superiors, and how to oppress others. But the righteous and elect are of the same class, with comparable skills and interest. Because they are not in power at present, they look forward to a reversal of status, if not in this life, then in the life to come. Both analyses strongly suggest that the real author and the implied readers were from among the righteous and elect. They were from at least from the retainer class, but more likely from the governing class, also being religious leaders in their theocratic vision of society. Currently, they are victims of downward mobility, most likely having been removed from office, but eagerly awaiting a transformation that will be brought about by a reversal of fortunes and the replacement of the current ruling elite. The Parables, then, function both to protest the current state of affairs, and to encourage the righteous and elect as they await their transformation.

1 ENOCH 73:4–8 AND THE ARAMAIC ASTRONOMICAL BOOK Henryk Drawnel Since the publication of 1 Enoch at the beginning of the nineteenth century, 1 En. 73:4–8, which describes the movement of the moon, has caused many problems for its interpreters. All commentators recognize that the presentation of lunar data is garbled and incomplete, and its proper understanding, therefore, difficult to grasp. The publication of some parts of the Aramaic Astronomical Book by J. T. Milik gave rise to much hope regarding the new perspectives offered by the Aramaic “synchronistic” calendar.1 Surprisingly, Milik’s publication did not lead to a new understanding of 1 En. 73:4–8. Some commentators attempted a comparison with the Aramaic text, but limited themselves to general remarks which only further complicated the matter. Others continued to interpret the Ethiopic text without any reference to the Aramaic evidence. Since it is impossible to cite here all the opinions concerning the topic, the interpretations presented by two scholars, Michael A. Knibb and Otto Neugebauer, may serve as examples—unfortunately erroneous—of modern interpretations.2 One should note that both scholars had full access to the text of the Aramaic Astronomical Book published by Milik. 1. Previous Interpretations In his translation of 1 Enoch, Michael A. Knibb claims that the Ethiopic version of 1 En. 73:4–8 is a garbled summary of the Aramaic fragments; yet, his explanation of the Ethiopic text is not related to the Aramaic Astronomical Book. He comes up with a curious interpretation according to which the moon is divided into two halves:

1 With the collaboration of M. Black, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 273–297. 2 For an overview of previous opinions concerning the Ethiopic Astronomical Book and Aramaic Astronomical Book, see Henryk Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), § 1.3 “History of Interpretation.”

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henryk drawnel The idea of seventh parts of light is retained in the Ethiopic version, but in a different way from that in the Aramaic. In the Ethiopic version the moon is conceived of as divided into two halves, each half being further divided into seven parts. Thus in the Ethiopic ‘a seventh part’, ‘seven parts’, ‘six parts’ refer to divisions of half the moon, and ‘fourteen parts’ to divisions of the whole moon.3

Since the Ethiopic text does not speak about the division of the moon into two halves, it is impossible to know how Knibb could have arrived at the conclusion that there exist two sets of fractions, one referring to half a moon, and the other to the surface of the whole moon. He further argues that 73:4–6 deals with the case of the twenty-nine-day month, while 73:7–8 refers to the thirty-day month. The numbers in 1 En. 73:6 are not intelligible for Knibb, and in verse 7 he finds a twenty-eighth part of the total light of the moon, which, again, cannot be substantiated by the Ethiopic text.4 Otto Neugebauer was convinced that 1 En. 73:4–8 describes a linear scheme for the increasing illumination of the moon during the first half of the lunar month.5 He interpreted the numerical data according to two scales that are supposedly present in the text. The first one is proportional to the illuminated area (from 1 part to 14 parts); the second one measures the lunar light relative to solar brightness, increasing from 1/14 × 1/7 (= 1/98) on the first day, when the moon is less bright, to 1/7 of solar brightness at full moon. He also claims that the Ethiopic pericope describes the first two days of the scheme, the first day in 1 En. 73:4–7 and the second in v. 8.

3 Michael A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments. Vol. 2: Introduction, Translation and Commentary. Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 171–172, n. to 73:4–8. 4 See Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 171–172, n. to 73:4–8: “In 73.4–8 it seems that vv. 4 f. deal with the case of the twenty-nine-day month; in this month on the first day a fourteenth part of the total light of the moon appears (i.e. a seventh part of half the light, cf. v. 5), on the second day two-fourteenths, and so on. It also appears that vv. 7 f. deal with the case of the thirty-day month; in this month on the first day a twenty-eighth part of the total light appears (a half of a seventh part of half the light, cf. v. 7), on the third day two-fourteenths, and so on. But the interpretation of v. 6 poses considerable problems, for it is difficult, if not impossible, to make sense of the numbers in this verse. It is thus not clear whether v. 6 belongs with v. 4 f. or with vv. 7 f.” 5 Otto Neugebauer, “The ‘Astronomical’ Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch (72–82): With Additional Notes on the Aramaic Fragments by Matthew Black,” in Matthew Black, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch: A New English Edition with Commentary and Textual Notes (Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha 7; Leiden: Brill, 1985), 386–419, here 397–98.

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Read in light of the Aramaic fragments (4Q208–209), Neugebauer’s interpretation should be abandoned. His first “scale” should be interpreted as column F in the Aramaic calculation where the basic unit is 0.5/7 (= 1/14) and not “1 part”; in other words, the Ethiopic “parts” (ʾәd) denote fraction notations which is fully compatible with the rules of the Gәʿәz grammar. His second “scale” assumes fraction multiplication that relates the brightness of the sun with that of the moon. Such an interpretation goes against the plain meaning of 1 En. 73:4–8 where there is no mention of fraction multiplication at all and the solar brightness is not taken into account. Neugebauer did not recognize that, in accordance with the Aramaic texts, the Ethiopic pericope describes not only the illumination of the lunar disc, but also daily periods of lunar visibility. His division of the Ethiopic text into two parts (vv. 4–7 and v. 8), which describe the first two days of the lunar scheme, is also erroneous; vv. 4a–7c speak about daytime of day 30, while vv. 7d–8 describe day 1 (nighttime and daytime) in accordance with the Aramaic pattern.6 He also argued that day 30 describes the first appearance of the moon at sunset.7 Unfortunately, this supposition is also wrong, for day 30 describes the (fictitious) visibility of the moon during the day in accordance with the Aramaic texts. All these errors in interpretation stem from Neugebauer’s improper explanation of the Ethiopic text, and from his conviction, expressed elsewhere, that all the fractions in the Aramaic text refer to the illumination of the lunar disc.8

6 In his recent publication Jonathan Ben-Dov (Head of All Years: Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran in Their Ancient Context [STDJ 78; Leiden: Brill, 2008], 88) repeats Neugebauer’s division of the Ethiopic text, and claims that the second day of the month begins in 73:8: “V. 8 finally arrives at a description of the moon on day 2 of the month, on which it is first seen during the day.” Cf. also Ben-Dov, Head of All Years, 89. 7 See Neugebauer, “The ‘Astronomical’ Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch,” where he asserts that “[t]he conclusion of this verse (v. 4, H.D.) is incorrectly assigned in part to the next verse. It contains the statement that the elongation of the moon from the sun at the evening of first visibility is 1/14 of the total elongation (reached at full moon).” 8 For a fuller presentation of Neugebauer’s interpretation of the Aramaic texts (4Q209 frg. 7 ii and iii) and its critique, see Henryk Drawnel, “Moon Computation in the Aramaic Astronomical Book,” RevQ 23 (2007): 3–41 (here 12, 15–18).

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henryk drawnel 2. Interpretation of Day 1 (1 En. 73:7d–8)9

In order to find a proper interpretation of the Ethiopic text one has to explain the content of the Aramaic fragments (4Q208 and most of 4Q209) which describe the movement of the moon with the help of fraction notations. The Aramaic text can be conveniently divided into columns in which the basic fraction is 0.5/7 (= 1/14), also serving as the basic value of arithmetical progression or diminution.10 The highest numerical value attested in the Aramaic calculation is the integer 1. The description of each nychthemeron (consecutive 24 hour period) begins with column A, which cites the approaching night under discussion. The following columns contain fractions embedded in short formulaic sentences and denote periods of lunar visibility during the night and during the day. They proceed as follows: col. B = sunset to moonset; col. D = moonset to sunrise; col. E = sunrise to moonrise; col. H = moonrise to sunset. Thus, the night and day are each divided into two periods during which the moon is either present or absent in the nocturnal or daytime sky. One must stress that the schematic calculation divides each nychthemeron in the same way. The Aramaic text also records the moment of moonset during the night (col. C) and moonrise during the day (col. G). In addition, col. F, which is presented immediately after col. E (= sunrise to moonrise), does not refer to periods of time but to the illumination of the lunar disc, as the consistently used noun ‫“ נהור‬light” suggests. Such an order of columns is preserved in the waxing phase, but changes in the waning phase in accordance with the movement of the moon. For the proper interpretation of 1 En. 73:4–8 the present analysis of the waxing phase of the month should suffice. It is also important to note that the Aramaic fragments contain two monthly patterns of lunar visibility. According to one (pattern I), the lunar description begins during daytime of day 30 with the full moon occurring on day 14; this pattern corresponds to what we find in 1 En. 73:4–8. The second pattern (pattern II) of lunar visibility begins most probably on day 1 of the month with the full 9 The interpretation of day 30 and day 1 in 1 En. 73:4–8 presented in this article omits textual issues concerning the Ethiopic text; it also does not discuss the fraction notations in the Ethiopic text in relation to the Aramaic data. For a more thorough interpretation of 1 En. 73:4–8, see Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, § 3.3.2. 10 For the explanation of the columns and accompanying Aramaic verbs and expressions, see Drawnel, “Moon Computation in the Aramaic Astronomical Book,” 5–11, and Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, § 3.1–2.

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moon occurring on day 15. This scheme does not find a correspondence in the Ethiopic text. The Ethiopic text of 1 En. 73:4–8 has to be divided into two sections. Verses 4–7c describe the first day of the month, or more precisely the daytime of day 30. This section omits any reference to nighttime which in Aramaic normally precedes the daytime section. Additionally, the description of day 30 does not follow the style of the formulaic clauses found in the presentation of single days in the Aramaic text. The text in verses 7d–8 deals with day 1 of the month and partially overlaps with the Aramaic formulaic sentences. The beginning of this section is clearly marked by v. 7d, which speaks about nighttime and signals that now the text introduces the lunar day that begins at sunset. The numerical data preserved in the text prove that the Ethiopic text follows pattern I of the monthly scheme of lunar visibility fully reconstructed in Table I at the end of this essay. This conclusion can be easily inferred from the description of day 1 of the lunar month in vv. 7d–8. The period of nighttime during which the moon is absent from the sky is accompanied by the fraction 6.5/7 (v. 7e), which corresponds to column D (moonset to sunrise) in the Aramaic calculation.11 Following this, the verb in v. 8a from col. E (sunrise to moonrise) of the Aramaic calculation is mistakenly substituted in Ethiopic by śaraqa (“to rise”), but the correct numerical entry (1/7) is preserved. Verse 8c states that the moon shines during the rest of this day for 6/7 and this formulaic sentence and fraction properly correspond to col. H (moonrise to sunset) in the Aramaic manuscripts. Finally, v. 8b speaks about moonrise which properly renders the content of col. G in the Aramaic text. Thus one can safely state that the numerical entries found in vv. 7e–8 correspond to the Aramaic computation of day 1 according to pattern I.12 The assignment of the fraction 0.5/7 to the moon’s light

11 In his analysis of 73:7, Ben-Dov (Head of All Years, 86) erroneously states that the fraction notation (6.5/7) in this verse denotes the dark part of the lunar disc: “Although the same proportion is conveyed at the end of v. 7, the author now counts the dark parts that are left in the moon: ‘the moon . . . is dark that night six seventh parts and its half ’ (VanderKam’s translation).” He further affirms that “the method of counting both the dark and light parts goes back to the Aramaic EMVL (i.e., the “Synchronistic Calendar”)—e.g., 4Q209 frg. 7 iii 3–4. . . .” This statement is incorrect too, because the Aramaic fragment cited by Ben-Dov denotes periods of lunar visibility, and certainly does not count the dark and light parts of the moon. 12 See Table I.

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on day 30 (vv. 5a, 6a, 6b, 7c) also corresponds to the calculation of moonlight (col. F) on day 30 of the same month in the Aramaic calculation; the rest of pattern I, not found in Ethiopic, points out that the full moon occurs on day 14 of the month, and the conjunction on the night 28.13 The following month (pattern II) should begin with the calculation assigned to daytime of day 1 in which the full moon occurs on day 15 and the conjunction occurs on the night 29 of the month.14 Note that in the reconstructed monthly pattern of lunar visibility the terminological distinction between “hollow” and “full” months should be avoided because the Aramaic text is fragmentary and does not preserve a description of the time between the conjunction and the beginning of the new month. It is, therefore, impossible to know the exact treatment of the days when the moon stays in conjunction with the sun at the end of the month. It seems preferable, then, to speak about two monthly patterns, pattern I and pattern II, instead of a “hollow” and “full” month. One also notices that the description of day 1 in the Ethiopic of 1 En. 73:7d–8 disagrees in some respects with the Aramaic text. The content of verse 7d is different from the rest of the Aramaic calculation which would assume that moonset occurs after sunset (col. B [sunset to moonset]: 0.5/7; col. C [moonset]). The following sentence in v. 7e clearly states that the moon is dark for 6.5/7 of the night. The fraction, therefore, of 0.5/7 that expresses the time difference between sunset and moonset (col. B) is assumed by the rest of the Ethiopic calculation, but omitted by the author of the text in v. 7d. By omitting the content of col. B and indicating the occurrence of moonset together with sunset, the Ethiopic text effectively annuls the visibility of the new moon at the beginning of the month. Consequently the solemn introduction to the beginning of the moon’s day in v. 7d loses its raîson d’être.15 It is probable that the statement about the moon setting 13 See Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, § 3.3.3. The reader should be warned that the Aramaic texts do not preserve any description of day 29 in the month presented according to pattern I. It is certain, however, that the calculation ends with day 28. 14 See Appendix II in Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book. 15 Concerning 73:7, Neugebauer (“The ‘Astronomical’ Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch,” 398) explains that “on day 1 the moon is still near conjunction and therefore (nearly) rises and sets at the same time as the sun (cf. 73:4).” This explanation gives a good observational reason for adapting the arithmetical pattern to the actual situation on the sky on the evening of the first visibility; a change, however, in the presentation of lunar data must be assumed. Perhaps the redactor(s) of the Aramaic

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together with the sun has crept into the text under the influence of v. 7a (“And it sets with the sun”). The scribe responsible for the correction did not understand the difference between the description of day 30 (vv. 4a–7c) and day 1 (vv. 7d–8): while the former deals with the transmission of light from the sun to the moon (col. F exclusively), the latter describes periods of lunar visibility. The statement about moonset in v. 7d should correspond to col. C of the Aramaic text, but instead contains additional temporal expressions and synchronization with the sun that are not present in the Aramaic text. The departure from the Aramaic calculation in v. 7d should be seen in conjunction with 73:8a–b which states that the moon rises, emerges and recedes from the rising of the sun. The Aramaic scribe (or Greek translator) affirms in v. 7d that the moon sets with the sun, and thus effectively transfers the first visibility of the new moon to daytime. Further, the scribe or translator changes the verb in col. E (v. 8a, yәśarrәq), and omits the content of col. F, which suggests that he lacks understanding of the whole calculation. Verse 8 continues the description of day 1, but the calculation deals with daytime, as the expression in v. 8a makes clear (ba-yәʾәti ʿәlat “during that day”).16 The numerical value in v. 8a and the temporal expression ba-yәʾәti ʿәlat correctly reflect the content of col. E in the Aramaic text, but the verb “it rises” (yәśarrәq) at the beginning of the verse is out of place here. The normal verb in col. E in Aramaic is ‫קוי‬ and its meaning is quite different from the verb “to rise” found in the Ethiopic text. One possible explanation for this change is that the translator did not understand the meaning of the Aramaic verb. Since the following context indicates the rising of the moon (v. 8b wa-yәwaḍḍәʾ = ‫)ונפק‬, the translator used the synonymous verb “to rise” (śaraqa; cf. v. 4a with the moon as subject) in order to come as close as possible to the meaning of the context which featured the poorly understood

Astronomical Book followed Neugebauer’s way of reasoning when altering the Aramaic pattern. Note that the latter speaks about day 1, which is incorrect: the text in v. 7d begins the description of the second day (nighttime) in the monthly pattern of lunar visibility, while 73:4–7c describes daytime of day 30 according to the same monthly model. 16 Neugebauer (“The ‘Astronomical’ Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch,” 398) was convinced that v. 8 begins a second lunar day. Since he did not interpret the Aramaic calculation in a proper way, he could not know that each lunar day is divided into two parts: nighttime and daytime; this accounts for his incorrect assumption about v. 8.

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Aramaic verb. The presence of two identical sets of numbers in cols. E and F might have added to the confusion; if the translator did not understand the verb from col. E he would have a hard time figuring out the reason for the repetition. Hence, his second step was to get rid of col. F, which might have appeared to him an unnecessary repetition. The Ethiopic text in v. 8a now preserves the correct numerical entry from col. E, omits col. F, and substitutes a different verb (śaraqa “to rise”) for the Aramaic verb ‫( קוי‬col. E). The reference to the elongation from sunrise in v. 8b (wa-yәḍannәn ʾәm-mәśrāqa ḍaḥay) expands the content of col. G, which indicates the moment of moonrise during the day. Although the Aramaic fragments never refer to the lunar elongation in a similar way, one may suspect that the statement in v. 8b replaces the reference to the lunar gates. In this manner it would denote the position of the moon in relation to the horizon which appears infrequently in col. G. Verse 8b, however, speaks plainly about the moment of sunrise (mәśrāqa ḍaḥay), and it, therefore seems preferable to assume that the Ethiopic sentence refers to the movement of the moon during the day, as supposed by the Aramaic text. According to col. E, the time span between sunrise and moonrise in the waxing phase is increasing, and correspondingly the elongation of the moon from sunrise grows as well. 3. Interpretation of Day 30 (1 En. 73:4a–7c) The comparison of day 1 in 1 En. 73:7d–8c with the Aramaic fragments has shown that the Ethiopic text corresponds to the Aramaic presentation of lunar data, though with some modifications. Thus, the Aramaic manuscripts from Qumran (4Q208 and most of 4Q209) are helpful for the proper explanation of the Ethiopic text in accordance with the logic of the Aramaic description of the moon. Unfortunately, the Qumran manuscripts of the Aramaic Astronomical Book have not preserved the description of the beginning of the schematic month, and it is therefore impossible to compare the Ethiopic text dealing with day 30 at the beginning of the month with the Aramaic evidence. On the other hand, the correct explanation of the Aramaic fragments and reconstruction of the monthly pattern of lunar visibility lends one more confidence in interpreting 1 En. 73:4a–7c. Additionally, 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 contains a description of the last day of lunar visibility according to pattern II, which allows for a comparison

1 enoch 73:4–8 and the aramaic astronomical book

695

with the first day of lunar visibility according to pattern I preserved in the Ethiopic text. The following discussion first presents the interpretation of 1 En. 73:4a–7c in relation to the monthly model of lunar visibility (pattern I), after which a short comparison with 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 should elucidate the common points between the two texts. The description of day 30 begins in v. 4b of the Ethiopic text with an indication of the rising of the moon on the eastern side of the sky early in the morning together with the sun. Verse 4c, which states that the moon is visible during the day (“on that day”) additionally confirms that the Ethiopic text describes the daytime of day 30, and not nighttime. Also v. 4d suggests the same situation because it synchronizes moonrise with sunrise on the same day and in the same gate. Finally, v. 7b emphatically affirms that when the sun rises, the moon rises with it. Thus, the fractions used in the description of day 30 in the Ethiopic text do not concern the presentation of the periods of lunar visibility (cols. B, D, E, and H according to the Aramaic text), but refer rather to the illumination of the lunar disc that is discussed in the Aramaic text in col. F. The frequent use of the term bәrḫān (“light”) in 1 En. 73:4a–7c (vv. 5b, 5b, 6a, 6b, 7c) confirms the correctness of such an interpretation; in the Aramaic texts the term ‫“( נהור‬light”) appears only in col. F. Of course, if the Ethiopic text deals with daytime of day 30, the moon is assumed to be still in conjunction with the sun, and hardly visible to the human eye. The Aramaic scribe, however, based his notes concerning the rising of the moon on the arithmetical model, not on actual observation. Such an interpretation is also in full agreement with the rest of the calculation presented in col. F in the Aramaic fragments. Both in the waxing and waning phase col. F follows periods of the moon’s invisibility (waxing: col. E; waning: col. D), but precedes moonrise (waxing and waning: col. G); the amount of light, therefore, assigned to the moon is computed, not observed, because the moon is absent in the sky according to the fractions of col. F. The same observation applies to the description of day 30 in 1 En. 73:4a–7c; in order to appear during the first night for 0.5/7 of nighttime, the moon has to receive during the daytime of day 30 0.5/7 of its total light from the sun.17 This

17 See the explanation of 1 En. 73:7d below. It seems that this verse contains an error in relation to the Aramaic calculation.

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happens when the moon is still invisible in the daytime sky and remains in conjunction with the sun. Such an interpretation seems to be contradicted by v. 4b, which states that the head of the moon rises (yәwaḍḍәʾ) on the thirtieth day. Additionally, v. 4c affirms that on this same day the moon becomes visible (yāstarәʾʾi). Both verbs can be traced easily to the vocabulary of the Aramaic fragments; the former renders ‫נפק‬, and the latter ‫יתחזי‬ (cf. 4Q210 frg. 1 ii 2b 18; frg. 1 iii 3). However, one should note that in 4Q209 frg. 6, 9, which describes the last day of lunar visibility, the verb ‫“( נפק‬it rises”) denotes the movement of the moon when the moon is hidden together with the sun.18 In a similar way, the moon “rises” and becomes “visible” in the Ethiopic text, although it still remains in conjunction with the sun which means that it cannot be observed in the daytime sky. Since the moon remains in conjunction with the sun for the whole day according to 1 En. 73:4a–7c, col. E (sunrise to moonrise) is omitted in the Ethiopic text and the content of col. H (moonrise to sunset) has been modified. Column H cannot contain any fraction because the moonrise occurs together with sunrise (1 En. 73:4a–5a) and moonset together with sunset (1 En. 73:7a–b). Thus all the fraction notations that appear in the description of day 30 refer to the illumination of the lunar disc (col. F). It comes, therefore, as no surprise that the only fraction used is 0.5/7 and its equivalent 1/14; in other words, the moon receives from the sun an amount of light that covers 0.5/7 or 1/14 of its disc. The omission of col. E dealing with lunar invisibility may be attributed, however, to its departure from what can be gleaned from the lunar calculation according to pattern I. On day 30 the moon should rise sometime after sunrise (col. E = 0.5/7) and be visible during most of daytime (col. H = 6.5/7) in order to set on night 1 just after sunset (col. B = 0.5/7). It seems that by omitting col. B in 1 En. 73:7d the scribe adapts the Aramaic pattern so as to find a beginning for the moon’s day at the beginning of the month, and in order to synchronize the description of 73:4a–7c (daytime of nychthemeron 30) with 73:7d. It is probable, although not certain, that the changes in the Aramaic pattern detectable in 1 En. 73:4a–7c and, to a lesser extent, in 73:7d–8, were introduced already in the Aramaic text which must

18

4Q209 frg. 6, 9: [‫מר עם ֯ש]משא‬ ̇ ‫מט‬ ̇ ‫ונפק גלגלה ריקן מן ֯כל נ̇ הור‬.

1 enoch 73:4–8 and the aramaic astronomical book

697

have become less intelligible to the Jewish scribes in the late Second Temple period (or perhaps even later). These changes also suggest that the Aramaic pattern was created on the basis of the ideal equinoctial month as presented in Enūma Anu Enlil XIV, Tables A and B, and had to be adapted to the schematic description of the lunar month according to patterns I and II. In v. 4b the expression “its head” (rәʾsu) is the subject of the main clause, while the following relative clause (za-mangala ṣәbāḥ) modifies the subject.19 The preposition mangala has several translational equivalencies, but is mostly used in relation to space and geographical directions.20 In v. 4b it is used in accordance with its general meaning in relation to the geographical direction. The noun ṣәbāḥ qualified by the preposition here means “east,” and not “morning” or “day.”21 The meaning of the relative clause introduced by za- with “its head” as antecedent is rather obvious: the head of the moon is visible on the eastern side of the sky.22 When translating v. 4a, VanderKam joins the first part of v. 4b (wa-rәʾsu za-mangala ṣәbāḥ) together with v. 4a: “In this way it rises with its beginning toward the east. . . .”23 It is evident that in his translation the syntax of v. 4b has been violated because

19 Ephraïm Isaac also understands the syntagm as the subject of the clause; see his “1 (Ethiopic Apocalypse of) Enoch,” OTP 1.53. In n. f Isaac adduces the opinion of the Ethiopian commentators of 1 Enoch according to whom the expression rәʾsu denotes “the crescent-shaped head of the new moon.” August Dillmann (Lexicon linguae aethiopicae cum indice latino [Leipzig: T. O. Weigel. (Repr. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1955)], 295) understands the text in the same way: “initium lunae crescentis Hen. 73, 4.” Although Isaac’s interpretation of the syntagm as the subject of the clause is correct, one should note that the clause describes the moon that is still in conjunction with the sun, which means that the moon is hardly visible to the human eye. 20 See W. Leslau, Comparative Dictionary of Ge‘ez (Classical Ethiopic): Ge‘ezEnglish / English-Ge‘ez with an index of the Semitic roots (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1991), 349: “toward, to, by (place), in the direction of, by the side of, with regard to.” Cf. Josef Tropper, Atläthiopisch: Grammatik des Ge‘ez mit Übungstexten und Glossar (Elementa Linguarum Orientis 2; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2002), 141, 144, 161, 176. For the latter meaning, see A. Dillmann, Ethiopic Grammar: Second Edition Enlarged and Improved (1899) by Carl Bezold (trans. James A. Crichton; London: Williams & Norgate, 1907), § 166.11. 21 For the semantic range of this word, see Leslau, Comparative Dictionary of Ge‘ez, 545. 22 Note that in 1 En. 72:2 the relative clause with the relative pronoun in plural and the preposition mangala describe the place of the gates of the sun on the eastern horizon: ʾәlla mangala ṣәbāḥ; see also 1 En. 72:6 for a similar relative clause applied to the easterly location of the gate. 23 George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A New Translation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 99.

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nothing in the Ethiopic text corresponds to the preposition “with.” Additionally, the conjunction wa- before rәʾsu makes such a translation unacceptable from the syntactical point of view. The noun rәʾsu is clearly the subject of the verb yәwaḍḍәʾ and of the relative clause (za-mangala ṣәbāḥ) that precedes the main verb.24 Verse 4d adds an important detail that is also found in the Aramaic text. The appearance of the moon on the sky is synchronized with the gate system according to which the sun rises and sets in the gates located at the eastern and western horizons. Verse 4d does not give the gate number, but states that the moon rises in the same gate in which the sun rises. Note that the moon rises on the eastern horizon together with the sun; the sentence, therefore, must refer to the gate on the eastern horizon. The author of the Ethiopic text does not follow the calendrical principle according to which the new month started on the evening of the first visibility of the moon after sunset. He follows the logic of the computation found in the rest of 1 En. 73:4–8 and in the Aramaic Astronomical Book where the illumination of the lunar disc (col. F) is distinct from periods of lunar visibility (cols. B, D, E, and H), and is computed when the moon is invisible on the sky. In the course of the interpretation of 1 En. 73:4 it has become evident that this verse, together with 73:5a–7c, describes the period of daytime on day 30 that begins the waxing phase of the moon (pattern I). The following comparison of the last day of the waning phase of the month according to pattern II (4Q209 frg. 6 9) with the Ethiopic text helps the reader see the evident parallelism of approach. In both cases the Aramaic scribe speaks about the moon being in conjunction with the sun. The calculation of the last day of the waning phase deals with nighttime only (night 29), leaving the description of daytime aside for obvious reasons. When the moon is not visible during the whole night, the calculation of its presence on the sky during daytime that should follow cannot take place. Note, however, that the text of line 10 is fragmentary, and the description of the last day of the waning phase is thus not complete. The Aramaic text in 4Q209 frg. 6 9 runs as follows:

24 Neugebauer (“The ‘Astronomical’ Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch,” 396) translates v. 4a–b periphrastically: “And thus (the lunar month), begins, when (the moon) itself moves away (from the sun) toward east. . . .” His translation does not respect the syntax of the sentence at all, and his additions in brackets do not find any confirmation in the text.

1 enoch 73:4–8 and the aramaic astronomical book

699

‫]ובליליא תשעה ועשרין בה כסה כל ליל[י̇ א דן כלה ולקיח כל שאר נהורה‬ [‫מר עם ֯ש]משא‬ ̇ ‫מט‬ ̇ ‫ונפק גלגלה ריקן מן ֯כל נ̇ הור‬ [And during night twenty-nine it is hidden in it all] this [nig]ht for all of it. And all the rest of its light is taken away. And its disc rises empty of all light hidden with the s[un.]

Although according to the Aramaic text the moon is certainly absent from the sky on the last night of the computus, the Aramaic author adds in 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 that the rest of the lunar light is taken away. This detail suggests that the author concentrates on the illumination of the lunar disc usually discussed in column F. The passive Aramaic verb ‫ לקיח‬is thus synonymous with ‫ בציר‬used in column F of the waning phase. The description continues with column G (moonrise), the content of which is much expanded in comparison with previous days. There remains little doubt that 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 describes a fictitious situation in which the disc of the moon rises empty without any light, hidden with the sun. The available evidence demonstrates that the last day of the waning phase preserves columns A, D, F, and G; column B is omitted because the moon does not shine at all on that night. It is important, however, to note that even if the moon does not shine the whole night, the calculation assumes that the rest of its light is taken away. The “rest of its light” (‫ )שאר נהורה‬that is taken away would amount to the numerical value below 0.5/7, that is between 6.5/7 (col. F, day 28) and 7/7 = 1 (the disc with no light at all, col. F, day 29). While the computation of daytime after the description of night 29 has most probably been left out, 1 En. 73:4–7c omits the description of nighttime on day 30 for a similar reason; the moon is not visible during that night, and the process of light transmission from the sun to the moon begins during the day, before the moon is supposed to rise during the night (1 En. 73:7d). While according to 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 day 29 deals with nighttime only, day 30 of the waxing phase addresses the presence of the moon on the sky during the day only. Day 29 synchronizes the rising of the moon without light with the sun during the night (col. G). Day 30 in the Ethiopic text synchronizes the rising and setting of the moon with the sun during the day (1 En. 73:7a–b; col. G). Day 29 concentrates on the lack of illumination of the lunar disc, develops the content of col. F, and changes the verb used for the computation of col. F in previous days of the waning period. Day 30 deals

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almost exclusively with the illumination of the lunar disc, develops the content of col. F, and changes most probably the verb (1 En. 73:6a, 7c) used in the computation of col. F in following days in the waxing phase.25 Day 29 uses the passive form of the verb ‫ לקח‬when discussing the illumination of the moon; the meaning of the Ethiopic verb in 1 En. 73:6a and 7c (naśʾa, “to take, receive, accept”) suggests that that the underlying Aramaic verb might be the active form of ‫לקח‬. Day 29 speaks about the disc of the moon empty of all light; day 30 uses almost the same expression (1 En. 73:5b), but adds the information that the disc has already taken 0.5/7 of its light. Day 29 omits any reference to col. B (moonrise to sunrise) because the moon is absent in the night sky for the entire night. Day 30 omits col. E and extends the content of col. H (moonrise to sunset) to the whole day, because the moon is virtually present on the daytime sky for the entire day. Both 4Q209 frg. 6, 9 and 1 En. 73:4a–7c speak about the fictitious “rising” of the moon in the sky in order to explain how the moon receives (1 En. 73:5a–6b) or loses (4Q209 frg. 6, 9) its light (col. F). 4. Conclusion The interpretation of 1 En. 73:4–8 has proven that it is possible to properly explain one of the most difficult texts in 1 Enoch in light of the Aramaic manuscripts of the Aramaic Astronomical Book. Thus, the supposition that the Ethiopic pericope should be considered as part of the same Aramaic tradition concerning the presentation of lunar data has been confirmed. The Ethiopic text preserves the description of two days only—days 30 and 1—and the rest of the schematic month has been cut off, most probably even before the Aramaic text was translated into Greek and then into Gәʿәz. Some mistakes in the use of verbs and changes in the numerical patterns suggest a limited understanding of the whole monthly pattern, which probably contributed to the elimination of the rest of the lunar calculation. The most important data, however, have been properly preserved, so that one can restore most of the Aramaic numbers and phrases behind the Ethiopic text. The extended comparison of the Ethiopic Astronomical Book with the Ara-

25 Note that the Ethiopic text does not preserve column F in the description of daytime in day 1 (v. 8), and the rest of the calculation is cut off; it is, therefore, impossible to know how the Ethiopic text treated column F in the rest of the waxing phase.

1 enoch 73:4–8 and the aramaic astronomical book

701

maic Astronomical Book would undoubtedly indicate that the Aramaic schematic presentation of the lunar month was of great importance to the authors of the Aramaic Astronomical Book. Later redactors or translators, however, eliminated a large part of the monthly pattern of lunar visibility from their manuscripts. Since they were interested in the illumination of the lunar disc (cf. 1 En. 73:2–3), they preserved the description of the beginning of the month, probably because of its frequent use of the term bәrḫān (“light”) in the description of day 30. The temporal periods of lunar visibility (cols. B, D, E, and H) were either not understood, or perhaps of little importance to the redactors. Hence, the rest of the monthly pattern was eliminated with the exception of day 1. Table 1. Pattern I: Full Moon on Day 14 (Aramaic Astronomical Book) Section I: Moon during the night A

B

C

D

Section II: Moon during the day E

F

G

Night Sunset to Moonset moonset

Moonset Sunrise to Equation Moonrise to sunrise moonrise

‫בליליא‬

‫אניר‬

‫קוי ביממא קבל שאר‬ ‫לילא דן‬ ‫דן‬

30 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

[0.5/7] 1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

6.5/7 6/7 5.5/7 5/7 4.5/7 4/7 3.5/7 3/7 2.5/7 2/7 1.5/7 1/7 0.5/7

14

‫כל ליליא‬

Omitted

‫ערב ועל‬ (‫)לתרעא‬

1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

‫כל יממא‬ ‫דן‬

‫שוי בה‬ ‫נהור‬ 0.5/7 1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

‫כל נהור‬

H Moonrise to sunset

‫ושלט בשאר נפק )מן‬ (‫תרעא‬ ‫יממא דן‬ 6/7 5.5/7 5/7 4.5/7 4/7 3.5/7 3/7 2.5/7 2/7 1.5/7 1/7 0.5/7 omitted

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Table 1 (cont.) Section I: Moon during the night A

D

F

G

Section II: Moon during the day B

E

C

H

Night Sunset to Subtraction Moonrise Moonrise Sunrise to Moonset Moonset to moonrise to sunrise moonset sunset

‫בה כסה בליליא‬ 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

‫בציר מן‬ ‫נהורה‬

0.5/7 1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

0.5/7 1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

‫כלה‬

‫כל שאר‬ ‫נהורה‬

‫נפק‬ (‫)מן תרעא‬

‫ואניר‬ 6.5/7 6/7 5.5/7 5/7 4.5/7 4/7 3.5/7 3/7 2.5/7 2/7 1.5/7 1/7 0.5/7 omitted

‫קוי‬ ‫ערב ועל‬ ‫)לתרעא( ביממא דן‬ 1/7 1.5/7 2/7 2.5/7 3/7 3.5/7 4/7 4.5/7 5/7 5.5/7 6/7 6.5/7

‫כלה‬

‫כסה שאר‬ ‫יממא דן‬ 6/7 5.5/7 5/7 4.5/7 4/7 3.5/7 3/7 2.5/7 2/7 1.5/7 1/7 0.5/7 omitted

29 Table 2. Ethiopic Text and English Translation of 1 En. 73:4–8 [verse]

Day 30 (daytime)

4a

wa-kama-zә yәśarrәq And it rises in this way:

4b

wa-rәʾsu za-mangala ṣәbāḥ yәwaḍḍәʾ ba-śalāsā ṣәbāḥ Its head which is in the east emerges on the thirtieth day,

4c

wa-ba-yәʾәti ʿәlat yāstarәʾʾi and on that day it is seen,

4d

wa-yәkawwen lakәmu rәʾsa warḫ śalāsā ʿәlata mәsla ḍaḥay ba-ḫoḫt ʾәnta yәwaḍḍәʾ ḍaḥay and becomes for you the beginning of the month on the thirtieth day with the sun, in the gate where the sun emerges,

1 enoch 73:4–8 and the aramaic astronomical book

703

Table 2 (cont.) [verse]

Day 30 (daytime)

5a

manfaqa26 sābәʿta ʾәda ʾaḥada a half of a seventh.

5b

wa-kwәllu kәbaba ziʾahu bakka za-ʾalbo bәrhāna za-ʾәnbala sābәʿt ʾәdehu ʿaśart rābәʿt ʾәda bәrhānu And its entire disc is empty except for its seventh, one-fourteenth of its light.

6a

wa-ba-ʿәlata yәnaśśәʾ sābәʿta ʾәda manfaqa bәrhānu And during the day it takes on a half of a seventh of its light.

6b

wa-yәkawwәn bәrhānu sābәʿta ʾәda nәfqā27 And its light becomes a half of a seventh.

7a

wa-yaʿārreb mәsla ḍaḥay And it sets with the sun.

7b

wa-soba yәśarrәq ḍaḥay yәśarrәq warḫ mәslehu And when the sun rises, the moon rises with it,

7c

wa-yәnaśśәʾ manfaqa ʾәda berhān and takes a half part of light. Day 1 (nighttime)

7d

wa-ba-yәʾәti lelit ba-rәʾsa ṣәbāḥa ziʾahu ba-qәdma ʿәlatu la-warḫ yaʿārreb warḫ mәsla ḍaḥay And during that night, at the beginning of its day, at the beginning of the moon’s day, the moon sets with the sun.

7e

wa-yәṣallәm ba-yәʾәti lelit 6 sabʿāta ʾәda wa-nәfqā. And it is dark during that night for six-and-a-half sevenths. Day 1 (daytime)

8a 8b 8c

wa-yәśarrәq ba-yәʾәti ʿәlat sābәʿta ʾәda ṭәnquqa And it rises during that day for a seventh part exactly. wa-yәwaḍḍәʾ wa-yәḍannәn ʾәm-mәśrāqa ḍaḥay And it emerges and recedes from the rising of the sun. wa-yәbarrәh ba-tәrāfa ʿәlatu sәdәsta wa-sabʿāta ʾәda And it shines during the rest of its day for six seventh parts. 2627

26 27

Emended from wa-manfaqu rәḥuq. Emended from sābәʿta ʾәda ʾaḥatta wa-manfaqā.

704

henryk drawnel Table 3. Monthly Pattern of Lunar Visibility in 1 En. 73:4–8

Section I: Moon during the night A

B

C

Night Sunset to moonset

Moonset

‫אניר בליליא‬

‫ערב ועל‬

D

E

‫קבל שאר‬ ‫קוי‬ ‫לקח נהור‬ ‫ביממא דן לילא דן‬ omitted

omitted

moonset together with sunset (v. 7d)

F

G

H

Moonset to Sunrise to Equation Moonrise Moonrise sunrise moonrise to sunset

30

1

Section II: Moon during the day

6.5/7 (v. 7e)

1/7 (v. 8a)

‫נפק‬

‫ושלט‬ ‫בשאר‬ ‫יממא דן‬

0.5/7 moonrise together (vv. 6a–b with sunrise + 7c) (vv. 4a–5a); moonset together with sunset (v. 7a–b) omitted (v. 8b) 6/7 (v. 8c)

REFLECTIONS ON SOURCES BEHIND THE EPISTLE OF ENOCH AND THE SIGNIFICANCE OF 1 ENOCH 104:9–13 FOR THE RECEPTION OF ENOCHIC TRADITION Loren T. Stuckenbruck Introduction Near the end of the so-called Epistle of Enoch in 1 Enoch, the Ethiopic and Greek text traditions return to the kind of discourse with which the work began. After reassuring and warning the living righteous and sinners, respectively (1 En. 104:1–8), the text shifts its focus. Previous to this, in the heart of the Epistle (1 En. 94:5–104:8), a writer presents a series of denunciations and words of consolation in three major discourses (94:6–100:6; 100:7–102:3; 102:4–104:8), addressed to “sinners” and “righteous.” In these discourses, the writer addresses the circumstances and activities of both groups in terms of what they seem to be experiencing at the present. The voice of this author presents itself as that of a contemporary who declares the justice of God amid circumstances in which the “righteous” are subjugated, oppressed, and have no dignified place within the social order. Though similarly emphasizing the essential difference between the present time of injustice and eschatological outcomes, the beginning (92:1–5, 94:1–5) and, now, the end of the Epistle (104:9–105:1) presupposes a narrative setting different from the one just described. Here, the writer addresses those who come after him, whether they are his children (cf. 92:1; 94:1) or later generations of the pious who will receive traditions circulating in his name (104:9–13). Rather than being descriptive of contemporary conditions, the frame of the Epistle refers to events which will occur in the future. One could thus summarize the difference as follows: whereas the author-addressee relationship in the Epistle’s discourses is presentist and announces eschatological outcomes, the relationship between author and audience in the frame is more remote. In order to bridge the voice of the ante-diluvian patriarch with hearers and readers of a later time, the frame draws on elements formally associated with testaments.

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The recognition of different communicative idioms in the core and frame of the Epistle has recently led scholars to draw implications for source criticism. George Nickelsburg has concluded that “the body of the Epistle (94:6–104:8) should be interpreted as an independent composition.”1 Going beyond arguments of difference in content, Nickelsburg notes that no part of the body of the Epistle is preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls materials. At the beginning of the Epistle 4QEng (= 4Q212) breaks off at 94:2 and therefore “cannot be shown to have contained the body of the Epistle.”2 At the end of the Epistle, another manuscript, 4QEnc 4Q204), only preserves material from 104:13 on. One can see, then, that 1 En. 104:10 provides “an appropriate continuation of 94:5” and, as such, forms an inclusio to the original form of the Epistle when it existed without the main body.3 Instead of assigning a particular date to the Epistle as a whole, Nickelsburg opts to link its frame to the Apocalypse of Weeks (cf. 1 En. 93:1–10, 91:11–17), resulting in a date leading up to and during the Maccabean revolt. As for the core of the Epistle, Nickelsburg, without committing to a definitive view, holds open the possibility that it was composed “during the Hasmonean period,” that is, the time of Alexander Jannaeus (103–76 b.c.e.).4 In several publications Gabriele Boccaccini, at first independently and then in conversation with Nickelsburg, has reached similar conclusions.5 His analysis, however, attempts to give more concrete ideological shape to the differences observed between the Epistle’s 1 George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 2001), 426–427. 2 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 426 n. 6, who refers, in turn, to his discussion in “The Books of Enoch at Qumran: What We Know and What We Need to Think About,” in Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag (BZNW 97; ed. B. Kollmann, W. Reinbold, and A. Steudel; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 99–113 (here 103). 3 Cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 24. 4 Nickelsburg refers, though not uncritically, to the arguments of Victor Tcherikover (Hellenistic Civilisation and the Jews [Philadelphia/Jerusalem: Jewish Publication Society of America/Magnes Press, 1959], 258–262) and entertains the further possibility of an even later date towards the end of the first century b.c.e. “that reflects the antagonism toward the Herodian house and its aristocratic clients” (1 Enoch 1, 427). 5 See Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 104–113; “Enoch, Qumran, and the Essenes: The Rediscovery of a Forgotten Connection: A Response to ‘The Epistle of Enoch and the Qumran Literature,’ ” in George W. E. Nickelsburg in Perspective: An Ongoing Dialogue of Learning (JSJSup 80; ed. J. Neusner and A. J. Avery-Peck; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), 123–132; and “Qumran and the Enoch Groups: Revisiting the Enochic-Essene Hypothesis,” in The Bible

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frame and main body. In locating both these traditions ideologically and sociologically, Boccaccini uses “the Qumran Community” as an essential comparative base. Whereas the frame of the Epistle may be said to be ideologically reconcilable with ideas that would be taken up by the Qumran group, the three discourses of the Epistle are “postsectarian,” composed after an irreconcilable rift had developed between the Qumran Community and adherents of an Enochic group whose piety was not governed by the Mosaic Torah. Polemic in the core of the Epistle may be understood as being “anti-Qumranic,” for example, in its rejection of the view that sin originated outside the world (cf. 1 En. 98:4 with 1QS 3:13–4:26). The source-critical distinctions made by Nickelsburg and Boccaccini mark an advance on previous discussions which have treated the entirety of the Epistle as a single entity. R. H. Charles, followed by many others, dated the Epistle to the first third of the first century b.c.e. while, at the same time, assigning a pre-Maccabean date (i.e., before 167 b.c.e.) to the Apocalypse of Weeks.6 Others, notably J. T. Milik and Michael A. Knibb, have adopted the view that both the Epistle and the Apocalypse stem from the same author, while several scholars, without committing to a single authorship or even dependence between both works, have assigned their date to the period leading up to or during the early part of the Maccabean revolt.7 On the other hand, James VanderKam, already in his monograph, Enoch and the Growth of Apocalyptic Tradition, and without depending on a link with the Apocalypse of Weeks, put forward a plausible case based on details preserved in core of the Epistle for regarding it as a document authored just before or during the Maccabean revolt.8 and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Volume 1: Scripture and the Scrolls (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2006), 37–66. 6 See R. H. Charles, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1912), li–liii, 218, 221–227; for further bibliography on those who have also adopted this view, see Loren T. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108 (CEJL; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 212 n. 380. 7 For the former opinion see J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 255–256, and Michael A. Knibb, “The Apocalypse of Weeks and the Epistle of Enoch,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins (ed. G. Boccaccini; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 213–219 (here 213). For the latter position see, e.g., H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic (London: Lutterworth Press, 1959), 59; J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1984), 144. 8 VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of Apocalyptic Tradition, 144. VanderKam links the accusations of idolatry in 1 En. 99:7, 9, and 14 with references to the practice thereof by Jews in 1 Macc. 1:43 (see further 1 Macc. 1:47; 13:47; and 2 Macc. 12:40).

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Scholarly discussion of 1 En. 91–105 during the last one hundred years has, on the whole, raised several important issues that need to be taken into account: (a) the pre-history of the text (source criticism), (b) the text traditions as they survive (Aramaic, Coptic, Greek, and Ethiopic, of which the latter is extant in at least two recensions), (c) the interrelationship between the originally distinguishable works, (d) their genre, (e) their social setting, and (f ) the relation of the ideal figure, the ante-diluvian Enoch, to the voices of those who were taking up the patriarch’s name. The question of date, then, is not simply a matter of recovering “original” settings, but of seeking to posit a relationship between separate materials that were being brought together during the Second Temple period and ultimately took their present form within the Ethiopic tradition.9 While the issues just listed cannot be resolved here, I would like to identify and discuss briefly two areas that have implications for our understanding of 1 Enoch 91–105 and especially the Epistle. These relate to (1) source criticism and (2) authorial consciousness in relation to the figure of Enoch. In particular, I shall address what a study of the Dead Sea fragments reveals and does not reveal about the textual relationship between portions of the Epistle, and evidence in 1 En. 104:9–13 for a “gap” between Enoch as ideal author and the writer of the text. Source Criticism Above we have noted some of the recent discussion regarding the lack of unity of the Epistle of Enoch, especially that of Nickelsburg and Boccaccini. I too find the differences between the frame and body of the Epistle sufficiently compelling to posit composition by different hands, one operating within a testamentary framework (1 En. 92:1–5, 94:1–5, 104:9–105:2) and closely aligned to 1 En. 91:1–10, 18–19, and

9 Concerning the question of a collection of Enochic works during the Second Temple and later periods, see Michael A. Knibb, “The Book of Enoch or Books of Enoch? The Textual Evidence for 1 Enoch,” and Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions Related to 1 Enoch from the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Overview and Assessment,” in The Early Enoch Literature (JSJSup 121; ed. G. Boccaccini and J. J. Collins; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 21–40 and 41–63, respectively.

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the other providing discourses; the discourses alternate in addressing contemporaries who are wicked and pious.10 The positing of different authors or sources has led, however, too quickly to the view that in the frame and core of the Epistle we must assume significantly different dates. Here observations regarding the earliest available textual evidence for the Epistle must come into play. In order to strengthen his argument that the core of the Epistle is antiQumranic, Boccaccini has drawn on Nickelsburg’s argument about its absence in both 4QEng and 4QEnc.11 In other words, one is to believe that the discourses of the Epistle were never received at Qumran, and only later, outside the sectarian context, were incorporated into the larger Enochic collection. At this point, it is important to pay more attention to the codicological argument that has been adduced. The undeniable absence of the Epistle’s core should not be placed in service of a distinction between Qumran and anti-Qumranic perspectives. Several reasons, based on a closer look at the manuscripts, may be given to support this claim. First, it is impossible to know what the manuscripts 4QEng and 4QEnc originally contained. With respect to 4QEnc, which was copied in an early Herodian hand before the turn of the Common Era, we do not know whether it contained 1 En. 94:6–104:8 alongside all the other Enochic works it preserves (i.e., fragments from the Book of Watchers [1 Enoch 1–36], Animal Apocalypse [1 Enoch 85–90], the end of the Epistle [1 En. 104:13–107:2], and the Birth of Noah [1 Enoch 106–107]).12 As there are no detectable turns in the leather among the fragments of 4QEnc to indicate rolling to the Book of Watchers and Animal Apocalypse, we are not in a position to estimate how much scroll (and therefore text) was left in the manuscript. On the other hand, the portion of the manuscript that begins with 1 En. 104:13 shows short turns which make clear that the manuscript 10 See further Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 191–92, and 211–15, and the discussion of the literary growth of Enochic traditions on p. 9. 11 Boccaccini, “The Epistle of Enoch and Qumran Literature,” 126–27; see also Nickelsburg (1 Enoch 1, 426–27, and nn. 32 and 34), who does not draw the theological inferences from this that Boccaccini identifies. 12 On the possibility that 4QEnGiantsa (= 4Q203: 13 fragments from the Book of Giants) belongs to 4QEnc as well, see Milik, The Books of Enoch, 22, 178–179, and 310. For arguments against regarding 4Q203 and 4Q204 as part of the same manuscript, see Devorah Dimant, “The Biography of Enoch and the Books of Enoch,” VT 33 (1983): 14–29 (here 16 n. 8), and Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions Related to 1 Enoch,” 48–50.

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draws to an end at the conclusion of ch. 107.13 Based on the surviving materials, and assuming that the length of the Enochic books was the same as that contained in the Ethiopic tradition, it seems that 4QEnc, if it included all of the Epistle, would have been around 4.5 meters long, or 6.25 meters if the manuscript also contained the Book of Giants (as claimed by Milik; cf. n. 12).14 Though relatively long among the Qumran manuscripts, a manuscript that includes the entirety of the Epistle would not have been of implausible length.15 Second, it is important to offer observations about the codicology of 4QEng. This manuscript consists of fragmentary text that corresponds to the Exhortation (1 En. 91:1–10, 18–19), the Apocalypse of Weeks and, as we have seen, the beginning of the Epistle up to 1 En. 94:2. If, with Boccaccini and Nickelsburg, one were to suppose that the manuscript did not originally contain the core of the Epistle, then the extant portions of the text from chapters 91–94 may be assumed to come near the end of the manuscript, with only 1 En. 104:9–107:2/3 left at the end.16 There is, however, absolutely no evidence (i.e., through damage points or turns) on the large fragment c of 4QEng that the manuscript is anywhere near the end at this point. It is instead far more likely that the fragment represents a point within the manuscript in which turns were wide enough for the extant material to have been followed by a text of sufficient length to cover the main body of the Epistle. Contrary to inferences about the Epistle’s contents which are based on absence, the codicology of the manuscript suggests otherwise; it is consistent with the view that the manuscript originally contained the main body of the Epistle as well as its frame. There is therefore no reason to doubt Milik’s claim that the entire Epistle was preserved at Qumran.17

13 1 Enoch 108, like the Similitudes (1 Enoch 37–71), are only preserved in the Ethiopic tradition. On the question of whether or not 4QEnc ended at 1 En. 107:2 or 107:3, see Milik, The Books of Enoch, 217, and Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 687. 14 For the calculations see Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions Related to 1 Enoch,” 49–50. 15 Cf. the discussion on “Length and contents of scrolls” from the Dead Sea by Emanuel Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 74–79. 16 A further, plausible assumption made here is that if the extant sections formed part of a larger collection of Enochic works in the manuscript, then they would likely have come towards the end. If, however, they were not part of a larger collection and 4QEng contained these (and no other) Enochic writings, then the argument being presented here still holds. 17 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 245–272.

reflections on sources behind

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1 Enoch 104:9–13: Enochic Author and Audience It is right to observe, with Nickelsburg, that the testamentary setting of this passage towards the end of the Epistle resumes the form with which the work began. Comparison between the beginning and end of Epistle’s frame is complicated by divergences within the Ethiopic and Greek textual traditions which make it difficult, given the sparse Aramaic remains, to reconstruct a likely original.18 Both the beginning and the end refer to Enoch’s progeny as “sons” (1 En. 92:1; 94:1; 105:2), though only at the beginning are they specifically referred to as “my sons” (1 En. 92:1; 94:1). In addition, at the end of the Epistle the patriarch declares that his writings “will be given to the righteous and (Grk. adds: the pious) and to the wise” who are referred to in the third person instead of in the second (so also in 1 En. 105:2). The correspondence is strengthened, however, if we take the Aramaic text of 4QEng 1 ii 22 to 92:1 into account. Here, whereas the Ethiopic text tradition introduces the work as “that which was written by Enoch the scribe,” the partially restored Aramaic reads “that which] he[ wro]te and gave to Meth[uselah.” Similarly, at the end the writer again refers to Methuselah, this time calling him “my son”: “I and my son will join ourselves with them forever on the ways of righteousness during their lives.”19 While one cannot be sure that the same writer composed both parts of the frame, they participate in an ambiance not shared with the rest of the Epistle. That said, a certain distinction emerges at the end of the Epistle that has its closest analogy not at the beginning of the Epistle, but in the Astronomical Book at 1 En. 82:1–4. In the Astronomical Book, chapter 82 opens with a testamentary setting in which Enoch declares, in the second person, to his son Methuselah that he has given him books of wisdom which he, in turn, is to keep and pass on to his sons and to future generations (1 En. 82:1–2). This commission is followed by a third person comparison of the wisdom learned by those who understand (the metaphor of “eating” is also used) as better than “good food” (v. 3), and pronouncement of a blessing on those righteous who “do not sin as the sinners” (v. 4). 18

Cf. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 582–591. On the possibility of Christian influence on the Ethiopic text tradition of this wording see Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 603–604, though this does not obviate the likelihood that “I and my son” was original to the now lost Aramaic text. 19

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In 1 En. 104:9–13 a similar contrast is presented between the righteous and the sinners. Unlike 1 En. 82:1–4 (and, of course, unlike the beginning of the Epistle), the voice of the real author becomes, however, so conspicuous as to be distinguishable from the fictive voice of the patriarch Enoch. This becomes clearest in verses 10–11, which are presented below in both the Ethiopic and Greek versions: Ethiopic

Greek

(10) And now I know this mystery, that many times the sinners will alter and pervert the word of truth; and they will speak evil words, and lie, and make big works and write my books in their own words.

(10) . . . ] of truth they will alter; and the sinners co[py] and change many things, and lie and fashion great works and w[rit]e down books in their own names.

(11) And would that they would write down all the words accurately in their languages and neither pervert nor omit (anything) from my words, but accurately write down everything which I have testified before concerning you.

(11) An[d] would that [they wou] ld write all my words accurately in their names and [nei]ther omit nor change these words, but write all things accurately which I testify to them.

The fictive voice of the patriarch is here made to utter predictions for a later time. On the one hand, there will be those who misrepresent “the word of truth” by writing Enoch’s books “in their own words” (cf. Eth.); on the other hand, there will be those who record or write Enoch’s words “accurately.” The fictive Enoch is made to predict the faithful writing of the author who is writing in Enoch’s name. This veiled disclosure about the actual writer’s own activity reflects an anxiety regarding the contestation over the Enochic traditions. This writer, who is aware of others who he considers to have been unfaithful in conveying the voice of Enoch, is seeking to legitimate his activity as a rightful bearer of Enoch’s name. It has been argued by some, especially on the basis of the Greek version, that the writer of the passage is engaged in a defense of his own work as a pseudepigraphon.20 If this were so, the possible charge

20 So Milik (The Books of Enoch, 50), who maintains that the writer has in mind “the historical and apologetical works . . . of Demetrius, of Philon the Ancient, of Eupolemus, Artapan, Aristeas, Cleodemus-Malkâ, of Pseudeo-Hecataeus, Ezekiel the Tragic, and so on”; Armin Baum, Pseudepigraphie und literarische Fälschung im frühen Chris-

reflections on sources behind

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of writing under someone else’s (not Enoch’s) name would be met by reversing the accusation: those who write “in their own names” (so the Greek for v. 10) are the ones who perpetrate falsehood and corrupt the truth. It is not clear, however, that such an attempt to justify the adoption of a pseudepigraphic idiom reflects the sense of the text in its entirety.21 Indeed, a different reading of the passage is possible. The emphasis in both versions on “my words” in verse 11 (both vv. 10–11 in the Eth.) suggests that the writer’s attack is predominantly concerned with those who, from his point of view, have subverted or misrepresented the Enoch tradition they have received. The writer, in using Enoch’s name, claims to be an (not necessarily the only) authentic interpreter and transmitter of Enochic revelation. He also shows that he is aware of others who have deliberately taken it upon themselves to make improper use of Enochic tradition, which he regards as sacred. While the polemic here may be directed against the construal of the figure of Enoch in works such as Ben Sira, Jubilees, or even PseudoEupolemus, the fictive character of the Epistle momentarily gives way to an admission that the real author is not, in fact, Enoch himself. The text, in this case, presents itself as the reception of Enochic tradition by a claimant to Enoch’s name who, in his very interpretation and transmission of the tradition, regards himself as divinely inspired. Since the self-claim implicit in this text refers, in the plural, to those who accurately receive and pass on Enoch’s books and words, the author is not laying exclusive claim to being the legitimate voice of Enoch. If compositions within the corpus of 1 Enoch such as the Animal Apocalypse, the Apocalypse of Weeks, the Exhortation, the Birth of Noah, the frame and even the main body of the Epistle can, whether in part or as a whole, be dated to years before, during, and perhaps just after the Maccabean revolt, then we may speak of different, yet contemporary, writers each taking up the voice of the patriarch to interpret traditions inherited in Enoch’s name in order to address a variety of newly emerging circumstances.22 One may thus credibly posit for tentum (WUNT II 138; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 175–76; and Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 533–534. 21 For a discussion of the implications of the different readings see Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 589–593. 22 Cf. the different reconstructions of the development of Enochic tradition during the second century b.c.e. in Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 25–26 and Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 9–11.

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the first half of the second century the existence of an Enochic “community,” by which we mean a group of contemporaries who drew on traditions under the patriarch’s name to construct a theo-conceptual and social space for those they considered obedient amid turbulent times.23

23 The implications of co-existing Enochic voices for understanding the phenomenon of emerging traditions containing Jesus’ words among his followers in the first century c.e. are enormous, and remain to be worked out in another study.

ON THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ABRAM: GENESIS APOCRYPHON 18, JUBILEES 10:1–13:4, AND FURTHER THOUGHTS ON A LITERARY RELATIONSHIP Daniel A. Machiela Since the preliminary publication of all legible portions of the Genesis Apocryphon in the mid 1990s, attention again has turned to the relationship this scroll shares with another, roughly contemporaneous, rewriting of Genesis and the early parts of Exodus—the book of Jubilees.1 In the spirit and wake of historical biblical criticism, scholars have been especially keen to answer questions about the literary priority and potential sources of these two works. The answers to such questions, when viewed collectively, aid greatly in reconstructing the history and development of religious thought in Second Temple period

1 That there is some sort of relationship seems assured by the many details shared by these two compositions alone at this early period (third to first centuries b.c.e.). These include: Lamech’s wife is named Batenosh (1QapGen 2:20–21, Jub. 4:28); Noah’s wife is named Emzara (1QapGen 6:7, Jub. 4:33); a clear knowledge of Enochic traditions is displayed (1QapGen 0–5, Jub. 4:16–5:12, 10:8–11); Mount Lubar is specified as the place where the ark came to rest (1QapGen 12:13, Jub. 7:1); Noah’s sacrifice is specifically linked to atonement for sin (1QapGen 10:13, Jub. 6:2); the general structure of Noah’s division of the earth among his sons and grandsons is remarkably similar (1QapGen 16–17, Jub. 8:11–9:15); and Abram and Sarai are said to have dwelled in Egypt for five years before Sarai was taken by the Pharaoh (1QapGen 19:23, Jub. 13:11). One could add to this list, but the examples in it should suffice to demonstrate the striking overlap in parabiblical traditions shared by these two rewritings of Genesis. Still, any stress placed on these connections must be counterbalanced by the many, significant ways in which these two texts differ, such as the ways in which pseudepigraphy is employed, the preferred forms of divine revelation, and the specific events treated. After reading Jubilees and the Genesis Apocryphon it is easy to see why scholars are curious about their specific relationship and its ramifications for understanding each writing more thoroughly. For overviews of the relationship, see J. A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave 1 (1Q20): A Commentary (3d rev. ed.; BibOr 18/B; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2004), 20–23; D. A. Machiela, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon: A New Text and Translation with Introduction and Special Treatment of Columns 13–17 (STDJ 79; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 13–17; and J. L. Kugel, “Which is Older, Jubilees or the Genesis Apocryphon? An Exegetical Approach,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls and Contemporary Culture: Proceedings of the International Conference held at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem (July 6–8, 2008) (ed. A. Roitman, L. H. Schiffman, and S. L. [Berrin] Tzoref; STDJ 93; Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).

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Judaism; this, in turn, provides us with a better understanding of an era so formative for Judaism and Christianity in the opening centuries of the Common Era. Although the payoffs for answering questions about literary relationships are primarily historical and sociological, it should be added that this sort of work tends to produce numerous tangential insights regarding the language, exegetical techniques, theological outlook, and literary character of individual works. To every one of these areas, and many more, James VanderKam has made lasting, significant contributions; moreover, he has worked on both the Genesis Apocryphon and, especially, Jubilees. It is with the greatest pleasure and appreciation that I dedicate this essay to my esteemed teacher and friend. Three types of relationship have been defended by those working on the Genesis Apocryphon and/or Jubilees. The first posits that Jubilees depends directly on, and is therefore later than, the Genesis Apocryphon. This view was espoused early on by the original editors of the Apocryphon, N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, and followed by P. Kahle, G. Vermes, B. Z. Wacholder, and P. Grelot.2 In more recent times it has again been defended by C. Werman and E. Eshel.3 In skeptical reaction and opposition to this position, a second group found the opposite arrangement to be more plausible: the author of the Genesis Apocryphon borrowed directly from Jubilees. Included in this camp are H. del Medico, G. Lambert, J. Fitzmyer, L. Hartman, K. Beyer, G. Nickelsburg, C. Evans, D. Falk, S. White Crawford, and most recently J. Kugel.4 A third contingent—including F. García Martínez,

2 N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea. Description and Contents of the Scroll, Facsimiles, Transcription and Translation of Columns II, XIX–XXII (Jerusalem: Magnes Press and Heikhal ha-Sefer, 1956), 38; P. Kahle, The Cairo Geniza (2d ed.; Oxford: Blackwell, 1959), 199; G. Vermes, Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies (StPB 4; Leiden: Brill, 1961 [2d rev. ed., 1973]), 124; B. Z. Wacholder, “How Long did Abram Stay in Egypt?” HUCA 35 (1964): 43–56; P. Grelot, “Review of J. A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave 1 (1966),” RB 74 (1967): 102–5, here 103. 3 C. Werman, “The Book of Jubilees in Hellenistic Context [‫ספר היובלים בהקשר‬ ‫]הלניסטי‬,” Zion [‫ ]ציון‬66 (2001): 275–96 [Hebrew; translated in Heavenly Tablets: Interpretation, Identity and Tradition in Ancient Judaism (ed. L. LiDonnici and A. Lieber; JSJSup 119; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 133–58]; idem, “The Book of Jubilees and its Aramaic Sources [‫]ספר היובלים ומקורותיו הארמיים‬,” Megillot [‫ ]מגילות‬8–9 (2010): 1–40 [Hebrew]; E. Eshel, “The Imago Mundi of the Genesis Apocryphon,” in Heavenly Tablets, 111–31. 4 H. E. del Medico, L’Enigme des manuscrits de la Mer Morte (Paris: Librarie Plon, 1957), 515; G. Lambert, “Une ‘Genèse apocryphe’ trouvée à Qumrân,” in La secte de

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J. van Ruiten, and me—has suggested that the relationship between Jubilees and the Apocryphon is probably not a direct one, but may be attributed to a common source (or sources), whether oral, written, or both.5 It should be noted that some from the first two positions also left the door open to a common source theory, notably Grelot, Wacholder, and Falk.6 The nearly balanced numbers of scholars in the first two groups hint at the fact that there is little clear evidence to prove either case convincingly, and more often than not one is struck that a given scholar’s position has much to do with outside factors like their personal theories on when one or the other text was composed. For example, those who wish to argue a late date for Jubilees (usually Qumrân et les origins du christianisme (RechBib 4; Bruges: Desclèe Brouwer, 1959), 85–107; esp. 106; J. A. Fitzmyer, “Some Observations on the Genesis Apocryphon,” CBQ 22 (1960): 277–91, here 277; L. F. Hartman, “Review of J. A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave 1 (1966),” CBQ 28 (1966): 495–98; K. Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer samt den Inschriften aus Palästina, dem Testament Levis aus der Kairo Genisa, der Fastenrolle und den alten talmudischen Zitaten (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 165; G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Patriarchs Who Worry about their Wives: A Haggadic Tendency in the Genesis Apocryphon,” in George W. E. Nickelsburg in Perspective: An Ongoing Dialogue of Learning (2 vols.; JSJSup 80; ed. J. Neusner and A. J. Avery-Peck; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1:177–99, here 199 n. 45; C. A. Evans, “The Genesis Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bible,” RevQ 13 (1988): 153–65, here 162; D. K. Falk, The Parabiblical Texts: Strategies for Extending the Scriptures among the Dead Sea Scrolls (Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls 8; Library of Second Temple Studies 63; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 97–101; S. White Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 126–27; Kugel, “Which is Older, Jubilees or the Genesis Apocryphon? An Exegetical Approach.” 5 F. García Martínez, Qumran and Apocalyptic: Studies on the Aramaic Texts from Qumran (STDJ 9; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 40–41; J. T. A. G. M. van Ruiten, Primaeval History Interpreted: The Rewriting of Genesis 1–11 in the Book of Jubilees (JSJSup 66; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 123, 332; Machiela, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon, 17, 126–30, 134–42. 6 A fourth group of scholars have claimed that it is not possible to determine the relationship between these texts. These views were expressed prior to the full publication of legible material for the Genesis Apocryphon: D. Flusser, review of N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon, KS 32 (1956–57): 379–83 [Hebrew]; H. Bardtke, review of N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon, TLZ 83 (1958): 343–46; J. Hempel, review of N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon, ZAW 69 (1957): 233–34; R. de Vaux, review of N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon, RB 64 (1957): 623–25; R. Meyer, review of N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon, Deutsche Literaturzeitung 80 (1959): 586–87; M. Bernstein, “From the Watchers to the Flood: Story and Exegesis in the Early Columns of the Genesis Apocryphon,” in 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 (ed. E. G. Chazon, D. Dimant, and R. A. Clements; STDJ 58; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 39–64, here 41.

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for Qumran or Essene authorship) are more naturally inclined to place it later than the Apocryphon, since this supports their preferred date. Recent suggestions that both the Apocryphon and Jubilees used sources, or contain multiple literary strata, have further vexed this question.7 My aim in this essay is to continue the discussion of how Jubilees and the Genesis Apocryphon might be related by examining and comparing the corresponding sections in each work dealing with the end of Noah’s life and the introduction of Abram. The main passages to be treated are: 1QapGen 18 and Jub. 10:1–13:4. The choice of 1QapGen 18 may strike those familiar with the scroll as a bit odd, since it is almost completely devoid of legible writing. However, part of my intent is to show that there remains valuable information to be gleaned from this “lost” column, especially when set next to Jubilees. One of the outcomes of this comparison will be an acknowledgment of the starkly different approaches taken to the transition between Noah and Abram, and especially Abram’s early life, by these two texts. On the latter score it is clear that Jubilees was far more expansive than the Genesis Apocryphon. The impetus for such expansion was a desire to offer some rationale for what in Genesis seems to be the abrupt, unexplained election of Abram, and as a result we see Jubilees shape the patriarch into a paradigmatic idoloclast. Some possible implications of this disparity will be discussed below. Genesis Apocryphon 18: Physical Features of the Manuscript Though 1QapGen 18 is in a very poor state of preservation (Avigad and Yadin called it “irretrievably lost”), some valuable information may yet be gleaned from it. On the one hand, it is a banner example of a rare characteristic of the scroll’s ink, which slowly eats the tanned leather, leaving nothing but preserved skin between where the lines of writing once were.8 Almost every bit of inscribed leather has now been 7 These sentiments are reflected for the Genesis Apocryphon in the work of R. Buth (“ ‘Ĕdayin/Tote—Anatomy of a Semitism in Jewish Greek,” Maarav 5–6 [Spring, 1990]: 33–48) and M. Bernstein (“Divine Titles and Epithets and the Sources of the Genesis Apocryphon,” JBL 128 [2009]: 291–310). For Jubilees see, e.g., M. Segal (The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology [JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007]) and Kugel (“On the Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees,” RevQ 24 [2009]: 215–72). 8 E. Tov (Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert [STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004], 53–54) lists five manuscripts, aside from

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eaten in this column, though very few letters and words are still legible on the photographs (see the appendix below). On the other hand, this peculiar trait has left five vacats (intervals left open by the scribe to indicate a break in thought or a new narrative unit) of various sizes in tact, thereby allowing us to discern where breaks in the story once existed.9 As I hope to show, this peculiarity allows us to reconstruct the basic shape of the narrative in this column with some measure of confidence. The preserved vacats are of two types. The first four are what could be called minor vacats, or empty spaces which represent a minor sense division in a larger, self-contained portion of narrative (1QapGen 18:1, 8, 9, and 11).10 Such blank spaces are known from many other places in the scroll, and invariably indicate a sub-division within one of the major “chapters” or “books” of the story. For example, vacats of less than one line are deployed in 2:2 to signal a second effort on Lamech’s part to attain the truth from his wife Batenosh concerning Noah’s parentage, in 6:9 and 6:12 to mark off a short narrative bridge from the marriage of Noah’s children to a vision telling him of a coming judgment, and in 19:17 to separate Abram’s dream from his retelling of it to Sarai. The lengths of minor vacats are not consistent, and it is difficult to establish finely-tuned scribal rules governing their use; at points it seems that spaces nearly a line long represent more significant movements in the narrative than very short spaces (e.g., compare 2:18 [longer] with 12:14 [shorter]), though it is not always clear that this is the case. It seems likely that the scribe dealt with pauses in the story on a case-by-case basis, the space assigned to each vacat depending upon both physical/manuscript concerns (e.g., where in the line the scribe was) and the perceived importance of a hiatus, the latter factor often being difficult for us to gauge.11 The last vacat of column 18, however, is of a different nature, being approximately one and a half lines long (1QapGen 18:23–24) and indicating a major shift in the story. There

the Apocryphon, that exhibit similar ink corrosion: 4QpaleoExodm (4Q22), 4QExodLevf (4Q17), 4QLevd (4Q26), 4QDand (4Q115), and 4QShirShabbg (4Q406). 9 An initial assessment (with which I am in basic agreement) of the vacats and their relation to sense division in this column was done by A. Lange, “1QGenAp XIX10– XX32 as Paradigm of the Wisdom Didactic Narrative,” in Qumranstudien (ed. H.-J. Fabry, A. Lange, and H. Lichtenberger; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1996), 191–204. On section divisions more generally see Tov, Scribal Practices, 143–49. 10 They are approximately 15, 20, 8, and 6 millimeters long respectively. 11 Cf. Tov, Scribal Practices, 144.

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are only two other vacats of a full line or greater currently preserved in the scroll: (1) 5:28, which marks the beginning of a major new unit on the life of Noah wherein he, rather than Lamech or Enoch, is the main speaker; and (2) 16:12–13, separating the descriptions of Japheth’s and Shem’s land apportionments, assigned by Noah in 1QapGen 16–17. The second example is somewhat surprising, for it is the sort of narrative pause that we might have expected to be marked by a smaller vacat (i.e., marking a sub-section of the geographic division of the earth in cols. 16–17); the equivalent space separating Shem’s and Ham’s apportionments in 16:25 is approximately two-thirds of a line long. The reason for this large vacat is not entirely clear, but it seems likely that the scribe wished to separate each son’s description by approximately one line in order to give some literary autonomy to each section; the two-thirds line space between Shem and Ham in 16:25 was obviously deemed acceptable, while the small space at the end of 16:12 (just under one-quarter of a line) did not suffice to separate Japheth from Shem and thus resulted in an extra full line being added. Whatever the explanation for 1QapGen 16:12–13, there is good reason to believe that the yet larger vacat at 1QapGen 18:23–24 marks the major narrative transition to the Abram story; in this transition Abram moves to center stage and assumes the role of first-person narrator until the narration shifts to the third-person voice in 1QapGen 21:34.12 When we leave column 17 (at 17:24) we are still following the life of Noah, though when we resume the story at the next legible spot (1QapGen 19:6–7) Abram is already in Canaan. Considering that the shift to the “copy of the Book the Words of Noah” at 5:29 is also preceded by at least a full line vacat it is nearly certain that 1QapGen 18:25 begins the corresponding account of “the Words of Abram.” Though column 18 has been passed over in all editions of the scroll to date, a few isolated phrases, words, and letters may still be read from the photographs with measured confidence. These are provided in the appendix at the end of this essay, but those which may provide some help for our present purposes are: ‫“( ֯מן כו̇ ל ארעא‬from the entire earth,” 18:20); ‫עלמי֯ ם‬ ̇ (“forever,” 18:21); ‫אכמו‬ ̇ ‫“( ו֯ ֯ע ̇ד‬and until they [were] darkened/blinded,” 18:31).

12

The shift may occur, however, some lines earlier.

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721

Implications of Col. 18 for the Narrative of the Genesis Apocryphon With the above factors in view we are in a position to assess what was once written in column 18 and its surrounding sections. Japheth’s Apportionment Among his Sons (1QapGen 17:16–19) The last portion of text that we may comment on with certainty (bookended by two vacats) is the division of Japheth’s portion of the earth into smaller shares among his sons. This section is preceded by the distribution to Shem’s sons, which likely followed a similar section for Ham’s sons.13 If so, 1QapGen 17:16–19 would represent the final section detailing the earth’s apportionment among Noah’s sons and grandsons.14 Postscript to the Earth’s Apportionment and Oaths not to Transgress Boundaries (?) (1QapGen 17:20–24) There is little readable text in these four and a half lines,15 but a vacat of a half line or less in 1QapGen 17:24 suggests that it was a brief narrative sub-unit, and the few uncertain words remaining (‫בני̇ נ֯ ו֯ ֯ח‬, ֯‫ )ו֯ ̇בנ̇ ו֯ ֯הי‬raise the probability that this is an editorial conclusion to the earth’s division, such as we find in Jub. 9:14–15 (“In this way Noah’s sons divided [the earth] for their sons in front of their father Noah”).16 Jubilees records that solemn oaths were taken by all present never to transgress their appointed boundaries, and given the implied storyline of the Apocryphon in 1QapGen 14–15 it is probable that such imprecations were a shared tradition in both texts.

13 For further details and argumentation see Machiela, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon, 22–23. 14 In the event that the division among Ham’s sons followed this section (which I find unlikely), those narrative units proposed below would need to be even further compressed. 15 For units of comparable length, see 1QapGen 1:11–16 (a brief plea by the Watchers or Giants), and 11:11–14 (Noah’s survey of the earth and response of praise to the Lord of Heaven). 16 All quotations of Jubilees are from the translation (second volume) of J. C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–511; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989).

722

daniel a. machiela Conduct of the Wicked Spirits or Death of Noah (?) (1QapGen 17:25–18:1)

We now enter the realm of educated speculation. From this point to the presumed beginning of the Abram narrative at 1QapGen 18:25 (34.5 lines of writing, or approximately one column) we would expect several narrative elements to be present for the story to progress coherently: (1) Noah must die, or leave the narrative stage; (2) Noah’s sons and grandsons must in some way disperse to their respective geographic allotments; and (3) some form of a genealogy must be present in order to bridge the historical period up to Abram’s life. Any number of other narrative threads could be added to the story, as we shall see in Jubilees, but given the relatively limited amount of space available it is improbable that much existed beyond these three elements in the Genesis Apocryphon. The remaining lines of column 17 are now lost to us, and the next vacat occurs at 1QapGen 18:1, which would result in a narrative unit of approximately ten lines.17 Given the placement of Noah’s death in Gen 9:29 and Jub. 10:15–17 one might expect this event to come very shortly after the earth’s division was concluded in the Apocryphon. In Genesis the death is reported before the biblical equivalent of the earth’s apportionment, the so-called Table of Nations in Gen 10 (i.e., placed at the present spot in the Genesis Apocryphon, the death notice would already stand at a significantly later narrative point than in Genesis); in Jubilees only one narrative unit intervenes, however, between the division and Noah’s death: the story of what happens to the impure demons that have survived the flood. According to Jub. 10:1–14, wicked spirits began to afflict Noah’s descendants and lead them astray, which the patriarch promptly put to an end through an intercessory prayer effecting the Lord’s decision that the spirits be bound and cast into the place of judgment. Mastema, the prince of such spirits, made a desperate plea before the Lord which resulted in one-tenth of the demons being allowed to continue their mischief, though this was to be offset by the angels teaching Noah the secrets of medicine so as to counteract the demonic scourge. Noah then wrote this knowledge in a book. This sounds like the sort of story that the author of the Genesis Apocryphon would be interested in, since

17 Compare the slightly shorter narrative units in 1QapGen 2:3–11 (Lamech and Batenosh’s first conversation about Noah), or 20:12–21 (Abram’s prayer and the resulting affliction of Pharaoh’s household).

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723

the scroll betrays an intense concern with the Watchers and their offspring, their ultimate judgment, and the sharp dichotomy between evil (associated with the fallen Watchers and their progeny) and righteousness (associated with Enoch and Noah especially). The problem is that there does not seem to be room in the Apocryphon for nearly all of what Jubilees recounts. It is possible that the ten lines of this section contained a condensed form of this story—a mere allusion to it—but I find it more likely that they told of the death of Noah, which could have been accompanied by a final reflection on the importance of Noah’s vital role in the Apocryphon (a role noticeably less pronounced in Jubilees). While an abbreviated form of the tale of the wicked spirits and Noah’s medicinal knowledge would probably not tell us much about the direction of dependence between the Apocryphon and Jubilees, the omission of this story would be surprising were the author of the Genesis Apocryphon using Jubilees directly. Of course, if there once was a short account of the demons it is plausible that Jubilees expanded upon it. Death of Noah or Tower of Babel (?) (1QapGen 18:1–8) The next section, which is almost entirely comprised of a large empty space with no leather remaining at all, would once have contained approximately seven lines of writing, assuming there were no intervening vacats.18 This would again be a relatively brief narrative subunit, which could have contained notification of Noah’s death (were it not in the preceding section) or perhaps a brief account of the Tower on the plain of Shinar. The latter story is placed directly after the Table of Nations in Gen 11:1–9, and follows notice of Noah’s death in Jub. 10:18–26. It would be surprising if nothing at all had been said about the Tower in the Apocryphon, especially since it so naturally fits together with the dispersion of Noah’s descendants to their allotted portions of the earth (this is part of its function in Jubilees). In his very brief comments on 1QapGen 18, Fitzmyer suggests that the column “must have dealt with the second part of Genesis 11, Abram in Ur and Haran. One cannot determine whether the scroll contained anything about the Tower of Babel; . . . if it did it must have been a brief

18 Sections of similar length are found in 1QapGen 10:11–17 (the alightment of the ark on the Mountains of Ararat and Noah’s sacrifice of atonement), and 2:12–18 (Lamech and Batenosh’s second scuttle over Noah).

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account.”19 Some summary of the Tower of Babel seems most plausible here, though if this is the case it would have been far shorter than the significantly expanded account of Jubilees. Dispersion of Noah’s Descendants, Transgression of Canaanites, and Genealogy to Abram (?) (1QapGen 18:8–23) This sixteen line section almost certainly concluded the portion of the scroll dealing with Noah’s life and death, and as such we might expect the final lines of this unit or the first lines of the next to have included a narrative bridge to the time of Abram.20 Considering the emphasis on Shem’s rights to the Levant and the misappropriation of it by Ham’s line in Noah’s dream-vision in 1QapGen 13–15 we would expect to read of the dispersion of Noah’s progeny to their respective inheritances, and Canaan’s ill-advised decision to settle in the land that would bear his name thereafter, somewhere in col. 18. This episode is completely absent from Genesis, though it does solve a potential exegetical and moral ambiguity therein by providing a pretext to the sanguine expulsion of the Canaanites from their land by the Israelites at a later time. According to this telling, the Canaanites deserved everything they got and then some, having dispossessed the rightful owners of their apportioned land (Shem and, by extension, the Israelites) and broken an oath made before the Lord. The only fully preserved version of this story is in Jub. 10:27–36, where it follows the Tower of Babel account and precedes the enriched genealogical section leading up to Abram’s introduction. The length of this section in the Genesis Apocryphon would again require an account more abbreviated than Jubilees, especially factoring in the multiple expansions on the genealogy found in Jub. 11:1–13, but it seems plausible that the same basic material was covered. A few words can be read with confidence at the end of 1QapGen 18:20 (‫ ֯מן כו̇ ל ארעא‬, “from the entire earth”) and 18:21 (‫עלמי֯ ם‬ ̇ , “forever”), which is not terribly helpful for determining the content of this section, but characteristic

19

Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon, 178. Sections of this length are rare in what is preserved of the scroll, and we may wish to entertain the possibility of a further subdivision (e.g., there are very small vacats in 1QapGen 18:9 and 18:11, both near the beginning of the line). We do appear to have, however, two units of approximately this length at 1QapGen 5:9–27 (Enoch’s discourse to Lamech explaining Noah’s miraculous birth) and 21:31–22:17 (Lot’s capture and rescue, and the ensuing interaction of Abram with Melchizedek). 20

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725

of the scroll.21 Yet another possibility in this section (or those above) is a deathbed testament by Noah given to his sons, or more likely to Shem and his children alone.22 Abram, Sarai, and Lot are introduced; Abram’s early life and departure from Ur (1QapGen 18:25–19:1) Thanks to the large vacat in 1QapGen 18:23–24 we return to firmer ground in the less than twelve line section beginning the Abram narrative, at least in terms of basic content.23 This section would have contained some sort of introduction to Abram, his marriage to Sarai, probably his relation to Lot, their departure from Ur for Haran, and something of his arrival in the latter locale. The fact that all of this takes place in under twelve lines is immediately striking to anyone familiar with Jubilees, for we shall see below that this is a point of major expansion (perhaps explosion would be a better word) for the author of that text. If early lines of the Noah account bear comparison here (1QapGen 5:29–6.9), we might also expect a self-introduction by Abram; this takes a full twelve lines alone in Noah’s case. The minimum number of lines for Abram to introduce himself and tell of Sarai and other family connections probably stands at around four or five, though it could certainly be longer than this. Considering that the simple logistical explanations involved in describing the transition from Ur to Haran would take at least another two lines, we are left with only five to six lines within which Abram recounted his youth and initial call from the Lord, presumably in the middle of this section.24 This squares well with the few words preserved at the end of 1QapGen 18.31 where we find the partial phrase ‫אכמו‬ ̇ ‫“( ו֯ ֯ע ̇ד‬and until they [were] darkened/blinded”). Verbal use of the root ‫ אכ״ם‬is rare

The exact phrase ‫ מן כול ארעא‬never shows up in the scroll, but similar language is found in 1QapGen 10.13; 11.12; 15.10–11, 15; 16.10; 17.12; 21.11–12; and 22.25. The word ‫( עלמים‬with its Hebrew ending) is employed at least 11 times in the preserved text. 22 Cf. Jub. 10:14: “He gave all the books that he had written to his oldest son Shem because he loved him much more than all his sons.” 23 The size of this section is roughly comparable to 1QapGen 5:29–6:5 (Noah’s selfintroduction, highlighting his upbringing and righteousness from birth) and 19:17–31 (Abram explains his dream to Sarai and the visit of Hyrcanus and his companions). 24 Lange (“Wisdom Didactic Narrative,” 193) includes in this section “The call of Abram and God’s first promise to him,” “Departure from Mesopotamia,” and “Abram at Bethel” (though the latter he may partially include in my following section). 21

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daniel a. machiela

in early Aramaic texts (e.g., Official and Achaemenid period Aramaic; it becomes more common in Syriac) and previously unattested in the Aramaic Dead Sea Scrolls, though the adjective ‫“( אכום‬black, dark”) is found.25 Happily, the one verbal attestation that we possess from the Achaemenid period is very helpful for our purposes, and deserves brief comment here. In the Elephantine copy of the Ahiqar proverbs (Col. 10, line 157) we read: ]‫עינין טבן אל יאכמו ואדנין‬, “good eyes shall not be darkened and . . . ears[.”26 Cowley reconstructed the immediate context based on other copies of the proverbs as follows: “good eyes shall not be darkened and [good] ears [shall not be stopped, and a good mouth will love] the truth and speak it.” The general setting of this saying is instruction given by Ahiqar to his nephew, steering him into the way of wisdom, goodness, and uprightness, and away from wickedness and foolishness. The imagery of eyes being darkened, or going blind, is thus a way of speaking about straying from the path of wisdom and truth. It is worth noting that the author of Jubilees (10:2) also made use of this language when writing about the activity of the wicked spirits: “Then Noah’s sons came to their father Noah and told him about the demons who were misleading, blinding, and killing his grandchildren.”27 Considering these factors, it seems very likely that the verb ‫ אכמו‬in 1QapGen 18:31 refers to the corrupt, errant conduct of humanity against which Abram was to be viewed.28

25 It is found twice in the Aramaic scrolls, in 4Q205 (1 Enoch [Animal Apocalypse]) 2 i 26 and 4Q561 (Physiognomy) 4–6 i 2. 26 For the full text see B. Porten and A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Vol. 3: Literature—Accounts—Lists (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1993), 44–45; also available in D. Schwiderski (ed.), Die alt- und reichsaramäischen Inschriften/The Old and Imperial Aramaic Inscriptions. Band 2: Texte und Bibliographie (Fontes et Subsidia ad Bibliam pertinentes 2; Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2004), 87. The text was originally published in A. E. Cowley, Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century b.c. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1923), 217, 225. 27 A similar decline is elaborated in Jub. 11:2–6, shortly before the birth of Abram, though the imagery of blindness is not mentioned there. 28 We might even reconstruct [‫“( ועד אכמו ]עיניהון‬and until [their eyes] were darkened/blinded”] based on the Elephantine Ahiqar example and the presumed content of our passage. With the limited context it is impossible to determine the agency of this Pe‘al verb; are the implied “they” wicked spirits, as in Jubilees, making the verb active (and transitive), or should it be read in a passive (and intransitive) sense with the subject being humans or their eyes? I have translated in the latter sense based on the Ahiqar proverb, though all options should remain open at present.

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Abram enters Canaan and makes his way to Hebron (1QapGen 19.2–10) The latter lines of this narrative block (19:7–10) are well enough preserved to have a good sense of its content, if not every detail.29 These lines recount Abram’s appeal to God at Bethel, the Lord’s response, Abram’s travel to the region of Hebron, and his construction of that city (which accounts for two years). The four to five lines preceding this probably told of Abram leaving his father Terah, the departure from Haran, arrival at Bethel, and construction of an altar there; it seems there would have been little or no room for more than this. This section again must have been appreciably shorter than Jub. 12:28–13:9, which includes a substantial blessing by Terah. Following this section we are swept into the entertaining retelling of Abram’s excursion to Egypt, and once again the text of the Apocryphon becomes easier to follow. Jubilees’ Introduction of Abram: A Hero of Right Worship in Tremulous Times In the analysis above I have repeatedly referred to Jubilees for comparison, and hinted that the end of Noah’s life, the introduction of Abram, and what falls between these represent a major exegetical expansion in Jubilees, but not in the Genesis Apocryphon. That is to say, we must conclude that the Genesis Apocryphon did not contain a large amount of the material in Jubilees, though the question remains whether these additional elements were not present in the Apocryphon at all, or were there but in far pithier versions. It seems to me that both possibilities are likely depending upon the section. There is no place where the difference between these two texts is more starkly obvious than at the beginning of Abram’s life, in which the author of Jubilees was clearly most interested. A particular problem apparently bothered the author: the fact that Abram’s election by God goes strangely unexplained in Genesis 11:27–12:3. Reading the latter account, someone might easily wonder: “Why Abram and not Nahor or Haran?” It seems fair to say that Jubilees went above and beyond the call of duty in providing

29 Lange (“Wisdom Didactic Narrative,” 193) titled this unit “Abram’s journey to Hebron.”

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an answer to this exegetical gap. In fact, there are several discernable strands that constitute a full explanation for Abram’s election:30 Abram exhibited remarkable traits as a youth (Jub. 11:11–13, 18–24) As mentioned earlier, the author of Jubilees paints a portrait of decline and submission to wickedness preceding the birth of Abram far more dramatic and dire than that in Genesis. The incident of the Tower at Shinar does give some indication that all is not well in the biblical account, but Jubilees sounds the alarm far more loudly by calling attention to Canaan breaking his oath not to transgress the allotted geographic boundaries (Jub. 10:27–34), the blood-related, warfare atrocities and other abominations of Serug’s generation (Jub. 11:1–6), and the misguided astrological augury of the Chaldeans (Jub. 11:8). In all of this Mastema and the wicked spirits play prominent roles, which culminate in a strange episode seemingly linked to Gen 15:11 wherein “ravens and birds” were sent by Mastema to make life difficult for those planting their fields.31 Swooping down to eat the scattered seed before it could be plowed under the soil, the birds effected a situation recalling the curses of Deuteronomy in which “if they were able to save a little of the fruit of the earth, it was with great effort” (Jub. 11:13). Enter Abram, who slowly begins to unfetter the bonds of Mastema. As a young man of fourteen years Abram demonstrated his prodigy at warding off the ravens, chasing them away with stern rebukes seventy times in one day, such that “not a single raven remained in any of the fields where Abram was” (Jub. 11:20). This act in itself is surely significant (especially if one is a starving Chaldean), but perhaps more important is the symbolic gesture of Abram’s power to contend with, indeed prevail upon Mastema and the powers of evil. At the tender age of fifteen Abram made the effects of this defeat permanent by inventing a special plow that combined the act of seeding and plowing into one easy step, casting the patriarch in something of a “founder of civi-

30 For a fuller treatment of Abram’s portrayal in Jubilees and other ancient texts of interest on the subject of Abram’s character, see G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Abraham the Convert” in Biblical Figures Outside the Bible (ed. M. E. Stone and T. A. Bergren; Harrisburg, Penn.: Trinity Press International, 1998), 151–75. 31 Of interest in regard to this episode are the observations of S. P. Brock (“Abraham and the Ravens: A Syriac Counterpart to Jubilees 11–12 and Its Implications,” JSJ 9 [1979]: 135–52), who argued that certain Syriac writings preserved this same story, but must have received it from a source other than Jubilees.

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lizations” role, and incidentally offering an etiology for this valuable piece of farm equipment that originates with Abram. Thus, in Jubilees Abram’s reaction to the ravens marks him as uniquely skilled, wise, and well-equipped to deal with the guiles of Mastema and his demons. As mentioned above, there is very little or no room for this episode in the Genesis Apocryphon. Abram recognized and acted against the error of idolatry (Jub. 11:14–17) Intervening between notification of the raven plague and Abram’s rectification of it stands the announcement of Abram’s birth and his reaction to the idolatrous environment roundabout him. Sometime before he was fourteen, presumably several years before, we are told that “the child began to realize the errors of the earth—that everyone was going astray after the statues and after impurity.” As a result, at fourteen “he separated from his father in order not to worship idols with him. He began to pray to the creator of all that he would save him from the errors of mankind and that it might not fall to his share to go astray after impurity and wickedness.” The import of these verses is that Abram, of his own accord, ferreted out the wicked ways of humanity and chose consciously to pursue another path—that of righteousness. Eventually we discover that Abram was not the first to make this breakthrough, for upon attempting to convince his father Terah of the error of worshipping idols we are surprised to hear Terah answer “I, too, know (this), my son.” The nub of the matter, we discover, is that Terah was afraid that the people would kill him if he told them “what is right.” Terah’s advice to Abram is to “[b]e quiet, my son, so that they do not kill you.” As we shall see, Abram rejected this conciliatory approach; he was willing to take dramatic action on behalf of the truth. Abram precipitated the move to from Ur to Haran (Jub. 12:12–15) Perhaps Abram acted quietly, but he was certainly not content with Terah’s insipidity. We are told that when Abram was sixty he “got up at night and burned the temple of the idols. He burned everything in the temple but no one knew (about it).” This deed resulted in Abram’s brother Haran dying in a last-ditch effort to save his idols (thereby providing a nice word play on the name Ur [= “fire”/“furnace”]), and Terah resolving to move the family to the ancestral inheritance of

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Arpachshad, “the land of Lebanon and the land of Canaan.” This is a significant insertion not found in Genesis, for it gently reminds the reader that the land of Canaan belongs by rights to the descendants of Arpachshad, not the Canaanites. Despite the intended destination, however, we read that for the time being Terah’s clan moves only from Ur of the Chaldeans to Haran, a venue where, in Jubilees, Abram further proves his quality. Abram came to the realization of the one, true God through astronomical observation (Jub. 12:16–21) Once in Haran Abram reached the final stage of preparation for receiving the gift of election. At age 75, while gazing at the heavens in good Chaldean fashion, Abram is struck with the singular thought: “All the signs of the stars and the signs of the moon and the sun – all are under the Lord’s control. Why should I be investigating (them)? If he wishes he will make it rain in the morning and the evening; and if he wishes, he will not make it fall. Everything is under his control.” That is, Abram sees past the folly of the Chaldean arts to the real source of truth and universal control, instigating a moving prayer that extols the sovereignty of God most High; he also petitions the Lord to save him and his posterity “from the power of the evil spirits who rule the thoughts of people’s minds. . . . May I not proceed in the error of my mind, my God.” This exclamation by Abram is followed immediately by God’s response through the Angel of the Presence in Jub. 12:22–24 (a slightly expanded form of the promise in Gen 12:1–3), leaving no doubt that the prayer and the promise are related. Summary: Election as Reward in Jubilees Through the strategies outlined above the author of Jubilees advocated a particular reading of the enigmatic election of Abram in Genesis that depicted God’s choice and promise as a reward earned by Abram for his eschewal of wickedness and unflagging pursuit of the one, true God. No longer is the reader left with the lingering question of why Abram was chosen to receive the Lord’s promise, for the author has answered emphatically that, like Noah in Gen 6:9, Abram was “blameless in his generation.” In its most basic literary structure, the transition from the time of Noah to that of Abram is marked by an advancing wave of corruption caused by Mastema and his minions, a wave that swept all humanity from what shoals of righteousness

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remained. In this ominous situation Abram rises up and stands alone against wickedness—a hero of faith—and for this he is chosen to bear the covenant of God most High. If we wish to seek out possible historical scenarios in which exegetical motifs were developed, it seems that here we have another instance in Jubilees where a stand against the advances of Hellenism is being advocated: Be like Abram; stand against the wickedness of idolatry and other perversions that threaten to lead Israel astray!32 All of this extra material in Jubilees must have been exceedingly condensed in the Genesis Apocryphon, if it was there at all. The mention of something or someone “being darkened” in 1QapGen18.31 suggests that the scroll probably contained a notice of waning wisdom and righteousness in Abram’s days. In the Apocryphon this decline was countermanded very differently than in Jubilees, by portraying Abram as the preeminent wise sage in the mold of Joseph and Daniel, rather than ardent opponent of idolatry.33 Conclusions The above comparison has, I hope, highlighted a significant difference in emphasis and substance between Jubilees and the Genesis Apocryphon. Though the exact contents of 1QapGen 18 are almost entirely lost, the presence of vacats and informed speculation about what was probably included therein based on comparison with Genesis and Jubilees leads to the conclusion that the Apocryphon’s author was conspicuously abrupt in making the transition from Noah to Abram, and especially in telling of Abram’s background and early life. For him, much more stress was laid on Abram’s time in Egypt—an episode that Jubilees hurries past with palpable disinterest. Jubilees, by contrast, took the chronological interval between Noah and Abram, and the part of Abram’s life preceding his call in Gen 12:1, as a point of major exegetical and theological expansion in which he sought to send a paraenetic message to his audience regarding idolatry and other objectionable practices. The Genesis Apocryphon could not have included most of 32 This attitude fits very well the socio-historical context of Jubilees’ composition as sketched out by VanderKam and others. For a succinct summary of this view see J. C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 139–41. 33 The presentation of Abram as a paradigmatic wisdom figure in the Apocryphon is elaborated upon by Lange, “Wisdom Didactic Narrative.”

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this expanded matter; it is doubtful whether it could even have contained brief references to much of it. This contrast highlights once again, in dramatic fashion, the very different works that Jubilees and the Genesis Apocryphon are, even if they share many exegetical traditions. In the case discussed here we can see that the author of Jubilees was greatly exercised by the dual concerns of why Abram was chosen by the Lord and how his conduct as a champion for right worship of the one, true God cast Abram as a faith hero worthy of emulation. Both of these—and especially the first—may be viewed as exegetically motivated, and neither seems to have stimulated the author of the Apocryphon. What might this tell us about the literary relationship between the Genesis Apocryphon and Jubilees? It should first be stressed that any arrival at sweeping conclusions based on a single observation like that offered above must be resisted. Only as such isolated observations begin to be placed alongside each other into a larger synthesis may we begin to build a truly compelling case for how these texts are related. The fact that the Genesis Apocryphon is far shorter than Jubilees in the parallel sections examined here should not be assigned much weight, for we may observe the opposite situation at other junctures such as Noah’s birth, which is much longer in the Apocryphon. The textcritical maxim that the shorter reading is the earlier, more original one should not be applied to literary relationships, though it seems it occasionally is; there are many examples of later works abbreviating more expansive material from an earlier text (e.g., Jubilees’ employment of 1 Enoch). It is, perhaps, more significant that the author of the Genesis Apocryphon does not reflect the concerns regarding idolatry and monotheistic belief so prominent in Jubilees’ portrayal of Abram. If we were to assume that the author of the Apocryphon was borrowing directly from Jubilees we would have to explain why this conviction was largely ignored or rejected at a time later than Jubilees (i.e., in the late Hellenistic or early Roman period) and why Abram was transformed instead into a wise sage schooled in Enochic wisdom. Conversely, if the author of Jubilees depended directly on the Genesis Apocryphon we must accept that the Abram of the Apocryphon, so friendly with foreigners in the Egyptian court (Hyrcanus and his companions) and Canaan (Mamre, Arnem, and Eshkol), was extensively reshaped toward an individual who stood in tight-jawed opposition to foreign influence. Which construal of Abram might be the earlier,

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and for what reasons? If forced to choose, I personally find it more compelling that the Genesis Apocryphon represents the earlier rewriting of Genesis, since it seems largely unconcerned with the issues of idolatry, monotheism, and orthodoxy that comprise major foci in Jubilees. It seems unlikely that an author writing at a time later than Jubilees, and using the latter book as a source, would make the sorts of changes to Abram that we would find in the Apocryphon. Of course, one could argue that the need to fight the encroachments of Hellenism was felt less severely during the later Hasmonean period, when Jewish independence was a reality. I find it more plausible, however, that the Genesis Apocryphon was written at a time earlier in the Hellenistic period, when the sorts of concerns voiced by Jubilees were not as distressingly felt, and that it was the author of Jubilees who effected the change to a more doctrinally-charged, idol-smashing Abram. Thus, instead of choosing the Apocryphon as the earlier text because it is shorter, I would choose it because of its worldview and apparent lack of concern with the issues raised by Jubilees. This situation also has the advantage of placing the Genesis Apocryphon chronologically in the midst of other Aramaic Dead Sea Scrolls with which it shares traits exceeding language alone (e.g., 1 Enoch, Book of Giants, Visions of Amram, Aramaic Levi).34 Yet, having said all of this, it is important to acknowledge that the world is typically not as simple as that assumed 34 The vexing issue of the different languages of the Genesis Apocryphon and Jubilees remains an unresolved problem for any discussion of literary relationship between these compositions. The Middle Aramaic dialect and less severe tone of the Genesis Apocryphon suggest to my mind that this text was composed at a time when the threat of Hellenism was less harshly felt, and by a group that perhaps took the authoritative status of their rewriting less seriously than Jubilees did; I think it is a distinct possibility that the Apocryphon was written, in part, as pious entertainment. This is certainly not the case with the more prudent author of Jubilees. By contrast, we find sometime during the Hellenistic period—very likely in concert with the struggle for Jewish independence during the second century b.c.e.—at least some groups of Jews advocating a move toward use of an archaizing Hebrew in their writings. The author of Jubilees makes his opinion on this matter clear in one of the passages discussed above, where the Lord commands the Angel of the Presence regarding Abram, “ ‘Open his mouth and his ears to hear and speak with his tongue in the revealed language’ . . . I opened his mouth, ears, and lips and began to speak Hebrew with him—in the language of creation” (Jub. 12:25–26). The Hebrew framework of Daniel and 1 Maccabees also seem to be part of this trend, and the sect at Qumran clearly followed these groups in adopting a pro-Hebrew ideology. Now, it is not necessarily the case that the pro-Hebrew Jubilees followed chronologically the Apocryphon, but if the author of the Apocryphon knew and esteemed Jubilees why did he not follow Jubilees’ lead in employing Hebrew? A suggestion that he could not pull it off will simply not do, for whoever wrote the Genesis Apocryphon was incredibly learned and literate. A more

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by the theory of direct literary borrowing in a neat, chronological succession. The game changes once we open up the possibilities of loosely affiliated, semi-autonomous, or opposing scribal communities, potentially existing at different locales, or two authors drawing independently on a shared cluster of traditions (i.e., the “common source” theory referred to near the beginning of this essay). Such factors greatly complicate any discussion of literary relationship, and may make it impossible to ever gain full clarity on the links between the Apocryphon and Jubilees. Still, the better we grasp the differences between these two works, the more fully we will understand both their relation to one another and their unique contributions to early Jewish religious thought, scriptural interpretation, and belles-lettres.

satisfying explanation is that the author of the Apocryphon was not directly influenced by Jubilees.

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Appendix: A Preliminary Edition of 1QapGen 1835

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̇ ]‫לא‬ ]̇‫[◌ ֯מן‬

[ [ [ [ [ [

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[ ] vac [

̇‫◌בי‬ ̇ [ ]‫[על‬ ̇‫לר ֯ב ◌] [ ֯ב ֯רי‬ ֯ ◌◌‫לך ל‬ ֯ ◌[ [ ]‫לא ◌◌ ל‬ ֯ [ [

‫◌◌מן‬ ֯ [ ‫[◌ ֯מן כו̇ ל ארעא‬ ‫עלמי֯ ם‬ ̇ ◌[ [ vacat

[

] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ]

vacat [ [ [

‫◌א‬ ֯ ‫◌ע‬ ֯ [ ‫[◌לח ̇מן‬ ֯

35

] ] ] ] ]

.1 .2 .3 .4 .5 .6 .7 .8 .9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20 .21 .22 .23 .24 .25 .26 .27 .28 .29

Light grey = portions of the column where leather is still preserved (above the line in which the light grey appears), dark grey = a vacat; space inside brackets may represent either places where the leather is missing, or (in fewer cases) where leather is preserved but no legible writing or vacat exists.

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‫אכמו‬ ̇ ‫[ן̇ ו֯ ֯ע ̇ד‬ [ [ [ [

] ] ] ] ] ]

.30 .31 .32 .33 .34 .35

THE GENRE OF THE BOOK OF JUBILEES* John J. Collins Genre Literary competence, writes John Barton, can be defined principally as the ability to recognize genre.1 He defines genre as “any recognizable and distinguishable type of writing or speech—whether ‘literary’ in the complimentary sense of that word or merely utilitarian, like a business letter—which operates within certain conventions that are in principle (not necessarily in practice) statable.”2 The important thing is to know the kind of writing that is involved, and the conventions that apply. As Carol Newsom puts it, “genres serve as proffered contracts between writers and readers, providing common expectations for what the text in question is intended to do and what means it is likely to use.”3 The expectations of readers are guided by association with other works that are perceived to be similar. Without some such associations, it is difficult, if not impossible, to understand a work at all. In the words of Jonathan Culler, “A work can only be read in connection with or against other texts, which provide a grid through which it is read and structured by establishing expectations which enable one to pick out salient features and give them a structure.”4 Recognition of genre is an art rather than a science, and there has been considerable debate about the appropriate criteria.5 The phase of

* It is a pleasure to dedicate this essay to Jim VanderKam, who has done more than any scholar since R. H. Charles to advance the study of the book of Jubilees. 1 John Barton, Reading the Old Testament. Method in Biblical Study (rev. ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 16. Barton’s view of genre follows that of E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 68–126. 2 Barton, Reading the Old Testament, 16. 3 Carol A. Newsom, “Rhetorical Criticism and the Reading of the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 691. 4 Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics, and the Study of Literature (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1975), 139. 5 See David Duff, Modern Genre Theory (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2000). For an excellent overview, with an eye to biblical studies, see Carol A. Newsom, “Spying Out the Land: A Report from Genology,” in Bakhtin and Genre Theory in Biblical Studies

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literary criticism known as “New Criticism” tended to favor formal criteria.6 According to the influential introduction to literary theory of René Wellek and Austin Warren: “Genre should be conceived, we think, as a grouping of literary works based, theoretically, upon both outer form (specific metre or structure) and also upon inner form (attitude, tone, purpose—more crudely, subject and audience).”7 More recent theorists have tended to deprecate classification. Alistair Fowler famously quipped that genres are more like pigeons than pigeonholes.8 It is certainly true that generic classification has often been too rigid. Genres are not ontological entities. They are largely pragmatic configurations based on scholars’ perceptions of affinities, and shaped in part by the perspective and interest of the analyst. There is no reason why a text might not have affinities with more than one genre, and genres inevitably change and are modified over time. Moreover, mere classification is only a prelude to many of the more interesting questions we can ask about texts, including that of function.9 Yet it remains true that without classification there is no generic analysis at all.10 Even if a text is judged to fall in the interstices between genres, and not to conform to any recognized category, this judgment is only possible on the basis of a classification of recognized genres. That said, genres may be classified in various ways. The classic “new critical” approach to genres was based on the formal features of texts, and this mode of classification could be extended to take account of

(ed. Roland Boer; Semeia Studies 63; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007), 19–30 (originally published in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday [ed. Ronald L. Troxel et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005], 437–50). 6 R. S. Crane, Critical and Historical Principles of Literary Criticism (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1971), 38. See the comments of Amy J. Devitt, Writing Genres (Carbondale, Ill.: Southern Illinois University Press, 2004), 6. 7 Theory of Literature (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1956), 231. 8 Alastair Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982), 36. 9 Much recent genre theory seems to be concerned with the way genres work rather than with the more basic problem of identifying a genre in the first case. See, e.g., Devitt (Writing Genres) or, in the context of biblical studies, Christine Mitchell, “Power, Eros, and Biblical Genres,” in Bakhtin and Genre Theory, 31–43. 10 Devitt (Writing Genres, 7) says that “defining genre as a kind of text becomes circular, since what we call a kind of text depends on what we think a genre is,” but quickly adds: “That conundrum does not mean that genres do not involve classification nor that devising a classification scheme is necessarily a waste of time.” Indeed, if genre is not “a kind of text,” one is left to wonder what the word means at all.

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the thematic content of works.11 The mere listing of features is not necessarily significant. It is necessary to identify the features that bear structural weight in a text.12 In the wake of Fowler’s work, a Wittgensteinian “family resemblance” approach gained popularity.13 The appeal of this approach lay in its ability to recognize affinities without creating rigid classifications, but it has also been criticized for lack of precision. As another genre theorist, John Swales, remarked, “family resemblance theory can make anything resemble anything.”14 More recently, Prototype Theory has attracted attention. This theory is derived from cognitive psychology. As described by John Frow: [T]he postulate is that we understand categories (such as bird) through a very concrete logic of typicality. We take a robin or a sparrow to be more central to that category than an ostrich, and a kitchen chair to be more typical of the class of chairs than a throne or a piano stool. Rather than having clear boundaries, essential components, and shared and uniform properties, classes defined by prototypes have a common core and then fade into fuzziness at the edges. This is to say that we classify easily at the level of prototypes, and with more difficulty—extending features of the prototype by metaphor and analogy to take account of non-typical features—as we diverge from them.15

Membership in a category may be a matter of degree. It should be noted that prototypical exemplars of a genre are not necessarily historical archetypes, classic works that became models for later writers. Late exemplars may also be prototypical, if they exemplify especially well the typical features of the genre. This approach to genre has considerable appeal. As Carol Newsom puts it: One of the advantages of prototype theory is that it provides a way for bringing together what seems so commonsensical in classificatory approaches, while avoiding their rigidity. At the same time it gives more discipline to the family-resemblance approach, because not every resemblance or deviation is of equal significance. As applied to genre categories, 11 This was the approach followed in John J. Collins, ed., Apocalypse. The Morphology of a Genre (Semeia 14; Missoula: Mont.: Scholars Press, 1979). 12 Compare the comments of Newsom on the importance of Gestalt structures (“Spying Out the Land,” 25). 13 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (Oxford: Blackwell, 1958), 31–32; Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 41–42. 14 John M. Swales, Genre Analysis: English in Academic and Research Settings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 51. 15 John Frow, Genre (London: Routledge, 2006), 54.

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john j. collins prototype theory would require an identification of exemplars that are prototypical and an analysis of the privileged properties that establish the sense of typicality.16

Both “family resemblance” and “prototype theory” are based on the identification of common distinctive features in a cluster of texts. Some other approaches are more intuitive. The thought of the Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin has been widely influential. According to Michael Vines: For Bakhtin, genre is not about the presence or absence of particular literary forms (or linguistic devices). Genre is instead primarily about a work’s meta-linguistic form: the formal structure of a work that transcends its linguistic devices . . . it is precisely the value-laden temporal and spatial quality of a work, or its chronotope, that is the primary indicator of its generic relationships.17

This would lead, if I understand Vines correctly, to a recognition of genre on the basis of worldview rather than of strictly literary features. Such an approach may have merit, but it seems to me to pursue a different question from that of literary genre, as traditionally understood. Again, many scholars would argue that genres should be identified on the basis of common function. So, for example, John Swales claims that “the principal criterial feature that turns a collection of communicative events into a genre is some shared set of communicative purposes.”18 There is an obvious objection to this approach, in so far as the purpose of a text is often implicit, and less overt and demonstrable than literary form. The deeper issue here, however, is whether there is a simple correlation between form and function. A form may be used ironically, and in any case literary forms can be adapted to new purposes in different settings. This is not to deny that function is an important issue in any literary analysis, but to question whether it provides a satisfactory basis for generic recognition. In this essay, my concern is with genre recognition, in the specific case of the book of Jubilees. My concern is with literary form, not met-

16

Newsom, “Spying Out the Land,” 24. Michael E. Vines, “The Apocalyptic Chronotope,” in Bakhtin and Genre Theory, 110–11. 18 Swales, Genre Analysis, 46. See also Carolyn R. Miller, “Genre as Social Action,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 70 (May, 1984): 151–67; “Rhetorical Community: The Cultural Basis of Genre,” in Genre and the New Rhetoric (ed. Aviva Freedman and Peter Medway; London: Taylor, 1994), 67–78. 17

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alinguistic chronotopes. I bracket for the present the question of function, although I believe that some light can be shed on it by generic analysis. Both “family resemblance” and “prototype theory” are somewhat helpful in this endeavor. The question can also be viewed in terms of the composition of the book. Were there literary models available to the author? Did he conform to them or bend them to his purpose and is that purpose clarified by the literary presentation of the work? Rewritten Scripture While various suggestions have been made regarding the genre of Jubilees, by far the most common in recent scholarship has been “Rewritten Bible.”19 This genre label was introduced by Geza Vermes, to describe such works as Jubilees, the Genesis Apocryphon, the Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo and the Antiquities of Josephus.20 The Temple Scroll is often added to the list, but there is a vast corpus of Jewish writings from the Hellenistic period that is based on what we know as the biblical text. The designation “Rewritten Bible” is problematic, since that which is rewritten was not yet “Bible,” and so scholars increasingly refer to these texts as “rewritten scriptures.”21 There is certainly a “family resemblance” between these writings, insofar as they are all adaptations of older Scriptures. Whether that resemblance is sufficient to designate a literary genre, however, is a matter of dispute. In his article on “Rewritten Bible” in the Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, George Brooke wrote: “Rewritten Bible texts come in almost

19 James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 135. Earlier, less successful, designations include “targum” and “haggadic midrash.” 20 Geza Vermes, Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies (2d ed.; Studia Post-Biblica 4; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 67–126. 21 See, e.g., Anders Klostergaard Petersen, “Rewritten Bible as a Borderline Phenomenon—Genre, Textual Strategy or Canonical Anachronism?” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (JSJSup 122; ed. Anthony Hilhorst et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 284–306; and Molly M. Zahn, “Rewritten Scripture,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 323–36. Jonathan G. Campbell, “ ‘Rewritten Bible’ and ‘Parabiblical Texts’: A Terminological and Ideological Critique,” in New Directions in Qumran Studies: Proceedings of the Bristol Colloquium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, 8–10 September 2003 (ed. Jonathan G. Campbell; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 43–68, also objects to “rewritten scriptures.” He suggests terminology along the lines of “scripture” and “parascripture.”

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as many genres as can be found in the biblical books themselves.”22 Vermes, of course, had only the narrative books of the Torah in mind. The supposed genre is complicated considerably if we include the Temple Scroll, which is a rewriting of biblical laws, but not a narrative. There are also rewritten prophetic texts, and a targum of Job. The fragments of Hellenistic Jewish literature in Greek include a tragedy on the subject of the Exodus by one Ezekiel, and epic poems based on Genesis by Theodotus and Philo (not the philosopher).23 The Dead Sea Scrolls include examples of rewritten prophetic texts (e.g. Pseudo-Ezekiel). The question arises then whether the word “genre” is more appropriately used at the level of the umbrella term that embraces the different kinds of rewriting, or whether we should rather think of the relevant texts as narratives, legal texts, prophecies, etc. There is no doubt that the relation of these texts to the older Scriptures is a significant generic feature, but it is not immediately apparent that all rewriting is alike. There is need for greater generic differentiation among the texts that rewrite the various older genres. Accordingly, several scholars have argued that rewriting Scripture is a compositional technique, but does not in itself define a genre. As Daniel Harrington wrote in 1986: “it seems better to view rewriting the Bible as a kind of activity or process than to see it as a distinctive literary genre.”24 More recently, Daniel Falk argues: “Just as ‘biblical text’ is not a genre, ‘rewritten Bible’ cannot properly be a genre. It is a strategy of extending scriptural authority by imitation. It is possible to keep the same genre as the scriptural base, or to recast it into a new genre.”25

22 George J. Brooke, “Rewritten Bible,” in EDSS 2:777–81, here 780. Compare already George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Bible Rewritten and Expanded,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (ed. Michael E. Stone; CRINT 2.2; Assen: van Gorcum/Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 89: “It is clear that these writings employ a variety of genres.” 23 For these texts see Carl R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors. Volume II. Poets (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). 24 Daniel J. Harrington, S. J., “Palestinian Adaptations of Biblical Narratives and Prophecies,” in Early Judaism and its Modern Interpreters (ed. Robert A. Kraft and George W. E. Nickelsburg; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 243. The criticism of Harrington and Nickelsburg by Moshe Bernstein (“ ‘Rewritten Bible’: A Generic Category Which Has Outlived its Usefulness?” Textus 22 [2005]: 176–80), that they do not satisfy “the need for more precise nomenclature for literary forms” (177) seems to miss the point they are making, that rewritten scripture is not a literary form at all. 25 Daniel K. Falk, The Parabiblical Texts: Strategies for Extending the Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: T & T Clark, 2007), 16.

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In contrast to this trend in scholarship, Philip Alexander has sought to defend the view that a literary genre of “Rewritten Bible” can be defined on the basis of the four texts adduced by Vermes: Jubilees, Genesis Apocryphon, the Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo, and the Antiquities of Josephus.26 He identifies nine characteristics of the proposed genre: 1. Rewritten Bible texts are narratives, which follow a sequential, chronological order. 2. They are free-standing compositions which replicate the form of the biblical books on which they are based. 3. Despite the superficial independence of form, these texts are not intended to replace, or to supersede the Bible. 4. Rewritten Bible texts cover a substantial portion of the Bible. 5. They follow the Bible serially, in proper order, but they are highly selective in what they represent. 6. Their intention is to produce an interpretative reading of Scripture, that is fuller, smoother and more doctrinally advanced. 7. The narrative form limits the text to a single interpretation of the original. 8. The narrative form also precludes explicit exegetical reading. 9. Non-biblical tradition, oral or written, is integrated with the biblical narrative.27 There is no doubt that these common characteristics constitute a “family resemblance” and that they are significant characteristics of the book of Jubilees. There were certainly precedents available to the author, whether they qualify as prototypes or not. The rewriting of Kings in Chronicles is often cited in this regard.28 Nonetheless, the restriction to narrative form is significant, and indicates that the “genre” in question is no more than one sub-genre of “rewritten scriptures,” perhaps “rewritten narratives,” or “rewritten scriptural narratives.” Moreover, the common characteristics do not include the

26 Philip Alexander, “Retelling the Old Testament,” in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars, SSF (ed. D. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 99–121. 27 Alexander, “Retelling the Old Testament,” 116–18. 28 See, e.g., VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 135, who also notes the difference in self-presentation between Chronicles and Jubilees.

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self-presentation of the books. In fact, the self-presentation of Jubilees is strikingly different from that of the other exemplars. Yet the self-presentation of the texts is clearly crucial to the definition of “rewritten scriptures,” and indeed of any genre. The case of “rewritten scriptures” has been complicated in recent years by the discovery of such texts as 4QReworked Pentateuch (4Q158, 4Q364–7), a group of five fragmentary manuscripts, originally thought to make up a single composition, but now increasingly viewed as distinct but related compositions.29 All five manuscripts reflect Pentateuchal texts, with variations, including rearrangements and additions (notably the “Song of Miriam”). In the words of Sidnie White Crawford, “these texts are the product of scribal interpretation, still marked mainly by harmonistic editing, but with one important addition: the insertion of outside material into the text, material not found in other parts of what we now recognize as the Pentateuch.”30 Many fragments correspond to the traditional text with minimal variation. The extant fragments do not suggest any changes of speaker or setting over against other forms of these texts. Consequently, they are increasingly viewed not as distinct compositions but as expansionistic variants of the text known from our Bible.31 As Michael Segal has pointed out, one of the distinctive features of “rewritten scriptures,” as distinct from textual variants, is the selfpresentation of these works: “In a number of rewritten compositions, the author has added a new narrative frame. This change places the composition as a whole into a new setting and thus offers a new

29 On the fragmentary manuscripts of 4QReworked Pentateuch as a single composition, see Emanuel Tov and Sidnie White, “Reworked Pentateuch,” DJD 13:187–351. On the manuscripts as distinct compositions, see Michael Segal, “4QReworked Pentateuch or 4QPentateuch?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years After Their Discovery (ed. L. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society/Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 391–99; George Brooke, “4Q158: Reworked Pentateucha or Reworked Pentateuch A?” DSD 8 (2001): 219–41. So now also Sidnie White Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 39. 30 White Crawford, Rewriting Scripture, 39–40. 31 For a list of scholars who hold this view, including now Emanuel Tov, see White Crawford, Rewriting Scripture, 56. See the discussion by Molly M. Zahn, “The Problem of Characterizing the 4QReworked Pentateuch Manuscripts: Bible, Rewritten Bible, or None of the Above?” DSD 15 (2008): 315–39; eadem, “Rewritten Scriptures”; and eadem, Rethinking Rewritten Scripture: Composition and Exegesis in the 4QReworked Pentateuch Manuscripts (STDJ 95; Leiden: Brill, 2011).

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ideological framework by which to understand the text.”32 Segal offers Jubilees and the Temple Scroll as paradigmatic examples of this phenomenon. The Antiquities of Josephus provide another clear example. But the nature of the narrative frame differs strikingly from one example to another, and this should cast some doubt on the adequacy of “rewritten scripture,” or even “rewritten narrative” as a designation of genre. The Narrative Frame of Jubilees In the case of Jubilees, we are fortunate that the beginning of the work has been preserved. Both the short prologue and the opening chapter are attested in the fragments of 4Q216 and preserved in full in Ethiopic. From allusions to Exod 24:12–18, it appears that the setting is Moses’ first forty-day sojourn on Mount Sinai.33 Moses is told to write down “all these words which I will tell you on this mountain: what is first and what is last and what is to come during all the divisions of time which are in the law and which are in the testimony and in the weeks of their jubilees until eternity—until the time when I descend and live with them throughout all the ages of eternity” (Jub. 1:26).34 The actual dictation is performed not by the Deity but by the angel of the presence, who in turn derives the information from the heavenly tablets.35 It is apparent that this introductory frame is itself a rewriting of the story of the revelation at Mount Sinai. Jubilees presupposes that a basic story of that revelation is familiar to its readers. Hence, it does not recount the manner in which the Israelites arrived at Sinai. It also,

32 Michael Segal, “Between Bible and Rewritten Bible,” in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. M. Henze; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 21. 33 See James C. VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts (ed. H. Najman et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 25–44. Also VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 86–91. 34 Translations of Jubilees are from James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–511; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989). 35 Hindy Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and its Authority Conferring Strategies,” in Past Renewals: Interpretative Authority, Renewed Revelation and the Quest for Perfection in Jewish Antiquity (JSJSup 53; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 39–71. This article was originally published in JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410. On the heavenly tablets see Florentino García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. Matthias Albani et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 243–60.

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unlike the Temple Scroll, explicitly acknowledges the existence and authority of “the first law” known from the Torah. The most explicit reference is in Jub. 6:20–22, with regard to the laws of Shavuoth: “For I have written (this) in the book of the first law in which I wrote for you that you should celebrate it at each of its times . . .” Again in Jub. 30:12, à propos of Dinah and the Shechemites: “I have written for you in the words of the law everything that the Shechemites did to Dinah. . . .” But in addition to the Torah, there was also the “testimony” (‫)תעודה‬, which, as VanderKam argues persuasively, should be identified with the contents of the book of Jubilees itself, although they may not exhaust the testimony contained in the heavenly tablets.36 As VanderKam has also pointed out, various passages in the Torah were taken as hints that God revealed more to Moses on Mount Sinai than is now contained in the biblical text.37 According to Exod 24:12, the Lord summoned Moses to give him “the law and the commandment.” The expression would later be interpreted atomistically in the Talmud.38 Further references to ordinances and laws given to Moses on Mt. Sinai (Lev 26:46; 27:42) suggested that the revelation was more extensive than what is found in Exodus 20–31. VanderKam argues that Jubilees claims to present the initial revelation on Sinai, when the Lord gave the first pair of stone tablets to Moses: Those two tablets, however, were soon to suffer a violent end when Moses smashed them to pieces in Exod 32:19. Thus the field was left clear for the revelation of Jubilees as the only product of Moses’ first forty-day stay on Sinai—a revelation that survived his furious descent of the mountain. The second set of tablets (Exodus 34) repeated the limited contents of the first but came at least forty days later.39

The authority claimed for this “testimony,” then, is at least as great as that of the Torah, arguably greater. As VanderKam puts it, “he (the author of Jubilees) was not seconding Sinai; he was initiating it.”40 The claim of priority is questionable, since Jubilees still acknowledges

36 VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses.” Cana Werman, “ ‘The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫תעודה‬ Engraved on the Tablets,” DSD 9:1 (2002): 75–103, thinks that the “testimony” is “the preordained march of history.” 37 VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses.” 38 b. Ber 5a. See VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses.” 39 VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses.” 40 VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses.”

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the traditional Torah as “the first law,” but at the least it is claiming an equal authority.41 Mosaic Discourse? Hindy Najman has argued that Jubilees is an example of “Mosaic discourse” and that it can be seen as an example of “discourse tied to a founder” by analogy with the way texts were attributed in philosophical schools.42 In view of the setting at Sinai and the role of Moses as recipient of the revelation, this designation is reasonable. Yet it is worth noting that Moses is not the speaker in Jubilees. Rather, the revelation is dictated to him by the angel of the presence.43 While much exegetical activity undoubtedly went into the composition of Jubilees, it is not presented as an exegetical text, and there is no admission that its authority is derivative from that of the first law. Jubilees, then, is angelic discourse, or even mediated divine discourse. Moses’ authority here is not that of a founder, although he was often so viewed in the Hellenistic world. Ultimately, of course, all revelation comes from God, but Jubilees appeals to sources of authority that are higher than Moses in the chain of transmission: the angel and the heavenly tablets from which the revelation is derived. Jubilees and Enoch Precisely these sources of authority by which the Moses of Jubilees is able to “trump” the biblical Moses, in VanderKam’s phrase, suggest a 41 Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests. Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 54–55, writes: “Jubilees does not attempt to nudge the Torah out of its niche and replace it, but rather embraces the authority of the Torah even as it seeks to place itself alongside it.” See also Martha Himmelfarb, “Torah, Testimony, and Heavenly Tablets: The Claim to Authority in the Book of Jubilees,” in A Multiform Heritage: Studies on Early Judaism and Christianity in Honor of Robert A. Kraft (ed. Benjamin G. Wright; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 22–28. 42 Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai. The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 41–69. 43 See James C. VanderKam, “The Putative Author of the Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 209–17; reprinted in James C. VanderKam, From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000) 439–47; also see his “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” DSD 7 (2000): 378–93.

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different “family resemblance” or a different generic prototype from that of rewritten scripture. The books of Enoch are also an important source for Jubilees. These books apparently have the status of “testimony,” like Jubilees itself: Enoch also “wrote a testimony for himself and placed it upon the earth against all mankind and for their history” (Jub. 4:19). Jubilees draws extensively on Enochic lore, especially the story of the fallen Watchers in 1 Enoch 6–11.44 According to Gen 5:22, Enoch walked with elohim, which was probably understood as “angels” in the Hellenistic period.45 One of the revelations attributed to Enoch, the Apocalypse of Weeks, begins as follows: “The vision of heaven was shown to me, and from the words of the watchers and holy ones I have learned everything, and in the heavenly tablets I read everything and I understood” (1 En. 93:2).46 Here, then, we have a prototype for Jubilees that is different from the Torah of Moses, from which so much of Jubilees is drawn. Enoch supposedly lived long before Moses, and his revelations are prior to those of Moses. There has been extensive debate in recent years as to whether these traditions derive from a distinctively “Enochic Judaism,” that was not based on the Torah.47 At least it must be acknowledged that Torah and covenant play no overt part in the earliest Enochic writings.48 As George Nickelsburg has shown: “Although all the components of ‘covenantal nomism’ are present in this scheme, the word covenant rarely appears and Enoch takes the place of Moses as the mediator of revelation.”49 Gabriele Boccaccini has viewed the 44 Michael Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 103–43; John S. Bergsma, “The Relationship between Jubilees and the Early Enochic Books,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah. The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. G. Boccaccini and G. Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 36–51; James C. VanderKam, “The Book of Enoch and the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 254–77. 45 James C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1984), 31. 46 Trans. George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch. A New Translation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 140. 47 See Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins, ed., The Early Enoch Literature (JSJSup 121; Leiden: Brill: 2007). 48 John J. Collins, “How Distinctive was Enochic Judaism?” in Meghillot. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls V–VI: A Festschrift for Devorah Dimant (ed. Moses Bar-Asher and Emanuel Tov; Jerusalem: Bialik, 2007), 17–34. 49 George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom: An Alternative to the Mosaic Torah?” in Hesed Ve-Emet: Studies in Honor of Ernest S. Frerichs (ed. J. Magness and S Gitin; BJS 320; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 129. See also Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom and its Relationship to the Mosaic Torah,” in The Early Enoch Literature,

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use of Enochic tradition in Jubilees as an attempt to merge two forms of Judaism.50 Boccaccini’s views on the alleged division between “Enochic” and “Zadokite” Judaism are not widely shared.51 It is not necessary to view Jubilees as effecting reconciliation between two parties that were ideologically opposed. It is sufficient to view the use of Enoch in Jubilees in literary terms. The author of Jubilees adapted the Enochic writings for his purposes. The myth of the Watchers is transformed from a paradigm for the existence of evil in the world to a paradigm of sin and punishment.52 More important for our present purpose is the fact that Enoch provided a model of revelation that could claim a form of divine authority distinct from the traditional Torah of Moses. Jubilees as an Apocalypse The early books of Enoch are prototypical apocalypses. Apocalypses are revelations of mysteries that go beyond the bounds of normal human knowledge.53 The authority of the revelation is established in various ways. The revelation is typically ascribed to a famous ancient figure, such as Enoch or Daniel, but the apocalypse does not rely only on human authority, however exalted. It pertains to the definition of the genre that the revelation is mediated by an otherworldly figure, typically an angel. It often takes the form of symbolic visions, interpreted by an angel. In other cases, the angel serves as tour guide. In yet others, the angel simply narrates the revelation. In the case of Enoch, there is also appeal to the heavenly tablets, which Enoch supposedly

81–94; and Andreas Bedenbender, “The Place of the Torah in the Early Enoch Literature,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 65–79. 50 Gabriele Boccaccini, “From a Movement of Dissent to a Distinct Form of Judaism: The Heavenly Tablets in Jubilees as the Foundation of a Competing Halakah,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah, 193–210. For Boccaccini’s views on party divisions in Judaism in the second century b.c.e. see his Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 51 See James C. VanderKam, “Mapping Second Temple Judaism,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 1–20. 52 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 143. 53 On the definition of an apocalypse see Collins, ed., Apocalypse. The Morphology of a Genre; and John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 1–43.

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saw when he ascended to heaven. There is a certain redundancy, or overkill, in the ways in which revelation is authorized.54 Insofar as the manner of revelation is concerned, Jubilees is a classic apocalypse. Moses, rather than Enoch, is the pseudonymous recipient of the revelation, and he is associated with law rather than with astronomical mysteries. But formally the revelation is very similar. Should Jubilees then be classified as an apocalypse? The problem is that the genre apocalypse, as commonly understood in the study of ancient Judaism and early Christianity, is defined not only by form but also by content. It discloses mysteries of the heavenly (or nether-) world and is concerned with eschatological reward and punishment. This content admits of a good deal of variation. Broadly speaking, we may distinguish two types of apocalypses, one that reviews the periods of history, often in the guise of prophecy, the other that describes otherworldly journeys. The eschatology may entail upheavals at the end of history and a public judgment, especially in the historical apocalypses, or it may focus on the judgment and abodes of the dead, especially in the otherworldly journeys. (The judgment of the dead is also important in the “public” eschatology of the historical apocalypses). Apocalypses are not exclusively concerned with eschatology, and may devote lengthy passages to historical reviews or cosmological descriptions, but they have an eschatological focus. Some scholars, to be sure, have argued that apocalypses should be defined on purely formal grounds, on the basis of the manner of revelation, and in that case the identification of Jubilees as an apocalypse would be unproblematic.55 But in prevailing scholarly usage, apocalypses are not only angelic revelations, but revelations with certain distinctive concerns.

54 It has been argued that the references to heavenly tablets in Jubilees are interpolations (so James L. Kugel, “On the Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees,” RevQ 24 [2009]: 215–72, building on the work of Segal, The Book of Jubilees), but it should be noted that angelic revelation and the heavenly tablets are juxtaposed in the Enochic Apocalypse of Weeks. 55 Jean Carmignac, “Qu’est-ce que l’Apocalyptique? Son emploi à Qumrân,” RevQ 10 (1979): 3–33; Hartmut Stegemann, Die Bedeutung der Qumranfunde für die Erforschung der Apokalyptik,” in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East (ed. D. Hellholm; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1983), 495–530.

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An Ironic Apocalypse? In a recent dissertation at the University of Notre Dame, directed by James VanderKam, Todd Hanneken has outlined well the anomalous character of Jubilees among the apocalypses.56 With regard to the manner of revelation, he notes the absence of symbolic visions and consequently the lack of esotericism.57 “Revelation,” he concludes, “is not an angelic interpretation of cosmic mysteries to a bewildered recipient, followed by an esoteric chain of transmission.”58 The revelation is fully accessible to all Israel, not just to an elect group as in the books of Enoch and Daniel.59 While angels figure prominently in Jubilees, Hanneken denies that they do what they typically do in apocalypses: “particularly afflict, fight, judge, and restore in an eschatological context.”60 The role of demons, or evil spirits, is limited in Jub. 10:7–14. Mastema is easily defeated. The dominant view of history in Jubilees is indebted to Deuteronomy more than to the apocalypses. Humans are the catalysts of evil. The hope for an ultimate change for the better in history is tied to human repentance, not to an apocalyptic timetable.61 Hanneken concludes that “Jubilees imitates the apocalypses on the surface level of literary genre, but argues against the ideas typically conveyed thereby. . . . The basic tenets of the worldview are caricatured, inverted, and refuted.”62 In his view, the use of the genre apocalypse in Jubilees is ironic. Hanneken does not engage in any theoretical study of irony, except to refer to the classical contrast between the gentle satire of Horace and the bitter caricatures of Juvenal.63 Webster’s dictionary defines irony as “a method of humorous or sarcastic expression in which the intended meaning of the words used is the direct opposite of their

56 Todd R. Hanneken, “Jubilees Among the Apocalypses,” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2008). 57 This point is also noted by Armin Lange, “Divinatorische Träume und Apokalyptik im Jubiläenbuch,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees, 25–38. 58 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 259 59 Compare the argument of Himmelfarb (A Kingdom of Priests, 80–84) that Jubilees is not sectarian, but addressed to all Israel. 60 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 309. 61 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 433. 62 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 461. 63 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 15. For a sampling of the theoretical discussion of irony see Carolyn J. Sharp, Irony and Meaning in the Hebrew Bible (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 2009), 6–42.

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usual sense,” or as “a combination of circumstances or a result that is the opposite of what might be expected or considered appropriate.”64 It would be difficult to think of a book more lacking in humor than Jubilees.65 The content of Jubilees may be strikingly different from what we would expect in an apocalyptic revelation, but the difference hardly amounts to caricature. To say that Jubilees adapts and modifies elements of earlier apocalyptic writings does not necessarily mean that it argues against them or refutes them. After all, the writings of Enoch are acknowledged as “testimonies” in Jubilees. Hanneken’s interpretation of Jubilees is in part a response to the thesis of Gabriele Boccaccini, cited above, that Jubilees attempts a reconciliation of the Enochic tradition with a covenantal based view of Judaism. He rightly notes that the reconciliation would be far too one-sided, since the covenantal theology that is conspicuously absent in Enoch predominates in Jubilees. Boccaccini’s use of binary oppositions to characterize Judaism in this period is too simplistic, as VanderKam has shown.66 Hanneken seems to fall into the same binary logic in positing an opposition between Jubilees and the apocalyptic tradition. The use of apocalyptic tradition in Jubilees is especially evident in the opening chapter and again in chapter 23. At the beginning of Jubilees, the angel of the presence is told to “dictate to Moses (starting) from the beginning of the creation until the time when my temple is built among them throughout the ages of eternity. The Lord will appear in the sight of all, and all will know that I am the God of Israel, the father of all Jacob’s children, and the king on Mt. Zion for the ages of eternity. Then Zion and Jerusalem will become holy” (1:27–28). Moreover, we are told that the tablets record the weeks of the Jubilees: from [the time of the creation until] the time of the new creation when the heavens, the earth, and all their creatures will be renewed like the powers of the sky and like all the creatures of the earth, until the time when the temple of the Lord will be created in Jerusalem on Mt. Zion. All the luminaries will be renewed for (the purposes of) healing, health, and blessing for all the elect ones of Israel and so that it may remain this way from that time throughout all the days of the earth (1:29).

64 Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language (New York: The World Publishing Company, 1962), 773. 65 Pace Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 509, it is difficult to construe anything in the book as mischievous. 66 VanderKam, “Mapping Second Temple Judaism,” 10–20.

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Hanneken argues that while “the description of the construction of the sanctuary and the indwelling of God sounds like an apocalyptic description of a future restoration, especially in the last verse,” it “refers primarily to the sanctuary that was created in the very near future, relative to Moses, and the distant past, relative to the second century author.”67 But the temple in question cannot be identified with any temple that had been built before Jubilees was written, and must rather be seen in the context of speculation about a new Jerusalem, in the Temple Scroll and elsewhere in the Dead Sea Scrolls.68 This passage establishes an eschatological horizon, which must be kept in mind in the remainder of the work. Eschatological transformation is not foregrounded in Jubilees, but it is affirmed. The passage in Jubilees most often taken to be apocalyptic is 23:11–31, often called “the Jubilees apocalypse.” It describes eschatological upheavals, marked by sinful behavior and general decline, including loss of longevity. The deeds of that generation will incur a mighty retribution. But then, “the children will begin to study the laws, to seek out the commands, and to return to the right way” (23:26), and life will be transformed, and grow longer again. The righteous will drive out their enemies, and will see all the punishments and curses that had been their lot falling on their enemies. In the end, “their bones will rest in the earth and their spirits will be very happy. They will know that the Lord is one who executes judgment” (23:31). James Kugel has noted the affinities of this passage with Psalm 90, which also comments on the limited length of human life. The author’s view of the decline in longevity in the biblical narratives, together with the sectarian politics of the second century b.c.e., shape this passage “as much as any particular view of the future.”69 But most eschatological expectation is shaped by the past and present, so Jubilees 23 is not atypical of apocalypses in that respect. Hanneken notes, correctly, that there is no angelic agency in this passage, and that no chronological framework is supplied for the eschatological sequence.70 Sin and repentance are not predetermined. 67

Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 467. Cf. 11Q19 (11QTemple) 29:9–10; 4Q174 (Florilegium) 1:3–7. See Michael O. Wise, “4QFlorilegium and the Temple of Adam,” RevQ 15 (1991): 103–32. Also 11QNew Jerusalem, and Lorenzo DiTommaso, The Dead Sea New Jerusalem Text: Contents and Contexts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 69 James L. Kugel, “The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 (1994): 322–37, here 337. 70 Hanneken, “Jubilees,” 483. 68

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As throughout Jubilees, the understanding of sin and punishment is Deuteronomistic. This understanding of history contrasts with what we find in Daniel and 1 Enoch (with the exception of the prayer in Daniel 9).71 Hanneken also argues that, “whereas a historical apocalypse typically imagines a radical reversal and graphic vindication and vengeance, Jubilees imagines a gradual fulfillment of the original plan of creation.”72 But the contrast here may be overdrawn. Jubilees 23:30, “then the Lord will heal his servants . . . they will see all their punishments and curses on their enemies,” may not be as graphic as the Book of Revelation, but the net effect is much the same: radical reversal, vindication and vengeance. It is difficult to see here a “little spoof on a historical apocalypse,” as Hanneken would have it.73 It should also be said that Deuteronomistic theology is not inherently incompatible with the apocalyptic genre, as can be seen from the (admittedly later) apocalypse of 2 Baruch, which is just as focused on the Torah as is Jubilees.74 The essential elements of an apocalyptic worldview are the way it frames human existence, by attention to the supernatural world on the one hand, and the expectation of eschatological judgment on the other.75 (Even the supernatural powers recede in the later apocalypses of 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch). These elements are present in Jubilees, but in an attenuated form. Jubilees is not an antiapocalyptic polemic, but apocalyptic beliefs and expectations are not at the center of its concerns. In the perspective of Prototype Theory, it may be regarded as a marginal member of the genre apocalypse, on the “fuzzy edge” of the genre, without claiming that this is its only generic affiliation. Conclusion In the end, Jubilees is a hybrid work. As most scholars have realized, it has a family resemblance to other rewritten scriptural narratives, from

71 See John J. Collins, Daniel. A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 359–60. 72 Collins, Daniel, 497. 73 Collins, Daniel, 496. 74 See Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, 212–25. 75 John J. Collins, “Genre, Ideology and Social Movements in Jewish Apocalypticism,” in Seers, Sibyls and Sages in Hellenistic-Roman Judaism (JSJSup 54; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 29.

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Chronicles to Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities. In this case, the narrative to be rewritten is the story of the revelation at Sinai. Unlike most rewritten scriptural narratives (Chronicles, Biblical Antiquities, the Genesis Apocryphon, or the Antiquities of Josephus), however, Jubilees claims the status of revelation. It does not dispute the authority of the “first Torah” which serves as the basis of its rewriting, but the authority it claims for itself is no less than that. There were not many ways in which such a claim could be formulated. The Temple Scroll, which has much in common with Jubilees, but also differs from it in significant ways, presented itself as divine speech, the strongest possible claim an author could make.76 Jubilees is only a little less audacious. It turned instead to the prototypical example of Enoch, who received his revelation from angels and the heavenly tablets. Jubilees, in effect, borrowed from the apocalypses key “authority conferring strategies,” in Hindy Najman’s phrase. The influence of the apocalypses on Jubilees was not only formal. It also accepted key elements of the apocalyptic worldview: the agency of supernatural powers (the angel of the presence, Mastema, the demons, even if they are subject to control) and the expectation of eventual retribution and a new creation. These elements were modified and integrated with the Deuteronomistic view of history, which emphasized above all the observance of the Torah. This hardly amounted to a compromise, reconciling Enochic and covenantal Judaism; the end product is unambiguously covenantal. But neither was it an ironic subversion of the apocalyptic worldview. It was rather a strategic adaptation of it. But if Jubilees does not fit neatly in a particular genre, this does not lessen the importance of generic analysis for understanding the book. One of the uses of genre analysis is to provide a foil against which the distinctive nature of an individual composition can be appreciated. There is, then, much to be gained from viewing Jubilees in the context both of rewritten narratives and of apocalypses, even it must be considered an exceptional and marginal member of both categories.

76 Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Book of Jubilees and the Temple Scroll,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah, 99–115.

A NOTE ON DIVINE NAMES AND EPITHETS IN THE BOOK OF JUBILEES James Kugel In honor of our generation’s greatest scholar of Jubilees (as well as numerous other Second Temple writings), I wish in the following to raise a question that, to my knowledge, has been somewhat neglected in Jubilees scholarship. How does this book refer to God? It is a simple question, but the answer may prove enlightening for a variety of topics. (Indeed, in raising it in this brief note, I am afraid I will not be able to do much more than evoke one or two of its possible implications, but these are surely only one small part of what can be learned from studying divine epithets in Jubilees.) Use of “God” and “the Lord” Certainly the two most common ways of referring to the God of Israel in Jubilees are with the “generic” words for God (that is, ’elohim or ’el) and with the Tetragrammaton, YHWH. With regard to the latter, the surviving Qumran fragments leave no doubt that the original Hebrew text of Jubilees at least sometimes wrote out the Tetragrammaton itself, YHWH. It is likely that the Greek translator (or later Greek scribes) substituted the word kurios (“Lord”) for this divine name, as was done as well with the Old Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible and other ancient texts;1 this substitution then carried through into the secondary translations of Jubilees. The usual Ethiopic rendering of “Lord” is ’egzi’abḥ ēr. However, a certain ambiguity surrounds this word in the Ethiopic manuscripts of Jubilees since, as James VanderKam observed some time ago, it “seems to be used indiscriminately” in Jubilees, often translating God as well as Lord.2

1 On the existence of an ancient Greek translation and its use for the Ethiopic and Latin translations, see James C. VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees (HSM 14; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 6–18. 2 VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies, 20. For example: Jub. 21:2 reads in VanderKam’s edition of the Ethiopic text: “I have continually remembered the Lord

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In this respect, the surviving fragments of the Latin translation can be a more reliable guide to the original Hebrew text, since they regularly distinguish between dominus and deus. Perhaps surprisingly, the Latin fragments reveal a definite preference for “God” over “Lord”; the uses of deus outnumber those of dominus, with some eighty-four appearances of the former versus fifty-two of the latter.3 The evidence of the surviving Greek and Syriac fragments is somewhat less reliable, since these are, as VanderKam notes, often more in the nature of nearcitations or allusions to the text of Jubilees.4 Divine Epithets If the distinction between “Lord” and “God” in the original Hebrew text must remain unresolved in numerous cases, there remains nonetheless the matter of divine epithets in Jubilees. The author of Jubilees frequently supplemented or replaced his “default” divine names (YHWH, and ’elohim/’el) with other words or phrases, and it is these that I wish to mention briefly here. The most frequent among divine epithets in Jubilees is “the Most High,” no doubt corresponding to Greek hupsistos and, in turn, Hebrew ‫[עליון‬-‫]ה‬. The phrase “the Most High God/Lord” or “the Most High” alone occurs some twenty-three times in Jubilees. Along with these, one also finds two mentions of the “Eternal God” (‫)אל עולם‬ (12:29, 13:8).5 I believe the author favored these epithets because they had a somewhat antique flavor for him, having been used by Israel’s ancestors or in reference to earliest times.6 In evoking them, he was, as it were, imaginatively projecting readers back into the era of the

[’egzi’abḥ ēr]” whereas the Latin text has “I have continually remembered our God [deum nostrum].” The corresponding fragment in 4Q219 backs up the Latin text’s reading: ‫תמי]ד את א[לוהינו‬. 3 According to A.-M. Denis and Y. Janssens, Concordance latine du liber Jubilaeorum sive Parva Genesis (Louvain: Publications de l’Université catholique de Louvain, 1973), 46–47; 51–52. 4 On this see James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees: A Critical Text (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989), xi–xvi. 5 Both of these are in passages composed by Jubilees’ author and have no biblical parallel. The author also used another antique name, “the God Shaddai” (‫)אל שדי‬ (15:3 and 28:3), but in these he was following the biblical text of Gen 17:1 and 28:3 respectively. 6 For “the Most High” see Gen 14:18, 19, 20, 22, Deut 32:8 Ps. 82:4; for “Eternal God” Gen 21:33.

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patriarchs, when the use of these names was presumably common. In other words, having Abraham, Isaac, Rebekah, and others pray to—or bless with—“the Most High” was a clever, authenticating touch on the part of Jubilees’ author. It is unlikely that he sought to suggest—as Exod 6:1–2 seems to—that the Tetragrammaton was unknown to the patriarchs; there was simply too much evidence from within Genesis itself to counter such an idea. But by using these “ancient” appellations he left the impression that, along with YHWH, these epithets were then a common form of reference. Another sort of epithet that is almost as common in Jubilees is the “personal God” epithet, that is, “God of X,” where X is the name of one of Israel’s ancestors. Among different forms, one finds: “the Lord, the God of Shem” (7:11, 8:18); “[the Lord,] the God of Abraham” (27:22, 35:14, 45:3); “the God of your/his father Abraham” (24:22, 23; 31:25; 36:6); “the God of his fathers Abraham and Isaac” (31:31); “God of his father Isaac and the God of his grandfather Abraham” (29:4); “the God of Israel, the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac” (45:3); and still others.7 Some of the occurrences of these “personal God” names are citations of or allusions to a particular biblical text. For example, when Noah speaks of “the God of Shem” in Jub. 7:11, the author is apparently alluding to Noah’s words in Gen 9:26. But elsewhere the author resorts to these “God of X” epithets quite on his own, in speeches or prayers of his own composition and put in the mouth of Rebekah or Jacob or other figures. This too seems to have been used for stylistic effect. The text seems to be harking back to a time when the worship of this God was still very much of a family affair. Indeed, sometimes the author seems to be suggesting that this deity is known to the speaker principally or solely because of his recent encounters with one or more of Israel’s ancestors. Consider, for example, Jub. 29:4: “Jacob blessed the God of his father Isaac and the God of his grandfather Abraham.” This blessing is purely the author’s own creation; it has no correspondent in the biblical narrative (Gen 31:17–18). He could have simply said “the Lord” or “God” and left it at that. The phrase “the God of his father Isaac and the God of his grandfather Abraham” is thus significant; a conscious evocation of that period when God had made himself known personally to the

7 MT of Gen 28:13 reads “the Lord, the God . . . ” as does the Lat. of Jub. 27:22, while Eth. omits “the Lord.” See VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 2:175–76.

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chain of patriarchs. A similar instance is found in Jub. 31:25 (another creation of Jubilees’ author without biblical parallel): “Isaac blessed the God of his father Abraham who had not put an end to his mercy and faithfulness for the son of his servant Isaac.” Here too, it seems that “the God of his father Abraham” is meant to stress the personal connection of this God to Israel’s forebears. How do these stylistic touches fit with the overall theme of Jubilees? It is certainly not surprising that Jubilees’ author should have favored epithets associating Israel’s God with various ancestors in the pre-Sinai period, since this, as has recently been argued, is a major theme of the book.8 Jubilees’ author sought to stress that God’s choice of Israel as his own people began long before the Sinai covenant, when it was first announced (Exod 19:5–6). This choice, according to him, went all the way back to the sixth day of creation, and it found concrete expression in God’s dealings with Israel’s earliest ancestors. No wonder, then, that this author liked to speak of “the God of Abraham,” “the God of Abraham and Isaac,” and the like, or to use the ancient-sounding appellations like the “Most High God” (‫ )אל עליון‬or “the eternal God” (‫)אל עולם‬. These were a way of making vivid the connection of Israel’s earliest ancestors to Israel’s God. The author of Jubilees was also particularly fond of evoking God’s role as creator. He is called “[the/his/their] creator” (10:8; 16:26; 22:6); “creator of all/everything” (2:21; 2:31; 2:32; 11:17; 12:4; 12:19; 17:3; 22:5; 22:6; 22:27; 45:6); “the one who made everything” (16:26; 31:29); “[the Lord/Most High God] who created heaven and earth” (22:6; 25:11; 32:18); “the creator of heaven, the earth, and everything” (7:36); “the one who created me/him/them” (7:20; 16:26; 21:3), and others. Another group of epithets stress God’s universality: “Lord/God of all/the ages” (21:15; 31:13); “God of all” (22:10; 22:27; 30:19; 31:32); “the God of gods” (23:1); “God of heaven” (12:4; 20:7; 22:19); and “God of the Spirits which are in all flesh” (10:3).9 Such “universal” epithets (some of them, again, apparently based on biblical models) are hardly incompatible with the ideology of Jubilees’ author; he

8 See in particular M. Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 6–7, 240, 281; J. Kugel, “On the Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees,” RevQ 24 (2009): 215–72. 9 This epithet is borrowed from Num 16:22; in its Jubilees context it was used (rather differently from the biblical usage) because Noah’s request is that God, who rules over all spirits (that is, angels), both good and bad, not let the latter kind mislead Noah’s descendants.

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certainly believed that Israel’s God was indeed the universal God. Still, they seem to pull in a somewhat different direction from that of the other epithets examined above. Though it is barely an epithet, another form of divine reference should be mentioned here, namely, the use of “God” with a pronominal suffix: “my God,” “your God,” “our God,” and so forth. The word “God” alone seems to have been more common than any of these suffixed forms, so that the addition of a suffix might be considered a form of “markedness” in the book, to be treated separately from “God” alone.10 Finally mention should be made of a few “character trait” epithets: “the just God” (21:4); “the righteous God” (25:21); “the living God” (1:25, 21:4); and so forth. These are relatively few in Jubilees. Divine Epithets and the Jubilees Interpolator This brief survey of divine epithets may also shed some light on the question of Jubilees’ unitary authorship. Recently, I suggested that a number of passages in the book might actually be the work of an interpolator.11 I sought to identify his insertions on the basis of certain characteristic phrases (the “special language of the Heavenly Tablets”), correlating these passages with various contradictions and duplications within Jubilees as well as with the occurrence of certain themes, notably, determinism and its consequences for Israel’s festivals and the sacred calendar.12 One thing I failed to check, however, was the interpolator’s use of divine epithets. Were there some that were particularly characteristic of his insertions, and were there others found elsewhere in the book but eschewed by the interpolator? Some of the findings mentioned above are striking in regard to differences between the original author of Jubilees and the interpolator. It was pointed out that the most common divine epithet in the book was the “Most High,” alone or in combination; yet not a single one of the twenty-three occurrences of this epithet is to be found in 10 On this concept, see G. Finch, Linguistic Terms and Concepts (New York: Palgrave, 2000), 23. It is to be noted that, despite the ambiguities of ’egzi’abḥ ēr, the suffixed form leaves little doubt that the original Hebrew text did not use the Tetragrammaton in such instances (since adding a pronominal suffix to it would be a grammatical impossibility), but rather ‫אדון‬, ‫אלהים‬, ‫אל‬, or the like. 11 Kugel, “On the Interpolations.” 12 Liora Ravid first observed the “special language” of the Heavenly Tablets. See her “The Special Terminology of the Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” Tarbiz 68 (1999): 463–71.

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the passages that my aforementioned article attributed to the interpolator. Nor, for that matter, are the epithets “Eternal God” (‫)אל עולם‬ and “God [of ] Shaddai” (‫ )אל שדי‬to be found in the interpolator’s insertions. Similarly, the “personal God” epithet (“God of Abraham” and so forth), almost as popular with the original author, apparently did not hold the same appeal for the interpolator. Of the twenty-two instances of this sort of epithet, only one appears in a passage I attribute to the interpolator (31:31). Some of these differences might at first seem to be a matter of context; most of the interpolator’s insertions have to do with biblical laws or observations connected with them that are spoken by the book’s narrator, the angel of the presence, whereas the author of Jubilees largely puts “the Most High” and “God of Abraham” in the mouths of biblical figures—Abraham, Rebekah, Jacob, and so forth. But differences in speakers or context would hardly explain why an author who elsewhere shows himself eager to connect God’s choice of Israel to the period of the patriarchs (and before it) should have God’s own spokesman, the angel of the presence, refrain from evoking “the God of Abraham” or “the Most High” in expounding a biblical law. Indeed, one might expect exactly the opposite. What epithets did the interpolator favor? There are, in fact, very few to be found in his passages; this is perhaps the most interesting fact to emerge from this brief survey. Apart from the words for “God” and “Lord” alone, the main epithet (if it can be called that) used by the interpolator was the word “God” with a pronominal suffix. “Our God” (Hebrew ‫ )אלהינו‬is used seven times by the interpolator (4:6; 6:13; 15:26; 33:10; 33:13; 33:18; 41:25), as well as “your God” (49:17, 22) and “his God” (16:31, 33:20). Along with these, the interpolator twice invokes “the God of all” (30:19, 31:32) and the “creator of all/everything” (2:31, 32)—but these are hardly his exclusive property; as noted, he also refers once to “the God of his fathers, Abraham and Isaac” (31:31). And these are all. To the extent that one can learn anything from this evidence, it is mostly of the negative variety. The lone mention of “the God of his fathers, Abraham and Isaac” notwithstanding, the interpolator was apparently not particularly interested in stressing God’s connection to Israel’s remote ancestors in ancient times. Rather, his God was a great, universally recognized deity known simply as “the Lord” or “God.” This was the God worshiped by the angel of the presence, in whose

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mouth the repeated appellation “our God” seems particularly significant; spoken by him, it seems to evoke a deity connected as much to the angelic beings on high as to Israel below. This deity had acted quite independently of any people, even Israel, in arranging the world’s calendar and the dates of his festivals (a major theme of the interpolator). He was likewise the deity who had predetermined the events of world history and written them, far from the world of human beings, on the Heavenly Tablets long before they occurred. These findings, while hardly conclusive, may add some support to the notion that the original book of Jubilees was indeed supplemented by the insertion of a certain number of specific passages (the twentynine that I identified) by an interpolator. While there is certainly some overlap, each writer had fairly clear preferences in his choice of divine epithets.

REVISITING THE REBEKAH OF THE BOOK OF JUBILEES John C. Endres Without any doubt, Jim VanderKam stands out as one of the most important contributors to the current scholarly discussion of the book of Jubilees. My debt of gratitude to him reaches back to the summer of 1981 when he agreed to read with me portions of the Ge‘ez text of Jubilees 19–30 (at that time I was preparing to write a dissertation on this author’s interpretation of sacred materials). His mentoring at that time and friendship since then render this essay in his honor a very happy task. While working through texts from Jubilees and comparing them with biblical texts, the character Rebekah intrigued me because of her prominence. An article entitled “The God of Rebekah” confirmed some of my observations and prompted continuing attention to her.1 My own study convinced me of the centrality of the figure of Rebekah in Jubilees, and these observations continue to fascinate me; it seems they have also connected with the research of others in this field. In a 2008 article by VanderKam, “Recent Scholarship on the Book of Jubilees,” there appears a thematic subsection entitled “Women.”2 Among the studies that VanderKam reviews are some which focus on Rebekah, including sections of my own monograph.3 In his survey of the contents of Jubilees, VanderKam carefully chronicles Rebekah’s role and then comments: “No other woman is granted a part anything like Rebecca’s. . . . ”4 Rebekah has also figured in other recent studies, which have benefited from the insights of additional studies on women in Jewish Palestine as well as new and more sophisticated methodological bases.

1

P. Von Boxel, “The God of Rebekah,” SIDIC 9 (1976): 14–18; here 16. James C. VanderKam, “Recent Scholarship on the Book of Jubilees,” Currents in Biblical Research 6 (2008): 405–431; here 420–421. 3 John C. Endres, S. J., Biblical Interpretation in the Book of Jubilees (CBQMS 18; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1987), 21–28, 73–84, 173–177, 194, 217–218. 4 James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 116; henceforth “Jubilees.” 2

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My goal in this essay is to review the most significant new contributions to our perspective on Rebekah in Jubilees, which constitutes part of the recent growth in scholarship on the book of Jubilees. Much of this activity is due in no small part to the pioneering work and continual mentoring of scholars and students by Jim VanderKam. The “revisiting” I envisage, then, begins with an overview of Rebekah’s presentation in Jubilees. It continues by incorporating reflections engendered by newer studies, which contain extended treatment of the Rebekah materials. A synthesis of the major themes uncovered in this review follows, demonstrating how new angles of vision add complexity to the significance of Jubilees’ portrait of Rebekah. Brief suggestions regarding the theological significance of the material conclude the essay. This essay begins with two recent approaches to this material, and then continues with an overview of Rebecca’s role in Jubilees. Betsy Halpern-Amaru has made numerous contributions to our understanding of the book of Jubilees.5 Her monograph, The Empowerment of Women in the Book of Jubilees provides a sustained treatment of the ascendancy of women in Jubilees, and Rebekah plays no small role in her study.6 In her view, ethnic purity, deriving from an interpretation of Exod 19:6 (“You shall be unto Me a Kingdom of priests and a holy people”) and applying it to the people of Israel, provides the major goal of this writer. The reason for this focus is that “in Jubilees only one standard determines purity—descent from a woman who carries the appropriate genealogical credentials.”7 For Halpern-Amaru, only this position can explain the fact that in Jubilees all the focus on exogamy

5 Betsy Halpern-Amaru, “The First Woman, Wives, and Mothers in Jubilees,” JBL 113 (1994): 609–626; Rewriting the Bible: Land and Covenant in Postbiblical Jewish Literature (Valley Forge, Penn.: Trinity Press International, 1994), esp. ch. 3 (“The Metahistorical Covenant of Jubilees”), 25–54; “The Naming of Levi in the Book of Jubilees,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the [Second] International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 12–14 January 1997 (ed. Esther G. Chazon and Michael E. Stone; STDJ 31; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 59–69; “Joy as Piety in the ‘Book of Jubilees’,” JJS 56:2 (2005): 185–205; “The Festivals of Pesah and Massot in the Book of Jubilees” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Iba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 309–322. 6 Betsy Halpern-Amaru, The Empowerment of Women in the Book of Jubilees ( JSJSup 60; Leiden: Brill, 1999). 7 Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment of Women, 155.

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finds its focal point in women characters, notably wives and mothers.8 Deriving from this stance, intermarriage (exogamy) faces strong opposition and polemic in Jubilees, particularly in the Dinah story ( Jub. 30), but also in Noah’s description of the sin of the Watchers (7:21–25) and in many of the particular interpretive additions to the story of Rebekah (e.g. Rebekah speaking to Jacob: 25:1–3, 5, 8, 10; Rebekah to Isaac: 27:8–10; and Abraham to Jacob: 22:20; 27:8–10). Another contribution to our understanding of the Rebekah story in Jubilees comes from William Loader’s monograph, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality.9 Part of an ambitious project to study attitudes toward sexuality in Jewish and early Christian literature in the GrecoRoman era, this work addresses various issues of sexuality, including creation and marriage, issues of sacred space and time, and intermarriage, in both narrative and halakhic sections of Jubilees. His observations bring many of Halpern-Amaru’s interpretive comments and positions into play, as well as my own earlier positions, and demonstrate an overall view of sexuality which none of the previous studies attempted or envisaged. His angle of investigation adds greatly to my own observations about the interpretive direction of Jubilees’ reworking of Genesis traditions about Rebekah. Furthermore, he portrays her as a matriarch of paramount importance for the author of Jubilees. The first mention of Rebekah in Jubilees offers a clear example of the different interpretive perspectives found in three expositions of the text. Rebekah first appears in Jub. 19:10: “In its fourth year [2027] he [Abraham] took a wife for his son Isaac. Her name was Rebecca, the daughter of Bethuel (the son of Abraham’s brother Nahor), the sister of Laban—Bethuel was their father—the daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah who was the wife of Abraham’s brother Nahor.”10 Working from a comparative approach, I noted the omission of Gen 24:1–67,

8

Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment of Women, 153. William Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality: Attitudes towards Sexuality in the Early Enoch Literature, the Aramaic Levi Document, and the Book of Jubilees (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). 10 All translations from the Ethiopic: James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (CSCO 511; Scriptores Aethiopici 88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989 [henceforth “Book of Jubilees”]). In addition, there are several “Rebekah” texts represented in the Qumran collection (listed here in order of their correspondence to the Ethiopic Jubilees): 4Q222 frg. 1 ( Jub. 25:9–12); 4Q222 frg. 2 ( Jub. 27:6–7); 4Q223–224 Unit 1 col. I ( Jub. 32:18–21); Unit 2 col. I ( Jub. 34:4–5; 35:7–12); 1Q18 frgs 1–2 ( Jub. 35:8–10); and 4Q223–224 Unit 2 col. II ( Jub. 35:12–22; 36:7–10). 1Q18 may be found in Barthélemy and Milik, DJD 1. All Cave 4 texts are in H. W. Attridge, et al., DJD 13. 9

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“a lengthy and charming account of the acquisition of Rebekah as a spouse for Isaac,” and considered the change as evidence of Jubilees’ lack of interest in such details.11 Halpern-Amaru develops the position that Jubilees demonstrates the “ideal lineage credentials” of this matriarch, as well as showing that she was chosen by none other than Abraham.12 Careful analysis of Rebekah’s genealogy shows that no improper unions stood in her background. Loader incorporates Halpern-Amaru’s analysis, commenting that “the issue is more than abbreviation” but a clear ploy to convince readers that “marriage . . . is a good deal more serious” than the narratives in Genesis might indicate.13 The particular focus on proper credentials for Rebekah led Halpern-Amaru to a more refined interpretation than that achieved by simple comparison in my reading, and Loader judiciously includes Halpern-Amaru’s view in development of his broader argument that Jubilees generally presents a very positive view of sexuality, within proper boundaries, i.e. the priestly people of Israel. While it might seem advantageous to comment on the developing view of Rebekah by noting all the differences in interpretation, limitations of space preclude such detailed presentation. Overall, however, I aim to demonstrate the usefulness of “revisiting” Rebekah’s portrait as a way of deepening our appreciation of Jubilees as a Jewish text of the second century b.c.e. Rebekah in the Narrative of Jubilees The character Rebekah in Genesis (24–27; 28:5; 29:12; 35:8; 49:31) manifests a strength not found in the other notable biblical matriarchs, Sarah and Rachel, especially vis-à-vis her husband, Isaac.14 In addition, some writers on Genesis have designated her as a trickster character because of the skillful way in which she advanced the fortune of her son Jacob over against the first-born Esau.15 As noted in earlier 11

Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 21. Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment of Women, 39–40. 13 Loader, Jubilees on Sexuality, 157. He also notes that the omission of Gen 24:1–67 “removes the dangerous thought that marriage could be the result of chance encounters instead of careful planning” (253). 14 See Carol Meyers, “Rebekah,” in Women in Scripture (ed. C. Meyers et al.: Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 143–144, esp. 143. 15 Susan Niditch, “Genesis,” in Women’s Bible Commentary (ed. C. A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 13–29 (here 22–23). 12

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studies, Rebekah in Jubilees emerges as an even stronger and more central character than in Genesis. In Jubilees, however, she cannot be considered a trickster because the author characterizes her predisposition toward Jacob as inspired by Abraham ( Jub. 19:15–20). Jubilees makes it possible for Abraham to advise Rebekah about her children, because in this book Abraham dies some fifteen years after the birth of Jacob and Esau ( Jub. 23:1–8).16 Thus the preference for Jacob in Jubilees derives from communication between Abraham and Rebekah, while Isaac simply follows his own predilection for Esau over Jacob ( Jub. 19:15, 31). Rebekah has no need to shift attention to Jacob in this version, for Jacob is named first in Jubilees’ birth notice, unlike Gen 25:25– 26.17 Moreover, Jubilees does not mention the twins struggling in her womb, nor the oracle from God, which explained that the struggling twins represent two peoples: “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger” (Gen 25:23).18 Jubilees distinguishes between the two sons by characterizing Jacob positively (perfect, upright, living in tents, learning the art of writing) and Esau negatively (rustic, hairy, a hunter, skilled in warfare and acting harshly; Jub. 19:13–15). In Jubilees Abraham was able to observe the behavior of his two grandsons for fifteen years, so he advised Rebekah to care for and favor Jacob, since he would take Abraham’s place on earth ( Jub. 19:17–18). Isaac disappears at this point in the narrative, perhaps because he loved Esau more than Jacob ( Jub. 19:19). Already Rebekah sets in motion a process in which the character and theological position of Jacob carried more weight than that of Isaac, her spouse, who favored Esau. After the brief narrative of Jub. 19:13–16 the author recounts two speeches by Abraham; the first addressed to Rebekah (19:17–25), and the second to Jacob (19:27–29). Abraham basically speaks about Jacob’s priority in both texts, but his language concerning Rebekah also suggests some important aspects of her characterization. Abraham

16 In Gen 25:7–10 Abraham dies before Esau and Jacob are born (Gen 25:19–27). Moreover, this literary “move” makes it more certain that there are three generations of one family, and not several families joined together, in the biblical text. 17 Although Jacob is named first in Jubilees, other references make it clear that Esau was the elder: e.g. Jub. 24:3, 7. 18 Unless otherwise note, all biblical citations are from the nrsv.

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addresses her affectionately, “My daughter, take care of my son Jacob” (19:17); he also expresses his close connection with Jacob. Abraham summarizes the entire situation: “My son Isaac now loves Esau more than Jacob, but I see that you rightly love Jacob” (19:19). Jubilees recalls the traditions recorded in Genesis with his remark about Isaac, but injects a fresh interpretation of Rebekah’s preference: “you rightly love Jacob.” Abraham explicitly instructs her to focus attention on Jacob, but through a mother’s powers of affection and (later, as we will see) direction: “Increase your favor to him still more: may your eyes look at him lovingly because he will prove to be a blessing for us. . . . May your hands be strong and your mind be happy with your son Jacob because I love him much more than all my sons; for he will be blessed forever and his descendants will fill the entire earth” ( Jub. 19:20–21). Abraham encourages Rebekah’s attachment to Jacob because he will prove a blessing and because of Abraham’s preference for him— nothing of agency is strictly ascribed to her. Her role here differs greatly from the depiction in Genesis, where she seemingly pursues her own preferences; here, she ultimately speaks and acts in accord with Abraham, a great witness to the covenant. As Halpern-Amaru notes, Abraham’s presence in the family story of Isaac, Rebekah and Jacob presents a reasonable explanation for her knowledge of various promises and also “functions as a catalyst for the assertiveness of Rebekah’s character.”19 Shifting attention from Rebekah, Abraham now calls to his grandson Jacob, but “in the presence of his mother Rebecca” ( Jub. 19:26). In this prayer of blessing Abraham does not refer to her explicitly, but he wishes that “the Lord God become your father and you his first-born son and people for all time.” This narrative vignette concludes with Rebekah loving Jacob “with her entire heart and her entire being very much more than Esau,” in contrast to Isaac, who “loved Esau much more than Jacob” ( Jub. 19:31). Although Rebekah does not initiate the favor for Jacob, her presence seems critical to this blessing of Jacob (19:27–29), and her presence here will develop more strength as the story progresses. Jubilees 20–22 contain three testamentary speeches by Abraham: to all of his children (20:1–10), to his son Isaac (21:1–25), and to Jacob his grandson (22:10–30). Rebekah plays no active part at all in

19

Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment of Women, 83.

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Jubilees 20–21, though certain aspects of Abraham’s instructions to his posterity extend to the lives of women: e.g. prohibition of various kinds of sexual offenses (20:3–6) and prohibition of idol production and worship (20:8–9). In his last words to Isaac Abraham identified various practices to be avoided: e.g. idolatry (21:3–5), consumption of blood (21:6, 17–18b), and various practices connected with sacrifices (21:6–14). Abraham’s testament to Jacob contains typical blessings and curses (22:11–15, 23–24) and various stipulations about behavior (22:16–22), especially a strong injunction against intermarriage with a daughter of Canaan (22:20). Women included in this extended family need to exercise vigilance to follow all the stipulations given to Isaac and to Jacob, though none would prove so critical as those concerning sexuality, marriage, and childbirth. The matriarch Rebekah could be imagined as present here, although the narrator never mentions her. Only in Jub. 22:1–5 does Rebekah return briefly to the scene, where she participates in the Festival of Weeks. In Second Temple Judaism this festival was arguably the most important covenant renewal occasion of the year, so this scene has great import for covenantal theology.20 Isaac and Ishmael travel from the Well of the Oath to Hebron to celebrate the festival with Abraham their father ( Jub. 22:1), a scene without a counterpart in Genesis. A creation of Jubilees’ author, this episode contains explicit details pointing toward a happy family gathering: “Abraham was happy that his two sons had come” (22:1b). Jubilees refers to it as a “joyful feast” prepared by Isaac, in the presence of his brother Ishmael.21 For the celebration, Rebekah prepared “fresh bread out of new wheat” and sent it along with Jacob to bring to Abraham, so he could celebrate with first fruits of the land and “bless the Creator of everything before he died” ( Jub. 22:4). Abraham ate and drank, and “blessed the most high God who created the heavens and the earth . . .” (22:6). The patriarch then uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for all God’s gracious gifts to him—“kindness and peace”—with

20 Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 39–41 (the important suggestions of Michel Testuz and Annie Jaubert are noted as part of this assessment). VanderKam described the Festival of Weeks as “a momentous occasion in Jubilees’ covenantal theology, and it proves to be the last full day of Abraham’s life, perhaps even the day on which he died” (VanderKam, Jubilees, 56). 21 Halpern-Amaru, “Joy as Piety,” 188; she interprets the joy of this text as referring to “a full patriarchal family celebration.”

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an important outcome and goal: that his descendants “may become your chosen people and heritage from now until all the time of the earth’s history throughout all ages” ( Jub. 22:9). This festival, celebrating God as creator who also chose them as his special people, concludes with Abraham’s last words to Jacob ( Jub. 22:10–30). There Jacob emerges as the central covenant mediator, emphasizing again the preference for Jacob displayed by Abraham and Rebekah. Unlike the two previous testaments (in chapters 20 and 21), Abraham refers twice to renewal of the covenant ( Jub. 22:15, 30). Although Rebekah’s sole action here is to bake bread, she clearly stands in the background of this scene, as mediator of Abraham’s choice of Jacob and as genuine protector in the story. With Esau basically absent from these scenes, the author has created a picture of crossgenerational family harmony and unity. This portion of the story ends with Abraham’s death. Jacob was lying on his bosom, and when he awoke he noticed that his grandfather’s body was cold, i.e. Jacob knew that Abraham had died. Jacob then ran to tell Rebekah, who in turn brought the news to Isaac. All of them went together to the site: Rebekah and Isaac, Ishmael his brother, and Jacob. They buried him respectfully in the cave where Sarah was buried, and all mourned him for forty days ( Jub. 22:1–9). Compared to Abraham’s death notice in Gen 25:7–11, this one abounds in touching narrative detail. The mention of Jacob and Rebekah’s roles in Jubilees, however, is made possible by the narrative arrangement in Jubilees: as noted earlier, Jacob and Esau were born before Abraham died, and Rebekah often appeared with her son Jacob. In Genesis, however, Isaac and Rebekah met just before Abraham’s death (Gen 24: 65–67). Jubilees transposes the chronological order of events—Abraham’s death is put later—allowing greater scope for Rebekah’s role as transmitter of the covenant. She actualizes Abraham’s choice of Jacob, such that narratives like Abraham’s death demonstrate how a covenant-abiding family acts in a loving and inclusive fashion at the time of death. The eschatological section in Jub. 23:9–32 concludes the first half of the book, and addresses important questions raised by Abraham’s shorter life-span; compared with earlier generations, he lived only 175 years. This change was interpreted as due to the increasing evil and woes of the human race, which no longer enjoyed great longevity. Much of the evil derives from various sexual sins, which destroy the purity of the holy community Israel. This text also offers hope for the

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future, of peace and happiness.22 Rebekah plays no explicit role in this section, nor does Jacob, but both of them soon reappear. Jubilees 24 contains three important incidents. First, Esau sold his birthright ( Jub. 24:1–7). Second, Isaac sojourned in Gerar and had dealings with Abimelech ( Jub. 24:8–27). Third, Isaac cursed the Philistines ( Jub. 24:28–33). The two narratives involve a recasting of traditions known best from Genesis, but Jacob’s cursing of the Philistines has no exact parallel in biblical traditions.23 Curiously, Rebekah is absent from these texts. Although she was mentioned in Gen 25:28 (“but Rebekah loved Jacob”) and in the Gerar story, Jubilees omits the story about Isaac identifying Rebekah as his sister rather than his wife (Gen 26:6–11). That Rebekah loved Jacob has been clear since Jub. 19:15 and 31, but with a difference: in Genesis she appears to follow her personal predilection, while in Jubilees her love accords with that of Abraham, her father-in-law. In the second story, Rebekah’s omission assures the audience that she has not been sexually violated by the king of Gerar or any of his household. A minor omission in Abimelech’s protective order about Isaac’s goods suggests this interpretation: “Any man who touches him (this man or his wife, Gen 26:11) or anything that belongs to him is to die.” Jubilees omits “this man or his wife” so that its audience would not understand in this injunction a reference to Rebekah. Rebekah returns to center stage in Jubilees 25.24 In Jub. 25:1–10 she instructs Jacob not to marry a Canaanite woman, or “any of the women of this land” (25:4). This command reflects Abraham’s earlier injunctions: in his testamentary speech to all his descendants ( Jub. 20:4b) and also in his testament to Jacob (22:20). Both texts may derive from a similar command from Isaac, in the biblical text: “You

22 For further amplification see John C. Endres, S. J., “Eschatological Impulses in Jubilees,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah, 323–337. 23 Jub. 24:1–7 represents Gen 26:1; 25:28–34, and Jub. 24:8–27 represents Gen 26:1– 33. Jacob’s cursing does echo sentiments expressed in Amos 9:1b (for discussion, cf. Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 70–73). 24 For a more detailed study of Jubilees 25 cf. John C. Endres, S. J., “Rebekah’s Prayer ( Jubilees 25:11–23),” in With Wisdom as a Robe: Qumran and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Ida Fröhlich (ed. K. D. Dobos and M. Köszeghy; Hebrew Bible Monographs 21; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2009), 253–262. Cf. also HalpernAmaru, Empowerment of Women, 86–87; and Loader ( Jubilees on Sexuality, 213), who describes Jub. 25:19 as “a very personal expression of Rebecca’s affection in terms of birth and suckling.”

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shall not marry one of the Canaanite women” (Gen 28:1). The issue of intermarriage proves the dividing line between Jacob and Esau. The latter had already married two Canaanite women who made Rebekah’s life miserable because of their “sexual impurity and lewdness” ( Jub. 25:1). As Loader points out, Esau’s Canaanite wives proved doubly problematic; marriage with Canaanites carried its own serious problems, but in Esau’s case it also meant that he had disobeyed Abraham’s earlier command ( Jub. 20:4).25 This maternal concern does not derive from the text in Genesis, but it does correspond to similar touches in Jubilees. Jacob replies to his mother that he has already obeyed Abraham’s command in this regard: he has not had intercourse with or touched or become engaged to a Canaanite woman all his life of 63 years ( Jub. 25:4). Responding to her commands, he intends to marry a woman of his father’s house and family (25:5); in fact he expresses interest in daughters of the family of Laban, brother of Rebekah (25:6). Furthermore, he will not heed Esau’s invitation to marry a sister of one of his Canaanite wives (25:8). Trying to console his mother, Jacob promises: “Do not be afraid, mother. Be assured that I will do as you wish” ( Jub. 25:10). Underlying this dialogue is grave concern about sexual wrongdoing (25:7), which runs the danger of trampling on the requirements for a holy people.26 Running through the entire text, according to Halpern-Amaru, is opposition to any way of entering the “holy community other than by birth. The matrilineal standard of genealogical purity developed in the polemic against intermarriage expresses that opposition.”27 As mother, Rebekah works to safeguard the all-important genealogical purity of her line. Rebekah’s blessing prayer follows the above interchange ( Jub. 25:15– 22). This prayer comprises one of the most original compositions in Jubilees, for she is the only matriarch to bless her son with such a prayer/blessing text. Other Jewish works of this time feature prayers of Jewish women,28 and the focus on women in Jubilees’ presentation of the early patriarchal/ matriarchal history would render this public

25

Loader, Jubilees on Sexuality, 212. Loader, Jubilees on Sexuality, 213. 27 Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment of Women, 58. 28 Cf. Markus McDowell, Prayers of Jewish Women (WUNT 211; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 59–62. 26

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prayer unexceptional, except for the overall priestly tenor of the book and its halakhic concerns. Jubilees introduces her prayer with a series of physical gestures: “Then she lifted her face to heaven, extended her fingers, and opened her mouth” (25:11a). The words of her prayer begin with a blessing formula, which began to appear more frequently in later Second Temple times: “She blessed the most high God who had created the heavens and the earth and gave him thanks and praise” ( Jub. 25:11b). “May God be blessed, and may his name be blessed forever and ever— he who gave me Jacob, a pure son and a holy offspring, for he belongs to you” ( Jub. 25:12a). This prayer of blessing contains more narrative details than any other prayer in Jubilees, and it addresses God as the creator of all: creator “of the heavens and the earth,” and the “most high God.”29 In this respect Rebekah’s prayer resembles Abraham’s mode of address to God in two of his prayers in Jubilees: “pray to the Creator of all” (11:17) and “you have created everything . . . the product of your hands” (12:19). Such language of creation matches the religious worldview of Israelite blessing prayers from this era (rather than praising the God of victory in battles) with their concern for human reproduction, birth, and nurturing. This prayer can be viewed in two distinct parts. Rebekah refers to God as creator of Jacob, her son, “a pure son and a holy offspring, for he belongs to you” ( Jub. 25:12). She effectively prays that all his offspring will belong to God, i.e. stay in a particular and holy relationship with God throughout history. She concludes this section begging God to put “a righteous blessing in my mouth so that I may bless him” ( Jub. 25:13). Her prayer is effective, for “at that time the spirit of righteousness descended into her mouth” ( Jub. 25:14). Since the prayer is so important, I cite it here in full. After placing both hands on Jacob’s head, Rebekah spoke the following: 25:15 Blessed are you, righteous Lord, God of the ages; and may he bless you more than all the human race. My son, may he provide the right path for you and reveal what is right to your descendants. 25:16 May he multiply your sons during your lifetime; may they rise in number to the months of the year.

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Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 78.

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john c. endres May their children be more numerous and great than the stars of the sky; may their number be larger than the sands of the sea. 25:17 May he give them this pleasant land as he said he would give it for all time to Abraham and his descendants after him; may they own it as an eternal possession. 25:18 Son, may I see your blessed children during my lifetime; may all your descendants become blessed and holy descendants. 25:19 As you have given rest to your mother’s spirit during her lifetime, so may the womb of the one who gave birth to you bless you. My affection and my breasts bless you; my mouth and my tongue praise you greatly. 25:20 Increase and spread out in the land; may your descendants be perfect throughout all eternity in the joy of heaven and earth. May your descendants be delighted, and, on the great day of peace, may they have peace. 25:21 May your name and your descendants continue until all ages. May the most high God be their God; may the righteous God live with them; and may his sanctuary be built among them into all ages. 25:22 May the one who blesses you be blessed and anyone who curses you falsely be cursed. 25:23 She then kissed him and said to him: “May the eternal Lord love you as your mother’s heart and her affection are delighted with you and bless you.” She then stopped blessing (him).

Key points of Rebekah’s prayer for Jacob include the following: may God bless him more than all other humans and show him the right path ( Jub. 25:15b); may God bless him with numerous progeny ( Jub. 25:16) and bless him with this pleasant land ( Jub. 25:17); and finally, may God allow her, Rebekah, to see her own descendants and progeny, presumably before she dies ( Jub. 25:18). A reference to joy is also found later in her blessing, that Jacob’s progeny “be perfect throughout all eternity in the joy of heaven and earth” ( Jub. 25:20a).30 In the following verse, maternal blessing imagery appears quite vividly, since it bears language and images more suitable to the relationship between a mother and her child (cf. the following italicized

30 Halpern-Amaru, “Joy as Piety,” 204. She notes also a connection with the eschatological promise of “living joyfully” with “great peace” and longevity ( Jub. 23:28–29).

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words):31 “As you have given rest to your mother’s spirit during her lifetime,32 so may the womb of the one who gave birth to you bless you. My affection and my breasts bless you; my mouth and my tongue praise you greatly” ( Jub. 25:19). Images of womb, affection and breasts complement other maternal language in this prayer. Womb is clear enough, though it has invited considerable scholarly comment.33 “(My) affection” appears in Jub. 25:2, 19, and 23. Its basic nuances include “compassion, pardon, mercy, pity, clemency,” and it probably is related to the Hebrew rakham(im) (love, to have compassion) and possibly also to the word for “womb” (rekhem).34 This term, affection, appears three times in Jubilees 25. Rebekah notes at the outset that her heart and affection “bless you at all times” (25:2). She concludes the prayer proclaiming that “your mother’s heart and her affection” were delighted with Jacob and blessed him (25:23). An important variation occurs midway in this prayer: “my affection and my [female] breasts” bless you (25:19). The generic term “affection” is a defensible translation here, since this same word later refers to Jacob’s feelings for his son Joseph ( Jub. 34:18). I suggest, however, that a word which better conveys a maternal nuance, like “compassion” (suggesting the bond between child and womb), might be preferable here, where the relationship between mother and child colors the scene.35 The story of Isaac, Esau, Jacob and Rebekah continues in Jubilees 26–27, with careful presentation of the narrative in Genesis 27:1–28:9. Most alterations of the biblical tradition tend to remove suspicion and doubt about the motivation and ethics of Jacob and Rebekah. Much of the careful rewriting concerns the character of Jacob, and it even provides a religious reason for Isaac’s inability to recognize Jacob his son:

31 Loader (Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees, 257) comments on the “richly feminine images” and later notes that “she carries the traditional roles of nurturer and is portrayed as present as a woman in all her physicality” (260). 32 Here following VanderKam (Book of Jubilees, 162), who noticed the third feminine suffix on the word “lifetime,” rather than the expected “my” (cf. R. H. Charles, The Book of Jubilees or the Little Genesis [London: Adam and Charles Black, 1902], 159) which well fits the process of dialogue between Rebekah and Jacob). 33 This exposition relies heavily on Endres, “Rebekah’s Prayer,” 259. 34 Wolf Leslau, Comparative Dictionary of Ge‘ez (Classical Ethiopic): Ge‘ez-English/ English-Ge‘ez (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1987), 336. 35 In the Ge‘ez Bible this term, mehrat (and also cognates mahar and mahara), appears frequently, often in reference to the deity. Cf. August Dillmann, Lexicon Linguae Aethiopicae cum indice Latino (Osnabrück: Biblio Verlag, 1970 [reproductio phototypica editionis 1865]), 157–158.

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“[Isaac said] ‘The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the forearms are Esau’s forearms.’ He did not recognize him because there was a turn of affairs from heaven to distract his mind . . .” ( Jub. 26:18). The heavenly turn of affairs denotes divine action, rather than a human ruse. In addition, Jub. 26:9–10 portrays Jacob as obedient to his parents, but this author adds explicitly: “so Jacob obeyed his mother Rebecca” ( Jub. 26:10a). As in Genesis, Jacob obtains the blessing which Esau had expected, so Esau grew angry with Jacob, and planned to kill his brother when “the time of mourning for my father” approaches ( Jub. 26:35 // Gen 27:41). For good reason, Rebekah was alarmed by Esau’s murderous intent, but the way she gained this knowledge differs. In Gen 27:42, where these words “were told to Rebekah,” while in Jub. 27:1 “Rebecca was told in a dream” what Esau said, thus showing divine guidance behind events.36 Rebekah ordered Jacob to go to Haran to find a wife. When Jacob hesitates, out of fear of offending Isaac, she intervenes and describes the problematic situation to Isaac: Esau has embittered her life because of his “two Hittite women” whom he has married ( Jub. 27:8). Fearing that Jacob might do the same unless he traveled to the land of Laban, she puts her request to Isaac, who quickly accedes. Jacob’s obedience is immediate, but his departure and absence sadden his mother ( Jub. 27:13), so Isaac responds with a thoroughly compassionate and touching response: “My sister, do not cry for my son Jacob, because he will go safely and return safely. . . . Do not be afraid for him, my sister. . . . He is perfect; he is a true man. He will not be abandoned. Do not cry” (27:14–17).37 Significantly, Jub. 27:18 portrays Isaac “consoling Rebecca” and thus contributing to a sense of healthy relations in this premiere covenantal family. Thus, Rebekah’s role points in two directions: giving authoritative advice to her son Jacob, and also being receptive to the consolation offered by her husband. Both suggest the significance of a healthy family life and vision of marital sexuality. Rebekah is conspicuously absent from Jub. 27:9–29:13; she plays no role when Jacob journeys to Laban ( Jub. 27:9–18), has his dream at Bethel ( Jub. 27:19–27), contracts marriages with Leah and Rachel, and sees the birth of his children by them ( Jub. 28:1–30). Jacob also 36

VanderKam, Jubilees, 63. He notes that the impersonal passive can be interpreted as the generic active voice, i.e. “they reported to her.” 37 Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 95–97, presents a number of inner-biblical parallels with the story of Tobit comforting of his wife Anna (Tob 5:17–21).

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flees from Haran with his family, subsequently shares a covenantal meal with Laban ( Jub. 29:1–12), and is reconciled with Esau ( Jub. 29:13). Rebekah plays no role in the story of the rape of Dinah and the slaughter of the Shechemites ( Jub. 30:1–4, 18–20), the warnings against intermarriage ( Jub. 30:5–17, 21–23 ), or the choice of Levi as priest ( Jub. 30:18–20). Her absence in these parts of Jubilees is not surprising, since Rebekah plays no role in the parallel sections of Genesis. However, Jubilees constructs another family scene in 29:14–20 around Jacob’s new settlement location on the west side of the Jordan, from which he regularly sent gifts to his parents: to his father Isaac, a variety of gifts (clothing, food, meat, drink, milk, butter, cheese, dates) from all his possessions, and to his mother Rebekah, gifts four times a year ( Jub. 29:15–16). Generalizing, this author notes that Jacob would send his parents everything they needed, and they in turn “would bless Jacob with all their mind and with all their being” ( Jub. 29:20). Rebekah’s presence here complements a portrayal wherein “this author has embroidered a delicate family tapestry of subtle and reciprocal relationships.”38 Jubilees 31–36 present a fresh version of the latter days of Isaac and Rebekah, paralleling Genesis 35–37. In Jubilees 31–33 Jacob and his family move from Shechem to Hebron, with a long interval in Bethel ( Jub. 31:30–32:30), where Levi’s appointment as priest is highlighted. Jacob then journeys to Bethel and sets up an altar at the place where he had experienced his dream vision, and invited his parents, Isaac and Rebekah, “to come to his sacrifice” (31:3). They must have declined, since the following verse recounts Isaac’s wish for Jacob to visit him (in Hebron) before he died ( Jub. 31:4). Jacob then goes to Hebron with his sons Levi and Judah for a poignant family visit. Jubilees points out Rebekah’s presence here (31:5–7), though Genesis did not. The tender portrayal of Rebekah going out to meet them, kissing and hugging her son Jacob and also her grandsons, suggests a typical loving family of three generations. She concluded this meeting by blessing both grandsons: “Through you Abraham’s descendants will become famous” ( Jub. 31:7). Rebekah then effectively exits the scene, but a lovely familial feeling continues, leaving the reader to imagine that Rebekah once again set the tone and gave the example for Isaac to bless his grandsons ( Jub. 31:12–25) and Jacob his own son the next morning

38

Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 118.

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( Jub. 31:26–29). One detail strongly hints at the parallel between Isaac’s blessing and the earlier blessing of Rebekah: the phrase “a spirit of prophecy descended into his mouth” ( Jub. 31:12) reminds the reader of the “spirit of righteousness” which had descended into Rebekah’s mouth before she blessed Jacob their father in Jub. 25:14. After Isaac completed these blessing prayers he sent Rebekah back to Bethel with Jacob, to which she goes accompanied by Deborah, her nurse ( Jub. 31:30). Readers of Jubilees may imagine Rebekah as present in Bethel during all the momentous events introduced by this author: Levi’s dream (32:1–3), Jacob’s celebration of Tabernacles (32:4–15), God’s appearance to Jacob, in which his name was changed to Israel (32:16–20), another vision of Jacob about future history with a command to return to Hebron until his father’s death (32:21–26), and the celebration of an eighth (i.e. additional) day of the feast (32:27–29). Presumably Rebekah watches and listens to accounts of these happenings, but the author only mentions her in connection with the death of her nurse, Deborah ( Jub. 32:30). In general, Jubilees follows the narrative stream of Genesis.39 Rebekah and Jacob’s family do return to Hebron and Rachel dies during childbirth ( Jub. 32:31–34), where she remains until Jacob and his sons arrive “at the house of Isaac [and Rebecca]” ( Jub. 33:21). After Jacob’s children do homage to Isaac and Rebekah, Isaac blesses all of them ( Jub. 33:23). We may notice or intuit Rebekah’s presence in these events, imagining her as a wise wife and grandmother who observes the great outcomes of her blessing of Jacob. The Joseph story begins in Jub. 34:1, 10–17 (//Gen 37:12–36), in a chapter that contains extrabiblical materials, though none of these include Rebekah. We must presume that she is busy in Hebron with her husband, Isaac. Has she been preparing for her final days, her testaments and death? We could only speculate, but the text amply presents those final events ( Jub. 35:1–27). Jubilees concludes the story of Rebekah with a detailed account of the last day of her life in Hebron (35:1–27). In turn she gives final instructions to Jacob (35:1–8), Isaac (35:9–17), Esau (35:18–24) and again to Jacob (35:25–26). Each of them agrees to act as she requests.

39 Apparently Rebekah had already gone to Hebron when Reuben committed incest with Bilhah (concubine of his father Jacob), and the halakhic prohibition of incest is also introduced in connection with the Reuben story ( Jub. 33:2–17).

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All of her requests entail actions leading to family harmony, but the precise terms she uses build up to that point. First she orders Jacob to “honor” his brother and father ( Jub. 35:4). Second, she asks Isaac to make Esau “swear that he will not harm Jacob” nor pursue him hatefully ( Jub. 35:9). Third, she requests Esau to bury her near Sarah’s grave, and that “you and Jacob love one another” and do what is best for the other ( Jub. 35:20). Finally, she summons Jacob, and in Esau’s presence “gave him orders in line with what she had discussed with Esau” ( Jub. 35:25–26). Each of her requests elicits a positive response, creating further commentary on the positive character of Jacob and the negative one of Esau. Her three farewell speeches here could be seen to reflect Abraham’s three testaments, in Jubilees 20, 21, 22, where the first patriarch continually exhorted his audience to fulfillment of important covenant stipulations.40 What she requests of her family is courageous effort to achieve family peace and harmony, substantial qualities of a strong covenantal community. Conclusion This “revisiting” of the portrait of Rebekah in the book of Jubilees serves as more than an updating of my presentation of her in Biblical Intepretation in the Book of Jubilees. It demonstrates the usefulness, even the necessity of viewing such issues from different angles, especially those pursued by Betsy Halpern-Amaru (focus on women in the text, the approaches and its significance) and William Loader (focus on issues of sexuality in his book, among others). These two scholarly contributions seem to offer the most focused comment on the topic. The first confirms the genealogical significance of the mothers of Israel (and earlier ones also) for Jewish identity during the second century b.c.e.: according to Halpern-Amaru, one becomes Jewish by birth, not by any kind of choice or conversion. This discovery has engendered further study of the entire notion of priestly people Israel, and speculation on an era when it would most likely have been written.41 The second study, through the lens of sexual terminology and injunctions in Jubilees, manifests the role of inappropriate sexual behavior and

40

Endres, Biblical Interpretation, 174–176, contains more detailed exposition. See, e.g., Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), esp. 53–84. 41

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unions in the persistence of evil in Israel, and correspondingly the value of appropriate marital sexuality in the perpetuation and identity of the Jewish people. Loader shows how this axiom proves to be particularly evident in the texts where Rebekah is prominent. Both studies deepen awareness of questions and possibilities for the identity of Judaism envisaged by the author of Jubilees. The aggregate of these studies also suggests theological tendencies and nuances advanced in the book of Jubilees. Rebekah’s contribution comes not so much from the public sphere, where covenant and genealogical issues often emerge in biblical texts. Her portrayal locates her in the complex realm of a family, in relation with important men in the sacred tradition. As much as covenant values emerge there, the example of Rebekah demonstrates the intimate connection between family issues and the covenantal values and theology of the community. In a clear fashion, Rebekah’s portrayal shows how the qualities and practices of covenant are first experienced and enhanced in the family setting. She models a way of imagining God’s plan for covenant life, from a maternal vantage point, which beautifully matches the final line of her blessing prayer for Jacob: “May the eternal Lord love you as your mother’s heart and her affection are delighted with you and bless you.” This phenomenon may lie behind McDowell’s comment that her maternal expressions of love “may be understood as an analogy of the love of God.”42 After Rebekah disappears from the scene in Jubilees, a vision of God without any maternal concerns or qualities cannot be countenanced. Rebekah’s contribution to Jewish identity corresponds also to her advancement of the theological imagination, of God’s maternal urges and loving care for the Jewish community envisaged in the book of Jubilees.

42

McDowell, Prayers of Jewish Women, 61, with a comparison to Isa 49:14–15.

JUDAH AND TAMAR IN JUBILEES 41 Devorah Dimant In recent years the Book of Jubilees has gained renewed attention.1 No doubt this is due to the impact of James VanderKam’s work—first and foremost his exemplary editing and translation of Jubilees from the Geʿez.2 It is only fitting to devote an article on one small aspect of the rich and complex literary creation that is Jubilees as a tribute to his life-long work on this still enigmatic composition. The book of Jubilees is known in its entirety only in the Ethiopic version as part of the scriptures of the Ethiopic Church, but the discovery of fragments from fifteen Hebrew manuscripts among the scrolls from Qumran confirmed the older scholarly view that Jubilees is a Jewish composition, composed in Hebrew in the Land of Israel during the second century b.c.e.3 The question of how and why Jubilees came into the hands of the Ethiopic Church is still unanswered, but the discoveries at Qumran gave new impetus to the study of Jubilees as part of the rich literary heritage composed in Hebrew during the Second Temple era. The study of Jubilees’ close links to the world-view of the Qumran sectarian literature became central to this new impulse. Jubilees is structured as an address by the angel of presence to Moses on Mount Sinai, in which the angel relates the history of humankind

1 Some impression of the growing literature on Jubilees may be gained from the recent bibliography compiled by I. W. Oliver and V. Bachmann, “The Book of Jubilees: An Annotated Bibliography from the First German Translation of 1850 to the Enoch Seminar of 2007,” Henoch 31 (2009): 123–64. 2 Cf. James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–511; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989). All citations and renderings from Jubilees in the present article are taken from these two volumes, unless otherwise stated. 3 The Qumran fragments are the following: 1Q17, 1Q18, 2Q19, 2Q20, 3Q5, 4Q216–4Q224, 11Q12. As for the date, see James C. VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees (HSM 14; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977), 1–6; 207–38. VanderKam opts for a Maccabean date, between 161 and 152 b.c.e., because he believes that Jubilees contains allusions to the campaigns of Judah Maccabeus. This overly precise date has not gained general consent; as Michael Knibb remarked in a review of VanderKam’s volume (in JSS 25 [1980]: 274), “there is something to be said for the view that Jubilees was composed earlier in the second century b.c.”

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from the Creation to Exodus. This is achieved by following the biblical sequence with various abbreviations, omissions and expansions, a method by now well-known from other contemporary Jewish compositions, both Qumranic and non-Qumranic. As it reworks the biblical sources, Jubilees stresses two main aspects: it establishes a historical chronology of year-weeks and jubilees, and it states that the ancient ancestors of humanity and the patriarchs of Israel knew and practiced the basic Torah commandments prior to Sinai.4 In this way analogies are set between, for example, Adam and Eve’s entry into paradise and the laws pertaining to the impurity of the women after childbirth (3:8–14); between Noah’s covenant and the Shavuot festival (6:1–14); between the rape of Dinah and the prohibition of Israelite women to marry Gentiles (30:1–15). Accordingly, the scholarly investigation of Jubilees has centered on two related issues: the halakhic approach evinced by the book and the specific methods it adopts for reworking its biblical sources.5 Scholarship usually understands Jubilees to be the work of a single author.6 Only sporadically have scholars noted the inconsistencies and even contradictions in the narrative and concluded that they are evidence of multiple underlying traditions or sources.7 In one of the most compre4

For a detailed description of Jubilees’ major concerns see James C. VanderKam, “The Origins and Purpose of the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. M. Albani, J. Frey and A. Lange; TSAJ 65; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 3–24; Michael Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 5–11. 5 On the halakhic approach, see the classical analysis of Ch. Albeck, “Das Buch der Jubiläen und die Halacha,” Bericht der Hochschule für die Wissenschat des Judetums 27 (1930): 3–60. See also the updated assessment of Albeck’s article by Michael Segal, “ ‘My Monograph on the Book of Jubilees’: A Jubilee-and-a-Half after the Publication of Prof. Chanoch Albeck’s Study,” Jewish Studies 45 (2008): 49–65 [Hebrew]. On the connection of Jubilees’ halakha to the Qumranic halakha, see, e.g., Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Book of Jubilees and the Temple Scroll,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 99–115; and Aharon Shemesh, “4Q265 and the Authoritative Status of Jubilees at Qumran,” Enoch and the Mosaic Torah, 247–60. On the reworking of biblical sources, see, e.g., John C. Endres, Biblical Interpretation in the Book of Jubilees (CBQMS 18; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1987); and James C. VanderKam, “Biblical Interpretation in 1 Enoch and Jubilees,” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 14; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1993), 96–125. 6 Cf. the surveys of research by VanderKam, “The Origins and Purpose,” 4–16; Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 11–21. 7 See the list of traditions incorporated into Jubilees, as proposed by Gene L. Davenport, The Eschatology of the Book of Jubilees (StPB; Leiden: Brill, 1971), 10–11. Davenport suggests a three-stage redaction of the book.

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hensive investigations of Jubilees, Michael Segal has recently proposed a systematic examination of Jubilees’ structure and literary texture.8 He is the first to address comprehensively and in detail how and why the author of Jubilees used secondary sources. Segal begins with the observation that numerous sections of Jubilees display discrepancies or contradictions between the narrative episodes and their chronological framework and halakhic interpretations.9 He concludes that the accumulation of such instances betrays the work of an editor reworking disparate sources.10 Yet he goes further still to assert that the author/redactor of Jubilees reworked written sources at his disposal.11 This redactor, posits Segal, is responsible for the major particularities of Jubilees, namely the overall unified chronological framework, the particular halakhic approach, and the dualistic ideology. The contribution of Segal’s innovative conclusions is that they are based on a systematic analysis of a wide selection of passages from Jubilees. The most convincing part of Segal’s analysis pertains to chronology, for the discrepancies he detects are unequivocal. For instance, according to Jub. 3:17 Adam’s entry into paradise occurs in the 17th of the second month of the eighth year of the world. But the calculation obtained from the attached legal section dates the same event to the 14th of that month (3:8–14).12 In another example Jubilees states that six jubilees equal three hundred years of the life of Enoch, taking a jubilee to consist of fifty years, not forty-nine years (the span maintained elsewhere throughout the book).13 A third example is connected to the births of Jacob’s sons. Jubilees 28 follows the sequence of Genesis 31, but this order yields dates which do not fit into the overall chronology of Jubilees.14 The issues regarding the relationship between narratives and halakhic passages are more complex and not always so clear-cut, however, because the alleged discrepancies between these two types of material

8

Segal, The Book of Jubilees. See the list of such discrepancies in Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 21–29. 10 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 29–35; 317–319. 11 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 14 n. 36. 12 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 54–55. 13 I have pointed out this discrepancy in my essay, Devorah Dimant, “The Biography of Enoch and the Books of Enoch,” VT 33 (1983): 14–29, here 21 n. 17. See further Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 16–17, 84–85. 14 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 85–93. 9

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are open to different interpretations. It is here that some of Segal’s expositions are cogent. For instance, it has been long recognized that in describing the life of Enoch, Jubilees makes use of the traditions of the Book of Watchers (=1 Enoch 1–36).15 But not all the cases adduced by Segal are as convincing, as some of them hinge on his general thesis rather than on the specific details. I wish to illustrate this point by analyzing one episode, the story of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) as reworked by Jubilees 41. The results are markedly different from those of Segal. In this way I hope to contribute to the ongoing discussion on the nature and character of Jubilees. The biblical story of Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38 relates how Er and Onan, the two husbands of Tamar (the wife Judah chose for the sons he fathered by his Canaanite consort [Gen 38:2; 1 Chr 2:3]), died childless. Since Tamar was not given to the third son, Shelah, as Judah promised her and as he should have done according to the Levirate law (Deut 25:5–6), Tamar dressed up as a prostitute, met Judah, and became pregnant by him. When her pregnancy became known, Judah ordered her to be burned for fornication. But Tamar sent him the signet, cord, and staff he had left with her as a pledge. Judah then knew that he was the father of her unborn child and that he had wronged his daughter-in-law. Judah was never intimate with her again. Jubilees’ version of the Judah and Tamar story alters some of the biblical details and supplies additional ones. Segal finds in it a typical example of the discord recurrent in Jubilees between narrative depictions and their corresponding halakhic passages. In the present case Segal assigns verses 1–21, 27–28 of chapter 41 to the narrative part, which recounts the events related to the story. The corresponding halakhic section (verses 23–26 according to Segal’s interpretation) prescribes death by burning for any man who engages in incestuous intercourse with his mother-in-law or his daughter-in-law.

15 Cf. Segal’s discussion in The Book of Jubilees, 103–43. Segal rightly emphasizes (143) that the episode of the Watchers in Jubilees (and I may add also in 1 Enoch) does not aim to explain the existence of evil, as is often asserted, but to treat the problem of sin and punishment. I stressed this point long ago (see Devorah Dimant, “The ‘Fallen Angels’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphic Books Related to Them” [Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1974], 60–62 [Hebrew]).

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According to Segal, Jubilees’ additions to the narrative section are intended to mitigate Judah’s guilt in several ways.16 (1) Judah erred in marrying the Canaanite Bat-Shua. It was she who brought death upon Er and Onan—Er hated Tamar because he wanted to take a Canaanite wife from his mother’s family (41:2). Onan’s death must have occurred for similar reasons, as can be discerned from its proximity to Er’s disappearance.17 Segal estimates that Judah intended to fulfill his promise to Tamar and give her Shelah, but Bat-Shua prevented it (41:6). So according to Segal, the narrative attributes to Judah only the fault of marrying a Canaanite. (2) Some details alleviate, pace Segal, the apparent contradiction between Judah’s actions and Leviticus’ prohibition of sexual intercourse with one’s daughter-in-law (Lev 18:15). According to Jubilees, Tamar was a virgin when she was intimate with Judah, as Judah learns from the angels that appear in his dream (41:27). In Segal’s interpretation this additional detail implies that the marriages with Er and Onan were not consummated and therefore the Levitical interdiction of illicit intercourse with a daughter-in-law (Lev 18:29; 20:12) which includes the penalty of being cut-off (karet) does not apply to Judah. Only the Levirate law is applicable, for Tamar remains the widow of the two brothers. (3) Another addition supplied by Jubilees (41:28) states that in condemning Tamar to be burned, Judah was following the commandments of Abraham to his sons to burn any Israelite guilty of harlotry (20:4). Segal identifies here a further element mitigating Judah’s guilt since by judging Tamar he fulfilled his ancestor’s command based on Lev 21:9. Segal thinks the expression ‫“( צדקה ממני‬she is more just than I”), pronounced by Judah after he learned that he fathered Tamar’s child (Genesis 38; Jub. 41:19), legally annuls her alleged sin of fornication. So in Segal’s reasoning, the narrative abrogates Judah’s incestuous connection by noting Tamar’s virginity and by the remark that Judah followed his ancestor Abraham’s instructions in meting out this punishment to Tamar. Segal concludes,

16 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 60. James Kugel accepts the results of Segal’s analysis, including the dissection of the Judah and Tamar episode into two sources. In Kugel’s opinion an interpolator imposed his own different views on an already existing book of Jubilees, thereby creating the contradictions pointed out by Segal; see James L. Kugel, “On the Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees,” RevQ 24 (2009): 215–72, esp. 217, 245. The following analysis suggests that it is not easy in all cases to detect two distinct sources and therefore the hypothesis of an editor or interpolator is not always applicable. 17 See the note below concerning T. Jud. 10:2, 5.

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“In sum, Jubilees 41:1–21, 27–28 presents a story in which Judah erred in the choice of a Canaanite wife, but from that point on, he neither made any mistake nor did he sin.”18 In contrast, Segal argues that in the halakhic section attached to Jub. 41:23–26, “one finds a completely different evaluation of Judah’s actions.”19 The disagreements Segal identifies are the following: (1) While the narrative mitigates Judah’s guilt in various ways, the halakhic section asserts that the offense is still in force, for it was pardoned only because of Judah’s penitence; (2) The narrative connects the punishment intended by Judah for Tamar with the interdiction against an Israelite marrying a Gentile, specified in Jub. 20:4 (41:28), whereas the legal section sees in Judah’s deed a transgression against the interdiction of sexual intercourse with one’s daughter-in-law;20 (3) The two sections of Jubilees interpret differently Judah’s recognition of Tamar (Gen 38:26). In the narrative Judah recognizes that Tamar was in the right because of the Levirate law (Jub. 41:18), whereas in the legal paragraph Judah recognizes his own sinful act. From these alleged differences Segal draws the conclusion that two traditions are combined in Jubilees 41, and that the combination should be understood “as part of the process of literary development of Jubilees.”21 A close analysis of the various details shows, however, that they may be interpreted differently. Let us take another look at Jubilees’ version of the story. The true nature of Judah’s actions is better understood against the background of his sons’ behavior. The Genesis account gives no reason for Er’s death—just stating, “But Er, Judah’s eldest son, was evil in the eyes of God and he took his life” (38:7). Jubilees reproduces the phrase with a slight alteration: “And this Er, Judah’s eldest son, was wicked, and the Lord took his life” (41:3).22 Er’s wickedness is described explic18

Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 65. Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 65. 20 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 67, points out that the legal section mentions punishment by fire for intercourse with one’s daughter-in-law (Jub. 41:28), although this form of punishment is not specified by the corresponding Torah law (Lev 20:12). In Segal’s explanation, Jubilees does so by drawing an analogy between this offense and the case of a man’s intercourse with his wife and her mother, namely his mother-inlaw, which is punishable by burning (Lev 20:14). 21 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 72. The alleged discrepancies are discussed at 63–71. 22 The translation is that of R. H. Charles, revised by C. Rabin, “Jubilees,” in The Apocryphal Old Testament (ed. H. E. D. Sparks; Oxford: Clarendon, 1984), 119. By selecting the word “wicked” instead of “evil” (adopted by VanderKam, Jubilees: Translation, 267) the Charles-Rabin translation emphasizes Er’s guilt. The Ethiopic 19

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itly by Jubilees. He wished to take a wife from his Canaanite mother’s family, but his father made him marry the Aramean Tamar. So Er hated Tamar and did not lie with her (41:2). In acting this way, Er not only disobeyed his father, he also infringed the ancestral directive to exercise brotherly love, a command Jubilees attributes to Abraham (20:2) and Jacob (36:4, 8).23 These non-biblical details supplied by Jubilees condemn Er’s sinful behavior and present his death as a punishment meted out for it.24 Judah’s second son Onan also sinned: “He entered the house of his brother’s wife and poured out his semen on the ground” (Jub. 41:5). He was, then, doubly guilty. He too disobeyed his father’s directive and did not fulfill the Levirate duty with Tamar. Therefore he was punished by a premature, childless, death.25 By explaining the disappearance of Judah’s sons in this way, Jubilees also vindicates Tamar, for Er and Onan’s refusal to consummate their marriages permitted her to keep her virginity, as stated by the second part of the story (41:27). The fact that Er and Onan died because of their own sins clears Judah of any connection with their disappearance. Yet a third element of Judah’s behavior is depicted favorably in Jubilees. Judah promises that he will give his third son Shelah to Judah, but since he is still a boy when Onan dies, Tamar is instructed to wait in her father’s house until he grows up. But when Shelah is old enough, he is not permitted to marry Tamar. Jubilees attributes this, however, to the influence of Bat-Shua, Judah’s wife (Jub. 41:7), so Judah is not guilty of breaking his promise.26

has here the adjective ʾəkkuy which may be translated as both “wicked” and “evil.” See W. Leslau, Concise Dictionary of Geʿez (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1989), 144. 23 The formulation “and he hated her” is reminiscent of Deut 22:13. 24 Testament of Judah 10:2, 5 states that Er was “bad” (πονηρόν) and that Onan acted “in wickedness” (ἐν πονηρίᾳ), and both obeyed their mother Bat-Shua’s instructions. Cf. Esther M. Menn, Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) in Ancient Jewish Exegesis (JSJSup 51; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 149. 25 Also Gen. Rab. 85:4 states that the two brothers were guilty of the same ill treatment of Tamar. 26 Betsy Halpern-Amaru detects additional negative features of Judah in the biblical story: he marries a Canaanite, he visits a prostitute and leaves with her his own symbols, and he has dealings with an Adullamite. In her opinion all these faults are softened by Jubilees: Judah arranges an Aramean wife for his son, he leaves his personal items with the prostitute but not the symbols of his royal line, and the Adullamite friend in Genesis becomes an Adullamite employee in Jubilees. See Betsy HalpernAmaru, The Empowerment of Women in the Book of Jubilees (JSJSup 60; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 116.

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Since Judah has acted in good faith, in contrast to the improper behavior of his wife and two sons, the intercourse he had unknowingly with Tamar may be viewed as the correct fulfillment of the Levirate law, with Judah replacing his third son Shelah.27 Four additional details support this line of interpretation: (1) Judah was a widower at the time he met Tamar (41:7–8);28 (2) he did not give Tamar to his son Shelah after Tamar became pregnant by him and he learned her true identity;29 (3) Judah never lay with Tamar again. These details show that without Judah being aware of it, at the time he met Tamar she was, in fact, acting as his legitimate wife according to the Levirate law. In addition, (4) Judah’s offspring by Tamar is to endure and not be annihilated by the punishment of karet. This way of presenting the events suggests that Tamar’s virginity is introduced not to mitigate Judah’s crime, as Segal maintains, but to legitimate Tamar’s sons as Judah’s offspring, worthy of continuing his line.30 The angels’ concluding words state precisely this: “We told Judah that his two sons had not lain with her [Tamar]. For this reason his descendents were established for another generation and would not be uprooted.”31 It is noteworthy that Tamar’s merit and her children’s legitimacy are revealed to Judah by the angels of presence in a dream, and not by a third-person narrative detail. This implies divine endorsement and intervention in the event.32 27 Menn (Judah and Tamar, 19) considers this to be the meaning of the original account in Genesis 38. 28 Given its investment in chronological calculations, Jubilees also supplies dates for these events. Judah’s wife died in the year 2168, and Judah met Tamar a year later. Three years earlier Onan had married Tamar (41:1). This suggests that Shelah must have been a child of ten or eleven. Since he “grew up” before his mother died (41:7) he must have been thirteen or fourteen years old at that time—old enough to get married. 29 Verse 4:21 reads: “For this reason she was not given to Selom.” Gary A. Anderson, “The Status of the Torah before Sinai,” DSD 1(1994): 1–29; here 27–28, sees difficulty in the formulation “for this reason,” because it may be taken to imply that giving Shelah to Tamar was the right thing to do. However, according to the interpretation proposed above, the causal nexus is linked to the fact that Judah’s intercourse with Tamar consummated the intended union, and therefore Shelah could not be Tamar’s husband. 30 According to Halpern-Amaru (Empowerment, 116), Jubilees wishes to emphasize that the purity of Judah’s family remains intact. In her opinion, Tamar too was cognizant of her virginity and was careful to maintain it (114–15). 31 Segal (The Book of Jubilees, 62) has difficulty fitting this verse into his analysis of chapter 41 as reworking of two different traditions. But the alternative interpretation that I suggest above avoids this difficulty. 32 Similarly Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 28. Some of Jubilees’ strategies for mitigating Judah’s crime are echoed in later targums and rabbinic midrashim. See

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The foregoing interpretation is further supported by the ethnic attribution of the female characters. Tamar’s merit is shown not only by her rightful expectation for a Levirate, but also by her ethnic origin.33 Judah’s wife, Bat-Shua, is Canaanite,34 whereas Tamar is Aramean (Jub. 41:1–2).35 Such pedigrees make the women representative of the two peoples. Jubilees’ animosity to the Canaanites is expressed throughout the composition. Starting with the curse of Canaan by his grandfather Noah (7:13), it continues with Canaan’s unlawful settlement of in the Land of Israel (10:29–34) and reaches its climax in the forecast of the annihilation awaiting the Canaanites (20:4; 22:20). For all these reasons a strong prohibition against marrying Canaanites is enjoined in Abraham’s blessing to Jacob (22:21–22). Indeed, Jacob’s mother, Rebecca, follows precisely this directive by sending her son to find a bride from her Aramean family (25:1–3; 27:8–12). In contrast to the Canaanites, the Arameans are presented by Jubilees as kinsfolk of the patriarchs. Aram is one of Shem’s sons, just like the forefathers of Abraham (7:18). Abraham himself was born into an Aramean family (11:15; 12:22). His descendents keep their ties with their Aramean kin, as does Rebecca when she married Isaac and when she sends her son Jacob to her brother Laban. Also Levi, who will sire the priestly line, marries a wife from the family of Terah, Abraham’s father (34:20). In the Judah and Tamar episode, ethnic identities play a particular role. Interestingly, Judah himself is not harmed by taking a Canaanite wife, as one would expect from the conclusion of Jubilees’ version of the rape of Dinah, which prohibits in strong words marriage between

the collection of sources compiled by Avigdor Shinan and Yair Zakovitch, The Story of Judah and Tamar (Research Projects of the Institute of Jewish Studies Monograph Series 15; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 1992; Hebrew). Many motifs are shared by Jubilees and the Testament of Judah. See the lists compiled by Shinan and Zakovitch, The Story of Judah and Tamar, 234–35; and Menn, Judah and Tamar, 164. 33 Halpern-Amaru (Empowerment, 115) notes that in Jub. 41:10, Tamar asks for payment for her services only after the intercourse, whereas in the biblical story she did so before the act (Gen 38:16). Halpern-Amaru interprets this change to mean that initially Tamar did not act as a prostitute. 34 Judah’s marriage to her is mentioned in 34:20, so the story in chapter 41 takes this situation as given and omits Gen 38:1–2, which tells how the marriage was arranged. 35 Testament of Judah 10:1 states that Tamar is a descendent of Aram. In the rabbinic midrash, Tamar is made an actual relative of Judah since she comes from the family of Shem (cf. Gen. Rab. 85). Cf. Menn, Judah and Tamar, 146–47; also Y. Amit, “Hidden Polemics in the Story of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38:1–30),” Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 20 (2010): 9–24, here 17 [Hebrew]. In Amit’s opinion, Tamar was probably a Canaanite in the original biblical story.

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Israelites and Gentiles (30:14–15).36 But the disappearance of the childless sons from his Canaanite wife may be viewed as punishment for infringing this interdiction. This in fact accords with the punishment mandated by Jubilees (30:14–15): “Israel will not become clean from this impurity while it has one of the foreign women or if anyone has given one of his daughters to any foreign man. For it is blow upon blow and curse upon curse. Every punishment, blow, and curse will come.”37 Some scholars suggest that by specifying that Tamar was Aramean (a non-biblical detail), Jubilees aims to show that Judah wished to amend his error of taking the Canaanite Bat-Shua.38 But the narrative builds much more on the negative role of Judah’s consort. Besides being a Canaanite, Bat-Shua turns Er against Tamar, apparently fostering his wish to marry someone from her family.39 Bat-Shua is also said to prevent her third son Shelah from marrying Tamar (41:7). Although BatShua’s sons Er and Onan died because of their own sins, their death represents the annihilation of the Canaanite offspring fathered by the patriarch. Only after Bat-Shua’s death (41:7) did it become possible for Judah to sire descendents by the Aramean Tamar (41:8), and it is they who were to carry on his name and line.40 Seen from this perspective, Tamar’s virginity and the Levirate law are two features that make her intercourse with Judah legitimate and even beneficial. The various expansions of the narrative are intended to portray Tamar in positive light rather than to mitigate Judah’s deed. Accordingly, the narrative section aims to acquit Tamar of all guilt by asserting that she was both chaste and within her rights, and bore to Judah legitimate offspring.41 The second part of the episode (41:23–26) is indeed different from the narrative of the first part—not because it stems from a different

36

The rabbis disposed of the problem by interpreting “Canaanite” (Gen 38:2) as meaning “from the family of a merchant” (see b. Pesaḥim 3a and some of the Aramaic targums [some MSS of Onqelos; Pseudo-Jonathan]), as pointed out by Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 27. 37 Thus also Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 25–26. 38 Cf. Shinan and Zakovitch, The Story of Judah, 18; Halpern-Amaru, Empowerment, 113–14. 39 According to the T. Jud. 10:5 Onan likewise obeyed his mother’s wish. 40 Similarly Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 28–29. Anderson associates Tamar’s worthiness also with her role as mother of the future royal Davidic genealogy. 41 Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 69–70.

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source, as Segal argues, but because it deals with a different problem, namely Judah’s crime. For if the virginity of Tamar is not meant to allay Judah’s offense, the sin remains in effect. This much is indeed learned from Judah’s penitence (41:21) and the pardon (41:25). The legal section’s object is to explain why and how Judah’s offense was atoned, and the punishment by fire should be understood in this light. Such a punishment is imposed twice, once in the section dealing with Tamar (41:17) and again in the section dealing with incest (41:26). The two need not be seen as alternative explanations of the same event, as Segal avers.42 They may be viewed as two explanations of two distinct circumstances. Burning by fire for fornication, an expansion of the Torah law for the fornicating daughter of a priest (Lev 21:9), is applied to the case of Tamar. The punishment by fire for sexual intercourse with one’s own mother-in-law, expanded to apply to one’s daughterin-law, is applicable to Judah. The entire episode may therefore be read as an integral, consistent story. That this is the case is shown by other details of the story not taken into account in Segal’s analysis. Especially important in this context is the depiction of Judah’s sin. It contains more than meets the eye. Judah’s acquittal of the crime of incest depends on his ignorance of Tamar’s true identity at the time of their association. Segal compares Judah’s ignorance to Bilhah’s ignorance in the story of her intercourse with Reuben (33:1–9). He rightly emphasizes the different types of ignorance involved. Bilhah and Reuben were ignorant of the law of incest prohibiting sexual intercourse with one’s father’s wife (33:16), which was promulgated only much later, with the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai.43 But the case of Judah is different—having discovered the woman’s identity, Judah immediately recognizes the sinful nature of his deed (41:23). Pointing out the different types of ignorance in the two stories does not, however, clarify the dual role played by Judah’s ignorance. With respect to Tamar, it led him to impose on her the penalty for fornication (burning), a judgment that Jubilees attributes to the authority of Abraham (Jub. 20:4). But this ignorance renders the punishment erroneous. Once the error is discovered and Tamar’s just cause is recognized, her alleged guilt is removed. So Judah’s ignorance of Tamar’s

42 43

Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 67. On this point see Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 21.

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identity also helps to clear Tamar of sin. This is expressed by Judah’s words, “Tamar has been more just than I.” Jubilees emphasizes this recognition by adding Judah’s instruction not to burn Tamar (41:19). So the burning intended for Tamar is related to the false accusation against Tamar, and is neither connected to, nor contrasted with the penalty of burning for intercourse with one’s mother-in-law or daughter-in-law which is mentioned in the legal section in Jub. 41:26.44 With respect to his own ignorance of Tamar’s identity, Judah’s offense is not nullified but rendered unintentional, which is less serious than an intentional offense.45 This inadvertent transgression is further eased by the fact that the moment Judah’s ignorance is cast off he becomes aware of his crime: “Judah knew that what he had done was evil because he had lain with his daughter-in-law” (41:23). How he knew about a law which became public only with the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai is not explained, but this knowledge prompts his penitence and allows a pardon for his offense (41:23–24). Judah’s penitence portrays him as law-abiding, a characteristic also stressed by the angels in another respect. In his dream the angels praise Judah for following Abraham’s directive in imposing punishment on Tamar. Judah is then pictured as law-abiding on two accounts: when he judged Tamar and when he repented of his own sin. This picture of Judah throws additional light on the message that Judah receives from angels in a dream. He is pardoned because he realized the true nature of his deed and repented (41:25), but he is also promised that his offspring by Tamar will not be destroyed (41:27). The survival of the descendents indicates that the punishment of karet, prescribed by the Torah for the incestuous offense, is not to take effect. It thereby expresses Judah’s absolution of the crime of incest, and affirms that Tamar’s offspring will become Judah’s posterity. The foregoing analysis proposes that Jubilees’ narrative of Judah and Tamar is a single, linear story, with no discrepancies between the narrative and legal sections. In fact, the two parts are complementary

44

Contrary to Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 71. The Testament of Judah (13:6; 14:4) explains Judah’s marriage differently—Judah was drunk when he agreed to take the Canaanite as his wife. For the distinction between intentional and unintentional offenses see Deut 4:22; 19:4–5; Josh 20:23. See also Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” who devotes a lengthy discussion to the problem of advertent and inadvertent offenses committed before the promulgation of the Torah laws at Sinai; this discussion however, does not address the point being made in the Judah story. 45

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sections of a single whole. This conclusion is supported by several literary considerations not taken into account by Segal. The subunits 41:24 and 41:27–28, which Segal assigns to two separate sources, are in fact related in both form and content. With respect to form, both belong to a single angelic discourse. Verse 24 introduces the angels, who appear to Judah in a dream and tell him that his sin is forgiven because of his repentance and remorse.46 The law against incest, cited in the subsequent verses (41:25–26), forms part of the same angelic discourse. This angelic speech continues in the concluding verses 27–28, which Segal assigns to the alleged different narrative part. So the formal unity of 41:23–28 is indicated by the overall sequence and discourse. The thematic development likewise points to a single continuity. At the beginning of their speech the angels announce the atonement of Judah’s sin (41:25). In the second part they communicate that Judah’s offspring will survive (41:27), another indication of the atonement. Finally they add yet another mitigating element of Judah’s actions, namely that initially he acted in accordance with the law prescribed by Abraham (41:28). Thus verses 24–28 form a single literary unit which is put in the mouth of the angels of presence, a typical literary technique in Jubilees.47 In addition, Segal’s assertion that the legal formulation differs generically from the narrative should be qualified.48 The seemingly different literary forms of narrative and legal material are included in a single overall narrative. The mixture of different genres in one narrative framework is a device often employed by Jubilees, and is widely used by many contemporary apocryphal and apocalyptic compositions. More light on the literary technique used by the story of Judah and Tamar is shed by a comparison to Jubilees’ treatment of the story of Bilhah and Reuben (Jubilees 33). According to Gen 35:22 Reuben, Jacob’s first-born son, took advantage of his father’s absence and lay with his father’s concubine Bilhah. Apart from this story, this event is referred to negatively only in Gen 49:4, when Jacob gives his final blessings to his sons. In Jubilees the entire episode is expanded by many additions. Here again Segal detects a difference between the narrative section, which he identifies as 33:1–9a, and the legal section appended to it

46 47 48

The same motif is alluded to by T. Jud. 19:2. Cf., e.g., 6:5–15, 19–22. Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 71–72.

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(33:9a–20).49 The story acquits Bilhah of committing incest with her husband’s son (cf. Lev 18:8; 20:11; Deut 23:1; 27:20) because she was asleep when Reuben performed the deed, thus she was unaware of it. When she awoke and realized what had happened, she ran away distraught. Later she told Jacob what happened (33:3–6). However, Segal says, “Bilhah’s non-participation is meaningless for the legal passage” because it applies different legal categories to the deed.50 Reuben and Bilhah were ignorant of the Torah interdiction of incest for in their day it had not yet been revealed (33:15–16). Again, when one examines the two sections more closely, they do not necessarily differ or contradict. In fact, they may be combined into one coherent story. According to the Leviticus law, the man lying with his father’s wife and she herself are both guilty. The Jubilees narrative mitigates Bilhah’s guilt by stating her passivity, ignorance, and deep sorrow once she learned the truth.51 Segal attributes both elements to the narrative part of this episode. The same motifs appear in the story of Tamar and Judah.52 Judah’s ignorance of the true nature of the act, and his genuine regret, are both specified. Segal’s analysis of the Judah and Tamar story assigns the motif of Judah’s ignorance to the narrative story, whereas his sorrow and repentance are assigned to the legal section. But in the Reuben and Bilhah episode, her ignorance and sorrow are both part of the same narrative section according to Segal. Yet if, as Segal claims, a distinct and consistent source underlies all the

49

Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 73–82. Segal, The Book of Jubilees, 82. 51 Jubilees relates how Reuben’s passion for Bilhah was enflamed by seeing her bathing in a secret place (33:2), a motif taken from the story of Bathsheba and David (2 Sam 11:2; cf. also Susanna). Jubilees, however, stresses Bilhah’s modesty by specifying that she bathed in concealed place, a motif also taken up by T. Reu. 3:11; see the comments of James L. Kugel, “Reuben’s Sin with Bilhah in the Testament of Reuben,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed. D. P. Wright, D. N. Freedman and A. Hurvitz; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 533–34. 52 The similar motifs in the two stories are the following: Judah’s ignorance of Tamar’s identity (41:11) is analogous to Bilhah’s unawareness of the rape (33:3–4); and Judah’s regret upon discovering the nature of his deed (41:23) is similar to Bilhah’s reaction when she learns what Reuben has done (33:7); Judah never again lay with Tamar after the initial intercourse (41:20), just as Jacob did not with Bilhah (33:9). A more general similarity involves the offense of Judah and Bilhah—despite their ignorance, their sin remains in effect. Judah has to repent in order to be pardoned (41:24), whereas Bilhah must avoid any future contact with her husband because of the impurity she incurred by the forbidden intercourse (33:9). Cf. Anderson, “The Status of the Torah,” 22. 50

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legal passages, how is it that in one context it combines the two motifs but in another it does not? An alternative explanation can propose a more fitting explanation of the data. Jubilees’ reworking of the Reuben and Bilhah episode is a single story wherein Bilhah is cleared of guilt in the narrative strand because her unawareness of the deed, and both she and Reuben are cleared of the sin in the legal strand due to their ignorance of the law. This dual, rather than contradictory, legal perspective casts an interesting light on the Judah and Tamar story. The Judah case also displays a dual legal angle. Like Bilhah, Judah was ignorant of the offense, but he acted according to Abraham’s law when he believed Tamar was adulterous (41:28). Also like Bilhah, he deeply regrets his action, and like Jacob, Judah avoids lying with the woman involved in the misdeed (33:9; 41:19).53 In conclusion, the foregoing analysis attempted to show that a close reading of Jubilees’ reworking of the Judah and Tamar episode demonstrates that it is a single consistent story that reflects the particular agenda of its author. Segal’s attempt to split the episode into two distinct sources is therefore not convincing. Not all of Segal’s conclusions should be discarded. Many of his observations are valid. However, the complexity of Jubilees, and its subtle and sophisticated reworking of the biblical narratives, warn us against schematic solutions for the intricacies of this composition. Undoubtedly, the author of Jubilees drew on diverse traditions, but in molding his own version of the biblical episodes he often created consistent new stories and wove them into his own complex fabric.

53 A detailed comparison between the reworking of the two episodes in Jubilees is beyond the scope of the present article, as are their ties to Testament of Judah and Testament of Reuben. See Segal’s comments in The Book of Jubilees, 73–82; and James L. Kugel, “Judah and the Trial of Tamar,” in The Ladder of Jacob (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 177–82.

ENOCH AND JUBILEES IN THE CANON OF THE ETHIOPIAN ORTHODOX CHURCH* Leslie Baynes Traditionally the Ethiopian Orthodox Church has numbered eightyone books in its biblical canon. Often, but not always, its canon lists include 1 Enoch (Ge‘ez Henoch) and Jubilees (Ge‘ez Kufale), making it the only community in modern Christendom that holds them in such high regard. Since these two books are part of the living tradition of a contemporary religious group, we have a unique opportunity to investigate how they function in it by speaking with the very people who use them. This study investigates the Ethiopian concept of canon and the place and function of 1 Enoch and Jubilees in it as assessed by scholarly and ecclesiastical works. We also consider the perspectives of clergy and laity in Ethiopia and the United States in order to illustrate, underscore, and contrast the evaluation of these writings with those of the standard textual sources.1 This study demonstrates that the Ethiopian concept of canon differs from western and even other eastern Christian traditions, and that the primary readers of 1 Enoch and Jubilees traditionally have been the scholarly elite, as is true of their readers today. In terms of interpretation, the primary (though not the only) significance of the two books in Ethiopian thought has been christological. It may be helpful to begin with a very brief overview of Enochic literature and Jubilees and their reception in the early church, both Western and Eastern. Enochic booklets and Jubilees are ancient Jewish works. The earliest sections of what became 1 Enoch date to the fourth century b.c.e.2 Jubilees can be dated more precisely, probably to about * Jim VanderKam’s contributions to the study of 1 Enoch and Jubilees need no elaboration here. Those of us who follow him are mere Epigoni. It is to Jim that many of us, his students, owe our continued interest in these two books, and it is through his generous and patient instruction that we are able to study them in Ge‘ez. On this happy occasion, Jim, cheers! 1 I wish to thank the College of Humanities and Public Affairs, Missouri State University, for partial funding to travel to Ethiopia in March 2010. 2 George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 2001), 1. In contrast to western critical scholarship, “traditional Ethiopian scholarly opinion

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160–150 b.c.e.3 The earliest extant fragments of both, in Aramaic and Hebrew, respectively, were discovered in the caves of Qumran in the mid-twentieth century. The yaḥ ad at Qumran may have granted Enochic literature and Jubilees the same status as Genesis, although it is important to note that statements about the “canonicity” of any book are lacking in the Dead Sea Scrolls.4 While Jubilees’ influence in the ancient world was limited, Enochic literature was quite popular at least to the time of Augustine in the Western Church and somewhat later in the Eastern Church.5 The Book of Jude (vv. 14–15), for instance, quotes 1 En. 1:9 verbatim and is familiar with the Watchers story.6 Since Jude would eventually find a place in the New Testament canon, its citation of Enochic literature proves important in later disputes about the status of these writings. The Epistle of Barnabas introduces an allusion to Enoch’s works with the formula “for scripture says (Λέγει γὰρ ἡ γραφή).”7 Justin Martyr uses the Book of the Watchers and to a much lesser extent Jubilees in his Second Apology; Irenaeus does the same in Against Heresies.8 Tertullian and Origen employ Enochic literature extensively, but both admit that not everyone holds it in the same esteem as they do. Tertullian launches a spirited defense of the authority of Enoch’s work to counter its naysayers, relying, among other things, on the fact that Jude used it.9 Origen expresses more ambivalence. As George Nickelsburg writes, “He considers [the works of Enoch] to be the authentic products of the patriarch and cites them as Scripture; however, he also indicates that others in the church do not hold this opinion.” Origen seems content to rest in that ambiguity; he does not defend the writ-

regards Enoch and Job as the first O.T. books to be written, dating En. in 4014 b.c.” Roger W. Cowley, The Traditional Interpretation of the Apocalypse of John in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 33; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 15. 3 James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 21. Traditional Ethiopian scholarship takes the Mosaic context of Jubilees at face value. 4 See VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 7; cf. James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 153–156; James C. VanderKam and Peter Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002), 172–181. 5 VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 13. 6 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 86. 7 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 87. 8 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 88. 9 Tertullian, De cult. fem 1.3.

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ings of Enoch. Augustine, on the other hand, although he uses Enochic literature to prove his points, also argues against it.10 It seems that Augustine has the last word about Enochic literature in the Western Church, from which it essentially disappears. In the Byzantine East, however, the chronographer George Syncellus (ninth century) preserves portions of the Book of the Watchers in Greek. Further, a Greek translation of approximately the first thirty-two chapters of the Book of the Watchers was uncovered in the grave of an Egyptian monk buried in Akhmim in the eighth-ninth centuries.11 After the ninth century, enthusiasm for Enochic literature, not to mention Jubilees, appears for the most part to have faded—except in Ethiopia. 1 Enoch and Jubilees are both preserved in their entirety only in the ancient Ethiopian language of Ge‘ez, and today virtually everyone—scholar, priest, and lay person alike—agrees that the books are in the Ethiopian canon, if there is indeed an identifiable Ethiopian canon. In 1974 Roger Cowley offered a seminal examination of the topic. He begins by noting that in Ethiopia “the concept of canonicity is regarded more loosely than it is among most other churches.”12 Nothing has changed regarding this concept since 1974—ecclesiastical and scholarly texts as well as clergy and lay people today confirm Cowley’s observation. Before looking at other textual evidence on this point, it is instructive to investigate contemporary contexts. The following interviews were not systematic, and neither are they numerous, but I believe they are nonetheless valuable, as they offer the views of established Ethiopian scholars, pastors of large congregations, and laity representative of Ethiopian churches, as well as of Ethiopian Orthodox communities in North America. Daniel Assefa, professor of Scripture and Rector of the Capuchin Franciscan Institute of Philosophy and Theology in Addis Ababa, writes, “One can say that Enoch and Jubilees are in the canon, although we need to be careful in our use of the term canon. The concept of canon is not as rigid as in the West. You have various lists and no one

10

Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 95. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 12–13. Nickelsburg also mentions a twelfth century Syriac fragment of 1 En. 6:1–6. 12 R. W. Cowley, “The Biblical Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Today,” Ostkirchliche Studien 23 (1974): 318–23, esp. 318. 11

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seems to be worried or to be preoccupied to have something definitive or normative.”13 Emmanuel Fritsch, an expert on the Ethiopian liturgy and resident of Ethiopia since 1985, notes, “My understanding is that there is no canon in the generally received sense; rather, there are various codices which include various books, not always the same, and the same names do not always indicate the same contents. It follows that I would not speak of a canon but of lists of books, lists which do not point in themselves of the nature of the reception of the various writings listed.” He also points out that “Enoch and Jubilees are among the books regularly found [there], and, for that matter, in the Amharic Bible printed by the Bible Society in 1980 e.c./1988 a.d.”14 Meri Gheta Deredge, a church leader in Addis Ababa, confirms that 1 Enoch and Jubilees are part of the canon. “Yes, indeed! In Ethiopian tradition, Jubilees is Kufale, which means to separate or divide [from Genesis]. Being ‘taken out’ from Genesis might give the impression that it is not important, but it is in the list of sacred books, as is Enoch. If Enoch were not considered a sacred book, Jude would not be, either.”15 A dozen or more Ethiopian laity in Addis Ababa, Lalibela, Gondar, and Debark whom I interviewed also stressed that 1 Enoch and Jubilees are part of the canon. Interestingly, when pressed for more information about the books, no one, even those who described themselves as devout, could express further knowledge of them other than that fact.16 Two Ethiopian priests in the United States echo the sentiments expressed in Ethiopia. When I described the Ethiopian canon as “fluid” in conversation with Abba Thomas, pastor of Virgin Mary Ethiopian Church in Los Angeles, he agreed that fluid was indeed the word. Canon, he said, “depends upon which author you’re reading.” His church uses the Orthodox canon of Scripture plus 1 Enoch and

13 Email interview with Daniel Assefa, OFM, Cap., 8-28-09. The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Addis Ababa uses the Ethiopian Rite, which is quite similar to the Ethiopian Orthodox liturgy. It should be noted here that members of the Ethiopian Orthodox church often refer to 1 Enoch simply as “Enoch,” while Western scholars have adopted the use of 1 Enoch to differentiate this collection from later Enochic works such as 2 Enoch and 3 Enoch. 14 Email interview with Emmanuel Fritsch, C.S.Sp., 10-14-09. “e.c.” = Ethiopian Calendar. 15 Interview in Addis Ababa with Meri Gheta Deredge, 3-14-10. 16 Interviews conducted March 2010.

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Jubilees, which he considers to be canonical.17 Tesis Isaac Tedla, pastor of Menbere Tsebaot in Alexandria, VA, agrees that 1 Enoch and Jubilees are in the canon. “We call them the Bible,” he said. “They are part of the Bible.”18 While all the interviewees, a small sample to be sure, concur in placing 1 Enoch and Jubilees in the Ethiopian canon, however one might define it, other sources do not. For instance, A Short History, Faith and Order of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, produced by the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Holy Synod in Addis Ababa in 1983, does not include 1 Enoch and Jubilees in its list of the “Holy Books of the Old Testament” at all.19 On the other hand, a book published by the Ethiopian Orthodox Mission, also based in Addis Ababa, places Jubilees after Job and 1 Enoch after Maccabees (a different set of books in Ethiopia than one finds in other collections of authoritative texts; see also below).20 Popular tradition, as expressed on a website that claims to draw its information from both of the previously mentioned books, suggests that 1 Enoch and Jubilees appear together after 2 Chronicles and before Ezra and Nehemiah.21 Why such diverse views on 1 Enoch and Jubilees? To begin to answer this question, we must turn to the standard scholarly sources on Ethiopia’s canon. The oldest and most important written sources for the Ethiopian canon are Sinodos, “a collection of material attributed to the apostles and early church councils,” and Fetha Nagast, which uses Sinodos as a source.22 The latter source, Fetha Nagast or the “law of the kings,” was written in Arabic by a Coptic Egyptian in the thirteenth century. Tradition has it that the book came to Ethiopia in the fifteenth century, during the reign of the emperor Zär’a Ya‘әqob. The first mention of Fetha Nagast is in the sixteenth century, while the

17

Telephone interview with Abba Thomas (who refused to give his last name), 2-18-09. 18 Telephone interview with Tesis Isaac Tedla, 10-1-09. 19 Ethiopian Orthodox Church Holy Synod, A Short History, Faith, and Order of the Ethiopian Church (Addis Ababa/Arouca, Trinidad: Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahido Church Holy Synod, 1983), 36–37. 20 Aymro Wondmagegnehu and Joachim Motovu, The Ethiopian Orthodox Church (Addis Ababa: Ethiopian Orthodox Mission, 1970), 77–78. After its canon list, the book devotes several paragraphs to highlight the fact that Enoch and Jubilees are part of the canon. 21 http://Ethiopianorthodox.org/English/canonical/books.html, accessed 2-17-09. 22 Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 318.

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earliest manuscript evidence of it comes from the seventeenth century. Ethiopian rulers used it as a law book as recently as the 1960s.23 Fetha Nagast (in Ge‘ez) claims an eighty-one book canon, a number also found in Coptic canon lists and in the Syriac Octateuch.24 Counting the books in the Fetha Nagast list is not an easy task, however. On the one hand, Cowley writes that “the list does not total 81” and that “the total is a matter of dogma rather than of arithmetic” since there are only seventy-one books in the list.25 He states his puzzlement about exactly how one should count the Old Testament books there.26 G. Ammanuel Mikre-Selassie, on the other hand, confidently asserts that the Fetha Nagast canon list numbers seventy-three, with forty-six Old Testament and twenty-seven New Testament books. Both Cowley and Mikre-Selassie agree, however, that the Amharic commentary on the Fetha Nagast attempts to rectify the discrepancy in number by adding books to the New Testament list.27 This creates the “broader canon” of the Ethiopic church, so called because of its expanded New Testament, which numbers thirty-five books.28 The Old Testament canon list in Fetha Nagast itself does not include 1 Enoch or Jubilees. The Amharic commentary on Fetha Nagast acknowledges that fact but at the same time launches into full apologetic mode: If one asks why Kufale (Jubilees) and the Book of Enoch are left out (of the Fetha Nagast list), Kufale means that which is taken out from the Book of Genesis. The Fetha Nagast considered it then to be the same as Genesis. Another says: the Samaritan Pentateuch is good; the Pentateuch of the translators (LXX) is good. The Pentateuch of the Jews is futile. The Samaritan Pentateuch, which is good, has been written by Manasse, the son of Manasse. The Pentateuch of the translators, which is

23 Peter L. Strauss, ed., The Fetha Nagast (Addis Ababa: Faculty of Law Haile Sellassie I University, 1968), xv–xxix. 24 Roger Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church (London: SPCK, 1985), 492. 25 Respectively, Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 319 and also his “Old Testament Introduction in the Andemta Commentary Tradition,” Journal of Ethiopian Studies 12 (1974): 133–75, esp. 139. 26 Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 319. 27 See Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 319 n. 4, and G. Ammanuel Mikre-Selassie, “The Bible and Its Canon in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church,” The Bible Translator 44 (1993): 111–23, esp. 120 n. 50. See also Peter Brandt, “Geflecht aus 81 Büchern zur variantenreichen Gestalt des äthiopischen Bibelkanons,” Aethiopica 3 (2000): 79–115, esp. 89–90, which relies on Mikre-Selassie. 28 Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 319.

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good, is the one translated by the 70 erudite (doctors) during the reign of Ptolemy. The Jewish Pentateuch, (which is) futile, is named Abul Faher, which means glory of our race. The year of Cainan is 800. Yet it (the Jewish Pentateuch) affirmed that the incarnation was not at hand by erasing 400 years.29 Knowing that cancelling 400 years from one person is difficult to hide, it has reduced 1000 years from the patriarchs that followed. Thus, by reducing 1400 years, it affirmed that the incarnation was not at hand. They thus removed it (Jubilees) from the list because of this defect. Yet, in order to show that the Book of Jubilees is an important book, the Apostles said in the Sinodos: “As the Lord said in one book called Kufale.” If one asks, why does the Fetha Nagast leave out the book of Book of Enoch from the list, [the reason is as follows]. Enoch fell near Paradise and stayed for six years, where, reaching perfection, he had revelation on the exit of winds, on the movement of stars and on the atmosphere. Had the apostles included the Book of Enoch in the list of sacred books, philosophers would have said: “The apostles have not criticized our wisdom; it is for this reason that they have included the Book of Enoch in the list.” In order to avoid such a conclusion, the apostles did not include the Book of Enoch in the list. Yet, in order to show that the Book of Enoch is an important book, the Apostle has confessed on its account by saying, “It was with them in mind that Enoch, the seventh patriarch from Adam, made his prophecy . . .” [Jude 14]. Paul also said, “Enoch was taken up” [Hebrews 11:5]. If the Books of Kings are counted as two [instead of four; cf. the Fetha Nagast which says that the Book of Kings are four], then it is possible to include Kufale and the Book of Enoch . . . .30

The introduction to the Ethiopian Andemta commentary on Jubilees helps elucidate Fetha Nagast’s claims about the reduction of years in the “Jewish Pentateuch”: This (Jubilees) was written, and while it was being read and interpreted, it was handed down from the prophets to the apostles. When the apostles gave the 81 books to Clement, they counted this book of Jubilees in their hearts, but with their mouths they omitted to count it. If you ask why, it was so that the Jews should not say, “Your fathers the apostles have indeed counted the times. The time of the promise is not yet. Let Jubilees be witness”; for the Jews had erased the times of the patriarchs.31

29 Cf. Gen 10:22–24, 11:12–13 LXX; Luke 3:36. The Masoretic Text does not mention Cainan in Genesis. 30 Fetha Nagast, Nebabenna Tergwamew, Addis Ababa, photo-offset (1958): 41–44. I am grateful to Daniel Assefa for his translation of this passage from the Amharic. 31 Roger Cowley, “Old Testament Introduction in the Andemta Commentary Tradition,” 138–39.

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Cowley explains, The figures for the life-spans of the patriarchs are higher in the Geez [sic] and LXX texts of Genesis than they are in the Hebrew text of Genesis or in any text of Jubilees. The allegation here is that the Jews had falsified the figures in the Hebrew text. Computations on the basis of Jubilees would not show the elapse of 5500 years from the creation until the birth of Jesus, and so Jubilees could not be publicly admitted into the canon.32

Likewise, the Andemta commentary on 1 Enoch elucidates its counterpart in the Fetha Nagast: When the apostles delivered the books to Clement, they counted the book of Enoch in their hearts, but did not mention it aloud. The reason for this is as follows. In the time of the apostles, some Greeks became Christians. What Enoch spoke by revelation from the Holy Spirit was what the Greeks knew through their philosophy, and because of this the apostles put the book outside their number so that the Greeks should not boast that their wisdom had not been rejected. What demonstrates that the apostles counted it in their hearts is that Jude spoke of it, saying, “As Enoch prophesied, who was seventh from Adam.”33

These conflicting reports about the absence of 1 Enoch and Jubilees in the Fetha Nagast, in contrast to the insistence on its canonicity in the later commentary on the Fetha Nagast, foreshadow the discrepancies we have observed between some Ethiopian documents and the oral testimony of my small sample of contemporary Ethiopian Christians. In addition to the broader canon represented by the Amharic commentary on Fetha Nagast, it is important to note that the Ethiopian Bible is also understood in the form of the so-called narrower canon, which is the list, Cowley observes, “actually printed in the large Geez [sic] and Amharic diglot, and the Amharic Bibles issued by the Emperor’s command.”34 This canon list is “narrower” based on its New Testament, which contains the standard twenty-seven books held in common throughout the Christian world. It is not narrower in its Old Testament, however, which contains fifty-four books, including both 1 Enoch and Jubilees. We have examined some of the intricacies of the Fetha Nagast’s canon list and the commentary on it and have discovered some com32 33 34

Cowley, Old Testament Introduction, 139 n. 32. Cowley, Old Testament Introduction, 160. Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 320; cf. comments of Fritsch above.

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plexity. The situation does not improve when we turn to Sinodos. In fact, it worsens. Getachew Haile writes, “The Sinodos has been the source of many controversies. No one knows yet which are the eightyone books it is speaking about.”35 Cowley notes that “the part of [Sinodos] attributed to the apostles is traditionally divided into 4 sections,” and two of these sections, designated “Gessew” and “Abtelis,” contain canon lists.36 Neither includes 1 Enoch, but both include Jubilees. Abtelis places Jubilees after Ruth and before 1 Samuel (1 Reigns) and counts Jubilees as one book. Gessew places it after Judith and before Ecclesiasticus and counts Jubilees as three books.37 Interestingly, in otherwise corresponding Arabic and Coptic canon lists, there are three books of Maccabees in the same place where the three books of Jubilees appear in Gessew. It is important to note that the books of Maccabees as read elsewhere in Christianity were unknown in Ethiopia in the formative period of the canon. The Ethiopian canon includes books that it titles Maccabees, but the content of these books differs completely from the books that other Christians know.38 At this point we may begin to make a transition from discussing how Jubilees appears in the canon to how it functions in the Church. To do so, we must turn to “perhaps the most creative and authoritative voice in the history of the Ethiopian Church,” Emperor Zär’a Ya‘әqob, who reigned from 1434–1468 c.e., and who presided over some of the most significant theological disputes in Ethiopian ecclesiastical history.39 Two of the emperor’s primary concerns were Christology/Trinitarian theology and promoting the observance of the Sabbath on Saturday as

35 G. Haile, “A Study of the Issues Raised in Two Homilies of Zär’a Ya ‘әqob,” ZDMG 131 (1981): 85–113, esp. 100. 36 Cowley, “The Biblical Canon,” 322. 37 See charts in Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church, 488–89, as well as Peter Brandt, “Geflecht aus 81 Büchern.” It should be noted, however, that not all manuscripts of Abtelis contain Jubilees. See Marius Chain, “Le canon des livres saints dans l’eglise ethiopienne,” RSR 5 (1914): 22–39, esp. 29. 38 Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church, 496. R. H. Charles (“Ethiopic Version,” in The Hastings Dictionary of the Bible [ed. James Hastings; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1898], 1.791–93, here 791) writes, “The Maccabees were either never translated or else were early lost. Since, however, the Eth. scholars found the titles of these books in their Sinodos and Fetha Nagast, they proceeded to supply them from their own imagination.” 39 Donald Crummey, “Church and Nation: the Ethiopian Orthodox Täwahedo Church (from the thirteenth to the twentieth century),” in The Cambridge History of Christianity vol. 5: Eastern Christianity (ed. Michael Angold; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 457–87, esp. 462.

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well as on Sunday.40 He wrote, or had attributed to him, several works on these topics, and he argued primarily from Scripture, earning himself in the process the epithet “treasure house of the scriptures, old [Testament] and new [kabāto maṣāḥ efet zabeluy wazahadis].”41 A pertinent question sometimes arises in his argumentation: what, exactly, constitutes Scripture? In a homily in honor of the Saturday Sabbath directed against a certain Gamaleyal, who was accused of “exalting the Father and the Holy Spirit over the Son,” Zär’a Ya‘әqob relies heavily upon Jubilees.42 In the process, he brings up the place of Jubilees in the eighty-one book canon as well as the relation of Jubilees in single form to the three-part Ethiopian Maccabees. The emperor quotes Jub. 2:18–19, which discusses the seventh day of creation: “And he (God) told us—all the angels of the presence and all the angels of sanctification, those two great kinds—that we might keep the Sabbath with him in heaven and on earth.” The emperor comments, “Now who are the Angel of the Presence and the Angel of Sanctification who kept the Sabbath with God in heaven and on earth? None of the angels rested on the seventh day in heaven and on earth, only the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He who was called the Angel of the Presence is the Son, and the Angel of Sanctification is the Holy Spirit.” In what comes next, we learn that the emperor’s adversary Gamaleyal would not accept this proof text because it came from Jubilees. The homily continues: But Gamaleyal is determined to nullify the Book of Jubilees because it speaks openly about the person of the Trinity. While instructing those who accept his teaching, he said, “The Book of Jubilees is not among the enumerated eighty-one books; but rather [it is] . . . Maccabees [that] is called . . . Jubilees because where the Apostles mention the Book of Jubilees they do not mention the Book of Maccabees, and where they mention [Maccabees] they do not mention [Jubilees].” And in order to further nullify [Maccabees], he also said, “The Book of Maccabees, too, is not among the enumerated eighty-one books; but rather [it is] the Book of Joseph ben Gorion [that] is called the Book of Maccabees.” Behold,

40 See Getatchew Haile, “The Forty-Nine Hour Sabbath of the Ethiopian Church,” JSS 33 (1988): 233–54. 41 Getachew Haile, “The Letter of Archbishops Mika’el and Gäbrә’el Concerning the Observance of Saturday,” JSJ 26 (1981): 73–78, esp. 75, 77. 42 Getachew Haile, “A Study of the Issues Raised in Two Homilies of Zär’a Ya‘әqob,” 91.

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and so Gamaleyal nullified four books of the eighty-one, for the Book of Jubilees is one and the Book of Maccabees is three.43

Getachew Haile hypothesizes that Zär’a Ya‘әqob’s opponent Gamaleyal based his argument upon Fetha Nagast, which contains the only known Ethiopian canon list that both “equates the Book of Joseph ben Gorion with . . . Maccabees” and omits Jubilees from the eighty-one.44 Regarding the “enumerated” eighty-one books, the Ge‘ez for this term is xwlqw, to count, the word commonly used to indicate what we might understand as “canonical.”45 Jubilees “counts,” both literally and metaphorically. The homily makes this clear when it insists that: “As for the Book of Jubilees, the apostles honoured it highly in the Sinodos, singling it out from the others, although all of them are holy . . . they honoured Jubilees because it is a perfect law, and in it the person of the trinity is written (about).”46 This homily is not the only use of Jub. 2:18–19 in the Christological controversies during the reign of Zär’a Ya‘әqob. Another book, Maṣḥafa Berhan, or Book of Light, which some have attributed to the emperor, uses exactly that verse to resolve a different but related question about the Trinity. Maṣḥafa Berhan calls itself a dersān, which is “a form of para-exegetical composition primarily written for spiritual guidance or enlightment [sic], common among the well-known edificatory works of Ge‘ez literature.”47 Book III addresses opponents who insist that “God has no images like other creatures: in other words, ‘images of God must be eliminated from the mind.’ ”48 In the course of its argument against this idea, Maṣḥafa Berhan says: If you want to know the image of the Trinity, go to Genesis in order that you may hear what it says [Gen 18:2]: “three men came into the house of Abraham . . . .” One is the Father, the second is the Son, and the third is the Holy Spirit. Secondly, go to the Book of Jubilees [2:18] . . . The Angel of the Presence [face] which he speaks about is the Son. . . . And concerning the Son, God, the Father says to the Angel of the Presence [Jub. 1:27],

43

Haile, “A Study of the Issues Raised in Two Homilies of Zär’a Ya‘әqob,” 92–93. Haile, “A Study of the Issues Raised in Two Homilies of Zär’a Ya‘әqob,” 93. 45 Getatchew Haile, “The Homily of Aṣe Zär’a Ya‘әqob of Ethiopia in Honour of Saturday,” Orientalia Lovaniensia periodica 13 (1982): 185–231; esp. 193, 217. 46 Haile, “The Homily of Aṣe Zär’a Ya‘әqob,” 218, 219; cf. 226–227. 47 Ephraim Isaac, A New Text-Critical Introduction to Mashafa Berhan (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 26. 48 Isaac, A New Text-Critical Introduction to Mashafa Berhan, 58. 44

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In other words, according to this interpretation, God’s son, Jesus, is the Angel of the Presence who dictates Jubilees to Moses. The author of Maṣḥafa Berhan apparently does not feel the need to defend Jubilees’s canonicity. Neither, in fact, do two other major theological works of the fifteenth century that cite it: Maṣḥafa Milād (“the Book of Nativity”) and Maṣḥafa Mestira Samay wa-Medr (“the Book of Mysteries of Heaven and Earth”; hereafter Maṣḥafa Mestir).50 Maṣḥafa Milād is a collection of homilies attributed to Emperor Zär’a Ya‘әqob, the overarching purpose of which is to defend his understanding of Christ and the Trinity. The work addresses itself to three main hostile interlocutors: the “denier,” the “Jew,” and certain Christians who disagree with its theological argumentation. Maṣḥafa Milād cites Jubilees many times, but almost always either to illustrate Trinitarian theology or to defend the authority of 1 Enoch. We will look at the latter topic below. As to the former, Maṣḥafa Milād insists that Jubilees is an “important basis for the mystery of the Trinity,” especially regarding the figures who visit Abraham in Genesis 18.51 Jubilees 16:1 reports that “we” (= the angels) visited Abraham at the oak of Mamre (cf. Gen 18:1–2), and Maṣḥafa Milād further specifies them as the Angel of the Presence and the Angel of Sanctification, who are the Son and the Holy Spirit. Thus, according to this treatise, “in the law and in the book of Jubilees the personhood ( gәṣsạ̄ we) of the trinity and the unity of the Godhead are completely clarified,” for the Lord will not hide his purposes from Abraham (cf. Gen 18:17 LXX).52 Maṣḥafa Milād, too, defends the keeping of the Saturday Sabbath through a Trinitarian interpretation of Jub. 2:18: “He said to us, we should keep the Sabbath with him in heaven and on earth.” Building

49 Maṣḥafa Berhan III, 35–36, as quoted by Isaac, A New Text-Critical Introduction to Mashafa Berhan, 59–60. 50 Kurt Wendt, ed., Das Maṣḥ afa Milād (Liber Nativitatis) und Maṣḥ afa Śellāsē (Liber Trinitatis) des Kaisers Zar’a Yā‘qob (CSCO 221, 222, 235, 236; SAe 41–44; Leuven: Peeters, 1962–1963); J. Perruchon, ed., Le Livre des mystères du ciel et de la terre (PO 1.1; Paris: Brepols, 1903), continued by S. Grebaut, ed., Les trois derniers traits du livre des mystères du ciel et de la terre (PO 6.3; Paris: Brepols, 1911); English trans. by E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Mysteries of Heaven and Earth (Berwick, Maine: Ibis, 2004). 51 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:71. 52 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:71.

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upon the idea that the angels who visited Abraham were the Son and the Spirit, the emperor continues: The Holy Ghost resembles a creature, although he is creator, and he resembles the Angel of Holiness. The Son resembles the created Angel of the Presence, although he is creator. If they are also creators, they still, however, resemble created beings. But the created angels have no Sabbath in heaven and on earth. They did not rest formerly, and neither will they rest in the future. They stand in the order of all the angels. There is no exception for the Angel of the Presence and the Angel of Holiness; they have no Sabbath. Because of them it is said: “He said this to us, we should keep the Sabbath with him in heaven and on earth—and we rested with him on the seventh day”—this was the Son and the Holy Ghost, who rested together with the Father, since they carried out the entire work of creation with him. But the angels had no rest from service to the Most High because the Most High sends all angels, his servants, wherever he wants. That all the angels of heaven kept the Sabbath, the books of God do not report to us.53

The author of the Book of Mysteries may present some of the ideas that Maṣḥafa Milād opposes.54 He writes, On the first Sabbath, he [God] rested in his trinity, and he commanded that the trinity should rest from work. And that day is the symbol of the rest of the righteous, and thereon the holy angels keep the Sabbath. And the other angels are sent into their service of the Lord God, and they are the angels of the face and the angels of consecration. Among them there is circumcision for the angels of consecration. And similarly there is circumcision for the angels of the face . . . [for Jubilees says] “Thus is the circumcision of the angels of consecration.”55

Maṣḥafa Mestir agrees that the Trinity rests, but it does not identify any angels with the Trinity. Moreover, at least some angels do rest on the Sabbath. The book also emphasizes the fact that (according to Jubilees) angels are circumcised, a point to which we will return below. Other Ethiopian literature quotes or alludes to Jubilees, including Kebra Nagast, the Ethiopian national epic, which explains the origins of the kingdom through expansions of the Old and New Testaments Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:76. Getatchew Haile, “Religious Controversies and the Growth of Ethiopic Literature in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” Oriens Christianus 65 (1981): 102–136, esp. 112, writes that Maṣḥafa Mestir was completed June 21, 1424, putting its composition prior to the beginning of Zär’a Ya‘әqob’s reign in 1434. 55 Cf. Jub. 15:27. Budge, The Book of the Mysteries of the Heavens and the Earth, 137; Grebaut, Les trois derniers traits du livre des mystères, 169–170. 53 54

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with many references to patristic theology. Internal evidence places its final redaction with relative certainty to the fourteenth century.56 Much of its composition, however, appears to date to the sixth-seventh centuries.57 Kebra Nagast may allude to traditions found in Jubilees at least four times. All concern reworkings of the Old Testament narrative.58 From at least the fifteenth century, then, the book of Jubilees has held an important place in the Ethiopian church, both in terms of its usefulness for Christological debate and as a proof text to support more practical matters such as observing the Saturday Sabbath, which is still common in Ethiopia and among Ethiopian Orthodox immigrants in the United States. Up to this point we have not examined where Jubilees and 1 Enoch are not found, and that is in the liturgy. None of the Old Testament is read in the liturgy of the Ethiopian Orthodox church. At the same time, some liturgical texts mention Enoch and/or Enochic literature. First I will look at these, and then I will return to Maṣḥafa Mestir and Maṣḥafa Milād, both of which utilize 1 Enoch in very interesting ways. The Ethiopian Orthodox church has 14 Anaphoras, each used on different occasions. Three of these, the Anaphora of Mary, the Anaphora of St. Cyril, and the Anaphora of the 300, as well as the preparatory service for the liturgy, refer to the character of Enoch.59 Of these, the

56 David Allen Hubbard, The Literary Sources of the Kebra Nagast (Unpublished dissertation; St. Andrews, 1956), 352. 57 Hubbard, The Literary Sources of the Kebra Nagast, 357. 58 See Hubbard, The Literary Sources of the Kebra Nagast, 158–60, 186, 188. Dependence on 1 Enoch is more uncertain. Kebra Nagast (hereafter KN) 8 probably alludes to 1 En. 100:13. Edward Ullendorf, Ethiopia and the Bible (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), 76, notes that “Chapter 100 [of the KN] about the angels who rebelled, is no doubt connected with the concluding part of section II of Midrash Deuteronomy Rabbah.” Hubbard thinks that Jude 6 and 2 Pet 2:4 are the proximate sources for some aspects of section 100 that allude to Enoch. As for KN’s angels, I agree with Hubbard when he writes, “The angelology in the KN may be more indicative of a milieu than of a direct literary dependence” (180). 59 J. M. Harden, Anaphoras of the Ethiopian Liturgy (Translations of Christian Literature III, Liturgical Texts; London: SPCK, 1928), 4, writes, “Just as in the Orthodox Eastern Church the Anaphora of St. Chrysostom is used generally, but that of St. Basil is substituted for it on certain days and that of the Pre-sanctified on others, so the Ethiopic Church had its normal Anaphora, that of the Apostles, for which others were substituted on certain days. The only difference is that in the latter case the number of subordinate Anaphoras is very much larger.” The Anaphora of the 300 is used on the feast day of the Four Beasts (cf. Revelation 4), and the synaxarium for that day also references Enoch.

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most notable is the last. The preparatory service reads, “I pray and beseech thee, O Lord my God, as Thou was well pleased with the offering of Abel thy beloved, and the sacrifices of Enoch, Noah, and Abraham, and the incense of Aaron, Samuel, and Zacharias: in like manner receive from me this pure incense . . . .”60 It is striking that the service identifies the “the sacrifices of Enoch,” for unlike Abel, Noah, and Abraham, the biblical character of Enoch in Genesis did not offer sacrifice. However, post-biblical Enoch does do so; Jub. 4:25 reads, “And he burnt the incense of the sanctuary, (even) sweet spices acceptable before the Lord on the Mount.” Here and elsewhere quotations of Jubilees inform liturgical interpretation of Enoch. The Ethiopic Synaxarium, Maṣḥafa Senkesar, mentions Enoch or Enochic literature on at least eight distinct days and commemorates his ascension into heaven twice. One of those commemorations, 25 Hamle (August 1), notes only the claim of his ascent. The other, 27 Ter (February 4), draws material from the Book of the Watchers (1:3–4; 13:7–8; 14:9–18; 24:2–3) the Book of Parables (40:2; 46:1; 48:1–4), and the Animal Apocalypse (85:3; 90:28–29, 32–33), all of which it cites with little development other than a few points of christological interpretation.61 Theological and mystical texts employ 1 Enoch as well. Maṣḥafa Milād finds the Book of Parables most congenial to its purposes, while the esoteric Maṣḥafa Mestir favors the Book of the Watchers and Apocalypse of Weeks. So closely connected is Maṣḥafa Mestir with 1 Enoch that the westerner who first owned the newly discovered manuscript, Nicolas Claude Fabri (Peiresc), believed that he had indeed found the lost book of Enoch. Examining it in 1684, the great scholar of Ethiopic Hiob Ludolf was sorely disappointed to learn that it was not 1 Enoch.62 Maṣḥafa Mestir quotes or alludes to material that originates in the Book of the Watchers at least five times,63 the most sustained of which

60 Marcos Daoud, trans., The Liturgy of the Ethiopian Church (Kingston, Jamaica: Ethiopian Orthodox Church, 1959, 1991), 27. 61 E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of Saints of the Ethiopian Church: A Translation of the Ethiopic Synaxarium (4 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1928), 2:555–57. 62 Gianfrancesco Lusini and Gianfranco Fiaccadori, “Məśṭirä sämay wämədr,” Encyclopaedia Aethiopica, 3:945; Budge, The Book of the Mysteries of the Heavens and the Earth, xxvii. 63 Budge, The Book of the Mysteries, 26–27, 34, 36, 85, 142.

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concerns the Watchers themselves: “[T]he Watchers (teguhān) came down from heaven, and after they had put on the flesh of men, the madness of sin seized them, and they were thrust aside from the mysteries which they had seen in heaven.”64 This statement implies that putting on human flesh resulted in the Watchers’ sin, and this perception is confirmed at the end of book: “[the angels] were clothed with flesh, and they taught great sin . . . because of their pride and boastfulness, because they had clothed themselves with flesh.”65 The book had reported earlier that angels (malā’ekt) have phalluses, though they are neither male nor female, and they do not procreate.66 As we saw above, Maṣḥafa Mestir also looks to Jubilees to argue that the angels are circumcised.67 Immediately after the reference to the Watchers in part 1 of Maṣḥafa Mestir is perhaps the only direct allusion to the Parables.68 A list of the fallen angels and what they taught humanity mentions Ṗēnēmus (cf. 1 En. 69:8, Ṗēnēmu’ə), who taught architecture and writing.69 Maṣḥafa Mestir also retells the Apocalypse of Weeks in a passage that deserves more attention than space allows here. The author uses the apocalypse’s structure of ten weeks (Ge‘ez sanbat) and some of its content, but he adds and subtracts material freely according to his own purposes, some obscure, but most predictably christological. For instance, in the sixth week, the “man who will ascend” is interpreted as Jesus, the one who ascends his cross.70 In the seventh week the author

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Budge, The Book of the Mysteries, 26–27; Perruchon, Le livre des mystères, 21. Budge, The Book of the Mysteries, 142; Grebaut, Les trois derniers traits du livre des mystères, 173. Cf. T. Reu. 5:6. 66 Budge, The Book of the Mysteries, 17; Perruchon, Le livre des mystères, 12. Cf. 1 En. 86:4. 67 The Andemta commentary on Genesis also reflects these themes, but regarding the Trinity: “[J]ust as a person has a complete form, so also (the members of ) the Trinity (each) have a form, as it says, ‘We believe that God has real bodily parts—eye and ear, hands and feet, and that he has organs which are in addition to these.’ ” Roger Cowley, Ethiopian Biblical Interpretation (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 38; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 213. 68 There is a paraphrase of 1 En. 60:5–6 in Budge, The Book of Mysteries, 18. Cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 105 n. 174. 69 Budge, The Book of Mysteries, 28; Perruchon, Le livre des mystères, 22. 70 1 En. 93:8; Budge, The Book of Mysteries, 142; Grebaut, Les trois derniers traits du livre des mystères, 174. 65

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attacks Arius. In the eighth week, the new building to be constructed represents Christian churches built at the time of Constantine. The colophon to the second part of Maṣḥafa Mestir commands its reading on the second day of Passion Week, the Feast of Mt. Tabor, and the feast of the Four Beasts. All of the Ethiopian clergy with whom I spoke, however, agreed that it is not and perhaps never was read on those holy days. The book has sunk into obscurity and now finds only an academic audience.71 Maṣḥafa Milād is permeated with quotations from 1 Enoch, with which it both begins and ends: “We write this dersān on the birth of our God . . . who . . . breaks the teeth and curbs the mouth and tongue of the denier, as Enoch taught us [1 En. 46:4], the one who was taken up in the whirlwind, who observed the gate of the sun as well as the rise of the moon and the stars, who saw the light and who announced the times, years, months, days, hours, and weeks, Amen.”72 Although one might infer from this passage that Maṣḥafa Milād will favor the Book of the Watchers and the Astronomical book, in fact it relies most heavily on the Book of Parables, which, unsurprisingly, it interprets christologically.73 Ethiopian thought considers Enoch the first of God’s prophets and also the first to preach the advent of Christ.74 It comes to the latter conclusion primarily through its readings of the Son of Man sections of 1 Enoch, especially 46:1, which it uses repeatedly: “There I saw one who had a head of days . . . and with him was another, whose face was like the appearance of a man, and his face was

71 In his introduction to 1 Enoch in Charlesworth’s Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (1:10), Ephraim Isaac claims that “Enochic ideas” have exerted a significant influence on contemporary Ethiopian Christian literature and theology, particularly through the Book of Mysteries, but the concepts that Isaac outlines as “Enochic” can and do come from many other sources than the Book of Mysteries or even 1 Enoch itself. 72 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 41:2; 42:2. 73 It quotes the Book of the Watchers (1 En. 1:9) twice (Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:58, 108) and the Astronomical Book four times (Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:55–56, 97; 44:89). The number of citations from the Astronomical Book belies its importance, however, as demonstrated by the book’s many appeals to the computus of Enoch. In addition, it uses the Animal Apocalypse and the Apocalypse of Weeks; i.e., Jesus is born in the eighth week (Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:31, 47). 74 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:47.

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full of graciousness like one of the holy angels.”75 Because of its belief about Enoch’s position at the beginning of the line of Jewish prophets, Maṣḥafa Milād considers him an especially valuable weapon to wield against Jews and/or Judaizing Christians: “Hear, O Jew, not from us, but from Enoch. . . . Tell me, who else of creation goes with the head of days . . . whose appearance looks human? . . . One of the holy angels or [one] of the human children of Adam, or the son, Jesus Christ, the conversion of sinners?”76 He also quotes 1 En. 62:3–16, 63:11–12, and 69:26–70:3 to the same effect. Unlike Maṣḥafa Mestir, Maṣḥafa Milād does not take the place of 1 Enoch in the canon for granted. As Peter Wendt observes, “Als zum Alten Testament gehörig zählen widerspruchslos in rangmäßiger Reihenfolge apokryphe Schriften wie . . . das Jubiläenbuch . . . Demgegenüber erscheint das sogannante ‘Henoch-buch’ noch stark in Frage gestellt [zu sein]. . . . Und in der apostolischen Schriftenreihe rangiert der sogenannte ‘Synodus der Apostel’ als das kanonische Rechtsbuch der äthiopischen Kirche und damit eben auch als Grundlage ihres Kanons schlechthin.”77 Opponents of the author’s Christology, both Jew and Christian, evidently used 1 Enoch’s questionable canonical status to challenge him. He writes, “There are foolish people who do not know and affirm the books of the law and the venerable prophets [and claim that] Enoch does not belong to the canonical books and neither did the apostles give him to us. But we counter them: according to whose calculation did Moses and Aaron and the entire community of Israel . . . make Passover in the first month? . . . According to the calendar of Enoch . . . [and] perceiving the day according to the numbering of Enoch.”78 When addressing Christians who do not accept Enoch, the author substitutes Easter for Passover.79 Just as Maṣḥafa Milād reiterates the same claims from the Parables repeatedly, so too does it appeal repeatedly to the computus of Enoch (as seen in the Astronomical Book). Regardless, there were still some who refused to accept the book: “Hear, O denier, you also say ‘I do not accept the Book of Enoch

75 1 En. 46:1 is also one of only two references to 1 Enoch in Maṣḥafa Berhan. See Isaac, A New Text-Critical Introduction to Maṣḥ afa Berhan, 4, 60, 134. 76 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:52. 77 Wendt, “Der Kampf,” 108. 78 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 44:89. 79 Cf. Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:59.

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because Sinodos has not canonized it,’ although our Lord in the Testament counts him with all the holy prophets.”80 As we have seen, Sinodos counts Jubilees but not 1 Enoch in its lists, and as Wendt points out, Sinodos is highly influential in matters of canon. To his critics, the emperor notes that the Testament of Our Lord (Testamentum domini, Ge‘ez Maṣḥafa Kidan) briefly mentions 1 Enoch twice.81 In Ethiopian thought, the Testamentum domini, as the title indicates, comes directly from the mouth of Jesus in the interlude between his resurrection and ascension. The authority of Jesus’ testimony trumps everything. The emperor argues, “He [Jesus] even cited Enoch twice and canonized (xwlqw) it.” If someone were to question the authority of the Testamentum, the emperor would counter: “Hear, O denier, you cannot argue that the Sinodos didn’t offer the possibility of regarding Maṣḥafa Kidan . . . as canonical. But we ask you: Who gave you Sinodos and canonized it? One doesn’t first supply a letter to canonize it; one must ask others to accept it, because it is just a letter. The Testament is the Ur-letter, because it was written first. Jesus Christ spoke to them with the words of the Testament when he appeared to them after he was raised from the dead.”82 Maṣḥafa Milād depends so heavily on arguments from 1 Enoch to make its christological points that it must defend 1 Enoch’s authority with every weapon it can muster. The crescendo of Enoch’s exultation sounds at the very end of Maṣḥafa Milād, thus framing the work with references to it: Because the book of Enoch is like sweet seawater, all fleshly creatures, strong and weak, drink from it. But whoever does not drink from it dies in an agony of thirst. One can also compare it to a rain cloud which waters the land, and grassland and forest drink from it deep, and the animals of the field and desert exalt over it. Without water and sources of rain, nothing of flesh and blood can live. In the same way the entire world cannot exist without the Book of Enoch. . . . The book of Enoch is in fact like the sun. The one on whom the sun does not shine, his entire way is darkness. In the same way goes each person who does not walk in the prophecy and teaching of Enoch. Because of him Eden, the garden of God, was saved from the wrath of the Most High’s flood [cf.

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Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:97. Robert Beylot, Testamentum Domini Éthiopien (Louvain: Peeters, 1984), 161, Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:98; 41:112.

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1 Enoch and Jubilees are part of the contemporary eighty-one book Ethiopian canon. As demonstrated by its acceptance in Sinodos and by the relatively few disputes about its canonicity in later literature, Jubilees appears to have become authoritative earlier and more decisively than 1 Enoch. While the scholarly elite of the fifteenth century used Jubilees to argue christological controversies, today it plays a more mundane role in the life of the contemporary church, for example, in undergirding uniquely Ethiopian Orthodox Christian observances of circumcision and Saturday Sabbath.85 On the whole, however, references to the texts, as opposed to the person, of Enoch appear mainly in Ethiopian theological literature, and these function primarily to support christological claims. Maṣḥafa Mestir and Maṣḥafa Milād, two major works that use 1 Enoch, are known today (as, most likely, throughout their history) only to the elite.86

83 Quotations from and allusions to Jubilees lend support to Enoch in Maṣḥafa Milād. See especially Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 42:58–60. 84 Wendt, Das Maṣḥ afa Milād, 44: 89, 91. 85 Emmanuel Fritsch adds, “Kufale is much better regarded [than 1 Enoch]. Though it is not read, it is sometimes used by preachers when they come to speak about Adam’s creation and salvation. They also see in it a support for baptizing boys on the fortieth day and girls on their eightieth day, although the source of this is already in Leviticus.” Email interview 10-14-09. 86 Daniel Assefa notes, “The influence of Enoch is (over) scholars. Besides, the influence of Enoch on subsequent Ethiopian literature would still need thorough examination. Up to now, only direct references or citations have caught the attention of western scholars. Yet a study of 1 Enoch’s influence on the style, symbolism, vocabulary and narrative structure of Ethiopic literature would be a big desideratum.” Interview in Addis Ababa, 2-14-10; email 6-16-10.

PART FIVE

THE NEW TESTAMENT AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY

ASPECTS OF MATTHEW’S USE OF SCRIPTURE IN LIGHT OF THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS* George J. Brooke Introduction Juxtaposing the Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament typically occurs in terms of three approaches. The first is to assert the overwhelmingly common character of the two corpora, and in so doing, inappropriately to make Matthew a Qumran scribe of some sort, perhaps an Essene with an open mind. The second is to pronounce that the two bodies of literature have really little or nothing to do with each other; this approach is based on noting the differences between the two corpora, and commonly the stress on difference is also a stress on the apparent distinctiveness of Jesus. The third approach is to argue that neither Jesus nor Matthew was an Essene, nor had either ever been a member of the Qumran community, but that they are of the same period as the Scrolls, and near enough geographically, ethnically, and religiously to the community, so that both the similarities and the differences are to be considered within a framework that might show the perspectives to be mutually illuminating.1 The purpose of this short essay is to suggest that Matthew’s Gospel and its use of Scripture can indeed be illuminated when set against the broad backdrop of the sectarian and non-sectarian compositions that have been found in the Qumran library.2 Those scrolls from the Qumran caves that * It is a pleasure to honor Jim VanderKam with this study; the several references to his work throughout indicate in a small way just how much the scholarly world owes him. 1 On these three approaches and examples of each see G. J. Brooke, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament (London: SPCK; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 19–26. 2 Since the general release of all the unpublished scrolls from Qumran caves 4 and 11 in 1991 most of the study of Matthew and the Scrolls has been undertaken by J. Kampen; see his “The Matthean Divorce Texts Reexamined,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992 (ed. Brooke with F. García Martínez; STDJ 15; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 149–68; idem, “The Sectarian Form of the Antitheses within the Social World of the Matthean Community,” DSD 1 (1994): 338–63; idem, “ ‘Righteousness’ in Matthew and the Legal Texts from Qumran,” in Legal Texts and Legal

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were published swiftly have been factored into the discussion for a long time, but those available more recently have yet to be taken into account fully.3 This paper will range widely by way of encouraging a fresh consideration of Matthew’s use of Scripture in the light of all the Dead Sea Scrolls. Three Key Issues I. A Rewritten Pentateuch? A. A Pentateuchal Rewriting? “Of all the Evangelists, Matthew has most obviously paid attention to arrangement; the plan and structure of his book are plain for all to see. This is most clear in his five collections of sayings of Jesus, each of which is marked at its conclusion by the use of a formula.”4 This common observation that there are five collections of the sayings Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995, Published in Honour of Joseph M. Baumgarten (ed. M. Bernstein, F. García Martínez, and J. Kampen; STDJ 23; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 481–87; idem, “Aspects of Wisdom in the Gospel of Matthew in Light of the New Qumran Evidence,” in Sapiential, Liturgical, and Poetical Texts from Qumran Published in Memory of Maurice Baillet (ed. D. K. Falk, F. García Martínez and E. Schuller; STDJ 35; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 227–39; idem, “The Significance of the Scrolls for the Study of the Book of Matthew,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress (ed. L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000), 157–69. More briefly see J. Trebolle Barrera, “The Gospel of Matthew and the Qumran Texts,” in F. García Martínez and Trebolle Barrera, eds., The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Writings, Beliefs, and Practices (trans. Wilfred G. E. Watson; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 212–13. There have been several studies on the Matthean beatitudes in the light of 4Q525, most notably É. Puech, “4Q525 et les péricopes des Béatitudes en Ben Sira et Matthieu,” RB 98 (1991): 80–106; J. A. Fitzmyer, “A Palestinian Collection of Beatitudes,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck Volume 1 (ed. F. Van Segbroeck et al.; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 509–15; B. T. Viviano, “Eight Beatitudes at Qumran and in Matthew? A New Publication from Qumran Cave 4,” SEA 58 (1993): 71–84. See also C. L. Blomberg, “Matthew,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (ed. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic; Nottingham: Apollos, 2007), 1–109; Blomberg has twenty-six references to the similar use of Scripture in the Scrolls and in Matthew’s Gospel. J. C. VanderKam has made some astute observations on the parallels between Matt 1:18–23 and 1QapGen 2:1–2; see From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 407–12. 3 See H. Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1966), 1.7–60. 4 J. C. Fenton, The Gospel of St. Matthew (Pelican Gospel Commentaries; Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1963), 14.

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of Jesus in the Gospel is typically aligned, at least in some research in English since B. W. Bacon, with the way Matthew may have been interested in presenting Jesus as the antitype of Moses and his sayings as a Torah of some sort.5 U. Luz, the most comprehensive recent commentator on Matthew, has acknowledged, as one must, that there are indeed five significant speeches, possibly even in some kind of chiastic arrangement, but he has remained skeptical concerning how the various narrative sections might best be aligned with those speeches and so ultimately unconvinced that there was a deliberate, controlling pentateuchal framework for the Gospel as a whole.6 The Qumran Scrolls suggest nevertheless that the literary reading of Matthew as some kind of Pentateuch should at least be kept on the table. This reading strategy should not be applied slavishly as if each of the five major discourses corresponded with a particular speech of Moses in the Torah, or with one of its five books. Rather it is a reading option that allows for Matthew’s Gospel to be understood as a subtle combination of narrative and discourse together with a general appeal to tradition. Matthew does not rewrite the Torah but he does rewrite Mark (and Q) in many ways that echo some of the traditions of rewriting that are now known from late Second Temple Judaism. In fact such earlier traditions of the rewriting of foundational narratives may have given Matthew permission for his own exercise in rewriting Mark and other sources and as they did so, such rewritings could have suggested certain motifs that influenced Matthew in smaller ways. 5 See, for example, B. W. Bacon, “The ‘Five Books’ of Moses against the Jews,” Expositor 15 (1918): 56–66; this is developed, e.g., in F. W. Green, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew in the Revised Version with Introduction and Commentary (Clarendon Bible; Oxford: Clarendon, 1936), 121–241. See also D. C. Allison, “Matthew: Structure, Biographical Impulse and the Imitatio Christi,” in The Four Gospels: Festschrift Frans Neirynck: Volume 1 (ed. F. Van Segbroeck et al.; 3 vols.; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 2:1203–21; his The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); W. D. Davies and D. C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 1:61; C. R. Smith, “Literary Evidence of a Fivefold Structure in the Gospel of Matthew,” NTS 43 (1997): 540–51. 6 U. Luz, Matthew 1–7 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 3; on p. 12 he states, “In my judgment, the five major discourses are not the key to the structure of the Gospel, yet they have a decisive significance for the Gospel of Matthew. They contain the ‘gospel of the kingdom’ (4:23), that is, the proclamation of Jesus that remains valid for the present and that Matthew has inserted into his Jesus story primarily from the Sayings Source. The five major discourses . . . have in common that they do not move the action along. In this regard they differ from Jesus’ other discourses that are not especially emphasized.”

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B. Reworked Pentateuchs in the Qumran Library In the first place, it is clear that several manuscripts in the collection found in the eleven caves at or near Qumran contain texts that are reworked or reformed Pentateuchs or portions thereof. Most widely known before the discovery of the scrolls was the Samaritan Pentateuch, but its significance was unclear, even though it was widely held to have been formulated in the late Second Temple period. It is now clear from the evidence in the Qumran caves that the Samaritan Pentateuch was a revision based on a more widely used Palestinian Jewish revision of the Pentateuch and that only a few of its readings can be classified as strictly sectarian. Among the best witnesses to the text-type represented with minor variations in the Samaritan Pentateuch is 4QpaleoExodm. Its editors have described it thus: “Its expanded textual tradition is that which formed the basis for the Samaritan text of Exodus.”7 The scribal revisionist work evident in the Samaritan Pentateuch is also to be seen in five manuscripts that have been designated as Reworked Pentateuch (4Q158; 4Q364–367).8 Although the manuscripts are fragmentary, their editors have suggested that the text they represent “probably contained the complete Pentateuch, reworked by the author.”9 In fact those five manuscripts may not all represent the same reworking, but the character of the texts in those manuscripts, especially 4Q158, 4Q364, 4Q365, is indeed close to that of the Samaritan Pentateuch, “or rather, to the presumably pre-Samaritan layer of that text.”10

7 P. W. Skehan, E. Ulrich and J. E. Sanderson, DJD 9:53; J. E. Sanderson, An Exodus Scroll from Qumran: 4QpaleoExodm and the Samaritan Tradition (HSS 30; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 189, had earlier concluded: “Our major question concerned Qm: what was its relationship to ⅏? Should it be grouped with ⅏ as another member of that text-type? The answer is clearly affirmative because of all the significant agreements between them.” 8 In a paper presented in Göttingen in May 2007, E. Tov argued that the title “Reworked Pentateuch” should be replaced simply with “the Torah,” since the scribal processes evident in the production of the so-called Reworked Pentateuch are closely akin to those of the translators of the Torah into Greek and of the transmitters of the Samaritan Pentateuch. Provided the designation “Reworked Pentateuch” is not simply taken as implying a work of less authority than that which is being reworked, then actually the designation makes little difference. 9 E. Tov, “364–367. 4QReworked Pentateuchb–e and 365a. 4QTemple?” in DJD 13:187. 10 Tov, “364–367. 4QReworked Pentateuchb–e and 365a. 4QTemple?” 195. For 4Q366 and 4Q367 there is not enough evidence to form a firm judgment about their textual character.

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C. Jubilees and the Temple Scroll More elaborate revision of the Pentateuch is also evident in other compositions found in the Qumran caves. The book of Jubilees is an extensive revision of Genesis 1–Exodus 15.11 The revisions are of several kinds, not least chronological adjustments so as to fit with the jubilee cycles calculated throughout the work and halakhic interpolations so that the practices of the pre-Sinaitic patriarchs are in fact shown to be in line with the Sinaitic revelation. The Temple Scroll, known principally from a well-preserved exemplar from Cave 11 (11Q19), but in other manuscript copies as well, is a rewritten and revised form of several topics from Exodus 34–Deuteronomy 2. Both B.-Z. Wacholder and I have proposed independently that it is not impossible that the Temple Scroll and Jubilees could be taken together as a reworked Pentateuch.12 Both share a number of features, most especially the favoured place of the Levites in the cultic system and the opening dependence upon the ideology of Exodus 34 for providing the narrative frame of reference. In light of the division of the Pentateuch between Jubilees and the Temple Scroll it is possible to construe the Gospel of Matthew in a similar fashion. Matthew 1–4:22 could represent some aspects of the pre-Sinaitic Pentateuch which also anticipate later parts. Some features of Matt 4:23–28:20 could represent an inclusio of mountain top instruction, firstly perhaps in an Exodus form in the Sermon on the Mount and lastly in the farewell commission.13 It is noticeable in Matt 1–4:22 that there are several allusions to the patriarchal period. The opening genealogy is a reworked toledot tradition, the role of Joseph, particularly as dreamer (Matt 2:13, 19), is stressed, and Jesus represents Israel coming out of Egypt (Matt 2:15).14 There are also references to

11 The character, especially the exegetical character, of Jubilees has been addressed in many ways by VanderKam; see especially the reprinted essays in his From Revelation to Canon, 439–561, and “The Scriptural Setting of the Book of Jubilees,” DSD 13 (2006): 61–72. 12 B.-Z. Wacholder, “The Relationship between 11QTorah (The Temple Scroll) and the Book of Jubilees: One Single or Two Independent Compositions,” SBLSP 24 (1985): 205–16; G. J. Brooke, “The Temple Scroll: A Law unto Itself?” in Law and Religion: Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity (ed. B. Lindars; Cambridge: James Clarke, 1988), 34–43. 13 Jubilees opens and closes with references to Sinai (1:2 and 50:2). 14 A neat description of how Matthew’s use of Scripture presents Jesus as representing God’s people and reliving their history can be found in F. J. Matera, New Testament Theology: Exploring Diversity and Unity (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 37–39.

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Abraham, not least as the starting point of the genealogy, but also in the preaching of John the Baptist (Matt 3:9), and to Rachel (Matt 2:18), and possibly to Isaac (Matt 3:17); the fulfilment quotation of Isa 9:1–2 in Matt 4:15 mentions Zebulon and Naphtali. For the rest of the Gospel it is noticeable that the macarisms of Matt 5:3–11 at the opening of the first major discourse are balanced by the woes of Matt 23:13–36 imitating the curses and blessings of Deut 27:15–26 and 33:2–29;15 there is no slavish attempt to imitate the Pentateuch from Sinai to Nebo, but rather a highly profitable re-use of a range of motifs from that second and dominant section of the Pentateuch. D. Interim conclusion As with the development of the Pentateuchal structure of the Books of Psalms in the Hebrew Psalter, so it was the evocation of rewriting activity in relation to a foundational story that was important to Matthew rather than the slavish following of a literary pattern.16 The reworked and rewritten forms of the Pentateuch in particular could both have stimulated Matthew in his rewriting of Mark and other sources and provided him with a set of motifs to play with as, among other things, he re-presented Jesus and his discourses as the fulfilment of what had been seen and heard long before in both the patriarchal stories and also in Moses and his authoritative words.17 For Matthew, though, Jesus was much more than a second Moses; he was also the fulfilment of everything that God had intended for his people Israel.

15 The role of Deuteronomy alone in Matthew has sometimes been stressed; see, e.g., J. A. Grassi, “Matthew as a Second Testament Deuteronomy,” BTB 19 (1989): 23–29; see also n. 48 below. 16 Luz, Matthew 1–7, 15, has concluded: “With his story of Jesus Matthew tells a new foundation story that permits him to understand Israel’s previous foundational text, the Bible, in a completely new light. In my judgment, here in the framework of the biblical-Jewish tradition and literary activity something completely new, a revolution, happened.” 17 Authoritative scribal rewriting goes well beyond the adaptations of the Pentateuch in each new generation. On the rewriting of the prophets see G. J. Brooke, “Parabiblical Prophetic Narratives,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls After Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Account (ed. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 1:271–301.

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II. Matthean Fulfilment Quotation Proof-texts (Reflexionzitate) Matthean scholarship has come to something of an impasse concerning Matthew’s use of Scripture in the fulfilment quotations.18 For example, there is now a serious question over whether the fulfilment quotations can indeed be singled out as a separate group within Matthew’s overall use of Scripture. Though the identification of the so-called fulfilment quotations as a set goes back to the nineteenth century, it was in the second half of the twentieth century that a well-known stream of monographs appeared on the fulfilment quotations.19 The first was the influential study by K. Stendahl which in terms of its textual analysis has not been surpassed.20 The second was the work of R. H. Gundry which challenged Stendahl’s wider theory and asserted that there was little difference in text-form between the fulfilment quotations and the Old Testament citations in the Sermon on the Mount;21 Gundry insisted that scriptural allusions should also take their place in the discussion. W. Rothfuchs tried to take Stendahl’s research forward by arguing that Matthew was more concerned to show that Jesus was the fulfilment of Scripture and Israel’s hopes; rather than to emphasize that Scripture needed expounding, Matthew himself concocted the fulfilment formula.22 The contribution of G. Soares Prabhu was his assertion that the text forms of the citations are the result of Matthew’s own translation activity from the original Hebrew rather than his selection of one variant reading over against another.23 More recently the analysis of J. Miler has undermined the source analysis undertaken by Soares Prabhu and proposed instead that each fulfilment quotation not only

18 For perceptive comments on the parameters of the debate see G. N. Stanton, “Matthew,” in It Is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture. Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars (ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 205–19; Luz, Matthew 1–7, 125–31. 19 E. Massebieau, Examen des citations de l’Ancien Testament dans l’évangile selon saint Matthieu (Paris: Fischbacher, 1885): the “quotations are part of the Christian defense against Judaism” (Luz, Matthew 1–7, 130). 20 K. Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Acta Seminarii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis 20; Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1954). 21 R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St. Matthew’s Gospel with Special Reference to the Messianic Hope (NovTSup 18; Leiden: Brill, 1967). 22 W. Rothfuchs, Die Erfüllingszitate des Matthäus-Evangeliums: Eine biblischtheologische Untersuchung (BWANT 88; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1969). 23 G. M. Soares Prabhu, The Formula Quotations in the Infancy Narrative of Matthew: An Enquiry into the Tradition History of Mt 1–2 (AnBib 63; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976).

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serves to make a point in its immediate context but is redactionally connected with other parts of the Gospel, either proleptically or retrospectively.24 Other significant studies have also made their contributions, but those mentioned cover the core aspects of text-form, Sitz im Leben, theology, source analysis, and redaction. What might the Dead Sea Scrolls contribute now to the adequate description of Matthew’s use of Scripture in this respect? I wish to make four points, each of which deserves more space than I have. A. Text-type First, there is the issue of text-type. Although there is some need for considerable nuance, it is now widely agreed that in general Matthew, in common with his sources, followed some form of the LXX faithfully; the text forms of the fulfilment quotations sit awkwardly, however, with such a general observation.25 One possible explanation for the somewhat distinctive text forms of the fulfilment quotations sees them as being derived from one or more sources with a particular textual character. Another explanation suggests that Matthew himself intervened with some form of received text for his own theological purposes, or even made the translations from Hebrew himself. The variety of text forms of scriptural works among the Dead Sea Scrolls raises an intriguing set of possibilities. In light of the complete publication of the so-called biblical scrolls, there is much to be done to see whether there is new information to explain the various readings in Matthew’s fulfilment quotations. To my mind there is one highly important aspect to Stendahl’s textual analysis which the vast majority of subsequent students of the fulfilment quotations has passed over. In his analysis Stendahl makes use of the full range of versions, including the targumim and the Peshitta.26 It has become apparent from the study of the so-called biblical scrolls from Qumran that they commonly attest readings reflected later, sometimes uniquely, in the

24 J. Miler, Les citations d’accomplissement dans l’évangile de Matthieu: Quand Dieu se rend present en toute humanité (AnBib 140; Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1999). 25 Such as with Gundry’s view on the non-LXX basis of the citations in the Sermon on the Mount. 26 There are particularly pertinent comments on the Peshitta in Stendahl, School of St. Matthew, 98 n. 3, 100, 103, 106 n. 1, 109, 111–12, 124. Of course, Stendahl was not aware of the wider significance of his observations on the Peshitta evidence, preferring to emphasize instead the Palestinian provenance of readings reflected in LXXA.

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Peshitta. There are major and minor examples of this; the most famous example concerns the preservation of three Psalms in 11QPsa that are known elsewhere only in Syriac tradition.27 Whether it was a Jewish or a Christian product, in light of the Dead Sea Scrolls and other studies it is becoming increasingly evident that in many instances the Peshitta preserves much earlier Palestinian readings than previously thought;28 where the Peshitta is recognized as playing a role in the better understanding of the text-form of the biblical quotations in a composition like the Gospel of Matthew, then the likely early Palestinian setting of the particular readings must be taken seriously. This is not to align the text-form with something known at Qumran, but to acknowledge that the Peshitta reflects early Palestinian tradition. Too often the discourse on the textual status of the fulfilment quotations has been carried on with reference only to the Masoretic Text and the LXX; other versions that might contain early Jewish readings need to be factored into the discussion once again. B. Form of exegesis Second there is the matter of form. My own view on the character of early Christian proof-texting has been to suggest that it should not simply be labelled as a kind of Christian pesher. The form is somewhat different; in the continuous pesharim the scriptural text precedes the interpretation whereas in the fulfilment quotations the description of circumstances precedes the proof.29 To my mind this formal observation means that in multiple superficial ways the content is somewhat different. In continuous pesher the physical priority that is given to the scriptural text means that it has far greater control over and influence upon the content of the interpretation than is the case with the fulfilment quotations, where only a small part of the anticipatory circumstances is based on the text to be cited. To be sure, pesher comes in several different guises, not just the continuous form, but the use

27

See especially J. A. Sanders, DJD 4:53–76. See the very helpful summary statements by P. Dirksen, “The Old Testament Peshitta,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. M. Mulder; CRINT II/1; Assen: Van Gorcum; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 255–97. Further brief comment and more recent bibliography is provided by E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2d ed.; Assen: Van Gorcum; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 151–53. 29 See G. J. Brooke, “Pesher,” in Dictionary of Biblical Criticism and Interpretation (ed. S. E. Porter; London: Routledge, 2007), 273–75. 28

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of the technical term pesher is much less frequent in association with single or double proof-texts as is the case with the Matthean fulfilment quotations. The point is that it is not strictly the continuous pesharim, such as Pesher Habakkuk, that should form the basis of the comparison with Matthew’s use of fulfilment quotations; it is better to look to single quotations, most especially as these are used, for example, in quasi-narrative contexts such as in the Damascus Document. The presentation of the scriptural proof-text, particularly with regard to its possible adjustment, might be different between the two forms of exegetical activity. C. Selection of proof-texts When the fulfilment quotations are indeed singled out as a set, understood in most instances as possibly reflecting a Palestinian form of the text and as having a form of exegesis that is rather different from that of the continuous pesharim, then it also needs to be noted that the extant running commentaries in the sectarian collection at Qumran cover just three sets of materials, namely Isaiah, the Twelve, and the Psalms. Of the eleven fulfilment quotations in Matthew, ten are from the very same set of books; indeed, Matthew’s use of Micah, Hosea and Zechariah corresponds to some extent with the similar but slightly more extensive list of books from the Twelve selected at Qumran.30 The single use of a Psalm, Ps 78:2 at Matt 13:35, is introduced as also from a prophet. Most commentators understand this to be a reference to Asaph, whose name occurs in the Psalm’s superscript and whose prophetic status is suggested by 1 Chr 25:2 and 2 Chr 29:30.31 The inclusion of the Psalms among scriptural texts that receive running commentary in the Qumran sectarian literature is commonly attributed, however, to the prophetic status of David as author or compiler.32 In relation to Matt 13:35 Luz, for one, prefers to retain the reading of “Isaiah” (‫*א‬, Θ, f1, 13) as the lectio difficilior.33 Whether Isaiah, Asaph or even David, the result is the same, the quotation can be understood

30 The running commentaries dealing with the Twelve at Qumran are on Hosea, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah and possibly Malachi (4Q253a); Zechariah is commented on explicitly in 4QpIsac, making that Isaiah commentary somewhat more thematic than its counterparts. 31 Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew, 118. 32 11QPsa 27:11: “All these he spoke through prophecy which was given to him from before the Most High.” 33 Luz, Matthew 8–20, 265.

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as coming from one of the three sources used at Qumran for running commentaries.34 The only exception to the use of Isaiah, the Twelve and the Psalms occurs in Matt 2:18 and its citation of Jer 31:15. Is this simply the exception that proves the rule? Gundry finds the reference so obscure that nobody would have thought of it as a basis for the invention of the story to which Matthew relates it.35 The version of Jer 31:15 that Matthew cites has some notable affinities with the Peshitta as might be expected, disclosing that it conforms in some ways to the pattern of textual affinity associated with early Palestinian tradition as is reflected in intriguing ways in many of the other fulfilment quotations;36 to my mind this makes it less likely that it was Matthew’s own translation from the Hebrew, as Stendahl has suggested.37 Although it is not necessary to claim that Matthew was controlled by sectarian ideology in the choice of scriptural books from which he could use proof-texts, it may be that the exceptional character of his use of Jeremiah in 2:18 rests in part on the way in which it also functions in its own wider context. W. D. Davies proposed that Matthew’s use of the Jeremiah passage set up the reader to expect a new covenant and a new Sinai; “Just as the words in Jer. xxxi. 15, referring to the present distress of Israel, precede a New Covenant in xxxi, 31 ff., so in Matt. ii. 18, where they are cited, they precede a New Covenant and a New Sinai.”38 My overall point here is that when Matthew is probably at work on his own, the selection of scriptural books from which he chooses his explicit proof-texts reflects in a striking way the delimitation of books selected for running fulfilment commentary by the Qumran sectarians. Whereas, as far as we can tell at the moment, Jeremiah

34 M. J. J. Menken, “Isaiah and the ‘Hidden Things’: The Quotation from Psalm 78:2 in Matthew 13:35,” in The Use of Sacred Books in the Ancient World (ed. L. V. Rutgers et al.; CBET 22; Leuven, Peeters, 1998), 61–77, argues convincingly that the ascription to Isaiah results from the affinity of the quotation to Isa 29:13–14. 35 Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in Matthew’s Gospel, 195–96. 36 Peshitta of Jer 31:15 reads: ql’ brmt’ ’štm‘: ’ly’ wbkt’ mryrt’: rhyl bky’ ‘l bnyh wl’ şby’ lmtby’w mtl dlyt ’nwn. Among other details Matt 2:18 reads “children” but once as in the Peshitta and includes the conjunction before the final hemistich. 37 Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew, 102. 38 W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964), 83. One wonders whether the citation is particularly pertinent too for Matthew’s own purposes in describing the persecution of his community as the true heirs of Rachel’s children; for the centrality of such purpose in Matthew see, e.g., G. N. Stanton, “The Gospel of Matthew and Judaism,” BJRL 66 (1984): 264–84.

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and Ezekiel were subject to rewriting in a number of ways, the socalled continuous pesharim are restricted to Isaiah, the Twelve and the Psalms. This distinction should perhaps not be maintained too rigidly, since it possible that on some Qumran fragments there exist rephrased versions of Isaiah, the Twelve and the Psalms, and it is well known that extracts from both Jeremiah and Ezekiel are used in some of the thematic commentaries.39 The significant point of comparison is that nowhere in the extant Qumran corpus is a pesher formula applied to a quotation from Jeremiah or Ezekiel. Matthew’s choice of a sub-set of prophetic books for his fulfilment quotations is similar to the choice of such books in the sectarian pesharim. D. Fulfilment quotations and dream interpretation Soares Prabhu has proposed that the three fulfilment quotations that are associated with dream narratives (1:18–25; 2:13–15, 19–23) should be taken together and understood as a separate source used by Matthew for his infancy narrative. He has argued that of all the quotations it is these that are closer to the LXX than to some supposed Hebrew original. But the reconstruction of the tradition by Soares Prabhu is complicated by his conclusion that the three instances originate separately from one another and somehow come together in a Vorlage for Matthew to explain Jesus’ early childhood. Whatever the case might be, Matthew has indeed juxtaposed scriptural interpretation with dream experiences. In the light of the interpretative practices found in the sectarian compositions at Qumran there is a fascinating parallel. Scriptural interpretation, particularly of unfulfilled prophetic texts, is to be understood as the immediate corollary of dream interpretation; the interpreter explains the mysteries of the divine revelation of the text or of the dream experience. Early Jewish dream interpretation, together with some other means of divination, is widely recognized as lying behind Qumran sectarian exegetical practice, but the connection

39 On “rephrased” version of Isaiah, such as the paraphrase of Isa 5 in 4Q500, see G. J. Brooke, “4Q500 1 and the Use of Scripture in the Parable of the Vineyard,” DSD 2 (1995): 268–94; slightly revised in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament, 235–60. On “rephrased” versions of the Psalms, see, for example, 4Q380 and 4Q381. On the sectarian thematic commentaries from the Qumran caves see G. J. Brooke, “Thematic Commentaries on Prophetic Scriptures,” in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. M. Henze; SDSSRL; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 134–57.

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has seldom been made with Matthew’s fulfilment quotations and his exegesis of them.40 III. Examining Matthew’s “Canon within the Canon” and his Wider Use of Scripture In the third part of this short paper, I want to consider two aspects of Matthew’s wider use of Scripture beyond the fulfilment quotations. What might have constituted the core of his scriptural tradition? And how can we best describe Matthew’s tendency towards scripturalization?41 A. Matthew’s “Canon within the Canon” Ulrich Luz, in his magisterial commentary, refers on several occasions to Matthew’s Bible with such statements as “Thus Matthew programmatically emphasizes the fulfilment of the entire Bible by Jesus’ story and behavior.”42 These are strange statements since it really cannot be known what shape Matthew’s Bible took. Almost certainly Matthew’s Bible consisted of scrolls rather than utilizing the codex form and almost certainly some of these writings available to the Gospel writer contained diverse text-forms. A first respect in which the use of Scripture in the Qumran library might illuminate Matthew’s overall use of Scripture comes from what might be deemed to form the Qumran “canon within the canon.” It has often been claimed that the sectarian scrolls from Qumran and the books of the New Testament as a whole share a particular interest in

40 The classic study of dream interpretation and exegetical practices at Qumran is A. Finkel, “The Pesher of Dreams and Scriptures,” RevQ 4 (1963–64): 357–70. The association of dream interpretation with Joseph has obvious resonances of Genesis, but it is the traditions of interpretation in Daniel that are most pertinent; see, e.g., F. F. Bruce, Biblical Exegesis in the Qumran Texts (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1959), 59–65. The male orientation of Matthew’s infancy narrative with its attention to Joseph is fitting for this kind of exegetical activity too. For debates on the suitable interpretation of Joseph’s dreams in themselves see B. J. Koet, review of J. Lanckau, Der Herr der Träume: Eine Studie zur Funktion des Traumes in der Josefsgeschichte der Hebräischen Bibel, RBL 10/2009. 41 These few comments on what Matthew does with Scripture can be compared to the analysis of the function of Scripture in the sectarian scrolls by J. C. VanderKam, “To What End? Functions of Scriptural Interpretation in Qumran Texts,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (ed. P. W. Flint, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 302–20. 42 Luz, Matthew 1–7, 130.

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Deuteronomy, Isaiah and the Psalms.43 Elsewhere I have argued that to this list should be added Genesis and the Twelve.44 Care needs to be exercised before it is simply assumed that the core selections from within those books were the same among the sectarians at Qumran and elsewhere and the members of the early Christian communities.45 Although some of the eschatological significance of Isaiah might be taken in similar ways among both groups, for the most part there are considerable differences, such as the relatively small amount of interest in Adam at Qumran compared with the New Testament, or the strict, exclusive and land-based use of Deuteronomy at Qumran over against the more particular use of its summaries of the law in the New Testament. For a sense of the core of Matthew’s Scriptures we can rely on the list of 172 citations and allusions provided by Jean Miler.46 For the citations Miler lists Gen 1:27; 2:24; 38:8; Exod 3:6; 20:12, 13, 14; 21:16, 24–25; 23:20; Lev 19:12, 18; 20:9; 24:20; Num 19:21; 28:9–10; Deut 5:16, 17, 18; 6:4–5, 13, 16; 8:3; 19:21; 21:1–4; 24:1; 25:5; Isa 4:3; 6:9–10; 7:14; 8:23–9:1; 11:1; 29:13; 42:1–4; 53:4; 56:7; 62:11; Jer 7:11; 31:15; Hos 6:6; 11:1; Mic 5:1; Zech 9:9; 11:13; 13:7; Mal 3:1; Ps 8:3; 50:14; 78:2; 90:11–12; 110:1; 118:22–23.47 Since several of the citations from Exodus are mere parallels with Deuteronomy, and it is probably the

43 On Deuteronomy in Matthew, see M. J. J. Menken, “Deuteronomy in Matthew’s Gospel,” in Deuteronomy in the New Testament (ed. M. J. J. Menken and S. Moyise; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 42–62. For a summary of some of the principal aspects of Isaiah in Matthew see R. Beaton, “Isaiah in Matthew’s Gospel,” in Isaiah in the New Testament (ed. S. Moyise and M. J. J. Menken; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 63–78; Beaton makes some general comparisons with regard to method between the use of Isaiah in the scrolls and in Matthew, but he also notes that “Christology, eschatology, the problem of Jewish rejection, gentile inclusion, critique of the Jewish religious establishment and final eschatological renewal are all found in the Isaianic quotations” (p. 78), of which only eschatology has resonance with the scrolls as far as content is concerned. The Psalms in Matthew have been recently discussed by M. J. J. Menken, “The Psalms in Matthew’s Gospel,” in The Psalms in the New Testament (ed. S. Moyise and M. J. J. Menken; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 61–82. 44 See G. J. Brooke, “ ‘The Canon within the Canon’ at Qumran and in the New Testament,” in The Scrolls and the Scriptures: Qumran Fifty Years After (ed. S. E. Porter and C. A. Evans; JSPSup 26; Roehampton Institute London Papers 3; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997; repr. in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament, 27–51), 242–66. 45 On the core explicit citations in the sectarian scrolls together with some comments on the Scriptures of early Christianity see J. C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402, esp. 400–401. 46 Miler, Les citations d’accomplissement dans l’évangile de Matthieu, 361–67. 47 Those in italics are the fulfilment quotations; the rest are from Mark or Q.

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Deuteronomic form that the early Christian tradition has in mind, the overwhelming majority of the explicit quotations in Matthew can indeed be recognized as from Deuteronomy, Isaiah, the Twelve and the Psalms. For the allusions in addition to the scriptural books cited, there is use of 1 Samuel, 1–2 Kings, Ezekiel, Amos, Jonah, Zephaniah, Daniel, the last of these especially on the lips of Jesus. Thus, apart from the Psalms, which may in any case have been considered as prophecy, the Writings play little or no part in Matthew’s scriptural world.48 There is little use of the Former Prophets. This situation mirrors that at Qumran where the Former Prophets and the Writings play a minor role. This may well indicate something about how the development of the canon was taking place in Palestinian circles, though the theological preferences of both Qumran and early Christian communities with regard to unfulfilled blessings, curses, promises and prophecies have also to be taken into account. B. Scripturalization Some of the developing traditions in the Qumran sectarian literature seem to disclose an increasing tendency towards scripturalization, the use of authoritative scriptural references to adapt, expand or explain features in a received tradition; the development of the Qumran Rule of the Community provides a valuable example.49 This tendency has been discerned in other contemporary Jewish literary trajectories as well, such as in prayer.50 A few examples of an ongoing process of scripturalization in Matthew that has some echoes in the Qumran Scrolls can be briefly pointed out.51 1. In first place come the Beatitudes. In Matthew the three original macarisms seem to have reverted to a more Semitic form and to scriptural language, such as the phraseology of Isa 61:2 in Matt 5:4 (cf.

48

Sir 28:2 might lie behind Matt 6:12–15, however. See S. Metso, “The Use of Old Testament Quotations in the Qumran Community Rule,” in Qumran between the Old and New Testaments (ed. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 217–31. 50 See, e.g., J. H. Newman, Praying by the Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism (SBLEJL 14; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999). 51 Many other examples could be cited such as that expounded by J. Verheyden, “The Fate of the Righteous and the Cursed at Qumran and in the Gospel of Matthew,” in Wisdom and Apocalypticism in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Biblical Tradition (ed. F. García Martínez; BETL 168; Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 427–52. 49

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Matt 9:15); the additional Beatitudes in the first Gospel have “language that is strongly influenced by the OT. It can point equally well to Matthew or to the community before him.”52 The Psalms play a notable role in the phraseology of the Matthean set of Beatitudes, especially for 5:5 (Ps 36:11, LXX) and 5:8 (Ps 23:4, LXX).53 Much of the structure, form and purpose of Matthew’s Beatitudes is anticipated in the set of four double macarisms in 4Q525.54 Of particular note is the way that the first and eighth hemistichs of the four macarisms in 4Q525 variously use phraseology from Ps 24:4. Thus Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes is enhanced scripturally and in such a way as almost certainly indicates dependence on earlier Jewish didactic traditions, perhaps something that even Jesus himself might have used. 2. A second example shows that Matthew’s concerns to reflect scriptural traditions take him in a direction other than that found in the Qumran texts. The pentateuchal structure of the Gospel with Jesus as the fulfilment of the law in terms both of its content and as the one who proclaims it implies, as we have already noted, that Moses has met suitably his match in the figure of Jesus. It is clear that for Matthew, while Jesus may fill the role of Moses in the eschatological age, he is not identified as the prophet like Moses (as in Acts 3 and 7); attention to such a figure is known, however, among the sectarian scrolls from Qumran’s Cave 4 in a single sheet of parchment with four quotations in a list of Testimonia (4Q175). The first is from Exod 20:21b according to the Samaritan tradition of supplementing the Decalogue. In it the statements about the eschatological prophet as one like Moses are rehearsed as is described in MT Deut 5:28b–29 and 18:18–19. The role of eschatological prophet in Matthew, however, is reserved for John the Baptist, with Matthew alone of the Gospel writers being absolutely

52

Luz, Matthew 1–7, 186. Cf. also Ps 50:12 (LXX); Ps 73:1. 54 See E. Puech, “Un hymne essénien en partie retrouvé et les Béatitudes: 1QHa V 12–VI 18 (= col. XIII–XIV 7) et 4QBéat.,” RevQ 13 (1988): 59–88; idem, “4Q525 et les péricopes des Béatitudes in Ben Sira et Matthieu,” RB 98 (1991): 80–106; H.-J. Fabry, “Der makarismus: Mehr als nur eine Weisheitliche Lehrform: Gedanken zu den neuedierten Text 4Q525,” in Alttestamentliche Glaube und Biblische Theologie: Festschrift für Horst Dietrich Preuß zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. J. Hausmann and H.-J. Zobel; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1992); E. Puech, “The Collection of Beatitudes in Hebrew and in Greek (4Q525 1–4 and Mt 5, 3–12),” in Early Christianity in Context: Monuments and Documents (ed. F. Manns and E. Alliata; Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1993), 353–68; G. J. Brooke, “The Wisdom of Matthew’s Beatitudes,” Scripture Bulletin 19 (1989): 35–41; repr. in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament, 217–34. 53

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clear that John is to be identified as such. Jesus’ typological relationship with Moses in the Gospel may explain why the role of eschatological prophet is explained by Matthew in terms of Elijah (Matt 11:13–14). Matthew’s detailed knowledge of Scripture enabled him to opt for Mal 4:15 rather than Deut 18:15 in his description of the eschatological prophet.55 3. In Matthew 18 there is a section on discipline in the community. Similar passages in the Qumran Scrolls have drawn the attention of scholars.56 The point to note is that although there is a parallel passage in Luke 17:1–4, in Matthew the discipline is clearly based on an understanding of Lev 19:17 and Deut 19:15 and developed independently in the light of those scriptural texts as a general rule of juridical process. The similar process outlined in CD 9:2–8 is explicitly based on Lev 19:16–18 and it is not unlikely that in fact Matthew has replaced what he received from Q with a small section more closely modelled on practices in Palestinian Jewish groups in which various Scriptures were applied in particular ways. Thus, as with the Beatitudes, Matthew’s use of scripture may have been mediated through such Jewish community rulings rather than being taken from Scripture simpliciter.57 Furthermore, it is the strength of his interest in anchoring matters in scriptural antecedents that marks him out from the other Gospel writers. Conclusion So, in relation to his re-writing practices, in relation to his fulfilment quotations, in relation to his overall attention to Scripture and his enhancement of his sources through his use of it, Matthew stands

55 Possibly at Qumran these roles were conflated with both Moses and Elijah variously anticipating the functions of the eschatological prophet; see 4Q175 1–5, 4Q558 1 II 4. 56 Notably F. García Martínez, “Brotherly Rebuke in Qumran and Mt 18:15–17,” in F. García Martínez and J. Trebolle Barrera, eds., The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Writings, Beliefs and Practices (trans. Wilfred G. E. Watson; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 221–32; see also Menken, “Deuteronomy in Matthew’s Gospel,” 54–55; Blomberg, “Matthew,” 56–58. 57 It is no surprise that it is indeed the community reflected in the Damascus Document that has been identified as a close sociological parallel to the Matthean community; see G. N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 23–42.

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within a scribal tradition many of whose features are now most suitably informed by New Testament scholars paying attention to the Dead Sea Scrolls and other early Palestinian Jewish traditions. There is no case to be made for Matthew as an Essene exegete, but also there is no easy defence of a view which would distance him overmuch from his early Jewish counterparts, either through a sense that he was writing a long way away from the Palestinian counterparts being adduced here or through the opinion that he was able to create things for himself. The Dead Sea Scrolls and other early Palestinian Jewish traditions must be factored in to any depiction of Matthew’s exegetical practices, both his methods and his results, but in a highly nuanced fashion.

SURPRISES FROM LAW AND LOVE: IN TRIBUTE TO DR. JAMES C. VANDERKAM John P. Meier Those who have had the privilege of working with Dr. James C. VanderKam know that, in his case, the phrase “a gentleman and a scholar” is not a coy cliché but a perfect portrait. I am especially fortunate to have him as a colleague, since I doubt that volumes 3 and 4 of my series A Marginal Jew could have been completed without his wise counsel and almost inexhaustible fund of knowledge. This is above all true of volume 4, Law and Love.1 Since it grapples with Jesus’ teaching on the Mosaic law—and hence the heart of Jesus’ Jewishness—it inevitably demands engagement with the legal material now available from the Dead Sea Scrolls, to say nothing of that larger ocean of documents vaguely labeled Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. I might well have abandoned the whole project of Jesus and the law if Dr. VanderKam had not generously offered his time and expertise to guide me through the halakic maze at the turn of the era. I remember with gratitude the many times when, as I sat at the side of his desk, he explained this or that fragment from Cave 4 at Qumran. Hence I can think of no better tribute to his gracious help than to use this essay to stand back, as it were, from volume 4 and ask where my questing for the historical Jesus and the historical torah produced unexpected results that surprised me as well as (presumably) my audience. I undertake this particular exercise out of a conviction that has grown ever firmer over the decades of writing A Marginal Jew. Since scholars searching for the historical Jesus proverbially wind up discovering the mirror-image of themselves or their intellectual pet-programs, the most significant results of Jesus research are seen in those cases where the quester is genuinely surprised or taken off guard by the outcome—and indeed, left scratching one’s head over what to do with the conclusions with which one is stuck. Volume 4 of A Marginal Jew sprang many such surprises on me, and I take this 1 John P. Meier, Law and Love (vol. 4 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009).

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to be a testimonial to Dr. VanderKam’s gentle but firm guidance. His insistence on accurate description of data and logical argument from the data no doubt put me on paths that, left to myself, I probably would not have trod. Hence, in tribute to Dr. VanderKam, I will use this essay to survey ever so briefly the results of Law and Love, asking chapter by chapter where I was both surprised and often puzzled by my own conclusions. The first chapter (ch. 31, pp. 26–73), which introduces the book’s general theme with the title “Jesus and the Law,” had me puzzled from the start. Before I ever began the Marginal Jew project, I knew that describing the slippery reality called “the historical Jesus” was going to be a major challenge. What I had not appreciated, as I came to volume 4, was that describing the Mosaic law at the time of Jesus would be even more difficult. The words Torah and νόμος, even in the limited sense of the written Law of Moses, designates a fluid, protean reality in the first centuries b.c.e. and c.e. As the Dead Sea Scrolls have taught us, the Hebrew text of the Torah existed in various forms at the turn of the era, with creative authors blithely rewriting the Law.2 It still is not entirely clear to scholars whether certain fragments are variant versions of a given book of the Pentateuch or some sort of targum or midrash on the Pentateuch. Worse still, commands and prohibitions that simply are not in any text of the Pentateuch are nevertheless declared to be there by learned Jewish authors around the time of Jesus. For instance, in the second century b.c.e., it was simply out of dire necessity during the revolt against Antiochus IV Epiphanes that the followers of the rebel priest Mattathias decided that it was lawful to fight a defensive battle on the sabbath, although it was unlawful to initiate an attack (1 Macc 2:27–41). That ad hoc decision, reached with no appeal to Scripture or legal reasoning, was denounced soon afterwards by the author of the book of Jubilees, who concludes the entire work with a thundering condemnation of any fighting on the sabbath (50:7–12). Yet, by the first cen-

2 The transcriptions and textual variants of all the biblical Qumran scrolls are now available in the magisterial work of Eugene C. Ulrich, The Biblical Qumran Scrolls (VTSup 134; Leiden: Brill, 2010). The variant readings in the biblical Qumran texts, translated into English, may be found in Martin Abegg, Jr., Peter Flint, and Eugene Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls Bible (San Francisco: Harper, 1999). On the fluid nature of the biblical texts found at Qumran, see Eugene Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans/Leiden: Brill, 1999), esp. “Pluriformity in the Biblical Text, Text Groups, and Questions of Canon,” 79–98.

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tury c.e., Josephus states flatly in his Jewish Antiquities that “the Law [ὁ νόμος]” permits Jews on the sabbath to defend themselves from attacks, but not to launch an attack—this despite the fact that Josephus knows and reports the pragmatic origin of this halakah during the Maccabean revolt (Ant. 14.4.2 §63; cf. 12.6.2 §276–77). And this is hardly a unique case of obligatory practice that is not in the Torah becoming part of the torah. For example, both Philo and Josephus affirm that Moses commanded in the written Law that Jews should study Torah and/or attend synagogue on the sabbath.3 This is all the more startling because Josephus shows that he knows full well how to distinguish between the content of the written Torah and the traditions of the fathers maintained by the Pharisees. As a matter of fact, this idea that synagogue worship on the sabbath is commanded by the Pentateuch is not limited to Josephus or Philo. In the Biblical Antiquities (11:8), communal worship on the sabbath is actually included in the Ten Commandments. This astounding piece of halakah goes beyond any claim of either Philo or Josephus. Indeed, my very use of the Hebrew word halakah contains within itself another surprise for the biblical exegete. The word halakah can mean law in general, a particular corpus of laws, or an individual judgment or opinion about a specific item of legal observance. Biblical scholars readily speak of the halakah of the Pharisees or the Essenes, and I regularly refer to the halakah, the legal teaching, of Jesus. Everyone seems to take for granted that the word halakah actually existed at the time of Jesus. However, a careful examination of the sources makes it likely that the noun is an invention of the rabbis in the post-70 period.4 The reality is certainly there at the time of Jesus, but the technical term for that reality may well be later. This is a small point, to be sure. But it is incumbent on scholars to realize when they are using technical terms anachronistically. The general point, then, is clear: by the end of my first chapter, I was already faced with one big disconcerting surprise. In puzzling out the relation of the historical Jesus to the law in the first century, the historical law might prove to be more problematic than the historical Jesus.

3 For Philo, see Opif. 43§128; Somn. 2.18 §123–27; Mos. 2.39 §211–16; Spec. 2.15 §60–64; for Josephus, see Ag. Ap. 2.17 §175; cf. J.W. 2.14.5 §289; Ant. 16.1.4 §43. 4 See my article, “Is There Hălākâ (The Noun) at Qumran?” JBL 122 (2003): 150–55; this is a prime example of an article that I could have written only with Dr. VanderKam’s help.

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The surprise in the next chapter (ch. 32, pp. 74–181), which treats Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, is another example of exegetes taking for granted historical backgrounds that may not be there. Almost any Christian treatment of Jesus’ prohibition of divorce will place it within the context of the supposed difference of opinion between Shammai and Hillel. Shammai is said to have prohibited divorce except in the case of adultery, while the lenient Hillel allowed practically any reason to justify divorce. This Jewish debate over the proper grounds for divorce even leads some scholars to claim that Matthew’s form of the prohibition (Matt 5:32; 19:9), which alone contains an exception to the total prohibition of divorce, is more original, since it reflects the Jewish debate. Not unlike the case of the word halakah, the problem here is that exegetes are presuming a certain situation in Palestinian Judaism at the time of Jesus which cannot be proven from the sources. Almost without exception (the Essenes being a special case), the Jewish Scriptures and Jewish writings of the late Second Temple period accord the husband the right to divorce his wife for any reason. Indeed, in the first century c.e., both Philo and Josephus, writing independently of each other, affirm that a man can divorce his wife for any reason whatever.5 Neither writer gives the slightest impression that there is any other opinion among Jews with which he is disagreeing or arguing. It is only in the Mishnah of Judah the Patriarch, put together ca. 200– 220 c.e., that one hears for the first time of a debate about adequate grounds for divorce—and, interestingly, this first mention of such a debate ascribes it not to Shammai and Hillel themselves but rather to the Houses (the Schools) of Shammai and Hillel (m. Giṭ 9:10). A legal debate first attested close to 200 years after Jesus can hardly serve as the historical background to his prohibition of divorce, unless some academic equivalent of a back-to-the-future time machine dispenses us from the annoying obligation of paying attention to chronology. Actually, all too many reconstructions of the historical Jesus do precisely that. The truth is, whatever the historical background of Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, it is not the debate between the Houses of Shammai and Hillel, witnessed only at a much later date. That Jesus prohibited divorce is well known among exegetes and even among knowledgeable Christian lay people, whatever its practical

5

For Philo, see Spec. 3.5 §30–31; for Josephus, see Ant. 4.8.23 §253.

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impact or lack thereof. Quite different is the only other clear case of the historical Jesus revoking a key institution sanctioned and regulated by the Mosaic Law, namely, the taking of an oath (or swearing, in the technical legal sense of the word, not in the popular, man-in-the-street sense of the word). In fact, the case of the prohibition of oaths (ch. 33, pp. 182–234) is even more striking than divorce (in theory, if not in practice), because it involves the revocation not simply of an important social institution permitted by the torah. Revoking all swearing necessarily involves as well revoking those laws in the Tanak that positively command the taking of an oath in specific cases, namely, the law of deposits and the case of the wife suspected of adultery (Exod 22:9–10; Num 5:11–31). That the prohibition of oaths is absolute is quite clear from the Matthean form of Jesus’ words (Matt 5:34,37): “Do not swear at all . . . anything more than a firm ‘yes’ or ‘no’ comes from the devil.” The same absolute prohibition is found in the parenesis of Jas 5:12, which is probably an alternate form of the saying of Jesus: “Do not swear either by heaven or by earth or by any oath.” The rationale given by the Matthean form of the prohibition clearly excludes any kind of oath, even one given in court. The problem with an oath, says Jesus, is that it is, in its very essence, an insulting, blasphemous, arrogant infringement on the absolute majesty of God, lèse majésté against divine transcendence. To paraphrase Jesus’ polemic: Who is any puny human being that he or she should presume to drag the all-truthful God into a human court to bear witness to the sometimes-truthful assertions of humans? That is what is essentially and irremediably wrong with any and every oath, and no special venue, formula, or authority can make it right. Jesus makes no distinction between personal or private oaths on the one hand and public, judicial oaths on the other. The most surprising thing here is that, while Christian churches have agonized and quarreled over Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, however much they may ignore it in practice, almost all Christian denominations, with the exception of some Protestant groups (e.g., the Quakers), have quietly agreed to explain away Jesus’ prohibition of oaths as referring to excessive, frivolous, or false swearing. Need I point out that the text of Matthew and James plainly states the opposite? “Do not swear at all . . . not . . . any oath.” Curiously, then, there is a divide that does not place the historical Jesus on one side of the chasm and the Christ of faith, along with the Christian church, on the other side of the chasm. In the total prohibition of all oaths, the historical Jesus, the Christ of faith presented in

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the Gospels, and the early patristic church all stand on the one side of the chasm, and the Christian church from about the fourth century onwards (along with Paul) stands on the other side of the chasm. As so often happens, the distinction between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith turns out to be not only facile but also factually false. This raises all sorts of interesting questions about what is the authoritative norm of Christian morality, but such musings would take us far beyond our concern with the historical Jesus. What I find truly surprising here is that most exegetes simply ignore the fact that Jesus’ total prohibition of oaths involves a double shock: (1) the historical Jesus clearly revokes certain laws in the Pentateuch; and (2) this prohibition of Jesus—both the Jesus reconstructed by historians and the Jesus proclaimed in the Gospels—stands at odds with the almost universal teaching and practice of the Christian church from the fourth century onwards. And really, nobody cares. The problem of Jesus and the sabbath, which I take up in ch. 34 (pp. 235–341), presents us with a case that is almost the opposite of divorce or swearing. Many treatments of Jesus and the sabbath speak of Jesus breaking the sabbath, ignoring the sabbath, explicitly or implicitly undermining the institution of the sabbath, or at the very least of taking a very liberal, not to say libertine, view of the sabbath. The multiple attestation of sources for sabbath dispute stories (Mark, Q, Luke, and John all supply instances) augurs solid support for such views. And yet, once one starts probing below the surface, all that glitters in the text is not historical gold. Serious study of the history of the sabbath collides with all the sabbath dispute stories in the Gospels in which Jesus himself is directly accused of breaking the sabbath. In every one of these stories, the only thing that Jesus does is heal a sick or disabled person on the sabbath. The problem here is that no Jewish source that can be dated prior to 70 c.e. flatly states that treating or healing the sick contravenes the sabbath rest. As in the case of divorce, one must go to the Mishnah for the first example of healing being banned on the sabbath, and even there the prohibition lies on the margins of the rabbinic discussion and is not without countervailing opinions.6 If no

6 What is striking is that the famous list of 39 works prohibited on the sabbath (m. Šabb. 7:2)—a literary genre already seen developing in Jubilees and the Damascus Document—does not include acts of healing. It is necessary to go instead to other

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Jews of the pre-70 period thought that acts of healing violated the sabbath, the historicity of the sabbath disputes in which the sole accusation against Jesus is that he heals on the sabbath is open to serious questioning. Note, by the way, this does not necessarily mean that the tradition that Jesus healed on the sabbath is necessarily unhistorical, only the charge made against him on those grounds. The only other kind of sabbath dispute story in the Gospels is the sole case where the disciples, not Jesus, are directly accused of a violation, namely, plucking the grain on the sabbath (Mark 2:23–28 parr.). A full treatment of this odd story would take us too far afield, but suffice it to say that the pericope is so riddled with improbabilities that it becomes extremely difficult to defend any historical core.7 The greatest problem is that the Markan Jesus incredibly mangles and misrepresents the text (and Jesus appeals to the written text) of the story in 1 Sam 21:2–10, where David asks a priest for the loaves of the presence. The result of the dispute, if historical, would have been disastrous for Jesus and his movement. If this was Jesus’ true competence, he would have quickly lost all credibility as a Jewish teacher interpreting Scripture and proposing halakah. His continued and probably growing success among the common people, a success that finally moved the authorities to do away with him, points in the opposite direction. The surprising upshot of this quick survey is that every dispute story involving Jesus and the sabbath drops out of consideration for historicity. It is prudent here to remember that the criterion of multiple attestation, like all the other criteria of historicity, cannot be applied in a mechanical, wooden fashion to guarantee automatic results. The criteria help to identify likely candidates, but then the individual cases must be probed from many different angles, applying every relevant criterion, every type of literary criticism, and everything that is known about Palestinian Judaism in the early first century, to reach a final judgment. Does this mean that every tradition about Jesus and the sabbath disappears from the historical radar screen? No, I don’t think so. Some of the sayings of Jesus now embedded in sabbath stories do have a fair claim to historicity (e.g., Mark 2:27). Perhaps the most intriguing are those in which Jesus asks rhetorical, a fortiori questions about being scattered texts (e.g., m. Šabb. 14:3–4; 6:2; cf. m. Yoma 8:5–6), which are not without signs of tentativeness and disagreement. 7 For details, see my article, “The Historical Jesus and the Plucking of the Grain on the Sabbath,” CBQ 66 (2004): 561–81.

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willing to draw a sheep out of a pit or a son or an ox out of a cistern on the sabbath (Matt 12:11 || Luke 14:5; cf. Luke 13:15). Not only is there multiple attestation for this type of rhetorical argument from Jesus; but more importantly, such arguments fit perfectly into halakic debates about the sabbath in Palestine in the pre-70 period. Scholars now know from the Damascus Document (CD 11:13–17a) as well as from a fragment from Cave 4 at Qumran (4Q265 fragment 7, 1:6–8) that the Essenes forbade drawing any animal out of a pit or cistern on the sabbath. Indeed, not even a human being could be drawn out if a ladder, rope, or any other instrument had to be used. The only wiggle room the Essenes allowed in the case of humans (but not animals) was that a would-be rescuer could throw his own garment to the person in danger. An intriguing side point here is that Jesus’ rhetorical questions may be the only case in the Gospels where his halakic pronouncements allude to the teaching and practice of the Essenes, a group otherwise notably absent from the Gospel traditions. Some commentators have suggested that pious Jewish peasants were attracted to what they saw as the admirable zeal of the Essenes in their sabbath observance. If that be the case, Jesus’ sayings could be seen as countering that attraction by championing a humane, commonsense approach to the sabbath. If one accepts this hypothesis—and it can only be a hypothesis—then perhaps it is more correct to speak of Jesus’ reasonable, commonsense approach to sabbath observance rather than his radical or liberal stance. In any event, the material that is most likely historical presents us with a Jesus who takes for granted the institution of the sabbath and then argues about its proper observance in certain cases. There is no sign of antipathy to the sabbath as such. Summing up so far: the overall meaning of torah as well as the laws about divorce, oaths, and sabbath—all these topics have proven both confusing and surprising. But they pale in comparison to the hopelessly complicated question of purity rules in ch. 35. Indeed, so convoluted is the topic that the chapter on purity rules takes up 135 pages (pp. 342–477). Most of the attention has to be given to the sprawling pericope of Mark 7:1–23, which encompasses such diverse topics as the obligation to wash hands before eating, the vow of Qorban, and the eating of clean and unclean foods. While I did not expect every item in this literary amalgam to turn out to be historical, I began my work expecting that at least the core of each tradition would meet the test. I was sorely disappointed—to say “surprised” would be an understatement. As I proceeded with my analysis, almost every part

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of Mark 7:1–23 disappeared bit by bit like a Cheshire cat from the historical radar screen. For example, there are no Jewish texts from the pre-70 period that make hand washing obligatory before eating; indeed, differing rabbinic opinions on the subject are found as late as the Tosefta.8 Moreover, when Jesus responds to the question about hand washing, he bases his argument about human traditions annulling the word of God on a proof text from Isa 29:13 (Mark 7:6–7). The problem is, Jesus’ argument works only if he is citing the Greek Septuagint form of Isaiah (with some Markan alteration). The Hebrew of the Isaiah text, either in its Masoretic or in its Qumran form, does not support Jesus’ line of reasoning. Only the Septuagint form does, provided that the changes Mark makes in the Septuagint form are included. The question of the vow of Qorban (Mark 7:10–13) does fit well into what Jewish texts and inscriptions tell us about Palestinian practice around the time of Jesus. However, a careful literary analysis shows that Jesus’ saying about Qorban has been inserted secondarily into a context where it does not really fit. It is ironic, though, that the Qorban tradition may be the only item in the whole of Mark 7:1–23 that can be salvaged for the historical Jesus. This came as something of a personal shock to me. From my tender, innocent days of first reading about the historical Jesus in the essays of Ernst Käsemann,9 the solid rock of historical tradition about the radical Jesus was always Mark 7:15: “There is nothing outside a human being that, by entering into him, can defile him; but those things that come out of a human being are the things that defile him.” Surely here, if anywhere, the criterion of discontinuity applies. Yet further reflection unearthed a number of objections to historicity, all of which could be tucked under the general rubric of Wirkungsgeschichte. Nowhere in the rest of Jesus’ ministry, nowhere in the rest of the Four Gospels, and nowhere in the history of firstgeneration Christianity does this astounding, explosive dictum have the slightest impact or echo. Mark 7:15 lacks multiple attestation of independent sources (Matt 15:11 simply softens Mark, while logion 14

8 Compare and contrast the following texts that reflect a variety of opinions: m. ‘Ed. 5:6–7; t. Ber. 5:13, 26, 27; y. Ber. 8:2; b. Ber. 52b; also Num. Rab. 20:21. The halakah requiring hand washing before meals finally prevailed, but obviously not without a fair amount of debate during the early rabbinic period. 9 See in particular Ernst Käsemann, “The Problem of the Historical Jesus,” Essays on New Testament Themes (SBT 41; London: SCM, 1964), 15–47, esp. 39.

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in the Gospel of Thomas depends upon Matthew’s redaction of Mark),10 and nothing else anywhere in the canonical gospels is comparable to Mark 7:15. Even in Mark 7, the Markan disciples, often astounded or bewildered by what Jesus says and does, voice no objection to a teaching that would tear down the most effective wall of separation between Jews and Gentiles. Amid all the accusations and vituperation that are uttered by Jesus’ opponents in the Gospels, this most offensive of teachings is never mentioned. Neither is it said that Jesus or his disciples actually acted on this teaching during the public ministry. This lack of reverberation anywhere in the Gospel tradition is paralleled by an absence of any mention or memory of this saying of Jesus in the first decades of the church—precisely a time when the church was wracked by controversies over food. Alas, once Mark 7:1–23 fades away, leaving only the Qorban saying behind, it becomes possible to see how spare and scattered in the Gospel are the other sayings of Jesus about purity matters. This scarcity of material is all the more striking against the backdrop of Palestinian Judaism at the turn of the era, where both texts and archaeology attest to lively debates among various groups about the extent and proper observance of purity rules.11 Granted this context, the relative silence of Jesus would seem to argue that he was neither zealous for nor fiercely opposed to purity rules; rather, the sense is that of studied indifference to a question that excited many of his coreligionists. Now, I grant that by the end of this lengthy chapter on purity rules, one might well feel disappointed that so much time and effort should come up with such a meager and largely negative result. But I would nevertheless claim this as a gain. All too often major assertions are made about Jesus either as the iconoclastic radical who rejected all purity rules or as the pious observant Jew who carefully kept them. It is a gain to realize how little historical material exists in the Gospels 10 Matt 15:11 changes Mark 7:15 by introducing the parallel phrases “into your mouth” and “out of your mouth, the resumptive demonstrative “this,” and an overall balancing of the two halves of the saying. The exact same redactional traits are found in Gos. Thom. 14. 11 For the development of and the debates over purity rules in Palestinian Judaism, see, e.g., Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University, 2000); Jesper Svartvik, Mark and Mission. Mk 7:1–23 and Its Narrative and Historical Contexts (ConBNT 32; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2000); Thomas Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah. Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? (ConBNT 38; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2002); Eyal Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran. A CrossCultural Perspective (RelSoc 45; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007).

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on the subject and therefore that sweeping claims on both sides of the argument lack a firm basis in the data. All these disparate questions of halakah may give one the sense of drowning in a sea of detail. That is why in the last and longest chapter of Law and Love (ch. 36, pp. 478–646), I step back and broaden the focus, asking if there is any indication that Jesus ever addressed the question of the Mosaic Law seen as a whole. Most of the candidates brought forward, like the programmatic statement on Law and prophets in Matt 5:17, are heavily laden with Matthean vocabulary and theology. I think that the one chance of seeing a larger vision in Jesus’ halakic teaching lies in his commandments concerning love. I purposely use the plural here because, curiously, in the Gospels, there are three different forms of a love command, each in a different source. Mark gives the double command of love of God and neighbor (Mark 12:28–34 parr.), Q gives the love of enemies (Matt 5:44 || Luke 6:27), and John’s Gospel gives the christologically based “love one another just as I have loved you” (John 13:34; 15:12, 17). One is left in the odd position of having multiple sources for the vague affirmation that Jesus issued a love commandment, while lacking multiple attestation for any one form of a command to love. I had the sinking feeling that once again a great deal of effort spent on a few key sayings would come up empty-handed. This time, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that I was wrong. At first glance, the Markan double command of love does not seem a promising candidate. With the core of Jesus’ saying consisting simply of two citations of Tanak (Deut 6:4–5 and Lev 19:18b), it was hard to see how one could construct an argument that this teaching, bereft of multiple attestation, came specifically from Jesus rather from contemporary Jewish tradition put into Jesus’ mouth by the early church. Alternately, it could simply be a catechetical creation of the early church. To my surprise, though, the decisive argument that this double command comes from Jesus himself is the criterion of discontinuity. To start with, let us remember that in the double command of love, Jesus does four striking things: (1) he cites both texts from Tanak word for word, and not just in a paraphrase or an allusion. Remarkably, neither Deut 6:4–5 nor Lev 19:18b is ever cited word for word as a commandment of the Torah in either the rest of Tanak or Second Temple period literature datable before 70 c.e. (2) Jesus cites not just one of these pentateuchal texts but both of them, back to back. (3) Even as he juxtaposes these two texts, Jesus explicitly orders them

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numerically, insisting that Deut 6:4–5 is the first commandment of all and that Lev 19:18b is the second. (4) Jesus concludes this dialectic of combination yet numerical differentiation with an affirmation of the superiority of these two commandments over all other commandments. No Jewish source from the pre-70 period does the first of these four things, let alone all four together. Even more startling is the discontinuity of Jesus’ double command vis-à-vis the rest of the New Testament. The text of Deut 6:4–5 is never cited elsewhere word for word. While Lev 19:18b is cited word for word a few times,12 it is never joined back to back to Deut 6:4–5, to say nothing of establishing a numerical order between the two commands and putting them together above all other commandments. So, to my surprise, I was left with a fairly strong argument for the authenticity of the double command as coming from Jesus. Still more surprising is the corollary that therefore Jesus is the first Palestinian-Jewish teacher to be documented as using the argument later called the gezerah šawah.13 In later rabbinic hermeneutics, the justification of jumping from one text in Deuteronomy back to a different text in Leviticus and letting them interpret each other would be the fact that both texts use the rare verb form ‫“( וְ ָא ַה ְב ָתּ‬and you shall love” + direct object of the person loved), which is found in the whole of Tanak only in these two texts and then in two echoes of these texts in nearby passages.14

12 Matthew inserts Lev 19:18b twice into Synoptic material he is reworking, namely, at Matt 5:43 and Matt 19:19. Paul also cites Lev 19:18b twice, namely, in Gal 5:14 and Rom 13:9. The only other direct citation in the NT is in Jas 2:8. 13 On the gezerah šawah, see H. L. Strack and Günter Stemberger, Introduction to Talmud and Midrash (2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 18–19; Saul Lieberman, “Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture,” Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (Texts and Studies of the Jewish Theological Seminary in America 18; 2d ed.; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1962), 47–82, esp. 57–62); Moshe J. Bernstein and Shlomo A. Koyfman, “The Interpretation of Biblical Law in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Forms and Methods,” Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. Matthias Henze; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 61–87. Cf. Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 157 n. 36, where he sees “biblical forebears” of the later rabbinic gezerah šawah in the Chronicler’s reinterpretation of Passover halakah taken from Numbers. 14 The text that comes closest to the formulation of Deut 6:4–5 is found in Deut 10:12–13. While the command to love one’s neighbor in Lev 19:18b is never repeated word for word in the rest of Tanak, the closest parallel is found in the extension of the love command to the resident alien (Lev 19:34).

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Unfortunately, the same strong argument from discontinuity is not available for the Q command, “love your enemies.” The substance of this command, though not its exact wording, can be found in the Tanak, Second Temple period literature, and of course the New Testament. It is surprising, though, that the closest parallels in thought and argumentation can be found in the pagan Stoic philosophers who were contemporaries of Jesus, notably Seneca and Epictetus.15 Nevertheless, nowhere in any of these voluminous sources is an exact verbal parallel found; nowhere does a named teacher or prophet issue the sharp, disconcerting, and terribly laconic command, “love your enemies.” In a curious way, and only secondarily, one might also invoke an argument from coherence, since Jesus seems to have had a habit of making his teaching memorable by formulating it in brief, blunt, disturbing formulas: “Swear not at all,” “follow me,” “let the dead bury their dead,” and finally “this is my body.” Granted, the argument from discontinuity (plus coherence) is not as strong in this case as it is for the double command of love, but it inclines me to think that this radical love command comes from Jesus as well. The same, I would claim, cannot be said for the Johannine “love one another just as I have loved you” (John 13:34, repeated in 15:12,17). The form of this command is so anchored in specifically Johannine theology (high christology, realized eschatology, and stark dualism) as well as in the specifically Johannine setting of the Last Supper discourses that one begins to suspect a Johannine creation. Now, this essay is not the place to give a full sketch of Johannine theology that would be needed to flesh out my argument. Suffice it to say that (1) the isolation of the Johannine love command in the Last Supper discourses, with no connection to or echo in the body of this basically a-moral Gospel, (2) the identification of the ground and metric of Christian love with the love Jesus shows his own even unto death, and (3) the restriction of the recipients of this love to the fellow members of the community—taken together, these considerations argue for an origin in Johannine theology. In this connection, it is telling that any form of a command to love one’s enemies is lacking in the Fourth Gospel. Indeed, it may even be that the Johannine love command is 15

For at least partial parallels to Jesus’ command to love one’s enemies, see Seneca, De otio 1 §4; Ben. 7.30 §2; 4.26 §1–3; 7.31 §2–5; De ira 2.32–34; 3.5 §8; 3.42 §3–4; 3.43 §1–2; De constantia 4 §1; 12 §3; 13 §1–2. For Epictetus, see his Diatr. 1.25 §29; 3.13§11–13; 3.4 §9; 3.20 §9; 3.22 §54, §81–82.

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not John’s recycling of the love commands of the Jesus tradition but rather John’s recycling of the command to love one’s neighbor from Lev 19:18b. The extent of the love seems no wider than “the neighbor” of Lev 19:18, in the original sense of the fellow members of one’s cultic community. What is new is John’s typical “christological implosion”: all religious structures, symbols, categories, or titles collapse into, are absorbed by, the person of Jesus. The same is true of the sole specific moral command in the whole of the Fourth Gospel directly issued by the earthly Jesus: “Love one another just as and inasmuch as (καθὼς) I have loved you.” Since almost all books and articles that treat the love commands of Jesus include a consideration of the Golden Rule, I felt I should do the same, if only to make clear that the Golden Rule should not be included among the love commands of Jesus. First of all, and most obviously, unlike the three love commands that we have just examined, the Golden Rule lacks the defining verb “love.” Whether one looks at the NT formulations found in Matt 7:12 (“All whatsoever you wish that humans do to you, so you also do to them”) and Luke 6:31 (“And just as you wish that humans do to you, do to them likewise”) or at the many alternate formulations found in pagan Greco-Roman literature before and after Jesus, the verb “love” is noticeably absent. And it is not just the word but also the reality that is lacking. The Golden Rule has its remote origins in the practical advice to refrain from retaliation, commonly found in the wisdom tradition of the ancient Near East. (Leave it to the gods to punish your enemies; they’ll get annoyed if you preempt them.) The more immediate origins of the Rule lie in the folk ethic of the ancient Greeks, which was taken up by historians and sophists of the classical period and became a commonplace in their writings. However, only in the late Stoicism of the Roman period does the Golden Rule attain great prominence among the philosophers, notably Seneca. Curiously, while the ancient pagan authors used both the positive and negative forms of the Golden Rule, it was only the negative form that penetrated into Jewish wisdom literature, the first clear case known to us being Tobit 4:15 or, in a more defuse form, the Letter of Aristeas §207. The negative form also occurs in the famous anecdote about the would-be Gentile convert interacting with Shammai and Hillel, a story that first appears in the Babylonian Talmud (b. Šabb. 31a), redacted in the fifth or sixth century c.e. The upshot of all this is that, unlike the cases of the double command of love and the com-

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mand to love enemies, the criterion of discontinuity does not apply to the Golden Rule. I would further suggest that the Golden Rule cannot even satisfy the criterion of coherence. The context in which the Golden Rule appears (in Luke 6:27–36, probably reflecting Q) is paradoxically a thundering denunciation by Jesus of the ethic of reciprocity (“hand washes hand”), an attitude common to Greek and later on Roman ethics. But the Golden Rule is one expression, however refined and elegantly formulated, of precisely such an ethic of reciprocity. Indeed, one might use the criterion of coherence to argue against the historical Jesus ever teaching the Golden Rule. After all, how does this cautiously calculating desire for reciprocal benefits, this supreme expression of enlightened self-interest, cohere with the fierce, all-encompassing demands expressed in Jesus’ double command of love and his command to love one’s enemies—to say nothing of all the other radical demands made on his disciples? When one adds to these considerations the minor but interesting point that the ancient Jewish tradition consistently used the negative form of the Rule, while pagan Greeks and Romans frequently used the positive form, the appearance of the positive form on the lips of Jesus may be an example of early Christians wishing to present Jesus to their prospective Gentile converts as an eminent and intelligible teacher of ethics. In the end, though, certainty is not to be had in such matters. While I think the Golden Rule has been secondarily attributed to Jesus by the early Christian tradition, I could live with the conciliatory judgment of non liquet (“not clear either way”).16 As the end of this survey nears, it is time to take stock and draw a few general conclusions about the historical Jesus and his halakic teachings: (1) The historical Jesus that emerges from volume 4 is a Jesus deeply steeped in the Jewish Scriptures and in the halakic debates of first century Palestinian Judaism. Personally, I find it astounding that so many of the recent treatments of the historical Jesus either ignore the whole

16 As an aside: for those who do not care for my conclusions about the Golden Rule, I should note that a French scholar, who has recently reviewed volume 4 of A Marginal Jew in its French edition, praised my treatment of the Golden Rule as “malicious and delicious.” In French, I think that’s a compliment. I suppose some others might want to add “vicious.”

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question of Mosaic Law, or interpret the law problem through the traditional Christian lenses of Paul, Augustine, and Luther, or try to say some politically correct things about purity and holiness in Judaism while usually managing to mangle the concepts. To take Jesus seriously as a first century Jew is to take seriously his engagement with Law and halakah as understood and debated in the first century. Hence my mantra, constantly repeated throughout volume 4: the historical Jesus is the halakic Jesus. A reconstruction of the historical Jesus that lacks a serious halakic dimension is ipso facto not the historical Jesus. (2) This emphasis on the Jewishness of Jesus need not stand in hopeless opposition to the recognition of how Greco-Roman Hellenistic culture may have influenced some of his teachings and practices. From summing up religious and moral obligation under two headings through gracious treatment of enemies to a prohibition of taking oaths, it is possible to find a number of intriguing parallels, however partial and inexact, in Greco-Roman philosophers, both pagan and, in the case of Philo, Jewish. To reject the once-popular portrait of Jesus as a wandering Cynic philosopher is not to reject a sober appreciation of how Hellenistic culture had long since penetrated Jewish Palestine, though in different degrees in different places. (3) The startling realization that, in Jesus’ teaching of the double command of love, we may have the first documented use by a nameable Jewish teacher of what would later be called the gezerah šawah raises again and in more pressing fashion the question of Jesus’ education as a youth. In volume 1 of A Marginal Jew, I struggled to mount an argument that Jesus was at least not illiterate.17 At the time, the best I could do was point to the varied public debates with experts over Scripture and halakah during the public ministry. Jesus’ elegant use of the gezerah šawah makes that general argument much more specific and convincing. However, it makes all the more difficult and intriguing the question of Jesus’ early education. Where, how, and how much? (4) Finally, what of the larger question that moved us to look at all the love commands of Jesus? Did Jesus ever give an indication of his stance vis-à-vis the Mosaic Law as a whole? Well, with a bow to Abelard, yes and no. On the one hand, nowhere in the material that can be attributed to the historical Jesus with fair probability is there the

17 See Meier, The Roots of the Problem and the Person (vol. 1 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 268–78.

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full, programmatic statement of Jesus’ relation to the law that Matthew gives us in Matt 5:17 and in the six antitheses that follow. As any careful redaction-critical study of Matt 5:17–48 will show, this passage, so often cited as the grand expression of Jesus’ relationship to the law, is thoroughly Matthean in structure, grammar, vocabulary, and theology.18 That holds true especially of the key verse, 5:17: “Do not think that I have come to destroy the Law or the prophets; I have come not to destroy but to fulfill.” Either this verse is a complete Matthean creation or it is a piece of tradition that has been very heavily redacted by Matthew. What Matthew 5 and the Sermon on the Mount in general show us is that Matthew is the first great Christian theologian to begin the project of a systematic Christian moral theology. The original sin of most work on the historical Jesus and the law is to attribute to an itinerant Jewish eschatological prophet, active for some two to three years, the first Christian synthesis of moral teaching that probably demanded a decade or so of work from a Christian-Jewish scribe writing toward the end of the first century. The historical Jesus is the halakic Jesus, but he is not the Matthean Jesus. The conflation of these two is a major mistake of most treatments of the historical Jesus and the law. And yet, Jesus’ teaching of the double command of love in Mark 12:28–34 shows that the historical Jesus did not simply issue adhoc halakic pronouncements on scattered topics like divorce, oaths, or the sabbath. He did reflect on the totality of Torah and did extract from that totality the love of God and the love of neighbor as the first and second commandments of the Torah, superior to other commandments, which, nevertheless, remain. That much the historical Jesus says by way of a holistic approach to the law. But that is all he says. Once one moves on to claiming that Jesus made love the hermeneutical key for interpreting the whole Law or the supreme principle from which all other commandments can be deduced or by which they can be judged or ordered, a shift has occurred from the historical Jesus, or even the Markan Jesus, to the Matthean Jesus. It is Matthew and Matthew alone who, in his redaction of Mark, both draws the two

18 See my early work, Law and History in Matthew’s Gospel: A Redactional Study of Mt. 5:17–48 (AnBib 71; Rome: Biblical Institute, 1976).

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love commandments closer together and—more significantly—states that the whole Law “hangs upon” these two commandments.19 In the end, though, like good pagan Stoics, let us be satisfied with what we have. Jesus’ reflection on how parts of the Law relate to the whole of the Law led him to love—specifically to love of God and love of neighbor as supreme. All you need is love? Hardly. For Jesus, you need the Torah as a whole. Nothing could be more foreign to this Palestinian Jew than a facile antithesis between Law and love. But for Jesus, love, as commanded by the Law, comes first—and second.

19 It is vital to keep separate in our minds the Markan and Matthean versions of the double commandment of love. In answer to the (well-disposed) scribe’s question, “Which commandment is first of all?,” the Markan Jesus replies (Mark 12:29–31) that “the first is: ‘Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with (literally, ‘out of’) your whole heart and with your whole soul and with your whole mind and with your whole strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” Matthew both abbreviates the text of the commandments and appends a longer commentary (Matt 22:37–40). In answer to the (ill-disposed) scribe’s question, “Which is the great commandment in the Law?,” the Matthean Jesus replies, “ ‘You shall love the Lord your God with [literally, ‘in’] your whole heart and with your whole soul and with your whole mind.’ This is the great and first commandment. The second is similar to it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments depends (literally, ‘hangs’) the whole Law and the prophets.” Matthew thus implies that the first two commandments are in some way the supreme principle, summary, or compendium from which the rest of the Law (and the prophets—for Matthew, the whole of the [Jewish] Scriptures!) can be derived or deduced. This goes far beyond what Mark (and, I think, the historical Jesus) claims.

THE MEANING OF ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ IN THE INSCRIPTIONES OF THE CANONICAL GOSPELS David E. Aune I. Introduction The most common form of the inscriptiones of the canonical gospels in the vast majority of Greek manuscripts is εὐαγγέλιον κατά + personal name in the accusative. In a very few uncial manuscripts containing all four Gospels, the shorter form κατά + personal name in the accusative occurs. In trying to determine the meaning of εὐαγγέλιον in these inscriptiones, an important consideration is determining the approximate date when they were added to the text of the Gospels. Some maintain that the inscriptiones were added to the Gospels as early as the end of the first century or beginning of the second, while others argue that this paratextual addition occurred late in the second century. II. Εὐαγγέλιον in Early Christian Literature A Lexicographical Overview In general, Greek lexicographers have distinguished two and sometimes three meanings of εὐαγγέλιον that developed in antiquity by means of early Christian usage of the term (beginning with Paul), through the late second century. The pre-Christian meanings have been grouped in two categories by Liddell, Scott and Jones: (1) “reward of good tidings [given to the messenger],” or “thank-offering for good tidings,” and (2) “good tidings” or “good news” itself and later in the more specific Christian sense of “the gospel.”1 Greek lexicography in the English language has been historically dependent on Henri Estienne (in Latinized form Robertus Stephanus), Thesaurus Graecae Linguae, first published in 1532 and revised and expanded nearly three centuries later, from 1 Henry George Liddell, Robert Scott and Henry Stuart Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edition (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1940), 705.

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1816 to 1825.2 In this later edition, the meanings of εὐαγγέλιον are placed in two categories. The first consists of pre-Christian meanings of the term, such as “laetum nuntium” or “faustum vel felix nuntium,” or “bonum nuntiam” (followed by many examples of this usage). The second focuses on the Christian meaning of the term, which is formulated in a highly theological manner (col. 367: “εὐαγγέλιον autem κατ̉ ἐξωχὴν dicitur peculiaritur a Christianis annuntiatio insignis illius beneficii a Christo in humanum genus collate, quum sua ipse morte illud a morte aeterna liberavit”), similarly followed by many examples.3 In defining εὐαγγέλιον almost exclusively in terms of later Christological developments, the meaning of this important early Christian lexeme was defined anachronistically. G. W. H. Lampe, beginning with early second century Christian literature, proposes three categories of meaning: (1) probably without actual reference to a written gospel, (2) perhaps referring to written gospels, (3) referring to written gospels.4 These categories are quite remarkable in their own way, since Lampe avoids actually proposing definitions of εὐαγγέλιον. There is widespread agreement among New Testament scholars that the noun τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, first used in a Christian context by Paul with the meaning “the [content of the] good news [about Jesus],” takes on a more explicitly literary meaning by the mid-second century c.e.5 Hans von Campenhausen, followed by Helmut Koester, argues that τὸ εὐαγγέλιον was not used of a written text until Marcion (died ca. 154 c.e.), who called his revision of what came to be known as the “Gospel according to Luke,” simply “Gospel.”6 The use of εὐαγγέλιον as a designation for a written text becomes particularly clear when the plural form εὐαγγέλια occurs. J. K. Elliott understands this use of εὐαγγέλιον as a “distinct genre of literature recounting Jesus’ ministry.”7 But this

2 Henri Estienne, Thesaurus Graecae Linguae (8 vols.; London: In Aedibus Valpianis, 1816–1825). 3 Estienne, Thesaurus Graecae Linguae, 1:366–68. 4 A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1961), 555. 5 Johannes P. Louw and Eugene A. Nida, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament Based on Semantic Domains (2 vols.; New York: United Bible Societies, 1988), 1 §33.217. 6 H. von Campenhausen, The Formation of the Christian Bible (trans. J. A. Baker; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972), 147–63, esp. 159; Helmut Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), 35–36; Adolf von Harnack, Marcion: Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott (2d ed.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1924), 184. 7 “Mark 1.1–3—a Later Addition to the Gospel?” NTS 46 (2000): 585.

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understanding of εὐαγγέλιον as a genre designation is anachronistic. The first time that the plural form εὐαγγελία occurs in early Christian texts is in Justin 1 Apol. 66.3, where the phrase ἀπομνημονεύματα τῶν ἀποστοῶν (a term for the gospels that emphasizes their historical value) is accompanied by the appositional phrase ἃ καλεῖται εὐαγγέλια.8 Justin, however, generally seems to avoid using εὐαγγέλιον of written texts.9 Marcion was one of the first to use the singular form εὐαγγέλιον to refer to a written gospel, in this case the Gospel of Luke, based on his view that the Pauline phrase “my gospel” (Rom 2:16; 16:25) referred specifically to Luke.10 Εὐαγγέλιον in Paul

The term εὐαγγέλιον first appears in a Christian context in the writings of Paul, where it occurs 48 times in the genuine letters (12 times in the pseudo-Pauline letters).11 According to Koester, the absolute use of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Paul is a theological abbreviation for “the good news [of the saving significance of the death and resurrection of Jesus]”; when Mark used εὐαγγέλιον in the incipit to his narrative about Jesus, he employed “already well-established technical terms for the Christian message and its proclamation,” as known from Paul.12 Paul’s most extensive explication of the content of the gospel is found in Rom 1:1–3, and elsewhere he frequently uses the theological abbreviation “gospel of Christ” with “of Christ” as an objective genitive, i.e., “the gospel about Christ” (cf. Rom 15:19; 1 Cor 9:12; 2 Cor 2:12; 4:4; Gal 1:7; Phil 1:27; 1 Thess 3:2). When Paul uses the term τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in an absolute sense, i.e., without genitival qualification, he “presupposes that the content is understood and requires no further definition or explication” and that content is “the complex of traditions about the words and deeds of

8

Otto Piper, “The Gospel according to Justin Martyr,” JR 41 (1961): 159. Piper, “The Nature of the Gospel,” 155, 162–63; Annette Yoskiko Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ: Orality, Textuality and the Christian Truth in Irenaeus’ Adversus Haereses,” VC 56 (2002): 11–46. 10 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 36. 11 This figure is the result of adding up the statistics for individual Pauline letters found in Robert Morgenthaler, Statistik des neutestamentlichen Wortschatzes (Zurich and Frankfurt am Main: Gotthelf Verlag, 1958), 101. Those Pauline letters considered to be genuine include Romans, 1–2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians and Philemon. 12 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 4. 9

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Jesus.”13 In defining what Paul means by τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Galatians, J. Louis Martyn includes such features as the salvific death of the Son (Gal 3:1), the call for Gentiles to turn from idols to the living God and his Son (4:8), the coming of the Spirit (3:2; 4:6) and the assurance of future deliverance (5:5, 21), which he later expresses succinctly as “the salvific event of the Son’s death and resurrection.”14 Εὐαγγέλιον in Mark

There is general agreement that the term εὐαγγέλιον in the subscriptiones and inscriptiones of Matthew, Luke and John was ultimately derived from the incipit of the Gospel of Mark (1:1): ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ι̉ ησοῦ Χριστοῦ.15 While there are many issues surrounding this short clause and its syntactical relationship to vv. 2–3, our focus is necessarily restricted to the meaning of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον. Mark used this lexeme seven times (1:1; 1:14, 15; 8:35; 10:29; 13:10; 14:9), all in sayings of Jesus with two exceptions (1:1, 14),16 all in Markan

13

Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 5. Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 33A; New York: Doubleday, 1997), 129–30. 15 The two major modern critical editions of the Greek New Testament (UBSGNT4 and Nestle-Aland27) bracket the concluding phrase υἱοῦ θεοῦ in Mark 1:1 to indicate the uncertainty of its originality. Arguments for the later addition of the phrase are more convincing, however, than arguments for its omission; see P. M. Head, “A Text-Critical Study of Mark 1.1: ‘The Beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ’,” NTS 37 (1991): 621–29; see also Bart Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 72–75 and Adela Yarbro Collins, “Establishing the Text: Mark 1:1,” in Texts and Contexts: The Function of Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts (ed. Tord Fornberg and David Helholm; Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 111–27. This view is also held by some recent commentators, including Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8 (AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 141 and Collins, Mark (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 130. The best set of arguments for the originality of the phrase υἱοῦ θεοῦ is presented by Alexander Globe, “The Caesarean Omission of the Phrase ‘Son of God’ in Mark 1:1,” HTR 75 (1982): 209–18. While the evaluation of the textual evidence by Bruce M. Metzger in A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (2d ed.; Stuttgart: German Bible Society; New York: American Bible Society, 1994), 62, is balanced and accurate (he reflects the committee’s decision to bracket the phrase), the discussion of Roger L. Omanson, A Textual Guide to the Greek New Testament (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2006), 56, is both inaccurate and misleading. 16 An additional occurrence is found in 16:15 in the longer ending added by the mid-second century. According to James A. Kelhoffer, the longer ending (Mark 16:9–20) was added ca. 120–150 C.E.; see his Mission and Message: The Authentication of Missionaries and Their Message in the Longer Ending of Mark (WUNT 2/112; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). 14

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redactional material.17 The term occurs in unmodified form five times (1:15; 8:35; 10:29; 13:10; 14:9), but is twice more closely defined by accompanying genitives: ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ” (1:1) and κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ θεοῦ, “proclaiming the good news about God” (1:14). The articular use of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Mark (and the rest of the New Testament) is a theological abbreviation meaning “good news relating to God’s action in Jesus Christ” or “the message about Christ.”18 The unmodified uses of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον are reminiscent of Paul’s use of the term, with the exception of the phrase πιστεύειν ἐν τῷ εὐαγγέλίῳ, which is clearly non-Pauline.19 The use of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Mark 14:9 is particularly instructive, where it occurs in a saying of Jesus at the end of the story of Jesus’ anointing in Bethany: “Amen, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed [κηρυχθῇ τὸ εὐαγγελίῳ] to the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.” Here τὸ εὐαγγέλιον clearly refers to the oral proclamation about Jesus, which takes account of stories such as the one told in Mark 14:3–8 as well as the other stories about Jesus and sayings of Jesus found in Mark, including the passion narrative.20 The incipit in Mark 1:1, ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ι̉ ησοῦ Χριστοῦ, is syntactically independent, since it is neither a sentence nor a main clause (it lacks both a verb and a predicate) and probably functions as the title of the entire ensuing narrative (this view is reflected in the punctuation of UBSGNT4 and Nestle-Aland27).21 The genitive phrase “of Jesus Christ,” as ambiguous in Greek as it is in English, is a plenary genitive,22 i.e., a double entendre which the reader can construe as both subjective genitive (Jesus Christ as the proclaimer of good news) and as an objective genitive (Jesus Christ as the one proclaimed in the

17 Willi Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Evangeliums (2d ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959), 98. 18 On the former definition, see Bauer-Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 402. On the latter, see Georg Strecker, Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament (ed. Horst Balz and Gerhard Schneider; 3 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981), 2:70. 19 Peter Stuhlmacher, Das paulinische Evangelium, I. Vorgeschichte (FRLANT 95; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 234–36. 20 Ernst Lohmeyer, Das Evangelium des Markus (KEKNT; Göttingen: Vandenhooeck & Ruprecht, 1959), 295. 21 N. Clayton Croy, “Where the Gospel Text Begins: A Non-Theological Interpretation of Mark 1:1,” NovT 43 (2001): 105–27, here 114. 22 Daniel B. Wallace, Greek Grammar beyond the Basics: An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), 119–21.

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good news).23 Boring appropriately defines τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Mark 1:1 as “. . . the contents and subject matter of Mark’s narrative as a whole, the story of Jesus, the saving act of God in his Son Jesus the Christ, his words, deeds, death and resurrection, as these are expressed in the following document and as they continue to be preached in Mark’s own time.”24 Since the term εὐαγγέλιον in the incipit of Mark was the source of the later subscriptiones and inscriptiones of all four canonical Gospels, it is striking that both Matthew and Luke did not themselves appropriate εὐαγγέλιον as a way of describing the contents of their own narratives, assuming that Mark 1:1–3 was part of the Markan text available to them.25 Matthew uses the phrase βίβλος γενέσεως in his opening sentence (1:1): Βίβλος γενέσεως Ι̉ ησοῦ Χριστοῦ υἱοῦ ∆αυὶδ υἱοῦ Α ̉ βραάμ, (“The book of the origin of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham”). Since this incipit, like one in Mark, lacks both a verb and a predicate, it also has a titular character and again like Mark, it can be construed as a title of the entire text (construing γενέσεως as “story”) or an initial segment of the text (construing γενέσεως as “birth”), but can also refer to an initial segment of the text (construing

23 M. Feneberg, Der Markusprolog: Studium zum Formbestimmung des Evangeliums (SANT 36; Munich: Kösel Verlag, 1974), 118; Joel Marcus, Mark 1:1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 146–47; R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark (NIGTC; Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2002), 53; Collins, Mark, 135; Udo Schnelle, Theology of the New Testament (trans. M. Eugene Boring; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2009), 400. 24 Boring, “Mark 1:1–15,” 51. 25 Some scholars have argued that Mark 1:1–3 (in whole or in part) is a later interpolation; see C. F. D. Moule, The Birth of the New Testament (2d ed.; San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1982), 131–32, n. 1. Walter Schmithals maintains that Mark originally began with ἐγένετο, “it happened,” and that neither Matthew nor Luke read Mark 1:1, which must have been missing from the texts of Mark they read; Mark 1:1 (as well as vv. 2–3) is therefore an interpolation (Das Evangelium nach Markus: 1,1–9,1 [2. Aufl.; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1986], 73–75). This case for Mark 1:1–3 as an interpolation has been argued in detail more recently by J. K. Elliott, “Mark 1.1–3—A Later Addition to the Gospel?” NTS 46 (2000): 584–88 and Croy, “Where the Gospel Text Begins,” 119–20, nn. 37–38. Croy provides a fuller list of scholars who have entertained the possibility of an interpolation at the beginning of Mark; idem, The Mutilation of Mark’s Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), 113–36, 165–66. This monograph deals primarily with the problematic ending of Mark, while the section dealing with the beginning of Mark is a simplified version of the author’s earlier essay.

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γενέσεως as “birth”), e.g., Matt 1:2–17 or 1:2–25.26 The nouns ἀρχή (Mark 1:1) and γένεσις (Matt 1:1) in fact share a semantic overlap; in appropriate contexts both can mean “beginning, origin.”27 The word τὸ εὐαγγέλιον itself is used just four times in Matthew (4:23; 9:35; 24:14; 26:13), always with active or passive forms of the verb κηρύσσω and three times qualified by an objective genitive in the phrase τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς βασιλείας (4:35; 9:35; 24:14), referring to Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of Heaven. The word τὸ εὐαγγέλιον does not occur in the Gospel of Luke; the author implies that the work is a διήγησις (1:1) which Bauer-Danker define as “an orderly description of facts, events, actions or words,” hence “narrative, account.”28 In Acts 1:1, the author refers to his first volume as a λόγος, a term used for the separate books of a work.29 Despite the absence of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, there may be a reminiscence of Mark 1:1 in Acts 1:1, where the author describes his first book as dealing with everything ὧν ἤρξατο ὁ Ι̉ ησοῦς ποιεῖν τε καὶ διδασκεῖν (“which Jesus began to do and to teach”).

Εὐαγγέλιον in Second Century Christianity

The term τὸ εὐαγγέλιον (always with the definite article, because early Christians are referring to a known entity), occurs several times in the Apostolic Fathers, all written before the middle of the second century,

26 Those who argue that Matt 1:1 functions as a title for the entire text include the following: Walter Grundmann, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (THNT 1; Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1968), 61; F. W. Beare, The Gospel according to Matthew (San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1981), 64; W. D. Davies and Dale Allison, An Exegetical and Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to St. Matthew (Vol. l, chapters 1–7), (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1988), 1:149–55; J. D. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 10 n. 54; Moises Mayordomo-Marin, Den Anfang Hören (FRLANT 180; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 208–13; Ulrich Luz, “Das Matthäusevangelium— eine neue oder eine neu redigierte Jesusgeschichte?” Biblischer Text und theologische Theoriebildung (ed. Stephen Chapman, Christine Helmer and Christof Landmesser; BThSt 44; Neukirchen: Neukirchener, Verlag 2001), 54. Those who regard Matt 1:1 as introducing an initial section of text include W. C. Allen, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to S. Matthew (ICC; 3d ed.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1912), 1–2; Ernst Lohmeyer and Werner Schmauch, Das Evangelium des Matthäus (KEK; 2nd ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958), 1; Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7 (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989), 103–4; Donald Hagner, Matthew 1–13 (WBC 33A; Dallas: Word Books, 1993), 5. 27 Bauer-Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 111–12, 154. 28 Bauer-Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 245. 29 Bauer-Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 600.

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when all four Gospels were in circulation.30 The focal lexicographical issue has often been whether or not the occurrences of εὐαγγέλιον in these early Christian writings refer to an oral message or a written text. Here is a list of the relevant texts with brief translations and followed by a discussion of the possible meanings of εὐαγγέλιον: 1. Didache 8:2: “But as the Lord commanded in his gospel [ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ], pray in this way: ‘Our Father in heaven. . . . [a version of the Lord’s Prayer close to Matt 6:11–13].” 2. Didache 11:3: “With respect to apostles and prophets, treat them in accordance with the command of the gospel [δόγμα τοῦ εὐαγγελίου].” 3. Didache 15:3: “Do not reprove in anger, but in peace as you find in the gospel [ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ].” 4. Didache 15:4: “But say your prayers, give alms an engage in all your activities as you have found in the gospel of our Lord [ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν].” 5. Ignatius Phld. 5:1: “When I flee to the gospel [τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ] as to the flesh of Jesus and to the apostles as to the presbytery of the church.” 6. Ignatius Phld. 5:2: “And we should also love the prophets, because their proclamation anticipated the gospel [τὸ εὐαγγέλιον] and they hoped in him and awaited him. And they were saved by believing in him, because they stood in the unity of Jesus Christ, saints who were worthy of love and admiration, who were testified to by Jesus Christ and counted as belonging to the gospel [ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ] of our mutual hope.” 7. Ignatius Phld. 8:2: “For I heard some saying: ‘If I do not find it in the ancient records, I do not believe in the gospel [ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ].’ And when I said to them, ‘It is written,” they replied to me, ‘That is just the question.’ But for me, Jesus Christ is the ancient records; the sacred ancient records are his cross and death, and his resurrection, and the faith that comes through him—by which things I long to be made righteous by your prayer.

30

Εὐαγγέλιον occurs 76 times in the New Testament, just twice in an anarthrous form (Gal 1:6; Rev 14:6). In Gal 1:6, εὐαγγέλιον is anarthrous because Paul is referring to ἕτερον εὐαγγέλιον, “another gospel,” which is actually οὐκ ἔστιν ἄλλο (“is not another,” v. 7), and certainly not τὸ εὐαγγέλιον proclaimed by Paul.

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8. Ignatius Phld. 9:2: “But there is something distinct about the gospel [τὸ εὐαγγέλιον]—that is, the coming of the Savior, our Lord Jesus Christ, his suffering, and resurrection. For the beloved prophets made their proclamation looking ahead to him; but the gospel [τὸ εὐαγγέλιον] is the finished work that brings immortality.” 9. Ignatius Smyrn. 5:1: “They have been convinced neither by the words of the prophets nor the Law of Moses, nor, until now, by the gospel [τὸ εὐαγγέλιον] nor by the suffering each of us has experienced.” 10. Ignatius Smyrn. 7:2: “But instead pay attention to the prophets, and especially to the gospel [τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ], in which the passion is clearly shown to us and the resurrection is perfected.” 11. Martyrdom of Polycarp 4:1 [3]: “Because of this, brothers, we do not praise those who hand themselves over, since this is not what the gospel [τὸ εὐαγγέλιον] teaches.” 12. 2 Clement 8:5: “For the Lord says in the gospel [λέγει γὰρ ὁ κύριος ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ], ‘If you do not keep what is small, who will give you what is great? For I say to you that the one who is faithful in very little is faithful also in much [cf. Luke 16:10].” Bauer-Aland categorizes all these early occurrences of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as in a state of transition to the later Christian understanding of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as a book whose content deals with the life and teaching of Jesus.31 For Bauer-Danker (based in part on Bauer-Aland, but with considerable changes and additions made by Danker), the occurrences of εὐαγγέλιον in the Didache, Ignatius (Phld. 8:2, Smyrn. 7:2), Mart. Polyc. 4:1 [3] and 2 Clem. 8:5 all mean “the good news of Jesus,” that is, “details relating to the life and ministry of Jesus” with the suggestion that τὸ εὐαγγέλιον perhaps has this meaning in Mark 1:1.32 The entry concludes with the phrase “This usage marks a transition to” with the next sub-entry beginning, “a book dealing with the life and teaching of Jesus.” There are three passages in the Didache in which τὸ εὐαγγέλιον is linked to quotations or allusions that are arguably derived from the Gospel of Matthew: Did. 8:2; 15:4; 11:3. In Did. 8:2, the author introduces the Lord’s Prayer in a version similar to Matt 6:9–13, with the 31

Walter Bauer, Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur (ed. Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland; 6th ed.; Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1988), 644. 32 Bauer-Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 403.

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phrase ὡς ἐκέλευσεν ὁ κύριος ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ (“as the Lord commanded in the gospel”). Similarly, in Did. 15:3–4, the phrases ὡς ἔχετε (“as you have [in the gospel]”) and ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν (“in the gospel of our Lord”), with surrounding allusions to the kind of material found in Matthew (cf. Matt 18:15–16). For Helmut Koester, Did. 8:2 is best understood as a reference to the (oral) preaching of the Lord, but he concedes that the reference can be construed as referring to the written gospel.33 He also maintains that Did. 11:3 is based on oral tradition, while with regard to Did. 15:3–4 he considers 15:3 to refer to instruction drawn from a written source, though not the Gospel of Matthew.34 In evaluating 15:4, Koester follows W. Michaelis that a specific written gospel is not in view, even though such books existed at the time.35 Similarly, Kurt Niederwimmer hesitates between whether the Didachist means the viva vox evangelii or a written gospel for Did. 8:2; 11:3.36 He thinks that Did. 15:3 and 15:4 may refer to a written gospel book, though it is not clear which one.37 Gundry argues persuasively, in my view, that while the phrase ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ in Did. 8:2, 15:3–4 and 11:3 indicates that the Didachist has drawn material from a written copy of the Gospel of Matthew, he is not referring to Matthew as a written gospel; rather he refers to material orally preached and taught by Jesus and now by those who use Matthew as a source for the sayings of Jesus.38 Irenaeus too continues this practice by using the phrase ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ to refer to quotations or allusions to the Gospels: Haer. 1.20.2 (Luke 2:49); 2.26.2 (Matt 10:24); 3.23.3 (Matt 25:41); 5.22.1 (Matt 4:7).39 It seems that the phrase ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ can refer to the teaching of Jesus, whether drawn from a written or oral source. It is prima facie likely that written Jesus traditions exerted an influence over oral Jesus traditions, much like the German folktales collected by Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm in Deutsche Sagen (1816–18) exerted an unanticipated influence on oral folktales as German parents

33 Helmut Koester, Synoptische Überlieferung bei den apostolischen Väter (TU 65; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1957), 10, 203. 34 Koester, Synoptische Überlieferung, 10–11. 35 Koester, Synoptische Überlieferung, 210–11. 36 Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache (Hermaneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 135, 173. 37 Niederwimmer, The Didache, 203–5. 38 Robert H. Gundry, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ: How Soon a Book?” JBL 115 (1996): 322–23. 39 Reed, ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ, 32 n. 59.

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bought copies of the book and read the literary versions to their children rather than rely on memory as had their forebears. Ignatius uses the articular noun τὸ εὐαγγέλιον eight times, six times in Philadelphians and twice in Smyrnaeans. For Schoedel, followed by Brown, τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Ignatius regularly refers to the good news about Jesus rather than a written document.40 Particularly with regard to Smyrn. 5:1 and 7:2, Schoedel indicates that there is no reason to think that Ignatius is referring to a written gospel; for Ignatius τὸ εὐαγγέλιον probably consisted of a collection of traditions such as those found in Smyrn. 1:1–2 and 3:2–3 that represented the fulfillment of prophecy as well as confirmed the reality of the birth, death and resurrection of Christ.41 According to Buschmann, τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Mart. Polyc. 4:3 refers, not to a written gospel, but to the report about the suffering of Jesus providing teaching and instruction for the imitation of the Lord.42 Though τὸ εὐαγγέλιον occurs just once in 2 Clement (written ca. 150 c.e.) in the phrase ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ in 8:5, the author frequently cites sayings of Jesus elsewhere, several of which are not found in the canonical gospels.43 Koester argues that in 2 Clem. 8:5, the author quotes a saying of Jesus from a written work, probably a sayings collection that was in turn based on the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.44 In an earlier study, Koester entertains the possibility that the composite saying of Jesus in 2 Clem. 8:5 was drawn from an apocryphal gospel, but in the final analysis it is impossible to determine the origin of the two sayings.45 Both Lindemann and Pratscher argue that in 2 Clem. 8:5b (which has verbal similarities with Luke 16:10), the phrase ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ probably refers to an apocryphal gospel,46 40 William Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 201; Charles T. Brown, The Gospel and Ignatius of Antioch (Studies in Biblical Literature 12; New York: Peter Lang, 2000), 15–21. 41 Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch, 234, 242. 42 Gerd Buschmann, Das Martyrium des Polykarp (KAV; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 127. 43 See the following passages: 2 Clem. 3:2 (cf. Q 12:8); 4:2 (cf. Matt 7:21), 5 (non-canonical saying); 5:2–4 (non-canonical dialog between Jesus and Peter); 6:1 (Q 16:13a), 2 (Mark 8:36; Matt 16:26; Luke 9:25); 9:11 (cf. Mark 3:35; Matt 12:50; Luke 8:21); 12:2 (cf. Gos. Thom. 22). 44 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 18. 45 Koester, Synoptische Überlieferung, 99–102. 46 Andreas Lindemann, Die Clemensbriefe (HNT 17; AV 1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 224; Wilhelm Pratscher, Der zweite Clemensbrief (KAV; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 131–32.

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while Donfried argues that εὐαγγέλιον here means “the oral message of salvation, rather than as a designation for a written book.”47 While here I am primarily concerned with the meaning of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in the Apostolic Fathers, the opinions of various scholars just surveyed generally agree with Koester’s view that in most cases allusions to words of Jesus in the Apostolic Fathers are not based on written gospels. The use of the term τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in the selection of texts from the Apostolic Fathers briefly surveyed above, all dating to the first half of the second century, suggests that is it a false alternative to presuppose that τὸ εὐαγγέλιον must refer either to oral traditions about Jesus or a written text about Jesus. Τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in these texts refers to an authoritative complex of traditional teachings and activities of Jesus with an implicit indifference toward the issue of whether this complex was transmitted in oral or written form. In the case of Irenaeus, Reed argues that his use of the term τὸ εὐαγγέλιον exhibits polysemy, i.e., an “interplay between oral and written connotations,” i.e., “the two specialized Christian meanings that had been established” by the time of Irenaeus, the oral meaning found in Paul and the written meaning established by Marcion.48 In its Pauline sense, Irenaeus could regard τὸ εὐαγγέλιον / evangelium as the truth proclaimed (κηρύσσειν) by the apostles and transmitted (παραδιδόναι) to the Church (Haer. 3.1.1; 3.12.12; 3.14.1).49 For Irenaeus, the notions of εὐαγγέλιον / evangelium and παράδοσις / tradition were closely related (3.5.1): Since, therefore, the tradition [traditione] from the apostles does thus exist in the Church, and is permanent among us, let us revert to the Scriptural proof furnished by those apostles who did also write the Gospel [evangelium] in which they recorded the doctrine regarding God, pointing out that our Lord Jesus Christ is the truth, and that no lie is in Him.

In Adversus haereses, Irenaeus uses εὐαγγέλιον / evangelium 101 times, 94 times in the singular, but just seven times in the plural (2.22.3; 3.11.7; 11.8 [2x]; 11.9 [3x]).50 He uses the singular to refer to four

47 Karl P. Donfried, The Setting of Second Clement in Early Christianity (NovTSuppl 38; Leiden: Brill, 1974), 72. 48 Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ,” 18, 19, 47. 49 Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ,” 42. 50 Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ,” 19.

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written texts (e.g., 3.5.1; 3.11.9; 4.34.1).51 In the judgment of von Campenhausen,52 The ‘Gospel’ to which appeal is normally made (in the first two-thirds of the second century) remains an elastic concept, designating the preaching of Jesus as a whole in the form in which it lives on in church tradition. The normative significance of the Lord’s words, which is the most important point, is thus directly dependent upon the person of the Lord, and is not transferred to the documents which record them.

The texts cited from the Didache, the Martyrdom of Polycarp and 2 Clement all refer to the teachings of Jesus found in τὸ εὐαγγέλιον. Most of the texts surveyed in Ignatius consider τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as a comprehensive entity that embodies the Christian message; Ignatius Phld. 9:2 and Smyrn. 7:2 emphasize the coming, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus narrated in τὸ εὐαγγέλιον. Bauer-Aland defines τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in the texts reviewed above as “Auf dem Übergang zu dem späteren christlichen Sprachgebrauch, für den εὐαγγέλιον Beziehung eines Buches ist, dessen Inhalt Leben und Lehre Jesu bilden.”53 While this is apparently intended to reflect the ambiguity of whether εὐαγγέλιον refers to an oral message or a written text, semantically this definition is not very useful. Bauer-Danker tries to solve this problem by defining τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as “details relating to the life and ministry of Jesus, good news of Jesus,” and only at the end of this category, as a concession to Bauer-Aland, is the phrase “This marks a transition to” inserted.54 The twelve texts from the Apostolic Fathers quoted and briefly discussed above were all written before 150 c.e., the period when it is likely that the long form of the subscriptiones and inscriptiones of the Gospels were affixed, sometime during the process of aggregation. The meaning of εὐαγγέλιον in the subscriptiones and inscriptiones is exactly the same as the meaning of εὐαγγέλιον in the twelve texts discussed above, namely “an authoritative complex of traditional teachings and activities of Jesus [with an implicit indifference toward the issue of whether this complex was transmitted in oral or written form].” This means that collections of sayings of Jesus and/or stories about Jesus 51

Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ,” 27. Hans von Campenhausen, Formation of the Christian Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972), 129. 53 Bauer-Aland, Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch, col. 644. 54 Bauer-Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament, 403. 52

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could be described as εὐαγγέλιον; the use of εὐαγγέλιον in the subscriptiones and inscriptiones does not serve as the label for a genre. It also means that for a collection of sayings, such as the Gospel of Thomas, the subscriptio “The Gospel according to Thomas” is a fully appropriate designation despite the lack of narrative framework. III. The Gospel Subscriptiones and Inscriptiones Between the composition of the canonical gospels (ca. 65–110 c.e.) and ca. 170, two paratextual features came to characterize the four Gospels: they were subject to gradual aggregation and subscriptiones or inscriptiones were affixed to them.55 However, precisely when these two developments occurred, whether they are related and in what order they occurred remains uncertain. Discounting later expansions (subscriptiones and inscriptiones were often expanded by scribes), the forms of the subscriptiones and inscriptiones at issue exhibit two basic patterns: a short form (sometimes considered earlier than the longer form), e.g., κατὰ Μαθθαῖον, κατὰ Μᾶρκον, κατὰ Λοῦκαν and κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]ην, and the longer and more familiar form, e.g., εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Μαθθαῖον, εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Μᾶρκον, εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Λοῦκαν and εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]η.56 The stereotypical shorter and longer forms of both the subscriptiones and inscriptiones are unusual in that they use the preposition κατά as a periphrasis for a genitivus auctoris.57 The stereotypical form of

55 The term “paratextual” is derived from Gérard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation (trans. J. E. Lewin; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 56 Nestle-Aland27 and the UBSGNT3 put the short form of each of the gospel superscriptiones in the text. While the short form was included in earlier editions of NestleAland, a brief list of variants was included in Nestle-Aland26. The laconic UBSGNT mentions no variants for the superscriptiones. F. Westcott and F. J. A. Hort, Introduction to the New Testament in the Original Greek with Notes on Selected Readings (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1882), 321: “In length and elaboration they [i.e., titles] vary much in different documents, we have adopted the concise and extremely ancient form preserved in ‫ א‬B and some other documents, which is apparently the foundation of the fuller titles.” 57 An example of this idiom is found in 2 Macc 2:13: ἐν τοῖς ὑπομνηματισμοῖς τοῖς κατὰ τὸν Νεεμιαν, “in the memoirs of Nehemiah.” A different meaning of κατά is found in the subscriptio of Genesis in Codex Vaticanus: ΓΕΝΕCIC KATA TOΥC. ΕΒ∆ΟΜΗΚΟΝΤΑ, “Genesis according to the Septuagint.” For discussions of the use of κατά as a periphrasis for the possessive genitive, see Bauer-Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 513; Wilhelm Köhler, “κατά,” Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament (ed. Horst Balz and Gerhard Schneider; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 2:254; for

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the subscriptiones and inscriptiones suggests that they were added at one point in time to all four Gospels to distinguish them from one another, probably when they first began to circulate as a collection.58 The aggregation of gospels could have begun gradually with a collection of two or more papyrus rolls (much as Herodotus must have circulated as a collection of nine papyrus rolls) or as a group of two or more single-quire codices (P52, a fragment of John dating to the first half of the second century, is the earliest physical evidence for a codex presumably containing a single gospel).59 Eventually the εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον was placed within a single codex, of which there are as many as three early examples, two from the end of the second century (P4–P64–P67 and P75) and one from the mid-third century (P45).60 The textual evidence for both forms at the beginning and end of each of the canonical gospels is tabulated in Tables A and B below. The subscriptiones are arguably earlier than the inscriptiones since, when literary works were written on papyrus rolls, the titles (a noun followed by the author’s name in the genitive) were placed at the end of the work (as a subscriptio), but when copied in a codex, they were located at the beginning of a work (as a superscriptio or inscriptio).61 Both subscriptiones and inscriptiones were typically added later to literary works when they were copied for distribution; the incipit or first sentence of the work itself normally functioned as the author’s title (e.g., Mark 1:1). When a work written in a papyrus roll was transferred to a codex, the subscriptio could be omitted (which for conservative reasons rarely happened) or replicated in the superscriptio, resulting in a work with the same (or a similar) title at the beginning and end.62

papyrological examples of the use of κατά as a periphrasis for a possessive pronoun, see J. H. Moulton and G. Milligan, The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and Other Non-Literary Sources (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980; originally published in 1930), 322. 58 Heckel, Vom Evangelium des Markus zum viergestaltigen Evangelium, 208–9. 59 David E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987), 117–18. 60 Stanton, Jesus and Gospel, 71–75. 61 R. P. Oliver, “The First Medicean MS of Tacitus and the Titulature of Ancient Books,” TAPA 82 (1951): 232–61; here 243, 245, 248; E. M. Thompson, A Handbook of Greek and Latin Palaeography (Chicago: Ares, 1966), 58; C. Wendel, Die griechischrömische Buchbeschreibung verglichen mit der des vorderen Orients (Halle-Saale: Niemeyer, 1949), 24–29. 62 The manuscripts of the Gospel of Thomas provide a partial example. Of the three extant Greek fragments of Thomas, POxy 1 is a single leaf from a papyrus codex (shortly after 200 c.e.), while POxy 654 and POxy 655 are papyrus fragments of two

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The 27th edition of the Nestle-Aland Greek New Testament regards the short forms of the Gospel superscriptions, κατὰ Μαθθαῖον, κατὰ Μᾶρκον, κατὰ Λοῦκαν and κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]ην as more original, presumably on the basis of the text-critical principle lectio brevior potior est, despite the paucity of evidence (they cite only the two fourth century codices Sinaiticus and Vaticanus). Additional evidence for the short forms is also available in the inscriptiones of the 9th century codices F (010) and H (013), as well as the running titles that occur before 500 c.e. in three codices: ‫ א‬B D.63 Table A. Gospel Subscriptiones Subscriptio

Textual Evidence

κατὰ Μαθθαῖον κατὰ Μᾶρκον κατὰ Λοῦκαν κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]ην εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ

B B B B Μαθθαῖον Μᾶρκον Λοῦκαν ’Ιωάν[ν]ην

A D U 2 33 565 700 788 ‫ א‬A C E L U Γ ∆ Ψ 2 33 700 P75 ‫ א‬A (02) C L U W ∆ Π Ψ 2 33 1582 ‫ א‬A E ∆ Ψ 2 33 565 1582

different papyrus rolls (both early 3rd century c.e.). The complete Coptic manuscript of the Gospel of Thomas (middle of the 4th cent. c.e.) discovered at Nag Hammadi has a subscriptio that reads ΠΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ ΠΚΑΤΑ ΘΩΜΑC, “the Gospel according to Thomas,” with no superscriptio, but rather the author-editor’s incipit, i.e., opening words functioning as a title: “These are the secret sayings which the living Jesus spoke and which Didymus Judas Thomas wrote down. And he said, ‘Whoever finds the meaning of these words will not taste death’.” The reference to Thomas in the incipit was replicated in the author’s name in the subscriptio, while the term “gospel” was probably derived from the inscriptiones (and/or subscriptiones) of the four canonical gospels, which must already have existed as a fourfold collection. Even though the Gospel of Thomas was part of a papyrus codex (preceded by the Apocryphon of John and followed by the Gospel of Philip), the practice of putting a subscriptio at the end and not replicating it with a superscriptio at the beginning is based the conventions associated with the papyrus roll. 63 D. C. Parker, Codex Bezae: An Early Christian Manuscript and Its Text (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 10–22, contains a discussion of the superscriptions, subscriptions and running titles of all Greek and Latin New Testament manuscripts dating before 500 c.e.; see particularly Table 2: “Running Titles in Greek New Testament Manuscripts Written before 500” (17–19).

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Table B. Gospel Inscriptiones Inscriptio

Textual Evidence

κατὰ Μαθθαῖον κατὰ Μᾶρκον κατὰ Λοῦκαν κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]ην εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Μαθθαῖον

‫א‬B ‫א‬BF ‫א‬B ‫א‬BFH

εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Μᾶρκον εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Λοῦκαν εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ ’Ιωάν[ν]ην

P4–P64–P67 C E K M S U ∆ Π Ω 2 33 565 700 788 1346 1424 A E H K L M S U W Γ ∆ Θ Π Ω 1 2 13 28 33 124 565 700 1364 1424 A C E K L M S P U W ∆ Θ Π Ψ Ω f 13 1 2 28 33 565 700 1346 1424 P66 P75 A C E G K L M S U W ∆ Θ Ψ Ω f 13 2 28 33 124 565 1424

Recently, a number of scholars have convincingly argued for the priority of the longer forms.64 There are two major arguments for this: (1) The shorter forms, such as ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΘΘΑΙΑΝ, make sense only if they are considered abbreviations implying the antecedent ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ in a codex containing all four Gospels.65 In fact, the short forms occur only in codices which contain all four Gospels: ‫ א‬B F H (‫ א‬and B date to the fourth century, while F [010] and H [013] date to the ninth century). There is a close analogy in Westcott and Hort’s critical edition of the New Testament, in which they printed ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ on a flyleaf, followed by each of the Gospels.66 These were headed by what they considered the most original form of the superscriptions: ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΘΘΑΙΑΝ, ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΡΚΟΝ, ΚΑΤΑ ΛΟΥΚΑΝ and ΚΑΤΑ ΙΩΑΝΗΝ, also used as running titles accompanying the texts of the four Gospels, with this comment: “In prefixing the name ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ in the

64

Martin Hengel argues that the shorter titles are abbreviations of the originally longer titles in Die vier Evangelien, 87–95. See his earlier work on this subject: Die Evangelienüberschriften (SHAW, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, 4; Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1984), 11–12, translated into English as “The Titles of the Gospels and the Gospel of Mark,” Studies in the Gospel of Mark (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 64–84, with notes on 162–83. P. W. Comfort and D. P. Barrett, The Complete Text of the Earliest New Testament Manuscripts (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1999), 44; Silke Petersen, “Die Evangelienüberschriften und die Entstehung des neutestamentlichen Kanons,” ZNW 97 (2006): 250–74, here 268. 65 Hengel, Die vier Evangelien, 87 n. 258. 66 Brook Foss Westcott and Fenton John Anthony Hort, The New Testament in the Original Greek (2 vols.; London: Macmillan, 1881).

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singular to the quaternion of ‘Gospels,’ we have wished to supply the antecedent which alone gives an adequate sense to the preposition KATA in the several titles.”67 Westcott and Hort were presumably following the precedent of Codex Vaticanus by using such short forms as ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΘΘΑΙΑΝ as running titles (in the case of Vaticanus, with ΚΑΤΑ on the verso and ΜΑΘΘΑΙΑΝ on the recto). In the case of those few manuscripts which have the short form for some or all of the inscriptiones (‫ א‬B F H; B alone has the short form in subscriptiones), all have a collection of all four Gospels, suggesting that the longer forms preceded the shorter forms and that the shorter forms are intentional abbreviations of the longer forms.68 (2) Prior to the aggregation of the four Gospels, the oldest form of the titles of the Gospels was probably the longer forms written as subscriptiones, though such subscriptiones would only have been necessary when two or more Gospels written on papyrus rolls were in proximity. Only when the text of the Gospels began to be written on codices (the first extant example of which is P52 a codex fragment of the Gospel of John, which can be dated to the first half of the second century c.e.)69 would the subscriptiones have been replicated at the beginning in the form of inscriptiones. The priority of the long forms and their connection to the εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον constitute two linked paratextual features that have important implications for the generic understanding of the Gospels in the ancient church. Several problems present themselves: (1) When were the longer subscriptiones and inscriptiones first affixed to the canonical gospels? (2) What does εὐαγγέλιον in the longer subscriptiones and inscriptiones mean and where did it come from? (3) How early is the collection of the four gospels into the εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον? In approaching the knotty problem of assigning a relative date to the introduction of the subscriptions and inscriptiones, it is appropriate to begin with the manuscript evidence. P75, the oldest extant manuscript of the Gospel of Luke, dated by the editors between 175 and 225 c.e., contains the earliest occurrence of the subscriptiones εὐαγγέλιον

67

Westcott and Hort, Introduction to the New Testament in the Original Greek, 321. Petersen, “Die Evangelienüberschriften,” 254. 69 B. Nongbri, “The Use and Abuse of P52: Papyrological Pitfalls in the Dating of the Fourth Gospel,” HTR 98 (2000): 23–48. 68

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κατὰ Λοῦκαν and εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ ’Ιωάννη, both on a single page containing the end of Luke and the beginning of John:70 ευαγ̉ γελιον κατα λουκαν ευαγγελιον κατα ιωαννην

The fact that the subscription of Luke is identical to the superscription of John suggests that the lost beginning of Luke also had an inscriptio identical with that of the subscriptio and that the lost ending of John had a subscriptio identical with that of the inscriptio. P66 is a fragmentary papyrus codex that contains the Gospel of John and has been dated to ca. 200 C.E., approximately contemporaneous with P75, but contains no evidence of subscriptiones or inscriptiones. The earliest manuscript evidence for the title of the Gospel of Matthew is found on a fragment associated with P67, a fragmentary papyrus that has been identified T. C. Skeat as one of three papyri, P4–P64–P67, that were originally part of a single codex containing at least the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.71 One fragment, that Skeat thinks is part of flyleaf that comes from the beginning of P67, contains the following title: ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ ΚΑΤΑΜΑΘ Θ ̉ ΘΙΟΝ

Skeat maintains that this fragment was written in a different hand than the rest of the codex and the inclusion of the hooked mark between the two thetas does not become common until ca. 200 c.e., while he dates the codex itself to late second century.72 Literary evidence for the longer inscriptiones, first occurs in Irenaeus, c.a. 180 c.e., suggesting that these forms were in common usage in the West before that date.73 Adversus haereses contains references to the titles of all four gospels in different contexts: 1.26.1: secundum

70 V. Martin and R. Kasser, eds., Évangiles de Luc et Jean, Papyrus Bodmer XIV (Cologny-Genève: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1961), pl. 61. 71 T. C. Skeat, “The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels?” NTS 43 (1997): 1–34; here 18. 72 Skeat, “The Oldest Manuscript,” 26–31. 73 Harry Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 153–54.

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Matthaeum Evangelio; 3.11.7: Evangelio quod secundum Matthaeum; 3.11.7: secundum Markum est praeferentes Evangelium . . . quod secundum Iohannem; 3.12.12: secundum Lukam autem Evangelium; 3.11.9. These are striking because Irenaeus refers to the titles using a bracketed structure, e.g., τὸ . . . κατὰ Λοῦκαν εὐαγγέλιον (3.12.12) or τῷ κατὰ Μαθθαῖον εὐαγγελίῳ (3.11.7).74 Irenaeus can also refer to individual gospels with the form τὸ κατὰ ’Ιωάννην / quod secundum Iohannem (3.12.12) and τὸ κατὰ Λοῦκαν / quod secundum Lukam (3.11.7). This suggests that Irenaeus regarded τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as the tradition of the Christian message found in various written versions. When Irenaeus refers to non-canonical gospels, he typically uses the genitive form rather than the preposition κατὰ / secundum, e.g., 3.11.9: veritatis Evangelium titulent “entitled the Gospel of Truth”); 1.31.1: Judae Evangelium (“the Gospel of Judas”).75 IV. The Development of the Fourfold Gospel The second paratextual feature that contextually transformed individual Gospels was the fact that they were subject to gradual aggregation, that is, two, three and then four gospels were combined, culminating in the traditional τετράμορφον τὸ εὐαγγέλιον or “fourfold Gospel” (Irenaeus, Haer. 3.11.8). With the gradual aggregation of the Gospels, a process that occurred in different ways in different places at different times, it became necessary to add subscriptiones to distinguish them from another at a glance and to assert their basic similarity.76 The eventual formation of the fourfold Gospel was in part dependent on the relatively early adoption of the codex for copying and transmitting early Christian literature. P75 (end of the second century) provides evidence for the existence of a collection of the four Gospels in

74

Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ,” 20 n. 32. This genitival construction conforms to the subscriptio of the recently-discovered Coptic Gospel of Judas; Rudolphe Kasser, Marvin Meyer and Gregor Wurst, The Gospel of Judas from Codex Tchacos (Washington, D. C.: National Geographic, 2006); Johanna Brankaer and Hans-Gebhard Bethge, eds., Codex Tchacos: Texte und Analysen (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007). 76 On the gradual aggregation of the Gospels, see Petersen, “Die Evangelienüberschriften,” 268. On the addition of subscriptiones, see Theo K. Heckel, Vom Evangelium des Markus zum viergestaltigen Evangelium (WUNT 120; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 207–16. 75

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codex form, yet it is unclear whether it originally consisted of a single codex containing all four Gospels, i.e., two single-quire codices sewn together, one containing Matthew and Mark and the other containing Luke and John.77 The single-quire codex consisted of a series of sheets or leaves of papyrus gathered together and folded in half, with each sheet providing four pages (thus the term quire). Skeat estimates that a single-quire codex could accommodate ca. 100 sheets.78 Single-quire codices belonged to the earlier stages of the development of the codex because they had disadvantages. They did not fold flat and were prone to break at the spine. The outside edges were uneven and in larger single-quire codices the inside sheets had to be trimmed resulting in pages of lesser width; this made it difficult for a scribe to determine whether his text would fit within a single-quire codex. Even in the fourth quarter of the second century, when there is clear evidence for the existence of a fourfold Gospel, it is clear that this collection did not predominate everywhere in the Mediterranean world. The most obvious exception is Tatian’s Diatessaron (διὰ τεσσάρων, “out of four [gospels]),” a single harmonized narrative combining the four gospels into a single narrative compiled ca. 160–175 c.e.).79 Tatian was probably motivated by the conception of a unitary gospel of Jesus Christ even if drawn from four different written versions of that gospel. The fact that the Diatessaron was used in some Syriac churches until the fifth century underscores the longevity of this mid-second century conception of gospel. Papias of Hierapolis (fl. 110–135 c.e.),80 as quoted by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.15–16) preserves the tradition that Mark’s gospel was based on the preaching of Peter and that Matthew’s gospel was originally written in a Semitic language (Hebrew or Aramaic). He makes no explicit mention of Luke or John:

77 T. C. Skeat, “The Origin of the Christian Codex,” ZPE 102 (1994): 263–68; here 264. Hengel, Die vier Evangelium, 76 n. 225 appears to misunderstand Skeat, for he claims that a codex with all four Gospels would have been unmanageable. What Skeat actually says is that P75 was a codex of the four Gospels consisting of two single-quire sections (one containing Matthew and Mark, the other containing Luke and John) sewn together to form a single codex. 78 Skeat, “The Origin of the Christian Codex,” 264. 79 The only major omissions were the genealogies of Matthew and Luke and the pericopae adulterae. 80 C. H. Hill, “Papias of Hierapolis,” ExpTim 117 (2006): 309–15, here 309.

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david e. aune This also the presbyter said: Mark, having become the interpreter of Peter, wrote down accurately, though not in order, whatever he remembered of the things said or done by Christ. For he neither heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter, who adapted his teaching to the needs of his hearers, but with no intention of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses, so that Mark committed no error while he thus wrote some things as he remembered them. For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the things which he had heard, and not to state any of them falsely. These things are related by Papias concerning Mark. But concerning [μὲν οὖν] Matthew he writes as follows: “So then Matthew wrote the oracles in the Hebrew language, and every one interpreted them as he was able.”81

Several observations are in order: (1) The first part of this statement indicates that Mark was considered the author of a narrative dealing with “the things said or done by Christ” (Papias does not use the term “gospel”). The name “Mark” was somehow attached to the work, though exactly how is unclear. (2) The italicized part of the quotation indicates that Papias’s comments about Matthew did not immediately follow his discussion of Mark, but were taken from elsewhere in his work. (3) The concluding statement about Matthew defies explanation, since canonical Matthew shows no signs of translation from Hebrew or Aramaic. It is perhaps best to conclude that the Matthew mentioned by Papias has nothing to do with our canonical Matthew.82 It has been argued that in the title of the lost work of Papias, Λογίων κυριακῶν ἐξηγήσεως (Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.39.1), the phrase κυριακὰ λογία, refers to one or more Gospels.83 Based both on what Papias reportedly said, some scholars have argued that the collection of four Gospels was already known by the turn of the second century.84 This is wishful thinking, since Papias says nothing about a fourfold Gospel, nor does he anywhere actually refer to Luke or John as authors of Gospels (possible allusions to the latter only indicate that they were known, not that they were part of an exclusive fourfold collection). Though there is no explicit mention of an εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον before Irenaeus, ca. 180 c.e. (Haer. 3.11.8), Justin Martyr (died ca. 81 The fragments of Papias have been subject to intense scrutiny by scholars for the last two centuries with the result that there is an enormous and complex bibliography on all aspects of the subject. 82 Hengel, Die vier Evangelien, 72 n. 207 and 134–38. 83 Armin Daniel Baum, “Papias als Kommentator evangelischer Aussprüche Jesu: Erwägungen zur Art seines Werkes,” NovT 38 (1996): 257–76, here 258–59. 84 Charles E. Hill, “Papias of Hierapolis,” ExpTim 117 (2006): 309–15, here 311–12.

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165 c.e.) may imply such a collection in Dialogue 103.8, where he says: ἐν γὰρ τοῖς ἀπομνημονεύμασιν, ἅ φημι ὑπὸ τῶν ἀποστόλων αὐτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἐκείνοις παρακοϋουθησάντων συντετάχθαι, γέγραπται (“it is written in the memoires composed by his [Jesus’] apostles and those who followed them”) i.e., at least two “memoirs” in each of two categories, “apostles” (Matthew and John?) and “those who followed them” (Mark and Luke?), i.e., at least four gospels.85 This picture is complicated, however, by the fact that Justin mentions several apocryphal traditions (which he assumes to be true) in the Dialog with Trypho, that he did not find in the four Gospels.86 It is also striking that Justin never mentions the names of the traditional authors of the four Gospels. The four Gospels are also referred to in the Canon Muratorianus, a seventh or eighth century manuscript originally translated from Greek into a deponent form of Latin and widely regarded as having been produced ca. 170 c.e.87 Though the beginning of this canonical list is fragmentary (though obviously referring to Mark), the first two clear references to New Testament books are to Luke and John (lines 2, 9): tertio euangelii librum secando Lucan . . . quarti evangeliorum Iohannis ex decipolis.88 (“The third book of the Gospel is that according to Luke . . . The fourth of the Gospels is that of John, [one] of the disciples”).89 This order of the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John), is the so-called Eastern order that came to predominate and is reflected in Irenaeus (Haer. 3.1.1) as well as in P75 and the great fourth and fifth centuries codices (Vaticanus, Sinaiticus, Alexandrinus, Ephraemi Rescriptus) and most of the later manuscripts that include the four Gospels. While 19th and 20th century scholarship generally agreed that he Greek original of the Muratorian Canon originated ca. 170 c.e. in the Western empire, a minority view is represented by

85 Graham N. Stanton, “The Fourfold Gospel,” Jesus and the Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 76 (this is a lightly revised version of Stanton’s article “The Four Gospels,” NTS 43 [1997]: 317–46). 86 These include a cave as the place of Jesus’ birth (Dial. 78.5–6); the light at Jesus’ baptism (88.2); the divine voice at Jesus’ baptism is reported as saying “Today I have engendered you” (103); the fact that as a carpenter Jesus made plows and yokes (88). 87 B. F. Westcott, A General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1980 [reprint of the sixth edition of 1889]), 211–12. 88 The Latin text is based on Westcott, A General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament, 523. 89 Bruce M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), 305–6.

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several scholars, particularly Sundberg and Hahneman, who relocate the document to the Eastern Mediterranean in the fourth century.90 According to the Muratorian Canon, the fourfold Gospel has a fixed canonical status and exhibits no defensiveness like that expressed by Irenaeus. The enumeration of the Gospels implies that Matthew was first and Mark second, and the statement found following the discussion about John indicates that four and only four Gospels were considered part of the canon.91 One of the clearest references to the existence of the fourfold Gospel as an exclusive collection is found in Irenaeus, Haer. 3.11.8 (ca. 180 c.e.).92 It is not possible that the Gospels can be either more or fewer in number than they are. For, since there are four zones of the world in which we live, and four principal winds, while the Church is scattered throughout all the world, and the “pillar and ground” of the Church is the Gospel and the spirit of life; it is fitting that she should have four pillars, breathing out immortality on every side, and vivifying men afresh.

This paragraph has an apologetic ring to it, suggesting that the fourfold Gospel required defense (i.e., was not accepted everywhere) and certainly the argument based on the number four could easily be paralleled with equally arbitrary arguments for other numbers, such as

90 Albert C. Sundberg, Jr. “Canon Muratori: A Fourth Century List,” HTR 66 (1973): 1–41. Sundberg also wrote a number of other related articles. Geoffrey M. Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992). See the recent summary of the issues in Lee Martin MacDonald, The Biblical Canon: Its Origen, Transmission, and Authority (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007), 369–78, who is critical of the late second century date of the fragment. The most detailed discussion of scholarship on the Muratorian Canon is found in J. Verheyden, “The Canon Muratori: A Matter of Dispute,” The Biblical Canons (ed. J.-M. Auwers & H. J. de Jonge; BETL 163; Leuven: University Press and Peeters, 2003), 487–556, who maintains the traditional late second century date of the fragment. 91 Muratorian Canon, lines 15–25 (trans. Metzger, 306): “(16) And so, though various (17) elements may be taught in the individual books of the Gospels, (18) nevertheless this makes no difference to the faith (19) of believers, since by the one sovereign Spirit all things (20) have been declared in all [the Gospels]; concerning the (21) nativity, concerning the passion, concerning the resurrection, (22) concerning life with his disciples, (23) and concerning his twofold coming; (24) the first in lowliness when he was despised, which has taken place, (25) the second glorious in royal power, (26) which is still in the future.” Note that the insertion of line (19) is missing from Metzger’s text. 92 This passage in Irenaeus may have been derived from a source (see T. C. Skeat, “Irenaeus and the Four-Gospel Canon,” NovT 34 [1992]: 194–99), which can be dated some years earlier than ca. 180 c.e., when Irenaeus wrote Haer., perhaps ca. 170 c.e.

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three, five or seven (elsewhere Irenaeus expresses skepticism about such numerological interpretations in 2.24–25).93 Stanton is convinced that by ca. 180 c.e. the fourfold Gospel was very well established.94 In Haer. 3.1.1, Irenaeus repeats what he reportedly learned from Papias; unlike Papias, he refers, however, explicitly to Luke and John and puts each of the gospels in the traditional Eastern order: Matthew also issued a written Gospel among the Hebrews in their own dialect, while Peter and Paul were preaching at Rome, and laying the foundations of the Church. After their departure, Mark, the disciple and interpreter of Peter, did also hand down to us in writing what had been preached by Peter. Luke also, the companion of Paul, recorded in a book the Gospel preached by him. Afterwards, John, the disciple of the Lord, who also had leaned upon His breast, did himself publish a Gospel during his residence at Ephesus in Asia.

It is important to note that this passage follows a brief description of the juxtaposition of oral proclamation followed by the written gospels: We have learned from none others the plan of our salvation, than from those through whom the Gospel has come down to us, which they did at one time proclaim in public, and, at a later period, by the will of God, handed down to us the Scriptures, to be the ground and pillar of our faith.

These apostles, “do all equally and individually possess the Gospel of God” (Haer. 3.1.1). V. Conclusions From its first appearance in the Pauline letters in the mid-first century through its use in the Apostolic Fathers during the first half of the second century, the lexeme τὸ εὐαγγέλιον was a theological abbreviation for the good news of God’s saving action in Jesus Christ. The evidence provided by the Didache, Ignatius, the Martyrdom of Polycarp and 2 Clement indicates that τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in these texts means an authoritative complex of traditional teachings and activities of Jesus with an implicit indifference toward the issue of whether this complex was transmitted in oral or written form. For the late 93

Hahneman, Muratorian Fragment, 100–105. Graham N. Stanton, Jesus and the Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 67. 94

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second century c.e., Irenaeus provides important evidence indicating that this meaning of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον was current along with the more recent understanding of the term as a written text. The occurrence of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in the incipit of Mark’s Gospel, more closely defined by the genitive phrase ̉Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ is probably a intentional double entendre that can be correctly construed to mean both “the gospel about Jesus Christ” (an objective genitive) and “the gospel proclaimed by Jesus Christ” (a subjective genitive). The meaning of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in Mark 1:1 is important because this was the source for the Gospel subscriptiones and superscriptiones. Important is not, however, what modern scholars think that τὸ εὐαγγέλιον means in that context, but what second century Christians construed it to mean. In the Table A: Gospel Subscriptiones and Table B: Gospel Superscriptiones, presented above, it is evident that the shorter inscriptiones (ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΘΘΑΙΑΝ, etc.) occur only in manuscripts of the four Gospels: ‫( א‬fourth century), B (fourth century), F (ninth century), H (ninth century). These shorter forms make sense only if they are understood as abbreviations implying the antecedent ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ in a codex containing all four Gospels. Whether the earliest manuscripts in which these shorter inscriptiones occur were based on exemplars with similar readings is not known. What is known is that the meaning of τὸ εὐαγγέλιον as the oral proclamation of the Church as transmitted in four different written versions was alive and well in the fourth century.95 The question of when the Gospels were collected together to form an εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον and when the inscriptiones were first attached to them can only be answered in general terms. Clear evidence for a fourfold Gospel appears only during the third quarter of the second century as reflected in Tatian’s Diatessaron (ca. 160–175 c.e.), Irenaeus (ca. 180 c.e.), and the problematic Muratorian Canon. It is likely that the εὐαγγέλιον τετράμορφον existed ca. 150 c.e., though no firm evidence confirms this early date.

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Stuhlmacher, Das paulinische Evangelium, 18.

ONE ETHIOPIAN EUNUCH IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD: THE NARRATIVE FUNCTION OF ACTS 8:26–40* Curt Niccum Over the last century appreciation for the story of the Ethiopian eunuch (Acts 8:26–40) has increased, although not at the same rate as Ethiopic Enoch. When modern interpreters began viewing the Book of Acts as a collection of roughly chronological vignettes, attention to the eunuch’s conversion centered on its minor contribution to the history of Christianity’s early expansion. As scholars turned to more literary approaches, the pericope’s perceived value rose because its independence from the surrounding narrative marked it as a source. Originally a Hellenistic Christian tale about the first Gentile convert, Luke poorly edited and purposely diluted its content in order to maintain Petrine primacy with the competing Cornelius story, which he favored.1 With the advent of narrative criticism, interest grew in the story’s contribution to the overall message of Acts.2 Liberationist readings now have arguably given the passage its greatest prominence to date.3 At every stage in this development interpreters have associated the Ethiopian eunuch with Jesus’ statement in Acts 1:8, “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the end of the earth.” As a result, even though the story’s stock has appreciated, the verdict about its message has basically remained the same. Luke composed, incorporated, or edited this event to reveal “the

* I am grateful to Jim for the hours spent reading 1 Enoch with me, his careful reading of a technical dissertation, and his critical, editorial eye. 1 So especially Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles (trans. B. Noble and G. Shinn; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 315–16; and Hans Conzelmann, Die Apostelgeschichte (HNT 7; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1963), 55. “Luke” is used for the sake of convenience without implying any claims about authorship. 2 Abraham Smith, “ ‘Do You Understand What You are Reading?’: A Literary Critical Reading of the Ethiopian (Kushite) Episode (Acts 8:26–40),” Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center 22 (1994): 48–70; Robert Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts (2 vols.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 2:109–111; and Scott Shauf, “Locating the Eunuch: Characterization and Narrative Context in Acts 8:26–40,” CBQ 71 (2009): 762–75. 3 See especially Clarice Martin, “A Chamberlain’s Journey and the Challenge of Interpretation for Liberation,” Semeia 47 (1989): 105–135.

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progress of the mission.”4 Though true to a certain extent, the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch plays a much greater role in Luke’s work-it speaks to “the things fulfilled among us” (Luke 1:1) and ties the storyline of Acts to a vision of Israel’s restoration found in Isaiah.5 1. The Narrative Significance of the Eunuch’s Story The high degree of divine intervention involved in this pericope ranks it among the most important stories in Acts. Only Pentecost, Cornelius’ conversion, and Paul’s final journey to Jerusalem/Rome are comparable. The appearance of an angel at the beginning of the scene signals a momentous event. In Luke-Acts angels announce or effect salvation; they appear in conjunction with the births of John the Baptist and Jesus (Luke 1:11–20, 26–38; 2:9–14), in the Passion Narrative (Luke 22:43 VL; 24:4–7, 23), at the ascension (Acts 1:10–11), and the conversion of Cornelius (Acts 10:3–6, 22, 30–32).6 A divine messenger also rescues the Twelve from jail (Acts 5:19–20), strikes Peter to preserve life while striking Herod to take it (12:7–10, 23), and assures safety for Paul and those sailing with him in the storm (27:23–24). As if an angel were not enough, the Holy Spirit directly participates in the action. When Philip arrives at the Gaza road the Spirit orders him to catch up to the chariot (8:29). Then, after the eunuch’s baptism, the Spirit suddenly whisks Philip away (8:39–40), the only instance of teleportation in Luke’s opus.7 Interestingly, this is the first time the Spirit speaks in Luke-Acts.8 It will happen only three more times: in the ordination of Paul and Barnabas for mission (13:2), at the end 4 “Progress of the mission” appears in Tannehill, Narrative Unity, 2:107; and Haenchen, Acts, 316; compare Conzelmann, Apostelgeschichte, 55; and Eduard Meyer, Urgeschichte des Christentums (2 vols.; Essen: Magnus, 1983), 2:277. See also F. Scott Spencer, The Portrait of Philip in Acts: A Study of Roles and Relations (JSNTSup 67; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), 128, 151. 5 Keith Reeves (“The Ethiopian Eunuch: A Key Transition from Hellenist to Gentile Mission,” in Mission in Acts [ed. R. Gallagher et al.; Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 2004], 114–22) also wishes to show “that the story provides a powerful transition in Luke’s developing narrative” (115), but ends up with a weakened “example of Luke’s broad social concern” (120). 6 Presumably the two “men” who appear to the disciples immediately after Jesus’ ascension are angels as in Luke 24:43. There is also a possible connection to the Transfiguration in Luke 9:30–31. 7 Contrast this with the troubles Paul faced with spiritual navigation (Acts 16:6–7). 8 Set formulae describe the Spirit speaking through prophets in the past, so Luke 1:70; Acts 1:16; 3:21; 4:25; 13:2; and 28:25.

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of a thrice repeated vision that Peter is slow to comprehend (10:19), and with Agabus’ illustration of the dire consequences of Paul’s final journey (21:11; see also 20:23). Even though the Holy Spirit appears as an important character throughout Luke-Acts, it works in conjunction with angels only in the birth announcements, the prelude to Pentecost, the conversions of the eunuch and Cornelius, and Paul’s final voyage.9 God is at work behind the scenes as well. Ernst Haenchen rightly notes that the particular timing and location of the episode presume providential prodding. The place is isolated, and the eunuch just happens to be reading from Isaiah 53 when Philip joins the vehicle, a scene conducive for holding a private conversation about the Suffering Servant. Also, at the decisive moment they come across water in the wilderness.10

9 For Luke’s characterization of the Spirit, see William Shepherd, Jr., The Narrative Function of the Holy Spirit as a Character in Luke-Acts (SBLDS 147; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994). 10 Haenchen, Acts, 315. Other explicit and implicit language emphasizes the import of this pericope. Using a phrase found only here and in Jewish biblical literature, most often connected to divine direction, the angel tells Philip, “Get up and go!” (v. 26). Note especially 3 Kgdms 17:9; Mic 2:10; T. Ab. 2:8 and 4:14; cf. 2 Kgdms 13:15 and 3 Kgdms 12:24g. See also the discussion in W. C. van Unnik, “Der Befehl an Philippus,” in Sparsa Collecta (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 1:328–39. Interestingly, only here and when God dispatches Elijah to the widow in Zarephath, a key story referred to in Luke 4, is this sending formula expressly obeyed (3 Kgdms 17:10; Acts 8:27). With varying degrees of plausibility, others have noted additional parallels with characters/events in this passage and those in the Elijah/Elisha cycle, the Book of Jeremiah, or the Emmaus narrative (Luke 24). See Octavian Baban, On the Road Encounters in Luke-Acts (Paternoster Biblical Monographs; Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006); Thomas L. Brodie, “Towards Unraveling the Rhetorical Imitation of Sources in Acts: 2 Kings 5 as One Component of Acts 8,9–40,” Bib 67 (1986): 41–67; Michael Goulder, Type and History in Acts (London: SPCK, 1964), 175–76; Luke Timothy Johnson, Acts (SP 5; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1992), 158; C. H. Lindijer, “Two Creative Encounters in the Work of Luke,” in Miscellanea Neotestamentica (ed. T. Baarda et al.; NovTSup 48; Leiden: Brill, 1978), 77–85; Daniel Marguerat, Les Actes des Apôtres (1–12) (Paris: Labor et Fides, 2007), 303–4; David P. Moessner, “The ‘script’ of the Scriptures in Acts: suffering as God’s ‘plan’ (βουλή) for the world for the ‘release of sins,’ ” in History, Literature, and Society in the Book of Acts (ed. Ben Witherington, III; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 218–50, 232; R. F. O’Toole, “Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch (Acts VIII 25–40),” JSNT 17 (1983): 25–34; Spencer, Philip, 136–45; Rick Strelan, Strange Acts: Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts of the Apostles (BZNW 126; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 85; idem, “The Running Prophet (Acts 8:30),” NovT 43 (2001): 31–38; Etienne Trocmé, Le Livre des Actes et l’histoire (EHPR 45; Paris: Universitaires des Frances, 1957), 180; and Ben Witherington, III, The Acts of the Apostles: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 292.

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The appearance of the angel, the voice of the Spirit, and these fortuitous coincidences point to a significance of the eunuch’s story that transcends a mere interest in “the progress of the mission.”11 But pinpointing Luke’s specific purpose for the presence and location of this episode has proved elusive. Many interpreters settle for a connection to the last element of Jesus’ prediction in 1:8, namely that the apostles would be his witnesses “to the end of the earth.” Thus, after the Gospel message is proclaimed in Jerusalem (1:4–8:1a) and spread throughout Judea and Samaria (8:1b–25), it now appears on the world stage. There is much to commend this view, for it derives from the text of Acts itself and conforms to Luke’s stated purpose to narrate the fulfillment of prophecy (Luke 1:1–4). It has the additional advantage of fitting Greek and Roman stereotypes of Ethiopians as an exotic people living on the fringes of civilization.12 Plus, it is argued, no one else in Acts better meets the criterion of being at “the end of the earth.” Paul travels extensively, but not toward the extremities of the Roman Empire, and Acts ends with Paul in its very heart, the city of Rome, neither equivalent to nor representative of “the end of the earth” geographically conceived.13 This position qualifies as the scholarly consensus.14 11 Cf. Haenchen (Acts, 315), who attributes all providential language to the original source. 12 See Wilfred L. Knox, Some Hellenistic Elements in Primitive Christianity (London: H. Milford, 1944), 16; and Martin, “Chamberlain’s Journey,” 111–14. This holds regardless of where ancient writers located “Ethiopia,” for the label generically designated lands south and east of the Roman Empire, a bifurcation probably due to Homer (Od. 1:19–25). In the first century Roman expeditions sent to discover the source of the Nile brought attention to and spurred literary interest in those “Ethiopians” residing south of Egypt. See Stephan Lösch, “Der Kämmerer der Königin Kandake (Apg 8,27),” TQ 111 (1930): 477–519. For the specific identification of Meröe (Nubia) as the “Ethiopian’s” home, see F. F. Bruce, “Philip and the Ethiopian,” JSS 34 (1989): 377–86, esp. 380–81; and Erich Dinkler, “Philippus und der ΑΝΗΡ ΑΙΘΙΟΨ (Apg 8,26–40),” in Jesus und Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975), 85–95, esp. 89–93. 13 See Robert Allen Black, “The Conversion Stories in the Acts of the Apostles: A Study of Their Forms and Functions,” (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1985), 135–6; Robert Brawley, Luke-Acts and the Jews (SBLMS 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 34–6; W. C. van Unnik, “ ‘The Book of Acts’ the Confirmation of the Gospel,” in Sparsa Collecta, 1:340–73, 353–4; and idem, “Der Ausdruck ἙΩΣ ἘΣΧΑΤΟΥ ΤΗΣ ΓΗΣ (Apostelgeschichte 1 8) und sein alttestamentlicher Hintergrund,” in Sparsa Collecta, 1:386–401, where he states, “Dabei muß man sich noch fragen ob Lukas so naiv und dumm gewesen sei, daß er Rom für ‘das Ende der Welt’ ansah,” 391; and also E. Earle Ellis, “ ‘The End of the Earth’ (Acts 1:8),” BBR 1 (1991): 123–32. Bertram Melbourne argues otherwise, but the fact that Ps. Sol. 1:4 applies the curse of Deut 28:49 to the contemporary Roman setting weakens his argument, “Acts 1:8 Re-examined: Is Acts 8 Its Fulfillment?” JRT 57–8 (2001–5): 1–18. 14 Hans-Josef Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) 29; Peter Mallen, The Reading and Transformation of Isaiah in Luke-Acts

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Despite its popularity, this solution faces some serious obstacles. If Jesus’ proclamation in Acts 1:8 is programmatic, reaching the book’s climax only one third of the way through the text is problematic. Some commentators therefore also link the story with what follows suggesting it foreshadows or anticipates the Gentile mission.15 The presence of twenty more chapters in Acts requires some such concession, for otherwise they become superfluous. Why, after reaching “the end of the earth” in chapter 8, pursue such a tortuous narrative (following Paul through three missionary journeys and an embarrassing trip to Rome), and do so only after describing Cornelius’ conversion twice (chs. 10–11 with a recap in 15) and inserting an entertaining interlude (ch. 12)? But if viewing the Ethiopian episode as a direct fulfillment of 1:8 makes most of the Book of Acts irrelevant, regarding it as a proleptic experience of the Gentile mission makes it impotent. This interpretation fails to explain Luke’s need to include an angel, the Holy Spirit, and impeccable timing in this tale. Perhaps connecting the Ethiopian to “the end of the earth” is not the best solution. Although plenty of external evidence associates Ethiopia with a remote location, the clues internal to the Book of Acts do not. First, a reader would more likely interpret the story of Pentecost as a fulfillment of 1:8 than find it in the Ethiopian eunuch. Luke expressly states that Peter addressed Jews “from every nation under heaven,” a point reinforced by the list of nations in 2:9–11.16 He also notes that many of these Jews engaged in evangelism when they dispersed (8:4 and 11:19–20). Their missionary activity can be further deduced from the fact that a church exists in Rome before Paul arrives (28:14–15). If one implies the spread of the gospel through ethnic natives who convert and then return home to evangelize, then all the nationalities of Jews present at Pentecost suffice to fulfill the requirements of 1:8.

(LNTS 367; London: T&T Clark, 2008), 109; Spencer, Philip, 151–2; Martin, “Chamberlain’s Journey,” 117–20; T. C. G. Thornton, “ ‘To the End of the Earth’: Acts 18,” ExpTim 89 (1978): 374; Witherington, Acts, 290. 15 J. Bradley Chance, Acts (Macon, Ga.: Smith & Helwys, 2007), 138; Beverly Gaventa, Acts (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), 145; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, 2:107. Johnson associates the pericope with 1:8, but only as part of “Judea and Samaria,” Acts, 160. 16 Haenchen suggests Acts 2 does “convey to the reader that the Christian mission is already reaching out ‘to the ends of the earth,’ ” Acts, 170. Daniel Schwartz offers a different solution by trying to limit γῆ to the land of Palestine, “The End of the ΓΗ (Acts 1:8): Beginning or End of the Christian Vision?” JBL 105 (1988): 669–76; see also Trocmé, Actes, 206.

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Nothing in Luke’s description of the eunuch suggests similar activity on his part. Luke shows no interest in the eunuch’s subsequent actions; the convert simply departs rejoicing, never to be heard from again (8:39).17 Luke’s concerns in this story are different. He describes the man with an impressive array of identifiers in the nominative case (ἀνὴρ Αἰθίοψ εὐνοῦχος δυνάστης). Each noun could prove of theological interest, but Luke only elaborates the last by appending a series of genitives that clarify the eunuch’s high social status (Κανδάκης βασιλίσσης Αἰθιόπων) followed by a relative clause detailing his responsibility over the queen’s treasury. To this Luke adds information about the man’s piety. Not only had the Ethiopian committed himself to a difficult pilgrimage, but he also read the Jewish Scriptures on his way back home. Yet after all of these details, Luke simply and repeatedly calls him the “eunuch” (vv. 27, 34, 36, 38, 39).18 Surely Luke could have found a better way to connect readers to an external stereotype. The eunuch’s ethnic heritage is ancillary.19 Instead Luke presents a man of considerable wealth and status who, although previously excluded from the assembly of the Lord’s people, now enters the kingdom of heaven.

17 References to patristic comments about Ethiopian Christianity are not helpful here because they typically refer to India or Axum, not to Nubia, the eunuch’s place of origin. See Curt Niccum, “The Book of Acts in Ethiopic (with Critical Text and Apparatus) and Its Relation to the Greek Textual Tradition” (Ph.D. diss.; University of Notre Dame, 2000), 63–65. 18 Spencer notes that this “overshadowing” of other defining traits “is quite striking and potentially significant,” Philip, 133. For the view that “eunuch” refers to political position rather than castration, see Melbourne, “Acts 1:8,” 1–18. The term “eunuch” signified certain offices precisely because of the practice of employing the emasculated for those positions. Readers familiar with the LXX, and probably those unfamiliar with the Jewish Scriptures, could not be expected to perceive the word as referring to anything other than a physical condition; see Mikeal Parsons, Body and Character in Luke and Acts: The Subversion of Physiognomy in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006), 133–36. 19 “[B]ei Lk fehlt freilich das geographische und völkerkundliche Interesse,” Conzelmann, Apostelgeschichte, 55. This is not to downplay the eunuch’s African origin. Clearly he is Nubian, and his African identification likely has relevance for Luke as a fulfillment of Ps 68 and perhaps an extension of the list of nations given in 2:9–11 where Ethiopia is noticeably absent. Although a powerful person of color, Luke portrays him first and foremost as a devout eunuch. Simeon, one of the prophets in Antioch, may also have been an influential African Jewish Christian (13:1). If so, perhaps the nonchalant manner with which Luke mentions them indicates even more strongly the acceptance of diversity within Judaism and Christianity in the first century.

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These emphases fit Lukan concerns about possessions, social status, and the marginalized.20 Second, as the recapitulation of “to the end of the earth” in Acts 13:47 shows, Luke firmly anchors the phrase in the Septuagint. To validate their work among Gentiles, Paul and Barnabas cite Isa 49:6 as the Lord’s direct command to them to bring salvation “to the end of the earth.”21 This phrase appears multiple times in the last part of Isaiah, either specifying how far proclamation of Israel’s restoration should go (48:20, 62:11) or, as here, that Gentiles will also be the beneficiaries of God’s grace. For example, Isa 45:22 pleads, “Turn to me and be saved, those who are from the end of the earth.” Both uses in Isaiah inform the theology of Luke.22 The use of ἔσχατου in the singular is also telling, for ancient authors typically employed the plural, but especially did so when referring to Ethiopia due to Homer’s influence.23 As interesting as the ancient perception of Ethiopia as the furthermost limit of civilization may be, and as unavoidable as that connection may have been to some, Luke purposely employs an Isaianic formula. Only the Greek Old Testament provides the symbolic world presupposed by ἔσχατου τῆς γῆς.24 Third, “the end of the earth” is not as geographically precise as “Jerusalem, Galilee, and Samaria,” even according to ancient standards, so perhaps something other than a geographical meaning is intended.25 20 Similarly Johnson, Acts, 158; Cf. Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte (KEK 3; 17th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 270; and Eckhard Plümacher, Lukas als hellenistischer Schriftsteller (SUNT 9; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972), 13. 21 Because the ministry to the end of the earth is specifically applied to the work of Paul and Barnabas, it would not apply to Philip’s encounter with the Ethiopian. Further confirmation comes in 14:4 where Luke calls Paul and Barnabas “apostles,” the only time in Luke-Acts the term designates someone other than one of the Twelve. This fulfills Jesus’ instruction for the “apostles” to witness to the end of the earth (1:8). Philip, as one of the Seven, is clearly distinguished from that group (6:2–6). 22 For Luke’s use of Isaiah see especially Mallen, Reading, 1–19, 102–209; and Craig Evans and James Sanders, Luke and Scripture (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 14–25, 46–29, and 84–92. 23 Ἀιθίοπας τοὶ διχθὰ δεδαίαται, ἔσχατοι ἀνδρῶν, Homer, Od. 1.23. The plural adjective and use of ἀνήρ for humanity generated a number of comments by grammarians over the centuries. See also Strabo’s defense of Homer’s geographical accuracy in Geog. 1.2.24–29. 24 Of the 16 occurrences in the LXX, 12 are found in Isaiah and Jeremiah. The plural form appears in Tob 13:13 (Codex Sinaiticus) and in Patristic quotations of Ps 134(135):7. 25 Ellis (“End of the Earth,” 121–32) argues that the phrase pinpoints the city of Gades and betrays knowledge of an ongoing or prospective mission of Paul to Spain.

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Based on related texts in Luke-Acts, this phrase encompasses in a broad way the mission to the Gentiles.26 Thus Jesus’ complete statement in 1:8 mirrors his final words in the gospel: repentance for the forgiveness of sins must be proclaimed “to all the ἔθνη, beginning from Jerusalem” (Luke 24:47).27 Also, in the quotation of Isa 49:6 in Acts 13, “the end of the earth” parallels “Gentiles/nations.”28 Related Isaianic language resurfaces in Acts 26:17–18 when Paul discloses the original content of his commission. Jesus tells him, “I am sending you to open their eyes, to turn them from darkness to light” (vv. 17–18), again a generic reference to Gentiles.29 “The end of the earth,” then, is the incorporation of devout Gentiles into Israel’s restoration, a primarily theological rather than geographical concept.30 This definition disqualifies the eunuch as a representative of “the end of the earth,” for Luke depicts the eunuch as a Jew.31 His story is set amid Samaritans, Saul, Aeneas, Tabitha, and the tanner, all “Jews” of questionable status. Also, for Luke, Cornelius is the first Gentile convert (15:7, 14). Luke’s interest in Cornelius’ preeminence is fascinating considering that the Acts narrative suggests that other Gentiles may have preceded him in the faith. Luke postpones recording some events that presumably occurred chronologically prior to Peter’s arrival in Caesarea. Since exactitude in chronology does not determine narrative order in This faces numerous problems. First, Luke implies Paul’s martyrdom after a two year incarceration. Second, the singular “end of the earth” could just as easily apply to a city at the edge of any of the other three compass points. Third, the phrase’s appearance in 13:47 is applied to Paul and Barnabas, so Luke does not restrict the mission to Paul alone. 26 So also Marguerat, Actes, 41–42. For a full treatment, see Thomas Moore, “ ‘To the End of the Earth’: The Geographical and Ethnic Universalism of Acts 1:8 in Light of Isaianic Influence on Luke,” JETS 40 (1997): 389–99. 27 van Unnik, “Ausdruck,” 391. 28 van Unnik, “Ausdruck,” 393. 29 A similar development occurs with the word μακράν. In Acts 2:39 it appears to refer solely to Jews, but Luke incorporates Gentiles into the definition later in the story (22:21). See also, Mallen, Isaiah, 109–10. 30 If also intended to be conceived geographically, then it is Luke’s implicit call for his readers to continue this mission (28:28, αὐτοὶ καὶ ἀκούσονται, future tense). 31 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (AB 31; New York: Doubleday, 1998), 410; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 271; Johnson, Acts, 158–60; Howard Clark Kee, To Every Nation under Heaven (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 1997), 110; Keith Reeves, “Eunuch,” 117–18; Shepherd, Holy Spirit, 184–5; S. G. Wilson, The Gentiles and the Gentile Mission in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 23; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 171–2; Witherington, Acts, 292–3; contra Spencer, Philip, 129. Black holds a mediating position, “Conversion,” 143.

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ancient historiography, this observation has its limitations, but from a literary standpoint these aporia are suggestive. For example, those driven out of the city by Saul’s overzealous opposition to Hellenistic Christianity evangelize Jews on their way home (8:4). Some Cypriots and Cyrenians, however, extend the message of salvation to Gentiles in Antioch. Although these people left Jerusalem at the same time Philip did, Luke only mentions their activities later (11:20). Similarly, immediately after Saul’s conversion (9:3–19) he too spent time preaching among the Gentiles, but Luke does not divulge this until 26:17–19 (see also 22:21). These inconsistencies reveal an author with a vested interest in making Cornelius the first Gentile convert, thereby removing the Ethiopian eunuch as a candidate. Whatever one makes of the aporia, the language of 11:19–20 has particular relevance for Luke’s depiction of the Ethiopian’s religious identity. Those scattered (διασπαρέντες) by Saul’s persecution, except for the people from Cyprus and Cyrene mentioned above, shared the story of Jesus “only with Jews.”32 Since Philip, one of those scattered (διασπαρέντες, 8:4) hailed from neither Cyprus nor Cyrene, he must have imparted the good news solely to Jews, even if embracing certain Jewish subgroups, like Samaritans and eunuchs, marginalized or excluded by others.33 Whatever the eunuch’s background historically, literarily he is Jewish. Scholarly opposition to the eunuch being Jewish is interesting but not decisive. Deuteronomy 23 does exclude eunuchs from “the assembly of the Lord,” but that did not necessarily equate with exclusion from being Jewish.34 By identifying the man as an Ethiopian, Luke portrays him as a black African. This would seemingly require him to be a proselyte, although he may descend from a family that had previously

32

Note also the repeated forms of διέρχομαι and εὐαγγελίζω in 8:4, 40, and 11:19– 20 that also bind these sections together. 33 Since both Philip and Peter end up in Caesarea, perhaps Luke intended additional parallels to be drawn. If so, then although both had opportunities to work with local Gentiles, they restricted their activity to Jews, even if showing compassion toward the disenfranchised among them. They would baptize Jewish eunuchs or reside with Jewish tanners (9:43), but would not intentionally interact with Gentiles at a meaningful level. If correct, this places the story of Cornelius in even greater relief. For Luke’s perspective on Samaritans, see Jacob Jervell, “The Lost Sheep of the House of Israel,” in Luke and the People of God (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1972), 113–32; pace Chance, who considers both the Samaritans and the eunuch to be “non-Jewish folk,” Acts, 139. 34 So, apparently, Moessner, “Script,” 231–2.

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converted to Judaism.35 Under both circumstances the requirement of circumcision presents a barrier, but not if he was made a eunuch after circumcision.36 Luke, probably for good reason, chose not to relate how or when the man was emasculated. For the purpose of the story, his status as a eunuch does not cut him off from the people or strip him of his inward Jewishness. (Contrast this with Stephen’s scathing indictment of the Jewish leaders, “Uncircumcised in heart and ears!” in 7:51.) More importantly, it is precisely this tension with the Law of Moses that propels the story.37 Here is one whose loose connection to Judaism results in biblically justifiable marginalization, yet like the tax collectors, prostitutes, Samaritans, and tanners, he receives divine dispensation and enters a renewed Israel. Linking the Ethiopian eunuch so closely to Acts 1:8, therefore, is a mistake. It is important, but not that important. Luke-Acts is ancient history: ancient history describes a nation and apologetic historiography defends it.38 The apostles, having conversed forty days with the risen Christ about the “Kingdom of God” (1:3), ask Jesus, “Lord, at this time are you restoring the Kingdom to Israel?” (1:6). The rest of the book answers that question, and 1:8 is subordinate to it, establishing a pattern for how restoration will unfold—it does not move toward Jerusalem (as many anticipated) but away from it. The prophesied “gathering in” is accomplished by sending out.39 This might also

35

Charles Talbert rules out both, speculating that he might be a God-fearer, Reading Acts (rev. ed.; Macon, Ga.: Smyth & Helwys, 2005), 76. Fitzmyer inexplicably states, “It is not surprising that an Ethiopian would be a Jew or a proselyte, because Ethiopic is a Semitic language related to Hebrew and Aramaic,” Acts, 412. This makes little sense since the eunuch spoke Meroitic or Nobatian, neither of which is a Semitic language. The probability of Jewish identity, at least from a Lukan standpoint, is better derived from Isaiah 56 and perhaps Isaiah 11 to which it is literarily linked. Perhaps the story of Ebed Melech the Ethiopian (Jer. 45–46 [38–39 MT]), regarded as a eunuch in some Jewish circles, comes into play here, for his ψυχή is spared because he trusted in God (46:18 LXX). 36 For rabbinic discussions that make distinctions along similar lines, see m. Yeb. 8 and m. Nid. 5.9. 37 See also C. S. C. Williams, A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1964), 118–19. 38 On apologetic historiography see Gregory E. Sterling, Historiography & SelfDefinition: Josephos, Luke-Acts & Apologetic Historiography (NovTSup 64; Leiden, Brill, 1992). 39 See Karl Matthias Schmidt, “Abkehr von der Rückkehr: Aufbau und Theologie der Apostelgeschichte im Kontext des lukanischen Diasporaverständnisses,” NTS 53 (2007): 406–24.

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explain why 1:8 seems so frustrating as an ordering principle for the second half of the book; its function is something other than a table of contents. 2. The Narrative Function of the Eunuch’s Story As is well known, geography does provide some structure to the Lukan volumes. The theme of prophetic fulfillment provides another overlay. It is the latter for which the Ethiopian conversion story is key. In the Book of Acts, though, Luke manipulates both the geographical and prophetic patterns to precipitate a crisis.40 He lures readers into a false sense of security only to turn the tables on them at a critical juncture and move the story to an unexpected ending. 2.1. Geography in Luke-Acts Before encountering Acts 1:8, those reading the Lukan corpus would have encountered a geographical pattern in the first volume, one remarkably different from contemporary ecclesiastical traditions judging from the other gospels.41 The scenes in the synkrisis of Luke 1–4 focus on Jerusalem. Zechariah receives John’s birth announcement while serving in the temple (1:8–11). Jesus is circumcised there on the eighth day and at the age of twelve lingers behind without parental approval (2:22 and 46). The period of testing after baptism culminates with Satan escorting Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple (4:9). At the end of the book, Luke locates the ascension in the environs of Jerusalem (Luke 24:33–53) in stark contrast to a firmly established Galilean tradition (see, for example, Mark 16:7). At odds with the other accounts, Luke intentionally begins and ends his first volume in Jerusalem. The body of Luke’s gospel opens with Jesus at a distance from Jerusalem (4:16–30), delivering a message from Isaiah and challenging his ethnocentric audience with stories of a widow and a Gentile military officer. His references to God’s providential care of outsiders in the

40 Dinkler also recognizes the importance of these two strands, but treats them differently, “Philippus,” 85–89. 41 Witherington draws attention to the significance of geography among ancient historians, Acts, 33–35. For various geographical schemata applied to Luke-Acts, see Jacques Dupont, “La question du plan des Actes des Apôtres à la lumière d’un texte de Lucien de Samosate,” NovT 21 (1979): 220–31; and Schmidt, “Abkehr,” 406–24.

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days of Elijah and Elisha move the hometown crowd to violence. Luke later reports how Jesus comes to the aid of a Gentile military officer (7:2–10), raises a widow’s son (7:11–17), and then paraphrases the Isaiah passage he read before his inaugural sermon (7:22). Jesus, like Elijah and Elisha, was also sent to aid outsiders. At Luke 9:51, though, Jesus resolutely sets his face toward Jerusalem. In the ensuing travel narrative, Jesus slowly journeys through Samaria and Judea to the outskirts of the holy city. The triumphal entry marks his “exodus” where Jewish and Roman authorities conspire to crucify Jesus only to have God raise him from the dead (19:28–24:53). Likewise, the Book of Acts begins in Jerusalem. Jesus ascends in the manner of Elijah, and the disciples, as expectant as Elisha, anticipate a double portion of Spirit that fails to manifest itself immediately (ch. 1). While waiting in Jerusalem it becomes clear that restoration cannot take place until Israel’s spiritual leadership is whole again. Once Matthias is chosen to complete the Twelve, the Spirit infuses the disciples gathered in the temple and inspires them to call the entire nation to repentance (ch. 2). Reversing the order found in the first volume, the body of Acts slowly moves from Jerusalem into Samaria and beyond. Here again widows (chs. 6 and 9) and a Gentile soldier (chs. 10–11) rise to prominence. After a brief, humorous interlude (ch. 12), Paul’s missionary exploits begin, yet at 19:21, in imitation of Jesus (Luke 9:51), Paul determinedly heads toward Jerusalem. With a number of parallels between Jesus’ journey and Paul’s, Luke sets readers’ expectations on a final and decisive resolution in Jerusalem. According to the geographical pattern, then, the story should end in Acts 21. 2.2. Prophecy in Luke-Acts Readers also encountered Isa 56:1–8 in the first volume. The Lukan Jesus holds the oracle in high esteem, for he quotes from it when clearing the Court of the Gentiles (Luke 19:46). Luke’s interplay between “my house” and “your house,” found particularly in the Gospel but also in Acts, probably depends on Isaiah 56 as well: “My house will be called a house of prayer,” but “your house is left to you desolate.”42

42

See especially Luke 13:35; 14:23; 19:46; and Acts 7:46–50.

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For some time scholars have posited a relationship between Isaiah 56 and the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch.43 What have gone largely unnoticed are the correlations with other stories in the Book of Acts. Isaiah 56 predicts four eschatological reversals that would accompany Israel’s restoration, and each of them intersects with Acts where heavenly involvement is most concentrated. First, a return of the exiles is assumed (v. 8), which, from a Lukan perspective, takes place at Pentecost, for Jews “from every nation under heaven” have returned to the Holy City to worship (Acts 2:5). The anachronistic mention of “Elamites” in 2:9–11 specifically connects this assembly to the exile and the Book of Isaiah.44 Messages from the resurrected Jesus, an appearance from otherworldly envoys (1:4, 8, 11) and the remarkable outpouring of the Spirit (2:1–4) attest to the immensity of this moment for Israel’s history. Second, God will welcome eunuchs at the restoration (Isa 56:3–5), despite the law’s clear prohibition. Several elements in Acts 8:26–40 establish this story as the fulfillment of that oracle. The astounding level of God’s interest in what transpires endows this event with an eschatological urgency. Whereas the Ethiopian’s ethnic identity, economic status, and religiosity offer no adequate cause for this scope of divine intervention, Luke’s repetitive identification of the Ethiopian as a “eunuch” finds explanation only in Isaiah 56.45 Even the text read by the Ethiopian, Isa 53:7–8, may point toward the later oracle because of its proximity.46 Its inclusion is difficult to explain otherwise for the passage is unnecessary for the story’s success. Conversion accounts rarely include biblical quotations, and, in this case, the results do not necessarily follow from the content. One does not easily move from

43 Those who object to a link with Isaiah 56 include C. K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles (3 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 1:79–81, 421; and Shauf, “Eunuch,” 772. 44 See in particular Isa 11:11 (which also concerns Ethiopia) and 21:2. A connection to the Table of Nations (Gen 10) is also possible; see James Scott, “Luke’s Geographical Horizon,” in The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting (ed. B. Winter; vol. 2 of The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman Setting [ed. D. Gill and C. Gempf; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994]), 483–544. 45 Piety is occasionally an attribute of the stereotypical “Ethiopian,” but since the emphasis is on the man’s physical status, which connects him directly to Isaiah 56, his religious fervor sets him apart as one worthy of this eschatological reversal. 46 See Black, “Conversion,” 141; and Witherington, Acts, 296. If Luke records the reading of Isaiah 53 because of its parallels with the eunuch’s own experience, this increases the likelihood of a connection with ch. 56; see Parsons, Body, 137–39.

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Isaiah 53 to the interjection, “Look! Water!” Attempts to locate antecedents in Isaiah 54 and 55 may lend credence to the idea that Philip “began from this scripture to preach Jesus” (8:35) and progressively worked his way through the scroll at least as far as Isa 56:8.47 Whether or not one views these attempts successful, the impact of Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah on Luke is incontrovertible and makes a link probable. The third eschatological reversal predicted in Isaiah 56 is the incorporation of devout Gentiles into his people (vv. 3, 6–7).48 Much of the remainder of Acts concerns this one point, but Luke devotes considerable space to Cornelius with three separate narrations of his conversion (chs. 10, 11, 15). The inauguration of the Gentile mission looks like the eunuch story intensified.49 Again there is a high concentration of divine activity with an angel and direct revelation from the Holy Spirit that draws attention to the story’s consequences for salvation history. An impressive description of Cornelius’ acts of piety and allegiance to the Jewish people identify him as a foreigner acceptable to God in accordance with Isaiah 56. Unlike the eunuch episode, the account of Cornelius’ conversion has recognizable consequences for the rest of Acts. All subsequent evangelistic successes among the Gentiles conform to the conditions of Isaiah 56: only those who, like Cornelius, keep Sabbath, practice righteousness, and hold to the covenant may approach the Lord. Two 47 See R. J. Porter, “What did Philip say to the Eunuch?” ExpTim 100 (1988): 54–55. 48 The Samaritan mission might also fit into Luke’s fulfillment scheme; see, for example, Chance, Acts, 136; Moessner, “Script,” 231–32; and Tannehill, Narrative Unity, 109. Isaiah 56 labels the foreigners ἀλλογενές in vv. 3 and 6, the term Luke applies to a Samaritan in Luke 17:18. In this way the contents of Acts 9 alone could describe the fulfillment of Isaiah’s oracle. This appears improbable, though, for the mission to Samaria lacks divine impetus; driven by Saul’s persecution, it almost seems accidental. It also required subsequent confirmation by the Jerusalem Christian leadership. At best Luke incorporates the Samaritans as a fulfillment of one occurrence of ἀλλογενές in Isaiah 56 with Gentiles fulfilling the other. Luke knows of conservative Jewish hermeneutics that disassemble Hebraic parallelism, for he uses them in Peter’s interpretation of Psalm 2 in Acts 4:25–26. Isaiah 56 differs, though, because, rather than substituting a synonym, it reuses the same word. Therefore Luke likely applied both occurrences of ἀλλογενές to the same group of people. Gentiles are more likely than Samaritans here because of Jesus’ quotation of Isaiah 56 when he cleanses the Court of the Gentiles, the literary parallels between the conversion accounts of the eunuch and Cornelius, and the crisis precipitated by supposed Gentile access to the temple in Acts 21. 49 Haenchen writes, “Acts contains but one other story distinguished—indeed to an even greater degree—by this same feature of divine direction determining the course of events at every turn: the story of Cornelius,” Acts, 315.

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idiosyncrasies of Acts noted by Jacob Jervell coincide with this Lukan interest: (1) Luke only enumerates large conversions among the Jews, and (2) Gentile converts are always associated with a local synagogue.50 Thus Jewish Christians number in the thousands (three thousand in 2:41, five thousand in 4:4, and ultimately tens of thousands in 21:20), while successful missions among the Gentiles are rare and at best garner the generic “a large crowd.”51 Further, abject failure attends evangelistic efforts in purely pagan environments (Acts 14:8–18, see also 28:1–6). The most concrete, positive response develops in Athens when merely a handful repent (17:34), but even there, as Jervell observed, Luke mentions the presence of a synagogue (17:17). The emphasis on synagogue adherence, not only in the story of Cornelius but for every Gentile convert in Acts, serves to move the prophecy in Isaiah closer to fulfillment. By the time church leaders in Jerusalem have determined the legal requirements for Gentile admission into Israel (ch. 15), only the fourth item from Isaiah 56 remains unfulfilled in Acts: Gentiles will offer sacrifices at the altar in the temple (v. 7). As the plot advances after the Jerusalem Council, the Gentile mission continues to succeed with God’s approval and guidance until Paul makes clear his intentions to return to Jerusalem (19:21). From this moment on, Paul knows, just as Jesus did in the Gospel, the suffering that awaits him in that city. The Spirit directly informs him of the trials to come (20:22–23), and, inspired by the Spirit, the prophet Agabus vividly acts out Paul’s pending bondage (21:11). Yet Paul remains undeterred, following the path of his Lord. In order to display his allegiance to Judaism, for the sake of the myriads of Jewish Christians zealous for the law of Moses gathering for Pentecost, Paul participates in and covers the expenses of temple rituals with four other men in Jerusalem (ch. 21). While at the altar, Jews from Asia Minor recognize Paul and jump to the conclusion that he brought a Gentile named Trophimus into the inner courts.52 They

50 See Jervell, “The History of Christianity and the Acts of the Apostles,” in his book The Unknown Paul: Essays on Luke-Acts and Early Christian History (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984), 13–25; “The Divided People of God,” in Luke and the People of God (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1972), 41–74; and “The Church of Jews and Godfearers,” in Luke-Acts and the Jewish People (ed. J. Tyson; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988), 11–20. 51 See 11:20–21; 14:1; 17:4; 18:4; and 19:17–18. 52 Trophimus accompanied Paul to Jerusalem to oversee a large sum of money collected by Gentile congregations to aid Jewish sisters and brothers (24:17), an act

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stir up the crowd, which immediately riots and drags Paul out of the temple. Only the quick response of the Roman soldiers garrisoned in the Antonia rescues Paul from certain death (vv. 27–36). Echoing the words heard at Jesus’ trial, the crowd bellows, “Away with him!” (21:36//Luke 23:18). While being hurried through and harried by the antagonistic crowd Paul asks the Roman commander for an opportunity to address the audience. Speaking in Aramaic (literally τῇ Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ) to make his Jewish identity clear, Paul shares his story. Rather than offering a defense, clarifying that he had not brought any Gentiles to the temple—and definitely not to the altar—he claims that God, in a vision granted while worshipping in the temple a number of years earlier, had ordained him to share the message of salvation with Gentiles. In other words, he wished he had brought Trophimus into the temple. The crowds reacted even more violently, calling for his death. Thus at Acts 21 both the geographical and prophetic strands converge, only to frustrate readers because the story lacks denouement. Isaiah 56 should have been fulfilled that day and the Book of Acts should have ended in Jerusalem. 2.3. Ending in Rome But the story is not finished. In Acts 23:11, Paul receives another vision—God wants him in Rome. To offset the impact of the Jerusalem crisis caused by the clever misdirection of the geographic and prophetic patterns, Luke sprinkles hints throughout the book that the story must continue. Thus, when Paul declares his intention to go to Jerusalem (19:21), he also states in language signifying God’s will that it is necessary (δεῖ) for him “to see Rome.”53 Another clue appears earlier in the text when the Lord informs Ananias that Saul will testify before kings (9:15), something that does not occur until ch. 26. It is likely that 1:8 functions similarly, “the end of the earth” implies an ending somewhere other than Jerusalem.

that parallels Cornelius’ generosity and the posture expected of repentant foreigners in Isaiah 56. 53 John Squires, The Plan of God in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 76; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) 155–85; and Charles Cosgrove, “The Divine ∆εῖ in Luke-Acts: Investigations into the Lukan Understanding of God’s Providence,” NovT 26 (1984): 168–90.

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It is noteworthy that theologically not much happens in the remaining chapters of Acts; this focuses attention on the final destination. Luke fills these chapters instead with intrigue, danger, and conspiracy. Tension builds. Will Paul get to Rome? The odds seem against him, but again an angel appears (27:23–24), further endowing Paul’s journey with the divine interventions associated with the fulfillment of Isaiah 56. The parallels with Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem also reach their height, for Paul too was betrayed by the Jews and handed over to the Romans, who then found him innocent and wished to release him, yet presumably would eventually put him to death (4:13–15//21:11// 28:17–19). In the end, Paul’s arrival in Rome fulfills both Acts 1:8 and Isa 56:7–8. This is not because Rome in some sense replaces Jerusalem. The parallels between the journeys of Jesus and Paul reveal the corruption and godlessness of both cities. Instead the global reach of God’s power takes center stage. Despite opposition in Jerusalem, God raised Jesus from the dead. Despite antagonism in Rome, Paul proclaims the kingdom of God “unhindered.” This parallels the Lukan perspective articulated in Stephen’s speech. Working from Isaiah 66, he asserts that God’s “house” is the universe: the sky is his throne and the earth his footstool. He does not live in “houses” made by human hands for his hand “made all these things” (Acts 7:47–50). As with the Patriarchs and Moses, God accompanies his people wherever they go (Acts 7:1–45) and will continue to do so even to the end of the earth. In this manner the world becomes a “house of prayer for all ἔθνη.” If God can work in Rome, he can work anywhere. 3. Conclusion With this reading the story of the Ethiopian eunuch plays a fundamental role in the Book of Acts consonant with the importance Luke has assigned to it. Rather than simply relating “the progress of the mission” or implicitly representing “the end of the earth,” the pericope signals a critical turning point in the narrative of Acts, helps set up a false expectation for the satisfying conclusion anticipated in Acts 21, and connects the reader directly to Isaiah 56, around which the storyline of Acts develops. Of the four eschatological reversals predicted in Isaiah 56 (the return of the exiles, the inclusion of eunuchs, the incorporation of Gentiles,

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and their worship in the temple), the Ethiopian eunuch fulfills the second. The unusual circumstances of the eunuch’s story, particularly the appearance of an angel and direct speech from the Holy Spirit, match those found in the narrative where the other three predictions reach fulfillment: (1) the events leading up to and including Pentecost (1:9–2:41), (2) the conversion of the Gentile Cornelius (10:1–11:18), and (3) Paul’s journey to Jerusalem/Rome (19:21; 20:22–24; 21:10– 14; 23:11; 27:23–24). Thus the story of Philip and the eunuch helps to answer the programmatic question posed in 1:6—Jesus is indeed restoring the kingdom to Israel at this time.

“SIT AT MY RIGHT HAND”: ENTHRONEMENT AND THE HEAVENLY SANCTUARY IN HEBREWS* Eric F. Mason In a recent essay on the cosmology of Hebrews, Jon Laansma aptly described the question of how to understand the nature of the heavenly sanctuary in this text as “the perennial question of the conceptual background of Hebrews, broadly consisting of the tug of war between those advocating for a more Platonic and those advocating for a more apocalyptic matrix.”1 Similarly, Kenneth Schenck has recently noted that “the nature of the heavenly tabernacle has long been a matter of debate, and we cannot at present speak of any consensus on its precise character or background.”2 This situation is not at all unexpected for interpreters of this book, as assessments of other issues in Hebrews—and indeed of the text as a whole—tend to divide on similar fault lines, including the conceptual background of Hebrews’ presentation of Jesus as priest.3 * It is my privilege to present this essay in honor of Jim VanderKam, scholar, mentor, and friend, especially because it builds on the topic of my dissertation which he directed at the University of Notre Dame. Research for this paper was supported by the Homer and Margaret Surbeck Summer Scholarship Program of Judson University, and revisions were undertaken while on sabbatical at Loyola University Chicago in the Spring 2010 semester. I am indebted to both of these institutions, to numerous friends who offered critiques of earlier versions of this material at the 2009 Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting (Rome, Italy) and the 2009 International Meeting of the Catholic Biblical Association of America (Omaha, Neb.), and to Scott D. Mackie for comments on an advanced draft. 1 Jon Laansma, “The Cosmology of Hebrews,” in Cosmology and New Testament Theology (ed. J. T. Pennington and S. M. McDonough; LNTS 355; London: T&T Clark, 2008), 125–43, esp. 140. See also his article “Hidden Stories in Hebrews: Cosmology and Theology,” in A Cloud of Witnesses: The Theology of Hebrews in its Ancient Contexts (ed. R. Bauckham, D. Driver, T. Hart, and N. MacDonald; LNTS 387; London: T&T Clark, 2008), 9–18, esp. 16–17 n. 36. 2 Kenneth L. Schenck, Cosmology and Eschatology in Hebrews: The Settings of the Sacrifice (SNTSMS 143; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 144. 3 Surveys of the possible conceptual backgrounds for Hebrews—especially apocalyptic, Platonic (or more particularly Philonic), and gnostic—are standard components of introductions in commentaries on Hebrews. For a survey specifically addressing the proposed conceptual backgrounds of Hebrews’ presentation of Jesus as priest, see Eric F. Mason, ‘You Are a Priest Forever’: Second Temple Jewish Messianism and the Priestly Christology of the Epistle to the Hebrews (STDJ 74; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 40–63, followed

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In general, scholars who find a Platonic background for Hebrews’ discussion of the heavenly sanctuary note that Philo understood the Most Holy Place of the tabernacle to represent heaven, with the outer courts and various elements of the Mosaic tabernacle corresponding to aspects of the natural universe. This is perhaps best seen in Questions and Answers on Exodus, where, for example, the seven branches on the lampstand represent the sun, moon, and several planets (2.75), and the veil represents the boundary between the transient perceptible world and the unchanging heavenly realm (2.91). George MacRae observes that “in this view there is no temple in heaven, but heaven is itself the sanctuary of a temple structured universe.”4 A similar approach is found in the writings of Josephus (and elsewhere in Philo’s corpus), one in which (again quoting MacRae) “the tripartite structure of the tabernacle corresponds to the tripartite structure of the cosmos: the two outer parts to which the priests have access are the sea and the earth, and the sanctuary is heaven.”5 On the other hand, those who argue for backgrounds in Jewish apocalyptic thought respond that numerous texts in Second Temple Jewish literature speak of a heavenly angelic liturgical setting (sometimes even including discussion of sacrifice) and a heavenly throne. The roots of this conception are clear already in Isa 6:1, where the prophet “saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple,” attended by a heavenly court, and some scholars seek links to various passages in Ezekiel (chariot-throne, Ezekiel 1; throne and temple, Ezekiel 40–48).6 Second Temple period texts—including some found at Qumran— often are more explicit about this idea of a heavenly sanctuary where

by an argument that apocalyptic thought, especially that found at Qumran, provides multiple examples of “shared thought” with Hebrews, particularly on the idea of a heavenly priesthood and an angelic understanding of Melchizedek. 4 George W. MacRae, “Heavenly Temple and Eschatology in the Letter to the Hebrews,” Semeia 12 (1978): 179–99, esp. 184. 5 MacRae, “Heavenly Temple,” 184–85. See Josephus, Ant. 3.123, 146, 180–83; Philo, Mos. 2.88, 101–4; Spec. 1.66. Gregory E. Sterling and Craig R. Koester allow for more similarity in the views of Philo and Josephus (cf. also War 5.217). See Gregory E. Sterling, “Ontology Versus Eschatology: Tensions Between Author and Community in Hebrews,” Studia Philonica Annual 13 (2001): 190–211, esp. 203–4; and Craig R. Koester, The Dwelling of God: The Tabernacle in the Old Testament, Intertestamental Jewish Literature, and the New Testament (CBQMS 22; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1989), 58–67. 6 Unless otherwise noted, all quotations of Scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version.

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God is enthroned and angels offer liturgical service. Admittedly variations can be found in their conceptions, such as different presentations of the number of levels of heaven, but the more striking feature is that so many authors think similarly about the angelic liturgical service and throne. For example, Enoch encounters God enthroned in a heavenly temple in 1 Enoch 14 where he receives the pronouncement of judgment on the Watchers. A similar scene likely also was recorded in the Aramaic Levi Document when Levi has his heavenly vision after the Shechem incident, but unfortunately the text is very fragmentary.7 One does find this understanding in the Shechem account in Jub. 31:15, where Isaac speaks of Levi’s priestly office and compares it to the angelic priesthood: “May the Lord give you and your descendents extremely great honor; may he make you and your descendents (alone) out of all humanity approach him to serve in his temple like the angels of the presence and like the holy ones.”8 Likewise, one reads in the later Testament of Levi (from the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, not found at Qumran) a promise from Levi’s angelic tour guide that he will serve before the Lord (2:10–12), and the guide shows Levi the heavenly sanctuary: “And the angel opened to me the gates of heaven, and I saw the holy temple and the Most High upon a throne of glory” (5:1). Elsewhere in Testament of Levi one finds a description of the heavenly cult: For in the highest of all dwells the Great Glory in the holy of holies far beyond all holiness. In the (heaven) next to it there are the angels of the presence of the Lord, those who minister and make propitiation to the Lord for all the sins of ignorance of the righteous, and they offer to the Lord a pleasant odour, a reasonable and bloodless offering. (T. Levi 3:4–6)9

7

See the composite reconstruction of ALD in Jonas C. Greenfield, Michael E. Stone, and Esther Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document: Edition, Translation, Commentary (SVTP 19; Leiden: Brill, 2004). The editors consider the account of this vision as chapter 4 in their reconstruction, drawing on fragments from 1QLevi (1Q21), 4QLevib (4Q213a), 4QLevic (4Q213b), and folios from the Cairo Geniza (66–69). Reconstructions of the arrangement of the various fragments of ALD from Qumran and elsewhere vary significantly; compare those of Robert A. Kugler, From Patriarch to Priest: The Levi-Priestly Tradition from Aramaic Levi to Testament of Levi (SBLEJL 9; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996); and more recently Henryk Drawnel, An Aramaic Wisdom Text from Qumran: A New Interpretation of the Levi Document (JSJSup 86; Leiden: Brill, 2004). 8 The translation is that of James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11; Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989). 9 Translations of Testament of Levi are from H. W. Hollander and M. de Jonge, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Commentary (SVTP 8; Leiden: Brill, 1985).

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Yet another text found at Qumran, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, describes the angelic liturgy in the heavenly holy of holies. Though admittedly fragmentary, the extant materials are replete with enthronement language describing God and include references to God’s “footstool” and “royal throne.”10 In the New Testament, Revelation 4–5 may be cited. Naturally there are no animal sacrifices here because of the author’s conviction that Jesus is the lamb that was slain, but the heavenly throne attended by angelic beings with liturgical functions certainly is present. The Heavenly Sanctuary in Hebrews: Barrett, MacRae, and Sterling Three essays by C. K. Barrett, George MacRae, and Gregory Sterling have been particularly important for consideration of Hebrews’ understanding of the heavenly sanctuary, and they are instructive for considering the complexity of the issue. In his essay titled “The Eschatology of the Epistle to the Hebrews,” Barrett noted that “the heavenly tabernacle and its ministration are from one point of view eternal archetypes, from another, they are eschatological events.”11 Barrett’s chief concern was to argue that Hebrews is imbued with eschatological thought, with Jesus’ death and intercession bringing “the beginning of the new age.”12 Barrett recognized the use of Platonic language by the author of Hebrews, even allowing that he “may well have read Plato and other philosophers, and must have known that his images and

The nature of the literary relationships among Aramaic Levi Document, Jubilees, and Testament of Levi is much disputed, with some scholars finding literary dependence among these texts and others asserting use of a common source. See Mason, ‘You Are a Priest Forever,’ 131–33, for a summary of discussion. Admittedly appeals to Testament of Levi cannot be conclusive for discussion of imagery in Hebrews because of the many questions about the dating and provenance of Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs. 10 4Q403 1 ii 2 speaks of God’s “footstool,” as does 4Q404 6 3. 4Q405 20 ii 2 and following speak of God’s “royal throne” (cf. 4Q405 23 i 3). Numerous references to the throne are extant in 11Q17, as are remnants of the text’s discussion of the nature of the heavenly sacrifices in col. ix. 11 C. K. Barrett, “The Eschatology of the Epistle to the Hebrews,” in The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology (ed. W. D. Davies and D. Daube; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), 363–93, esp. 385. On the heavenly sanctuary, see Barrett, “Eschatology,” 383–90. 12 Barrett, “Eschatology,” 386.

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terminology were akin to theirs.”13 However, he rejected the idea that the author was a thorough-going Platonist like Philo or the author of the Epistle of Barnabas. While Hebrews can use language familiar from Platonic terminology and draws upon, for example, the Platonic preferences for the one over the many when discussing the superiority of Jesus’ once-for-all sacrifice and for the heavenly over the terrestrial, the key difference in Hebrews is that the death of Jesus marks an eschatological act that anticipates his return yet to come.14 In contrast with Philo and Barnabas, Barrett argued that “Hebrews insists upon an eschatological act, a thing done in time with objective and corporate consequences, whereas the other two writers speak either of the timeless reality of heaven [Philo] or of a subjective religious experience [Barnabas].”15 MacRae responded in an article titled “Heavenly Temple and Eschatology in the Letter to the Hebrews.” Like Barrett, MacRae recognized the presence of both apocalyptic and Platonic elements in Hebrews’ discussion of the heavenly sanctuary, but he argued that these represented differing commitments of the author and audience. MacRae argued that the author, a Platonist whose ideas and realized eschatology naturally are evident in the discussion, nevertheless also sought to appeal to the apocalyptic, future-oriented eschatological interests of his addressees. In the words of MacRae, “the paraenetic intent is to provide some motivation for perseverance in the apocalyptically oriented Christianity of the recipients.”16 As such, “the preacher supports the audience’s views with his own.”17 More recently, Sterling took up the gauntlet in his article titled “Ontology Versus Eschatology: Tensions Between Author and Community in Hebrews.” Like MacRae, Sterling understands the author to be committed to Platonism, but so is the audience, thus the author feels compelled to add apocalyptic elements for a different reason. Sterling makes much of parallels in terminology in Hebrews and Philo when discussing the two sanctuaries, and he asserts that the author’s comment in Heb 9:5 (“concerning these things we can now speak in

13

Barrett, “Eschatology,” 393. Barrett, “Eschatology,” 385. 15 Barrett, “Eschatology,” 388. I have supplied the references in brackets based on the context of Barrett’s discussion. 16 MacRae, “Heavenly Temple,” 191. 17 MacRae, “Heavenly Temple,” 179. 14

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detail”) shows that both the author and recipients understood the sanctuaries in a Platonic manner. In the words of Sterling, the author “assumed that the implied reader knows the tradition and does not need an elaboration.”18 The context here is discussion of the furnishings on either side of the veil in the tabernacle, and Sterling proposes that Hebrews’ brief mention of these items is enough to evoke for the recipients the similar Philonic discussion of the cosmological meaning. He finds a similar example of common ground in the transition the author makes between his interpretation of Exod 25:40 in Heb 8:5 and the discussion of the significance of the two chambers in Heb 9:1–5, a progression he finds paralleled in Philo’s thought; Sterling asserts that “these are points that the author argues from rather than towards.”19 As for discussions of heavenly sanctuaries in apocalyptic texts, Sterling notes their use to address a “temporal orientation” but otherwise dismisses the importance of such parallels. He comments, “None of the Jewish apocalyptic material uses tabernacle in the same way that Hebrews does. They either use it to denote the real tabernacle in heaven in order to devalue (2 Baruch) or polemicize against the earthly temple (Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice) or in an eschatological context (2 Baruch and Revelation).”20 Sterling admittedly limits his consideration of such parallels to Second Temple period texts that discuss a heavenly tabernacle (as does Hebrews) rather than a heavenly temple, thus his sample size becomes quite limited. Among the texts omitted from consideration is the aforementioned 1 Enoch 14. Whereas MacRae had argued for a Platonizing author who adapts his discussion to appeal to his apocalyptically-oriented audience, Sterling finds both an author and audience who share Platonizing exegetical traditions (paralleled in Philo and elsewhere). This author, according to Sterling, also seeks to convey to his audience the eschatological significance of Jesus Christ. Reversing the common assumption that the older is to be preferred, the author of Hebrews finds himself required to present the greater worth of the new and does so by correlating it with the heavenly. For Sterling, “in this way the author combined Platonic ontology with a Christian understanding of salvation history.”21

18 19 20 21

Sterling, “Ontology,” 204. Sterling, “Ontology,” 209 (emphasis his). Sterling, “Ontology,” 204–08, esp. 208. Sterling, “Ontology,” 210.

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To summarize, Barrett argued that the author of Hebrews at his core held to an apocalyptic approach but also found useful correspondences in Platonic thought. MacRae argued the reverse—the author’s default approach was Platonic, but he incorporated apocalyptic thought to motivate his audience. Sterling found both the author and audience to be committed Platonists, but the author felt compelled by the Christ event to revise his prior Platonic convictions in an apocalyptic direction and encouraged his audience to do likewise. Though these three scholars—like many interpreters—find elements reflecting both Platonic and apocalyptic thought, others have strongly emphasized or completely denied the presence of one or the other approaches— Lincoln Hurst (followed by William Lane) rejected Platonic thought, whereas Luke Timothy Johnson finds it easily the dominant motif.22 Oddly, however, a very important aspect of Hebrews’ discussion of Jesus’ activity in the heavenly sanctuary has been largely overlooked in most examinations. Enthronement as an Apocalyptic Motif As affirmed by most scholars, it seems clear that the author of Hebrews indeed was familiar with Platonic philosophical thought and terminology, and he utilized them in his writings. The author repeatedly demonstrates exquisite skills both in Jewish exegetical and Greco-Roman rhetorical methods, and it would be much more surprising if an intellectual of his era did not exhibit familiarity with Middle Platonic thought. Clearly it seems best to recognize that the author of Hebrews draws on a number of intellectual currents and influences in crafting the argument and exhortation of his epistle, certainly including the Middle Platonic ideas and language so prominent in his era. There is little justification for assuming the author has a monolithic thought world, and that certainly is not argued here. This is not to say, however, that at his core the author of Hebrews conceives of the heavenly sanctuary only in a symbolic or metaphorical way. Rather, one might contend—like Barrett, but on different 22 Lincoln D. Hurst, The Epistle to the Hebrews: Its Background of Thought (SNTSMS 65; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 42; William L. Lane, Hebrews 1–8 (WBC 47a; Dallas: Word, 1991), ciii–cxii; and the comments of Sterling, “Ontology,” 193 n. 19. See also Luke Timothy Johnson, Hebrews: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 15–21.

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grounds—that the author primarily thinks of the heavenly sanctuary in a way reminiscent of Jewish apocalyptic thought but utilizes Platonic terminology and imagery in order to develop and convey his theological point. I will not seek to engage MacRae and Sterling on the question of what sort of thought predominated among the audience of this text; it will suffice to say that the author—seriously concerned for the continued faithfulness of his friends—wrote his “word of exhortation” (13:22) in such a way that he felt confident it would be grasped by and meaningful for his audience. Though references to the heavenly sanctuary appear in various places in Hebrews, most scholarly attention has focused on two key passages—8:1–5 and 9:1–28. While other references, as in chapters 6 and 10, clearly are hortatory, those in chapters 8 and 9 are discursive and thus provide better insights into the conceptual mindset of the author.23 The importance of the heavenly sanctuary for the author of Hebrews is readily evident given the centrality of the motif of Jesus’ priesthood. Hebrews’ argument that Jesus is a priest is grounded first, however, in the assertion that he is the Son of God. This presentation of Jesus as Son is key in the early chapters of the book, where the author affirms multiple aspects of the Son’s unique identity in 1:1–4. The author both supports those affirmations from 1:1–4 and affirms the superiority of the Son to angels in a series of biblical quotations in 1:5–14, then he offers his first warning to the congregation of the dangers of “drift[ing]” from “so great a salvation” in 2:1–4.24 The first of the Scripture quotations (in Heb 1:5) is from Ps 2:7, “You are my Son, today I have begotten you,” which is paired with the promise from 2 Sam 7:14, “I will be his Father, and he will be my Son.” The last

23

See the discussion on pp. 912–16. Recent suggestions for the structure of Hebrews in light of Greco-Roman rhetoric include those of Craig R. Koester, “Hebrews, Rhetoric, and the Future of Humanity,” CBQ 64 (2002): 103–23 (with fuller treatment in his Hebrews [AB; New York: Doubleday, 2001]) and James W. Thompson, Hebrews (Paideia Commentaries on the New Testament; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008). Koester deems all of 1:1–2:4 the exordium, whereas Thompson limits this to 1:1–4 and classifies 1:5–4:13 as the narratio. For discussion of the relationship between 1:1–4 and the quotations in 1:5–14, see especially the articles by John P. Meier, “Structure and Theology in Heb 1,1–14,” Biblica 66 (1985): 168–89; and idem, “Symmetry and Theology in the Old Testament Citations of Heb 1,5–14,” Biblica 66 (1985): 504–33. Meier’s approach is fundamentally sound, but the correlations between the affirmations in 1:1–4 and quotations in 1:5–14 are better understood in a chiastic, not sequential, arrangement. I am developing this argument more fully elsewhere. 24

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of these quotations, in Heb 1:13, is from Psalm 110 (LXX 109):1, “Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.” Thus the series of quotations begins and ends with divine proclamations from royal psalms. This is utilized by the author in Heb 5:5–6 to substantiate God’s appointment of Jesus as priest: the Son earlier addressed in Ps 2:7 and Ps 110:1 is also the figure granted an eternal priesthood “in the order of Melchizedek” in Ps 110:4. One need not wait until Hebrews 5, however, to see the interplay of royal and priestly elements in Hebrews. Indeed, already in the earliest verses the priestly activity of the Son is referenced in Heb 1:3—“when he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high,” clearly an allusion to the same Ps 110:1 that is quoted explicitly just ten verses later. One finds similar language recurring at other key points in the book. When the author begins in Heb 8 to compare the earthly and heavenly sanctuaries in earnest, he opens in v. 1 with a reminder that “we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens.” Later, when contrasting the daily, repetitive nature of the Levitical sacrifices with the punctiliar sacrifice of Jesus, the author writes in Heb 10:12–13, “But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, ‘he sat down at the right hand of God,’ and since then has been waiting ‘until his enemies would be made a footstool for his feet.’ ” (Another allusion to Ps 110:1 is found in Heb 12:2, where the pioneer and perfecter Jesus is “seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”) This prominent use of Ps 110:1 in connection with Jesus’ priestly sacrifice demands that any explanation of the conception of the heavenly sanctuary must also take into account the nature of the divine throne. Scholars rarely emphasize this connection, but two prominent exceptions are David M. Hay and Scott D. Mackie. Hay, commenting on the citation of the psalm in Heb 8:1, notes that this verse unites the themes of the priesthood and the heavenly session at God’s right hand, following on the similar convergence of the priestly and sonship themes in Heb 7:28. Hay continues: The closing words of 8.1, “in the heavens,” suggest the principal concern of this particular citation. The SESSION is recalled now not for its connotation of a supreme honor [as Hay finds in Heb 1] but for its implication that Jesus is located in the celestial sanctuary. This is an essential part of the author’s sacerdotal argument: not only does that location show afresh Jesus’ superiority to levitical priests; without that heavenly

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eric f. mason situation he would not be priest at all (8:4). Since the writer appeals to no other scriptural verse to support the conception of Christ’s location in heaven, it may not be too much to regard Ps 110.1 as a crucial foundation stone for the two sanctuary reasoning adumbrated in verses like 4.14, 6.20, 7.20 and elaborated in chaps. 8–10.25

Hay further notes that Hebrews seems indebted to other “foundation stones,” citing the royal and priestly honors granted Levi in a heavenly temple where God is enthroned in T. Levi 5:1–2; 8:1–17.26 Similarly, Mackie notes the prominent role played by Ps 110:1 in Hebrews’ discussion of the heavenly sanctuary, arguing that “Jesus’ sacrifice and exaltation are linked, jointly constructed as the two key moments of a single sacrificial act.”27 Mackie rejects interpretations that Hebrews’ presentation of the heavenly sanctuary and Jesus’ high priestly sacrificial ministry are intended only as “sustained metaphors,” which he defines as “a creative elaboration of the soteriological significance of Jesus’ death.”28 Instead, according to Mackie, “that the author consistently portrays Jesus’ self-offering holistically, with his suffering/ death and exaltation always inseparably linked within a ‘single sacrificial script,’ lends further support for a literal understanding of the Heavenly Sanctuary.” Here Mackie borrows the language of a “single sacrificial script” from Richard Nelson, who relates this to Hebrews’ emphasis on the singularity and finality of Jesus’ action.29 Mackie goes further: “As the place where Jesus’ sacrifice is completed, the Heavenly

25 David M. Hay, Glory at the Right Hand: Psalm 110 in Early Christianity (SBLMS 18; Nashville: Abingdon, 1973), 87 (author’s capitalization). 26 Hay, Glory, 87 n. 148. See the note above, however, about the difficulty of appealing to Testament of Levi for discussion of Hebrews. 27 Scott D. Mackie, Eschatology and Exhortation in the Epistle to the Hebrews (WUNT 2/223; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 169. 28 Mackie, Eschatology, 158. 29 Mackie, Eschatology, 158–59. According to Richard D. Nelson (“ ‘He Offered Himself ’: Sacrifice in Hebrews,” Interpretation 57 [2003]: 251–65, esp. 255): “Hebrews thus binds Christ’s cross and exaltation as elements of a single sacrificial script and as successive stages in a ‘single sacrifice’ (10:12) and a ‘single offering’ (v. 14; cf. v. 10) made ‘once for all.’ His willing death was the first phase of a complex priestly action that continued in his ascension through the heavenly realms and entrance with blood into the heavenly sanctuary. It concluded with a decisive act of purification and being seated beside God’s throne, where Christ can continually intercede for his followers.” For a very different assessment of the locus of Jesus’ sacrifice—but one that still affirms the apocalyptic understanding of the heavenly sanctuary—see David M. Moffitt, “Unveiling Jesus’ Flesh: A Fresh Assessment of the Relationship Between the Veil and Jesus’ Flesh in Hebrews 10:20,” PRSt 37 (2010): 71–84.

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Sanctuary must be as ‘real’ for both author and audience as the cross where Jesus’ self-offering began.”30 In contrast to these observations by Hay and Mackie, scholars who emphasize a Platonic reading tend to say little about the nature of the heavenly throne. Such is not surprising, though, because discussion of the throne of God is a hallmark of apocalyptic thought rather than philosophical orientation. Philo, for example, uses the Greek θρόνος only once in his entire corpus (Congr. 118), and there when discussing the Egyptian pharaoh. Both Hay and Mackie are adamant that discussion of Jesus’ priesthood and sacrifice cannot be separated from Hebrews’ conception of Jesus’ enthronement at God’s right hand following Ps 110:1, but one can say even more about this connection. While the author of Hebrews develops theological implications of Jesus’ sacrifice and the superiority of the heavenly sanctuary over its earthly counterpart by means of Platonic elaboration, he does not write similarly of the enthronement of Jesus. The enthroned Jesus is affirmed as superior to the angels in Heb 1, but one does not find arguments that this should be interpreted only metaphorically or symbolically; it seems evident that the author of Hebrews really thinks of Jesus as exalted to God’s presence and in dominion over angels. This lack of Platonic interpretation of the heavenly session theme, combined with the manner in which the author develops his argument that Jesus is priest beginning with his assertion that Jesus is the exalted Son of Ps 110:1, points to the conclusion that the author’s interpretation of Ps 110:1 (in tandem with Ps 2:7 and 2 Sam 7:14) truly marks the foundation of Hebrews’ cosmological thought. Enthronement is not a Platonic category, so the most basic orientation of the author must lie elsewhere, in an apocalyptic cosmology that includes conceptions of a heavenly liturgical setting and divine throne. The author of Hebrews can engage Platonic ideas and imagery when discussing the heavenly sanctuary, but this is built

30 Mackie, Eschatology, 159. Note also, however, his restraint: “Conversely, the author’s reluctance to provide detailed descriptions of either the Heavenly Sanctuary or Jesus’ sacral ministry there should serve to caution against overly literalistic interpretations.” More recently, Mackie has argued that the appeals in Hebrews to “draw near” and similar language are exhorations to “a substantial mystical experience, one that truly brought the whole community into the heavenly most holy place, where their identity was to be formed.” See Scott D. Mackie, “Heavenly Sanctuary Mysticism in the Epistle to the Hebrews,” JTS NS 62 (2011): 77–117, esp. 117.

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upon a more fundamental, a priori conviction of the actual existence of such a structure. To put this differently, the author moves very comfortably in the book between discussions of Jesus in the heavenly sanctuary and at the right hand of the enthroned God. One can explain this connection if the author begins with a cosmology similar to that in Jewish apocalyptic literature (including several texts found at Qumran), but not if he is at the most fundamental level a Platonist. He never offers a philosophical or metaphorical interpretation of the enthronement because such is not needed to advance his theological argument or hortative appeal. Instead, the author utilizes Platonic thought not because it is his default approach but rather because he finds it a very useful tool to emphasize the contrast between the two sanctuaries. This in turn is being discussed because he seeks to present Jesus as the greater priest— and thus one with a better covenant and all that entails—in response to the Christian gospel narrative and his exegesis of the Septuagint. The Apocalyptic Model and Descriptions of the Heavenly Sanctuary in Hebrews The proposal offered above seems to account best for what one finds in Heb 8:1–5 and 9:1–28.31 As noted above, the discussion of the heavenly sanctuary in 8:1–5 opens with notice that “we have such a high priest, 31

As regularly noted by interpreters of Hebrews, the author always speaks of a “sanctuary” (ἅγια) or “tent” (σκηνή). Some interpreters distinguish between the terms, with the former referring to the holy of holies and the latter signifying the entire structure, but Sterling notes that Hebrews’ use is not so consistent (“Ontology,” 194). Similarly, Johnson notes that “the decision [on distinguishing between the terms] is not a critical one, for the author’s real interest is in the distinction between the heavenly worship carried out by Jesus and that conducted on earth” (Hebrews, 199). Use of σκηνή reflects the normal LXX language for the tabernacle; see Koester, The Dwelling of God, 19–20. Also, use of the term accentuates the motif of the pilgrim people journeying toward God’s rest. This language—combined with the absence of explicit discussion of temple—implies that the author draws this imagery from his biblical exegesis, particularly from the Pentateuch. As such, attempts to find in Hebrews a polemic against Christian allegiance or attraction to the temple (or Judaism more broadly) are misplaced. I critique such readings of Hebrews in “The Epistle (Not Necessarily) to the ‘Hebrews’: A Call to Renunciation of Judaism or Encouragement to Christian Commitment?” PRSt 37 (2010): 5–18. MacRae notes the exclusive use of tabernacle language in Hebrews and claims the same for Philo, in both cases also crediting this to their interest in exegesis of the Pentateuch, but he asserts that “both authors are strongly influenced by contemporary temple symbolism in their exegesis.” See MacRae, “Heavenly Temple,” 181.

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one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent (τῶν ἁγίων λειτουργὸς καὶ τῆς σκηνῆς τῆς ἀληθινῆς) that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up” (8:1–2). The author then moves to compare and contrast Jesus with earthy priests—high priests are appointed to make sacrifices, so every priest has something to offer, including Jesus (8:3). Anticipating the quotation of Jeremiah 31 later in the chapter, the author is building a case for Jesus as a superior priest, correlating Jesus with the heavenly sanctuary and the new covenant, in contrast to the Levitical priests who serve on earth with what the prophetic text calls the old covenant. That earthly sanctuary is the focus of 8:5, where the author writes, “They [the Levitical priests] offer worship in a sanctuary that is a sketch and shadow (ὑποδείγματι καὶ σκιᾷ) of the heavenly one; for Moses, when he was about to erect the tent, was warned, ‘See that you make everything according to the pattern (τύπον) that was shown you on the mountain.’ ” Here the author quotes Exod 25:40, with a few minor variations from the LXX translation but none crucial for the present discussion. Both Philo and Hebrews add πάντα to the quotation, but this term is present in the similar verse Exod 25:9 LXX. At face value, Exod 25:40 (like Exod 25:9) implies that Moses was shown some sort of heavenly model for Israel’s wilderness tabernacle. The passage appears among the detailed instructions for the construction of the tabernacle and its implements. Technically this admonition concludes the instructions for the construction of the lampstand, but a similar command specifically related to the tent appears in Exod 26:30. It is not clear, however, as to what form the heavenly model took— did Moses see a heavenly sanctuary, or did he see some other sort of exemplar? Philo, reading with his Middle Platonic lens, clearly understood the latter; he addresses Exod 25:40 (and 25:9) several times in his corpus, including in QE 2.82, affirming that the “pattern” Moses saw was “the incorporeal heaven, the archetype of the sense-perceptible” (Marcus, LCL).32 In doing so, however, Philo feels the need to rule out the more straight-forward idea that Moses saw a physical model— because God “commanded” Moses to “see,” Philo finds here something that must go beyond the physical, commenting that “if it were (merely a question of) seeing the sense-perceptible with the eyes of

32

169.

QE 2.52; Leg. 3.100–102; Plant. 26–27; Mos. 2.71–75. See Thompson, Hebrews,

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the body, it is clear that no (divine) command would be needed for this” (Marcus, LCL). As such Philo indicates familiarity with an alternate tradition of interpretation of this passage, one perhaps comparable with the idea attributed to Solomon in Wis 9:8—“You have given command to build a temple on your holy mountain, and an altar in the city of your habitation, a copy of the holy tent that you prepared from the beginning.”33 Philo’s interpretation, along with the philosophical overtones of the language of “sketches” and “shadows” and later, in 9:24, “antitypes,” has prompted numerous interpreters to assume the author of Hebrews is also reading Exodus in a Platonic manner. Sterling comments, “the language that is used in these verses [8:1–5] is strikingly Platonic,” and he notes comparable uses of “true,” “heavenly,” “pattern,” and “shadowy sketch” (reading a hendiadys in 8:5).34 Sterling indeed considers several lexical discrepancies but nevertheless finds such use of Platonic language in Hebrews conclusive: “While some of these terms could have come from diverse backgrounds, the ensemble is Platonic.”35 Others find this variation more troublesome, and Koester (among others) has noted numerous differences in the language of Plato, Philo, and Hebrews, including the selection of terms and the meanings accorded certain terms that are used in common. For example, whereas Plato and Philo use παράδειγμα and ἀρχέτυπον for heavenly patterns, Hebrews uses neither, but instead uses ὑπόδειγμα—but for the earthly copy rather than the heavenly model; similarly, Hebrews uses εἰκών for the heavenly whereas Plato and Philo use it for the copy.36 As Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra notes, “Hebrews’ terminology certainly has a (middle-)Platonic ring. On the other hand, the use of other terms is not consistent with conventional (middle-)Platonism.”37 Thus while Hebrews’ language certainly sounds philosophical—and the author can elaborate on the relationship between the sanctuaries in a way reflecting philo-

33

So Koester, Hebrews, 378. Sterling, “Ontology,” 194–95. 35 Sterling, “Ontology,” 194 (emphasis his). 36 Koester, Hebrews, 98–99. See also the very nuanced discussion of the relationship between Philo and Hebrews in Kenneth L. Schenck, “Philo and the Epistle to the Hebrews: Ronald Williamson’s Study After Thirty Years,” Studia Philonica Annual 14 (2002): 112–35, esp. 128–32. 37 Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity: The Day of Atonement from Second Temple Judaism to the Fifth Century (WUNT 163; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 183. 34

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sophical thought—in several cases the use of terms is not consistent with that of his philosophical predecessors. These variations would be very surprising if the author’s most fundamental conception of the heavenly sanctuary were indebted to these philosophical traditions. Instead, it seems more likely that the author of Hebrews has adorned his interpretation of the relationship between the two sanctuaries with philosophical language, but the latter is not his root impulse. In Heb 9:1–28, the chief issue for debate concerns the author’s statements about sacrifices in the heavenly sanctuary. In the first half of the chapter, the author surveys the furnishings of the earthly sanctuary, notoriously misplacing the altar of incense with the ark behind the second curtain. Then he contrasts the repeated Levitical sacrifices with that of Christ, whose offering is final and cleanses the conscience (not just the flesh; 9:1–14). The heavenly sanctuary in which Christ makes his offering is “not made with hands, that is, not of this creation” (9:11), reminiscent of the statement in 8:2 that Jesus is “a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up.” The author then turns in 9:15–22 to a play on the Greek word διαθήκη—a will goes into effect only with a death, and likewise a covenant takes effect only with blood. Moses sprinkled blood on the Hebrew people and on the tabernacle and its implements, thus the author of Hebrews can assert that “under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins” (9:22). The author then discusses the heavenly sanctuary: “thus it was necessary for the sketches of the heavenly things to be purified with these rites, but the heavenly things themselves need better sacrifices than these” (9:23). This transition, however, can seem problematic, as addressed below. The author moves to contrast the earthly sanctuary, a copy (ἀντίτυπος) made by hands, with “heaven itself ” which Christ entered, “now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf” (9:24). Given what the author has said earlier about Jesus’ session at God’s right hand, clearly again he is evoking the imagery of Ps 110:1, but now he stresses Christ’s intercessory role. The passage concludes with a contrast of the once for all nature of Jesus’ self-sacrifice with the ongoing Levitical Day of Atonement rituals carried out with another creature’s blood. Much attention has been paid to the statement about purification sacrifices for the heavenly sanctuary, and interpreters, rejecting the presence of an actual heavenly sanctuary, routinely note the absurdity

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of such a notion.38 Yet such an interpretation of this verse would seem to offer even more problems for a Platonic reading—how would the allegorized sanctuary of Philo’s interpretation be purified, and/or what would that mean? Such readings undervalue two very important aspects of the passage. First, the thrust of the passage is to contrast the quality and effectiveness of the respective sacrifices: the heavenly sanctuary, as superior to the earthy one, justifiably necessitates a superior sacrifice. That contrast drives the discussion of the purification sacrifices, however they be understood. Second, while the author clearly has used the term καθαρίζω, properly translated as “purified,” he also has conflated several sacrificial rites into his conception of the Day of Atonement ritual, including those of inaugurating the covenant and the tabernacle.39 Indeed, the same verb is used to describe the inauguration ceremony for the tabernacle in Lev 8:15 (LXX). This should caution interpreters from assuming that the author really means the heavenly sanctuary is tainted, though Stökl Ben Ezra notes that if there indeed is a situation of impurity, the cause is the same as that which has affected the earthly sanctuary—human sinfulness.40 The concept is better understood, however, as inauguration. Even the text points to this—in 9:18, the author writes, “Hence not even the first covenant was inaugurated (ἐγκεκαίνισται) without blood.” Here the term ἐγκαινίζω denotes ideas of establishment or ratification.41 As such, this passage is not an impediment to the conception of an actual heavenly sanctuary. In conclusion, the author of Hebrews certainly makes use of language and concepts familiar from a middle Platonic philosophical context. The centrality of Ps 110:1 and his conviction that Jesus is seated at the right hand of God demands, however, that his most basic cosmological orientation ultimately has more in common with apocalyptic Jewish conceptions—such as found in several texts from Qumran—than with Philonic or Platonic thought.

38 See Harold W. Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989), 261–62, for an overview of approaches to this passage. 39 Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur, 187–89. See also BDAG (489): “Hb 9:22f occupies an intermediate position, since ceremon[ial] purification and moral purification merge, and the former becomes the shadow-image of the latter.” 40 Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur, 184 n. 180. 41 BDAG 272. See also Johannes Behm, “ἐγκαινίζω,” TDNT 3:453–54.

CHRISTIANS AND THE PUBLIC ARCHIVE William Adler In his epistle to the Philadelphians, Ignatius of Antioch scolds “some people” for expressing doubts about the authority of the gospel. “If I do not find it in the archives,” he reports them as saying, “I do not believe in the gospel (ἐὰν μὴ ἐν τοῖς ἀρχείοις εὕρω, ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ οὐ πιστεύω).”1 While the identity of Ignatius’s opponents and the meaning of the words τὰ ἀρχεῖα in this passage are hardly certain, archival documents enjoyed high standing in the early church.2 The archives at Tyre, writes Theophilus, prove that the temple of Jerusalem was founded over 140 years before the Phoenician colonization of Carthage.3 For Tertullian, Rome’s public archives confirmed the gospel account of the portents occurring at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion.4 Official documents could also silence the voices of heretics. A heretic suspicious of the church’s own testimony about the martyrdoms of Peter, Paul, James and Stephen, Tertullian writes in the Scorpiace, will find confirmation of the circumstances of their deaths in the imperial archives (instrumenta imperii) and the blood-stained stones of Jerusalem.5 The weight of historical probability alone, he writes elsewhere, nullifies Marcion’s claim that Jesus appeared in the world suddenly and without notice. Without any knowledge of his Jewish ancestry and birth, Tertullian asks, how could the Jews have accepted him into their holy places? But the “most faithful witness of the Lord’s nativity (testem fidelissimum dominicae nativitatis)” was the record of Jesus’ enrollment in the Roman census maintained in the “archives of Rome.”6 The authority of public archives also figures in Ephrem’s own refutation of Marcion. The archives of Egypt, the annals of the Babylonians, Greeks and Romans, and those stored in Jerusalem, he

1 2 3 4 5 6

Ignatius, To the Philadelphians, 8.2. For discussion, see below, pp. 927–28. Theophilus, Ad Autolycum, 3.22. Tertullian, Apologeticus, 21.19. Tertullian, Scorpiace, 15.2–3. Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, 4.7.7.

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writes, collectively attest the mighty acts of God recounted in Jewish Scriptures.7 Without doubt, the most celebrated archival document in all of Christendom was the correspondence purportedly exchanged between Jesus and Abgar V, ruler of the Mesopotamian kingdom of Edessa (9–46 c.e.). First made famous by Eusebius of Caesarea, the letters were, so Eusebius states, carefully preserved in the archive in Edessa up to his own day, and translated from Syriac into Greek.8 By the early fifth century, the correspondence between Jesus and king Abgar and the wondrous events that ensued were known everywhere. Before her tour of holy places in the East, the Spanish pilgrim Egeria already had in her possession a copy of the letters. But when the local bishop offered her a more reliable text, she received it as a great treasure.9 The version of Jesus’ letter to Abgar preserved in the Syriac Doctrina Addai (ca. 400) included the vow: “may your city be blessed, and may no enemy ever again rule over.”10 Jesus’ letter, or at least his promise, soon acquired apotropaic power, inscribed on the gates of Edessa as well as other cities of the Roman East.11 Edessa’s archive, whose continued existence is attested at least until the fifth century, also benefited from the publicity, becoming a prominent feature of the Edessene cityscape. As Egeria’s travel diary shows, Edessa and her archive were by that time a mandatory destination for pilgrims. In the Syriac Acts of Sharbil, an account of the conversion of the high priest Sharbil to Christianity and his subsequent martyrdom, the archive served as a landmark by which to orient readers. At the beginning of the work, it recounts the celebration of an Edessene festival, during which the

7 Ephrem, Against Marcion, 1, in S. Ephraim’s Prose Refutations of Mani, Marcion and Bardaisan (ed. C. W. Mitchell; London: Williams and Norgate, 1921), xxiv (ET), 52 (Syriac). 8 Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica, 1.8.5–13.22. 9 Egeria Itinerarium/Reisebericht (ed. and trans. G. Rowekamp; Fontes Christiani 20; Freiburg: Herder, 1995), 202.20–28 (19.19). 10 Syriac text and English translation by George Howard, The Teaching of Addai (SBLTT 16; Early Christian Literature Series 4; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981), 9, f. 3 b. Jesus’ vow is lacking in Eusebius’s text of the letter. 11 See J. B. Segal, Edessa: “The Blessed City” (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 73–76. For the use of Jesus’ letter as an amulet, see Don C. Skemer, Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages (University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), 96–104. For Jesus’ vow inscribed on the gates of cities of Asia Minor and Macedonia, see The Chronicle of Pseudo-Joshua the Stylite (trans. F. R. Trombley and J. W. Watt; Translated Texts for Historians 32; Liverpool: University Press, 2000), 6 n. 22.

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whole city assembled together “near the great altar which is in the middle of the city . . . opposite the office of records.”12 The correspondence between Abgar and Jesus and its associated legends are today almost universally regarded as a literary fabrication of a Christian from Edessa interested in establishing, among other things, the ancient and orthodox roots of Christianity in that city.13 But that is only part of a broader question: How did the “archive” (however understood) come to be identified in the Christian imagination as a neutral and ultimate arbiter of the truth of Scripture and church tradition, even surpassing, at least for Ignatius’s opponents, the authority of the “gospel”? The Romance and Reality of the Ancient Archive Although the division of realms was not hard and fast, ancient archives, unlike libraries, were mainly repositories for official documents, not literary texts.14 Their functions were numerous. Decrees and correspondence offered a precedent and guide for succeeding generations of rulers. Priestly records stored in temple archives assured the preservation of the necessary ancestral pedigree usually required for this office. Archives protected a city’s citizens from incriminating and baseless charges. Official legal decrees, “kept for all time,” wrote the Athenian rhetor and advocate Aeschines, are the best way to protect Athens’

12 Acts of Sharbil in W. Cureton, Ancient Syriac Documents (London: Williams and Norgate, 1864), 41.20–24. 13 For analysis and review of the literature, see H. J. W. Drijvers, “The Abgar Legend,” in New Testament Apocrypha (ed. W. Schneemelcher; rev. ed.; trans. R. McL. Wilson; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1991), 1:492–500; Wolfgang Speyer, Die literarische Falschung im heidnischen und christlichen Altertum: ein Versuch ihrer Deutung (Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft 1 Abt., 2 T; Munich: Beck, 1971), 295–96; Sebastian Brock, “Eusebius and Syriac Christianity,” in Eusebius, Christianity and Judaism (ed. H. W. Attridge and G. Hata; Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992), 212–34. 14 For a general survey of archives in antiquity, see Ernst Posner, Archives in the Ancient World (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972); K. Gross, “Archiv,” RAC 1 (1950): 614–31; see also Ancient Archives and Archival Traditions (ed. M. Brosius; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). For the public archive in ancient Greece, see, among others, Stella Georgoudi, “Manieres d’archivage et archives des cites,” in Les Savoirs de l’Ecriture: en Grèce ancienne (ed. M. Detienne; Cahiers de philologie 14; Série Apparat critique; Lille: Presses universitaires de Lille, 1988), 221–47; James P. Sickinger, Public Records and Archives in Classical Athens (Chapel Hill, N.C.; University of North Carolina Press, 1999).

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citizens from slander.15 Even contracts privately negotiated between honorable parties, writes the rhetor Dio Chrysostom (ca. 40–120 c.e.), could not compete with those sanctioned by the state and registered in the city archives; “everyone,” he writes, acknowledges the latter’s superior authority.16 Adherence to conventional and recognized standards of dating and certification also made archival records a credible scholarly resource for chroniclers, annalists, and antiquarians. The growth and centralization of public archives required by the increasing bureaucratization of society in the Hellenistic age probably accounts, at least in part, for the rise of the genre of the universal chronicle during that time. The raw material of the universal chronicle—dated lists of kings, Olympic victors, and census records—were just the sorts of documents a researcher could expect to find in a public archive. Like all instruments of civilization, the public archive was laden with symbolism. Official documents preserved from the time of a city’s founding were a physical reminder of a city’s antiquity and link to its past. Virgil took a rather darker view. For him, the public archive (tabularia populi), along with the “iron rule of laws, and the Forum’s madness,” was a symptom of social decay, a necessary but oppressive ingredient of city life.17 Increasing use of and demands on public archives often outpaced their capacities to deliver. We should not confuse our mental picture of the modern archive with the reality of its ancient counterpart. The word “archive” now evokes the image of a centralized collection of records, deliberately selected for permanent storage and access because of their enduring cultural or historical value. Organization of public archives in antiquity was not nearly as systematic. Segregating records on the basis of their perceived historical importance was an idea completely foreign to the ancient archive.18 Preservation was often haphazard, and lapses occurred even in systems celebrated for their care and efficiency. The book of Ezra describes, for example, how, after a fruitless search in the archives of Babylon for Cyrus’s decree authorizing the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple, officials in the court of

15

Aeschines, De falsa legatione, 89. Dio Chrysostom, Rhodiaca, 31.51. 17 Virgil, Georgica, 2.502. 18 See Posner, Archives, 4–5. On the deficiencies of Greek archives, see also Rosalind Thomas, Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 141–44. 16

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Darius were able to locate a transcript of the decree in a registry in the archive of Ecbatana (Ezra 6:1–2).19 The progressive accumulation of documents and the ravages of time and climate further contributed to the difficulties of storage, preservation, and access. In Hellenistic and Roman Egypt, disputes over disintegrating public records wound up in lawsuits, especially when the archives were about to be transferred from one party to another. Because the archivist, often a man of means who assumed the role as a liturgy, bore personal financial liability for the upkeep of archives, a newly appointed archivist sometimes refused to assume responsibility for badly damaged documents.20 According to Cassius Dio, public records in Rome had fallen into such disrepair during the reign of Tiberius that some “had either perished completely or else become illegible with the lapse of time.” To alleviate the problem, three senators were elected to transcribe those that were still extant and to restore the text of the others.21 Forging, stealing, destroying, or tampering with archival documents only added to the disarray. The motives for such acts ranged from personal gain to sedition. According to Athenaeus, the theft by Apellicon of Teos of original copies of ancient decrees stored in the Metroon was the act of a compulsive bibliophile and antiquarian. Through either theft or purchase, he had also acquired all the treatises of Aristotle and the peripatetic school, and whatever else “that was ancient and rare in other cities.”22 Falsification of records was probably not difficult. The formulaic language of bureaucracy in which royal decrees, correspondence and commercial contracts were composed was relatively easy to imitate. Athenian orators, albeit often intemperately, hurled charges back and forth of falsification, erasure and concealment of public and private documents.23 Cicero frequently complained of people who falsified records to gain Roman citizenship, or tampered with wills and

19 For discussion, see Richard C. Steiner, “Bishlam’s Archival Search Report in Nehemiah’s Archive: Multiple Introductions and Reverse Chronological Order as Clues to the Origin of the Aramaic Letters in Ezra 4–6,” JBL 4 (2006): 641–85. 20 Posner, Archives, 152. For an excellent discussion of public archives in Egypt, see W. E. H. Cockle, “State Archives in Graeco-Roman Egypt from 30 b.c. to the Reign of Septimius Severus,” JEA 70 (1984): 106–22. 21 Cassius Dio, Historiae Romanae, 57, 16.1–2. 22 Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae, 5.53. 23 See G. M. Calhoun, “Documentary Frauds in Litigation at Athens,” CP 9 (1914): 134–44.

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tax records.24 In some cases, removal or erasure of official documents was itself an official act. In Athens, pardon for a crime against the state involved the removal of the public record of the crime and a prohibition against the retention of private copies of these records.25 Acts like this could lead to social disorder. During the civil war in Rome in the first century b.c.e., the issuance of a decree not to enter the names of assassins in the public records produced a rash of assassinations, many of them directed against the well-heeled.26 Indiscriminate destruction of public documents was of course the most efficient way to paralyze a bureaucracy. Josephus recounts how in the late 60s c.e. the Antiochenes initially blamed the Jews in the city for the burning of the archive and other public buildings. After barely suppressing a full-scale riot in the city, Gnaeus Collega, the Roman deputy-governor, discovered that the fire was the work of a gang of criminals acting on the belief that the destruction of the archive would free them of their debts.27 A similar motive instigated Jewish insurgents to burn the public records of indebtedness stored in Jerusalem; in doing so, Josephus writes, they hoped to win the gratitude of the impoverished masses and incite class warfare.28 As with other public buildings, the wholesale destruction of the archive of a vanquished enemy signified the beginning of a new political order. This was probably Titus’s design in ordering the destruction, along with the Acra and the Sanhedrin, of the building housing the public archive in Jerusalem.29 Accusations of desecration and falsification of public records, even unfounded ones, could and did ruin reputations. One of Hippocrates’ detractors tried to smear his good name by alleging that his burning of the public archives of Cnidus forced him to flee the city of his

24 Cicero, De natura deorum, 3.30; Pro Archia, 4.8–5.10. See further, Philippe Moreau, “La mémoire fragile: falsification et destruction des documents publics au Ier siècle av. J.-C.,” in La mémoire perdue (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1994), 121–45. For Rome’s archives, see Manuel Royo, “Une mémoire fragile et fragmentaire: les archives du monde romain,” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 160 (2002): 513–21. 25 Andocides, De mysteriis, 76.1–8. 26 Cassius Dio, Hist. Rom., 47.6.4. 27 Josephus, Jewish War, 7.58–60. 28 Josephus, J.W., 2.427. For recent discussion of public archives in Jerusalem, see Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 150–60. 29 Josephus, J.W. 6.354.

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birth.30 According to Cicero, all commercial dealings with Oppianicus ceased once it was learned that he had a habit of forging documents, including the public registers of the censors of Larinum. Even his relatives avoided associating with him.31 A story, in all likelihood apocryphal, reported by Julius Africanus and circulated by Jewish Christians claiming ancestral ties to Jesus, accused Herod the Great of effacing the genealogical records of Jewish families “enrolled in the archives (ἐν τοῖς ἀρχείοις).” Haunted by anxieties over his own lowly lineage, Herod allegedly burned them in the hope that he might appear noble “if no one else was able by public documents (ἐκ δημοσίου συγγραφῆς) to trace his family to the patriarchs or proselytes or to the so-called gers of mixed descent.”32 Repeated acts of tampering and abuse also tarnished the standing of the archive itself and the city that was home to it. Cicero exploits this distrust in his defense of Archias, a Greek poet born in Antioch and one of Cicero’s own teachers. Gratius had disputed Archias’s claim to be a Roman citizen on the grounds that no proof existed of his enrolment as a citizen in the public records of the city of Heracleia. For Cicero, this was hardly conclusive evidence. The testimony of honorable men who had sworn that Archias was indeed a citizen of Heracleia was far preferable to the faulty memory of written archives. Documents, even official ones, were always subject to tampering and mistreatment. Besides, the register office of the Heracleans was the least to be trusted, seeing that it had been torched in the Italian Wars.33 Cities fully understood the harm that vandalism, theft and tampering could do to their reputation. In his address to the Rhodians, Dio Chrysostom reminds them of the dire consequences in store for anyone found guilty of chiseling off even a single word from any official table or of erasing “a horn of a law or even one syllable of a decree stored in the public records (τὰ δημόσια ὑμῖν γράμματα).”34 But if anything, increasingly severe warnings against tampering and falsification only whetted the appetite for fraud. For a forger seeking an ironclad pedigree for his handiwork, an archive known for official oversight and

30 Vita Hippocratis, 4, in Corpus medicorum Graecorum 4 (ed. J. Ilberg; Leipzig: Teubner, 1927). 31 Cicero, Pro Cluentio, 14. 32 Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 1.7.13. 33 Cicero, Arch., 4.8. 34 Dio Chrysostom, Rhod., 31.86.

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the care with which its documents were copied, witnessed, notarized, preserved and protected only added to its cachet. To explain how a work from the past managed to escape detection for such a long time, forgers sometimes had to resort to improbable stories of chance discoveries of lost or hidden documents. But records stored in carefully guarded public archives required no such explanation. They were there all along, available for inspection by anyone willing to do the legwork. Eusebius assures his readers that “in the public documents of Edessa,” the fictive correspondence between Jesus and the king “is found preserved from that time to this.”35 The Myth of the Incorruptible Archive Paradoxically, a successful fraud, by advertising the credentials of the archive from which it claimed to originate, helped promote an archive’s mystique of incorruptibility. Nowhere is this symbiosis more transparent than in the evolving romance of the eastern archive. From the time of Herodotus, the reputation of eastern peoples for the efficient delivery and preservation of official documents was deeply etched in the Greek imagination. That reputation was carefully cultivated in the culturally competitive Hellenistic age. Despite continued assaults on the archives of Jerusalem, Josephus writes, restoration of lost records from archives maintained elsewhere made it possible to reconstruct the succession of high priests extending a full 2000 years.36 For Josephus, care in the composition and maintenance of official records, the hallmark of eastern civilizations, gave an edge to their historians. Because the Greeks were negligent custodians of public records (δημοσίας . . . ἀναγραφάς), their historians had no sure documentary foundation on which to build. By contrast, eastern historians had it easy: all they had to do was faithfully reproduce the archives.37 To the modern historian, reducing historiography to a clerical chore sounds like an insult; for Josephus it was high praise. To accredit the accuracy of their own works, historians were not afraid to exploit the mystique of the eastern archive to the point of misrepresentation. Ctesias of Cnidus (fifth century b.c.e.) was surely

35 36 37

Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 1.13.5. Josephus, Against Apion, 1.35–36. Josephus, Ag. Ap., 1.19–20.

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exaggerating when he claimed that his Persica derived from “the royal skins (ἐκ τῶν βασιλικῶν διφθερῶν)” recording the “ancient deeds of the Persians.”38 The administrative documents stored in Susa could hardly have offered Ctesias the raw material for his salacious history.39 But it was more than its tales of Persian court intrigue that earned for his Persica its lasting influence. It also had, or so its author claimed, the imprimatur of the Persian royal chancery. In the third century, the Babylonian Berossus and the Egyptian Manetho raised the stakes by (mis)representing their histories as “translations” of temple archives carefully stored and maintained in their respective homelands for many thousands of years.40 Forgeries purporting to be the actual documents themselves were the logical next step. Fictional royal correspondence was a popular choice. One such work, known to Josephus, styled itself as correspondence between Solomon and the Phoenician king Hiram that was carefully preserved in the archive of Tyre. “To this day,” Josephus writes, “there remain copies not only in our books but also with the Tyrians, so that if anyone wished to learn the exact truth, he would, by inquiring of the public officials in charge of the Tyrian archives, find that their records are in agreement with what we have said.”41 The Jewish and Christian Idealization of the Archive When Josephus urges interested parties to travel to Tyre and ask the city’s chief archivist for the written proof, he was taking a gamble that no one would actually expend the time and effort to answer the challenge. Or perhaps Josephus, whose knowledge of the existence of this correspondence in the archive of Tyre was probably only through an

38

Quoted in Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca, 2.32.4. See Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 6. 40 For Berossus, see the excerpt from the first book of his Babyloniaca, where he claims to have translated “records stored with great care (μετὰ πολλῆς ἐπιμελείας) and encompassing over 150,000 years” (in George Syncellus, Ecloga Chronographica [ed. A. A. Mosshammer; Leipzig: Teubner, 1983], 28.22–24). On Manetho’s use of temple records in Egypt, see Josephus, Ag. Ap., 1.73, where he refers to his Aegyptiaca as a “translation from the sacred tablets (ἐκ . . . τῶν ἱερῶν [δέλτων?] μεταφράσας).” 41 Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, 8.55; cf. Ag. Ap., 1.111–16. 39

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informant, actually believed the document was stored there.42 Later appeals by Christian writers to far-flung archives smack of rhetorical overkill. Ephrem’s extravagant claim that the mighty acts of God are recorded in archives around the world, Burkitt once wrote, “only raises a smile.”43 The same may be said of Tertullian’s appeals to the imperial archives of Rome. The odds that Tertullian had actually confirmed for himself the existence of a copy of the census of Quirinius recording Jesus’ enrolment are next to nil. And his invitation to his readers to verify the gospel accounts of Jesus’ death by examining Rome’s public archives was probably only a supposition from the testimony of other authors. To corroborate Matthew’s account of the darkness at noon around at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion (Matt 27:45), Christian apologists and chroniclers liked to cite a notice in the universal chronicles of Phlegon and Thallus about a solar eclipse occurring around the same time.44 But Tertullian, who knew how to play the role of advocate and jurist, understood that a Roman reader would have demanded proof from original documents. And so he presses the argument one more step, drawing the implicit but unstated inference that their reports were extracted from an official record of celestial omens preserved in Rome’s official archives. “Those who were not aware,” he writes, that the darkness in noon had been predicted about Christ, “no doubt thought it an eclipse. You yourselves have the account of the world-portent still in your archives.”45 While Christian and Jewish authors for the most part appealed to public archives to validate the testimony of Scripture, in several instances they use the language of the archive for Scripture itself. Josephus’s commendation of the superior record-keeping habits of the Jews and other eastern peoples at one point seems to classify the sacred Scriptures of the Jews with other “official records” of eastern peoples.46

42

On Josephus’s knowledge of the archives of Tyre and Phoenician sources in general, see Fergus Millar, “The Phoenician Cities: A Case Study in Hellenisation,” PCPS 209 (1983): 55–71; esp. 63–64. 43 F. Crawford Burkitt, The Religion of the Manichees (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1925), 82. 44 See, for example, Julius Africanus, Chronographiae, F93 (ed. M. Wallraff; GCS N.F. 15; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007); Eusebius, Chronici Canones (ed. R. Helm; GCS Eusebius Werke 7; 3d ed.; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1984), 174.22–175.5; Origen, Contra Celsum, 2.33; Scholia in Matthaeum (PG 17.309). 45 Tertullian, Apol., 21.19. 46 Josephus, Ag. Ap., 1.37–43. See William R. Schoedel, “Ignatius and the Archives,” HTR 71 (1978): 97–106; esp. 99–101. Philo likewise describes both the historical part

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Language likening sacred Scripture to archives also appears in Christian sources. Clement’s first epistle to the Corinthians introduces a citation from Ps 139:7–10 with the words: λέγει γάρ που τὸ γραφεῖον. In other contexts, the word γραφεῖον refers either to a “pen” or to a “registry/archive.”47 In his Weights and Measures, Epiphanius uses the same word to describe what he calls the “second Pentateuch” of Jewish Scriptures: (1) Joshua; (2) Judges; (3) 1 and 2 Kingdoms; (4) 3 and 4 Kingdoms; and (5) the “Paraleipomena.” Called “by some (παρά τισι) Hagiographa (Ἁγιόγραφα),” Epiphanius writes, this collection of books is also known as τὰ Γραφεῖα.48 In place of what he knows to be the more customary Latin word testamentum, Tertullian’s preferred terminology for Jewish and Christian Scriptures is either armarium (“booklocker”) or, more commonly, instrumentum (lit. “official document” or “record”).49 The best-known, and most analyzed, example of the application of archival language to Jewish Scriptures is Ignatius’s report of his dispute with unnamed opponents about the authority of the “gospel.”50 Anything not found in “the archives (ἐν τοῖς ἀρχείοις),” they argued, should not be believed in the gospel.51 As with other writers, archives— in this case, Jewish Scriptures— were for Ignatius’s adversaries the ultimate arbiter of truth. While the identification of Scripture as archives sounds contrived to modern ears, the terminology may be more than purely metaphoric.52 Nahum Sarna has offered the attractive suggestion

or Jewish Scriptures in their totality as ἀναγραφαί (“official records”); see Fug., 137.4; Mut., 189.2; Som., 1.33.4; 1.48.1; 2.265.4; Praem., 2.1 (referring to the historical part of Jewish Scriptures). 47 1 Clement, 28.2. See also Didymus, De trinitate, 7.3, 15. For the meaning of γραφεῖον as archive (especially in Egypt), see Posner, Archives, 143–47; Gross, “Archiv,” 614. 48 Epiphanius, De mensuris et ponderibus, 110, ed. E. Moutsoulas. 49 For Tertullian’s use of the word “instrumentum” instead of “testamentum,” see Prax., 15.20. Marc., 4.1.1 (“alterum alterius instrumenti, vel, quod magis usui est dicere, testamenti”); for “armarium,” see Tertullian, De cultu feminarum, 3.1, where he refers to the Book of Enoch’s exclusion from the armarium Iudaicum. For the use of armaria in Hellenistic libraries and archives, see Nahum M. Sarna, “The Order of the Books,” in Studies in Jewish Bibliography, History and Literature, in honor of I. Edward Kiev (ed. C. Berlin; New York: Ktav, 1971), 407–13; esp. 411. 50 Ign. Phld., 8.2. 51 Ign. Phld., 8.2. 52 See Schoedel, “Ignatius and the Archives,” 101, who speaks of the artificiality of dealing with the Scriptures as archives. Solomon Reinach suggested, rather implausibly, that Ignatius’s opponents were referring not to Jewish Scriptures, but to actual official archives stored in tabularia; see his “Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, and the APXEIA,”

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that the fixed ordering of books of Jewish Scriptures first attested in b. B. Bat. 14b, otherwise impractical in the pre-codex era, reflected the way in which biblical scrolls were physically stored and tagged in an ancient Jewish library or archive.53 But whether figurative or real, the terminology of Josephus and early Christian authors shows in any case how the ancient idealization of the archive has seeped into Jewish and Christian discourse about the authority of their sacred texts. Ignatius himself extends the imagery even farther. In response to his claim that “it is written” in the archives, his adversaries responded: “This is the question before us (ἀπεκρίθησάν μοι ὅτι πρόκειται).” Derailed by that argument, Ignatius then pursues another tack, equating, somewhat obscurely, Christ’s death and resurrection with “archives.” In likening these events to archives, what did he mean? Does his preference for his own archives implicitly negate the corroborative value of Jewish Scriptures? Or is his intent to uphold the sufficiency of the Christian archives, rather than to diminish the authority of their Jewish counterparts? Equally interesting is his understanding of the contents of his own archives. Scholars have variously suggested that Ignatius meant some written gospel (Matthew?), the oral gospel, or the person of Jesus himself. While his characterization of the archives does correspond to the primitive kerygma of the early Church, it is unlikely that this is what Ignatius had in mind. Permanence, incorruptibility, autonomy, and tangibility were what gave ancient archives their cachet—all properties more suitable to the person of Jesus himself than to the oral proclamation of the events of his life. It was for this reason that Ignatius could claim that his “archives” required no other validation, even from Jewish Scriptures themselves. “For me,” he writes, “Jesus Christ is the archives (ἀρχεῖα). His cross, and death, and resurrection, and the faith which is by him, are the undefiled archives (τὰ ἄθικτα ἀρχεῖα); by which I desire, through your prayers, to be justified.”54 in Anatolian Studies presented to Sir William Mitchell Ramsay (ed. W. H. Buckler and W. M. Calder; Manchester: University Press, 1923), 339–40. See also Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 153, who suggests that the word “archives” in this context implies the existence of an archive of the library of the Antiochene church where the Jewish Scriptures, among other documents, were kept. 53 Sarna, “The Order of the Books,” 407–13. For an opposing view, see Menahem Haran, “Archives, Libraries, and the Order of the Biblical Books,” JANESCU 22 (1993): 51–61. 54 For further discussion of the whole problem, see Schoedel, “Ignatius and the Archives,” 97–106; Helmut Köster, Synoptische Überlieferung bei den apostolischen

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The Archive of Edessa in Christian Imagination No other city of Late Antiquity was more aggressive in propagating the mystique of its archive than Edessa of the third to the fifth centuries c.e. Local chronicles and histories stake their credibility on the reputation of the court scribes and notaries charged with creating and maintaining the records stored there.55 Obviously, the fame of the fictitious Abgar/Jesus correspondence helped promote the reputation of Edessa’s public archive for accuracy and care in preservation. But if only for the sake of verisimilitude, the credibility of a forgery rested on the standing of the archive from which it claimed its origins. A highly romanticized account of the workings of Edessa’s archive bureaucracy appears in the Doctrina Addai, a Syriac work of the early fifth century c.e. recounting Edessa’s early conversion to Christianity. Hanan, one of the leading men of the story, is a far more accomplished figure than the simple messenger (ταχυδρόμος) described in Eusebius’s earlier version. He is at once a painter, confidant (sharir) of the king, and court archivist (Syr. tbwlar’= Lat. tabularius), in Cureton’s words a “secretary of state.”56 He is also the scribe who records Jesus’ reply to the king.57 Because Jesus composes his own correspondence in Eusebius’s earlier account of events, it was once supposed that the author of the Doctrina wanted to preempt the unwelcome idea that Jesus had written something that was still in circulation.58 But there is nothing to suggest that the author of the Doctrina was worrying here Vätern (TU 65; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1957), 7–9; John P. Meier, “Matthew and Ignatius: A Response to William R. Schoedel,” in Social History of the Matthean Community (ed. D. L. Balch; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 178–86, esp. 186 n. 20; Charles E. Hill, “Ignatius, ‘the Gospel,’ and the Gospels,” in Trajectories through the New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers (ed. A. F. Gregory and C. M. Tuckett; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 267–85, esp. 271–74; Matthew W. Mitchell, “In the Footsteps of Paul: Scriptural and Apostolic Authority in Ignatius of Antioch,” JECS 14 (2006): 27–45, esp. 36–40; Sebastian Moll, The Arch-Heretic Marcion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 135–38. For older studies, see Theodor Zahn, Ignatius von Antiochien (Gotha: Perthes, 1873), 374–79; Erik Peterson, ΕΙΣ ΘΕΟΣ (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1926), 219–20. 55 In the Edessene Martyrdom of Barsamya, for example, the author writes of having discovered in “a correct volume of the archives” the date of the incarnation of Christ; this volume, he adds, “errs not at all in what it declares” (in Cureton, Ancient Syriac Documents, 72.6–9). 56 Cureton, Ancient Syriac Documents, 143 n. to l. 14. 57 Doct. Addai, f. 4 a (Howard, 10). 58 For the claim (against the authenticity of the Manichaean Epistle of Christ) that Jesus wrote nothing that survived, see Augustine, Contra Faustum Manichaeum, 28.4;

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about questions of canon and authority. Hanan’s exalted role reflects rather the author’s fantasy of Edessene officialdom of the first century. There is a paper trail for everything. According to the Doctrina, Hanan and other emissaries from Edessa personally witnessed extraordinary events after arriving in Jerusalem with Abgar’s letter for Jesus. But it is not enough simply for them to tell king Abgar what they had seen with their own eyes. Hanan then has to read an official transcript of the events that he had recorded as he witnessed them; only then do the jaws of the king and his court slacken in amazement. “He was speechless and astonished,” the author writes, “so were his nobles who were standing before him.”59 Later in the work, the royal scribe Labubna first composes in meticulous detail a written record of every wonder that the apostle Addai performed in the Edessene court after Christ’s resurrection; it is then witnessed, notarized, and catalogued by the archivist Hanan. Rather than being sealed up in a shrine or segregated in a special room, however, the document is then simply archived alongside the other royal books, statutes and ordinances, and records “of those who buy and sell.”60 This may seem like rather ordinary treatment of a record of truly extraordinary events. But that is precisely the point. In Edessa, every document, great and small, gets the royal treatment. Since even pedestrian commercial contracts were maintained, in the author’s words, with utmost “care and concern,” nothing else needed to be done.61 The detached professionalism of Edessene paper-pushers was enough to vouchsafe the accuracy of the official account of Addai’s acts at Abgar’s court. In the mind of the Doctrina, the one thing that made Edessa’s archive exceptional was that it was not. Scribes and notaries followed accepted protocol to the letter, adhering in its production and preservation of official documents to “the custom of all kingdoms.” That observation may not be far from the truth. From pre-Christian Edessa, the single surviving copy of a document meant for deposit in the archive of Edessa is a well-preserved bill of sale of a slave girl, found at Dura Europos and dating to the year 243 c.e. (P. Dura 28), thirty-one years

Jerome, Commentarius in Ezechielem libri XVI, 44.29 (ed. F. Glorie; CCL 75; Turnhout: Brepols, 1964). 59 Doct. Addai, f. 2 b (Howard, 6). 60 Doct. Addai, f. 33 a (Howard, 106). 61 Doct. Addai, f. 33 a (Howard, 106).

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after Roman colonization.62 Berlinger and Welles have described the certification of the document as essentially Hellenistic with some Mesopotamian elements.63 An example of the so-called double-contract, well-known from Ptolemaic Egypt, the Dura bill of sale contains two drafts of the same contract, composed on the same sheet, one on top of the other. The Dura papyrus roll was for possession by the buyer, the other for storage in the archive of the “renowned city of Edessa.” At the head of the text, and written in a different hand, is a memorandum describing the delivery of the document “by courier” to the master of taxes. The courier is called “aggaros,” a Persian word for the legendary mounted horseman of the Persian royal chancery.64 The use of a public official for the conveyance of private contracts is highly unusual; and one can hardly imagine how all private contracts could have received the royal treatment without overwhelming the postal system. But it is a good indication of the bureaucratization of Edessene society so amply illustrated in the Doctrina. Despite political upheaval, archival practices remained fairly stable in Edessa over the course of the third century. The re-founding of Edessa as a Roman colony in the year 212 c.e. introduced only superficial reforms to the conventions already in use for the production of documents. One of them concerned the city era. In the Hellenistic Near East, the most widely recognized civic era dated from the first year of the reign of Seleucus I. The Dura bill of sale dates the contract in the year 31 from the first year of the Roman colonization of Edessa in 212, which it calls here the first year of “the freedom of the city.” But as a concession to convention, the Dura papyrus also gives the year according to what it calls “the former reckoning,” namely the Seleucid era, an era widely used in the Hellenized East in the drawing up of contracts.65 Rome’s attempted reform of the Edessene calendar was

62

For English translation and discussion, see A. R. Berlinger and C. B. Welles, “A Third-Century Contract of Sale from Edessa in Osrhoene,” YCS 5 (1935): 95–154. For transcription of the Syriac text with commentary, see Jonathan A. Goldstein, “The Syriac Bill of Sale from Dura-Europos,” JNES 25 (1966): 1–16; C. C. Torrey, “A Syriac Parchment from Edessa of the Year 243 a.d.,” Zeitschrift für Semitistik und verwandte Gebiete 10 (1935): 33–45; H. J. W. Drijvers, Old Syriac (Edessean) Inscriptions (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 54–57. 63 Berlinger and Welles, A Contract of Sale, 111–17. 64 Berlinger and Welles, A Contract of Sale, 138–39. 65 Cf. 1 Macc 13:41–42: following the Maccabean revolt, the Jews began to write “in their documents and contracts, ‘In the first year of Simon the great high priest and commander and leader of the Jews.’ ” But the reform apparently did not take root. For

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short-lived. Later Syriac Christian chronicles continued to date events according to the more familiar and more widely known Seleucid era. It is also the dating system used in the various versions of the Abgar/ Jesus story. This continued use of the Seleucid era was not so much an act of political defiance as it was an acknowledgement of reality. Public documents have to be dated in a system that everyone understands. This minor and ephemeral reform aside, Rome left the administration of the archive largely intact. Months continued to bear the names of the Babylonian calendar. And the language of the Dura papyrus is Syriac, not Greek. Most notably, Rome maintained the practice of storing all classes of documents in a central location. If we can trust the testimony of the Armenian historian Moses of Chorene, commingling of royal, sacred, and commercial records in a single repository began almost with the founding of the city.66 It is not at all difficult to imagine why successive regimes left the existing system in place.67 Aside from the administrative and symbolic value of consolidating private, public, and religious documents in a single location, it was also an effective instrument of social control. In pre-Roman Edessa, religious practices were tightly regulated by the king. According to the Book of the Laws of Countries, Abgar the Great abolished the practice of ritual castration almost overnight.68 Such a sweeping prohibition could only have occurred within the framework of a highly centralized government. Concentrating sacred, commercial, and royal documents in a single location was one way to ensure that Edessa’s temple and priesthood lacked the autonomy found in other kingdoms of the ancient Near East.69 It was thus in Rome’s own interests to leave things undisturbed. According to Moses, the emperor Titus transferred the register of taxes and the temple archive from Sinope to Edessa. After Roman colonization, public and temple archives continued to be administered

a long time afterwards, Jews in the East continued to use the Seleucid era, referring to it as the “era of contracts.” 66 Moses of Chorene, History of the Armenians, 2.27 (trans. R.W. Thomson; Harvard Armenian Texts and Studies 4; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1978), 165. For discussion of Moses’ testimony, see Giusto Traina, “Archivi Armeni e Mesopotamici: La Testimonianza di Movsēs Xorenac`i,” in Archives et sceaux du monde hellénistique (= Archivi e sigilli nel mondo ellenistico). Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique, Supplément 29 (ed. M.-F. Boussac and A. Invernizzi, 1996): 49–63. 67 Moses Chorene, Hist. Armen., 2.38 (Thomson, 181). 68 Book of the Laws of Countries (ed. H. J. W. Drijvers; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1964), 58.20–24. 69 See Berlinger and Welles, A Contract of Sale, 135–37.

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by a single official, one of whom is self-identified (in Greek!) in the Dura papyrus as “Aurelius Mannus, overseer of the sacred and civic [documents].”70 The Archive of Edessa in the Creation of a Christian Edessa Christian Edessa was also happy with the same arrangement, contributing records of its own local history there to an ever-expanding corpus of documents. One important consequence of this was the rapid absorption of Christianity into the official history of the city. In the Acts of Sharbil, a written account of the sequence of events leading up to Sharbil’s martyrdom is said to have been certified by two public notaries and then placed “in the archives of the city, where the charters of the kings are placed.”71 A modern archivist would no doubt disapprove of the Doctrina Addai’s description of the placement of the acts of the apostle Addai amid an undifferentiated jumble of tax receipts, bills of sale, legal codes, royal decrees, and letters. But for the author of the Doctrina, the symbolism of this act, not the cataloguing system, was what mattered. The public archive of Edessa was now the means of both legitimating and fusing two myths of origins: the early history of the city and Christianity’s own beginnings there. One myth underpinned the other. The romance of Edessa’s archive was apparently so steeped in the Christian imagination that a Christian nation lacking its own myth of origins might even expropriate Edessa’s for its own purposes. This is, in fact, what the Armenian historian Moses of Chorene does in his History of the Armenians. In the introduction to the work, he laments the poverty of records for Armenia’s early history, and chastises her early rulers for failing to organize archives comparable to the other great nations of the world. And so Moses had to look elsewhere to fill in the gaps. He found all the evidence he needed in the archive of Edessa; records stored there, he claimed, chronicled the early history of Armenia, including its first kings. With this daring act, the whole history of the kingdom of Edessa now belonged to Armenia—including its founding and the famous story of Addai’s introduction of Christianity into the kingdom during the reign of Abgar V. Edessa’s storied 70 71

P. Dura 28, ll. 27–28 (in Goldstein, “The Syriac Bill of Sale,” 3). Acts of Sharbil in Ancient Syriac Documents (Cureton, 61.15–17).

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archive, reaching back to the city’s very founding, and still standing in Moses’ time, was there to prove it. “Let no one doubt this,” Moses writes, “for we have seen that archive with our own eyes.”72 Moses claimed to have the evidence for this on good authority. From Eusebius’s story of the Abgar/Jesus correspondence, he somehow wheedled out the conclusion that Eusebius “bears witness that in the Edessene archive are to be found all the acts of our first kings.”73 Moses’ other witness was the great Christian chronographer Julius Africanus, who in the fifth book of his chronicle, “transcribed everything from the charters of the archive of Edessa . . . which concerned the history of our kings.” While nothing like this survives in the preserved text of Africanus’s chronicle, the choice of him as an authority was hardly random. Africanus was an avid book collector and archivist; in his Cesti, he boasts of his discoveries of manuscripts of Homer’s Odyssey in libraries and “archives” throughout the Mediterranean world and even takes credit for the design of the library of the Pantheon in Rome.74 He was also an associate of Abgar the Great, whom he once describes admiringly as a “holy man.”75 In Abgar’s court, he befriended the Edessene Christian aristocrat Bar Daisan, tutored the crown prince, and, most significantly, carried on antiquarian research. In his chronicle, Africanus claims, for example, to have discovered in Edessa the shepherd’s tent of Jacob.76 By the time of Moses of Chorene, the tradition about the contribution of Abgar’s Christian courtiers to archive-based patriotic local histories was firmly recognized. Moses treats Africanus almost as an official court historian. Bar Daisan, Africanus’s Edessene friend and royal confidant, was equally 72 Moses Chorene, Hist. Armen., 2.10 (Thomson, 146). On Moses’ account of the archive of Edessa, see M. A. Carriére, La légende d’Abgar dans l’Histoire d’Arménie de Moïse de Khoren (Paris: École des langues orientales vivantes, 1895), 359–66. 73 Moses Chorene, Hist. Armen., 2.10 (Thomson, 146). Thomson (146, n. 2) rightly questions the veracity of Moses’ report. 74 Africanus, Cesti, 5 (from book 18); Les Cestes de Julius Africanus (ed. J.-R. Vieillefond; Florence: Sansoni, 1970), 290.53–54. Of some interest here is Africanus’s claim to have found copies of a variant text of the Odyssey in the libraries of Nysa and Rome and “in the archives (ἐν . . . τοῖς ἀρχείοις)” of “Colonia Aelia Capitolina.” Africanus may be referring to the library of Jerusalem established around that time by Alexander, the bishop of Jerusalem from 212–250; see Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 6.20.1. If this is correct, it shows that the library contained Christian and non-Christian documents. Why Africanus chose to refer to a collection of documents containing a copy of the Odyssey as “archives” (instead of a library) is not clear. Conceivably, it is a word play on his description of Aelia Capitolina as “his former (ἀρχαίας) patria.” 75 Africanus, Chron., F96. 76 Africanus, Chron., T99.

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accomplished. After his exile from Edessa and his failure to make any headway among the pagan population of Armenia, Bar Daisan, in Moses’ words “a famous historian,” retreated to the fortress city of Ani and composed a Syriac history of Armenia translated from temple records that he uncovered there.77 Abgar’s close connection with Christian noblemen like Africanus and Bar Daisan once convinced F. C. Burkitt that Abgar, the first Christian king of Edessa, legitimated his conversion by sponsoring the fictitious story of Addai’s early evangelization of Edessa.78 While Abgar’s Christianity has been rather conclusively disproved by Sebastian Brock, this should not obscure the broader point: namely, the role played by his Christian courtiers in the reconstruction of the city’s history through archeological and archival research.79 I want to underscore this point. Since Walter Bauer’s study of Christianity in Edessa, scholars (with some notable exceptions) have tended to assume that the Jesus/Abgar correspondence preserved in Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History was the product of a Christian Edessa of the late third and early fourth centuries c.e. Let me register a dissenting voice, and propose instead that it originated earlier, in the same environment that produced these other civic-minded Christian aristocrats of pre-Christian Edessa. The evidence for this comes from Eusebius’s own (and often misunderstood) account of the discovery of the Jesus/Abgar correspondence. The relevant passage is the following: You also have documentary evidence of these things taken from the archives (ἐκ τῶν . . . γραμματοφυλακείων) at Edessa, which was at that time a city ruled by a king (κατὰ Ἔδεσσαν τὸ τηνικάδε βασιλευομένην πόλιν). At least, in the public documents there (τοῖς αὐτόθι δημοσίοις χάρταις) which contain the things done in ancient times and at the time of Abgar, these things too are found preserved from that time to this; but there is nothing like hearing the letters themselves, which we have extracted from the ancient records (ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχείων ἡμῖν ἀναληφθεισῶν), and when translated from the Syriac are literally as follows.80

The chief point of contention is the last sentence, which Kirsopp Lake translates: “but there is nothing equal to hearing the letters themselves,

77 78 79 80

Moses Chorene, Hist. Armen., 2.66 (Thomson, 212–13). F. C. Burkitt, Early Eastern Christianity (London: John Murray, 1904), 12. See Brock, “Eusebius and Syriac Christianity,” 221–23. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.13.5.

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which we have extracted from the archives (ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχείων), and when translated from the Syriac they are verbally as follows.” Translations like this have understandably done grave harm to Eusebius’s credibility. Accepting it would mean that Eusebius expects us to believe that he: (1) traveled to Edessa; (2) retrieved the relevant Syriac documents from the archives; and (3) either translated them into Greek himself or had them translated into Greek for him. It is small wonder that critics once charged Eusebius with an elaborate hoax. Let me try to salvage Eusebius’s reputation by proposing a different take on this sentence. The confusion originates in the meaning of the phrase ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχείων. Although Lake translates this as “from the archives,” τὰ ἀρχεῖα can also mean simply “ancient records.” In his Antiquities, for example, Josephus refers to Menander’s “translation of the Tyrian records from the Phoenician language into Greek speech (τὰ τῶν Τυρίων ἀρχεῖα ματαφράσας εἰς τὴν Ἑλληνικὴν γλῶτταν).”81 Eusebius is using the word in the same way. When he speaks of letters extracted by us from ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχείων he is not referring to Edessa’s archive, but rather to a longer text, composed in Syriac and translated into Greek, of which the Jesus/Abgar letters comprised but one part. That interpretation makes perfectly good sense in the context of the Hellenistic archive. Following a practice first instituted by the Persians, Alexander the Great and his successors included among their court officials scribes whose function was to compose an official day book or register consisting of royal decrees, correspondence and acts. Researchers in public archives were more likely to consult these registers, or abstracts of them, than to risk a potentially unproductive search for the original document.82 The same practice was observed in Edessa. With the single exception of a decree of Abgar VIII describing the king’s measures to restore buildings destroyed by a massive flood, later researchers in the archives depended on a register, called by one Syriac chronicle “the book of the archive (ktabâ de beit archê).”83 Eusebius alludes to the same document when he states that in the public

81 Josephus, Ant. 9.283, as noted by Theodor Zahn, Forschungen zur Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons und der altkirchlichen Literatur (Erlangen: Deichert, 1881), 1.354–56. 82 See Posner, Archives, 126–29. 83 See Chronicon miscellaneum ad annum Domini 724 pertinens in Chronica Minora 2 (ed. E. W. Brooks; CSCO 3, Syr. 3.4; Louvain, 1955), 77–155, esp. 96. For discussion, see Muriél Debié, “Record Keeping and Chronicle Writing in Antioch and Edessa,” ARAM 11–12 (1999–2000): 409–17, esp. 410–11.

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documents in Edessa “the things done in ancient times at the time of Abgar are found preserved from that time to this.”84 This, then, is the way to understand Eusebius’s report: Eusebius had available to him a Greek translation of a Syriac text of what he believed to be the official acts of Abgar. From this text, he then extracted the relevant parts: namely, the fictitious exchange of letters between Abgar and Jesus, Thaddaeus’s subsequent fulfillment of Jesus’ promise to heal Abgar, and his preaching of the gospel to the citizens of Edessa. There is thus no reason to think that Eusebius traveled to Edessa and personally retrieved a copy of the acts of king Abgar. That work had already been done for him. He acknowledges as much at the beginning of the passage. There he speaks of “documentary evidence of these things taken from the archives at Edessa which was at that time ruled by a king.” The critical words are “at that time.” This does not refer to the sequence of events recounted at the time of Jesus and Abgar V. It means rather that the longer document from which Eusebius extracted the Jesus/Abgar episode was taken from the archive of Edessa well before Eusebius’s own time, at a time when it was still a monarchy. The last kings to rule Edessa before its colonization by Rome in 212 were Abgar the Great and his son Ma’nu. We have already mentioned how Africanus, one of Abgar’s Christian courtiers, conducted his own antiquarian researches on behalf of the city. The fictitious account of Abgar, Jesus and Thaddeus is another example of the same thing. In pre-Christian Edessa—back in the days of the kings—a civic-minded Christian toiling in the archive of Edessa uncovered, or so he claimed, some sensational information in a register of the acts of one of Edessa’s early kings. And so as a contribution to the history of the city, he made it available to the world in Greek translation. Everybody won. Christianity was now securely rooted in the official, public history of the city. Edessa and its celebrated archive were put on the map.

84

A point already noted by Debié, “Record Keeping,” 410.

THREE APOCRYPHAL FRAGMENTS FROM ARMENIAN MANUSCRIPTS Michael E. Stone It is my pleasure to dedicate this modest paper to James C. VanderKam, whose sustained, careful and insightful scholarship has indelibly marked the field of Second Temple Judaism and particularly of the Dead Sea Scrolls for coming generations. In this paper I have gathered three short Armenian fragments, unidentified by source but intriguing, and provided them with brief introductions and translations. The study of the pseudepigrapha has come to a point where the reception history and influence of this literature interest scholars not only concerned with placing such texts in the first centuries b.c.e. and c.e. Medievalists have known of aspects of this reception history for many years but usually without intimate familiarity with the antique context. Now the time is ripe to combine the expertise that has grown about the pseudepigrapha of late antiquity with medieval interests. I table these fragments in the hope that colleagues and students will find them intriguing enough to follow-up. I. The Fallen Angels This brief text is part of Armenian elenchic (“questions and answers”) literature. It is extant in a late copy, as many significant Armenian texts are. I chose to publish it both because of its inherent interest and because, by its content, it can serve as a tribute to James C. VanderKam, who has taught us all so much about fallen angels, Enoch and associated topics. It should be remarked that this text reflects the view that the fallen angels are associated with creation and not, as in the Enoch literature, with Genesis 6. This is a common variant of the tradition found quite early and widespread later, still living on in Milton’s Paradise Lost.1 It

1 On Milton’s sources, see J. M. Evans, Paradise Lost and the Genesis Traditions (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968). On the medieval Adam literature, see, for example,

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occurs in manuscript no. M2126 of the Maštocʿ Matenadaran (Institute of Ancient Manucripts, Erevan, Armenia) fols. 96r–v. I transcribed it by hand some years ago.2 The manuscript is a Miscellany copied in the Church of S. Karapet (Prodromos) in 1697. It is written on paper and is 298 folios long. According to the Short Catalogue, it contains various works of potential apocryphal interest such as The Stories of Abel, Gog and Magog, Seth, Joseph and Asenath, Mary Magdalene, The Dormition of John, The Vision of Paul, The Testament of Joseph and a number of other patristic and associated writings.3 The subject of the fall of Satan is discussed also in the most famous of Armenian religious and theological compendia, The Book of Questions by Gregory of Tatʿew (1344?–1409) in section 1.3.7 but the present document has no obvious literary connection with Gregory’s text.4 Հարց ﬓ հրեշտակապետից. Զի՞նչ պատճառ է որ հրեշտակք ﬔղանչէցին. Աստ ած զմարդն փրկեաց հրեշտակն ոչ. Պատասխանի. Նախ վասն զի հրեշտակք յորժամ ըստեղծան յական թօթափելն. ճանաչեցին զփառսն իւրեաց եւ զԱստ ած. թէ որպէս է ﬔծ եւ ամէնայկարող յայնժամ առանց ﬕջնորդի. յապըստամբեցան յաստ ծոյ որ ոչ ով չխափեաց զնոսա. Եւ մարդն յորժամ ըստեղծաւ ոչ ջանաչեաց զինքն. եւ իմացաւ հաստատ թեան վասն այս ﬔղացս արտաքս է Աստ ած եւ ﬕջնորդ եղեւ օձն եւ կինն եւ խափեցին. վասն այն պարտ էր մարդոյն փրկիլ. զի բազ մ պատճառ նէր խափէ թեանն. Brian Murdoch, Adam’s Grace: Fall and Redemption in Medieval Literature (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000) and The Apocryphal Adam and Eve in Medieval Europe: Vernacular Translations and Adaptations of the Vita Adae et Evae (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). See also M. E. Stone, “The Fall of Satan and Adam’s Penance: Three Notes on the Books of Adam and Eve,” JTS 44 (1993): 143–56; repr. in Literature on Adam and Eve: Collected Essays (ed. G. Anderson, Stone and J. Tromp; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 43–56; Stone, A History of the Literature of Adam and Eve (SBLEJL 3; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992); A. A. Orlov, From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism: Studies on the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha (JSJSup 114; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 170 and notes there. 2 The support and cooperation of Prof. Sen Arevšatyan, former Director of the Matenadaran, is here acknowledged. 3 Ō. Ēganyan, A. Zeytʿunyan and Pʿ. Antʿabyan, Ց ցակ ձեռագրաց Մաշտոցի անվան մատենադարանի (Catalogue of Manuscripts of the Maštocʿ Matenadaran) (Erevan: Academy of Sciences, 1965), 1: col. 726. 4 Grigor Tatʿewacʿi, Գիրք Հարցմանց Book of Questions (Jerusalem: St. James, 1993), 152.

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եւ հրեշտակք ոչ զոք նէին պատճառ ոչ զօց եւ ոչ կին. այլ ինքն ընդ ինքն ապըստամբեցաւ Աստ ծոյ. երկ պատճառ վասն զի մարդկային սէռս ﬕ մարդ էր. ըստեղծեալ թէ ոչ փրկեալ բն թիւնն եւ բազ մ խափանեալ էր. բայց հրեշտակաց սէռն բոլոր ըստեղծեալ էր. թէ կէսն անկաւ կէսն ﬓացին վասն այն հրեշտակք ոչ փրկեցան։ Question of Archangels: What reason is there that the angels sinned (and that) God saved the man and not the angel? Answer: First, because the angels, when they were created, in the blink of an eye recognized their own glory and how great God is and omnipotent. Then, without a mediator (agent), they rebelled against God, they whom no one deceived. And man, when he was created did not recognize himself, and he discerned that, on account of this sin, God is outside the firmament. And the serpent and the woman were mediators (agents) and they deceived (him). Therefore it was necessary for man to be saved, for he had many reasons (or: causes) for the deception. And the angels did not have anyone as an excuse, not a serpent and not a woman. But they on their own rebelled against God. Two reasons: (first) because humankind was created as one man, if his nature (body) was not saved, many also would have been prevented (from being saved). But the angelic kind were created as one. If part fell, part remained. Because of that the angels were not saved. II. Two Moral Examples about Deposits The text appears in Ms Matendaran no. M5690 as a filler at end of fol. 105v. It is written in different hand to the body of the manuscript. The writing is in the notrgir style. The manuscript is of the nineteenth century; it contains a number of texts of angelological character, added to the Commentary on Revelation of Andrew of Cappadocia.5

5 Ēganyan, Zeytʿunyan and Antʿabyan, Catalogue of Manuscripts of the Maštocʿ Matenadaran, 2: col. 165. This text is not mentioned in the catalogue.

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The text is poetic in character, though one wonders whether its publication can be described as a great accession to the Armenian poetic heritage. It is composed in rhyming couplets and the lines are made up of four feet of two syllables followed by one of three syllables. It seems to me most likely that it is a fragment of a longer poem, though I have not been able to identify its immediate source. The Achan story (see below) is not widely used, which indicates that these four stanzas are probably drawn from a more extensive and learned poem, which, as I have said, remains unidentified. The first two verses refer to the story of Tobit. It is paradigmatic of the faithful preservation of a deposit. The third couplet draws the moral from the incident: to betray a trust is to forfeit life. The fourth tells the story of Achan who stole dedicated objects, a robe together with gold and silver, and was stoned, an incident related in Joshua 7. His action is the reverse of Gabael’s faithfulness and his fate the proof of the moral drawn in verse three. Since the poem contains a reference to the traditions known from the books of Tobit and Joshua, it forms a small example of how such traditions penetrated into Armenian literature. The language is Classical Armenian, without any notable signs of medieval or modern dialects. Տասն քանքարն որ էր պահեստ առ Գաբայէլ. ընդ տօբիայ գնաց առն լ Սափայէլ պարտ է լինիլ աւանդից իսկ մըտերիմ. եւ ոչ ասել թէ չէ այլոց. այլ իսկ իմ։ թէ աւանդից ոք յանդգնեալ աստենգէ. զմ տ կենաց անդէն ձեռամբ իւր փակէ. աքար առեալ զամղանն ի գաղտ յես այ. քարկոծեցաւ քարամբք ձորոյն աքովրայ։ The ten talents which were in safe-keeping with Gabael, Sapʿayēl went with Tobias to receive.6 One must be truly faithful with deposits and not say, ‘It is not someone else’s but mine.’

6 Sapʿayel is surely corrupt for Raphael and in the Armenian spelling only the first letter is corrupt.

three apocryphal fragments from armenian manuscripts

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If someone dares make a deposit wander, he immediately closes the door of life with his (own) hands. Akʿar having taken the coat secretly from Joshua,7 was stoned by rocks of the valley of Akʿor. III. Ten Plagues of Egypt This text is published from two manuscripts, Matenadaran M605, fol. 25v and M268, fol. 150v. It is a list in the genre of lists of biblically related objects. A famous Greek example is the de gemmis of Epiphanius of Salamis.8 This genre is quite widespread in Armenian literature and often includes lists of apocryphal nature or lists that incorporate apocryphal material. Thus, W. Lowndes Lipscomb, thirty years ago, published a list of names of Matriarchs with many connections to Jubilees.9 Ms M286 was copied in 1697 in the Monastery of Matthew and Andrew.10 It contains a number of texts of interest to students of the apocryphal and associated literature, of which I publish one here. The other texts include: Concerning the 12 Gems on Aaron’s breastplate; The 7 Punishments of Cain; The 72 Languages; Concerning the Names of the Angels; Concerning the Praise of the Angels; The Names of the 24 Prophets; The Names of the 12 Apostles of Christ, etc. These titles give an idea of the sort of interest that this scholastic list literature encompasses.11 Ms M605 is also a seventeenth century Miscellany, including a range of texts chiefly of theological interest. It does contain Concerning the 4 Rivers, Concerning the 72 Languages, and some chronological and genealogical texts.12

7

Akʿar is corrupt for Akʿan; i.e. Achan. For the Armenian of this, see Stone, “An Armenian Epitome of Epiphanius’ De Gemmis,” HTR 82 (1989): 467–76. 9 W. L. Lipscomb, “A Tradition from the Book of Jubilees in Armenian,” JJS 29 (1978): 149–63. 10 Ēganyan, Zeytʿunyan and Antʿabyan, Մայր ց ցակ հայերէն ձեռագրաց Մաշտոցի Ան ան մատենադարանի General Catalogue of Armenian Manuscripts of the MaštocʿMatenadaran (Erevan: Academy of Sciences, 1984), 1: cols. 1131–34. 11 Stone, Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha and Armenian Studies: Collected Papers (OLA 144–145; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 1:132–137. 12 Concerning the 4 Rivers has been edited from a number of manuscripts by the writer and will be published in a volume in honor of Hanan Eshel. Ēganyan, Մայր ց ցակ հայերէն ձեռագրաց Մաշտոցի ան ան Մատենադարանի General 8

944

michael e. stone

The texts of the two manuscripts are quite similar but different enough to be printed separately. M605 uses Armenian numerals, while M286 writes out the ordinal forms. M605 commences with the attempt to mark the number of days for each plague, but eventually abandons it. It is more expansive than M286. We have put the relevant verses of Exodus into the notes to M605. M605 Վասն Ժ հար ածոցն եգիպտացոց ձեռամբ մովսիս։ ա Նախ գետ արիիւն փոխեալ Զ աւր։ բ

Գորտն եռաց յաﬔնայն տ նս եւ տեղիս եգիպտացոցն. Գ աւր։

գ

Մ նն շար աւ րք։

դ

շանաճանճն. Բ աւր։

ե

Մահ անասնացն եւ խաշանց

զ

Կեղտն եւ խաղաւարին.

է

Կարկ տն սաստիկ.

ը

Մարախն։

թ

Խաւարն շաւշափելի։

ժ

Մահ անդրանկացն։ ի փոք նց կարգօ. ի խաւարագոյնս . . .

Concerning the ten plagues of the Egyptians at the hand of Moses: 1. First the river is turned into blood for six days.13 2. Frogs crawled in all the houses and places of the Egyptians for three days.14 3. The gnats, a number of days.15 4. The ticks for two days.16

Catalogue of Armenian Manuscripts of the MaštocʿMatenadaran (Erevan: Magałat, 2007), 3: cols. 23–34. 13 Exod 7:19–24. 14 Exod 8:2–14. 15 Exod 8:16–17. 16 Exod 8:21–24.

three apocryphal fragments from armenian manuscripts 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Death of the beasts and sheep.17 Ulcers and abscesses.18 Terrible hail.19 Locusts.20 The palpable darkness.21 Death of the first-born.22

M286 fol. 150v Այս է .Ժ. հար ածն Եգիպտացւոց։ Առաջին.

գետ արիւն փոխիլն։

Երկրորդն.

գորտն։

Երրորդն.

մ նն։

Չորորդն.

շանաճաճն։

Ե.երորդն.

մահ անասնոցն։

Զ.երորդն.

կեղ եւ խաղաւարտն։

Եօթներորդն.

կարկ տն։

Ութերորդն.

Մարախն։

Իններորդն.

խաւարն շօշափելի։

Տասներորդն.

մահ անդրանկացն։

These are the ten plagues of the Egyptians The first, the changing of the river into blood. The second, the frogs. The third, the gnats. The fourth, the ticks. The fifth, death of the cattle.

17 18 19 20 21 22

Exod 9:3–6. Exod 9:9–11. Exod 9:18–26. Exod 10:4–15. Exod 10:21–23. Exod 11:5–12:29.

945

946 The sixth, The seventh, The eighth, The ninth, The tenth,

michael e. stone ulcers and the abscesses. the hail. the locusts. the palpable darkness. death of the first-born.

INDEX OF ANCIENT SOURCES Pages 1–490 are to be found in Volume 1; pages 491–945 appear in Volume 2. Ancient Near East Babylonian Map of the World 102 Book of the Dead 117, 124 105 132 125 132 125.1 117 125 A pl30 1–2 117 125 A pl32 5b–7 117 Book of Opening the Mouth 119, 124–25 Coffin Texts 124, 126 Spell 80 119, 122 Spell 80 (II, 32–36a) 131 Spell 165 (III, 5–6) 131 Spell 376 (V, 39) 132 Spell 540 (VI, 135–136) 131 Spell 624 126 Spell 634 126 Spell 654 (VI, 275) 132 Spell 659 117 Spell 659 (VI, 280) 132 Spell 660 117, 126 Spell 660 (VI, 282) 132 Spell 682 117 Spell 693 117 Spell 816 125 Spell 939 126 Spell 939 (VII, 150) 132 Spell 1095 123

Spell 1095 (VII, 379) Spell 1099 Cyrus Cylinder Enūma Anu Enlil XIV, Tables A and B Enuma Elish II, 41–43 IV, 41–47 VI, 48–73 Eridu Genesis Erra and Ishim Tablet I, lines 46–60 Gilgamesh Epic VI Great Hymn to Osiris Hymn to Re from Neferhotep Intef son of Sent, Stela of 26 Pyramid Texts 317 (Utt 260) 1219a (Utt 519) 1482b–1483 (Utt 573) 1582–1583 (Utt 586) Tale of Aqhat Theogony of Dunnu Wennofer, SarcophagusLid Inscription of

132 125 188 697 53 96 96 53 53 54 641–46, 652 644 117 117 117 117, 124 117, 131 131 131 131 203 53 117

Hebrew Bible Genesis 1–11 1:3 1:27 1:28 2–5 2:5 2:15 2:18

49–52, 55, 57, 59, 62 50 666 834 55 650 52 52 52

2:24 2:27 3 3:17–19 3:21 4:8 4:12–16 4:17 4:19–22 4:20–22

834 834 293 52 605 49 49 49, 51 52 53

948 5:21 5:22 5:24 6 6:5–13 6:9 6:18 7–8 8:20–9:17 9 9:5–6 9:18–27 9:25–27 9:29 10 10:8–12 10:10 10:22–24 10:32 11:1–9 11:2–4 11:4 11:6–8 11:9 11:12–13 11:27–12:3 12:1 12:1–3 12:10–20 12:16 13:1–13 13:8–9 13:12 13:13 14:13 14:18–20 14:22 15 15:3–4 15:11 17 17:1 17:10–14 18–19 18:1–2 18:2 18:17 19:37–38 20 21:9–10 21:22–33 21:33 23:10 23:15–16

index of ancient sources 562 748 576, 584 939 57 730 57 98 57 60 57 57–58 55 722 722 54 234 805 55 723 234 55 55 234 805 727 730 730 57, 61 55 60 61 56 56 80 385 758 60 61 728 60 758 364 56 810 809 810 61 57, 61 59 60 758 56 107

23:18 24 24–27 24:1–67 24:10–13 24:37 24:37–38 24:37–40 24:38 24:40 24:65–67 25:1–11 25:6 25:7–10 25:7–11 25:8 25:19–27 25:22–26 25:28–34 25:29–34 26 26:1–33 26:6–11 26:12–33 26:23 27 27:1–28:9 27:41 27:42 28:1 28:1–5 28:3 28:5 28:13 28:19 28:26 29–30 29:12 31 31:15 31:17–18 31:44–54 32–33 33:12–20 33:18–34:31 34 34:7 34:20 34:30 35–37 35:5 35:8 35:22 36:32

56 351–53, 356 768 767–68 56 350 351–53 342, 350, 357 350 342, 356 772 61 61 769 772 773 769 59 773 59 57, 61 773 773 60 56 58–59 778 58–59, 778 778 774 59 758 768 759 56 593 60 768 60 78 759 60 59 59 56 61 593 790–91 56 779 56 768 795 56

index of ancient sources 36:35 36:39 37–50 37:3–4 37:12–36 37:18–28 37:20 37:21 37:27 37:28 37:31–35 37:35 37:36 38 38:1–2 38:2 38:7 38:8 38:16 38:26 40–41 40:5–18 40:8 41 41:2 41:3 41:8–12 41:15 41:35 41:48 42–44 42:23 44:4 44:16–34 45–47 45:4 45:5 47:11 47:13–26 48:12 49:4 49:10 49:28–50:14 49:31 Exodus 1 1–2 2:11 3:6 4:14 4:18 6:1–2 6:7

56 56 79 59 780 59 684 594 78 78 59, 62 500 78 786–87, 790 790–91 786, 792 788 834 790–91 593, 597, 788 435 240 240 790 789 788 240 240 56 56 59 442 56 62 59 78 78 367 56 82 795 438, 443 59 768 742 56 55 79 834 594 79 759 631

7:19–24 8:2–14 8:8 8:16–17 8:21–24 8:25 9:3–6 9:9–11 9:18–26 9:33 10:4–15 10:6 10:18 11:8 12:38 12:45 15 15:1 15:9–10 17:16 18 19:4 19:4–5 19:5–6 19:6 19:8 19:10–15 20:12 20:13 20:14 20:16 20:20 20:21 20:24 21:2 21:2–11 21:6 21:7 21:8 21:10 21:16 21:24–25 22:2 22:9–10 22:25–26 23:10 23:10–11 23:11 23:20 24:8 24:12–18 25 25–40 25:9

949 944 944 82 944 944 81–82 944 944 944 82 944 82 82 82 45 74 37, 45, 47 45 45 47 482 478 477 760 766 482 484 364, 834 364, 834 834 364 364 364, 836 364 71–72, 76, 81–82 73, 90 67 78 78 342, 355–56 78, 834 834 78 843 549 70–71, 75 73, 109 75–76 834 68 745–46 82 484 913

950 25:40 26 29:39 29:41 30:2–31:18 31:16 31:18 32:19 32:29 32:32 34 34:15–16 34:22 34:28 40:9–11 Leviticus 1–16 6:5–6 6:12–13 6:13 10:6 12 13:4 14:38 15:41 16 16:21–22 17–27 17:13 18 18:1–30 18:4 18:5 18:8 18:15 18:18 18:21 18:25 18:26 18:29 18:30 19:12 19:13 19:16–18 19:17 19:18 19:37 20 20:3 20:4 20:8 20:9 20:9–21

index of ancient sources 906, 913 82 159 159 73 364 589 746 79 598 106, 746 348–49 106 581 631 617–18 371 371 159 79 420 594 594 82 614 618 65 353 79, 380 380 83 83, 380–82 796 787, 916 342, 353–57 89, 415 381 83 787 83 89, 834 73 837 837 834, 849–50, 852 83–84 380 89, 415 787 83–84 834 380

20:11 20:12 20:22 20:27 20:31 21:6 21:9 21:13–14 21:14 21:15 21:19 22:2 22:10 22:31 22:32 23 23–25 23:9–22 23:10–11 23:10–16 23:15 23:39–43 24 24:10–23 24:20 25 25:1–7 25:1–55 25:2 25:2–7 25:3 25:4 25:6 25:8–55 25:9 25:10 25:13 25:14 25:18 25:20 25:21 25:23 25:25 25:25–47 25:25–48 25:25–55 25:26 25:27 25:28 25:29 25:34 25:35

796 787 83–84 383–84 83 89 793 342 342, 349, 351–52 415 787 89 73–74 84 89 94, 107–8, 111 93 108 109 97 98, 110 108 599 599 834 73–80, 84, 86, 89–90, 94, 101, 109–11, 387, 418 72 72, 87, 90 85 109 70–71, 75 75 73, 74 88–89, 109 385–87 84–85, 89 84, 385–86 84 83–84 75 84 7 77, 79–81, 85 79–80 77 80 74 80 74, 80 85 77 76–77, 81, 85

index of ancient sources 25:39 25:40 25:40–41 25:41 25:42 25:43 25:46 25:47 25:48 25:48–49 25:50 25:53 25:54 25:55 26:3 26:5 26:5–6 26:46 27 27:27 27:28 27:42 Numbers 1–2 5 5:11–31 6:24–26 9 9:1–14 10:35–36 11:4–6 11:6–7 12 12:6–8 14:2–4 14:22 14:29 15 15:32–36 16:22 17:17 19:21 20:3 20:24 20:29 21:17–18 21:18 21:27–30 21:28 24:7 24:17 24:24 27

76–77, 80–81 73–74 81–82 80, 82–83 77 84 80, 84 77, 79, 81, 85 76–77 79 73–74, 77 73–74, 84 79, 80 85 83–84 70 70 746 65, 77 77 77 746 482 483 843 47 599 599 47 239 597 597 47 239 239 684 598 599 760 372 834 79 595 629 47 436, 438–39, 446 47 432 171 432, 438–46 171 589, 599

27:1 27:6–7 27:13 27:14 28–29 28:9–10 32:6 36 36:1–12 36:6 36:8 Deuteronomy 1:5 2:4 2:8 4:2 4:22 5:16 5:17 5:18 5:28–29 6:4–5 6:10–12 6:13 6:16 7:1 7:1–3 7:3 7:3–4 7:26 8:3 10:12–13 11 11:6–27 11:26–28 11:29–30 11:29–32 11:30 12–26 12:1–14 12:23–25 12:31 13:6 13:9 15 15:1 15:1–11 15:1–12 15:1–15 15:1–18 15:2 15:4

951 599 590 595 595 108 834 79 351–53 351 342, 351 351 14–16, 18–20, 834–35 433, 437 80 80 582 794 834 834 593, 834 836 850 62 834, 849 834, 849 348 348–49 342 370 333 834 850 529 529 310 527, 530 529 594 65, 341 494 353 333 383 597 72–73, 76, 78, 89, 92 84 72 90 73 72–75, 84, 86–87 84–85, 386 84–85

952 15:5 15:6 15:7 15:8 15:9 15:11 15:12 15:12–18 15:13 15:15 15:16 15:17 15:17–18 15:18 16 16:9 16:9–12 16:10 17:14–20 17:17 17:19 17:20 18:18–19 19:4–5 19:15 19:21 21:1–4 21:4 21:8 22:13 23 23:1 23:7 23:10 23:11 23:15 24:1 24:6 24:7 24:10–11 24:12–13, 17 25:5 25:5–6 27 27:1–8 27:3 27:4 27:8 27:11–14 27:15–16 27:20 28:2 28:15

index of ancient sources 83–84 84 76, 85 74 84–85 85 71–72, 75–77, 80–81, 85 77, 80, 89 80 85 81–83 67 109 73–74, 77 107 107, 109–10 107 106 61, 346, 349, 354 342, 355 312, 354, 356–57 354 386 794 837 834 834 78 593 789 891 796 80 484 484 484 834 549 47, 78 549 549 834 786 529–30 528 312 528 312 527, 529 826 796 310, 320, 333 310, 320

28:45 28:58 28:68 29:18 29:18–19 29:19 29:28 30 30:1 30:1–2 30:10 31–34 31:12 31:24 31:29 32:8 32:11 32:30 32:46 33 33:2–29 33:8–11 33:17 34 34:1–6 34:1–8 34:5 34:8 34:28

310, 320 312 78 325 333 314, 325 310, 312, 325, 332 312, 314 224, 310 333 310, 332 580 312 312 333 758 477–78 78 312 430 826 444 625 18 563 580 581 629 581

Joshua 7:1 7:2–5 7:6 7:7 7:10 7:11 7:12–14 7:15 7:16–17 7:18 7:19–24 7:25 7:26 8:6–24 8:30–35 10:12–13 19:35 20:23 24

942 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 365 529 530 47 628 794 529

Judges 2:14 3:8

78 78

index of ancient sources 4:2 4:4 4:9 5 5:1 5:4 5:7 5:17 5:19 5:24 5:24–27 5:26 9:7 10:7 17:6 18:1 19:1 20:27 21:5

78 45 78 37, 45–47 46 45 45 45 45 46 45 45 530 78 46 46 46 46 46

1 Samuel 1 2 2:8 3:1 8:13 12:9 12:17 14:19 14:21 21:2–10

835 28 202 293 228 342, 348 78 107 234 80 845

2 Samuel 3:26 5:2 6:2 6:3–4 7 7:14 12:13–14 22

82 62 204 204 310 431, 442, 908, 911 598 202

1 Kings 3:5–6 8:16 9 11:1–2 11:1–13 11:5 11:13 11:32 11:36 11:38 12

835 69 62 55 342, 348 349 29 62 62 62 494 55

12:25–33 13:33–34 14:21 15:5 17–22 18:45 21 21:20 21:25

953 494 494 62 597 579 234 677 78 78

2 Kings 2 2:1–12 2:1–18 2:5 2:12 10:15–16 11:14 17 17:17 18–20 19:7 21:1 21:7 22:8–23:24 23:27

835 579 576 562 584 223, 363 363 75 494, 522 78 139 186 623 62 246 62

Isaiah 1 1–12 1–33 1–39

8, 62, 83, 171 149 140, 185, 196 145, 391, 402 134–35, 146, 148, 391 148 136–37, 139, 228, 391, 399, 402 152, 162 136–37 182 196 399 162 162 152, 162 834 162 832 399 402 196, 399 399 152, 162 152, 158, 162–63 152, 163

1–55 1:1 1:27 2:1 2:2–4 2:9–22 2:22 3:6 3:8 3:10 4:3 4:5 5 5:5 5:5–6:9 5:6 5:11–14 5:13 5:17 5:18

954 5:20 5:24–25 5:25 5:29–30 6 6–9 6:1 6:1–8:18 6:1–9:6[7] 6:9 6:9–10 6:11 6:11–13 7 7–8 7–9 7:1–9 7:3 7:4 7:4–6 7:5–6 7:5–7 7:7 7:9 7:11–15 7:14 7:15 7:16 7:17 7:20 7:22 7:23–25 8 8:1 8:1–4 8:1–8 8:3 8:6 8:6–7 8:7–8 8:7–9 8:7–32:6 8:8 8:9 8:9–10 8:10 8:11 8:13 8:14 8:14–15 8:15 8:16

index of ancient sources 400 399 185, 195 399 197 173 902 136 136 399 834 163 197 136, 138, 173, 180 135, 138, 140, 147, 197 196 136 136, 138, 195 195 179 179 179 179, 181–83, 185, 194 179, 181–82 180 138, 834 399, 404 399 173, 180, 394, 398, 432 152, 163, 180 562 196 140, 172–74, 180, 186, 189, 193 138, 177 140 175 138, 177 173 173 172, 181–82 399 402 138, 172–73, 183, 195 152, 163 179, 180, 185 138, 179, 181–82, 185, 194–95 400, 404 181–82 152, 163, 181–82 174–75, 178 153, 163, 181–82 153, 163, 191

8:16–17 8:16–18 8:16–20 8:17 8:18 8:19 8:20 8:23–9:1 8:35 9:1–6 9:3 9:4 9:5 9:7[8] 9:11 9:13–16 9:15[16] 9:16 9:17 9:17–20 9:20 9:24–26 10 10:2 10:4 10:5 10:5–11 10:5–19 10:6 10:7–11 10:10 10:12 10:12–13 10:12–19 10:14 10:16 10:17 10:18 10:20 10:20–22 10:20–23 10:20–27 10:21 10:22 10:22–26 10:22–11:5 10:23 10:23–24 10:24–27 10:25 10:25–26 10:26 10:26–27

191, 194 140 589 181–82, 191 138 158 152, 158, 163 834 896 138, 505 197 399 399 152, 163 185, 195, 399 399 152, 163 185, 195 196 399 185, 195 562 172, 176–177, 180, 183, 185–86, 196 397 185, 195 177–78 177 185 177 177 163 177, 186, 401 399 177 174 181 196 152, 163 178 195, 400 177 139, 197 138 138, 399 176 402 176, 181–82, 197 400 197, 399 176–78 177 178 197

index of ancient sources 10:32 10:33–34 10:34 10:34–11:1 11:1 11:1–5 11:2 11:4 11:5 11:11 11:11–16 11:15 11:16 11:35 12 12–27 12:1 12:2 12:3 13 13–14 13:1 13:8 13:17–22 13:18 14 14:3–21 14:4 14:4–21 14:5 14:8 14:12–14 14:12–15 14:19 14:19–32:7 14:22 14:22–27 14:24 14:24–27 14:25 14:26–27 14:28–30 15 15:4 15:4–6 16:1 16:1–5 16:6–11 16:7 16:9 16:10 16:11 16:12–13 16:14

163 196 399, 404 400 834 399 399 399 399 163, 195, 895 191 152, 163 195 191 140, 142, 148 196 195 137 137 186 185 136–37 163 185 399 183–86, 196 184 184 184 184–85, 197 400 184 183 400 402 184–85 182, 186 179 180–82, 185 184–86, 197 195, 400 400 155 152, 158, 163 400 153, 160, 163 155 155 155, 163 155 155 152, 155, 158, 163 155 155

16:16 17:2 17:10 17:11 18:1 18:2 18:6 18:7 19:1–4 19:1–18 19:5 19:5–10 19:6 19:9–12 19:10 19:11–12 19:13 19:17 19:20 19:23–25 20 20:2 21:2 21:3 21:11–15 21:15 22:1 22:2 22:8 22:13 23:1–2 23:3 23:8 23:8–9 23:10 23:13 24 24–27 24:1 24:3 24:3–6 24:4–6 24:5 24:9 24:14 24:15 24:16–20 24:17 24:18 24:19 24:21 24:23 25 25:2

955 155 152, 158, 163 137 152, 163 153 154, 163 684 164 154 153 152, 154–55, 164 154 155 400 152–53, 164 196 152, 164 196 137, 146 189 136 137 164, 400, 895 399 400 152, 160–61, 164 152, 164 164 153, 164 400 152, 164 153, 164 164 196 152, 158, 160–61, 164 182, 196 156 156 152, 156, 164 156 156 156 394, 396 164 153, 164, 314 157 156 397, 403 156 314 156 152, 156–57, 164 148 152, 158, 164

956 25:4 25:4–5 25:5 25:9 26:1 26:9 26:18 26:19 27:1 27:4[3] 27:7 27:10[9] 27:11 27:13 28 28:1 28:1–4 28:1–8 28:2 28:3 28:7 28:9 28:10 28:11 28:13 28:13–22 28:14 28:14–22 28:15–22 28:16 28:17 28:18 28:19 28:20 28:21 28:22 28:24 28:26 28:29 29:1 29:5–9 29:7 29:11–12 29:13–14 29:14 29:15 29:17 29:19–23 30 30:1–5 30:4 30:8 30:12 30:15

index of ancient sources 152, 161, 164 152 152, 164 137, 143, 145 137 164 137 187 164 164 196 164 397 189 180, 182–83, 186 152, 164, 182 182 157 182 152, 163, 165, 182 182 152, 157, 165, 167 152, 165, 182 182 152, 165, 178, 182 180 165, 182 139 172, 181 182, 399 182 182 186 160–61, 165 165, 177 182, 197 152, 159, 165 152, 165 82, 165 152, 165 196 228 140, 194 831, 834, 847 152, 165 400 400 400 140 400 152, 165 140, 194 152, 165 137, 165

30:15–18 30:19–21 30:20 30:26 30:29 31 31:1 31:2 31:3 31:8 31:9 32 32:2 32:3 32:5–6 32:5–7 32:6 32:7 33 33:1 33:1–2 33:2 33:2–6 33:4 33:6 33:9 33:14 33:22 33:24 34 34:4 34:17 35 35:4 35:7 35:9 36–39 37 37:2 37:3 37:5 37:6 37:7 37:20 37:21 37:23 37:30 37:35 38:1 38:4 38:19 38:20 39

400 400 152, 165 157 400 391 400 123 178 198, 399 165 391 152, 165 152, 165 400 400 153, 165 400, 404 145, 148 152, 160, 166 142 137, 143, 145, 152, 158, 159, 166 145, 158 153, 166 137 153, 166 152, 158, 166–67 137 333 186, 391 152, 166 152, 166 142 137, 142 399 146 136, 139, 182, 196 186 137 399 137 137 186 137, 139 137 186 400, 404 137, 139 137 137 392, 401 137, 139 136

index of ancient sources 39:1 39:3 39:5 39:8 39:20 40 40–55 40–66 40:1–2 40:1–5 40:3 40:6 40:6–8 40:8[7] 40:9–10 40:10 40:12 40:15 40:25 40:29 41:2 41:8–9 41:14 41:17 41:18 41:19 41:24 42:1–4 42:8 42:10 42:12 42:16 42:21 43:1 43:1–2 43:3 43:4–6 43:11 43:12 43:14 43:14–21 43:21 43:25 43:27 44:1 44:3 44:6 44:11 44:14 44:15 44:17 44:19 44:22–24

223 137 137 137 137 142, 144 134, 142, 144, 146–48, 186 133–34, 145, 147 153, 166 400 144, 399, 479, 480, 488 144 400 152, 166 144 144 400, 401 152, 158, 166 166 152, 166 166 400 146 154 399 399 152, 166 834 147 147, 152, 166 147 400 166 146 400 137, 146 400 137, 146 137 146, 166 146 147 592 442 152 399 146 166 152, 158, 166 240 240 240 146

44:24 44:27 45:2 45:8 45:15 45:16 45:17 45:20–22 45:21 45:22 46:6 46:8 46:13 47:2 47:4 47:10 47:11 47:13 47:15 48:2 48:9 48:14 48:17 48:20 48:20–21 49 49:2 49:5 49:6 49:7 49:8 49:9 49:13–17 49:25 49:26 50:1 50:11 51 51:1 51:1–8 51:3 51:5 51:6 51:7 51:8 51:9–10 51:10 51:18 51:22–23 52 52:1 52:1–2 52:1–3 52:2–4

957 152, 166 165 24 137, 143 137, 146 152, 158, 166 137 137 143, 146 888 240 168 137, 143 152, 166 146 152, 158, 166 167 137 137 62 147 152, 159, 166 146 146 146 146 400 161 137, 888, 890 146, 400 137 624 400 137 137, 146 78 152, 166, 394, 397 144, 145 396 143 144 137, 143, 144 137, 143 396 137, 143 146 146 167 400 144 62 400 400 147

958 52:3 52:7 52:7–9 52:9 52:10 53 53:3 53:3–4 53:4 53:7 53:8 53:10 54 54:1–2 54:4–10 54:5 54:7 54:8 54:10 54:11 54:11–12 54:11–17 54:12 54:13–14 54:16 55 55:1 55:12 56 56–66 56:1 56:1–8 56:3 56:3–5 56:6–7 56:7 56:7–8 56:8 56:11 57:9 57:11 57:13 57:18 58:2 58:4 58:7 58:12 59 59:1 59:5 59:9 59:10

index of ancient sources 78, 146 137, 386, 401, 404 144 146 137, 144 505, 624, 885, 895–96 401 623 834 895 167 152, 167 439, 896 400, 439 400, 439 146 403 146 403 438 400, 438 438 402, 439 438–439 397, 402, 431, 436, 438–39, 446 896 167 167 141–142, 895–97, 899 133–34, 140–41, 146, 148 137, 141–43 894 896 895 896 834 899 895, 896 167 167 167 167 167 143 167 398 167 144–45 137, 144 394, 397 143 396

59:11 59:12 59:12–13 59:14 59:15 59:16 59:17 59:20 60 60–62 60:6 60:13 60:16 60:18 60:18–21 60:21 61:1 61:1–2 61:2 61:3 61:8 61:10 61:10–11 61:11 62 62:1 62:3–5 62:6 62:7 62:10 62:11 62:12 63:1 63:1–6 63:5 63:7 63:7–9 63:7–64:12 63:8 63:9 63:11 63:14 63:16 63:19 [64:1] 64:1[2] 64:4 64:5 64:6[7] 65–66 65:8–16 65:10 65:15 65:17–25

137, 143–44 396 143 143, 167 167 137, 143 137, 143, 147 144, 146 146, 506 142 147 399 137, 146 62, 137, 147 157 152, 167 386, 401 401 401, 404, 835 147 403 137, 143, 147 143 147 142, 144 137, 143 147 144 147, 152, 167 144 137, 141, 144, 147, 834, 888 147 137, 142–43, 167 147 137, 143 147, 167 146 146 137, 146 137, 146 152, 167 152, 167 146 152, 167 152, 167–168 143, 168 137 152, 168 148–149, 661 149 168 152, 168 149

index of ancient sources 65:22–23 66:1–5 66:5 66:7 66:7–14 66:9 66:10 66:14 66:19 66:24 Jeremiah 1:4 1:4–10 1:11 1:12 1:13 2:18 5:24 7:10 7:11 7:14 7:30 8:3 14:9 14:13–18 14:14 14:14–15 14:15 14:16 15:3 15:16 16:15 19:7 23:3 23:8 23:14 23:14–18 23:14–32 23:16 23:16–20 23:17 23:18 23:21 23:22 23:25 23:26 23:27–28 23:28 23:32 24:9 25:11–12 25:29

400 149 152, 168 399 149 152, 168 152, 168 149 168 168 8, 62, 137, 222, 584, 832, 885 228 228 228 228 228 831 98, 105–7, 109–10 224 224, 834 224 224 224 224 227 227–28 227 227 227 684 224 224 684 224 224 227 227 227 227–28 249 227 228 227 228 227–28 227 228 227 227–28 224 223 224

27:1–21 27:9 27:10 27:14–15 27:14–16 27:15 27:19 27:22 28:3 28:16 29 29:1 29:1–23 29:5–8 29:8 29:8–9 29:9 29:10 29:10–14 29:11 29:12 29:12–13 29:13 29:14 29:15–19 29:18 29:19 29:21 29:21–27 29:23 29:25 29:31 29:31–32 31 31:15 32:6 32:34 32:37 33:24 33:25 34 34:8 34:8–22 34:12 34:14 34:15 34:16 34:17 35:6 36 40:12 41:5 43:5 45–46

959 227 227–28 227 227 227 227 227 234 233 383 223, 227 233 222–24, 227 226 227–28 226 227 223 302 227 224 223 224 224–25 226 224 225 227 226 227 223 227 222, 226 913 831, 834 234 224 224 365 106 72, 89 89 88 89 78 89, 224 89 89 363 583 224 509 224 892

960 46:18 LXX 46:28 47:2 50:18 51:30 51:36 Ezekiel 3 4:13 9:12 12:13 14:14 14:20 17:12 20:1 20:11 20:11–12 20:13 20:21 20:23 20:25 21:7 23:30 23:37 23:37–39 26:5–6 28 28:1–19 28:3 32 32:16 32:18 34:25 36 36:23–38 37 37:16 38–39 40–48 40:48 Hosea 1:7 5:13 6:2 6:6 9:7–8 11:1 12:10 13:4 13:10 14:3

index of ancient sources 892 224 171 196 154 154 28, 69, 87, 137, 742, 832 414 224 342 233 203 203 233 75 381 381 381 381 381 381 234 415 415 416 342 606 184 203 348 342, 348 348 70 306–7 307 306, 502 432 171, 198, 306 484 902 135 432 314 834 417 834 228 135 135 135

Joel 4:3 4:6 4:7 4:8 Amos 2:6 5:21–24 5:25 5:26 5:26–27 8:5 9:1 9:11

78 78 78 78 62, 835 78 441 441, 442 442, 444–45 432, 440, 441, 443, 446 371 773 432, 440, 442

Obadiah 1

228

Jonah 1:17

835 684

Micah 1:5 2:10 4:10 5:1 7:12

62 432, 446 885 233 834 189

Nahum 1:1 1:8 3:8

228 173 154

Habakkuk 1:2–3 1:6 2:1–2 2:1–4 2:2 2:3 2:3–4 2:3–5 2:4 2:5 3:16–19

434 435 432, 434 445 228, 434, 437 171, 174 434 174 446 174 434

Zephaniah

835

Zechariah 1:12 2:3 3

610 223 631 602, 608–9

index of ancient sources 3–4 7:8 9:9 10:10 11:5 11:13 12:10 12:12 13:7

609 223 834 189 78 834 627–28, 631 626 834

Malachi 3:1 3:16 3:22 3:22–24 3:23 4:4–6 4:15

595, 834 592, 595 587 579 595, 834 579 837

Psalms 1:1 2 2:7 2:7–8 5:10[9] 8:3 15:2–3 19:7 20 21:4–5 22:25–31 23:4 25 25:22 26:1–5 29 29:10 30 30:1–3 32:1 34 34:23 36:11 37 37:23–24 44:13 44:25 46 46:5 48:2 48:9 49:3 50:14 52:9[7]

14, 832, 835 289 442, 627, 896 908–9, 911 627–8 159 834 291 157 511 627 503 836 502 502 496, 498 37, 45, 47 45–46 501 499 595–97 502 502 836 297, 433 432–33, 446 78 293 138 62 62 62 128 834 159

55:12[11] 57:2 73:14 78:2 79 80 81 82:4 83 83:9 90:11–12 91:3 94:20 95 101:8 105:17 107:36 110 110:1 118:22–23 124:4 135 135:10 135:12 136 136:17–20 146–150 146:9 147:1 147:14 147:20 148:1 148:4 148:5 148:9 150:1 150:3 150:6 Proverbs 1–9 1:9 1:20 3:16 3:22 6:21 8 8:1 8:4 8:15 8:18 8:22 8:22–31 8:30

961 159 159 159 830, 834 297 297 297 758 297 189 834 159 159 627 62, 159 78 367 297, 909 834, 909–11, 915–16 834 173 682 682 682 682 682 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 301 113, 120–22, 127–29 120 128 128 120 120 119–20, 123 128 128 128 128 129 113, 127–29 129

962 8:30–31 9:1 19:13 22:1–23:8 24:27 31:12

index of ancient sources 129 128 159 73 128 342, 354, 356

Job 1:12 4:15 5:1–19 6:2 7:8 10:1–5 15:24 30:28 33:23 33:27 38:33

83 82 652 652 159 159 652 338 157 442 596 106

Song of Songs 4:6 6:10

95 157

Lamentations 1:2 1:16 3:23 5:6

633 622, 632 159 189

Ecclesiastes 5:7 12:12

549 223

Esther 1:1–2 1:22 2:5–6 2:23 3:13 6:1 7:4 8:10 9:20 9:30

657 233 223 233 592 223 592 78 223 223 223

Daniel 1 1–2 1–4 1–6 1–8 1–9 1:1

169–70, 657, 833, 835 239, 248 203, 234, 238, 246 231 220, 229, 238 228–29, 245 229, 233, 238 229, 233

1:1–21 1:2 1:2–5 1:3–4 1:4 1:5 1:7–11 1:8 1:8–13 1:15 1:17 1:18–19 1:19 1:20 1:21 2 2:1 2:1–3 2:1–49 2:2 2:4–9 2:7 2:10–11 2:12 2:13 2:14 2:14–18 2:16 2:17 2:18 2:18–19 2:19 2:19–23 2:24 2:24–25 2:24–30 2:25 2:25–47 2:26 2:27 2:27–28 2:28 2:29 2:29–46 2:30 2:31 2:31–32 2:36 2:36–45 2:45 2:46–47 2:46–48

230 233, 236 234 238 233 233 234 247 239 238 228, 238, 242, 244 234 233 238 229, 232, 234, 238, 246 182, 231, 235–36, 238–42, 244, 248, 648 229, 243–44 228 230 233 228 237 233 233–34 234 233, 235, 239 239 235, 239–40 234–35 233–34 239 228, 242 239 233–34, 239 233 239 235 240 228, 240 233 240 228, 243 243 239 239 240 240 228, 233, 239 435 228, 239–40 240 240

index of ancient sources 2:47 2:48 2:48–49 2:49 3 3–6 3:1 3:1–3 3:1–30 3:2–3 3:5 3:5–6 3:6 3:7 3:10 3:11 3:12 3:13 3:15 3:23 3:24 3:29 3:30 3:31 3:31–4:15 3:31–4:34 3:31–4:37 3:32–33 4 4–6 4:1 4:1–15 4:2 4:2–6 4:3 4:5 4:6 4:7 4:9 4:10 4:11 4:13 4:15 4:15–16 4:16 4:16–24 4:17–24 4:21 4:22 4:24–26 4:25

239 233–34 235 233, 235, 240 202, 204, 207, 231, 235–36, 240–42, 248, 611 246 234, 240 235 230 235 240 240 240 240 240 240 235 233 240 207 207 231 235 231 230 223, 230–31, 241 236 241 202, 207, 231, 239, 242–43, 248, 648 202–5, 207 233, 236–37 231 228, 241, 243 228 233 239, 243 228, 239 228, 243 228 228, 243 234 243 239 228 230, 241, 244 241 230–31 241 241 241 231

4:25–30 4:26 4:27 4:28 4:29 4:31 4:31–32 4:31–34 4:34 5 5:1 5:1–30 5:2 5:2–3 5:3 5:4 5:5 5:6 5:7 5:7–8 5:8 5:9 5:10 5:10–12 5:10–24 5:11 5:11–12 5:11–13 5:12 5:13 5:13–16 5:14 5:15 5:16 5:17 5:17–24 5:18 5:19 5:20 5:21 5:22 5:23 5:24 5:25 5:25–28 5:26 5:27 5:28 5:29 5:30

963 230–31 233, 237 235 236 236, 241 244 241 230–231 241 201–2, 205, 207–9, 231, 236, 239, 241–43, 248, 648 206, 211, 229 230 204, 206, 211 236 206, 211 206, 211 204, 206, 212, 233, 236, 237 204, 206, 212, 243–44 204, 206, 212–13, 233 204 206, 213 205–6, 213 206, 213 206 206 206, 214 239 241 213–14, 228, 242 214, 233 206 206, 214, 239, 242 206, 215 204, 206, 215 206, 215–17, 241 206 215 215 215 216 216 204, 206, 216 217 204, 216–17 435 206, 216–17 217 217 204, 206, 217, 241 204, 217

964 6 6:1 6:1–29 6:2 6:3 6:4 6:4–5 6:5 6:8 6:10 6:11 6:13–14 6:17 6:18 6:19 6:21 6:22 6:23 6:26 6:26–28 6:27 6:28 6:29 7 7–8 7–11 7–12 7:1 7:1–2 7:1–28 7:7 7:8 7:13 7:13–14 7:15 7:16 7:20 7:28 8 8:1 8:1–27 8:2 8:3–4 8:3–14 8:10–13 8:13 8:13–14 8:15 8:16–26 8:17 8:19

index of ancient sources 207, 231–32, 237, 242, 245, 248 217, 229, 237 230 237 239 237 242 237, 239 237 234–35, 245 237 233 239 233 237 239 246 233, 239, 246 239 242 237 239 229, 237 231, 236, 242–44, 663, 648 220, 229, 242, 248 229 203, 220 228–29, 233, 243 228 230 228 176 228 561 228, 243–44 244 228 243–44 231, 234, 236–37, 242, 648 228–29, 236–37 230 228, 236–37 244 244 184 228 159 228, 244 244 228 174, 176

8:23 8:26 8:27 9 9–10 9:1 9:1–3 9:1–19 9:1–27 9:3 9:3–19 9:4–19 9:6 9:7 9:10 9:11–12 9:12–17 9:16 9:16–19 9:17 9:18 9:19 9:20 9:20–27 9:20–12:13 9:21–12:13 9:23 9:24 9:26 9:26–27 10 10–12 10:1 10:1–12:13 10:3 10:4 10:4–5 10:5–6 10:6–8 10:8–10 10:9 10:11 10:12 10:13 10:14 10:15–16 10:16 10:18 10:18–19 10:19

176 228 244 219–23, 225–26, 228, 231–33, 237–38, 245–49, 418 223–25 229, 237 221 221 230 219, 223–24, 245 220 202 225 224 225 226 202 224 226 224 224, 226, 246 224, 246 224 247 245 220 246 62, 228 62 176, 181 231–33, 237 172, 190, 192, 194–95, 197, 229, 247 229, 233–34, 247 230 247 237, 238 237 247 247 247 247 246–47 224, 247 338 228, 247 247 247 247 247 244

index of ancient sources 11 11:1–12:3 11:10 11:14 11:17 11:18 11:18–19 11:19 11:22 11:26 11:33 11:33–34 11:33–35 11:34 11:35 11:36 11:36–39 11:40 11:44 11:44–45 12:1 12:1–3 12:1–9 12:2 12:2–3 12:3 12:4 12:8 12:9 12:10 12:12 12:13 Ezra 1–6 2:1 6:1–2 6:22 7:6 9 9–10 9:1 9:2 9:10–11 9:10–12 9:11 9:12 9:14 10 10:1 10:1–19 10:2

171, 174, 176–77, 180, 183, 187, 189–91, 197 247 172–74, 181, 183 228 179, 181, 183, 185 175 174, 181 175 172–75, 181 172– 75, 181 248 175 174–75, 181 178 191, 248 176, 178, 181 184 172–74, 181, 183 186 186 592 314 582 684 186 248 191, 247 247 191, 247 191, 248 191 245 14, 359–61, 366 510–12 233 921 189 17, 582 367 366, 372, 375–76 366, 367 366 366 349 415 342, 347 366 367–68, 372 367 367 367

10:3 10:5 10:7–8 10:10 10:14 10:16 10:17 10:18 10:19 10:36–40 10:44

965 367 367 367 367 367 366–67, 372, 375 367 367 367–68 377 342, 347

Nehemiah 1:2 3:37 4:13 5:1–13 5:8 7:5 8:1–12 9 9:8 10 10:1 10:1–40 10:2–28 10:3–9 10:10 10:10–14 10:15–28 10:20 10:30 10:31 10:31–40 10:32 10:33 10:35 11:1 11:18 12:1–7 12:12–21 13:25 13:28 13:31

14, 359–61, 366 76 597 365 376 78 628 582 369, 511 592 369, 371–72, 375–76 369 369 369–70 369 370 369 369 370 370–71 342, 370 370 370 371 109, 369–71 62 62 369 369 342, 347 511 109

1 Chronicles 2:3 2:55 4:21 14:3 25:2 27:24

29 786 363, 365 363, 365 342, 355 830 592

966 2 Chronicles 1:7–8 6:5 8:2 11:20 12:13 13:21 15:19 20:34 21:12–15 23:1 24:3 26

index of ancient sources 69 62 367 342, 355 62 342, 347 234 592 579 75 342, 347 139

26:22 29:30 30 31:3 32:20 32:22 32:31 32:32 33:7 34–35 36:7–20 36:21

139 830 511 159 139 139 442 139 62 511 233 223

Apocrypha/Deuterocanonical Books Baruch

388

1 Maccabees 1:15 2:27–41 3:10 10:20–21 13:41–42

268, 408, 535 425 840 517 338 931

2 Maccabees 2:13 4:13–17 5:22–23 5:23 6:2 11:22–25

268, 520 870 384 534 534 522, 534 534

Judith

657

2 Kingdoms 13:15

885

3 Kingdoms 17:9 17:10 46:18

885 885 892

Sirach 3:1–2 24 43:7 48:17–25 50:25–26 51:13–30

267, 388 248 121, 128 106 139 521–22 305

Tobit 1:1 1:6

493, 507, 942 494 494

1:6–8 1:10–11 1:14–15 1:16–17 1:18 1:18–20 1:21–22 2:8 2:9–11 2:11–14 2:14 3:1–6 3:1–16 3:5 3:6 3:16–17 4:1 4:3–19 4:10 4:12 4:15 5:17–21 12:3–5 12:6 12:9–10 13:1–2 13:2 13:11 14:2 14:3–11 14:8

494 495 498 495 495 495 495 496 496 504 497 496–97 247 498 498 498 498 498 499 351 852 778 502 503 502 501 502 506 499 501 501

Wisdom of Solomon 128 9:8 914

index of ancient sources

967

Dead Sea Scrolls Contributors have cited texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls using column and line numbers from various published editions (see individual articles and main abbreviations list at the beginning of each volume). Therefore, citations do not always conform to the standard DJD format. In general, the order of manuscripts follows The SBL Handbook of Style. CD (Damascus Document) 265–66, 268, 380–81, 384, 392, 401, 405, 409, 418–19, 428–29, 443, 482, 488–89, 588, 830, 846 1:1 396 1:1–2:1 475 1:3–12 444 1:8–9 396 1:11 430 1:11–12 445 1:20 394, 396 2 419 2:11–12 295 2:12 294–95 2:14–15 396 3 436 3:1 381 3:2 591, 598 3:3 591 3:8 295 3:12 381 3:12–16 438 3:12–20 380 3:13 372 3:13–14 295, 435 3:14–17 436 3:17 381 4:3 662 4:14 397, 403 4:19–5:2 353 5:5 325 5:5–6 597–98 5:6–7 657 5:13–14 394, 397 5:16 397 5:20 439 5:21–6:1 294 6 435, 445 6–7 435 6:1 439 6:2–3 295 6:2–4 438 6:2–11 432, 436, 443 6:3–11 444

6:5–9 6:7 6:8 6:9 6:10 6:11 6:16–17 7 7:4 7:4–5 7:10 7:11–12 7:13–21 7:14–19 7:18–19 7:18–20 7:20–8:3 8:5–6 8:16 8:19 9:2–8 9:11 10 10:6–7 10:23 11:1–2 11:13–17a 12:2–3 12:2–6 12:23–13:1 13:1 13:2–3 14:1 14:3 14:6–8 14:20 15:12–13 16 16:2–3 19:9–11 (B) 19:35–20:1 (B) 20:1 20:2 20:4 20:5 20:7

438 430, 436, 438 397, 402–3 438 438 430, 436 397 440 295 438, 481 403 394, 398, 403 432, 440, 443 475 442 444 443 398 336 336 837 483 419 588 483 420 846 383 383 431 482 588 394, 398, 403 483 588 488 312 419, 428 482 431 431, 436 430 481 295 481 481

968 20:13–17 (B) 20:28 (B) 20:32 (B) 1QIsaa

index of ancient sources 431 430–31 431 30, 31, 160–61, 255, 267, 271, 390–91, 402–3, 405 160 160–61 160–61 161 160–61 160 158 397 24 402 397 161 160–61, 255, 390

16:1 21:15 23:10 25:4 28:20 33:1 33:2b 42:12 45:2a 45:15 48:15 49:5 1Q8 (1QIsab) 1Q10–12 299 (1QPsa, b, c) 1Q14 (1QpMic) 267, 433 8–10 432 8–10 7 438 11 430, 432 1QpHab (Pesher to Habbakuk) 255, 267, 392, 437, 657, 830 1:13 431 2 435 2:1–8 431 2:1–10 435 5:8–11 431 6–7 435 6:11–12 399 6:12–7:5 432, 434 7:2 587 7:10–8:3 435 7:17–8:3 431, 446 8:1 432 8:1–13 337 9:9–12 431 9:12 663 11:4–5 431, 453 11:4–8 475 783 1Q17 (1QJuba) 783 1Q18 (1QJubb) 1–2 767 1QapGen (Genesis Apocryphon) 255, 267, 716–18, 722–24, 727, 730–34, 741, 743, 755 0–2 586 0–5 715

1:11–16 2:1–2 2:2 2:3–11 2:18 2:20–21 5:9–27 5:28 5:29 5:29–6:9 6:7 6:9 6:12 6:12–13 10:11–17 10:13 11:11–14 11:12 12:14 13–14 14–15 15:10–11 15:15 16–17 16:10 16:12–13 16:25 17:12 17:16–19 17:20–24 17:24 17:25–18:1 18 18:1 18:1–8 18:8 18:8–23 18:9 18:11 18:20 18:21 18:23–24 18:25 18:25–19:1 18:31 19:2–10 19:6–7 19:14–21 19:17 19:23 20:12–21 21:11–12 21:31–22:17 21:34 22:25

721 822 719 722 719 715 724 720 585 725 715 719 719 720 723 724 721 725 719 724 721 725 725 720 725 720 720 725 721 721 720 722 718, 723, 735–36 719, 722 723 719, 722 724 719, 722, 724 719, 722 724 720 719–20 720, 722 725 720, 725–26, 730 727 720 648 719 715 722 725 724 720 725

index of ancient sources 1Q21 (1QTLevi ar) 1Q22 (1QDM/Words of Moses) 1i4 1Q23 (1QEnGiantsa ar) 1Q24 (1QEnGiantsb ar) 1Q26 (1QInstruction) 1QS (Rule of the Community)

1:2–3 1:3–4 1:3–5 1:13 2:2 2:21–22 3:2 3:10 3:13 3:13–26 3:13–4:26 3:20 4:2 4:7 4:15 4:17 4:22 4:23 5:8 5:8–9 5:10 5:17 6:6–7 6:24–7:25 8:1–2 8:1–16a 8:6 8:6–8 8:10–11 8:11 8:12 8:12–15 8:13 8:14 8:15 8:22 9:3–10:8a 9:11 9:12 9:12–21 9:14–17 9:16–17

903 482 482 638 638 638 255, 265–67, 291, 335, 339, 359, 392, 482, 488–89, 657 403 317 399 488 488 482 399 488 430 666–67 608, 707 385, 488 488 314, 317 488 488 488 382 337 312 438 403–4 430 488 310, 312 479 663 431 488 435 488 479 480 403–4 312, 323, 480 488 479 431 480 480–81 663 339

969

9:19 481 9:20–21 480 9:21 476 11:3–7 664–66 1QSa (1Q28a/Rule of the Congregation) 359 1:6 373 1:6–7 588 1:9 373, 375 1:11 374 1:15 374–75 1:16 374–75 1:18 374 1:21 374–75 1:23–24 374–75 1:25 374–75 1:29 374 2:11–12 294 2:11–21 430 2:11–22 374 2:16 374–75 1QSb (1Q28b/Rule of Blessings) 392 3:1–21 430 5:21–22 399 5:24–26 399 5:27 443 1Q30 (1QLiturgical Text ?) 12 294 1Q32 (New Jerusalem + 2Q24, 11Q18) 265–66 1QM (War Scroll) 168, 293, 392, 483, 523 1:2 476 7:6–7 483–84 9:14–16 664 11:6–7 443 11:7–8 294 11:11 198 11:11–12 399, 404 14:7 488 17:6–8 385 17:7–8 663 255, 288–91, 298–99, 1QHa (Hodayot) 302–3, 306, 392, 401, 430, 449, 657 4 462 4:27 382 6:13 663, 667 7:38 454 9:1–10:5 306 9:23–26 587 9:23–33 667 9:26 592

970

index of ancient sources

9:28 9:36 10–17 10:5–21 10:6–17:36 10:15 10:22–32 10:33–41 10:33–11:5 10:36 11:6–19 11:7–9 11:8–11 11:20–24 11:20–37 11:38–12:5 12:6 12:6–41 12:6–13:6 12:7–9 12:8 12:9–10 12:22–23 12:25–26 12:31 12:32 13:7–21 13:22 13:22–15:8 14:8–22 14:9–17 14:17 14:32–33 15:9–28 15:10 15:29–36 15:30–36 15:37–16:4 16:1 16:5–17:36 16:35–36 18:3–14 18:4–14 18:16–25 19 19:25 19:30–37 21:24 26:6–16 1Q35 (1QHb) 1Q72 (1QDanb)

454 488 449–52, 455, 467 450 306 663, 667 449–50 449 450 454 450, 454–55 454 399 667 449–50 450 453 449 450, 452–54 475 663 453 663 453 454 454 450 452 450, 454–55 463 667 304 291–93 450 663 450 454 450, 454 290 450, 454 663 667 449 667 453 453 667 304 587 302–3 207

2Q14 (2QPs) 2Q19 (2QJuba)

299 783

2Q20 (2QJubb) 2Q21 (2QapMoses?)

783 482

3Q2 (3QPs) 3Q4 (3QpIsa) 1 1–2 3Q5 (3QJub) 3Q15 (Copper Scroll )

299 92, 402 399 783 257, 523

719 4Q17 (4QExod-Levf ) 4Q22 (4QpaleoExodm) 719, 824 719 4Q26 (4QLevd) 205 4Q44 (4QDeutq) 208 4Q47 (4QJosha) 205 4Q51 (4QSama) 267 4Q53 (4QSamc) 390–91 4Q55 (4QIsaa) 390–91 4Q56 (4QIsab) 390–91 4Q57 (4QIsac) 390–91, 446 4Q58 (4QIsad) 390–91 4Q59 (4QIsae) 390–91 4Q60 (4QIsaf) 390–91 4Q61 (4QIsag) 390–91 4Q62 (4QIsah) 390–91 4Q62a (4QIsai) 390–91 4Q63 (4QIsaj) 390–91 4Q64 (4QIsak) 390–91 4Q65 (4QIsal) 390–91 4Q66 (4QIsam) 390–91 4Q67 (4QIsan) 390–91 4Q68 (4QIsao) 390–91 4Q69 (4QIsap) 390–91 4Q69a (4QIsaq) 390–91 4Q69b (4QIsar) 205 4Q71 (4QJerb) 300, 304–5 4Q83 (4QPsa) cited by MT equivalent: 4:12, 14 663 5 305 6 305 25 305 31 305 33 305 34 305 35 305 36 305 38 305 47 305 53 305 54 305 56 305 62 305 63 305 66 305

index of ancient sources 67 305 69 305 71 305 4Q84 (4QPsb) 300, 304–5 cited by MT equivalent: 91 305 92 305 93 305 94 305 96 305 98 305 99 305 100 305 102 305 103 305 112 305 113 305 115 305 116 305 117 305 118 305 300, 304 4Q85 (4QPsc) 300–301, 304–5 4Q86 (4QPsd) cited by MT equivalent: 104 305 106 305 147 305 147:1 301 147:14 301 147:20 301 300, 304–5 4Q87 (4QPse) cited by MT equivalent: 76 305 77 305 78 305 81 305 86 305 88 305 89 305 103 305 104 305 105 305 109 305 114 305 115 305 116 305 118 305 120 305 125 305 126 305 129 305 130 305 146 305

971

300, 304–5 4Q88 (4QPsf ) cited by MT equivalent: 22 305 107 305 109 305 4Q89–97, 98a–b (4QPsg–h, j–p, r–s, w–x) 299 304–5 4Q92 (4QPsk) cited by MT equivalent: 99 305 135 305 300, 304–5 4Q98 (4QPsq) cited by MT equivalent: 31 305 33 305 34 305 35 305 4Q98c-d (4QPst, u, v) 299 204, 207 4Q112 (4QDana) 204, 207 4Q113 (4QDanb) 207 4Q114 (4QDanc) 207, 719 4Q115 (4QDand) 202 4Q116 (4QDane) 744, 824 4Q158 (4QRPa) 392, 402, 405 4Q161 (4QpIsaa) 2–4 2–3 399 2–4 6–10 399, 402 5–6 5–9 399 8–10 2–3 399 8–10 11–16 399, 402 392, 402 4Q162 (4QpIsab) 11 402 1 3–4 399, 404 2 2–6 399 2 3–4 402 2 7–9 399 3 1–3 399 38 399, 402 393, 402, 405, 830 4Q163 (4QpIsac) 2–3 1–4 399 4–7 i 3 399 4–7 i 5–8 399 4–7 i 13–18 399 4–7 ii 1–3 399 4–7 ii 10–13 400 4–7 ii 19–21 400 8–10 2–3 400 8–10 4–7 400 8–10 11–14 400 11 ii 1–5 400 17 1 400 18–19 2–6 400 21 1 400 21 9–15 400

972

index of ancient sources

23 ii 2–9 402 23 ii 3–9 400 23 ii 15–19 400 24 1 400 25 5–7 400 26 1 400 4Q164 (4QpIsad) 393, 402, 438, 444 1 1–4 400 4Q165 (4QpIsae) 393, 402 1–2 3 430 1–2 4 400, 402 31 400 4 1–3 400 5 3–5 400 57 400 6 2–6 400 4Q167 (4QpHosb) 5–6 2 295 657 4Q171 (4QpPsa) 1 25–27 431 1 26–27 433 1 27 433 1–10 iii 1 476 1–10 iv 8–10 312 1–10 iv 8–9 337 2 13–20 433 2 14 432 2 16–20 431–32 2 18 432 2 19 433 3 14–17 433 3 14–20 432 3 15 430 3 15–17 439 3 16 433 3 17–19 431 3 19 433 4 7–10 431–33 48 431, 433 4 11–12 433 4 26– 5 2 431 4Q173 (4QpPsb) 1 1–2 431 2 1–2 431 4Q174 (4QFlor/MidrEschata) 304, 431, 444 1 3–7 753 1 9–13 444 1–2 i 15–16 400, 404 3 11–12 430–31, 445 3 19 442 15 2–3 400 4Q175 (4QTest) 430, 439, 444 1–5 837

9–13 17 4Q176 (4QTanḥ) 1 5–9 1–2 i 4–8 1–2 i 4–11 1–2 i 9–11 1–2 ii 1–6 3 1–3 4–5 1–4 6–7 1–3 8–11 8–11 2–4 8–11 5–12 8–11 8 8–11 12 12–13 2–3 4Q177 (Catena/ MidrEschatb) i 8–9 5–6 2 5–6 5–6 5–6 15 4Q180 (4QAgesCreat A) I 1–10 4Q185 (4QSapiential Work) 1–2 i 10–11 4Q203 (4QEnGiantsa ar) 3:3 7 ii 1 1–7 13 4Q204 (4QEnc ar) 1 ii 26 4Q205 (4QEnd ar) 4Q206 (4QEne ar) 2–3 4Q208 (4QEnastra ar) 4Q209 (4QEnastrb ar) 6, 9 7 ii, iii 7 iii 3–4 4Q210 (4QEnastrc ar) 1 ii 2b 18 1 iii 3 4Q212 (4QEng ar) 1 ii 22 4Q213–214 (4QLevia-f ar) 4Q216 (4QJuba) II 5 II 12 IV 4 IV 6 VII

443 444 392, 403 479 400 404 400 400 400 400 400 403 400 400, 439 403 403 400 304 475 400, 404 400 400 614 392 400 709 638 614 709 650, 709–10 638 726 638, 706 638 689–90 690 694, 698–700 689 691 696 696 706, 709–10 711 266, 577–78, 659, 661, 903 411, 745 414 412 414 593 414

index of ancient sources 4Q217 (4QpapJubb?) 420 758 4Q219 (4QJubd) 4Q222 (4QJubg) 1 767 2 767 4Q223–224 (4QpapJubh) Unit 1 col. I 767 Unit 2 col. II 767 4Q225–227 (4QPsJuba–c) 420 4Q228 (4QWork with citation of Jubilees) 1i1 420 1i9 420 4Q242 (4QPrNab ar) 202, 209, 646 4Q243–245 (4QpsDana-c ar) 202, 209, 268 4Q246 (4QAramaic Apocalypse) 202, 664 4Q248 (4QActs of a Greek King) 202 4Q251 (4QHalakhah A) 9 (olim frg. 5) 99 11 3 420 4Q252 (4QCommGen A) 1 i 7–10 428 55 430 4Q257 (4QpapSc) 3 4 5:17 399 3 4 8:7 399 4Q258 (4QSd) 1:6–7 312 6:6–7 479 4Q259 (4QSe) 2 16 8:14 399 3 5 9:19–20 399 3 13–15 339 3 17–19 399, 479 4Q265 (4QMiscellaneous Rules) 392, 420, 488, 784 1 4–5 400 2 4–5 439 7 1:6–8 846 392, 395 4Q266 (4QDa) 3 ii 4 397 3 ii 21–22 397 8 i 3–4 312 9 iii 17–18 398 10 ii 2–15 488 11 17 483 392, 395 4Q267 (4QDb) 9v2 398 9 v 2–4 398

973

4Q270 (4QDe) 2 ii 21 325 7i 1–11, 488 7 ii 14 483 4Q271 (4QDf ) 5 i 18–19 383 4Q280 (4QCurses) 385 4Q285 (4QSefer ha-Milḥamah) 392 7 1–2 400, 404 4Q287 (4QBerb) 10 13 294 4Q313 (4QCryptic A Unclassified Fragments) 336 4Q351–354, 356–358 268 4Q364–367 (4QRPb–e) 744, 824 4Q365 (4QRPc) 26a–b 4 484 4Q371–372 (4QapocrJosepha–b) 522 4Q374 (4QDiscourse on the Exodus) 482 4Q375 (4QapocrMosesa) 1i9 294 4Q376 (4QapocrMosesb?) 1i1 294 4Q377 (4QapocrPentB) 482 2 ii 4–5 293 4Q380 (4QNon-Canonical Psalms A) 304 4Q381 (4QNon-Canonical Psalms B) 304 420 4Q384 (4QapocrJerb) 268 4Q385 (4QpsEzeka) 2 314 4Q385a (4QpsMosesa) 482 18 i 6 320 407–28 4Q390 (4QpsMosesc) 1 423 1 2–8 410 1 3–4 414 1 4–6 425 16 412, 425 17 418 1 7–8 408, 427 18 413–14 1 8–9 413 1 8–2 i 3 411 1 10 425 1 11 417, 422 2 422 2 i 3–4 422 2 i 3–2 i 7 412 2i4 408, 418

974

index of ancient sources

2 i 4–5 427 2i6 408 2 i 6–7 422 2i7 417, 424, 426 2 i 7–2 ii 413 2 i 9–10 416 2 i 10 414 4Q392 (4QWorks of God) 304 4Q393 (4QCommunal Confession) 304 4Q394–399 (4QMMT) 267, 309, 336 B 1–2 323 B 12–13 337 B 40–49 323 B 80–82 323 C7 476 4Q394 (4QMMTa) 336, 339 1–2 99 3–7 ii 29–31 486 309, 314–15, 4Q397 (4QMMTd) 319, 328, 330, 334 1–2 320 63 320 14 326 14–21 i 329–30 14–21 i 5 322, 326, 330 14–21 i–ii 321, 322, 328 14–21 ii 1 323, 326 14–21 ii 1–5 334 14–21 ii 1–9a 329–30 14–21 ii 1–16 332–33 14–21 ii 2 323, 326 14–21 ii 3 323, 326 14–21 ii 4 323, 326 14–21 ii 5 323, 326 14–21 ii 6 323, 326 14–21 ii 7 324, 326 14–21 ii 8 327 14–21 ii 9 313, 324, 327, 329 14–21 ii 9–15 313 14–21 ii 10 313, 324, 327 14–21 ii 10–11 313, 335 14–21 ii 11 310, 314, 323–25, 327 14–21 ii 11–12 334 14–21 ii 12 314, 325, 327 14–21 ii 13 325, 327 14–21 ii 14 325, 327 14–21 ii 14–16 314 14–21 ii 15 310, 325, 327 14–21 ii 15–16 315, 317

14–21 ii 16 14–23 16 17 18 18 5 20 21 22 22 1 22 1–3 22 2 22 3 22 4–6 23 23 1 23 2 23 2–4 23 3 23 4 4Q398 (4QpapMMTe) 11–13 11–13 1 11–13 1–2 11–13 1–3 11–13 1–7 11–13 2 11–13 2–4 11–13 3 11–13 3–5 11–13 4 11–13 4–8 11–13 5 11–13 5–7 11–13 6 11–13 6–8 11–13 7 11–13 8 11–17 14–17 i 14–17 i–ii 14–17 i–ii 1 14–17 i 1 14–17 i 2 14–17 i 3 14–17 i 4

327 331 323, 328 324 324, 328 322 326 326 309, 320–21, 323, 328–30 310, 320, 322, 329 329 310, 320, 322 320, 322 320, 329 320, 327–28 327–28 327–28 334 319, 327–28 327–28 309, 313, 319, 329, 334 309, 311, 317, 329–30, 332 310, 312 320, 323, 329 309 330 310, 312 329 310, 312, 320 320 310, 312, 320 310 310, 312 329 310, 312 320 312 312, 317, 323, 329 330–31 311–12, 317, 329 328–29 322 313, 315 313, 315, 324 313, 315, 324 313, 315, 325, 333–34

index of ancient sources 14–17 i 5 313–15, 325 14–17 i 6 313–15 14–17 i 7 313–15 14–17 i 8 313–15, 325 14–17 i 9 313, 315, 329 14–17 ii 314–17, 327 14–17 ii 1 315, 317, 326 14–17 ii 2 315, 317, 325 14–17 ii 3 315, 318, 323 14–17 ii 4 315, 318–19, 324 14–17 ii 5 315, 318 14–17 ii 5–6 319 14–17 ii 5–8 327 14–17 ii 6 315, 318, 327 14–17 ii 7 315, 318 14–17 ii 8 315, 318 4Q399 (4QMMTf ) 319, 329, 334 1 319, 331 1–2 323 1i 318 1i9 318–19 1 i 10 318–19 1 i 11 317–19 1 i–ii 315–16, 328 1 ii 318 1 ii 1 318–19 1 ii 2 317–19 1 ii 2–3 319 1 ii 2–5 327 1 ii 3 317–19, 327 1 ii 4 317–19 1 ii 5 318–19 4Q400–405 (4QShirShabba-f + 11Q17; Mas1K/Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice) 293 4Q403 (4QShirShabbd) 1 ii 2 904 4Q404 (4QShirShabbe) 63 904 4Q405 (4QShirShabbf) 20 ii 2 904 23 I 3 904 4Q406 (4QShirShabbg) 719 4Q416 (4QInstructiona) 588 4Q417 (4QInstructionb) 1 i 15–16 587 4Q418 (4QInstructionc) 69 ii 314 302–3, 306 4Q427 (4QHa) 7 430, 586–87 7 ii 20a 304 302–3, 306, 454 4Q428 (4QHb) 4 1–2 399

81 13 7 16 5–6 21 1 4Q429 (4QHc) 4Q430 (4QHd) 4Q431 (4QHe)

975

304 304 399 304 302–3, 306 302–3, 454 302–3, 306, 454, 587 302–3, 306 4Q432 (4QpapHf ) 4Q434 (4QBarkhi Nafshia) 392 1i9 400 4Q435 (4QBarkhi Nafshib) 1 7–8 400 4Q437 (4QBarkhi Nafshid) 392 2 i 8–9 400 4Q448 (4QApocr. Psalm and Prayer) 339 B–C 337 4Q471a (4QWar Scroll-Like Text B) 392 18 400 4Q471b (Self-Glorification Hymn) 392, 430, 586–87 1a–d 2–3 401 4Q489 (4QpapApocalypse/Apocalypse in Aramaic) 202 4Q491c (Self-Glorification Hymn) 430, 586 4Q500 (4QpapBened) 832 4Q504–506 (Dibre Hameʾorot/Words of the Luminaries) 477, 489 4Q504 1–2 ii 12–14 326 3 ii 13–17 478 6 6–7 477–78 6 7–9 477–78 6 10–11 478 11 478 4Q506 125+127 2 478 4Q507–509 (4QPrayers for Festivals; 287, 392 1Q34, 1Q34bis) 4Q509 287 275 1 401 4Q511 (4QSongs of the Sage) 392 2i7 483 10, 8 488 30 5 401 63 iii 3 488

976

index of ancient sources

4Q521 (4QMessianic Apocalypse) 314, 392 1 ii + 4 5–6 312 2 ii + 4 12 401 9 294–95 4Q522 (4QProphecy of Joshua) 9 ii 310 4Q523 (4QJonathan) 337 287 4Q524 (4QTb) 15–22 324, 337 4Q525 (4QBeatitudes) 822, 836 1 290 2 col. 2, line 2 290 638, 4Q530 (4QEnGiantsb ar) 647–48, 650, 657, 733, 832 2 202 2 ii+6+7i+8–11+12(?) 1–2 640 2 ii+6–12(?)1 638 3, 4 650 638 4Q531 (4QEnGiantsc ar) 1 2+3, 4, 5 640 22 12 638, 640 638 4Q532 (4QEnGiantsd ar) 29 640 638 4Q533 (4QEnGiantse ar) 4Q534 (4QNoaha ar) 1 i–ii 586 7 0–4 586 585 4Q534–36 (4QNoaha-c ar) 4Q536 (4QNoahc ar) 2 ii 11–12 586 4Q541 (4QapocrLevib? ar) 9 I 2–3 430 4Q542 (4QTQahat ar) 1 ii 9–13 324 4Q543–547 (4QAmrama-e/Visions of Amram) 733 4Q543 (4QAmrama) 2a–b 4 586 4Q546 4QAmramd) 2i+3 8–13 586 522, 4Q550 (4QPrEsthera ar) 646–47 4Q551 (4QAccount ar/Daniel-Susanna?) 202 4Q552–553a (4QFour Kingdomsa–c) 202 638 4Q556 (4QVisiona ar) 837 4Q558 (4QpapVisionb ar) 1 ii 3–4 430 4Q561 (4QPhysiognomy/Horoscope ar) 726

5Q3 (5QIsa) 5Q5 (5QPs) 5Q9 5Q10 5Q13 5Q14

390–91 299 265 265 265 265

6Q5 (6QpapPs?) 6Q7 (6QpapDan) 6Q8 (6QpapEnGiants ar) 6Q15 (6QD) 2 1–2

299 207 638 392, 395 397

8Q2 (8QPs)

299

11QPsalms 11Q5 (11QPsa)

14, 829–30 300–301, 304–5, 392, 829 667 401 830

18:1–16 19:2 27:11 cited by MT equivalent: 8 9 15 16 29 93 101–103 104 105 109 118 118:1 119 121–132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 146:9 147 147:20

305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 301 305 301

index of ancient sources 148 148:1 148:4 148:5 148:9 149 150 150:1 150:3 150:6 151A 151B 154 11Q6 (11QPsb)

305 301 301 301 301 305 305 301 301 301 305 305 305 300, 304–5, 392 4–5 4 cited by MT equivalent: 15–16 305 77 305 78 305 118:1 305 119 305 133 305 141 305 144 305 300 11Q8 (11QPsd) 299 11Q9 (11QPse) 11Q13 (11QMelchizedek) 385, 393, 418, 602, 664 2:2–6 386 2:7–8 387 2:8–9 401 2:15–16 386, 401, 404 2:15–20 430 2:19–20 404 2:23 401, 404 2:23–25 386 3:7 387 11Q17 (11QShirShabb/Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice) 904

977

11QT (Temple Scroll)

93–94, 99, 109, 111, 257, 266, 268, 271, 287–89, 341–47, 484, 489, 659, 741–42, 745–46, 755 288–89, 342, 825 11Q19 (11QTa) 17–23 93 29:9–10 336, 753 51–66 341 53:5–9 353 56:12–57:6 346 57 351, 354 57–59 346, 349 57:6 354 57:9 354 57:13 354 57:14 354 57:15–16 347, 350 57:15–19 342, 346–47 57:16–17 350, 353 57:17–18 353 57:18–19 356 288–89 11Q20 (11QTb) 16 288 Col. 11 (frgs. 18, 19, 20) 288 288 11Q21 (11QTc) 11Q22 (11QpaleoUnidentified Text) 783 Mas1e (MasPsa ) Mas1f (MasPsb)

301 301, 304

Mur 3 (MurIsa) Mur 18:24

390–91 387

5/6Hev1b (5/6Ḥ ev Ps) 304

Pseudepigrapha Apocalypse of Abraham 1–8 9:9–10 12–15 13 13–14 13:3–4 13:7–14 13:12

601–2, 605, 616 603 560 560 608, 612 609, 617 616 604, 610, 618 618

15:3 17:1 21:2–22:2 29:3–13

611 611 560 560

Apocalypse of Elijah

576

Ascension of Isaiah 7:21–23 8:5

522, 561 561 561

978 8:11–14 8:23

index of ancient sources 562 562

Assumption of Moses 10:12–11:8

580 581

2 Baruch

409, 583–84, 754, 906 584 580 564 584

46:4–7 59:3–11 76 76:1–2 3 Baruch

583

1 Enoch

388, 580, 614, 668, 733, 754, 799, 801–4, 806–7, 813, 817–18, 883 650, 661 568, 569, 576, 613, 616, 657–60, 709, 786, 800 661 813 432 800, 815 661 661 661 613, 638, 650–51, 748 638 638 639, 649 639 638 639 639, 649 638 602, 615 639 613, 638, 648, 650 615 639, 648, 650 661 639 576 576 813 903, 906 813

1–5 1–36

1:1 1:3–4 1:4 1:9 5:5–6 5:7 5:8 6–11 6:1–7:62 6:6 7:1 7:4 7:5–6 8:1–2 8:3–4 9:1–11 10 10:1–3 10:4–7 10:5–6 10:11–12 10:20–21 10:20–22 11:3 12:3–4 13:7–8 14 14:9–18

15:8 15:11 17–19 19:2 24:2–3 37 37–71 37:1 37:2 37:3 37:4 38:1 38:2 38:4 38:4–14 38:5 39–40 39:3–14 39:4 39:4–5 39:5 39:6 39:7 39:8 39:10 39:11 39:13 40 40–44 40:1 40:2 40:5 40:8 41 41:2 41:5–8 41:8 44 44:5 45:4–5 45:5 45:5–6 45:6 46:1 46:1–3 46:4 46:4–6 46:7 46:8 47:2 47:2–4 47:3 48:1 48:1–4

649 576 650 651 813 672 293, 560–61, 655, 658, 660, 669, 710 664 664 664 664, 674 669, 674 683 681, 683 680 682–83 665–66 560, 562 664 685 664–65 664 561–62, 664, 683, 685 562 664 665 664 680 683 664 813 683 664 673 65 658 666 673 673 674 672, 683 685 672, 685 664, 813, 816 673 672 681 671 671–72, 683 671 672 664, 673 664–65, 681 813

index of ancient sources 48:3 48:4 48:4–5 48:6 48:6–7 48:8 48:8–10 48:9 50:1 50:2 50:3–4 50:5 51:4 51:5 52 53:1 53:2 53:3–4 53:5 53:7 54:3 54:3–5 54:5 54:8 55:1–2 56:1–3 56:3 56:5–7 56:7 57:1–2 58:3 58:4 58:6 59 60 60:6 60:8 60:23 61 61:3 61:5 61:6–13 61:8 61:9–12 61:12 61:12–13 61:13 62–63 62:1 62:2 62:3 62:3–16 62:5 62:7 62:8–9

673 683 680 665 683 674 680 672, 681, 683 674, 683 672 680 680 672, 682 685 672–73 674 672, 682 672, 674, 682 674, 680 683 672, 682 674 674 673 673 674 674 656, 671–73 674–75, 682 675 683 683 683 673 673 685 674, 685 674, 685 683 683 683 665–66 665 680 685 667, 674 680 680 681 665 665, 683 816 665 665, 683 683

62:9 62:10 62:11 62:11–12 62:14–16 63 63:1 63:2 63:10 63:11–12 64 65:1–69:25 65:6 67:4 67:5–7 67:8–13 68:1 68:4–5 69 69:8 69:9 69:9–10 69:11 69:12 69:20–23 69:28 70–71 71:10 73:2–3 73:4–8 74:2 77 81–82 81:1–82:3 82:1–4 82:2 85–90 85:3 86:1–4 89:1 89:13 89:52 89:6–69 89:72 90:28–29 90:31 90:32–33 90:37–38 91–94 91–105 91–108 91:1–10 91:11–17 91:18–19 92–105

979 673, 681 681 674, 683 681, 683 681, 684 672, 680 681 673 672 681, 816 674 673 639 672 672 671 672–73 682 639, 673 814 673 681 681 681 673 674 562 673 701 687–700, 702, 704 576 102 576 577 711–12 665 659, 684, 709, 713 813 615 615 615 576 684 522 813 576, 579 813 62 710 659–60, 662, 708, 713 707, 709, 711, 713 708, 710 661, 706 708, 710 659, 662

980 92:1 92:1–5 93:1–10 93:2 93:8 93:9 93:9–13 93:10 93:11 93:12 94:1 94:1–5 94:2 94:5–104:8 98:4 99:7 99:9 99:14 100:6 100:13 104:1–8 104:9–13 104:9–105:1 104:9–105:2 104:10 104:11 104:13 104:13–107:2 105:2 106 106–107

index of ancient sources 576, 711 705, 708 661, 706 665, 748 814 661 815 576, 661 661 661 711 705, 708 710 705–6, 709 707 707 707 707 662 812 705 712 709–10 708 706, 713 713 706 709 711 578 709

2 Enoch 22 67

604, 802 604, 609 564

3 Enoch 5

581, 611, 802 614

4 Ezra 1:1 6:25–26 8:23 12:10–13 12:32 13:25–26 14 14:3–9 14:7–9 14:44–46 14:50

14, 16–19, 21, 754 16 582 432 17 633 633 582 18 582–83 17 476, 583

Joseph and Aseneth 11:8–18 247

Jubilees

Prologue 1 1:1 1:2 1:6 1:9 1:10 1:11 1:12 1:13 1:14 1:15 1:19 1:19–20 1:20 1:22 1:23 1:25 1:26 1:26–29 1:27 1:27–28 1:29 2:2 2:18 2:18–19 2:21 2:23 2:25 2:27 2:29 2:31 2:32 3:8–11 3:8–14 3:17 4:1–2 4:1–6 4:6 4:15 4:16–26 4:16–5:12 4:17–18

14–16, 18–19, 21, 94, 98, 100, 266, 285, 359, 407–28, 482, 489, 518, 531, 576, 589, 590, 593–94, 600, 659, 660–61, 713, 716–17, 730–31, 740–41, 743, 746–47, 749–50, 754–55, 757, 766, 768, 783, 799–807, 817, 904 15 409, 418, 426 410, 414 825 412, 426 412 410–12, 414 410 411 410–12, 422 411, 414 427 412, 422 410 411–12, 422 410 427 761 745 582 15, 809 752 426, 752 424 810 808–9 760 335 383 383 420 760 760 599 784–85 785 791 599 762 652 577, 582 715 577

index of ancient sources 4:19 4:21 4:24 4:25 4:26 4:28 4:33 5:1–19 5:3 5:17 5:27 6 6:1–14 6:2 6:11 6:13 6:20–22 6:30 6:37 6:38 7:1 7:11 7:13 7:18 7:20 7:21–25 7:36 7:38–39 8:11–9:15 8:18 9:14–15 10:1–5 10:1–14 10:1–13:4 10:2 10:3 10:7–14 10:8 10:8–11 10:13 10:15–17 10:18–26 10:27–36 10:29–34 11:1–6 11:1–13 11:2–6 11:8 11:11–13 11:14–17 11:15 11:17 11:18–24 11:20

748 418 818 813 485 715 715 652 410 427 428 599 784 715 411 762 746 100 411, 414 410, 414 715, 759 759 791 791 760 767 760 577 715 759 721 652 722 718 726 760 751 760 715 585 722 723 724, 728 791 728 724 726 728 728 729 791 760, 775 728 728

12:4 12:12–15 12:16–21 12:19 12:22 12:22–24 12:25–26 12:28–13:9 12:29 13:8 13:11 15 15:3 15:26 15:27 15:31 15:31–32 15:32 15:34 16:26 16:31 17:3 18–19 19–30 19:9 19:10 19:13–16 19:15 19:15–20 19:17–25 19:26 19:27–29 19:28 19:31 20–22 20:1–10 20:2 20:4 20:7 21:1–25 21:3 21:4 21:15 21:25 22:1–5 22:1–9 22:5 22:6 22:9 22:10 22:10–30 22:16–22 22:19

981 760 729 730 760, 775 791 730 730 727 758 758 715 422 758 425, 762 811 424 422 411 412 760 762 760 424 765 590–91, 599 767 769 769, 773 769 769–70 770 769–70 411, 422 769–70, 773 770–72, 781 770–71 789 411, 773–74, 788, 791, 793 760 770–71 760 761 760 411, 426 771–72 772 760 760, 771 772 760 770, 772 420, 771 760

982 22:20 22:21–22 22:27 23 23:1 23:1–8 23:9–32 23:11–31 23:14 23:15 23:16 23:19 23:20 23:21 23:22 23:22–23 23:26 23:28–29 23:31 24:1–7 24:3 24:7 24:8–27 24:22 24:23 24:28–33 25:1–3 25:1–10 25:2 25:5 25:8 25:10 25:11 25:11–23 25:12 25:13 25:14 25:15–22 25:19 25:21 25:23 26–27 26:9–10 26:18 26:35 27:1 27:8 27:8–10 27:8–12 27:9–29:13 27:13 27:14–17 27:18 27:22

index of ancient sources 767, 771, 773, 791 791 760 408–9, 419, 422, 426 760 769 772 753 424 424 424 411, 414 412 411, 413, 416, 424 411, 424 412, 422 410, 427, 481, 753 776 412, 426, 753 773 769 769 773 759 759 773 767, 791 351, 773, 774 777 767 767 767 775 773 775 775 775 774–76 773, 777 761 777 777 778 778 778 778 778 767 791 778 778 778 778 759

28 28:1–30 28:3 29:1–12 29:4 29:13 29:14–20 30 30:1–4 30:1–15 30:5–17 30:10 30:12 30:14–15 30:15 30:18 30:18–20 30:19 30:21–23 31–36 31:3 31:4 31:5–7 31:12–25 31:13 31:15 31:25 31:26–29 31:30–32:30 31:31 31:32 32 32:1–3 32:4–34 32:18 33 33:1–9 33:2–17 33:3–6 33:7 33:9 33:9–20 33:10 33:15–16 33:16 33:18 33:20 33:21 33:23 34:1 34:10–17 34:18 34:20 35:1–27

785 778 758 779 759 779 779 424, 767 779 784 779 412, 415 746 792 412, 415 424 779 760, 762 779 779 779 779 779 779–80 760 903 759–60 780 779–80 759, 762 760, 762 424 780 780 760 795 793, 795 780 796 796 797 796 762 796 793 762 762 780 780 780 780 777 791 780

index of ancient sources 35:4 35:9 35:14 35:20 35:25–26 36:4 36:6 36:8 41 41:1–2 41:1–21 41:2 41:3 41:7 41:8 41:10 41:11 41:17 41:18 41:19 41:20 41:21 41:23–26 41:23–28 41:24 41:25 41:25–26 41:26 41:27 41:27–28 41:28

781 781 759 781 781 789 759 789 786, 788 791 788 789 788 789–90, 792 790, 792 791 796 793 788 787, 794, 797 796 790, 793 788, 792–94 795 795–96 762, 793–94 795 793, 794 789, 794 788, 795 787–88, 795, 797 759 760 324 762 825 840 383, 420 383

45:3 45:6 45:16 49:17, 22 50:2 50:7–12 50:8 50:13 Life of Adam and Eve 12:1–16:2 Prayer of Joseph

606 607 523

983

Psalms of Solomon 2:3 8:12 18:7

657 657 295

Pseudo-Philo Biblical Antiquities 11:8

741, 743, 755 841

Testament of Abraham 2:8 4:14

885 885

Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs 523, 559 Testament of Judah 518, 531, 797 10:1 791 10:2 787 10:5 787, 791 13:6 794 14:4 794 24:1–6 443 Testament of Levi 418, 518, 531, 577, 661, 733, 904 2 560 2:10–12 903 3 560 3:4–6 903 5:1 903 5:1–2 559, 910 7:2 521 8 609 8:1–17 910 13:2 578 17–18 324 18 444 18:2–4 444 18:3–4 439 23 324 Testament of Rueben 797 Testament of Moses 10:3

418, 657 432

Papyri, Classical Texts, and Other Writings P. Amh. Andocides De mysteriis 76.1–8

539

922

Apollodorus Library 2.4.6–2.7.8 2.7.7

563 564

Aristarchus

9

984 Aristotle Nicomachean Ethics Book 5, chapter 1 Politics Book 1, chapter 2 Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 5.53 Berossus Babyloniaca

index of ancient sources 10 57 57

921

547–48 547

Cassius Dio Historical Rom. 47.6.4 57.16.1–2

922 921

Dio Chrysostom Rhodiaca 31.51 31.86 Diodorus Siculus Bibliotheca 2.34.4 World History 19.7.93

566 922 922 923 920, 923 920 923 513 925

Epiphanius De mens. et pond. 17–18

927 262

Greek Magical Papyri

125

P. Heid. Inv. G 5100 Line 1 Lines 1–2 Lines 1–12 Line 2 Line 4 Lines 4–6 Lines 4–21 Lines 5–6 Line 8 Line 9 Line 10 Line 11 Lines 12b–16a Line 13 Lines 13–21 Lines 16–18 Line 17 Lines 18–19 Lines 18–21

547 539–40 538 547 539–40 539 540 541 545 543 544 544 540, 545 539 539 545 539 544 545

Hermes Trismegistus Poimandres 24–26

572 567

Herodotus 2.97

10 155

Hesiod

10, 11

Homer

5–6, 8–12, 21

517

P. Dura 28

930, 933

P. Erasm. 1.1.25–26

546

P. Enteux 60.3 73 88

851 851 851 851 851

925

BGU 8.1822 8.1856

Cicero De Republica 6.9–29 De Natura Deorum 3.30 Pro Archia 4.8–5.10 Pro Cluentio 14

Epictetus Diatr. 1.25 §29 3.4 §9 3.13§11–13 3.20 §9 3.22 §54, §81–82

543 546 546

Josephus Against Apion 1.19–20 1.35–36 1.37–43 1.111–16 2.17 Antiquities

924 924 926 925 841 519, 741, 743, 745, 755

index of ancient sources 1.3.4 3.123 4.328 4.8.23 4.8.48 8.55 9.2.2 9.283 11 11:302–347 12.156 12.257–264 12.258–264 12.259–261 12.287 12.6.2 12.10 13.74–79 13.171–173 13.275 14.4.2 16.1.4 17.6.5 Jewish War 2.14.5 2.427 5.217 6.354 7.6 7.58–60 Lucian Peregr. 23 27 29 30 31 32 33 39–41 44–47

563 902 580 842 563 925 562 936 521 521 533 534 533 533 517 841 531 531 338 517 841 841 671–72 841 922 902 922 762 922

564 564 564 564 564 564 564 565 565

P. Münch 3.51.2

547

POxy 1 654 655

871 871 871

P. Ryl. 578 (= CPJ 1:43) P4 P45 P52

548 871, 875 871 871

985

P64 P66 P67 P75

871, 975 875 871, 875 871, 874–76

Papyrus 967 Ezekiel 36:23–38

307 307

Philo

16, 20, 98, 111

Congr./Prelim. Studies 118 911 Ebr./Drunkenness 112–113 437 Fug./Flight 137.4 927 Mos./Moses 1.158–159 20 2.48 16 2.192 580 2.288 20, 580 2.39 841 2.51 563 2.88 902 Mut./Names 189.2 927 Praem./Rewards 2.1 927 QE/Questions and Answers on Exodus 2.75 902 2.82 913 2.91 902 Somm./Dreams 1.33.4 927 1.48.1 927 2.18 841 2.265.4 927 Spec./Spec. Laws 3.5 842 Philo of Byblos

54

Philostratus Vit. Apoll 8.30 8.31

564 564

Plato Republic 10.614a–621d 10.615c–616a 10.616b 10.616c–617d 10.620e–621b

568 568 568, 569 569 569

986 Pliny Natural History 35:11 Natural Questions IVA.2

index of ancient sources 154

Sanchuniathon

155

Seneca De otio 1 §4 Ben. 4.26 §1–3 7.30 §2 7.31 §2–5 De Ira 2.32–34 3.5 §8 3.42 §3–4 3.43 §1–2 De constantia 4 §1 12 §3 13 §1–2

155

Plutarch Divine Vengeance 569 22–23 570 24 570 25–33 570 On the Sign of Socrates 21–23 570 22 571 On the Face of the Moon 555, 572 27 571 28 571 29–30 571 P. Polit. Iud. 1 1.19–20 4 7 8 8:4–5 11.10 12:24–25 16 19 20

550 548 548 548, 551 548 537 548 548 548 548 548

P. Rainer Cent. 40.1

543

P. Tebt. 1.5.138–44, 207–20 1.46 1.60.125–26 1.61B.121–25 1.64B.14–15 1.141 1.141.43, 103 3.1.796 3.805 3.805.3–4

54

851 851 851 851 851 851 851 851 851 851 851 544 551 546 546 546 541, 543 544 548 546 543

Virgil Georgica 2.502

920 920

Zenodotus of Ephesus

9

New Testament Matthew 1–4:22 1–7 1:1 1:2–17 1:2–25 1:18–23 2:13–15 2:15 2:18 2:19–23 3:3 3:9 3:17 4:7

833, 877–79, 881 825 823, 826 862–63 862 863 822, 832 832 825 826, 831 832 479 826 826 866

4:15 4:23 4:23–28:20 4:35 5:3–11 5:4 5:5 5:8 5:17 5:17–48 5:32 5:34 5:37 5:44 6:9–13

826 823, 863 825 863 826 835 836 836 335, 849, 855 855 842 843, 850 843, 850 849 865

index of ancient sources 6:11–13 7:12 7:21 9:15 9:35 10:24 11:13 11:13–14 12:11 12:50 13:34 15:11 16:26 18 18:15–16 18:15–17 19:9 19:19 22:37–40 23:13–36 24:14 25:41 26:13 26:28 27:45 Mark 1:1 1:1–3 1:1–15 1:2 1:4 1:14 1:15 2:23–28 2:27 3:35 7:1–23 8:35 9:2–10 10:29 12:28–34 12:29–31 13:10 14:3–8 14:4 14:9 16:7 Luke 1–4

864 335, 852 867 835–36 863 866 335 837 846 867 830 847 867 837 866 837 842 850 856 826 863 866 863 68 926 877–79, 881 860–63, 871, 882 862 862 479 498 860 860–61 845 845 967 847–48 860–61 576 860–61 849, 855 856 860–61 861 68 860–61 893 670, 844, 859–60, 874, 877, 879, 881, 883 893

1:1 1:1–4 1:4–8:1 1:8–11 1:11–20 1:26–38 1:70 2:9–14 2:22 2:22–28 2:41 2:46 2:49 3:4–6 3:36 4:4 4:9 4:13–15 4:16–30 6:27 6:27–36 7:2–10 7:11–17 7:22 7:51 8:1b–25 8:4 8:21 8:27 8:34 8:36 8:38 8:39 8:40 9:3–19 9:30–31 9:43 9:51 10 11 11:19–20 11:20–21 13:1 13:15 13:35 14 14:1 14:5 14:23 15 15:7 15:14 16:10 16:16

987 863 886 886 893 884 884 884 884 893 335 897 893 866 479 805 897 893 899 893 849 853 894 894 894 892 886 891 867 888 888 888 888 888 891 891 884 891 894 896 896 891 897 888 846 894 885 897 846 894 896 890 890 865, 867 335

988 16:29 16:31 17:1–4 17:4 18:4 19:17–18 19:21 19:46 21:11 21:20 22:21 22:43 23:18 23:34 24 24:4–7 24:7 24:27 24:33–53 24:44 26:17–19 27:23–24 28:17–19

index of ancient sources 335 335 837 897 897 897 894 894 899 897 891 884 898 504 885 884 897 335 893 335 891 899 899

John 1:45 6 13:34 15:12 15:17 19:34 19:37

844, 860, 877, 879 335 126 849, 851 849, 851 849, 851 627 627

Acts 1 1:1 1:3 1:4 1:6 1:6–11 1:8

670 564 863 892 895 900 506, 892 883, 887–90, 892–93, 895, 899 900 884 895 884 887 895 895 887, 895 890 836 884 884 896

1:9–2:41 1:10–11 1:11 1:16 2 2:1–4 2:5 2:9–11 2:39 3 3:21 4:25 4:25–26

4:25–31 5:19–20 7 7:1–45 7:43 7:46–50 7:60 8:4 8:26–40 8:27 8:29 8:30 8:39–40 9:15 10–11 10:1–11:18 10:3–6 10:19 10:22 10:30–32 11:19–20 12 12:7–10 12:23 13 13:2 13:15 13:33 13:47 14:8 14:8–18 15 16:6–7 17:17 17:34 19:21 20:22–23 20:23 21 21:10–14 21:11 21:27–36 23:11 26:17–18 26:22 27:23–24 28 28:14–15 28:16 28:23 Romans 2:16 15:19 16:25

442 884 836 899 440 894, 899 504 887 883, 895 885 884 885 884 898 887 890 884 885 884 884 887 887 884 884 890 884 335 627 889 897 897 887, 897 884 897 897 897–98, 900 897, 900 885 896–99 900 885, 897 898 898, 900 890 335 884, 900 884 887 897 335 859 859 859

index of ancient sources 1 Corinthians 9:12 15

859 505

2 Corinthians 2:12 4:4 6:16–7:1 12 12:2–3 12:4 12:7–9

859 859 442 559 562 562 562

Galatians 1:6 1:7 3:1 3:2 4:6 5:5 5:14 5:21

864 859 860 860 860 860 850 860

Philippians 1:27

5:5 5:5–6 6:20 7:20 7:28 8 8:1 8:1–2 8:1–5 8:2 8:3 8:4 8:5 9:1–5 9:1–28 9:5 9:24 10:12–13 11:5 12:2 13:22

989 627 909 910 910 909 909 909 913 912, 914 915 913 910 906 906 912, 915 905 914 909 805 909 908

James 2:8

850

1 Peter 3:19–20

658

2 Peter 2:4–5

658

Jude 6 14 14–15

658 805 658

Revelation 1:7 1:13–14 2:26–27 21:23

904, 906 627 446 442 157

859

1 Thessalonians 3:2

859

Hebrews 1 1:1–4 1:1–24 1:3 1:5 1:5–14 1:5–4:13 1:13 2:1–4 3–4 4:14 5

901, 907, 914, 916 911 908 908 909 627, 908 908 908 909 908 627 910 909

Early Christian Sources Acts of Sharbil

918–19

Apocryphon of John 872 1 Clement 28.2

927

2 Clement 2 3:2

869, 881 867 867

4:2 5:2–4 6:1 8:5 9:11 12:2

867 867 867 865, 867 867 867

Didache 8:2 11:3

869, 881 864–66 864–66

990

index of ancient sources

15:3 15:3–4 15:4

864 866 864–65

Doctrina Addai

918

Epistle of Barnabas

800, 905

Eusebius Chronicle Historia Ecclesiastica 1.8.5–13.22 1.13.5 3.39.1 3.39.15–16 6.16.3 Onomasticon Praeparatio evangelica 1.9–10

54 514

Gospel of Thomas 14 22

870–72 848 867

Gospel of Philip

872

Ignatius To the Philadelphians 5:1 5:2 8:2 9:2 Smyrna 1:1–2 3:2–3 5:1 7:2 Irenaeus Against Heresies 1.20.2 1.26.1 1.31.1 2.22.3 2.24–25 2.26.2 3.1.1

918 924, 935 878 877 262 523

3.5.1 3.11.7 3.11.8 3.11.9 3.12.12 3.14.1 3.23.3 4.34.1 5.22.1 11.9 Justin Martyr 1 Apology 66.3 2 Apology Dialogue 78.5–6 103.8

868–69 868, 876 876, 878, 880 869, 876 868, 876 868 866 869 866 868

859 800 879 879

54

917 864 864 864, 917, 927 865, 869 867 867 865, 867 865, 867, 869 800 866 875 876 868 881 866 868, 879, 881

Martyrdom of Polycarp 4:1 4:3

869, 881 865 867

Pseudo-Athanasius Synopsis PG 28.432

262 262

Pseudo-Clementine Homilies 12.29.1

598

Tertullian Apologeticus 21.19 Scorpiace 15.2–3 Prax 15.20 Adversus Marcionem 4.1.1 4.7.7 Theophilus Ad Autolycum 3.22

917, 926 917 927 927 917

917

Timotheus I of Seleucus 262

Rabbinic Literature, Midrashim, and Targumim m. Šabb. 6:2 7:2 14:3–4

845 844 845

m. Yoma 6:4 8:5–6

618 845

index of ancient sources m. Sukkah 5:2 m. Meg. 4:9 m. ‘Ed. 5:6–7 t. Ber. 5:13 5:26 5:27 t. Yoma 4:12 t. Soṭah 9:2 10b 19:5 t. Sanḥ 4:7 b. Ber. 52b 25a b. Šabb. 31 b. Yoma 67b b. Sukkah 51b 52a 52b b. Meg. 5b–6a b. Bat. 14b b. Sanḥ 98b y. Ber. 2:4 8:2 y. Soṭah 7:5 Gen. Rab. 70

626 415 847 847 847 847 599 593 593 425 13 847 415 852 614 626 626 631 628 928 622–23, 627 622, 632 847 594

73:7 75:5 85 85:4 99:2 Lev. Rab. 32:2 Num. Rab. 14:1 20:21 Song Rab. 2:13 Lam. Rab. 1:51 Kallah Rab. 2:7 Midr. Ps. 2:9 Pesiq. Rab. 15:14 Pesiq. Rab Kah. 5:9 Pirqe R. El. 20 Sifre Num. 68 88 105 114 134 137 Sifre Deut. 26 Sifre Zuṭa Num. 27:14 Tg. Neof. Num. 21:18 Tg. Ps.-J. Tg. Song of Songs 4:5 7:4

991 631 631 791 789 631 596 631 847 631 633 632 592 442 631 631 606 605 591 599 593–95, 597, 599 597 598–99 590, 600 595, 597–98 596–97 596–97 436 605–6 631 631

594 Medieval Jewish and Christian Sources

Kitab al-tamyiz Maimonides M268 M605

99 19 943–45 943–44

M2126 M5690 Sefer Zerubbabel

940–41 941–43 621–25, 628–30, 633–34

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS Pages 1–490 are to be found in Volume 1; pages 491–945 appear in Volume 2. Abegg Jr., M. G. 294–95, 390, 393, 398, 840 Abiram, Y. 509 Abrahams, I. 590 Abrams, M. H. 458 Abusch, T. 645 Ackroyd, P. R. 133, 135, 138, 140, 148, 196 Adler, W. 917 Aejmelaeus, A. 453 Aland, B. 865 Aland, K. 865 Albani, M. 578, 589, 745, 784 Albeck, H. 594, 631, 784 Albertz, R. 364 Albrektson, B. 32 Albright, W. F. 29 Alexander, P. 743 Allen, W. C. 863 Alliata, E. 836 Allison, D. C. 823, 863 AlSayyad, N. 276, 283 Althaus-Reid, M. 47 Amihay, A. 585–86 Amir, Y. 521 Amit, Y. 791 Anderson, G. A. 493, 495, 503, 598, 607, 790, 792–94, 796, 940 Aner, T. 574 Angel, J. L. 466 Angold, M. 807 Anneli, A. 453 Antʿabyan, Pʿ. 940–42 Arevšatyan, S. 940 Armoni, C. 538–39, 543–47 Aschim, A. 385 Assefa, D. 801–2, 805, 818 Assmann, J. 116, 574, 602 Atkinson, J. E. 513 Attridge, H. W. 386, 767, 916, 919 Aune, D. E. 857, 871 Auwers, J.-M. 880 Avalos, H. I. 222 Avemarie, F. 602 Avery-Peck, A. 660, 706, 717

Avigad, N. 527, 716–18 Azize, J. 641 Baarda, T. 885 Baban, O. 885 Bachelard, G. 472 Bacher, W. 594, 626 Bachmann, V. 783 Bacon, B. W. 823 Bagnall, R. S. 545, 550 Bailey, D. P. 624 Baillet, M. 257 Baker, J. A. 858 Bakhtin, M. 740 Balch, D. L. 929 Balkan, K. 100 Balla, M. 264 Balz, H. 861, 870 Banks, S. 44 Bar Nathan, R. 261–62 Bar-Asher, M. 748 Bar-On, S. 106 Bardtke, H. 717 Barnes, C. 538 Barrett, C. K. 895, 904–5, 907 Barrett, D. P. 873 Barros, C. 463 Barth, H. 26, 30, 32, 35 Barthel, J. 136, 180 Barthélemy, D. 30, 32–33, 374 Barthes, R. 573 Barton, J. 199, 407, 421, 737 Bauckham, R. 576, 579, 901 Bauer, W. 861, 863, 865, 869, 935 Baum, A. D. 878 Baumgarten, A. I. 54, 660 Baumgarten, J. M. 93, 98–99, 294, 383, 398, 421, 597, 822 Bauschatz, J. 540–41, 547 Bautch, R. J. 359, 365, 376 Baynes, L. 799 Beale, G. K. 822 Beard, M. 558 Beare, F. W. 863 Beaton, R. 834 Beaulieu, P.-A. 104

index of modern authors Bechler, B. 41–43 Becker, J. 450, 458 Becker, M. 660 Becker, U. 180, 183 Beckwith, R. 804, 807 Bedenbender, A. 192, 749 Behm, J. 916 Bélis, M. 256 Bellinger, W. H. 624 Ben-Dov, J. 689, 691 Bentzen, A. 32 Bergren, T. A. 728 Bergsma, J. S. 65, 69, 80, 89, 110, 192, 748 Berlinger, A. R. 931–32 Bernays, J. 7–9 Bernstein, M. J. 268, 330, 717–18, 742, 822, 850 Berquist, J. L. 360–61, 377 Berrin, S. L. 190 Best, S. 475 Bethge, H.-G. 876 Betz, H. D. 553, 565 Betz, O. 335 Beuken, W. A. M. 145 Beyer, K. 716–17 Beylot, R. 817 Bhayro, S. 639 Bianchi, U. 554 Bickerman, E. J. 527 Bingen, J. 545 Bjørndalen, A. J. 175, 182 Black, M. 515, 671–74, 681–82, 684, 687–88 Black, R. A. 886, 890, 895 Blanchot, M. 573 Blenkinsopp, J. 121, 136–39, 141, 146–47, 157–58, 170, 172–73, 180, 184, 195, 199, 360–61, 363, 367 Bloch, M. 457 Bloch, Y. 101 Bloch-Smith, E. 383 Block, D. I. 50 Blomberg, C. L. 822, 837 Bludau, A. 204 Boccaccini, G. 599, 655, 657, 669, 706–10, 748–49, 752, 766, 784 Boda, M. J. 592 Bodinger, M. 386 Boer, R. 738 Bokser, B. 481, 483–84 Bonnell, R. G. 115, 117 Booth, W. 222 Borbone, P. G. 23

993

Borger, R. 649 Boring, M. E. 862 Böttrich, C. 602 Bouchard, D. F. 573 Bourdieu, P. 472 Boussac, M.-F. 932 Bousset, W. 554, 556, 576 Boustan, R. S. 575 Bowden, J. 520, 873 Brandt, P. 804, 807 Brankaer, J. 876 Braun, H. 822 Braunert, H. 545 Brawley, R. 886 Brenk, F. E. 569–71 Briant, P. 925 Briggs, C. A. 155, 173 Brin, G. 593 Brit, B. 581 Brock, S. P. 728, 935 Brodie, T. L. 885 Brooke, G. J. 190, 208, 391, 393, 404, 442, 480, 482–84, 741–42, 744, 821, 825–26, 829, 832, 834, 836 Brooks, E. W. 936 Broshi, M. 253–54, 258, 260 Brosius, M. 919 Brotzman, E. R. 30 Brown, C. T. 867 Brown, F. 155 Brownlee, W. H. 391, 437 Bruce, F. F. 171–72, 186, 198, 833, 886 Bruckner, J. K. 58 Bruneau, P. 519, 531 Buber, S. 623, 633 Buckler, W. H. 928 Budde, K. 136 Budge, E. A. W. 114, 117–18, 132, 810, 813–15 Bülow-Jacobsen, A. 542 Burkes, S. 582 Burkett, D. 655 Burkitt, F. C. 926, 935 Buschmann, G. 867 Buth, R. 718 Byrskog, S. 295 Cairns, J. W. 550 Calder, W. M. 928 Calhoun, G. M. 921 Campbell, J. G. 335, 401–2, 741 Campenhausen, H. von 858, 869 Canaʾan, T. 98 Canter, D. 487

994

index of modern authors

Cargill, R. R. 275–81 Carmichael, C. M. 58 Carmignac, J. 750 Carney, T. F. 671 Carr, D. M. 66, 89, 133, 149, 648 Carriére, M. A. 934 Carroll, R. P. 134, 192 Carson, D. A. 743, 822, 827 Carswell, J. 259 Casey, E. S. 472 Cassuto, U. 49, 52 Cavell, S. 14 Certeau, M. de 471–72, 483, 487 Chain, M. 807 Chambon, A. 255, 278–81 Chance, J. B. 887, 896 Chapman, S. 863 Charles, R. H. 186, 592, 597, 613, 638, 707, 737, 777, 788, 807, 815 Charlesworth, J. H. 286, 292, 398, 480, 561, 593, 597, 707, 784 Chavel, S. 599 Chazon, E. 456–57, 477, 717, 766 Childs, B. S. 135, 182, 184–85, 192, 493 Chipman, J. 627 Clarysse, W. 541–42 Clements, R. A. 588, 717 Clements, R. E. 134–36, 138, 182, 185, 194–97, 199 Clifford, R. J. 121, 184 Clines, D. J. A. 370 Coblentz Bautch, K. 604, 650–51 Cockle, W. E. H. 921 Coggins, R. J. 535 Cohen, M. E. 101–2 Cohen, M. R. 624 Cohen, S. J. D. 621 Collins, A. Y. 553, 555, 563–64, 860, 862 Collins, J. J. 41, 121, 173, 177–79, 183–84, 186–87, 190, 201–2, 204, 219, 220–22, 225, 228, 233–38, 247, 373, 389, 429–31, 439, 444–45, 462, 475, 479, 538, 555–56, 563, 573, 574, 588, 657, 659, 663, 669, 708, 737, 739, 748–49, 754 Colpe, C. 553–54, 556–59, 563–64 Comfort, P. W. 873 Conzelmann, H. 883–84 Conder, C. R. 518 Cook, E. 398, 586 Corbin, H. 466 Corley, J. 496

Cosgrove, C. 898 Couliano, I. 555–56 Cowey, J. M. S. 537–38, 542 Cowley, A. E. 726 Cowley, R. W. 800–801, 803–7, 814 Coxon, A. H. 565 Coxon, P. W. 222 Crane, A. S. 307 Crane, R. S. 738 Crawford, D. 541, 546–47 Crawford, S. 276 Crawford, S. White 29, 257, 268, 347, 716–17, 744 Crichton, J. A. 697 Cross, F. M. 6, 29, 46, 209, 259, 269, 272, 362, 482, 515 Crowfoot, G. M. 256, 517 Crowfoot, J. W. 516–17 Croy, N. C. 861–62 Crummey, D. 807 Cryer, F. H. 835 Culler, J. 737 Cureton, W. 919, 929, 933 Currid, J. 124 Dahmen, U. 298 Dalrymple, T. 573 Danker, F. W. A. 861, 863, 865, 869 Daoud, M. 813 Dassmann, E. 553 Daube, D. 904 Davenport, G. L. 784 Davies, G. I. 133 Davies, P. R. 135 Davies, W. D. 823, 830, 863, 904 Davila, J. R. 386, 556, 652 De Long, K. P. 225 Debié, M. 936–37 Deist, F. E. 31, 32 Delcor, M. 173, 177, 186, 518 Dempsey, C. J. 142 Demsky, A. 510 Denis, A. M. 758 Deredge, M. G. 802 Derrida, J. 573 Detienne, M. 919 Dever, W. 40, 46 Devitt, A. J. 738 Di Lella, A. A. 204 Dieterich, A. 553 Dillmann, A. 697, 777 Dimant, D. 266–68, 408–13, 416, 418–19, 709, 717, 783, 785–86 Dinkler, E. 886, 893

index of modern authors Dirksen, P. 829 DiTommaso, L. 602, 753 Dittenberger, W. 558 Dobos, K. D. 773 Döderlein, J. C. 133 Doering, L. 383 Donceel, R. 255, 264 Donceel-Voûte, P. 255, 264 Donfried, K. P. 868 Doudna, G. L. 269, 272 Douglas, M. C. 450–51, 456–57 Drawnel, H. 578, 687, 689–90, 692, 903 Drazin, I. 382 Drijvers, H. J. W. 919, 931–32 Driver, D. 901 Driver, S. R. 27, 155, 186 Duff, D. 737 Duhm, B. 133–34, 178, 183 Dumbrill, R. 103 Dunn, J. D. G. 613 Dupont, J. 893 Dyck, C. J. 526 Ēganyan, Ō. 940–42 Ehrlich, A. B. 106 Ehrlich, Z. Ch. 530 Ehrman, B. 860 Eichhorn, J. G. 5, 8, 133 Einarson, B. 570 Eisser, G. 95 Eissfeldt, O. 35, 528 Eliade, M. 488, 554–55, 557, 649 Eliav, Y. Z. 630 Elledge, C. D. 289, 347, 349, 351, 353–54, 357 Elliger, K. 190 Elliot, J. K. 858, 862 Elliott, J. H. 658, 671 Ellis, E. E. 886, 889 Embry, B. 613 Endres, J. C. 604, 765, 768, 771, 773, 775, 777–79, 781, 784 Engemann, J. 553 Englund, R. K. 100 Ephʿal, I. 510, 524, 527 Epstein, I. 614 Erder, Y. 99 Eshel, E. 202, 379, 586, 716, 902 Eshel, H. 254, 258, 260, 335, 389, 408, 423, 509–10, 519–20, 522–24, 530–31 Eskenazi, T. C. 367 Evans, C. A. 294–95, 716–17, 784, 834, 889 Evans, J. M. 941

995

Fabry, H. J. 719, 836 Falivene, M. R. 542 Falk, D. K. 304, 716–17, 742, 822 Farkas, A. 646 Farmer, W. R. 624 Faulkner, R. O. 117, 131 Fechter, F. 364–66 Feneberg, M. 862 Fenske, W. 660 Fenton, J. C. 822 Fewell, D. N. 220 Fiaccadori, G. 813 Fiensy, D. A. 685 Finch, G. 761 Finkel, A. 833 Finkelstein, J. J. 104, 110 Finkelstein, L. 596 Fishbane, M. 170, 177, 191–92, 194–95, 198, 343, 555, 574, 623–24, 850 Fisher, C. S. 516 Fitzmyer, J. A. 386, 393, 437, 439, 493, 715–17, 723–24, 822, 890, 892 Fleming, D. E. 102–3, 105 Fletcher-Louis, C. 602, 613, 618 Flint, P. W. 153, 202, 297–98, 301, 305, 390–91, 800, 826, 833, 840 Florentin, M. 535 Floyd, M. H. 592 Flusser, D. 658, 717 Fohrer, G. 27 Fonrobert, C. E. 621 Fornberg, T. 860 Forster, E. M. 221 Foucault, M. 8, 13, 471–76, 478–79, 485–88, 573 Fowler, A. 738–39 Fox, M. V. 122–23, 129, 244 Fraade, S. D. 339 France, R. T. 862 Frankfort, H. 115 Frazer, J. G. 564 Fredricks, C. J. 59 Freedman, A. 740 Freedman, D. N. 45– 47, 796 Frerichs, E. 663 Frey, J. 578, 589, 784 Frick, F. S. 51, 62 Fried, L. S. 370 Friedlander, G. 605 Fritsch, E. 802, 818 Fritz, V. 49 Fröhlich, I. 637, 647, 649, 651 Frow, J. 739

996

index of modern authors

Frye, N. 460, 462 Frye, R. 188 Fuks, G. 533 Fung, Y. W. 56 Gagos, T. 538 Gallagher, R. 884 Galor, K. 253 Gamble, H. Y. 875, 928 García Martínez, F. 312–13,317, 336, 338, 348, 373–74, 385, 398, 431, 433, 439, 449, 473, 541, 578, 589, 591, 597, 657, 716–17, 745, 821–22, 835, 837 Garelli, P. 643 Geiger, A. 613 Gempf, C. 895 Genette, G. 870 Gennochio, B. 473–75, 486 George, A. R. 574, 643–45, 652 George, M. 472, 481, 487 Georgoudi, S. 919 Gera, D. 533 Gesche, P. D. 648 Gevirtz, S. 440 Gill, D. 895 Gillmayr-Bucher, S. 465 Ginsberg, H. L. 46, 170–74, 177, 184, 186, 189, 190, 220 Ginsburg, C. D. 151 Ginzberg, L. 605 Gitin, S. 748 Globe, A. 860 Glorie, F. 930 Goff, M. 588, 641 Golb, N. 255, 263 Goldman, Y. 302 Goldstein, J. A. 931, 933 Goodall, H. L. 40 Goodblatt, D. M. 372 Gordis, R. 95, 394 Görg, M. 189 Goshen-Gottstein, M. H. 28, 153, 177, 298 Gottwald, N. K. 362 Goudoever, J. van 98–99, 111 Goulder, M. 885 Grabbe, L. 386, 602, 613–14, 618, 669 Grafton, A. 8 Grant, F. C. 558 Grassi, J. A. 826 Gray, G. B. 184 Grayson, A. K. 559 Grebaut, S. 810–11, 814–15 Green, F. W. 823

Green, W. S. 663 Greenberg, M. 28 Greenfield, J. C. 902 Greengus, S. 102, 104–5 Gregory, A. F. 929 Grelot, P. 637, 647, 716–17 Griffiths, J. G. 118 Gropp, D. M. 522 Gross, K. 919 Grossman, M. L. 339, 372–73, 573 Gruen, E. S. 384 Grundmann, W. 863 Gundry, R. H. 827–28, 830, 866 Gunkel, H. 40, 145 Gunneweg, J. 264 Gurtner, D. M. 584 Gusdorf, G. 462 Haak, R. D. 592 Haas, V. 649–50 Habermehl, P. 553–55, 557–59, 563–64 Haenchen, E. 883–87, 896 Hagedorn, D. 525 Hagner, D. 863 Hahneman, G. M. 880–81 Haile, G. 807–09, 811 Hallo,W. W. 100, 103, 574 Halperin, D. 574, 610 Halpern-Amaru, B. 766–68, 770–71, 773–74, 776, 781, 789–92 Hamilton, V. P. 59, 61 Hanneken, T. R. 417–18, 423–24, 751–54 Hanson, A. E. 543 Hanson, P. D. 613, 638 Haran, M. 528–29, 928 Harden, J. M. 812 Harding, G. L. 255 Harkins, A. K. 455, 463, 604 Harlow, M. G. D. 538 Harnack, A. von 858 Harper, B. 38, 39 Harrington, D. J. 742 Harshav, B. 627 Hart, T. 901 Hartley, J. E. 94 Hartman, L. F. 204, 716 Hasan-Rokem, G. 632 Hastings, J. 807 Hata, G. 919 Hausmann, J. 836 Hay, D. M. 909–11 Hays, R. B. 66, 68 Hayward, R. 613

index of modern authors Head, P. M. 860 Heath, S. 573 Hecht, N. S. 542 Heckel, T. K. 871, 876 Hehn, J. 103 Heidegger, M. 472 Heinemann, J. 625, 631 Hellholm, D. 750, 860 Helm, P. 188 Helm, R. 602, 613, 618, 926 Helmer, C. 863 Hempel, C. 421, 462 Hempel, J. 717 Hendel, R. 6–7, 28 Hengel, M. 520, 873, 878 Hengstl, J. 541 Hennig, D. 545 Henten, J. W. van 542 Henze, M. 170–72, 184, 192, 745, 832, 850 Herbert, E. D. 285, 289 Hermann, J. 545 Hermission, H.-J. 135 Heschel, A. J. 590 Heschel, S. 627 Hess, R. S. 649 Hezser, C. 922 Hilhorst, A. 741 Hill, C. E. 877–78, 929 Hillel, V. 585–86 Hills, D. 14 Himmelfarb, M. 425, 427, 574, 610–11, 621–23, 628–34, 747, 751, 781 Hirsch, E. D. 737 Hirshfeld, Y. 255, 263 Hitzig, F. 188–89 Hoenig, S. 101 Höffken, P. 140 Hoffner, H. A. 574 Hogan, K. M. 538 Høgenhaven, J. 138 Holladay, C. H. 574 Holladay, C. R. 518, 742 Holladay, W. L. 222 Hollander, H. W. 903 Holm-Nielsen, S. 450–52, 464 Hölscher, G. 184 Holum, K. G. 630 Honigman, S. 537–38, 542 Hopkins, D. D. 464 Horgan, M. P. 435 Horovitz, H. S. 590, 593, 595–99 Horowitz, W. 96, 102 Horsch, J. 526

997

Horsley, R. 575 Horst, P. W. van der 542 Hort, F. J. A. 870, 873–74 Housman, A. E. 34 Howard, G. 918 Hubbard, D. A. 812 Hughes, J. A. 171, 393–95, 463 Hulst, A. R. 51 Hultgård, A. 555–56 Hultgren, S. 335, 338, 451 Hultkrantz, Å. 556 Humbert, J.-B. 255, 278–81, 473 Humphreys, W. L. 220 Hurowitz, V. A. 188, 198 Hurst, L. D. 907 Hurvitz, A. 381, 796 Hyland, C. F. 46 Ibba, G. 599, 748, 766, 784 Ilberg, J. 923 Invernizzi, A. 932 Ireland, K. 221, 229 Isaac, B. 533 Isaac, E. 809–10, 815–16 Isbell, C. D. 440 Jackson, D. R. 641 Jaffee, M. S. 621 Jammer, M. 472 Janowski, B. 624 Janssens, Y. 758 Japhet, S. 73–74, 77, 79, 80 Jaubert, A. 99, 771 Jefferson, A. 463 Jellinek, A. 629 Jensen, P. 103 Jenson, R. 506 Jepsen, A. 369–70 Jeremias, A. 103 Jeremias, G. 450–51, 455–58, 460–61 Jervell, J. 889–91, 897 Johnson, L. T. 885, 889–90, 907, 912 Johnson, P. S. 500 Jones, B. W. 247 Jones, C. P. 564 Jones, H. S. 857 Jong, M. J. de 180 Jonge, H. J. de 880 Jonge, M. de 559, 903 Joosten, J. 29 Kahana, M. I. 590 Kahle, P. 26–28, 716 Kaiser, O. 35, 136, 183, 189, 197

998

index of modern authors

Kalluveettil, P. 268 Kalverkämper, H. 465 Kalmin, R. 621–22 Kaminsky, J. 538 Kampen, J. 821–22 Karasik, C. 557 Karst, J. 514, 517 Käsemann, E. 847 Kasher, A. 533, 542 Kass, L. R. 49–50, 52, 56–57 Kasser, R. 875, 876 Katz, S. T. 622 Katz, Y. 526 Kaufmann, S. A. 382 Kayatz, C. 119–21 Kazen, T. 848 Kee, H. C. 444, 890 Keel, O. 120, 122, 129 Kelhoffer, J. A. 860 Kenyon, K. M. 516–17 Kierkegaard, S. 3, 21 Kingsbury, J. D. 863 Kister, M. 317, 329, 593–94, 597 Kittel, B. 464 Klauck, H.-J. 886 Klawans, J. 848 Klein, R. W. 29, 32–33 Kline, L. L. 598 Kloppenborg, J. S. 123 Knauf, E. A. 53 Knibb, M. A. 170, 192, 380, 430, 444–45, 475, 561, 613, 615, 657–58, 687–88, 707–8, 783 Knohl, Y. 108, 451, 625 Knoppers, G. N. 360–61 Knowles, M. 377 Knox, W. L. 121, 886 Kobelski, P. J. 386 Koenig, J. 191 Koester, C. R. 902, 908, 912, 914 Koester, H. 858–60, 866–68, 928 Koet, B. J. 833 Köhler, W. 870 Kolin, P. C. 41, 44 Kollmann, B. 706 Köster, H. see Koester, H. Köszeghy, M. 773 Kottsieper, I. 320 Koyfman, S. A. 850 Kraemer, B. 525 Kraft, R. A. 655, 742 Kramer, S. N. 641–42 Kratz, R. G. 180, 183, 320, 324, 326, 329 Kreuzer, S. 537

Kruse, T. 538 Kugel, J. L. 7, 50, 414–15, 417, 436, 443, 715–18, 750, 753, 757, 760–61, 787, 796–97 Kugler, R. A. 379, 537–58, 551, 903 Kuhn, H.-W. 450, 459 Kulik, A. 604 Kümmel, W. G. 35 Kvanvig, H. S. 578, 651 Laansma, J. 901 Labat, R. 102 Lachmann, K. 6– 9 Lacocque, A. 238, 247 Lacy, P. de 570 Lagarde, P. A. de 26–27 Lake, K. 935 Lambert, D. 427 Lambert, W. G. 557, 643–46, 716 Lampe, G. W. H. 858 Lanckau, J. 833 Landmesser, C. 863 Lane, W. L. 907 Lange, A. 268, 297–98, 302, 308, 345, 426, 578, 589, 592, 641, 719, 725, 727, 731, 751, 784 Lansberger, B. 94, 100–102 Lapin, H. 630 Lapp, N. L. 515 Lapp, N. R. 512, 516 Lapp, P. W. 515 Lau, W. 141 Laughlin, R. M. 557 Laurence, R. 655 Layton, B. 561, 567 Leader, Z. 460 Lebram, J. C. H. 198 Lefebvre, H. 470–71, 481, 487 Legaspi, M. C. 459 Leivestad, R. 656 Lemaire, A. 264 Lemmelijn, B. 27 Lenski, G. E. 670, 675–80, 685–86 Leonard, J. M. 343, 345 Lesch, J. P. 537 Lesko, B. S. 114 Leslau, W. 583, 697, 777, 789 Lester, G. B. 170–72, 174, 176, 178, 182–84, 186, 198 Leuchter, M. 65, 88 Levenson, J. D. 62, 482, 500–501, 505 Lévi, I. 628–29, 631, 634 Levin, L. 590 Levine, B. A. 108, 481

index of modern authors Levine, L. I. 621 Levinson, B. 65, 71, 77, 79, 87–88, 170, 358 Lewin, J. E. 870 Lewis, T. J. 383 Lewy, H. 93, 95–97, 101–3 Lewy, J. 93–97, 101–4 Licht, J. 459 Lichtenberger, H. 602, 641, 719 Lichtheim, M. 116–17 Liddell, H. G. 857 LiDonnici, L. 716 Lieber, A. 716 Lieberman, S. 596, 850 Lied, L. I. 487 Lim, T. H. 324, 573, 737 Lindars, B. 656, 825 Lindemann, A. 867 Lindijer, C. H. 885 Lipscomb, W. L. 943 Littell, F. H. 526 Loader, W. 767–68, 774, 777, 781 Lohmeyer, E. 861, 863 Long, B. 41 Lösch, S. 886 Lourié, B. 602 Louw, J. P. 858 Lovejoy, A. O. 459 Lüderitz, G. 542 Lusini, G. 813 Lust, J. 307 Luz, U. 823, 826–27, 830, 833, 836, 863 Lyon, D. G. 516 Lyons, M. A. 66, 69–70, 170 MacDonald, D. R. 66–68 MacDonald, N. 901 Machiela, D. A. 509, 586, 715, 717, 721 Machinist, P. 172 Mackie, S. D. 901, 909–11 MacRae, G. W. 902, 904–8, 912 Maehler, H. 547 Magen, Y. 255, 282, 522, 531–32, 534 Magness, J. 253–55, 261–62, 276–77, 280, 283, 473, 517, 748 Maher, M. 605 Main, E. 338 Maisel, D. 625 Malkin, I. 541 Mallen, P. 886, 890 Mandell, C. 573 Manns, F. 836

999

Marchand, S. L. 459 Marcus, J. 860 Marcus, R. 514 Maresch, K. 537–38, 542 Marguerat, D. 885, 890 Margulies, M. 594, 596 Marti, K. 179, 183, 197 Martin, C. 883, 886 Martin, M. 453 Martin, V. 875 Martyn, J. L. 860 Marxsen, W. 861 Mason, E. F. 901, 904 Mason, R. 172, 182 Mason, S. 537 Massebieau, E. 827 Matera, F. J. 825 Mays, J. 503 Mayser, E. 547 McCarter, P. K. 25, 30, 32, 35, 480–81 McCoskey, D. E. 541 McDonald, D. 66–67 McDonald, L. M. 880 McDonough, S. M. 901 McDowell, M. 774, 782 McGann, J. J. 459 McKane, W. 106 McKinney, M. 41, 43 McNamara, M. 437 Medico, H. del. 716 Medway, P. 740 Meeks, W. 581 Meier, J. P. 498, 504, 839, 845, 854–55, 908, 929 Meier, S. A. 440 Melbourne, B. 886, 888 Menken, M. J. J. 831, 834, 837 Menn, E. M. 789–91 Mertens, A. 190 Meshorer, Y. 510 Metso, S. 379, 489, 835 Metzger, B. M. 860, 879–80 Meyer, M. 876 Meyer, M. W. 645 Meyer, R. 717 Meyer, R. P. F. 646 Meyer, W. 608 Meyers, C. L. 362, 627, 768 Meyers, E. M. 627 Michaelis, W. 866 Michel, C., 100 Mikre-Selassie, G. A. 804 Mildenberg, L. 510 Miler, J. 827–28, 834

1000

index of modern authors

Milgrom, J. 77, 82, 98, 101, 107–10, 380, 383, 617–18, 796 Milik, J. T. 99, 286, 291, 374, 420, 454, 518, 522, 531, 586, 638, 655–57, 667, 687, 707, 709–10, 712, 767 Millar, F. 515, 926 Miller, C. R. 740 Miller, P. D. 49, 53 Milligan, G. 871 Miner, E. R. 221 Mirsky, M. J. 622 Mitchell, C. 738 Mitchell, C. W. 918 Mitchell, D. C. 625–26, 631 Mitchell, M. W. 929 Mitchell, W. E. 364–65 Mittman-Richert, U. 268 Modrzejewski, J. M. 542, 550–51 Moessner, D. P. 885, 891, 896 Moffitt, D. M. 910 Moll, S. 929 Møller, P. W. 291 Momigliano, A. 513, 521–22 Moore, T. 890 Montgomery, J. A. 173, 178–79, 183, 188, 204–5, 209, 228 Morawe, G. 450–51 Moreau, P. 922 Morenz, S. 115 Moreshet, M. 594 Morgenstern, J. 94, 98 Morgenthaler, R. 859 Morray-Jones, C. R. A. 612 Mosshammer, A. A. 925 Most, G. W. 8 Motovu, J. 803 Moule, C. F. D. 862 Moulton, J. H. 871 Moutsoulas, E. 927 Moyise, S. 834 Mulder, M. 829 Müller, H.-P. 191 Murdoch, B. 940 Murphy, R. 120 Murphy-O’Connor, J. 402 Naʾaman, N. 529 Naeh, S. 107 Nagy, G. 12 Najman, H. 13–14, 19, 349, 358, 367, 456, 482, 578–80, 745, 747, 755 Nelson, R. D. 910 Neugebauer, O. 687–89, 692–93, 698 Neusner, J. 660, 663, 706, 717

Newman, J. H. 456, 835 Newsom, C. 266, 463, 476, 584–85, 660, 737, 739–40, 768 Neyrey, J. H. 670, 684 Niccum, C. 883, 888 Nicholson, E. W. 529 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 503, 560, 577, 613, 638, 649, 655–63, 669, 697, 706–11, 713, 716–17, 728, 742, 748, 799, 800–801, 814 Nicol, G. G. 169 Nida, E. A. 858 Niditch, S. 768 Niederwimmer, K. 866 Nietzsche, F. 8–13, 21 Nihan, C. 65–66, 79, 80, 83, 107–108 Noble, B. 883 Noegel, S. B. 191, 652 Nöldeke, Th. 187 Nongbri, B. 874 North, J. 558 Novakovic, L 398 Novick, T. 589, 596 Nussbaum, M. C. 565 O’Brien, K. S. 446 Økland, J. 473 Oliver, I. W. 783 Oliver, R. P. 871 Olney, J. 462 Olson, D. C. 613 Olyan, S. M. 503 Omanson, R. L. 860 Orlov, A. A. 601–2, 604, 612, 940 Oswalt, J. N. 141–42 O’Toole, R. F. 885 Otto, E. 51, 54, 65, 77, 358 Pace, S. 204 Paganini, S. 341–42, 346, 357–58 Panaino, A. 652 Pangle, T. L. 58, 61 Paran, M. 109 Pardee, D. 54 Parker, D. C. 872 Parpola, S. 188–89 Parry, D. W. 292 Parsons, M. 888, 895 Patlagean, E. 622 Patrich, J. 258 Paul, S. M. 591, 595, 600 Pears, A. 38, 47 Pearson, L. 513 Pederson, J. 500

index of modern authors Peleg, Y. 255, 282 Penner, J. 585 Pennington, J. T. 901 Perdue, L. G. 120 Peremans, W. 547 Pérez Fernández, M. 330 Perrin, N. 457 Perruchon, J. 810, 814 Pesce, M. 555 Peters, D. 585 Petersen, A. K. 741 Petersen, S. 873–74, 876 Peterson, E. 929 Pettinato, G. 652 Pfann, S. 263, 267, 271–72 Pfeiffer, R. H. 27 Philonenko, M. 555, 608, 616 Philonenko-Sayar, B. 608, 616 Piovanelli, P. 669 Piper, O. 859 Pirson, R. 56 Plümacher, E. 889 Pope, M. H. 596 Popkes, W. 663 Popović, M. 647 Porten, B. 317, 329, 726 Porter, R. J. 896 Porter, S. E. 393–94, 829, 834 Portier-Young, A. 496 Posner, E. 919–21, 927, 936 Poynder, A. 158 Pratscher, W. 867 Price, S. 558 Pritchard, J. B. 557 Procksch, O. 180 Puech, É. 291, 314, 323–24, 335, 337, 386, 449, 454, 522, 586, 638, 822, 836 Qedar, S. 510 Qimron, E. 267, 309, 317, 319, 326, 329–30, 476, 486 Rabbinovicz, R. N. N. 623 Rabin, C. 291, 788 Rad, G. von 120, 177, 186, 190 Rajak, T. 384 Rappaport, U. 531, 533–34 Ravid, L. 761 Ravitzky, A. 526 Redditt, P. L. 219, 592 Reed, W. L. 460 Reeves, J. C. 641, Reeves, J. S. 109 Reeves, K. 884, 890

1001

Regev, E. 107, 848 Reif, J. A. 510 Reinach, S. 927 Reinbold, W. 706 Reisner, G. A. 516 Reitz, H. W. M. 398 Rendtorff, R. 141–42 Ringe, S. H. 768 Ringgren, H. 123–24 Rizzolo, N. 325 Robbins, V. K. 670–71, 686 Roberts, B. J. 27 Roberts, J. J. M. 134 Robertson, D. A. 46 Robinson, O. F. 550 Rochberg, F. 591 Rofé, A. 108 Rogerson, J. W. 613 Rohrbaugh, R. L. 670 Roitman, A. 715 Rolfe, J. C. 513 Rollinger, R. 188 Rom-Shiloni, D. 360 Römheld, D. 641 Rosenthal, F. 204, 235 Rothfuchs, W. 827 Rowekamp, G. 918 Rowlandson, J. 544 Rowley, H. H. 220, 707 Royo, M. 922 Rubinkiewicz, R. 560, 609, 613, 616 Rudolph, W. 367 Ruiten, J. T. A. G. M. van 717 Russel, D. S. 192–93 Rutgers, L. V. 830 Said, E. 554 Sanders, E. P. 627 Sanders, J. A. 298, 456, 829, 889 Sanderson, J. E. 824 Sarna, N. M. 52–53, 89, 927–28 Satlow, M. L. 368 Sawyer, J. F. A. 137–38, 146 Schäfer, P. 623–24, 630, 632 Schama, S. 469 Schams, C. 575, 578, 585 Schenck, K. L. 901, 914 Schiffer, M. B. 276 Schiffman, L. H. 267, 282, 335–36, 348–49, 351–53, 376, 379, 621, 646, 715, 744, 755, 784, 822 Schloen, H. D. 377 Schmauch, W. 863 Schmidt F. 483

1002

index of modern authors

Schmidt, K. M. 892–93 Schmithals, W. 862 Schmitt, R. 383 Schmitz-Emans, M. 458–59 Schneemelcher, W. 919 Schneider, G. 861, 870 Schniedewind, W. M. 575 Schoedel, W. R. 867, 926–29 Schofield, A. 389, 461, 479, 489, 659, 661 Schuller, E. 292, 302–3, 306, 449–50, 454, 522, 587, 822 Schuller, W. 547 Schultz, R. L. 170, 175, 192–93 Schürer, E. 515, 517 Schwartz, B. J. 107 Schwartz, D. R. 294, 398, 521, 597, 887 Schwartz, E. 187 Schwartz, S. 534, 621 Schwiderski, D. 726 Scot, R. 857 Scott, J. 895 Scott, R. B. Y. 123–24, 129 Scullion, J. J. 141 Scurlock, J. A. 645 Segal, A. F. 554, 556, 558–59, 574 Segal, J. B. 918 Segal, M. 421, 426, 589, 599, 718, 744–45, 748–50, 760, 784–89, 792–97 Segbroeck, F. van 823 Seeligmann, I. L. 170–71, 177, 189–90 Seitz, C. R. 133–34, 139, 185, 196, 493 Sekine, S. 141–42 Sellin, E. 27 Seow, C. L. 182 Shanks, H. 257 Shaper, J. 592 Sharp, C. J. 751 Shauf, S. 883, 895 Shavit, Y. 268 Sheehan, J. 459 Sheldrake, P. 471–72, 487 Shelton, J. C. 543–44 Shemesh, A. 420, 591, 784 Shepherd Jr., W. H. 221, 885, 890 Shinan, A. 791–92 Shinn, G. 883 Shupak, N. 121 Sickinger, J. P. 919 Silberman, L. H. 190 Silverman, D. P. 116 Simon, S. 573 Skeat, T. C. 875, 877, 880 Skehan, P. W. 298, 305, 824 Skemer, D. C. 918

Skemp, V. 496 Skinner, J. 59 Smallwood, E. M. 542 Smelik, K. A. D. 124 Smend, R. 27 Smith, A. 883 Smith, C. R. 823 Smith, J. Z. 469, 471–72 Smith, M. 371 Smith, P. A. 141 Soares Prabhu, G. M. 827, 830 Soden, W. von 100 Soja, E. 470–71, 477, 479, 487 Sommer, B. 170, 192–93, 343–44, 354 Southwood, C. H. 24 Spaer, A. 510 Sparks, H. F. D. 559, 788 Speiser, E. A. 60, 557, 559 Spencer, C. C. J. 41 Spencer, F. S. 884–85, 887–88 Sperber A. 382 Squires, J. 898 Stacey, D. 265 Stackert, J. 65, 72–75, 77, 79, 82, 107, 109 Stade, B. 188–189 Stanley, C. D. 393 Stansell, G. 180 Stanton, G. N. 827, 831, 837, 879, 881 Steck, O. H. 26, 30, 32, 35, 140–41, 146–47, 190 Stegemann, H. 262, 272, 285, 317, 326, 329, 335, 449–50, 482 Stein, B. 632 Steiner, R. C. 188, 920 Steinmetz, D. 588 Stelzig, E. 463 Stemberger, G. 850 Stendahl, K. 827–28, 830–31 Sterling, G. E. 588, 892, 902, 904–8, 912, 914 Stern, A. 512 Stern, D. 622 Stern, E. 509 Stern, M. 513, 525 Sternberg, M. 198 Steudel, A. 335–37, 339, 706 Steussy, M. J. 229 Stipp, H.-J. 302 Stökl ben Ezra, D. 271–72, 602, 609–10, 613–14, 914, 916 Stol, M. 650 Stone, M. E. 583, 585–86, 607, 656, 658, 728, 742, 766, 902, 939–40, 943 Strack, H. L. 850

index of modern authors Strange, J. F. 264 Strauss, P. L. 804 Strecker, G. 861 Strelan, R. 885 Strocka, V. M. 547 Stromberg, J. 197 Stroumsa, G. 602 Strugnell, J. 267, 309, 317, 329–30, 339, 476, 486 Stuckenbruck, L. T. 429, 482, 638, 641, 657, 705, 707–11, 713 Stuhlmacher, P. 624, 861, 882 Sukenik, E. L. 449, 453, 462, 467, 516 Sundberg, Jr., A. C. 880 Sussmann, Y. 309 Svartvik, J. 848 Swales, J. 739–40 Swanson, D. D. 341–42, 346–49, 351, 353–56, 484 Swartwout, S. 41, 44 Sweeney, M. 136, 149, 173, 348, 351–53 Swoboda, M. 602 Szörényi, A. 190 Tabor, J. D. 556 Tabori, Y. 510 Tadmor, H. 509–10, 527 Tal, A. 535 Talbert, C. H. 574, 892 Talmon, S. 28, 203, 209, 298, 384 Tamási, B. 419, 424 Tannehill, R. 883–84, 887, 896 Tatʿewacʿi, G. 940 Taylor, J. 253, 257, 260, 270, 282 Tcherikover, A. 515, 706 Tedla, T. I. 803 Teeter, E. 115–117 Testuz, M. 771 Theodor, J. 594, 631 Thomas, A. 802–3 Thomas, R. 920 Thomas, S. I. 573, 578–79, 587 Thompson, D. 541–42 Thompson, E. M. 871 Thompson, J. W. 908, 913 Thompson, T. L. 835 Thomson, R. W. 932, 934 Thorton, T. C. G. 887 Tigay, J. H. 642–43, 652 Tigchelaar, E. J. C. 313, 317, 320, 373–74, 385, 398, 431, 433, 439, 449, 466, 597, 657 Timpanaro, S. 6, 8 Tishby, I. 619

1003

Tobin, V. A. 114–16 Tooman, W. A. 171, 198 Toorn, K. van der 79, 383, 575 Torrey, C. C. 931 Tov, E. 25–26, 29–30, 33, 151, 153, 256, 266–67, 286, 292, 403, 454, 528, 710, 718–19, 744, 748, 822, 824, 829, 833 Townsend, P. 622 Traina, G. 932 Trebolle Barrera, Julio 30, 151, 822, 837 Trocmé, E. 885, 887 Trombley, F. R. 918 Tromp, J. 940 Tropper, J. 697 Troxel, R. L. 738 True, M. A. 40–42 Tsumura, D. T. 649 Tuan, Y.-F. 471 Tucker, G. 590 Tuckett, C. M. 929 Tur-Sinai, N. H. 100 Tyson, J. 897 Tzoref, S. L. 715 Udoh, F. E. 627 Ullendorff, E. 612, 812 Ulmann-Margalit, E. 254, 270 Ulmer, R. 625 Ulrich, E. C. 29, 153, 201, 203–4, 208, 305, 324, 390, 824, 830, 840 Ulrich, H. 613 Unnik, W. C. van 885–86, 890 Urbach, E. E. 590 Van Dyke Parunak, H. 175 Van Seters, J. 71 VanderKam, J. C. 15, 94, 102, 109, 191, 201, 254, 272, 285, 287, 297–98, 339, 345, 369, 384, 409–13, 417–18, 420–21, 428–29, 481–82, 538, 560–61, 563, 573, 577–78, 589, 591, 593–94, 601, 622, 637, 639, 651, 656–58, 669, 671, 691, 697, 707, 716, 721, 731, 737, 741, 743, 745–52, 757–59, 766–67, 771, 777–78, 783–84, 788, 799, 800, 821–22, 825–26, 833–34, 839–40, 841, 883, 901, 903, 941 Vaux, R. de 253, 255–58, 260, 263–64, 266, 270, 272, 278–81, 283, 717 Veenhof, K. R. 100–101 Venter, P. M. 219 Verheyden, J. 835, 880 Vermeylen, J. 133

1004

index of modern authors

Vermès, G. 375, 431, 433, 515, 716, 741–43 Vidas, M. 622 Vieillefond, J.-R. 934 Vines, M. E. 740 Viviano, B. T. 822 Volz, P. 106 Von Boxel, P. 765 Wacholder, B. Z. 519, 646, 716–17, 825 Walck, L. W. 669 Wallace, D. B. 861 Wallis, G. 50, 55 Wallraff, M. 926 Walters, S. D. 28 Waltke, B. K. 59 Warren, A. 738 Watkins, C. 574 Watson, W. G. E. 822, 837 Watt, J. W. 918 Webster, B. 269, 271–72 Weeks, N. 641 Weinberg, J. P. 365 Weinfeld, M. 87, 89, 110, 529 Weingreen, J. 27, 151 Weiser, A. 173 Weiss, R. 158 Weissenberg, H. von 309–10, 313–14, 317, 319–20, 324, 328–30, 334–35, 339 Welch, A. C. 511 Wellek, R. 459, 738 Welles, C. B. 931–32 Wellhausen, J. 192 Wendt, K. 810–11, 815–18 Wenell, K. 473, 487 Wenham, G. J. 49, 59 Wenthe, D. O. 203 Werman, C. 408, 419, 421, 423, 587, 589, 591, 716, 746 Wertheimer, S. A. 629, 631 West, K. 38, 39 Westbrook, R. 110 Westcott, B. F. 870, 873–74, 879 Westenholz, J. G. 652 Westermann, C. 49, 60, 142 White, J. L. 541 Whybray, R. N. 124 Widengren, G. 554–55, 587 Wieder, N. 480, 482 Wildberger, H. 139, 153–57, 173, 180 Williams, C. S. C. 892 Williamson, H. G. M. 133, 135, 140, 148, 180, 186, 194–95, 743, 827

Williamson, R. 914 Wilson, E. 269 Wilson, G. H. 219, 222–23, 225–26, 298 Wilson, R. McL. 919 Wilson, S. G. 890 Winter, B. 895 Wintermute, O. S. 576 Wise, M. O. 312, 341–42, 346, 348, 351, 353, 355, 398, 451, 586, 754 Witherington, III, B. 885, 890, 893, 895 Wittgenstein, L. 739 Wolf, F. A. 5, 8, 10 Wolfson, E. R. 466–67 Wolters, A. 257 Wondmagegnehu, A. 803 Woude, A. S. van der 338, 385 Wright, B. G. 747 Wright, C. J. H. 363 Wright, D. P. 796 Wright, G. E. 512 Wright, J. E. 583 Wright, J. L. 592 Wright, R. B. 295 Wurst, G. 876 Würthwein, E. 30, 35, 151 Wybrow, C. 50 Wyrick, J. 456–57 Wyschogrod, M. 505–06 Yadin, Y. 93, 99, 271, 341–42, 346, 348, 351–53, 355–56, 484, 716–18 Yardeni, A. 267–68, 309, 726 Yiftach-Firanko, U. 550 Youtie, H. C. 543 Yuval, I. J. 627, 631 Zadok, R. 234 Zahn, M. M. 342, 358, 741, 744 Zahn, T. 936 Zakovitch, Y. 198, 791–92 Zangenberg, J. 253 Zausich, K. Th. 188 Zayadine, F. 516 Zellentin, H. 625 Zetzel, J. E. G. 8 Zevit, Z. 511 Zeytʿunyan, A. 940–42 Ziv, Y. 98 Zobel, H. J. 836 Zucker, F. 545 Zuckerman, C. 542