Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded

Citation preview

Homeland and Exile

Supplements to

Vetus Testamentum Edited by the Board of the Quarterly h.m. barstad – r.p. gordon – a. hurvitz – g.n. knoppers a. van der kooij – a. lemaire – c.a. newsom – h. spieckermann j. trebolle barrera – h.g.m. williamson

VOLUME 130

ii

OASI/BRIL/GALI/9789004178892/23-07-2009

60

chapter two

Professor Bustenay Oded

Homeland and Exile Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded

Edited by

Gershon Galil, Mark Geller and Alan Millard

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Homeland and exile : biblical and ancient Near Eastern studies in honour of Bustenay Oded / edited by Gershon Galil, Mark Geller, and Alan Millard. p. cm. — (Vetus Testamentum. Supplements ; v. 130) Includes index. ISBN 978-90-04-17889-2 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible O.T.—History of Biblical events. 2. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 3. Jews—History—To 70 A.D. 4. Assyrians—History. 5. Exile (Punishment)— Middle East—History—To 1500. 6. Middle East—History—To 622. 7. Middle East— Civilization—To 622. I. Oded, Bustenay. II. Galil, Gershon. III. Geller, Mark. IV. Millard, A. R. (Alan Ralph) V. Title. VI. Series. BS1197.H585 2009 221.9'5—dc22 2009031418

ISSN 0083-5889 ISBN 978 90 04 17889 2 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by 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. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

Preface ................................................................................................. Works by Professor Bustenay Oded ............................................... Abbreviations .....................................................................................

ix xi xvii

PART ONE

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES Exile and Forced Labour in Bêt Har’oš: Remarks on a Recently Discovered Moabite Inscription ................................... Bob Becking

3

Literary-Critical Issues in the Hebrew Bible from an Assyriological Perspective: Literary-Ideological Alterations ..... Mordechai Cogan

13

Ardiya, an Eanna Temple Prebendary ............................................. Muhammad Dandamayev Trumpet Snails and Purple Snails as an Indication of the Transfer of Religion and Technology in the EasternMediterranean Region ..................................................................... Manfried Dietrich

29

35

An Elamite Deportee ........................................................................... Betina Faist

59

The Assyrian Words for “(Foot) Soldier” ........................................ Frederick Mario Fales

71

Appropriation of Land by Officials in the Neo-Assyrian Period ................................................................................................ Gershon Galil

95

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contents

A Monument to Imperial Control – Literary Observations on the Thompson Prism of Esarhaddon (Nineveh A) ................. Victor Avigdor Hurowitz

121

Tribute or Looting in Samaria and Jerusalem: Shoshenq in Jerusalem? ....................................................................................... André Lemaire

167

A New Look at the End of the Assyrian Empire ......................... Sarah C. Melville

179

Assyria, Aramaeans and Aramaic ................................................... Allan R. Millard

203

Sîn-šarru-iškun and Ezida in Calah ............................................... Jamie Novotny and Greta Van Buylaere

215

Positive and Negative Human Types in the Egyptian Wisdom Literature ......................................................................................... Nili Shupak A “Dinner at the Palace” during Nebuchadnezzar’s Reign ........ David B. Weisberg

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PART TWO

BIBLICAL STUDIES A Possible Terminus ad Quem for the Deuteronomistic Legislation. A Fresh Look at Deut. 17:16 .................................. Rainer Albertz

271

The Book of Judges – Dating and Meaning .................................. Yairah Amit

297

Did the Jews Worship Idols in Babylonia? ................................... Adele Berlin

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contents

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Cain and the Kenites ......................................................................... John Day

335

Tobit in Galilee .................................................................................. Devorah Dimant

347

To Stop Nehemiah from Building the Jerusalem Wall – Jewish Aristocrats Triggered an Economic Crisis ................... Joseph Fleishman

361

The Valley of Elah Battle and the Duel of David with Goliath: Between History and Artistic Theological Historiography .... Moshe Garsiel

391

David and Abishag: The Purpose of 1 Kings 1:1–4 ..................... Richard S. Hess The Historical Setting of Zephaniah’s Oracles Against the Nations (Zeph. 2: 4–15) ............................................................... Dan’el Kahn

427

439

Biblical Narrative and Historical Method ..................................... Zecharia Kallai

455

The Road Not Taken: Wellhausen and Assyriology .................... Peter Machinist

469

Rameses II and the Exodus: A Case of Mistaken Identity ......... Eugene H. Merrill

533

Anti-Achaemenid Propaganda in Deuteronomy ......................... Eckart Otto

547

The Book of Joshua and the Existence of a Hexateuch .............. Hartmut N. Rosel

559

Ethically Cultured Interpretations: The Case of Eglon’s Murder (Judges 3) ......................................................................... Jack M. Sasson

571

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contents

The Prayer for the Restoration of the Israelite Kingdom in the Book of Micah – Literary Analysis and the Historical Background .................................................................................... Shmuel Vargon Index of Authors ................................................................................ Index of Cuneiform Sources ............................................................ Index of Old Testament References ...............................................

597

619 630 634

PREFACE

This volume is a scholarly tribute to Bustenay Oded’s distinguished career from some of his many contemporaries, colleagues, and former students who not only admire and are constantly inspired by his achievements, but also count him as a friend. Professor Oded, one of the leading scholars of the History of Ancient Israel, was born in Jerusalem in 1933. At the age of 21 he began his studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem in the departments of Bible and Jewish History. In 1964–1965 he was a research student at SOAS in London where he studied with D. J. Wiseman and H. W. F. Saggs. In 1967 he received his Ph.D. from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. His dissertation, written under the supervision of B. Mazar and A. Malamat, was entitled Israelite Transjordan during the Monarchic Age. Oded began his teaching career as an instructor in the department of Jewish History at the University of Haifa in 1966. Four years later he became Lecturer, and in 1973 Senior Lecturer. In 1975 he was appointed Associate Professor, and in 1981 he became full Professor. He retired in 2002. Oded is a captivating teacher. Illustrative of his contribution to teaching is his four volume work on the History of Israel and Judah, published by the Open University (The History of Israel during the First Temple Period, I–IV [2nd revised and augmented ed.; Raanana, 2007–2008, Hebrew]). Oded was also active in academic administration serving in 1974 as the academic head of the Tel-Hai College. At the University of Haifa, he was Chairman of the Department of Jewish History (1975–1977), and Dean of the Graduate School (1983–1986). Oded filled positions as Research Fellow and Visiting Professor at many important institutions in Europe and the USA. In 1972 he was Research Fellow at the Altorientalisches Seminar in the University of Tübingen; in 1973 he was Visiting Professor at the University of Texas. In 1982–1983 he was invited by Prof. M. Haran to occupy the post of Research Fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem; and in 1987–1988, he was Visiting Professor at Johns Hopkins University and at College Park, University of Maryland. In 1998/9 he was Visiting Professor at SOAS in London, and in 2000 at the Department of Religious Studies at Waicato University,

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Hamilton, New Zealand. In 2002 he was Visiting Professor at Boston University. Oded became well known to the scholarly world for his monograph Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979), having already published a range of essays in English and Hebrew in journals and volumes of collected articles. His second notable monograph appeared in 1992: War, Peace and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden). This was the fruit of his wide reading in Assyrian texts and thoughtful analysis of the attitudes they present. His soon to be published monograph on The Early History of the Babylonian Exile (8th–6th Centuries BCE), (Hebrew) promises to be a major contribution to important, highly debated questions concerning the fate of exiles from the Land of Israel after the consecutive falls of the northern and southern kingdoms, their personal and communal life in foreign lands, and their contribution to the reconstitution of the community in Judea under Persian rule. Through his studies with B. Mazar, A. Malamat and H. Tadmor in Jerusalem, and with D. J. Wiseman and H. W. F. Saggs in London, he obtained a sound grounding for research in the history of ancient Israel and of Assyria. His bibliography reveals how extensively he pursued that field, both in contributing essays on aspects of history and geography and in writing articles for reference books and other works directed at Israeli students and general readers. His writings have explored newly available texts as well as re-evaluating evidence from those long known; he has not held back from taking a stand in recent controversies, notably on the reality of biblical history. The most important characteristic of Bustenay Oded’s work is the ability to assess the complex historical relationships between Assyria and Ancient Israel through thorough study of primary inscriptions in all relevant sources. His work, for instance, on Assyrian history is based upon intense study of Akkadian texts, without reference to Israelite history. On the other hand, when Bustenay engages in comparative studies of biblical and Assyrian history, the results are sober and reserved, avoiding the pitfalls of over-interpretation of the biblical text based on inferences from Akkadian historical texts. Colleagues at home and abroad who have enjoyed Bustenay’s genial company and friendly hospitality gladly join in expressing their appreciation of his personality, as well as his scholarship, in this volume. Gershon Galil, Mark Geller, and Alan Millard

WORKS BY PROFESSOR BUSTENAY ODED

1964 1. “Two Assyrian References to the Town of Qadesh on the Orontes”, IEJ 14 (1964), pp. 272–273. 1966 2. “When was Judah Subjugated by the Babylonian Empire”, Tarbiz 35 (1966), pp. 203–207 (Hebrew). 1967 3. Israelite Transjordan during the Monarchic Age (Unpublished Ph.D. diss.; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1967; Supervisors Profs. B. Mazar and A. Malamat, Hebrew). 1968 4. Six entries in Encyclopaedia Biblica 5 (Jerusalem, 1968, Hebrew). 5. “Review of Z. Kallai, The Tribes of Israel: A Study in the Historical Geography of the Bible (Jerusalem, 1967)”, Kiriath Sepher 43 (1968), pp. 305–308 (Hebrew). 1970 6. “The Settlement of the Tribe of Reuben in Transjordania”, Studies in the History of Jewish People 1 (1970), pp. 11–56 (Hebrew). 7. “Between Hezekaiah and the Cities of the Philistines”, in I. Ben Shem et al. (eds.), FS J. Bareslavi (Jerusalem, 1970), pp. 79–88 (Hebrew). 8. “The Amman Theatre Inscription”, Revista degli Studi Orientalni 44 (1970), pp. 187–189. 1971 9. “Egyptian Reference to the Edomite Deity Quas”, AUSS 9 (1971), pp. 47–50. 10. “A Note on Joshua XIII:25”, VT 21 (1971), pp. 239–241. 11. “Jogbehah and Rujm el-Jobeha”, PEQ 43 (1971), pp. 33–34. 12. “Darb el Hawarna – An Ancient Route”, Eretz-Israel 10 (1971), pp. 33–43 (Hebrew).

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13. “Observations on Methods of Assyrian Rule in Transjordania after the Palestinian Campaign of Tiglath-pileser III”, JNES 9 (1971), pp. 47–50. 14. 45 entries in Encyclopaedia Judaica (Jerusalem, 1971). 1972 15. “The Historical Background of the Syro-Ephraimite War Reconsidered”, CBQ 34 (1972), pp. 153–165. 16. “The Campaigns of Adad-nirari III to Syria and Palestine”, Studies in the History of the Jewish People 2 (1972), pp. 25–34 (Hebrew). 17. 22 entries in Encyclopaedia Biblica 6 (Jerusalem, 1972, Hebrew). 1974 18. “The Phoenician Cities and the Assyrian Empire in the Time of Tiglathpileser III”, ZDPV 90 (1974), pp. 38–49. 19. “The Relations between the City-States of Phoenicia and Assyria in the Reign of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal”, Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the Land of lsrael 3 (1974), pp. 31–42 (Hebrew). 1975 20. “Assyria and the Cities of Phoenicia in the Reigns of Shalmaneser V, Sargon II and Sennacherib”, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 1 (1975), pp. 205–211 (Hebrew). 1976 21. 16 entries in Encyclopaedia Biblica 7 (Jerusalem, 1976, Hebrew). 1977 22. “Judah and Exile”, in J. Hayes and J. Miller (eds.), Israelite and Judaean History (London, 1977), pp. 435–488. 1979 23. Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). 1980 24. “Israel Western Neighbours”, in A. Malamat (ed.), World History of the Jewish People, IV (Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 222–243, 328–363. 25. “Israel Eastern Neighbours”, in A. Malamat (ed.), World History of the Jewish People, IV (Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 247–275, 358–363.

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26. “Review of H. Reviv, From Clan to Monarchy: Israel in the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 1979)”, Qadmonioth 13 (1980), pp. 61–62 (Hebrew). 1981 27. “The Babylonian Embassy Narrative (Isaiah 39; 2 Kings 20:12–18)”, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 9 (1981), pp. 115–126 (Hebrew). 1984 28. “Kingdom and Destruction”, in J. Shavit (ed.), The History of Eretz Israel (Jerusalem, 1984), pp. 101–201 (Hebrew). 1986 29. “The Table of Nations – A Socio-cultural Approach”, ZAW 98 (1986), pp. 14–31. 1987 30. “2 Kings 17 – Between History and Polemic”, Jewish History 2 (1987), pp. 37–50. 1990 31. “The Destruction of the Bamoth by Hezekiah – The Assyrian Point of View”, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 10 (1990), pp. 141–145 (Hebrew). 1991 32. “The Historical Background of the ‘Miracle’ in II Kings 19:35”, in B. Lurya (ed.), H. M. I. Gevaryahu Memorial Volume (Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 128–136 (Hebrew). 33. “The Command of the God as a Reason for Going to War in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds.), Ah, Assyriah . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 223–230. 1992 34. War, Peace and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden, 1992). 1993 35. B. Oded et al. (eds.), I Kings (The World of the Bible; Tel Aviv, 1993; Hebrew).

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36. “Ahaz’s Appeal to Tiglat-pileser III in the Light of the Assyrian Policy of Expansion”, in M. Heltzer et al. (eds.), Studies in the Archaeology and History of Ancient Israel in Honour of M. Dothan (Haifa, 1993), pp. 68–71. 37. “And I shall give peace in the Land (Lev. 26:6) – The Assyrian Perspective”, Eretz-Israel 24 (1993), pp. 148–157 (Hebrew). 38. Dozens of articles in B. Oded et al. (eds.), I Kings: The World of the Bible (Tel Aviv, 1993; Hebrew). 1994 39. B. Oded et al. (eds.), II Kings (The World of the Bible; Tel Aviv, 1994; Hebrew). 40. Dozens of articles in B. Oded et al. (eds.), II Kings (The World of the Bible; Tel Aviv, 1994; Hebrew). 1995 41. B. Oded et al. (eds.), II Chronicles (The World of the Bible; Tel Aviv, 1995; Hebrew). 42. “Observations on the Israelite/Judaean Exiles in Mesopotamia During the Eighth-Sixth Centuries BCE”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East Festschrift E. Lipinski (Leuven, 1995), pp. 205–212. 43. Dozens of articles in B. Oded et al. (eds.), II Chronicles (The World of the Bible; Tel Aviv, 1995; Hebrew). 1996 44. “Cushan-Rishathaim (Judges 3:8–11): An Implicit Polemic”, in M. V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts. Temples and Traditions a tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, 1996), pp. 89–94 (Hebrew). 45. “Biblical Historiography – Traditions, Propaganda and Historical Reality”, ‘Al-haperek 11 (1996), pp. 73–84 (Hebrew). 46. “Review article of M. Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel (London, 1995)”, Jewish History 10 (1996), pp. 135–137. 47. “Biblical Episodes in the Light of the Assyrian Records”, Beit Mikra 42 (1996), pp. 1–7 (Hebrew). 48. “Review article of H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III (Jerusalem, 1996)”, IEJ 47 (1997) pp. 104–110. 1997 49. “Cutting Down Orchards in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions – The Historiographic Aspect”, Journal of Ancient Civilizations 12 (1997), pp. 93–98.

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1998 50. “Adad-nirari III”, in K. Radner (ed.), The Prosopography of the NeoAssyrian Empire, 1/I (Helsinky, 1998), pp. 30–34. 51. “History vis-à-vis Propaganda in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, VT 48 (1998), pp. 423–425. 2000 52. “The beginning of the Babylonian Diaspora: Strategy for Survival”, ‘Alhaperek 17 (2000), pp. 101–113 (Hebrew). 53. “The Settlements of the Israelite and the Judaean Exiles in Mesopotamia in the 8th–6th Centuries B.C.E.”, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSup 81; Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2000), pp. 91–103. 2001 54. “Deportation Policy of the Assyrian and Babylonian Empires in Relation to the Study of Israelite and Judaean Exiles”, in Z. Talshir et al. (eds.), Homage to Shmuel: Studies in the World of the Bible (Jerusalem, 2001), pp. 298–318 (Hebrew). 55. “History of Israel during the Biblical Period – History or Myth”, Beit Mikra 48 (2001), pp. 25–32 (Hebrew). 2002 56. “Israel Neighbours”, in J. Barton (ed.), The Biblical World, I (London – New-York, 2002), pp. 492–525. 57. “The Beginning of the Babylonian Diaspora: Organization and Economic”, in Y. Avishur (ed.), Studies in the History and Culture of the Jews in Babylonia (Studies in the History and Culture of Babylonian Jewry 15; OrYehuda, 2002), pp. 121–135. 2003 58. “The Invention of Ancient Palestinian People: Silencing the History of Ancient Israel – A Critical Review”, Jewish History 17 (2003), pp. 77–96 (with T. Fenton). 59. “Where Can the Myth of the Empty Land Be Found? History Vs. Myth”, in O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and Judeans in the 6th Century B.C.E. (Vinona Lake, 2002), pp. 55–74. 60. “Israel’s Origins in the 21st Century Research”, Beit Mikra 50 (2003), pp. 9–14 (Hebrew). 61. “The Exile – History or Myth?”, Beit Mikra 50 (2003), pp. 103–124 (Hebrew).

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works by professor bustenay oded 2004

62. “Exile – Homland Relations During the Exilic Period and Restoration”, in M. Heltzer and M. Malul (eds.), Teshurôt LaAvishur (Tel-Aviv-Jaffa, 2004), pp. 154*–160*. 63. “ ‘Yet I Have Been to Them ‫ למקדש מעט‬in the Countries Where They Have Gone’ (Ezekiek 11:16)”, In Ch. Cohen et al. (eds.), Sefer Moshe. The Moshe Weinfeld Jubelee Volume (Winona Lake, 2004), pp. 103–114. 2005 64. “The Judaean Exiles in Babylonia: Survival Strategy of an Ethnic Minority”, in M. Mor et al. (eds.), For Uriel. Studies un the History of Israel in Antiquity Presented to Prof. U. Rappapot (Jerusalem, 2005), pp. 53*–76*. 2006 65. “Judah in the 6th Century B.C.E. – A review article”, Kathedra 121 (2006), pp. 171–178 (Hebrew, with A. Faust). 2007 66. The History of Israel during the First Temple Period, I–II (2nd revised and augmented ed.; Raanana, 2007, Hebrew). 67. “ ‘Declaring the End from the Beginning’ (Isaiah 46:10) – Redemption after Exile”, Beit Mikra 52 (2007), pp. 7–41 (Hebrew). 2008 68. The History of Israel during the First Temple Period, III–IV (2nd revised and augmented ed.; Raanana, 2008, Hebrew). 69. “Exile – The Biblical Perspectives”, in M. Rozen (ed.), Homelands and Diaspora. Greek, Jews and Their Migrations (London – New York, 2008), pp. 85–92. Forthcoming 70. The Early History of the Babylonian Exile (8th–6th Centuries B.C.E., Hebrew). 71. “The Identification of Israelite/Judaean exiles in Mesopotamia”, Studies in Bible and Exegesis 9 (Hebrew). 72. “ ‘On the River Babylon’ – Between Oracles of Redemption and Yearning for Redemption”, Studies in Bible and Exegesis 10 (Hebrew). 73. “Review of S. M. Paul, Isaiah 40–66: Introduction and Commentary, I–II (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel-Aviv – Jerusalem, 2008)”, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies (Hebrew).

ABBREVIATIONS

BIBLICAL BOOKS Gen Ex Lev Num Deut Josh Judg 1–2 Sam 1–2 Kgs Isa Jer Ez

Hos Joel Amos Obad Jona Mic Nah Hab Zeph Hag Zech Mal

Ps (pl.:Pss) Prov Job Ruth Cant Eccl (or Qoh) Lam Estr Dan Ezra Neh 1–2 Chron

DEAD SEA SCROLLS AND RELATED TEXTS CD 1QM 3Q15 11QTa

The Damascus Document (Geniza manuscripts) The War Scroll from Qumran Cave 1 The Copper Scroll from Qumran Cave 3 The Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (first copy) PERIODICALS, REFERENCE WORKS, AND SERIES

ÄAT AASF AB ABC ABL AEAD AfO ÄHG AHw AJA ALASP

Ägypten und Altes Testament Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae Anchor Bible A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS 5; Locust Valley, 1975) R. F. Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters belonging to the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum, I–XIV (Chicago 1892– 1914) S. Parpola, Assyrian-English-Assyrian Dictionary (Helsinki, 2007) Archiv für Orientforschung J. Assmann, Ägyptische Hymnen und Gebete (Zürich, 1975) W. von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch (Wiesbaden, 1965– 1981) American Journal of Archaeology Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syriens-Palästinas

xviii AMI ANET AnOr AOAT ARAB ARM ArOr ASSF ATANT ATD ATSAT AUU AUWE AUWE 5 AUWE 11 BA BAH BAR BASOR BATSH 6 BBB BDB BEThL BIWA BIFAO BKAT BM Brockhaus, 2001 BWANT BZAW CAD CAH CBQ CBQMS CC

abbreviations Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (3rd ed., Princeton, 1969) Analecta Orientalia Alter Orient und Altes Testament D. D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia, I–II (Chicago, 1926–1927) Archives royales de Mari Archiv Orientální Acta Societatis Scientiarum Fennicae Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Das Alte Testament Deutsch Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte E. Gehlken, Uruk. Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus dem Eanna-Archiv, I (AUWE 5; Mainz, 1990) E. Gehlken, Uruk. Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus dem Eanna-Archiv, II (AUWE 11; Mainz, 1996) Biblical Archaeologist Bibliothèque archéologique et historique Biblical Archaeologist Reader Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research K. Radner, Die neuassyrischen Texte aus Tall Šēḥ Ḫ amad, Mit Beiträgen von W. Röllig zu den aramäischen Beischriften (BATSH 6; Berlin, 2002) Bonner Biblische Beiträge F. Brown, S. R. Driver and C. A. Briggs (eds.), Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (1st ed. 1904; Oxford, 1962) Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium R. Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals (Wiesbaden, 1996) Bulletin de l’institut français d’archéologie orientale Biblischer Kommentar. Altes Testament siglum of objects in the Department of the Ancient Near East of the British Museum Die Enzyklopädie in 24 Bänden Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamenliche Wissenschaft The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago Cambridge Ancient History (2nd ed.) Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly – Monograph Series Corpus Christianorum

abbreviations CDA CEJL CHANE CM CRAAI CS II CSMSB CT CT 34 CT 54 CTN CTN I CTN II CTN III CTN V DCH DNWSI DUL EdF EI ÉRC ExpT FAT FOTL FRLANT FTS GAG GCCI GCCI 1 GCCI 2

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J. Black, A.George and N. Postgate, A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (Wiesbaden, 2000) Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Cuneiform Monographs Compte rendu, Rencontre assyriologique internationale W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger (eds.), The Context of Scripture (CS) II. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden, 2003) Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies Bulletin Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum L. W. King, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum, part 34 (London, 1914) M. Dietrich, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum, part 54 (London, 1979) Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud J. V. Kinnier Wilson, The Nimrud Wine Lists (CTN I; London, 1972) J. N. Postgate, The Governor’s Palace Archive (CTN II; London, 1973) S. M. Dalley and J. M. Postgate, The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser (CTN III; London, 1984) H. W. F. Saggs, The Nimrud Letters, 1952 (CTN V; London, 2001) D. J. A. Clines, Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, I–VI (Sheffield, 1995–2007) J. Hoftijzer and K. Jongeling, Dictionary of the North-West Semitic Inscriptions, With Appendices by R. C. Steiner, A. M. Moshavi and B. Porten, I–II (Leiden, 1995) G. Del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (2nd ed.; HdO I 67; Leiden – Boston, 2004) Ertäge der Forschung Eretz-Israel Éditions recherche sur les civilisations Expository Times Forschungen zum Alten Testament The Forms of The Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Frankfurter Theologische Studien W. von Soden, Grundriss der akkadischen Grammatik (3rd ed.; Roma, 1995) Goucher College Cuneiform Inscriptions R. P. Dougherty, Goucher College Cuneiform Inscriptions, I (GCCI 1; New Haven, 1923) R. P. Dougherty, Archives from Erech, Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods (GCCI 2; New Haven, 1933)

xx HAL

abbreviations

L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, Hebräisches und aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament (3rd ed.; Leiden – Boston, 2004) HALOT L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, I–V (Tran. by M. E. J. Richardson; Leiden, 1994–2000) HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament HBS Herders Biblische Studien HCOT Historical Commentary on the Old Testament HdO Handbook of Oriental Studies HSAO Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HThKAT Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament ICC International Critical Commentary IEJ Israel Exploration Journal IM siglum of objects in the Iraq Museum, Baghdad JADIS Jordan Antiquities Database and information system, Amman JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Janssen J. Janssen, De traditioneele egyptische Autobiographie vóór het Nieuwe Rijk, vol. 1: Teksten, vol. 2: Vertaling en Commentaar (Leiden, 1946) JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History JESHO Journal of Economic and Social History of the Orient JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JPS Jewish Publication Society JQR Jewish Quarterly Review JSHRZ Jüdische Schriften aus Hellenistisch-Römischer Zeit JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTS Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement JSJ Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Periods JSSEA Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities K siglum of the texts in the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum KAH 1 L. Messerschmidt, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts, I (Leipzig, 1911) KAH 2 O. Schröder, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts, II (Leipzig, 1922) KAI H. Donner and W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften, I–III (Wiesbaden, 1st ed. 1962–1964; 5th ed. 2002) KAR E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts (Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Assur; Leipzig, 1919) KAT Kommentar zum Alten Testament KAV O. Schröder, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur verschiedenen Inhalts (Leipzig, 1920)

abbreviations KBL KHCAT KJV KTU LAPO Les. LKA MDAIK MRS MSU MVAG NAB NABU NAC NCB ND NEB NIBC NICOT NIV NL NRSV OBO OIP OLA OTL OTS PEQ PIHANS PNA

RA RB REB RIMA 2

xxi

L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, Lexicon in Veteris Testamenti Libros (Leiden, 1958) Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament King James Version M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartín, The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (2nd enlarged ed.; ALASP 8; Münster, 1995) Litteratures anciennes du Proche-Orient K. Sethe, Ägyptische Lesestücke, Texte des Mittleren Reiches (Hildesheim, 1971) E. Ebeling, Literarische Keilschrifttexte aus Assur (Berlin, 1953) Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo Mission Ras Shamra Mitteilungen des Septuaginta-Unternehmens Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatischen Gesellschaft New American Bible Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires New American Commentary New Century Bible siglum of texts excavated in the British excavations at Nimrud (Kalhu) New English Bible New International Biblical Commentary New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Version letters from Nimrud (Kalhu) New Revised Standard Version Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Oriental Institute Publications Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Old Testament Library Oudtestamentische Studiën Palestine Exploration Quarterly Uitgaven van het Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istnbul. Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Helsinki 1998–): Vol. 1/I, 1998 (ed. K. Radner); Vol. 1/II, 1999 (ed. K.Radner); Vol. 2/I, 2000 (ed. H. D. Baker); Vol. 2/II, 2001 (ed. H. D. Baker); Vol. 3/I, 2002 (ed. H. D. Baker) Revue d’Assyriology et d’archéologie orientale Revue Biblique Revised English Bible A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium B.C., II (1114–859 B.C.), (RIMA 2; Toronto, 1991)

xxii RIMA 3 RIMS 1 RlA RS RSOu RSV SAA SAA I SAA III SAA V SAA VI SAA VIII SAA X SAA XII SAA XIII SAA XV SAA XVI SAAB SAAS SAK SBA SBLSS SEÅ SHCANE SSU StAT StAT 1 StAT 2 StAT 3

abbreviations A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium B.C., III (858–745 B.C.), (RIMA 3; Toronto, 1996) V. Donbaz and A. K. Grayson, Royal Inscriptions on Clay Cones from Ashur Now in Istanbul (RIMS 1; Toronto, 1984 Reallexikon der Assyriologie field numbers of tablets excavated at Ras Shamra Ras Shamra – Ougarit Revised Standard Version State Archives of Assyria S. Parpola, (ed.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part I, Letters from Assyria and the West (Helsinki, 1987) A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (SAA III; Helsinky, 1989) G. B. Lanfranchi and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part II, Letters from the Northern and Northeastern Provinces (Helsinki, 1990) T. Kwasman and S. Parpola (eds.), Legal Transactions of the Royal Court of Nineveh, Part I: Tiglath-Pileser III through Esarhaddon (Helsinki, 1991) H. Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (Helsinki, 1992) S. Parpola (ed.), Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (Helsinki, 1993) L. Kataja and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Grants, Decrees and Gifts of the Neo-Assyrian Period (SAA XII; Helsinki, 1995) S. W. Cole and P. Machinist (eds.), Letters from Priests to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (Helsinki, 1998) A. Fuchs and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part III, Letters from Babylonia and the Eastern Provinces (Helsinki, 2001) M. Luukko and G. van Buylaere (eds.), The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (Helsinki, 2002) State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Studies Studien zur Altägyptische Kultur, Berlin Stuttgarter biblische Aufsatzbände Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Svensk exegetisk årsbøk Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Studia Semitica Uppsaliensa Studien zu den Assur-Texten K. Radner, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Tempelgoldschmiede von Assur (StAT 1; Saarbrücken, 1999) V. Donbaz and S. Parpola, Neo-Assyrian Legal Texts in Istanbul (StAT 2; Saarbrücken, 2001) B. Faist, Alltagstexte aus neuassyrischen Archiven und Bibliotheken der Stadt Assur (StAT 3; Wiesbaden, 2007)

abbreviations SWU

xxiii

H. Freydank, Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus Uruk (Berlin, 1971) TA Tel Aviv TAPS NS Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Series TCS Texts from Cuneiform Sources TCS 3 G. B. Gragg, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns (TCS 3; Locust Valley, 1969) TCL Textes cunéiformes du Louvre TCL 3 G. B. Gragg, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns (TCL 3; Locust Valley, 1969) TCL 12 G. Contenau, Contrats néo-babyloniens I: de Téglath-phalasar III à Nabonide (TCL 12; Paris, 1927) TCL 13 G. Contenau, Contrats néo-babyloniens II: achéménides et séleucides (TCL 13; Paris, 1929) TCS Textes from Cuneiform Sources TDOT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 1974–2006) ThB Theologische Bücherei ThZ Theologische Zeitschrift TNK TANAK: A New Translation of the Holy Scriptures according to the Masoretic text (2nd ed.; The Jewish Publication Society of America; Philadelphia, 1978) TUAT Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments UCP University of California Publications in Semitic Philology UCP 9 H. F. Lutz, Neo-Babylonian Administrative Documents from Erech (UCP 9/I–II; Berkeley, 1927) UF Ugarit-Forschungen Urk. IV K. Sethe, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie, I–IV (Berlin, 1927–1930) UT C. H. Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook (AnOr 38; Rome, 1965) UTB Uni-Taschenbücher VAB Vorderasiatische Bibliothek VAB 4 S. Langdon and R. Zehnpfund, Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften (VAB 4; Leipzig, 1912) VAT siglum of texts in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum Supplements WBC Word Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WO Welt des Orient YOS Yale Oriental Series YOS 6 R. P. Dougherty, Records from Erech. Time of Nabonidus (YOS 6; New Haven, 1920) YOS 7 A. Tremayne, Records from Erech. Time of Cyrus and Cambyses (YOS 7; New Haven, 1925) YOS 17 D. B. Weisberg, Yale Oriental Series, Babylonian Texts (YOS 17; New Haven, 1980)

xxiv YOS 19 ZA ZAW ZAR ZB ZDMG ZDPV

abbreviations P.-A. Beaulieu, Legal and Administrative Texts from the Reign of Nabonidus (YOS 19; New Haven, 2000) Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte Zürcher Bibelkommentar Zeitschrift der deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

PART ONE

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES

EXILE AND FORCED LABOUR IN BÊT HAR’OŠ: REMARKS ON A RECENTLY DISCOVERED MOABITE INSCRIPTION

Bob Becking Utrecht University

When I was preparing my Doctoral dissertation on the fall of Samaria in the early 1980s,1 one book was of great significance to me: Bustenay Oded’s analysis of exile and deportation in the Ancient Near East.2 So I take great pleasure in contributing this paper to the volume commemorating his 75th birthday. I would like to discuss a recently found Moabite inscription that contains information on exile and deportation in the Transjordan area.

I. Text Ahituv has edited an ancient Moabite inscription of at least seven lines written on an octagonal basalt column.3 No name of a king is given but various features indicate that this inscription should be qualified as a royal inscription commemorating the deeds of a Moabite king, not unlike the well known Mesha inscription.4

1 B. Becking, De ondergang van Samaria: Historische, exegetische en theologische opmerkingen bij II Koningen 17 (PhD Thesis Utrecht University; Meppel, 1985). For an English translation of chapter 2 of my dissertation see B. Becking, The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study (SHCANE 2; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1992). 2 B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). 3 S. Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, Israel Museum Studies in Archaeology 2 (2003), pp. 3–10; idem, “A New Royal Inscription from Moab”, Qadmoniot 37 (2004), pp. 88–92 (Hebrew); idem, Haktav VeHaMiktav (Jerusalem, 2005; Hebrew); idem, Echoes from the Past. Hebrew and cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 2008). 4 On the design of the Mesha inscription see J. F. Drinkard, “The Literary Genre of the Mesha Inscription”, in A. Dearman (ed.), Studies in the Mesha Inscription and

4

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Figure 1: The New Moabite Inscription. I transliterate and translate the inscription as follows: [. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .] ‫[ אבנ‬. . . . .] ‫ כ[לם‬. . . . . . . . . . . . .].‫ואבנ‬.‫רבנ‬.‫[ אסרנ‬. . . . .] ‫בניעמנ‬.‫ובאסרי‬.‫הראש‬.‫בת‬.‫את‬.‫ ב[נתי‬. . .] ‫והבקר‬.‫והמקנה‬.‫אדר‬.‫שער‬.‫ ב[מכרת‬. . .] ‫בכל‬.‫חלה‬.‫[כי‬.]‫בניעמנ‬.‫וירא‬.‫[שם‬. . . . . .] ‫[קרבב‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . .]‫[ח‬.]‫[ץ‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .] [. . .]‫[אי‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]

.‘1 .‘2 .‘3 .‘4 .‘5 .‘6 .‘7

1’. [and] I built 2’. [and I took] many captives. And I built [ . . .]. 3’. [And I bui]lt Beth-hora’sh. And with the captives of the Ammonites. 4’. [I built for the] shaft a mighty gate, and the wealth and the cattle 5’. [I . . .] there. And the Ammonites saw that they were weakened in every 6’. . . . . 7’. . . . .

II. Commentary Ahituv proposed a variety of suggestions to fill in the gaps of the inscription.5 Although his additions are reasonable and make sense within the context, I hesitate to adopt them.

Moab (Atlanta, 1989), pp. 132–154; K. A. D. Smelik, Converting the Past: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (OTS 28; Leiden, 1992), pp. 59–92. 5 Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”.

exile and forced labour in bêt har’oš

5

Line 1’. The addition [‫את‬.]‫ ו[אבנ‬. . .] “[And] I built [ . . .]” (followed by an object), is reasonable, especially since the remainder of the inscription has a chain of narrative wyqtl-forms.6 Line 2’. ‫רבנ‬.‫אסרנ‬: As in the Mesha inscription, the plural of nouns ends in -n. The addition by Ahituv leading to a translation “I built [the citadel of the royal house]”, is plausible and would fit the context of the inscription.7 The parallels from the Book of Kings that Ahituv supplies, however, are not convincing. Both 1 Kgs 16:18 and 2 Kgs 15:25 contain the collocation ‫ארמון בית המלך‬, but in a different context devoid of building activities. In 1 Kgs 16 Zimri enters “the palace of the King’s house” to commit suicide after his military defeat. In 2 Kgs 15 “the palace of the King’s house” is the place where Pekah took Pekaiah captive. Line 3’. Beth-Hora’sh most probably should be identified with Dhāth Rās, modern al-Ghuweir. This site along the “King’s Highway” was inhabited in Iron I–II.8 Ahituv correctly observed that the name ‫בניעמן‬, “Ammonites”, is written as one word – as in the Ammonite inscriptions – but it contains a y. This could be construed as an indication that in Moabite the word Ammonites was pronounced with a diphthong ay.9 Lines 3’–4’. These lines have a parallel in the Mesha inscription, ll. 26-27: “and I dug the reservoirs for Qarhoh with the captives of Israel” (‫)ואנכי כרתי המכרתת לקרחה באסרי ישראל‬. Line 4’. The noun ‫ מכרת‬occurs also in the Mesha inscription, l. 25. With Kallai, I regard this noun as a feature of a water installation referring to an auxiliary element of the reservoir, such as a shaft, a passage or a conduit.10

6

See also J. A. Emerton, “Lines 25–6 of the Moabite Stone and a Recently – Discovered Inscription”, VT 55 (2005), p. 300; H. Hagelia, The Tel Dan Inscription: A Critical Investigation of Recent Research on Its Palaeography and Philology (SSU 2; Uppsala, 2006), pp. 3–4. 7 Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, p. 6; For a criticism of Ahituv’s opinion see A. Lemaire, “Essai d’interpretation historique d’une nouvelle inscription monumentale moabite”, Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 2005, p. 99. 8 Thus Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, p. 6; Lemaire, ibid., pp. 99–100. 9 Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, p. 6. 10 Z. Kallai, “Note on J. A. Emerton: Lines 25–26 of the Moabite Stone and a Recently–Discovered Inscription’’, VT 56 (2006), pp. 552–553.

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In biblical Hebrew ‫ מקנה‬does not refer to goats and sheep, as Ahituv suggests.11 The noun refers to a wealth of cattle of all sorts; probably captured cattle are brought into a royal realm here.

III. The Historical Situation of the Ammonite Exile The Moabite inscription does not give us the name of the particular king, which makes it difficult to date the inscription. The orthography, however, clearly hints at the 8th century B.C.E.12 Unfortunately, not much historical evidence for this period exists. The events narrated must have taken place before the rise of Assyrian power.13 Ahituv correctly remarked that although no number of captives is mentioned, the inscription seems to suppose a considerable body of captives, which in turn would hint at major military movements between Moab and Ammon.14 This fact narrows the time slot for the events in the inscription to a period in which the Transjordan area was under neither Israelite nor Aramaic control. A date in the second quarter of the 8th century B.C.E. seems the best candidate.15 Lemaire16 has proposed identifying the unnamed king of this newly edited inscription with Salāmānu of Moab, mentioned as paying tribute to Tiglath-Pileser III in 734 B.C.E.17 According to Lemaire this is the Moabite king named ‫ שלמן‬in Hos 10:14, where he is referred to as devastator of ‫בית ארבאל‬. Lemaire assumes a temporary weakness in Damascene control over Transjordan. The evidence for this view, however, is circumstantial and far from convincing. I think we shall have to wait for another fragment or another inscription that will enable us to identify the unnamed king of this newly edited inscription.

11

Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, p. 7. Idem, ibid., pp. 3–4. 13 See S. Timm, Moab zwischen den Mächten: Studien zu historischen Denkmälern und Texten (ÄAT 17; Wiesbaden, 1989), pp. 303–399; R. Lamprichs, Die Westexpansion des neuassyrischen Reiches: Eine Strukturanalyse (AOAT 239; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1995); G. W. Vera Chamaza, Die Rolle Moabs in der neuassyrischen Expansionspolitik (AOAT 321; Münster, 2005). 14 Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, p. 8. 15 Idem, ibid., p. 8; Lemaire, “Essai d’interpretation historique”, pp. 101–108. 16 Lemaire, “Essai d’interpretation historique”, pp. 102–107. 17 H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994), summ. 7: rev. 10. 12

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The Ammonite captives are depicted as ‫אסרי בניעמן‬, “prisoners of the Ammonites”. In Biblical Hebrew the noun ‫אסיר‬, “prisoner”, occurs in reference to both collective bodies of prisoners (Isa 10:4; 24:22; 42:7) and an individual captive (1 Chron 3:17). The Hebrew noun is derived from a verb ‫אסר‬, “to bind, tie up”. On the Mesha inscription the noun is used to indicate imprisoned Israelites18 who were forced to work on Moabite building enterprises.

IV. Forced Labour Obviously, the unknown Moabite king forced his Ammonite captives into building work. These captives are workers who laboured on the king’s building projects. Having captives, deportees or exiles engage in forced labour is not an unknown feature in the Ancient Near East. There is evidence that deportees were used to speed up Mesopotamian building activities, and then especially as brick makers.19 Mendelsohn depicts this form of forced labour as “state slavery”.20 I would like to point to some texts from the Ancient Near East that make it clear that captives were used as labourers in construction work.21 A NeoAssyrian letter from the reign of Sargon II refers to the delivery of bricks to some cities: I am [now] sending the [. . .]s of the br[ickwork o]f this wall [to the king.] my lord. [Probably (?)] the king, (my) lord might say: “To whom have [you] given bricks?” [40,000] to Arpad; [40,000 t]o Samar[ia 40,000 to] Megiddo, in total: [1]20,000 from the king’s entourage, [and in total 30,000 f ]rom Na’dilu. [That is: in all] I have given out [1]50,000 bricks.22

18 Mesha, ll. 25–26; with Emerton, “Lines 25–6 of the Moabite Stone”, pace; F. I. Andersen, “Moabite Syntax”, Orientalia 35 (1966), pp. 107–108, who construes some sort of covenantal context, and E. Lipinski, “Etymological and Exegetical Notes on the Mesha’ Inscription”, Orientalia 40 (1971), pp. 325–340, who renders: “And I cut ‘the dissected parts’ in behalf of Qarhoh binding Israel”. 19 See Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 109–115. 20 I. Mendelsohn, Slavery in the Ancient Near East: A Comparative Study of Slavery in Babylonia, Assyria, Syria and Palestine from the Middle of the Third Millennium to the End of the First Millennium (London, 1978), pp. 92–99; see also Oded, Mass Deportations, p. 111. 21 This list is far from complete. For the third millennium B.C.E. see I. J. Gelb, “Prisoners of War in Early Mesopotamia”, JNES 32 (1973), pp. 70–98. 22 G. B. Lanfranchi and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part II, Letters from the Northern and Northeastern Provinces (SAA V; Helsinki, 1990), no. 291:11’– rev. 5; see Becking, The Fall of Samaria, pp. 111–112.

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This letter was apparently written by someone in charge of distributing bricks for building. The letter can be construed in two ways: (1) it gives the total number of bricks sent to the provincial capitals of Arpad, Megiddo and Samaria. These consignments would have been for the construction of permanent administrative buildings in the provincial capitals. (2) The toponyms could indicate ethnic groups of labourers from the areas mentioned that worked for building projects in the Assyrian capital. Neo-Babylonians inscriptions attest to the policy of assembling deportees in specific ethnic groups. The cities whither these people were brought were named after their area of origin. Evidence exists of exiled communities named as Ashkelon, Gaza, Judah, Neirab, Qadeš, Qedar and Tyre.23 I do not suggest that the Assyrians had already implemented this policy, but from various texts it becomes clear that they did group some captives according to their ethnic background.24 A good example would be the list of names of the Samaritan cohort in the Assyrian cavalry.25 As already noted, the Mesha inscription mentions forced labour by Israelite captives, and the newly edited Moabite inscription would add a second example from the Transjordan area.

V. Forced Labour and the Herem-institution In Sections III and IV of the Third Geneva Convention of 1929, regulations are made for the character and the degree of labour that might be executed by prisoners of war.26 According to this convention, captives

23 I. Eph‘al, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th Centuries B.C.E.: Maintenance and Cohesion”, Orientalia 47 (1978), pp. 80–83; F. Joànnes and A. Lemaire, “Trois textes de surru à l’époque Néo-Babylonienne”, RA 81 (1987), pp. 147–158; idem, “Trois tablettes cunéiformes à onomastique ouest-sémitique”, Transeuphratène 17 (1999), pp. 17–34, and see also D. S. Vanderhooft, “New Evidence Pertaining the Transition”, in R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds), Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies in Theology and Religion, 5; Assen, 2003), pp. 223–225; L. L. Grabbe, Ancient Israel: What do we Know and How do we Know it? (London – New York, 2007), p. 190. 24 Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 41–74. 25 S. M. Dalley and J. M. Postgate, The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser (CTN III; London, 1984), no. 99, ii: 16–23; see Becking, The Fall of Samaria, pp. 74–77. 26 http://www.unhchr.ch/html/menu3/b/91.htm; see C. S. Delessert, Release and Repatriation of Prisoners of War at the End of Active Hostilities: A Study of Article 118, Paragraph 1 of the Third Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War (Zürich, 1978).

exile and forced labour in bêt har’oš

9

cannot be forced into labour. This humanitarian order is not always followed. In the conflict between Morocco and the movement for the liberation of Western Sahara, several Moroccan prisoners of war in the Sahrawi refugee camps were forced to labour for those who had imprisoned them, to give just one recent example.27 The above examples from the Ancient Near East date from a period long before the Geneva Conventions. The Moabite examples can best be construed within the framework of the herem-institution. This institution was connected with the Ancient Near Eastern concept of Holy, or Divine War. The herem-institution refers to an act of separating for consecration. The West Semitic verb ‫ חרם‬has as its basic meaning “to separate; consecrate”.28 In the context of warfare, this institution implies that the booty taken in a military victory must be separated by qualifying it as dedicated to the victorious god. An example is the famous story of Achan, where an individual infringes the institution by taking part of the booty for personal use.29 The herem-institution was also known in Moab. In his inscription, Mesha mentions that after his conquest of Nebo: seven thousand native men, foreign men, native women, for[eign] women, and concubines – for I devoted it (‫ )החרמתה‬to Ashtar-Kemosh. I took from there the ves[sels] of Yahweh and brought them before Kemosh.30

The verb-form ‫ החרמתה‬should be construed as a H-perf 1.c.s. with a suffix 3.f.s.31 The antecedent of the pronominal suffix is the city of Nebo and the booty taken by Mesha. This booty included the “ves[sels] of

27

See http://www.afrol.com/articles/10470. This can be found in Nabataean, see J. Hoftijzer and K. Jongeling, Dictionary of Northwest Semitic Inscriptions (HdO, I/21; Leiden, 1995), p. 405, s.v. hrm3, in the Hebrew Bible (see DCH II, p. 319) and in Qumran (e.g. CD VI, 15; 11QTa II, 10-11; LV, 11; 3Q15 [the Copper Scroll] IX, 16; XI, 7); see also U. Winter, Frau und Göttin (OBO 53; Freiburg – Göttingen, 1983), p. 501, Anm. 108; M. H. Silverman, Religious Values in the Jewish Proper Names at Elephantine (AOAT 217; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1985), p. 227; K. van der Toorn, “Herem-Bethel and Elephantine Oath Procedure”, ZAW 98 (1986), p. 283; H. D. Park, Finding Herem? A Study of Luke-Acts in the Light of Herem (Library of New Testament Studies 357; London, 2007). 29 See R. E. Clements, “Achan’s Sin: Warfare and Holiness”, in D. Penchansky and P. L. Redditt (eds), Shall Not the Judge of All the Earth do what is right? (Winona Lake, 2000), pp. 113–126. 30 Mesha, ll. 16–18. 31 With K. P. Jackson, “The Language of the Mesha Inscription”, in Dearman (ed.), Studies in the Mesha Inscription, pp. 115–116. 28

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Yahweh” – most probably from a sanctuary in Nebo, but also human beings. I construe these men and women as captives taken and dedicated to Kemosh, the god of Moab. This dedication would imply that they were taken into state-slavery for the king of Moab. They could therefore serve as forced labourers in the Moabite building activities mentioned later in the inscription.32 Applying this concept to the newly edited Moabite inscription, I propose that the Ammonite captives were part of a comparable herem. They were taken and dedicated to Kemosh, the god of Moab. This dedication would imply that they were taken into state-slavery for the king of Moab. They could therefore serve as forced labourers in the Moabite building activities at Beth-Hora’sh. The fragmentary character of the inscription denies us further information. Unfortunately, we are not told the duration of the building work or the subsequent fate of the Ammonites.

32 G. L. Mattingly, “Moabite Religion”, in Dearman, Studies in the Mesha Inscription, pp. 233–237.

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Bibliography S. Ahituv, “A New Moabite Inscription”, Israel Museum Studies in Archaeology 2 (2003), pp. 3–10. ——, “A New Royal Inscription from Moab”, Qadmoniot 37 (2004), pp. 88–92 (Hebrew). ——, Haktav VeHaMiktav (Jerusalem, 2005; Hebrew). ——, Echoes from the Past. Hebrew and cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 2008). F. I. Andersen, “Moabite Syntax”, Orientalia 35 (1966), pp. 107–108. B. Becking, De ondergang van Samaria: Historische, exegetische en theologische opmerkingen bij II Koningen 17 (PhD Thesis Utrecht University; Meppel, 1985). ——, The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study (SHCANE 2; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1992). R. E. Clements, “Achan’s Sin: Warfare and Holiness”, in D. Penchansky and P. L. Redditt (eds). Shall Not the Judge of All the Earth do what is right? (Winona Lake, 2000), pp. 113–126. S. M. Dalley and J. M. Postgate, The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser (CTN III; London, 1984). C. S. Delessert, Release and Repatriation of Prisoners of War at the End of Active Hostilities: A Study of Article 118, Paragraph 1 of the Third Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War (Zürich, 1978). A. Dearman (ed.), Studies in the Mesha Inscription and Moab (Atlanta, 1989). J. F. Drinkard, “The Literary Genre of the Mesha Inscription”, in Dearman, Studies in the Mesha Inscription, pp. 132–154. J. A. Emerton, “Lines 25–6 of the Moabite Stone and a Recently – Discovered Inscription”, VT 55 (2005), pp. 294–303. I. Eph‘al, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th Centuries B.C.E.: Maintenance and Cohesion”, Orientalia 47 (1978), pp. 74–90. I. J. Gelb, “Prisoners of War in Early Mesopotamia”, JNES 32 (1973), pp. 70–98. L. L. Grabbe, Ancient Israel: What do we Know and How do we Know it? (London – New York, 2007). H. Hagelia, The Tel Dan Inscription: A Critical Investigation of Recent Research on Its Palaeography and Philology (SSU 2; Uppsala, 2006). J. Hoftijzer and K. Jongeling, Dictionary of Northwest Semitic Inscriptions (HdO, I/21; Leiden, 1995). K. P. Jackson, “The Language of the Mesha Inscription”, in Dearman, Studies in the Mesha Inscription, pp. 96–130. F. Joànnes and A. Lemaire, “Trois textes de surru à l’époque Néo-Babylonienne”, RA 81 (1987), pp. 147–158. ——, “Trois tablettes cunéiformes à onomastique ouest-sémitique”, Transeuphratène 17 (1999), pp. 17–34. Z. Kallai, “Note on J. A. Emerton: Lines 25–26 of the Moabite Stone and a Recently – Discovered Inscription’’, VT 56 (2006), pp. 552–553. R. Lamprichs, Die Westexpansion des neuassyrischen Reiches: Eine Strukturanalyse (AOAT 239; Neukirchen Vluyn, 1995). G. B. Lanfranchi and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part II, Letters from the Northern and Northeastern Provinces (SAA V; Helsinki, 1990). A. Lemaire, “Essai d’interpretation historique d’une nouvelle inscription monumentale moabite”, Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 2005, pp. 95–108. E. Lipinski, “Etymological and Exegetical Notes on the Mesha’ Inscription”, Orientalia 40 (1971), pp. 325–340.

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I. Mendelsohn, Slavery in the Ancient Near East: A Comparative Study of Slavery in Babylonia, Assyria, Syria and Palestine from the Middle of the Third Millennium to the End of the First Millennium (London, 1978). G. L. Mattingly, “Moabite Religion”, in Dearman, Studies in the Mesha Inscription, pp. 211– 238. B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). H. D. Park, Finding Herem? A Study of Luke-Acts in the Light of Herem (Library of New Testament Studies 357; London, 2007). M. H. Silverman, Religious Values in the Jewish Proper Names at Elephantine (AOAT 217; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1985). K. A. D. Smelik, Converting the Past: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (OTS 28; Leiden, 1992), pp. 59–92. H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994). S. Timm, Moab zwischen den Mächten: Studien zu historischen Denkmälern und Texten (ÄAT 17; Wiesbaden, 1989). D. S. Vanderhooft, “New Evidence Pertaining the Transition”, in R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds), Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies in Theology and Religion, 5; Assen, 2003), pp. 219–235. K. van der Toorn, “Herem-Bethel and Elephantine Oath Procedure”, ZAW 98 (1986), pp. 282–285. G. W. Vera Chamaza, Die Rolle Moabs in der neuassyrischen Expansionspolitik (AOAT 321; Münster, 2005). U. Winter, Frau und Göttin (OBO 53; Freiburg – Göttingen, 1983).

LITERARY-CRITICAL ISSUES IN THE HEBREW BIBLE FROM AN ASSYRIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE: LITERARY-IDEOLOGICAL ALTERATIONS

Mordechai Cogan The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

That many texts of the Hebrew Bible were reworked in the centuries-long course of their transmission down to their canonization is nowadays the consensus omnium in most scholarly circles.1 This understanding has been embraced largely as a result of the analysis of the biblical scrolls from Qumran and the re-evaluation of the textual variations exhibited in the Greek and Samaritan traditions. All genres of text show signs of editing and revision, which are taken as reflections of either the literary tastes or particular ideological positions, current at the time of their redaction.2 The paramount example of this redaction process is the book of Chronicles, in which large sections of “Israel’s history in its formative period . . . [are reformulated] so that its institutions and religious principles become relevant to the present”.3 In the process, major events and even entire periods in Israel’s past as

1 This is the third in a series of studies that explore comparative models drawn from cuneiform texts relating to questions of copying and editing biblical texts. See M. Cogan, “Some Text-Critical Issues in the Hebrew Bible from an Assyriological Perspective”, Textus 22 (2005), pp. 1–20; idem, “Literary-Critical Issues in the Hebrew Bible from an Assyriological Perspective. Additions and Omissions”, in N. S. Fox, D. A. Glatt-Gilad, and M. J. Williams (eds.), Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay (Winona Lake, 2009), pp. 401–403. The present study is dedicated to Bustenay Oded in appreciation of his valuable investigations into the ideology and practice of the Assyrian Empire. 2 Emmanuel Tov separates “tendentious alterations” that should “be ascribed to the compositional layer” of the biblical text from changes made during the transmission process. See E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2nd rev. ed., Minneapolis – Assen, 2001), pp. 265–267. For an earlier formulation of this view, see idem, “The Growth of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Evidence of the LXX Translation”, in S. Japhet (ed.), Studies in Bible (Scripta Hierosolymitana XXXI; Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 320–339. 3 So S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville, 1993), p. 49.

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presented in the Pentateuch and the Joshua-Kings complex were omitted in the Chronicler’s retelling, while others were expanded by additional material or interpretive remarks.4 Beyond the undisputed case of the book of Chronicles, for which the antecedent works reworked by the Chronicler are at hand,5 scholars have identified sections of other books, e.g., Jeremiah, that were revised by expansion and rearrangement.6 There is also evidence that smaller literary units, sometimes just a few chapters, e.g., 1 Sam 16–18, now embedded in larger works, had circulated in a number of versions.7 The existence of multiple versions of a given text at one and the same time seems to imply that an early version of the text had gained a measure of fixity before it was reworked and that even after editing, the early form continued to circulate. To be sure, we cannot know whether the Masoretic Text (= MT) is the earliest or even the original text; it is MT’s revered status in the communities of the faithful that have made it the copy of the Bible against which the other texts are compared. Indeed, in some cases, MT texts look like late, reworked versions of earlier ones.8 Now a number of issues arise when considering the process of editing an earlier text, e.g., (1) was the text consistently edited so as to bring it into line with the later point of view? That is to say, was the reworking thorough and systematic? Or was it sufficient to introduce the alternate view(s) at some point, leaving the older view intact? (2) Is there any way of determining when the editing process began and how many editions the text underwent until finally canonized?

4 A thorough study of the literary techniques employed by the Chronicler can be found in the recent work of I. Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, 2005). 5 On the question as to whether the Chronicler’s biblical sources were the same as those in the MT, see n. 37. 6 See E. Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah”, in P.-M. Bogaert (ed.), Le Livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leurs transmission (Leuven, 1981), pp. 145–167. 7 For a survey of the predominant editorial processes the texts underwent, see the survey of A. Rofé, “Historical-Literary Aspects of the Qumran Biblical Scrolls, in L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov and J. C. VanderKam (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls. Fifty Years after their Discovery 1947–1997 (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 30–39. 8 Tov, Textual Criticism, pp. 180–197. For Tov’s most recent thoughts on these issues, see idem, “Literary Analysis, the So-Called Original Text of Hebrew Scripture, and Textual Evaluation”, in Ch. Cohen et al. (eds.), Birkat Shalom. Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (Winona Lake, 2008), pp. 943–963.

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Unfortunately, with regard to the Biblical text, answers to these questions are not ascertainable due to the lack of textual witnesses to the successive editorial stages, and in most cases, we are left with speculation. However, I suggest that an analysis of the editorial stages of other ANE texts may contribute to our attempt to understand similar processes related to the Biblical text. In particular, I submit that the manner and degree of editing tolerated during the creative stages of composition of the Assyrian royal annals, to be discussed below, might be helpful in considering the editorial stages that are suggested for some biblical texts. The following study of literary-ideological editing in a discrete corpus of cuneiform texts, the Neo-Assyrian annal inscriptions of Ashurbanipal, sheds light on a model of redaction whose ostensive purpose was to update the reports of earlier texts, in a process that was repeated periodically. Besides updating, changes introduced in the earlier texts also seem to reflect prevailing thought at the court in Nineveh, as well as the authors’ particular style. To be sure the cuneiform texts studied here are examples of a distinct genre, unlike any in the biblical corpus – there are no royal inscriptions in the Bible; yet comparison between the two is more than a scholastic exercise when we consider that the goal of both corpora was didactic-propagandistic, a goal that could have been realized only if the message in all copies of the text were identical. The royal inscriptions of Ashurbanipal were mainly composed in one of the two major types popular in Assyrian historical writing, annals and summary inscriptions,9 and during the third decade of Ashurbanipal’s reign, the annals were edited at least four times between 649–643 B.C.E.10 Comparison of the various editions, taking note of the deletions and expansions in each edition, discloses not only the scribal techniques of redaction, but also the pervading attitudes at the time of 9 Both genres set out “the triumphs of the king in battle and in building enterprises”; the annals follow, for the most part, a chronological order of presentation, the summary inscriptions order events geographically. See my remarks in M. Cogan, The Raging Torrent (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 206. 10 The earliest annal text, edition E, can be dated ca. 665 B.C.E.; the latest is edition H, to year 639. The editions of the 640s are: edition B, 649; edition C, 646; edition F, 645; edition A, 643. All texts are cited according to R. Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals. Die Prismenklassen A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften (Wiesbaden, 1996). Note that the column and line numeration in Borger’s work sometimes differs from the ones in the older editio princeps of each edition.

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composition. The topos of the announcement of support of the gods in battle serves as the central point of the following investigation. In most royal inscriptions, from the Middle Assyrian period onwards, the Assyrian monarch is portrayed as proceeding against his enemies with divine support. This idea was expressed in a number of terse expressions: “at the command of Ashur” (ina qibīt Aššur);11 “with the help of/trusting in Ashur” (ina tukulti Aššur); “with the help of/ trusting in the great gods (ina tukulti ilāni rabûti)”.12 In the estimation of A. Leo Oppenheim, the terms ina qibīt and ina tukulti indicate an “oracle-command” of the gods delivered to the king,13 For sure, the venerable practice of inquiring of the gods preceded setting out on campaign, and on the road as well, inquiry was regularly undertaken to verify that the backing of the gods, ascertained at the outset, had remained constant. But the specific procedures employed in seeking the omen go unmentioned. Only in the late Sargonid Age, in the inscriptions of Esarhaddon and especially those of Ashurbanipal, do descriptions of the medium and the message of divine aid become part of the text. Dreams and prophetic pronouncements are the most prevalent means of communication. An outstanding example of divine support is found in edition B of the annals of Ashurbanipal, in the report of the campaign against Teumman, king of Elam. A general statement opens the account and sets the tone for what follows: “I trusted in Ishtar, who encouraged me” (atkil ana Ištar ša utakkilanni). The first sign of support was a lunar eclipse in the month of Tammuz, which was interpreted as a sign that the end of the reign of the Elamite king was at hand. In the following month of Ab, Ashurbanipal, while on campaign, attended a festival in Arbela honoring Ishtar, at which time he received an intelligence report advising of Teumman’s advance against the Assyrian army. The king entered into the presence of the goddess and fervently prayed for her help. Ishtar replied: “Fear not! Because of the prayer you have directed to me and because your eyes were filled with tears,

11

CAD, Q, s.v. qibītu, p. 246. CAD, T, s.v. tukultu, p. 463. 13 This is Oppenheim’s translation of ina qibīt in the royal inscriptions in ANET, pp. 289, 292, 298; ina tukulti is rendered “trust-inspiring oracle”, p. 286. Cf., A. L. Oppenheim, “The City of Assur in 714 B.C.”, JNES 19 (1960), p. 34: “tukultu, an encouraging sign of mysterious nature”. 12

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I have compassion (upon you)”.14 And as if this announcement were not enough, there follows the account of a dream interpreter (šabrû), who, during that very same night, had a dream in which he saw Ishtar of Arbela appear to Ashurbanipal. She was arrayed in battle gear and bid the king to stay put, while she went off to fight Teumman. This final divine message was sufficient, and in the next month of Elul, “(the month of ) the activity of the goddesses, the feast of exalted Ashur, the month of Sin, the light of heaven and earth, I (Ashurbanipal) trusted in the decision of the shinning light (Sin) and the message of Ishtar, my lady, which cannot be changed. At the command of Ashur, Sin and Ishtar, I mobilized my troops, my fighters . . .” (B v 1–81) and went off to fight Teumman.15 The account of the campaign against Teumman was taken up again two years later in the edition C; no changes were introduced into the report as given in edition B. From Assyria’s point of view, relations with Elam continued to worsen and led to continuing battles; these developments became the central subject in the next edition of the royal annals, edition F. The report of the early campaign against Teumman was drastically condensed and all that is related is: At the command of Ashur, Sin, Shamash, Bel, Nabu, Ishtar of Nineveh, Ishtar of Arbela, Ninurta, Nergal, Nusku, in the month of Elul, (the month of) the activity of the goddesses, the month of Ashur, the king of the gods, (the month of ) of the father of the gods Enlil, like the attack of a fierce storm, I overwhelmed Elam in its entirety (F ii 55–60).

The author of edition F replaced the account of the three-fold encouragement of the gods given in the earlier editions with a prosaic sentence indicating support of the king by all the gods of Assyria, maintaining the date of the attack he found in the earlier editions.16 The next

14

The words of Ishtar were most likely delivered by a prophet (raggimu) associated with the cult of Ishtar. Among the prophetic utterances from this period, the identical formula of support appears: “Fear not!” See S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA IX; Helsinki, 1997), pp. 4–9, 14–19, 38. See, too, M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 1998), pp. 52–57. 15 It is not clear why the king delayed at Arbela. Was it due to his required participation in the cultic ceremony? 16 In her analysis, Pamela D. Gerardi spoke of “three very strong, religious events in the prelude to the campaign: the eclipse, the theophany, and the dream message”; see P. D. Gerardi, Ashurbanipal’s Elamite Campaigns: A Literary and Political Study (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1987), p. 145. In my view, the triplet falls in the realm of prognostication.

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edition, edition A, the last one of the decade, followed the lead of edition F and made do with the short version, copied without any change (A iii 29–35). What should one make of the alteration introduced in edition F? Was its author averse to reporting omens and prayers? Perhaps he considered the image of the king in need of a face-lift. Or maybe the reworking of the text was prompted by other, more mundane considerations, e.g., making room on the writing surface (i.e., prisms and tablets) for newer information that in his judgment was more significant? A look at further examples of divine manifestations as they appear in the various editions of the annals throws light on these questions. We return to the history of the relations between Elam and Assyria. Following Teumman’s demise, continued rivalry within the royal house of Elam, ostensibly over foreign policy, ended with Tammaritu taking the throne. Ashurbanipal recognized his rule, but in the end, he, too, proved disloyal to Assyria, particularly in his support of the uprising in Babylon against Assyria led by Shamash-shum-ukin. The report of the battle against Tammaritu in edition B begins with a short sentence that appears in all the succeeding editions. B vii 52–53

ina šuppê sa Aššur u Ištar usappû tanīhīya imhurû išmu zikir šaptīya Because of the prayers with which I besought Ashur and Ishtar, they received my sighs (and) heard the words of my lips.

C viii 42–43 ina šuppê ša Aššur u Ištar usappû unnīnīya ilqû išmû zikir šaptīya Because of the prayers with which I besought Ashur and Ishtar, they accepted my supplication (and) heard the words of my lips. F iii 17–18

ina šuppê ša Aššur u Ištar usappû išmû unnīnīya Because of the prayers with which I besought Ashur and Ishtar, they heard my supplication.

A iv 9–10

ina šuppê ša Aššur u Ištar usappû unnīnīya ilqû išmû zikir šaptīya Because of the prayers with which I besought Ashur and Ishtar, they accepted my supplication (and) heard the words of my lips.

In all editions, Ashurbanipal’s prayer and entreaty to the gods for support against the Elamite enemy are answered. Of note is the need felt

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by the authors to introduce stylistic alterations, basically formulaic substitutions, as this notice moved from edition to edition.17 In the post-B editions, the history of relations with Elam is continued beyond the point in time where edition B breaks off. In edition F, the following minor incident occurred during the pursuit of Ummanaldash, a later Elamite king: “I did not wait one day, nor a second day; I did not look forward or backward. On that day, I crossed the river” (F iv 46–47). This statement was completely rewritten by the author of edition A: “My troops beheld the River Idide, a raging flood, and they were afraid to cross. Ishtar, who dwells in Arbela, appeared to my troops in a night vision; thus she said to them: ‘I walk ahead of Ashurbanipal, the king whom my hands created.’ My troops trusted that vision and they crossed the River Idide safely” (A v 95–103). The insertion of the dream episode, unattested in the earlier text, causes little surprise. Outside of the Elamite pericopes, the author of edition A embraced two additional dream stories, the first of which he garnered from a text 25 years old, the other one, concerning a matter closer to his own days, may have been his own creation. The firstreported dream in the annal inscriptions concerns Gyges, king of Lydia to whom the god Ashur appeared in a night-vision and told him that by submitting to Ashurbanipal, “beloved of Ashur”, he would overcome his enemies. To be sure, Gyges sent his messenger to Nineveh and served Ashurbanipal. This dream-instigated vassalage of Lydia to Assyria is related in the first edition of the annals, edition E, dated +/– 665 B.C.E., and appears in all the subsequent editions of the annals; the version in editions B and F is somewhat abbreviated, the one in edition A is exceptional in that it presents the full story. Edition A’s author returned to his “tablet shelf ”, and basing himself on edition E, he restored details that had been reported a half-century earlier and had been deleted in the course of transmission.18 The other dream promising divine support to Ashurbanipal is associated with the outbreak of military actions taken against Shamashshum-ukin. Edition A reports: A young man has a night vision in

17 F. M. Fales, “A Literary Code in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: The Case of Ashurbanipal’s Egyptian Campaign”, in F. M. Fales (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons (Rome, 1981), pp. 169–202. 18 For a full analysis and discussion, see M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, “Gyges and Ashurbanipal. A Study in Literary Transmission”, Orientalia 46 (1977), pp. 65–85.

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which he observed a message inscribed on the socle of the statue of the god Sin: “He who plans evil against Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria, (and) begins hostilities, I will grant him a horrible death; by the swift sword, the onset of fire, hunger and pestilence, I will end his life”. The message is forwarded to Ashurbanipal, who “trusted the word of Sin” (A iii 118–127). To our surprise, this version of the incident seems to have troubled some scribes who copied edition A and in a small number of manuscripts, they inserted an edited version. Apparently, they felt that the god Nabu, lord of all scribal wisdom, had been slighted and so they glossed the text they were writing to read: “A young man fell asleep and in that night had a vision as follows: Nabu, the scribe of all, practiced his divine craft and left an inscription on the socle of the god Sin: ‘He who plans evil against Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria, who possesses my wisdom, (and) begins hostilities, I will grant him a horrible death; by the swift sword, the onset of fire, hunger and pestilence, I will end his life.’ I heard the message and trusted the word of Nabu” (A iii 118–127).19 Returning again to the treatment of Assyrian-Elamite relations as given in edition F and taken over into edition A, among the unique historiographic rationales for hostilities between the two kingdoms is the episode that tells of the return of the statue of the goddess Nana that had languished in self-imposed exile in Susa for 1,635 (vars. 1,535; 1,630) years.20 In an ancient prophecy, the gods determined that her deliverer and restorer was to be the future king, Ashurbanipal, and now, at the end of Assyrian-Elamite war, that prophecy was fulfilled. Nana’s statue was retrieved and “in the month of Kislev, on the first day, I (Ashurbanipal) ordered her to enter (the city) Uruk and in (the temple) Ehilianna, which she loves, take up her eternal abode” (F v 72–vi 11; A vi 107–124).21

19 Oppenheim thought the purpose of this dream-report was “merely to add color to the description” of the outbreak of war between the two brothers (A. L. Oppenheim, “The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East”, TAPS NS 46, Part 3 [1956], p. 201). 20 Whatever the original reading, the figure is likely exaggerated; see J. A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire (Philadelphia, 1984), p. 103. The circumstances of the transfer of the statue to Elam remain clouded. The peregrinations of the statue of Nana and the conflicting claims on the goddess over the generations are examined anew by J.-A. Scurlock, “Whose Truth and Whose Justice? The Uruk and other Late Akkadian Prophecies Re-Revisited”, in S. W. Holloway (ed.), Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible (Sheffield, 2006), pp. 458–462. 21 Tadmor considered the introduction of the ancient prophecy into the narrative a case of apology, explaining the “sacrilegious acts” of the army – the destruction

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Edition A’s author utilized this motif of ancient prophecy newly fulfilled in his redacted version of the Mannean campaign. Assyria’s victories against the Mannean army stirred up dissatisfaction with the leadership of King Ahsheri of Mannea among his countrymen and they killed him in a bloody uprising. All the pre-A editions, B, C and F, report this incident succinctly: “Ahsheri, who did not fear my rule, Ashur and Ishtar delivered him into the hands of his servants; the people of his land rebelled against him. They threw his body in the street of his city” (B iii 82–85; C iv 91–94; F ii 38–40). In edition A, a revised version of the events is given: “Ahsheri, who did not fear my rule, by the word of Ishtar, who dwells in Arbela, which she had spoken as of old, saying: ‘I shall bring about the death of Ahsheri, king of the Manneans, which I have declared,’ she delivered him into the hands of his servants; the people of his land rebelled against him. They threw his body in the street of his city; they abandoned his corpse. They struck down his brothers, his family, the seed of his father’s house” (A iii 4–10). Ahsheri’s death had been predicted by a divine word; delivered in the past, the god’s word was now fulfilled in support of Ashurbanipal’s rule. From the preceding survey, it is clear that all editions of the annals of Ashurbanipal included descriptions of divine communications prior to and during military campaigns. The deletion of the edition-B account of the three signs of the gods’ support of the king from all subsequent editions was of particular note. It emerged that this revision did not stem from the authors’ objection to dreams or to the denial of the effectiveness of prayer. For one, the author of edition F included references to such phenomena, however concise, in his edition; moreover, the author of edition A introduced reports of divine communications of similar nature where none existed in the earlier editions. Whether edition A’s additions were fictional creations22 or

of temples images – during the capture of Susa; see H. Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (eds.), History, Historiography and Interpretation (Jerusalem, 1983), pp. 49–50; cf. Gerardi, Ashurbanipal’s Elamite Campaigns, pp. 204–205. 22 Nissinen holds that they are quasi-verbatim quotations of prophecies, see M. Nissinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy”, in E. Ben Zvi and M. H. Floyd (eds.), Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (SBLSS 10; Atlanta, 2000), pp. 265–266.

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quotations from recorded events,23 matters little when considering the goal of the interpolation of this material into the final text. Edition A gives the impression of being a thoroughly revised recension, marked by its many examples of dreams and prophecies. Taken together, they proclaim: Let there be no doubt. Ashurbanipal enjoys divine support. Therefore, I suspect that a utilitarian consideration alone was behind the omission of the older edition-B stories; there was nothing objectionable about these stories, and they were dropped simply to make room for new material. To be sure, this conclusion is hardly surprising, inasmuch as the topos of divine support is of the very essence of Assyrian historiography.24 But we have yet to treat the medium through which the promise of aid and protection is communicated to the royal patron; for sure the means is of more than passing significance.25 The edition-B report of three-fold support of the king recalls a similar one appearing in Sargon’s ‘Letter to the god Ashur’ prior to the attack on the Urartian city, Musasir. There, too, three ominous signs are observed and interpreted as signifying victory for the Assyrian army. At the strong command of Ashur, father of the gods . . . at the exalted command of Nabu and Marduk, who had taken a course in the station of the stars (portending) the advance of my arms, and as a favorable sign for gaining power, the (moon) god Magur, lord of the disk, came to rest at the “watch” (portending) the overthrow of Gutium; at the most precious nod of Shamash, the warrior, who wrote upon the entrails (of sacrificial animals) the favorable omens (which indicated) that he would go at my side (TCL 3, lines 317–319; ARAB II, §170).

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Amitai Baruchi-Unna treats this question in the form-critical study of the various genres in the annals of Ashurbanipal being undertaken as part of his doctoral research, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in preparation. 24 This may be stated in the reverse: The king was attune to the needs of the gods and sought ways to serve them. Oppenheim opines: “The concept of the king’s personal responsibility toward the deity and the concomitant sentiment of intimacy in this relationship intensified the omen-consciousness of the Assyrian king and of his entire court. There it engendered speculations that reflect concern with theological problems and led not only to refinement of the methods of interpreting omens but also to constant changes in techniques of divination” (Ancient Mesopotamia [Chicago, 1960], p. 226). 25 Contra Nissinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented”, p. 266.

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An oracle from Ashur26 is here bolstered by an astrological observation, and then further confirmed by the markings on the entrails; all three signs support Sargon’s decision to begin the attack.27 This same combination of divinatory means also served his grandson, Esarhaddon, as seen by a number of instances reported in Esarhaddon’s inscriptions, e.g., they are credited with having determined the course of the king’s dealings with respect to the reconstruction of Babylon.28 It is, therefore, remarkable that in the annals of Ashurbanipal, astrology is hardly referred to and extispicy is almost totally neglected.29 The preferred procedures in these annals are dream revelations and prophetic pronouncements, associated prominently with the goddess Ishtar of Arbela.30 This observation does not imply that astrology and extispicy had passed from the scene. Both of these methods of omen-taking were practiced during the reign of Ashurbanipal as evidenced by the records of inquiries placed before the Sun god Shamash at the time of examining the entrails,31 and by the astrological reports sent to court.32 Letters addressed to the king discuss these matters.33 It would seem, therefore, that the authors of the annals clearly avoided referring to them, apparently being disinclined to give these procedures any prominence. Their standpoint is further disclosed by comparing the report concerning the return of the goddess Nana to Uruk as given in edition A of the annals (see above) with the one in a dedicatory text to the god Nergal that relates to the same period of Assyrian-Elamite history. 26 For the term tukultu used here in line 314: “the strong command”, ina tukultisu rabîti, see above notes 12 and 13. 27 Cf. Oppenheim, “The City of Assur”, pp. 136–138. 28 Cf. R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (AfO Beiheft 9; Graz, 1956), §11, Ep. 14. 29 In Prism T, ii, 18–19, a non-annalistic inscription//Prism C, i, 62 (Borger, Beiträge, p. 141), Ashurbanipal is said to have “sought an oracle of Shamash and Adad”, who “replied with a true/firm ‘Yes!’ ”, i.e., through extispicy, before undertaking the restoration of the shrine of Ishtar, Queen of Kidmuri. 30 On this relationship between prophets and prophetesses and the cult of Ishtar, see the remarks of Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, pp. xlvii–xlviii. 31 See I. Starr, Queries to the Sungod, Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (SAA IV; Helsinki, 1990), pp. 233–299. In Babylonian tamitu tradition, Shamash and Adad were joined as a duo and jointly invoked; see W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Winona Lake, 2007), pp. 1–10. Lambert (p. 9) notes a small number of instances in Assyrian texts in which divinatory advice is given by both gods. 32 See H. Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (SAA VIII; Helsinki, 1992). 33 See S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (SAA X; Helsinki, 1993), inter alia.

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m. cogan Kudurnanhundi, the Elamite, who did not fear the oath (sworn) by the great gods, who in (his) madness [trusted] in his own strength, brought his hand against the sanctuaries of Akkad and ruined the land of Akkad (?) . . . . . . The days were fulfilled, the appointed time drew near. The great gods saw [these] deeds. For 1,635 years [they left unavenged] the destruction of the Elamite. Me, Ashurbanipal, the prince who fears them, they sent to lay waste [Elam] and an unsparing weapon [they put into my hand]. The great gods, in heaven and on earth, . . . . . . Shamash, through his firm “Yes!” (i.e., an answer determined by extispicy), commanded… and Sin, through his decision, which is irrevocable, (i.e., astrological sign) . . . . . . the word of Ishtar, ordering (him) to draw up the battle line, (i.e., prophetic announcement) . . . . . . . . . . [I mustered] the armies of Assyria, made straight for the Elamite . . . (K 2631+, II. 12–27; Borger, Beiträge, p. 83; cf. ARAB II, §923).

In this text, the three traditional omen procedures are operative; in fact, their ranking reflects their seniority within Mesopotamian tradition, with prophetic announcements ranked third, as the newcomer among the valid portents. Dreams are entirely lacking. Returning to the editors and their editing of the annals of Ashurbanipal, it seems reasonable to conclude that one of the main themes they sought to promulgate in their compositions was that the gods communicated their support of Ashurbanipal through prophets and dream interpreters. Since there is no evidence of a change of personnel among the palace scribes during the decade when editions B, C, F, and A of the annals appeared, I assume that the same cadre of scribes authored all of the editions.34 And if this is so, then one wonders what circumstances encouraged the authors of edition A to go to the lengths they did to highlight the king’s relationship with the gods through these particular means. Had Ashurbanipal signaled his men of letters that these practitioners were the most trusted and reliable advisers of all those who competed for the king’s attention35 and that he wanted this to be made clear in the annals?

34 Though one should not rule out completely the possibility of a change in personnel at the highest levels, say in the position of the “chief scribe” (ummanû rabû), who was ultimately responsible for the literary productions issued in the king’s name. 35 In this, I take exception to Oppenheim (The Interpretation of Dreams, p. 200), who held that oneiromancy was held in “low esteem” in Mesopotamia because of the absence of references to dream experiences before Ashurbanipal. He, himself, demurs in noting the letter ABL 923 (= SAA X, no. 174), where the god Ashur spoke in a dream to Sennacherib, Ashurbanipal’s grandfather.

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Conclusions and Prospects This small incursion into the annals of Ashurbanipal by means of the subject of divine support to the king revealed that these ideological texts were subject to repeated editing. There was no long interval between the different editions – two-three years is the maximum time span between them – and in each edition we found revisions, either of omission or addition. The overt occasion for a new edition of the annals was a major victory or the completion of a public works project;36 but as is apparent, the updating of the political and military record was not the only concern of the authors. The new edition also gave voice to the ideological trends and relationships au courant in the Assyrian court. Considering these conclusions, it may be well to reconsider some of the proposals put forward concerning the editing and revision of biblical texts prior to their canonization. Perhaps alterations in the text were not the result of a thoroughgoing reworking undertaken at a single sitting. Rather they might have been introduced during successive redaction that is, editing undertaken in stages, at various times, dependent upon the locale and the circumstances in which the texts were meant to serve.37

36 Edition D (648 B.C.E.) has the same historical report as Edition B (649 B.C.E.); it differs only in its concluding section, which relates to a different project. 37 For example, Williamson argued that the passage in 2 Kgs 23:29–30 concerning the death and burial of Josiah was revised by someone “who was aware of the difficulties of the narrative in Kings and who reflected on them . . . probably with fuller knowledge of the actual course of events”. This version of the story became part of a developed version of Kings that eventually was the form of the book used by the Chronicler. See H. G. M. Williamson, “The Death of Josiah and the Continuing Development of the Deuteronomic History”, VT 32 (1982), pp. 242–248.

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m. cogan Bibliography

R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (AfO Beiheft 9; Graz, 1956). ——, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals. Die Prismenklassen A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften (Wiesbaden, 1996). J. A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire (Philadelphia, 1984). M. Cogan, “Some Text-Critical Issues in the Hebrew Bible from an Assyriological Perspective”, Textus 22 (2005), pp. 1–20. ——, The Raging Torrent (Jerusalem, 2008). ——, “Literary-Critical Issues in the Hebrew Bible from an Assyriological Perspective. Additions and Omissions”, in N. S. Fox, D. A. Glatt-Gilad, and M. J. Williams (eds.), Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay (Winona Lake, 2009), pp. 401–413. M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, “Gyges and Ashurbanipal. A Study in Literary Transmission”, Orientalia 46 (1977), pp. 65–85. F. M. Fales, “A Literary Code in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: The Case of Ashurbanipal’s Egyptian Campaign”, in F. M. Fales (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons (Rome, 1981), pp. 169–202. P. D. Gerardi, Ashurbanipal’s Elamite Campaigns: A Literary and Political Study (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1987). H. Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (SAA VIII; Helsinki, 1992). S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville, 1993). I. Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN, 2005). W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Winona Lake, 2007). M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 1998). ——, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy”, in E. Ben Zvi and M. H. Floyd (eds.), Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (SBLSS 10; Atlanta, 2000), pp. 235–271. A. L. Oppenheim, “The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East”, TAPS NS 46, Part 3 (1956), pp. 179–353. ——, “The City of Assur in 714 B.C.”, JNES 19 (1960), pp. 133–147. ——, Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago, 1960). S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (SAA X; Helsinki, 1993). ——, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA IX; Helsinki, 1997). A. Rofé, “Historical-Literary Aspects of the Qumran Biblical Scrolls”, in L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov and J. C. VanderKam (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls. Fifty Years after their Discovery 1947–1997 (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 30–39. J.-A. Scurlock, “Whose Truth and Whose Justice? The Uruk and other Late Akkadian Prophecies Re-Revisited”, in S. W. Holloway (ed.), Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible (Sheffield, 2006), pp. 449–467. I. Starr, Queries to the Sungod, Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (SAA IV; Helsinki, 1990). H. Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (eds.), History, Historiography and Interpretation (Jerusalem, 1983), pp. 36–57. E. Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah”, in P.-M. Bogaert (ed.), Le Livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leurs transmission (Leuven, 1981), pp. 145–167. ——, “The Growth of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Evidence of the LXX Translation”, in S. Japhet (ed.), Studies in Bible (Scripta Hierosolymitana XXXI; Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 320–339.

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——, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2nd rev. ed., Minneapolis – Assen, 2001). ——, “Literary Analysis, the So-Called Original Text of Hebrew Scripture, and Textual Evaluation”, in Ch. Cohen et al. (eds.), Birkat Shalom. Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (Winona Lake, 2008), pp. 943–963. H. G. M. Williamson, “The Death of Josiah and the Continuing Development of the Deuteronomic History”, VT 32 (1982), pp. 242–248.

ARDIYA, AN EANNA TEMPLE PREBENDARY

Muhammad Dandamayev Oriental Institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences

The document YOS 19, 52 comes from the archives of the Eanna temple in Uruk and was drafted in the fourteenth year of Nabonidus (542 B.C.E.). It was published in autograph copy by Paul-Alain Beaulieu. As seen from this text, thirty shekels of silver and eight kur (1440 litres) of barley belonging to the Eanna temple were intended “for consignment” (mēreštu)1 in the lands “Across the River”2 and placed at the disposal of a certain Ardiya (ÌR-iá; ÌR-ia), son of Aplâ (A-a). In turn Ardiya transferred these assets to a certain Arrabu, son of Nanayaibni, with the obligation to repay them in about three months. The same document also indicates that Arrabu has to pay additionally one mina and five shekels of silver belonging to the Eanna temple which had earlier been given to him and to another individual by Ardiya together with a certain Innin-šum-iškun. The document under consideration was sealed in the presence of Kurbanni-Marduk, chief administrator (šatammu) of the Eanna temple, and of Rimanni, royal commissioner in the same sanctuary. The names of three witnesses follow. The document itself was drafted by the Eanna scribe Nādin of the Egibi family, who is attested in many texts of the same archives. So who was this Ardiya, the protagonist of the document under consideration? He is referred to in several documents from the same archives and sometimes is additionally designated a descendant of a certain Nabû-šarhi-ili. For instance, YOS 6, 69 is a record concerning precious stones. Here, Ardiya, together with the above mentioned Innin-šum-iškun (in this text he is additionally designated as son of Ištar-zēr-uṣur), bought 2 minas 55 shekels of carnelian (sāmtu) at the

1 2

See CAD, M/2I, p. 22a: “(imported) consignment (of merchandise)”. Eber-nāri, i.e., across the Euphrates (Syria in broad sense).

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price of six shekels of silver per shekel of carnelian.3 The document was drafted in the eighth regnal year of Nabonidus (548 B.C.E.).4 As is known, carnelian was used in particular for making decorations of Ištar and other goddesses of the Eanna temple.5 GCCI 2, 91 is a receipt for barley distributed to several individuals of the Eanna temple personnel in the first regnal year of Amēl-Marduk (561 B.C.E.). The quantities of the grain fluctuated from one to six mašīhu (“measures”),6 and Ardiya was paid two “measures”, i.e. 72 litres (see line 6). This grain was given to him as maššartu (see below). Several more documents regarding maššartu given to this Ardiya have also been preserved. One text7 contains an account of dates delivered as maššartu and kurummatu (“food allowance”) to various workers (blacksmiths, launderers, etc.), including Ardiya (see line 21); the figures in this account have not been preserved. The document itself was drafted in the 13th regnal year of Nabonidus (543 B.C.E.). AUWE 11, 173, which is in a very bad state of preservation, contains a list of individuals who received some measures of barley or dates for a period of several months. E. Gehlken, the editor of this text, is inclined to assume that they were cooks or bakers (nuhatimmu; the word itself is not preserved in this text). It is dated to the reign of Nebuchadnezzar II, King of Babylon, but the figures with the date are broken. Yet as Gehlken justly assumes, it belongs to the second half of the reign of Nebukadnezzar II.8 The supposition that this Ardiya was a cook (or a baker) can be supported with references to several other synchronous documents from the Eanna archives. YOS 6, 93 records that in the seventh year of Nabonidus’ reign some measures of dates and barley were distributed as maššartu to cooks, among whom Ardiya also appears (see line 26). Two-thirds of such staples placed at the disposal of the cooks and others of the temple personnel (brewers, butchers, etc.) were used for preparing regular offerings for the deities, while

3

See CAD, S, p. 124a. “Year 6” in YOS 6, p. 42 is apparently a misprint. 5 See P.-A. Beaulieu, The Pantheon of Uruk During the Neo-Babylonian Period (CM 23; Leiden, 2003), p. 13. 6 On this measure see A. C. V. M. Bongenaar, The Neo-Babylonian Ebabbar Temple at Sippar: Its Administration and Its Prosopography (Leiden, 1997), p. 146, according to whom one mašīhu “normally equals one pānu”, i.e., 36 qa (1 qa was equal 1 litre). 7 UCP, vol. 9/II, no. 35. 8 See E. Gehlken, Uruk. Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus dem Eanna-Archiv, II (AUWE 11; Mainz, 1996), p. 15. 4

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the remaining third (pappasu) was given to the workers as their prebendary income in return for their services as cooks and other professionals.9 As seen from YOS 7, 52, from the sixth regnal year of Cyrus (533 B.C.E.) dates were delivered as maššartu to cooks for two months; Ardiya (mentioned without patronymic) in particular received ca. 52 litres (see also YOS 6, 35). UCP, vol. 9/II, no. 54 contains a list of monies distributed by the Eanna temple administration to various individuals, among whom Ardiya son of Aplâ is again named (see line 4). The entire amount was ten minas and three shekels of silver, but the figures for Ardiya’s sum are destroyed and the text itself is not dated. The same Ardiya without patronymic is referred to also in a number of other Eanna texts as recipient of barley or dates as maššartu.10 In AUWE 5, 133 Ardiya appears with his full patronymic (including the ancestral name). This text contains an obligation that he, together with two other persons, was to pay the Eanna temple 40 kur (7200 litres) of barley. It is noteworthy that all three were relatives, namely descendants of Nabû-šaruh-ili, and stood as guarantors for each other. This sum equalled the price of about forty goats (the figures are partly destroyed). Ardiya and his relatives were to deliver the barley in the month Simānu (May/June) by the measure of the goddess of Ištar. The document was composed in the presence of four witnesses on the fourth day of the month Kislimu of the first regnal year of AmēlMarduk (561 B.C.E.). As the editor of the document notes, the debt obligation had to be paid in half a year, soon after the harvest.11 In two documents Ardiya is referred to among witnesses. According to YOS 7, 10, from the first regnal year of Cyrus (538 B.C.E.), at a court session of the Eanna temple a slave declared that the master and his son had carried off some barley from a field which belonged to a third person. This slave declared in the presence of his master and several witnesses, among them Ardiya, named in the text with his full patronymic (including the ancestral name). With the same full patronymic Ardiya appears as a witness also in TCL 12, 80 (line 14) compiled in the fourth year of Nabonidus (552 B.C.E.). The text contains a warning that a certain person will be punished if he is found guilty

9 See Bongenaar, The Neo-Babylonian Ebabbar Temple, pp. 140–143; S. Zawadzki, Garments of the Gods. Studies on the Textile Industry and the Pantheon of Sippar according to the texts from the Ebabbar Archive (OBO 218; Fribourg, 2006), pp. 50–57. 10 See, for instance, SWU, nos. 3, 4, 10, 13, 15 and 26. 11 See Gehlken, Uruk, p. 110.

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in taking of 1 qa (ca. 1 litre) of barley and 6 qa of straw without the permission of an Eanna official. The name Ardiya was fairly common; in synchronic letters from the Eanna archives it can be found rather frequently without any patronymic so it is impossible to identify with certainty such individuals with our protagonist. Naturally, such texts cannot be considered here. In any case, among bearers of this name was also Ardiya, son of Nabûbān-ahi, descendant of Rēmūt-Ea, who was a rent collector from the fields which belonged to the Eanna temple. In many letters from the Eanna archives he is frequently mentioned without any patronymic, but to judge from the context it is always the same Ardiya. The earliest text where Ardiya is referred to with his patronymic is dated to the reign of Nebuchadnezzar II but the signs with the year are damaged (AUWE 11, 173). This king died in 562 B.C.E., so already at that time or little earlier Ardiya already belonged to the Eanna temple personnel and appears among its cooks, brewers, butchers, etc. The next two documents mentioning him were drafted in 561 (GCCI 2, 91 and AUWE 5, 133). One text where he is mentioned contains no date (UCP, vol. 9/II, no. 54). The last dated document in which Ardiya is named was composed in 533 B.C.E. (YOS 7, 52). Accordingly, his activities can be traced for at least twenty-nine years. As seen from five documents, he received barley and dates to prepare repasts for deities as well as for his own remuneration. One text also records food portions delivered to him (YOS 6, 35). In another document he appears with his kinsmen as debtors to the Eanna temple, obliged to refund the price of approximately forty goats (AUWE 5, 133). In two documents he is referred to as a witness in rulings by the temple assembly on the theft of certain items which belonged to Eanna as well as to a private person. None of these texts needs any special comment; but was Ardiya, son of Aplâ, the same person who appears in two other documents under consideration? According to one of them (YOS 19, 52), in 542 B.C.E. he was given half a mina of silver and eight kur of barley which belonged to the Eanna temple to purchase some merchandise in the West. As seen from the same text, earlier still, Ardiya, together with a certain Innin-šum-iškun, delivered to a businessman by the name of Arrabu five shekels of silver which belonged to the Eanna temple. So in this case Ardiya was not himself engaged in a transaction but entrusted money to another individual. However, Innin-šum-iškun and Ardiya appear together in 548 B.C.E. buying carnelian obviously for Eanna (YOS 6, 69). These two cases deviate

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from his routine activities, so it is not impossible that the Ardiya mentioned in them was a namesake of our protagonist. However, as we have seen from AUWE 5, 133 from 561 B.C.E., the same Ardiya (his ancestral name is also given), together with his kinsmen, had to pay to the Eanna temple the price of about forty goats. In this connection, a certain Innin-šum-iškun (without patronymic) is referred to in the third year of Cyrus (536 B.C.E.) as the recipient of about two hundred goats from the Eanna temple, probably for a business deal (TCL 13, 130). He might be the same partner of Ardiya mentioned above. So along with his work as a temple cook, Ardiya apparently also engaged in various business operations.

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m. dandamayev Bibliography

P.-A. Beaulieu, Legal and Administrative Texts from the Reign of Nabonidus (YOS 19; New Haven, 2000). ——, The Pantheon of Uruk during the Neo-Babylonian Period (CM 23; Leiden, 2003). A. C. V. M. Bongenaar, The Neo-Babylonian Ebabbar Temple at Sippar: Its Administration and Its Prosopography (Leiden, 1997). G. Contenau, Contrats néo-babyloniens I: de Téglath-phalasar III à Nabonide (TCL 12; Paris, 1927). ——, Contrats néo-babyloniens II: achéménides et séleucides (TCL 13; Paris, 1929). R. P. Dougherty, Records from Erech. Time of Nabonidus (YOS 6; New Haven, 1920). ——, Archives from Erech, Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods (GCCI 2; New Haven, 1933). H. Freydank, Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus Uruk (Berlin, 1971). E. Gehlken, Uruk. Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus dem Eanna-Archiv, I (AUWE 5; Mainz, 1990). ——, Uruk. Spätbabylonische Wirtschaftstexte aus dem Eanna-Archiv, II (AUWE 11; Mainz, 1996). H. F. Lutz, Neo-Babylonian Administrative Documents from Erech (UCP 9/I–II; Berkeley, 1927). A. Tremayne, Records from Erech. Time of Cyrus and Cambyses (YOS 7; New Haven, 1925). S. Zawadzki, Garments of the Gods. Studies on the Textile Industry and the Pantheon of Sippar according to the Texts from the Ebabbar Archive (OBO 218; Frieburg, 2006).

TRUMPET SNAILS AND PURPLE SNAILS AS AN INDICATION OF THE TRANSFER OF RELIGION AND TECHNOLOGY IN THE EASTERN-MEDITERRANEAN REGION

Manfried Dietrich Münster University

I. Introduction The theme The History of the Transfer of Technologies in the Mediterranean Region of the 2005 conference of the European Centre for Ancient East-Mediterranean Studies in Tartu (Estonia) was the stimulus for considering trumpet snails and purple snails.1 These have made a significant contribution to Ugarit’s rise to a pivotal and central role for the transfer of spiritual and material goods and their production methods in the eastern Mediterranean region during the 2nd Millennium B.C.E. For here, ships from regions and lands “overseas” landed, in order to exchange the wares they had brought for those that had either been produced on the Levantine coast or had been delivered here from north, east and south overland and on sea routes in the west “overseas” were to be transported further. In the following trumpet snails and purple snails should serve as an example of the “Transfer of Technologies in the east Mediterranean Region” with Ugarit as the centre: as will be demonstrated, trumpet snails and purple snails were not only a sign of the transfer of technology in the east Mediterranean region but also for the transfer of religion. In the process, instead of ships and sailors, fish or mythical sea-monsters being the main point of interest for this study, it is the snails. These are small creatures at home in the shallows of the sea and

1

I extend my cordial thanks to my highly esteemed colleague and friend Wilfred G. E. Watson (Northumberland), for his translation from German “Trompeten- und Purpurschnecken im Zeichen des Religions- und Technologietransfers im östlichen Mittelmeerraum” and for his valuable comments.

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their habitat stretches from the Levantine coast in the east to far-off in the west. In Antiquity, these inconspicuous inhabitants of the sea shared their imaginary habitat with the chief divine couple of Ugarit. For the ancient inhabitants of the harbour town imagined the mythical residence of their high god, El, the Father of all the gods and of all life, and his wife Aṯirat Yam – the “Mother-goddess of the Sea” – to be in the sea at the foot of the coastal mountains. Of the many families and types of sea-snails living in the Mediterranean, only two are of interest for our topic: the triton horn or trumpet snail from the Cymatiidae family and the purple snails from the Muricidae and the Thaididae families. As will be shown, in the 2nd millennium B.C.E. the snails of these families permanently shaped the cultures of the Mediterranean and the cultural self-awareness of Ugarit. First the trumpet snails will be considered and then the purple snails: II. The triton or trumpet snail and its shell as an object of worship, next III. The purple snail and the use of its secretion as a dye for wool. The emphasis of these considerations is made not only from the viewpoint of the cultural history of Ugarit but also from the archaeological finds in the ruins of that port at all times in the east Mediterranean region. The conclusion provides a summary: IV. Sea-snails as an indication of the transfer of religion and technology in the eastern Mediterranean region. Although the trumpet snail of the Cymatiidae family and the purple snail of the Muricidae and Thaididae families are mentioned, the question arises as to why the “pen shell”, Pinna nobilis, is not. This is deliberately excluded as it is indigenous chiefly to the western regions of the Mediterranean and does not simply allow its role as culture-bearer from the western to the eastern Mediterranean region to be transferred. In fact, its byssus-threads, which can be up to 20 cm long, with which the mussel clings to the seabed are colourless there and transparent, but turn beige-brown on contact with the air. They are the basis since time immemorial especially in Italy, for the prized “mussel silk”, but remain quite meaningless in the east.2 This is all the more surprising, since we are familiar with the term byssus, which is considered to be a wandering

2

See T. Šiletić, La conchiglia nobile: Pinna nobilis (Linnaeus, 1758) / Die Edle Steckmuschel: Pinna nobilis (Linnaeus, 1758), in F. Maeder, A. Hänggi and D. Wunderlin, (eds.), Bisso marino. Fili d’oro dal fondo del mare / Muschelseide. Goldene Fäden vom Meeresgrund (Exhibition catalogue; Basel, 2004), pp. 29–43.

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Kulturwort, from Greek texts (byssos “fine fibre”)3 and from there widespread in the Aegean and probably even further eastwards. However, in Ugarit – as yet – there is no word4 that unambiguously indicates a fabric that would correspond to Byssus.5 May this study of the culturally defining sea-snail and its great significance for the trading centre Ugarit in the east Mediterranean in the 2nd and 1st millennia B.C.E. cause joy to the Jubilarian as a greeting from the Ugarit-Forschungsstelle.

II. The triton or trumpet snail and its shell as an object of worship The triton (or trumpet) snail from the Cymatiide family is provided with a high spiral shaped shell and is found not only in the Pacific and Atlantic but also in the Mediterranean. Here, its shell can be up to 30 cm long and was used by man occasionally as a horn for producing a powerful, muffled sound, which sounds like a modern ship’s siren – which is why mussel horns were also used by the Romans as a “war trumpet blast”.6

3 Cf. C. Hünemörder, “Byssos”, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, Der Neue Pauly, 2 (Stuttgart – Weimar, 1997), col. 866: “Pflanzliche und tierische Fasern, die zu weitgehend durchsichtigen Gewändern . . . verarbeitet wurden. . . . Haftfasern im Meeresboden festsitzender Muscheln wie der großen mittelmeerischen Pinna nobilis . . . zur Anfertigung von Stricken, Strümpfen or Handschuhen”. 4 At best, for this ps in KTU 4.205:5 (lbš psm rq) is possible, if this is a descriptive term, in the plural (ps+m), for the preceding word lbš “garment”, additionally qualified by rq “thin, fine”, which follows it (“thin garment with ps+m”) – which like the striking de-emphasis of the sibiliant in later Akk. būṣu “byssus” (see next footnote), would be due to the neighbouring labial and would fit the laws of compatibility for Ugaritic –. However, in KTU 4.205:5 it is more probably a word from the root PSM “to veil or the like”, which like Akk. pusummu “Schleier; veil” (AHw, p. 883a; CAD, P, pp. 537–538) qualifies the lbš-garment as a fine, thin overgarment (cf. DUL, p. 685); instead of this, W. G. E. Watson (Lexical Studies in Ugaritic [AuOrS 19; Barcelona, 2007], pp. 100–101), proposes ktnt psm “sleeved tunic” according to the Hebrew ktnt psm. 5 Dictionaries of Akkadian list the fabric “byssus” as occurring first in the 1st millennium B.C.E.: CAD, B, s.v. būṣu D, p. 350a: “byssus”; AHw s.v. būṣu II, p. 143a: “Byssos; eine Glasart”; cf. AEAD, p. 18b: būṣu “byssus, fine linen, mussel silk, sea silk”. 6 In this context it is worth taking a look at Hinduism: On entering a temple of Viṣnu ̣ in North India, one is already aware of the far off “voice of Viṣnu ̣ ”, the muffled sound of a mussel-horn (śankha – see C. Sivaramamurti, Indien. Kunst und Kultur (2nd ed.; Ars Antiqua; Freiburg, 1978), p. 571, plates 1080–1086) blown by one of the priests. Furthermore, the shell of the triton snail is one of the most important attributes of the creator god, Viṣnu ̣ , who is closely connected with life-giving water. In the iconography,

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The expression “triton” comes from Greek mythology and according to Hesiod was used for a son of Poseidon and Amphitrite, who at the same time was a low-ranking sea-god.7 Following ancient Near Eastern models, the triton had the body of a fish (from the 4th century B.C.E. also a double tail) and a human trunk. Like his father, he was portrayed with a trident for battle against sea-monsters, a snail’s horn, a rudder (steering oar) and an anchor – the latter attributes emphasise his close connection with the sea. According to statements by mariners, scenes such as the “sea voyage of Aphrodite” supported by sounds from the snail horn, he acted as her forerunner and pilot. The function of the Greek triton as forerunner and pilot in the sea is reminiscent of the function of dgy “fishy” = “fishman”, the messenger and assistant of “At ̱irat of the sea”, in the Ugaritic myths:8 “At ̱irat of the sea” (aṯrt ym), the wife of the high god El – usually placed by scholars alongside Babylonian Ti’āmat –, according to the Baal Myth gives dgy, for example, the command to take a message over the sea to the god of arts and crafts kṯr w ḫss, the Hephaistos of Greek mythology, in Crete – KTU 1.3 VI 7–10: (7) [‘]br . gbl . ‘br (8) q‘l . ‘br . iht (9) np . šmm . šmšr (10) l dgy . aṯrt (11) mġ. l qdš. amrr ... (21) w rgm . l kṯr (22) w ḫss . ṯny. l h(23)yn . d ḥ rš . ydm (7) [Cross] mountains, cross (8) hills, cross the islands (9) on the horizon! Travel there, (10) O fishman of At ̱irat, (11) and arrive at Qidšu-Amurru! ...

he usually gestures with a shell of the triton snail in the highest and rearmost of his left hands. 7 See M. Le Glay, “Triton”, Der Kleine Pauly, 5 (München, 1970), cols. 967–970. 8 DUL, p. 268: “name of a fish-shaped being, ‘triton’ (< dg (I)” – Usually, dgy is translated as “Fischer”, “fisherman” and occasionally also considered a term for a military rank, cf. e.g. UT, p. 384, Nr. 642 “title of ’Aṯirat’s messenger” (cf. Old Bab. bâ’irum “fisherman = military title”); D. Pardee, “Ugaritic Myths”, in W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture I (Leiden, 1997), p. 255 (“fisherman”).

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(21) Then say to Kōṯar-(22)and-Ḫ asīs, repeat in front of He(23)yan with a craftsman’s hands!9

In another text, “Aṯirat of the sea”, after she had seen and witnessed the intended gifts made of precious metal, agrees to the plans of her children Baal and Anat, and commands the “fishman” to be active and to make all necessary precautions for her involvement – KTU 1.4 II 29–31: (29) . . . gm . l ġlmh . k[tṣḥ ] (30) ʿn . mkṯr . apq[ym] (31) dgy . rbt . aṯr[t . ym] (29) . . . aloud she cried to her young man: (30) “Look, successful one in the depths [of the sea,] (31) fishman of princess Athirat of the sea! . . .10

Both these texts from the Baal Myth clearly indicate that the “fishman” dgy, just like the Triton of Greek mythology, knows the ways over the sea and for this reason can assist his mistress – here “Athirat of the sea”, in Greece Amphitrite. The meaning of the sea Triton, of the messenger god of Poseidon and of Amphitrite, established in mythology, can also be proved from archaeology based on the find of trumpet snails, the most important symbol of Triton. P. Åström and D. S. Reese have recently provided a survey of the many find spots of triton-snail shells in the eastern Mediterranean region.11 They could demonstrate that the snail shells – whether complete or in fragments – were found in ancient temples and graves and concluded that the shell must be an object of cult. Since in addition the finds, about which they reported, came exclusively from the regions of Mycenaean and Cypro-Minoan culture, they express there an authentic form of Mycenaean-Minoan religion. Since tritonshells spread more widely – for example, also to Palestine – only from

9 For the translation, see M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, “Mythen und Epen”, in O. Kaiser (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, III/6 (Gütersloh, 1997), p. 1150. 10 For the translation, see Dietrich and Loretz, ibid., p. 1154. 11 D. S. Reese, “Triton Shells from East Mediterranean Sanctuaries and Graves”, in P. Åström, Triton Shells in East Mediterranean Cults (Journal of Prehistoric Religion III–IV; Göteborg, 1990), pp. 7–14.

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the 12th century B.C.E., the scholars think that they were on the track of a transfer of religion from west to east.12 The question of the deity of the sanctuaries in which a tritonsnail’s shell was found, has not yet been discussed. On the basis of the Greek and Ugaritic mythological texts, however, it is to be accepted that the sanctuaries must have been dedicated at that time, in the east Mediterranean region and in the Levant to a deity closely connected with the sea Mother-goddess Aphrodite or “Athirat of the sea”. The connection with the sea of the Ugaritic Mother-goddess “Athirat of the sea”, which is expressed in her epithet, is nota bene a further indication that Ugarit had stronger connections with Levantine and East Mediterranean than with ancient Near Eastern and Anatolian cultures. However, for Ugarit evidently there is no report of the find of a triton-snail shell. The main reason for that is the fact that here, so far, no sanctuary that was dedicated to the mother-goddess “Aṯirat of the sea” has (yet) been uncovered – one would hardly expect such a find in the temples of Baal and Dagān/El.

III. The purple snail and the use of its secretion as a dye for wool The purple snail and the use of its secretion as a dye is a topic that has already been of interest to the Ugarit-Forschungsstelle in Münster for nearly half a century. Nevertheless, it is always interesting to tackle the subject since its nuances are so multi-faceted that each study results in new perspectives. 1. Extraction of the purple dye and wool dyeing Purple snails of the Muricidae and Thaididae families live all over the world in shallow seawater. Usually, their shells are less than 10 cm high, strongly patterned and covered with barbs. The following three types of this family of snails are native to the Mediterranean region: the truncu-

12 The conclusion that religion was transferred from west to east, postulated by P. Åström and D. S. Reese, could be confirmed by a find made in 2005 by the Syro-Belgian team on Tell Tweini, ancient Gibʿala, ca. 40 km south of Ugarit, near the Mediterranean coast. J. Bretschneider, the leading archaeologist of this excavation, reported in a letter that a large shell of a triton snail has been found in an ancient sanctuary dating to the beginning of the 1st millennium B.C.E.

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lus and brandaris of the murices (Murex trunculus, Murex brandaris) and the haemastoma of the Thaididae (Thais haemastoma).13 The secretion required for the extraction of the purple dye is produced in the hypobronchial gland in the snail’s casing. In order to obtain the secretion, the shell must be broken open. The naturally yellowish-colourless secretion changes colour in the air and sunlight over yellow-green, red and blue, thus from purple red to violet. In shallow water, the snails are collected by hand and sorted into containers. The fully-grown snails are broken open in order to extract their secretion the smaller ones are crushed whole. After the addition of salt, the secretion is laid out in the sun for up to three days in order to reach the desired colour. The wool intended to be dyed is steeped in the liquid and dyed before weaving. Corresponding to the wide distribution of the purple snail, in the regions where they live, all kinds of different methods for extracting the dye and dyeing have been developed. There is no evidence for the sale of dye. Trade was restricted, as a rule, to the dyed product. Usually, the large heaps of broken snail shells are judged to be a sign of an earlier purple dyeing industry. Since for 1.5 gm of purple dye, at least 12,000 snails must be “opened”.14 Large heaps of snail shells of the 2nd and 1st millennia B.C.E. are to be found on almost all beaches, not only of the Mediterranean coast but also on the coasts of Crete, the Greek Islands in the Aegean and even on the coasts of Asia. This allows one to conclude to a major activity in the production of purple in all parts of the Mediterranean and qualifies the idea that the Levant had held a monopoly of purple. As a result, the so far general assumption of a one-way traffic of culture words for purple from east to west, i.e. from the ancient Near East to the area where Mycenaean and Greek languages are spoken, is questionable.

13 See W. H. van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, UF 22 (1990), pp. 345–346; I. Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, in B. J. Collins, M. R. Bachvarova and I. C. Rutherford, Anatolian Interfaces: Hittites, Greeks and their Neighbours. Proceedings of an International Conference on Cross-Cultural Interaction, September 17–19, 2004, Emory University, Atlanta, GA (Oxford, 2008), pp. 25–27; Brockhaus, 2001, Purpurschnecken, Bd. 17, p. 627b. 14 H. Schneider, “Purpur”, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, Der Neue Pauly, 10 (Stuttgart – Weimar), cols. 604–605; A. Nunn, “Purpur, Purpurschnecke”, RlA 11 (2006), pp. 115–116.

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2. Names for purple snails in Antiquity Based on the fact that in Antiquity the cultures of the Levant were especially intensively engaged in the extraction of and trade in purple, ancient names for snails, whose secretion was used for the extraction of purple dye, are to be expected in their writings. Thus, for example, in classical Greek literature of the 1st millennium B.C.E. the purple murex snail is called porphýra – metaphorically kéryx “herald”, a name that could have been transferred from the trumpet snail to the much smaller murex since the shells of both types of snail were very similar. The Ugaritic texts extend our knowledge of names for snails in the second half of the 2nd millennium B.C.E., since they frequently mention both purple itself and the names of purple snails as well as having as a topic the purple products intended for trade. In academic literature the following two words are usually discussed as names for purple snails, since they occur in the context of sea creatures: anhb and ġlp.15 In the following, both will be discussed in more detail. 1) Anhb, a sea-creature The product which was extracted from the sea-dweller called anhb, was used as perfume by women on special occasions – KTU 1.3 II 1–3: (1) [. . . tidm? nr]d (2) kpr . šb‘ . bnt . rḥ . gdm (3) w anhbm (1) [. . . she made up with nar]d, (2) with henna the seven girls, with the perfume of coriander (3) and anhb-animals.

This means that a particular perfume could be extracted from the animal called anhb, which lived in the sea – KTU 1.3 III 1–2 ǁ 1.3 IV 45–46: (1 ǁ IV 45) ttpp . anhbm . d alp . šd (2 ǁ IV 46) ẓuh . b ym

15 See J. C. De Moor, “Murices in Ugaritic Mythology”, Orientalia 37 (1968), pp. 212–215; van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, p. 346, with aditional literature; DUL, p. 78: anhb “n.m. of sea snail”; DUL, p. 321: ġlp 2) “sea snail (shell), murex”.

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(1 ǁ IV 45) she sprinkled herself with (the essence) of anhb-animals, (2ǁ IV 46) whose living space is a thousand acres in the sea.16

Both passages, if the context has been correctly interpreted, deal with a liquid that was extracted from anhb-sea-creatures and was used as a perfume – the root ’DM underlying the verbal form tidm can mean both concretely “to colour red, to redden” and generally, “to make up, to put on perfume”. From this text it cannot be concluded whether it is a question here of a secretion of the murex snail, which was also used in the preparation of purple dye. Since sea-animals were definitely used for the manufacture of scented oil, this is no objection. These texts do not allow us to conclude, against all sorts of hypotheses, that they allude to a colour called “purple”, which was applied as a cosmetic. 2) ġlp, a “shell-snail” The word ġlp can mean either the “husk” of ears of corn (šblt ġlp: KTU 1.19 I 19) or, as the following passage suggests, it denotes the shell of sea animals – KTU 1.19 IV 41–43: (41) . . . trtḥ [s] (42) w . tadm . tid!m . b ġlp ym (43) d alp . šd . ẓuh . b ym (41) . . . she (Pġt) washed herself (42) and rouged herself, she rouged herself with the (essence of the) ġlp from the sea, (43) whose living space extends over a thousand dawns in the sea.

Thus, this passage from the Epic of Aqht describes, how Pġt at the end of her mourning for her murdered brother Aqht prepares herself for the imminent course of revenge against the murderess and puts on war-paint. On the assumption that the verbal root ’DM means “to redden, to colour red”, scholars have usually assumed therefore that ġlp denotes a substance which can be used for reddening.17 This view can be supplemented with the following consideration: in view of the basic meaning “to slip into something, to conceal oneself in something” of the root ĠLP, ġlp could certainly also be a word ġlp with the meaning “shell”

16 For this passage cf. e.g. de Moor, ibid., pp. 214–215; on p. 213, fn. 3, de Moor deals extensively with ẓu as “habitat”. 17 See e.g. de Moor, ibid., pp. 212–214.

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(| ġilp|), into which the purple snail could withdraw. Therfore ġlp seems so denote both, the shell and the snail in it. From the point of view of preparing the purple dye ġlp could then be the Ugaritic word for a small snail, which was crushed to extract the secretion for dye.18 3. Terms for wool dyed purple 1) Purple dyes in Ugarit As emphasised, the production of purple dyes was widespread in the Mediterranean region and according to recent research, is demonstrable on the shores of other seas, for example of the Persian Gulf or the Pacific coast of Mexico.19 From this we must assume that the regions producing purple must have exchanged their experiences and goods, in spite of any secretiveness, not only within the shores of the Mediterranean, but also the neighbouring regions – such as those near the Persian Gulf –. We must reckon fundamentally with an active transfer of knowledge and technology, open on all sides. That certainly has consequences for our considerations in at least two respects: one in respect of the terms for purple known to us and the one in respect of the grades of quality and colouring expressed by them. In what follows, the Ugaritic terms for purple dye and wool dyed purple are the focus of our interest. The other findspots and traditions will not be considered here. The Ugaritic terms are to be found in numerous texts, both in epic poetry and in the non-literary texts (economic texts, lists, letters, deeds). This shows that in the thought and trade of the Ugaritians purple products always played an outstanding role. The best known set of texts for the study of Ugaritic lexemes for purple are the treaties between the Ugaritic kings and their Hittite overlords. They have reached us in several copies from the chancelleries of various signatories to the treaty in both Ugaritic and Akkadian: first of all comes the treaty in two languages between Šuppiluliuma I and Niqmandu II of Ugarit from the end of the 14th century B.C.E., which is preserved in a koine Babylonian version in syllabic cuneiform and in a Ugaritic version in alphabetic cuneiform. These texts, which estab-

18

As there are so far only the references of the Aqht-epic for the word ġlp known, it is informative to note, that the fragmentary letter KTU 2.18 presents a reference not yet noted: (6) [. . .]ġlp[. . .] – unfortunately without context. 19 See Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, pp. 25–27.

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lish the tribute required to be given by Niqmandu to Šuppiluliuma and to the Hittite dignitaries in two languages, comprise, in spite of being preserved incomplete, a welcome “bilingual”.20 In respect of form, the treaty texts are on the one hand in the Anatolian and Levantine tradition of clay tablets which looks towards Mesopotamia. However, on the other hand in many details they are open to the significance of Ugarit in the exchange of culture and trade across regions. The list of objects, which mentions in various quantities “tribute” (koine Babylonian mandat(t)u = Ugaritic argmn) to be delivered to the Hittite court, has the following sequence in the texts: “gold” (Sumerian spelling: kù.gi = Ugaritic: ḫrṣ) and “silver” (Sumerian spelling kù.babbar = Ugaritic ksp) each in the form of a “cup” (Sumerian spelling GAL = Ugaritic ks), “linen clothing” (Sumerian spelling túgGADA = Ugaritic ktn) and purple wool in the two most important types of colour “red” (Sumerian spelling / koine Babylonian sígZA.GÌN / ḫašmānu = Ugaritic pḥ m) and “blue” (Sumerian spelling / Babylonian koine sígZA.GÌN / takiltum = Ugaritic iqnu). In the framework of a study on the Ugaritic terms for purple colours, of particular interest here are the entries concerning purple wool, which evidently refer to two types or qualities which were most popular at the time, since perhaps they were also the the most liked – and therefore

20 Some secondary literature: The first discussion in detail was provided by M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, “Der Vertrag zwischen Šuppiluliuma und Niqmandu. Eine philologische und kulturhistorische Studie”, Welt des Orients 3/3 (1966), pp. 206–245 – the opposing explanation by B. Landsberger (“Über Farben in Sumerisch-Akkadischen”, JCS 21 [1967], pp. 139–173) emphasised its orientation towards Mesopotamia, as is usual in Assyriology, and gave too little importance to the peculiarities of western traditions. This is why in the end it only was of little use. – A new comparison of the treaty texts in connection with the somewhat later Treaty of Muršili is provided by van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, pp. 354–357. – In her new translation of the treaty, S. Lackenbacher (Textes Akkadiens d’Ugarit. Textes provenant des vingt-cinq premières campagnes [LAPO 20; Paris, 2002], pp. 74–75), starts from the Akkadian version and only discusses its equivalents in Ugaritic in passing. – D. Pardee (“Le traité d’alliance RS 11.772+”, Semitica 51 [2001], pp. 5–31.), provides a new edition of the Ugaritic version of the treaty, with copy and photographs, and discusses some problems arising from comparison with the Akkadian (pp. 18–26). – For comments on the significance and new arrangement of the dignitaries at the end of the text, see M. Dietrich, “Review of M. Mazoyer and O. Casabonne (eds.), Mélanges offerts au Professeur René Lebrun. Collection Kubaba, Série Antiquité 5 (Paris)”, UF 36 (2004), pp. 676–686. Dietrich offers the following translation of lines 37–38 of the text of the treaty: EN.É-ti a-bu-si ǁ skn b[t mlk] “Lagerverwalter”, “camp administrator” ǁ “PalastLagerverwalter”, “camp administrator of the palace”).

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also repeatedly mentioned in other documents (lists of supplies, letters, lexical lists): – –

síg

ZA.GÌN / ḫašmānu = Ugaritic pḥ m ZA.GÌN / takiltum = Ugaritic iqnu

síg

To determine the colour both Ugaritic words pḥ m “glowing coal” and iqnu “lapis lazuli”, which correspond to the Sumero-Babylonian terms síg ZA.GÌN / ḫašmānu and sígZA.GÌN (/ takiltum), have contributed decisively: in the end, they establish that the important colours of purple must have been “(fiery-)red” and “blue”21 – probably both terms, which are based on comparison with glowing coals and lapis lazuli, for the time being very generally must have described a “light” or “dark” colour of purple. The comparison sígZA.GÌN / ḫašmānu = pḥ m due to the clear determination of pḥ m as “glowing coals” raises no problems. However, for síg ZA.GÌN (/ takiltum) = iqnu “lapis lazuli” is very different due to specifying the term takiltum. For this reason, the following comment on the etymology of the term takiltum is formulated: it is clear that takiltum in opposition to ḫašmānu = pḥ m denotes “dark (purple)”. This suggests takiltum is to be considered a nominal derivative in the form taprīst for nomina actionis of the D-stem – occasionally with concretized meaning (GAG § 56 l 27 b) – from the root ekēlu.22 In real terms, this also clearly fits tākīltum in the 1st millennium usual Sumerian spelling sígza. gìn gi6, in which gi6 denotes a dark shade.23 The Hebrew form tekelet is a loan from Neo-Assyrian, where the stress clearly lay on the penultimate and the ante-penultimate lost its accent: |tākīltu| > |takīltu| > |tekīlt| > |tekēlet|. These details concerning the etymology of takiltum require that from now on it is best transcribed as tākīltum.

21 See Dietrich and Loretz, ibid., pp. 227–232. Due to further research, the objections of Landsberger (ibid.) to the a blue (-blue-violet) colour have in the meantime proved to be untenable; cf. e.g. S. Lackenbacher, Textes Akkadiens d‘Ugarit. Textes provenant des vingt-cinq premières campagnes (LAPO 20; Paris, 2002), p. 74 and n. 185; Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, pp. 22–24; CAD, T, pp. 70b–73a “(a precious blue-purple wool)”. 22 See AHw, pp. 193–194: “dunkel sein, werden”, D “verfinstern”; CAD, E, p. 64: “to be dark”, ukkulu): tākīltum “darkness, dark-coloured”. However, cf. AHw, p. 1306 which under takiltu I refers to taklu “zuverlässig, treu”. 23 On gi6 = ṣalmu “schwarz” see R. Borger, Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon (AOAT 305; Münster, 2003), p. 398: Nr. 681; on sígza.gìn gi6; p. 440: Nr. 851: “Blaupurpur”.

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Both types of purple wool “light” and “dark” of the Ugaritic lists of tribute can be supplemented by references in other documents from Ugarit. At the same time, the number of terms for “purple” increases to five at least. Particularly informative here is the koine Babylonian letter RS 20.19,24 in which a certain Ḫ ebat-azali asks the Queen of Ugarit to send her, with other items, various kinds of purple wool: (8) a-ma-tam an-ni-tam gašan-ia li-iš-me (9) sígza.gìn ḫaš-ma-na sígza.gìn : ḫa-an-da-la-ti (10) ù sígza.gìn : du-pa-aš-ši (11) ù na4ga-bi (13) ma-a’-dì-iš gašan-ia (14) li-še-bíl “(8) May my Lady listen to the following request: (9) red purple wool, ḫandalati-purple wool (10) and dupašši-purple wool (11) as well as alum (12) in large quantities may my Lady (13) send me!”

The terms for purple used here in koine Babylonian and Sumerian spellings also occur in other documents and can even be increased with additional types25 – as yet not all of them have definite alphabetic equivalences: – – – –

síg

sag.gil.mud26 = ḫašmānu: alphabetic pḥ m za.gìn sa5: alphabetic šmt síg za.gìn ḫandalati: alphabetic ḫndlt síg za.gìn dupašši: alphabetic? síg

The first two terms mentioned in this list, sígsag.gil.mud and sígza.gìn sa5, and the shades of colour they refer to can be determined without much difficulty: –

síg

sag.gil.mud must be identical with ḫašmānu27 and denote firy red purple; so it corresponds to the Ugaritic term pḥ m “glowing coal”.

24 J. Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens des archives et bibliothèques privées d‘Ugarit”, in C. F. A. Schaeffer (ed.), Ugaritica V (MRS XVI; Paris, 1968), p. 135: Nr. 48; cf. Lackenbacher, Textes Akkadiens d’Ugarit, pp. 296–297. 25 Cf. van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, pp. 339–341, 344–345; more cautiously: Lackenbacher, ibid., p. 297 and n. 1070. 26 RS 34.134:15, see D. Arnaud, Une correspondance d’affaires, in P. Bordreuil (ed.), Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville (RSOu 7; Paris, 1991), p. 68. 27 van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, p. 339.

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síg za.gìn sa5 on the basis of the Sumerogram sa5 (= Akkadian sāmu “red”) refers to the colour “red-brown”;28 in Ugaritic this corresponds to šmt “carnelian” in which the sibilant š indicates that through Akkadian sāmtu29 it reached Ugarit30 – that sa5 describes not only the red-brown colour from the secretion of purple snails, but also, as the Sumerian spelling sígḫ é.me.da/ta and its Akkadian equivalent sígtabarru “red wool” show, from vegetal substances.

It is much more difficult to define the last two terms mentioned, which are to be considered foreign words as they have the Glossenkeil;31 it is even harder to study them as they are so badly attested:32 –

síg

za.gìn ḫandalati, which occurs alphabetically as ḫndlt (see KTU 4.182 below), formally looks like a fem. pl. in the oblique case (|ḫandalāti|) in the syllabic script. This analysis is certainly to be doubted, since here it seems to be a loanword from Hittite with a Semitic ending: < Hitt. ḫandala-, with the SÍG determinative and means “(linen)bandage”,33 + the ending -t. It is problematic, why ḫandalat- ends with an -i, when the antecedent word ḫašmāna indicates an acc. sg. Two explanations of this can be suggested: First, the scribe could have considered the -at ending of ḫandalat to be a fem. pl. and translated it with in the oblique case (-āti), second he could, which fits the next entry sígza.gìn dupašši better, the entry sígza.gìn ḫandalati as two nouns bound by the genitive, in which therefore the sígza.gìn is to be taken not as determinative but as a term for purple wool.

The reason for the Hittite word travelling to Ugarit must have been not so much a particular type of fabric (wool, linen) as the colouring of the purple wool. The colour can be determined by referring to the similar sounding Hittite word ḫandala- and with the postpositional determina-

28 Cf. Dietrich and Loretz, “Der Vertrag zwischen Šuppiluliuma und Niqmandu”, pp. 228–229; Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, p. 24. 29 AHw, sāmtu, p. 1019, “Röte”, 3) “Karneol”; CAD, S, sāmtu A, pp. 121–124, “(a red stone, mostly designating carnelian)”. 30 On the switch between s > š in loanwords from Akkadian in Ugaritic, see most recently Dietrich, “Review of Mélanges offerts au Professeur René Lebrun”, p. 683. 31 On the function of Glossenkeilen in koine Babylonian texts, see C. Kühne, “Mit Glossenkeilen markierte fremde Wörter in akkadischen Ugarittexten”, UF 6 (1974), pp. 158–160. 32 On this see van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, pp. 344–346. 33 See J. Tischler, Hethitisches etymologisches Glosssar (Innsbruck, 1983), p. 154. – In view of the determinative síg (= šīpātu, “Wolle”) for woollen fabric (Borger, Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon, pp. 429–420, Nr. 816; Chr. Rüster and E. Neu, Hethitisches Zeichenlexikon. Inventar und Interpretation der Keilschriftzeichen aus den Boġazköy-Texten [Studien zu den Boġazköy-Texten Beih. 2; Wiesbaden, 1989], Nr. 65, p. 122) his specific meaning of “Leinen” is certainly questionable.

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tive sar must be “eine Gemüseplfanze bzw. Küchenkraut”.34 Accordingly, it seems that the colour of ḫandala-wool seems to move close to ḫaṣertuwool, for which a yellow-green colouring is presupposed (see below). The lemma should be as follows: “purple wool like the ḫandala-plant”, literally, “purple wool of the ḫandala-plant”.35 –

síg

za.gìn dupašši denotes a woollen dye, once again with a Fremdwort36 whose origin is unknown. Since, as yet no alphabetic equivalent has appeared, it is difficult, to establish the specific phonetic nature of the consonants “D”, “P” and “Š”. If, like ḫandalati, dupašši originated in Asia Minor, then an analysis could be the basic word dup(a) + the Luwian associative adjective in the genitive -ašši:37 “of the dup(a)-type”.38 With regard to the base word dup(a)-, a connection with another Luwian term for a garment duwi- / duwiya39 cannot be denied. The analysis of dupašši as dup(a)-ašši “of the dup(a)-type” indicates that, syntactically, the lemma sígza.gìn dupašši is in the genitive: “purple wool of the duwa-type”.

If dupašši belongs to Anatolian culture, then it could support the term for a kind of bread attested in the Anatolian ritual text Emar 472 (Msk. 74176)40 ninda du-wa-aš-šu “duwaššu-bread” (line 30’),41 which was prepared for the weather-god from Nerik(ka)42 on the second day of a festival month: a-na d IM kurNi-ri-ik-ki, line 32’43 – cf. the byform nindadu-a-šu “duašu-bread” in

34 Tischler, idem, p. 154; idem, Hethitisches Handwörterbuch. Mit dem Wortschatz der Nachbarsprachen (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 102; Innsbruck, 2001), p. 38. 35 It is also possible that -ti is an Anatolian noun afformative, which travelled to Ugarit together with the base word ḫandala-. 36 The suggestion made by Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens”, p. 136, n. 1, on RS 20.19:10 is unlikely. He would derive dupašši from dbš as a byform of the root DŠP, from which, for example, duššupu “sweetened, very sweet” or dišpu “honey” would have derived, and so of course he arrives at “couleur de miel”. 37 See A. Kloekhorst, Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon (Leiden Indo-European Etymological Dictionary Series 5; Leiden – Boston, 2008), pp. 216, 424. 38 The Hurrian derivation of basic word dupa- + nominal morpheme -šše for adjectives or abstracts (I. Wegner, Einführung in die hurritische Sprache (Wiesbaden, 2000), pp. 48–49) is less likely. 39 A. Ünal, Multilinguales Handwörterbuch des Hethitischen (Hamburg, 2007), p. 746b. 40 See D. Arnaud, Recherches au pays d’Aštata, Emar VI/3. Textes sumériens et accadiens (ÉRC; Paris, 1986), pp. 459–465. 41 Cf. E. J. Pentiuc, Westsemitic Vocabulary in the Akkadian Texts from Emar (HSS 49; Winona Lake, 2001), p. 45, who also considers duwaššu to be a Hittite loanword. 42 On Central Anatolian Nerik(ka), its gods and cults, V. Haas, “Nerik(ka)”, RlA 9 (1999), pp. 229–231. 43 The equation of dupašši with duwaššu (written: du-PI-aš-šu; in the byform: du-a-šu) says little against a representation of pa by wa, as shown for example, by the comparison of words or word elements in the spelling of Boġazköy and Mitanni, cf. e.g. Wegner, Einführung in die hurritische Sprache, p. 38 sub f, on labialen spirants + a.

50

m. dietrich the line giving the total, line 78’ –. On the assumption that dupašši denotes a shade of purple, the comparison with duwaššu-bread could indicate a yellow-brown colour of bread and the purple colour could be characterised as “yellowy-brown” or a “yellowy-brown” shade of purple.

The badly preserved fragment RS 34.180.4,44 which also provides a series of terms for purple fabrics, presents a particular problem. Here, in the third line after tākīltu “blue” (rev. 1’)45 and ḫašmānu “red” (rev. 2’) the remains of the signs sígza.gìn ḫa[-x-x-] ⎡er-ti⎤) in rev. 3’ can be restored as sígza.gìn ḫaṣertu46 – in final position in the list is rev. 4’ sígḫ é.me.d[a] (= tabarru, see above). The restoration of ḫaṣerti is based more or less on references from Hittite texts and is connected with yellowish-green colours.47 As yet there is no Ugaritic equivalent for ḫaṣertu “yellowishgreen(?)”, but could be expressed by yrq “yellowish-green”.48 The list KTU 4.182 is particularly informative for our knowledge of terms for purple in alphabetic cuneiform texts, but unfortunately it is not completely preserved. It lists monthly allocations of fabrics and garments to specific deities, which obviously served to clothe their statues – it is certainly to be noted that here textiles dyed purple are alongside those whose colour was produced from plants.49 Thus, in one section (ll. 16–18), for example, the terms blue (iqnu “lapis lazuli”), redbrown (šmt “carnelian”) and yellow-green (ḫndlt “the ḫandala-plant”) for clothes (sk “cloak”) of the palace goddess (btbt “goddess of the house”) are listed consecutively. In respect of the meaning of the term argamannu in the texts from Ugarit, opinions are polarised: Some consider that in Ugarit as well as in the 1st millennium B.C.E. it could denote not only “tribute”, but also “purple wool”, while others argue that the meaning “purple (wool)” was common only in the 1st millennium and that argamannu only means

44 F. Malbran-Labat, “Fragments divers”, in P. Bordreuil (ed.), Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville (RSOu 7; Paris, 1991), pp. 127–130, p. 127: Nr. 78 (copy: Pl. XVIII). 45 The traces on the copy, p. 198 leave no doubt about the reading ⎣síg za.gìn ta⎦-[kí] l-tum. 46 See van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, p. 338 and n. 118. 47 See Landsberger, “Über Farben in Sumerisch-Akkadischen”, pp. 159–160, 167–168; AHw, p. 331: ḫaṣa/ertu 2) “grüne Wolle”; CAD, H, p. 130: (1) “wool or cloth of a certain color, probably green”. – Cf. Tischler, Hethitisches Handwörterbuch, p. 278: ḫaz/ṣertu “Grünes”; p. 256: ḫaṣartu “grüne Wolle”. 48 DUL, p. 982; for a term for a colour of wool based on the root YRQ “yellowgreen” see AHw, p. 1471: (w)arqu “gelb-grün; Grün” A 1); CAD, A/2, s.v. arqu 1 c., pp. 300–301. 49 Cf. van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, e.g., p. 338.

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“tribute”.50 The texts support argamannu in Ugarit – how far this also applies to other regions is an open question51 – as having been used only in the meaning of “tax, tribute” and only later was it transferred to the term “purple(wool)”,52 since purple wool had taken on a central role in tribute. In conclusion, it should be stressed once again that, for the list of terms for wool products dyed purple and for colours, what has been set out above the from the written legacy of Ugarit is certainly incomplete. Only those terms have been dealt with that are central to our present discussion. New findings concerning words from previously known texts and the discovery of new texts will certainly soon correct our knowledge. The array of colours for wool dyed purple is quite broad and ranges from light (yellowy-green, bright red) to strong (fiery red) to dark (redbrown, blue-violet). In the texts, dark colours are emphasised by the Sumero-Babylonian adjective gi6 = ṣalmu, which in connection with purple means “dark” rather than “black”. In any case, the variety of colours indicates that Ugaritic purple dyeing could fulfil many wishes. 2)

Terms for purple in Greek

(1) Preliminary remarks In classical antiquity, studies based on ancient writers generally start with the assumption that the home of purple dyeing was Phoenicia and that only in the Roman period was it spread over many coastal regions of the whole Mediterranean region.53 In the light of new archaeological finds, this view must be modified, since the opening of murex snail shells for the extraction of their purple secretion is already attested in the beginning of the 2nd millennium B.C.E. for coastal regions even west of the Levant. If classical writers, such as Aristotle or Pliny,54 viewed the 50 See, Lexical Studies in Ugaritic, p. 119 with additional literature in n. 432 für “purple” and in n. 433 for “tribute”. 51 Cf. Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, pp. 22–24. 52 See Dietrich and Loretz, “Der Vertrag zwischen Šuppiluliuma und Niqmandu”, pp. 230–232; van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, pp. 344–345; A. Nunn, “Purpur, Purpurschnecke”, RlA 11 (2006), p. 116; Singer, idem, pp. 23–24. 53 H. Schneider, “Purpur”, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, Der Neue Pauly, 10 (Stuttgart – Weimar), cols. 604–605. 54 See e.g. G. Steigerwald, Die antike Purpurfärberei nach dem Bericht Plinius’ des Älteren in seiner Naturalis historia (Traditio 42; Bronx, NY, 1986), pp. 1–57; cf. also H. Blum, Purpur als Statussymbol in der griechischen Welt (Bonn, 1998).

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m. dietrich

production of purple as a monopoly of the Levant, then it seems that they wished to indicate that this region in their time had reached an otherwise unattained level both quantitatively and qualitatively.55 This high evaluation of Levantine purple and goods dyed purple suggests that very many Kulturwörter relating to purple dyeing travelled from the east to the western world. In what follows, some of these wandering Kulturwörter will be discussed. (2) “Purple” The term “purple”, which has come to us from Latin, can be derived from Greek porphýra “purple; dyed fabric; purple clothing”.56 According to the most recent findings, this term is clearly Mycenaean in origin and occurs in the Linear B tablets from Knossos as po-pu-ro2.57 Its derivative po-pu-re-ja clearly denotes purple dyers or purple dyeing.58 Since the Linear B tablets were written in the middle of the 2nd millennium B.C.E., this term, which epitomises the widespread nature of the art of producing purple, also proven archaeologically, appears already in the early 2nd millennium. This also explains why so far the word “purple” has eluded all attempts at an etymology based on known Indo-European or Semitic languages. Thus, it could also be the remnant of a Mycenaean substrate language, to which possibly the texts of the Linear A tablets also belong.59 (3) “Phoenix” Phoenicia comprises the coastal region of the central Levant and because of its most important export, according to conventional understanding, took its name from phoinix, which means “purple red, dark red; purple”. As no satisfactory connection for phoinix has been found, the name “Phoenicia” was associated on the mythological level also with a ruler called Phoinix, who had been a king of Tyre and Sidon.60 55 An indication of this is, for example, “the snail heap” near Sidon, made up of the remains of shells from three different types of snail; see Nunn, “Purpur, Purpurschnecke”, p. 116. 56 A. Kaegi, Beuschers Großes Deutsches Schulwörterbuch (Leipzig – Berlin, 1911), s.v. 57 H. Frisk, Griechisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, III. Nachträge (Heidelberg, 1970), p. 172; cf. Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, pp. 27–28. 58 Singer, idem, pp. 27–28. 59 Cf. Frisk, idem, pp. 581–582: Borrowing from a Mediterranean language must be unquestionable, but as yet has found no link. – See also Singer, idem, pp. 27–28, with additional literature. 60 K. Ziegler, Der Kleine Pauly, 4 (Munich, 1972), cols. 798–802: s.v.

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In view of the Mycenaean attestation of the word “purple” (po-puro2) as early as the middle of the 2nd millennium B.C.E., the question of the origin of the name was once again discussed. For it is certainly possible to imagine that the Greeks gave the middle Levantine coastal strip the Greek name phoinix “purple” and so made it into the name of the country. (4) “Ultramarine” It is opinio communis, that Greek kýanos “glaze or blue stone, lapis lazuli”, which can also stand for “the colour ultramarine; molten glass, enamel; blue cornflower, cyan”,61 via Anatolian ku(wa)nnan- “copper ore; also a gem, also lazurite or malachite”62 stems indirectly from Sumero-Babylonian za.gìn(.na) = uqnû with the meanings “lapis lazuli, lazurite; turquoise, etc.” and “(green-)blue”.63 However, as Babylon was only an intermediate stop for the stone from Badakhshan called za.gìn (.na) = uqnû, in view of its journey in the northeast, the Greeks had also called it skythikós “the Scythian”. This lengthy trail from east to west and the chain of loanwords entail all sorts of chronological, linguistic and material problems. At any rate, it seems that against this the fact that kýanos is already attested in Homer and that this word, extended with nominal formative elements, already occurs in the considerably older Mycenaean texts: kuwa-ni-jo, ku-wa-no-wo-ko.64 Therefore, kýanos is more probably a native Mediterranean word than an ancient Near Eastern wandering culture word (Kulturwanderwort), which in its move towards the west, has been considerably modified in respect of structure and content. (5) The “hyacinth”, or purple flower The Old Testament term tekēlet “blueish (or violet coloured) purple wool”,65 which in the Neo-Assyrian period is derived from tākīltu “(dark red) purple”,66 is translated in the Septuagint as hyákinthos (adj.

61

Kaegi, Beuschers Großes Deutsches Schulwörterbuch, p. 532. Tischler, Hethitisches Handwörterbuch., p. 88; idem, Hethitisches etymologisches Glosssar, pp. 688–692. 63 AHw, pp. 1426–1427. 64 Frisk, Griechisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, p. 139. 65 HALOT, p. 1733 (= HAL, p. 1596). 66 Differently HAL, pp. 1595b–1596a: “Herkunft des Sbst.: wohl Lw. aus dem Phönizischen, da der mit diesem Wort bezeichnete Farbstoff im Bereich dieser Sprache gewonnen und mit dem Produkt das Wort in die Länder des Vorderen Orients gewandert 62

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hyakínthinos). It appears, therefore, that the translator of the Septuagint followed a linguistic practice that deviated from Greek usage. For the Greeks understood hyákinthos to mean “assorted flowers with ‘purple’ (blue and then also red) flowers arranged like grapes”.67 At the same time, however, it must be stressed that with hyákinthos the translator creates a reliable bridge to tākīltu, which is widespread in the ancient Near East, and by including uqnû “lapis lazuli”, had dark purple in mind. This twofold meaning of hyákinthos allows the following conclusion to be drawn: In the ancient Near East, the colour blue, which is professedly from lapis lazuli, served to define dark purple and the wool dyed by it. Instead, for the Greeks it described an onion plant forming blossoms in blue umbels. However, the connection of hyákinthos with the onion-plant, the hyacinth that is also native to our gardens,68 prompts the following thought: Since the wide colour spectrum of the hyacinth corresponds more or less to the range of purple colours, it would be better to label the garden hyacinth as a “purple flower”.

IV. Conclusion: Trumpet snails and Purple snails as an indication of the transfer of religion and technology in the eastern Mediterranean region The first section, The triton snail or the trumpet snail and the use of their shells in the cult, was devoted to triton horns, which were used as trumpets in the cult of the sea-god. As this cult, at the end of the 2nd millennium B.C.E. had spread eastwards from the Mycenaean Minoan cultural region, probably under the sails of the Sea Peoples, to the Levant, here we can speak of a “transfer of religion” in the eastern sein dürfte . . .” HALOT, p. 1732b: “The sbst. probably originates as a loanword from Phoenician, for the coloured material which is denoted by this word was produced in the region where Phoenician was spoken, and the word could have spread into the other areas of the Near East . . . ” 67 B. Herzoff, Der Neue Pauly, 5 (München, 1998), col. 767; cf. Kaegi, Beuschers Großes Deutsches Schulwörterbuch, pp. 929–930: “1) die Hyazinthe . . . 2) sp. ein Edelstein, vielleicht der Saphir”. 68 Cf. the definition given by G. Wahrig, Deutsches Wörterbuch (Gütersloh, 1993), p. 676b: “Angehörige einer Gattung der Liliengewächse, Zwiebelgewächs mit in lockeren od. dichten Trauben stehenden, röhrigen od. glockigen Blüten: Hyacinthus, H. orientalis”.

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Mediterranean region, which can be proved from the spread of triton horns. In the second section, The purple snail and the use of its secretion as dye for wool, we considered the production of purple dye and the terms for fabric dyed purple in the eastern Mediterranean region. From the large heaps of murex-snail shells, archaeology can prove that the production of purple and purple dyeing were established not only on the Levantine coast, but also in the whole Mediterranean region. Therefore, the philological and cultural historical assumption that the terms for purple dye and fabric dyed purple must have originated in the east and are to be considered as Kulturwörter moving from east to west, are no longer valid. The decipherment of the Mycenaean Linear B tablets has essentially entailed giving up the premises of a movement from east to west of the relevant terms: If a term is attested in the Linear B texts, then a route of the corresponding Kulturwörter from west to east can also be considered. This could apply to all the terms such as “purple”, “phoenix” and “ultramarine”. However, the term “hyacinth” has travelled in the opposite direction. The terms for purple, therefore, provide us with a collection of words and names that make us aware of the vibrant exchange of cultures in the Mediterranean region.

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m. dietrich Bibliography

D. Arnaud, Recherches au pays d’Aštata, Emar VI/3. Textes sumériens et accadiens (ÉRC; Paris, 1986). ——, Une correspondance d’affaires, in P. Bordreuil (ed.), Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville (RSOu 7; Paris, 1991), pp. 65–78. H. Blum, Purpur als Statussymbol in der griechischen Welt (Bonn, 1998). R. Borger, Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon (AOAT 305; Münster, 2003). Brockhaus, Die Enzyklopädie (2001), Purpurschnecken. Bd. 17, p. 627b. G. Del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (2nd ed.; HdO I 67; Leiden – Boston, 2004). J. C. De Moor, “Murices in Ugaritic Mythology”, Orientalia 37 (1968), pp. 212–215. M. Dietrich, “Review of M. Mazoyer and O. Casabonne (eds.), Mélanges offerts au Professeur René Lebrun. Collection Kubaba, Série Antiquité 5 (Paris)”, UF 36 (2004), pp. 676–686. M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, “Der Vertrag zwischen Šuppiluliuma und Niqman-du. Eine philologische und kulturhistorische Studie”, Welt des Orients 3/3 (1966), pp. 206–245. ——, “Mythen und Epen”, in O. Kaiser (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, III/6 (Gütersloh, 1997). M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartín, The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (2nd enlarged ed.; ALASP 8; Münster, 1995). H. Frisk, Griechisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, III. Nachträge (Heidelberg, 1970). C. H. Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook (AnOr 38; Rome, 1965). V. Haas, “Nerik(ka)”, RlA 9 (1999), pp. 229–231. W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture, I (Leiden, 1997). B. Herzoff, Der Neue Pauly, 5 (München, 1998), col. 767. C. Hünemörder, “Byssos”, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, Der Neue Pauly, 2 (Stuttgart – Weimar, 1997), col. 866. A. Kaegi, Beuschers Großes Deutsches Schulwörterbuch (Leipzig – Berlin, 1911). A. Kloekhorst, Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon (Leiden IndoEuropean Etymological Dictionary Series 5; Leiden – Boston, 2008). L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, 5 vols. (Trans. by M. E. J. Richardson; Leiden, 1994–2000). ——, Hebräisches und aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament (3rd ed.; Leiden – Boston, 2004). C. Kühne, “Mit Glossenkeilen markierte fremde Wörter in akkadischen Ugarittexten”, UF 6 (1974), pp. 157–167. S. Lackenbacher, Textes Akkadiens d’Ugarit. Textes provenant des vingt-cinq premières campagnes (LAPO 20; Paris, 2002). B. Landsberger, “Über Farben in Sumerisch-Akkadischen”, JCS 21 (1967), pp. 139–173. M. Le Glay, “Triton”, Der Kleine Pauly, 5 (München, 1970), cols. 967–970. F. Malbran-Labat, “Fragments divers”, in P. Bordreuil (ed.), Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville (RSOu 7; Paris, 1991), pp. 127–130. A. Nunn, “Purpur, Purpurschnecke”, RlA 11 (2006), pp. 115–116. J. Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens des archives et bibliothèques privées d’Ugarit”, in C. F. A. Schaeffer (ed.), Ugaritica V (MRS XVI; Paris, 1968), pp. 1–446. D. Pardee, “Le traité d’alliance RS 11.772+”, Semitica 51 (2001), pp. 5–31. S. Parpola, Assyrian – English – Assyrian Dictionary (Helsinki, 2007). E. J. Pentiuc, Westsemitic Vocabulary in the Akkadian Texts from Emar (HSS 49; Winona Lake, 2001).

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D. S. Reese, “Triton Shells from East Mediterranean Sanctuaries and Graves”, in P. Åström, Triton Shells in East Mediterranean Cults (Journal of Prehistoric Religion III–IV; Göteborg, 1990). Chr. Rüster and E. Neu, Hethitisches Zeichenlexikon. Inventar und Interpretation der Keilschriftzeichen aus den Boġazköy-Texten (Studien zu den Boġazköy-Texten Beih. 2; Wiesbaden, 1989). H. Schneider, “Purpur”, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, Der Neue Pauly, 10 (Stuttgart – Weimar), cols. 604–605. I. Singer, “Purple-Dyers in Lazpa”, in B. J. Collins, M. R. Bachvarova and I. C. Rutherford, Anatolian Interfaces: Hittites, Greeks and their Neighbours. Proceedings of an International Conference on Cross-Cultural Interaction, September 17–19, 2004, Emory University, Atlanta, GA (Oxford, 2008), pp. 21–43. C. Sivaramamurti, Indien. Kunst und Kultur (2nd ed.; Ars Antiqua; Freiburg, 1978). G. Steigerwald, Die antike Purpurfärberei nach dem Bericht Plinius‘ des Älteren in seiner Naturalis historia (Traditio 42; Bronx NY, 1986), pp. 1–57. T. Šiletić, La conchiglia nobile: Pinna nobilis (Linnaeus, 1758) / Die Edle Steckmuschel: Pinna nobilis (Linnaeus, 1758), in F. Maeder, A. Hänggi and D. Wunderlin (eds.), Bisso marino. Fili d’oro dal fondo del mare / Muschelseide. Goldene Fäden vom Meeresgrund (Exhibition catalogue; Basel, 2004), pp. 29–43. J. Tischler, Hethitisches etymologisches Glosssar (Innsbruck, 1983). ——, Hethitisches Handwörterbuch. Mit dem Wortschatz der Nachbarsprachen (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 102; Innsbruck, 2001). A. Ünal, Multilinguales Handwörterbuch des Hethitischen (Hamburg, 2007). W. H van Soldt, “Fabrics and Dyes at Ugarit”, UF 22 (1990), pp. 321–357. G. Wahrig, Deutsches Wörterbuch (Gütersloh, 1993). W. G. E. Watson, Lexical Studies in Ugaritic (AuOrS 19; Barcelona, 2007). I. Wegner, Einführung in die hurritische Sprache (Wiesbaden, 2000). K. Ziegler, Der Kleine Pauly, 4 (Munich, 1972), cols. 798–802.

AN ELAMITE DEPORTEE

Betina Faist Freie Universität Berlin

Mass deportation was an integral part of Neo-Assyrian military practice, and we are indebted to Bustenay Oded for a systematic and encompassing study about this phenomenon. Deportation had fairly diverse aims: to punish rebellion against the Assyrian authority, to weaken rival powers, to enlarge the Assyrian army and obtain new labour force, both specialized and unspecialized, to enlarge the populations of cities and strategic areas, and to repopulate destroyed, abandoned, or sparsely populated regions in order to enhance the economic activity.1 Apart from some letters and legal and administrative texts, the bulk of the information comes from royal inscriptions.2 It is an honour and a pleasure to present Professor Oded on the occasion of his 75th anniversary with a still unpublished legal document from Ashur (VAT 9755), which confirms and complements data from this main source.

I. Description of the tablet The tablet was unearthed during the excavations of the Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft in Ashur between 1903 and 1914. Since the excavation number is no longer available, the exact spot where the tablet was found is unknown (but see below). Now, it is kept at the Vorderasiatisches Museum in Berlin, inventory number VAT 9755,

1 B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979), pp. 41–74. For a recent, albeit more restricted treatment of the subject see S. Lackenbacher, “Les étrangers dans l’empire néo-assyrien à travers la correspondance des Sargonides”, in J. J. Justel, J. P. Vita and J. Á. Zamora (eds.), Las culturas del Próximo Oriente Antiguo y su expansión mediterránea (Zaragoza, 2008), pp. 35–51. 2 Oded, ibid., pp. 6–16.

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and belongs to a group of texts entrusted to the present writer for publication in the framework of the “Assur-Projekt” (Berlin) led by Prof. Dr. Johannes Renger. The tablet has the common Neo-Assyrian format for conveyance documents: vertical shape with two stamp seal impressions between rulings at the top of the obverse. It measures 9.6 × 4.3 × 2.5 cm and is almost completely preserved. The surface of the obverse is slightly rubbed off, and the lower right corner of the reverse, as well as the top edge with the dating is damaged. A copy of the tablet will be published in Neuassyrische Rechtsurkunden IV (as a volume of the Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen OrientGesellschaft). As always, Evelyn Klengel-Brandt will contribute the corresponding catalogue of seal impressions. The text records the sale of a woman and her daughter, who are characterized as Elamite captives (lines 12–15). Except for this rather unusual remark, the document shows the prevailing Neo-Assyrian legal formulary and is written in the Neo-Assyrian cuneiform script. It has already been cited in the literature.3

II. Transliteration and translation of VAT 9755 [KIŠIB] ⎡ m⎤ ⎡ŠÚ?-rém?-ni?!⎤ [LÚ*][x-x] [KIŠIB] [m] ⎡x-x⎤-[x LÚ*x-x] [:] x-x-x⎤ LÚ*⎡x⎤-[x] ⎡⎤ m : ÌR-⎡XV⎤ [LÚ*][x-x-x] 5 [:] msi-lim-aš+šur [LÚ*][x-x-x] [:] mGÌR.2–aš+šur LÚ*NINDA : ⎡ m⎤ ⎡qí-bit?-aš+šur⎤ LÚ*⎡x-x⎤ : ⎡ m⎤sa-kip-aš+šur LÚ*⎡SIMUG.KÙ.GI⎤ ⎡ ⎤ ⎡ m⎤ ⎡ : GIN?-u?-a?⎤ LÚ*⎡x-x⎤ m ⎡ 10 : AD-GIŠ⎤ ⎡LÚ*⎤ ⎡SIMUG.KÙ⎤ ⎡ EN MUNUS SUM⎤-an

Obv. 1

⎡ NA ⎤ 4 ⎡ NA ⎤ 4 [m] ⎡d⎤ ⎡

3 K. Deller, “Review article of CAD A/I”, Orientalia 34 (1965), p. 264; E. KlengelBrandt and K. Radner, “Die Stadtbeamten von Assur und ihre Siegel”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), p. 142; K. Radner, Die neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden als Quelle für Mensch und Umwelt (SAAS VI; Helsinki, 1997), pp. 226, 246–247, 332–333, 354 n. 1935; G. Galil, The Lower Stratum Families in the Neo-Assyrian Period (CHANE 27; Leiden – Boston, 2007), pp. 32, 79, 159, 191, 239, 262 (referred to as VAT 9755, text No. 69, or family No. 97). The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (PNA), also makes reference to our text in several entries.

an elamite deportee

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(two stamp seal impressions) ⎡f⎤d

na-na-DINGIR-[a?]- ⎡a?⎤ DUMU.MUNUS PAB 2 LÚ*ZI.MEŠ ⎡ḫu⎤-ub-tú ša ELAM.⎡MA⎤KI ša LUGAL 15 a-na URUŠÀ.URU i-din-u-[ni] [ú]-piš-ma mman-nu-ki-aš+šur [x-x]-⎡x⎤-su-šú ina ŠÀ-bi ⎡ ⎤ B.E. 1 MA.NA ⎡KÙ.BABBAR⎤ TA* IGI ⎡x⎤ ⎡ il-qi kas-pu⎤ [gam-mur] 20 [ta-d]in UN.MEŠ! za-⎡rip⎤-[pu] Rev. ⎡la-qi-ú⎤ man-nu ša i-bal-[kàt-u-ni] aš+šur ⎡d⎤ ⎡UTU⎤ lu EN de-[ni-šú] 5 MA.NA KÙ.BABBAR SU[M-an] IGI mIGI-aš+šur-IGI.LAL 25 IGI mkan-dàl-a-nu LÚ*Ì.DU8 IGI mqí-bit-aš+šur LÚ*ḫa-za-nu IGI maš+šur-⎡É⎤-ka-la-⎡mur⎤ IGI mLAL-APIN-eš LÚ*⎡x⎤ IGI mrém-ana-aš+šur LÚ*[x] 30 IGI mmu-SILIM-aš+šur [deleted sign(s)] IGI ma-ta-’a-áš ⎡LÚ*⎤ ⎡x⎤ IGI mEN-DINGIR-iq-bu-u-n[i] IGI mšú-nu-⎡PAB⎤.MEŠ-iá [(x x)] IGI maš+šur-A-AŠ A m ⎡x⎤-[x-x] 35 IGI mNU-MAN-E LÚ*[x-x-x] IGI mdXV!-MAN-DÙ [x x x] IGI mdPA-ZU [x x x] (blank line) T.E. [ITI][x] U4.2.[KÁM] [lim-mu mx-x-x-x-x] 1

[Seal of ] Marduk?-rēmanni?, [profession]. 2[Seal of PN + profession]. 3[Ditto: PN + profession]. 4Ditto: Urdu-Issār, [profession]. 5[Ditto]: Silim-Aššūr, [profession]. 6[Ditto]: Šēp-Aššūr, baker. 7Ditto: Qibīt?-Aššūr, [profession]. 8 Ditto: Sākip-Aššūr, goldsmith. 9Ditto: Kēnū’a?, [profession]. 10 Ditto: Abu-lēšir, goldsmith. 11Sellers (text has singular form) of the woman. (Two stamp seal impressions) 12 Nanāia-ilā’ī? (and her) daughter, 13a total of two persons, Elamite captives (text has singular form), 14whom the king 15has given to Libbi-āli (i.e. the city of Ashur) – 16 Mannu-kī-Aššūr [son of . . . ?] has treated (them as object of purchase) and thus bought (them) 17for 18one mina of silver from [. . .]. 19The price [has been pa]id [completely]. 20The people are legally 21acquired. Anyone who contra[venes] the agreement (shall get the following punishments): 22Aššūr (and) Šamaš will certainly be [his] opponents in cou[rt]. 23He [shall] pay five minas of silver.

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24

Witness: Pān-Aššūr-lāmur. 25Witness: Kandalānu, door keeper. 26Witness: Qibīt-Aššūr, mayor. 27Witness: Aššūr-bētka-lāmur. 28Witness: Tuqūnu-ēreš, [profession]. 29Witness: Rēmanni-Aššūr, [profession]. 30Witness: MušallimAššūr. 31Witness: Ata’aš, [profession]. 32Witness: Adi-ilu-iqbûn[i]. 33Witness: Šunu-aḫhē̮ ’a. 34Witness: Aššūr-aplu-iddina, son of [. . .]. 35Witness: Ṣalamšarriiqbi, [profession]. 36Witness: Issār-šarru-ibni, [. . .]. 37Witness: Nabû-lē’i, [. . .]. 38 [Month of. . .], 2nd day, 39[eponym year of. . .]. Notes 7: Alternative reading: ⎡ m⎤ ⎡ki-din-aš+šur ⎤ 18: There is not enough space for the common phrase TA* IGI LÚ*.MEŠ an-nu-ti. The preserved traces do not support unequivocally the alternative reading TA* IGI-šu-nu.

III. The archival context As already mentioned, the excavation number of the tablet (Ass.-Nr.) is lost. Nevertheless, some clues to the document’s archival context can be obtained by prosopographical analysis. It suggests – admittedly in rather broad terms and by no means cogently – a connection of VAT 9755 to the group of tablets known as N 2 according to O. Pedersén’s classification of the Ashur material on the basis of the excavation records.4 Most of these tablets (lexical lists, omen texts, incantations, etc.) belong to the library of a family of Assyrian scribes who lived next to the large ziqqurrat. There are also some archival texts (especially sale contracts), which have recently been published.5 However, several tablets of N 2 have not yet been identified. While it cannot be ruled out that some of them are lost, others may still be among the texts whose excavation number is no longer preserved.

4

O. Pedersén, Archives and Libraries in the City of Assur, II (Uppsala, 1986), pp. 29–34. 5 B. Faist, Alltagstexte aus neuassyrischen Archiven und Bibliotheken der Stadt Assur (StAT 3; Wiesbaden, 2007), pp. 14–47.

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A few men mentioned in VAT 9755 can be identified – not with absolute certainty owing to the absence of the respective fathers’ names – with persons attested in N 2. Aššūr-bētka-lāmur and Ata’aš also appear as witnesses in StAT 3 2 (lines 20 and 26 respectively) dating to the post-canonical eponym year of Bēlšunu (648* B.C.E.).6 Because of the rarity of these names in the Neo-Assyrian onomastic material – the name Aššūr-bētka-lāmur occurs only in these two documents, whereas the name Ata’aš perhaps is also to be found in SAAB 5 42:40 (N 9, dating to the 8th or early 7th century B.C.E.) – we may assume that in both cases one and the same person is meant. Moreover, in the witness list of another text from N 2 (StAT 3 12), which, strangely, is not dated, we find three names present in VAT 9755 as well: Aššūraplu-iddina (line 23), Ṣalam-šarri-iqbi (line 24), and Mannu-kī-Aššūr (line 27).7 In any event, the relationship between Mannu-kī-Aššūr, the buyer of the Elamite woman and her daughter, for whom VAT 9755 was drawn up, and the family of scribes, in whose house the deed was possibly kept, remains unclear. In principle, Mannu-kī-Aššūr could have been an otherwise unknown member of the scribes’ family. However, considering that most of the documents from N 2 pose the same problem and that the connection among them is by far the least evident among the Neo-Assyrian archives of Ashur, we have to look for other possibilities. Perhaps Mannu-kī-Aššūr entrusted his deed of ownership to the family of scribes for safekeeping, for example, because of their prestige in the neighbourhood.8 But other explanations may

6 Post-canonical eponym sequence according to S. Parpola (see PNA, Part 1/I, pp. XVIII–XX) and, if differing, according to J. Reade, “Assyrian Eponyms, Kings and Pretenders, 648–605 B.C.”, Orientalia 67 (1998), pp. 255–265. 7 Some identifications proposed by PNA seem, by contrast, less probable. The seller Silim-Aššūr is identified with the witness of SAAB 9 131:15 (N 24) on account of the presence of Sākip-Aššūr in both documents (R. Mattila, PNA 3/I, p. 1110a, No. 9), although in the treatment of this last name the two attestations are kept separately (K. Radner, PNA 3/I, p. 1066, Nos. 2 and 6). With one exception, all references to Adi-ilu-iqbûni in documents from Ashur are ascribed to the same individual, namely to the ḫundurāiu known from N 9 and 10 (K. Radner, PNA 1/I, p. 52b, No. 2). In the absence of further evidence this indeed seems not well-founded. Aššūr-aplu-iddina is identified with the witness of VAT 19537:49 (unpublished) because of the presence of Pān-Aššūr-lāmur (R. Jas, PNA 1/I, p. 154b, No. 10) in both texts. But again, the PānAššūr-lāmur of our text and the one of VAT 19537 are kept apart in a later volume, probably because of the frequency of the name (K. Åkerman, PNA 3/I, p. 984, Nos. 7 and 9). 8 This phenomenon has been observed, for instance, in Late Bronze Age Emar; see B. Faist, “Scribal Traditions and Administration at Emar”, in L. d’Alfonso, Y. Cohen

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apply too. K. Radner has pointed out that the price of a purchased person or real estate had not necessarily been paid or paid in full when the document was drawn up, even if it is always written in the past tense. She proposes seeing the keeper of the document (ṣābit t ̣uppi), who sometimes appears among the witnesses to the transaction and in many cases was identical with the scribe of the text, as the person who kept the deed till the buyer had fully satisfied the seller.9 There is no mention of a ṣābit ṭuppi in VAT 9755, but the end of the witness list, where a statement like this is usually to be found, is damaged.10 In such a case, a link between the ṣābit ṭuppi and the family of scribes should be postulated.

IV. The chronological setting Beside the above-mentioned document StAT 3 2 dating from 648* B.C.E., additional texts can be taken as reference for the chronological setting of VAT 9755. The goldsmith Sākip-Aššūr, one of the ten sellers of the Elamite captives, may be identical with the person of the same name from the goldsmiths’ archive (N 33), even if his profession is not given there. He is attested in the judicial document StAT 1 33:14 from the post-canonical eponym year of Šarru-mētu-uballiṭ (640* or 642* B.C.E.) and in the letter StAT 1 51:15, which is not dated.11 On the other hand, the mayor Qibīt-Aššūr, placed third in our witness list, most probably presided, with other members of the city administration, over the purchase of a house (StAT 1 22 = StAT 2 244) transacted by someone (the name is broken away) related to the goldsmiths’ “guild”, as the text was found in N 33.12 Unfortunately the date of this

and D. Sürenhagen (eds.), The City of Emar among the Late Bronze Age Empires. History, Landscape, and Society (AOAT 349; Münster, 2008), pp. 198–199. 9 See Radner, Die neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden, pp. 89–93. 10 Nabû-lē’i (line 37) would be a good candidate. Two, perhaps three documents from N 2 refer to a ṣābit ṭuppi (always a different person): StAT 3 5: rev. 14’–15’, StAT 3 10:33, StAT 3 15: rev.14’ (?). In the first two texts the ṣābit ṭuppi is also the scribe. 11 K. Radner (PNA 3/I, p. 1066a, No. 2) identifies Sākip-Aššūr with another person of the same name (N 12), but does not consider the seller’s profession, which makes a connection with N 33 more likely. 12 So also H. D. Baker, PNA 3/I, 1013a, No. 22. In StAT 1 22:2 Qibīt-Aššūr is specifically called mayor of the Šamaš gate.

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sale contract is lost, but prosopographical considerations indicate that it has to be sought after 620* B.C.E.13 The available information thus suggests that the historical context of VAT 9755 is the reign of Ashurbanipal (or later), a fact that also applies to most of the legal texts from Ashur. At that time the longlasting hostility between Assyria and Elam, going back to the reign of Tiglath-pileser III (745–727 B.C.E.), reached its climax and ended in an (actually short-lived) Assyrian supremacy.14 The Assyrian royal inscriptions, which represent the main source for Neo-Elamite history, record five military campaigns against Elam, undertaken between 664 and 647 or 646 B.C.E.15 The last campaign against Huban-haltaš III (Assyrian Ummanaldaš) culminated in the sack of Susa and surpassed all previous campaigns in extent and cruelty, perhaps because of Elamite support for Babylonia in the revolt of Šamaš-šuma-ukīn (652–648 B.C.E.). Apart from the tremendous material destruction, a substantial part of the population, livestock, and property was carried off. Ashurbanipal also recovered from Susa a statue of the goddess Nanaya of Uruk, which had been taken away from that city during an Elamite raid in the distant past; he sent it back to the Eanna temple in Uruk.16 Would it be too far-fetched to see this historical event evoked by the name of the Elamite captive, which in all probability was not her original name?17

13 See K. Radner, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Tempelgoldschmiede von Assur (StAT 1; Saarbrücken, 1999), p. 107. 14 See lastly M. W. Waters, A Survey of Neo-Elamite History (SAAS XII; Helsinki, 2000), pp. 45–80. For the iconographic sources (palace reliefs) see J. Reade, “Elam and Elamites in Assyrian Sculpture”, AMI N.F. 9 (1976), pp. 97–106, with pls. 21–28. 15 For the dating of Ashurbanipal’s last two campaigns see G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C. (Istanbul, 1992), pp. 293–295. 16 See Frame, ibid., pp. 204–205. 17 Oded, Mass Deportations, p. 12, pointed out that “deportees or aliens settled permanently on foreign soil were given to adopting names of the type commonly found in the lands of their exile”. In our case, since the woman was evidently enslaved, it is most probable that she was renamed by her new owners. Changing a mane in the Mesopotamian onomasticon has been discussed by D. O. Edzard, “Name, Namengebung”, RlA 9 (1998–2001), pp. 109–110, but without taking into consideration the replacement of the name in the case of deportees and other displaced persons.

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b. faist V. Some historical considerations

Together with Babylonia and Media, Elam belonged to the countries from which the Assyrians most frequently deported people.18 They did not confine themselves to specific social groups, and they would deport men together with their families so that they would not run away and return to their homeland but would rather become settled in the new place.19 Against this background it seems likely that the husband of the Elamite captive had already died, perhaps as a war victim, when she was brought to Ashur. All booty, human as well as animal, was regarded as property of the king.20 But royal inscriptions frequently note that the king divided it among the soldiers, high-ranking officials, and the inhabitants of the main Assyrian cities.21 The machinery of distribution is little known. Whereas high-ranking officials may have had the privilege to choose people from a contingent of deportees,22 in most cases they were likely to be assigned – if not by the king himself – by responsible functionaries23 or by institutions. From VAT 9755 we learn that the Elamite captive was sold together with her daughter by ten men and that both had previously been given by the king (most likely Ashurbanipal) to the city of Ashur, that is to say to its inhabitants. It is reasonable to assume that the new possessors sold the woman and her child in order to get money that they could easily divided among themselves. This implies

18

Oded, ibid., p. 26. Idem, ibid., pp. 22–25. 20 Idem, ibid., pp. 40 and 85. 21 Ashurbanipal stated that the captives taken during the second campaign against Huban-haltaš III “were divided among the cult centres, the dwellings of the great gods, my provincial governors, my magnates, and all my army like sheep” (BIWA, p. 59, A VII 6–8). 22 See, for instance, the letter CTN II 194, written by an officer to his superior, the governor of Kalhu, concerning the booty taken during a military campaign led by the commander-in-chief (turtānu). Lines 7–23 run as follows (after the translation by J. N. Postgate): “Out of the captives who came out I have searched and chosen 30 persons [from] them. I applied to the turtānu, (and) he has given (them) to me. Out of the captives who were inside Rapīqu, who came out, I have chosen 10 persons from them, (but) the turtānu was not in a good mood, (and) I did not apply to him. When he comes into the palace, may my lord speak to him”. 23 See, for example, the sale document StAT 3 15, according to which a garden in a recently conquered region was granted by the commander to his third man (on chariot), who sold it to another person. The garden presumably was part of the booty. Note that it is qualified as gift (tidittu) of the commander. Could this term also apply to human booty? 19

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that captives could be assigned to more than one individual, especially when the inhabitants were “common” citizens. Yet the sellers do not seem to have been bound by familial or professional ties, even if not all designations are preserved. One wonders, therefore, how they came to be granted the woman altogether. One possible explanation may be that they were members of an institution through which deportees were allocated. In this case the Ashur temple comes to mind. It is well known that a significant number of craftsmen and other professionals worked for this large institution. Goldsmiths and bakers, both attested in VAT 9755, were very important as they were involved in the fabrication and maintenance of cult statues and other temple treasury,24 and in the preparation of bakery products for offerings.25 As in most cases, we lack any trace of the captive’s personal history. We do not know her position in the Elamite society, and on the basis of VAT 9755 we can only assert that in her new place she had the status of a (domestic) slave who changed hands.26 In his study, Professor Oded stresses the lack of uniformity in the status of the deportees. He clearly delineates the different socio-economic conditions they attained – from state official to farm worker – and the various degrees of freedom they enjoyed.27 A great number of them were settled on lands owned by the king or his officials, or by temples, and their situation did not differ from those of other Assyrian subjects. Only in rare cases – and VAT 9755 provides a new example – do they seem to have become domestic slaves. G. Galil has recently shown that most of the slave families in the Neo-Assyrian period were “single-parent families” composed of an adult, predominantly a woman, and their child or children.28 Among the various constraints given by the author as possible reasons for the existence of this family type he mentions

24 See Radner, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv, pp. 34–42. Actually, it has been proposed above to identify the goldsmith Sākip-Aššūr with a member of the goldsmiths’ “guild”. 25 See B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel, vol. 1 (Studia Pohl Series Maior 10/I; Rome, 1981), pp. 251–253. 26 See Galil, The Lower Stratum Families, pp. 188–191 for the terms used in the Neo-Assyrian period to define slaves. To my knowledge, the only additional reference to an Elamite in the legal texts from Ashur is to be found in a judicial document, unfortunately in a broken context (envelope MAH 16154:7 published by J. N. Postgate, “Assyrian Documents in the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Geneva”, Assur 2 (1979), p. 11 and pl. III). 27 Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 75–115. 28 Galil, The Lower Stratum Families, pp. 265 (type A4) and 320.

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the “breakup of families due to political circumstances”, especially the enslavement of deported war widows.29 This, however, may have been more common than explicitly stated in our sources.

29

Galil, ibid., p. 323.

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Bibliography R. Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals (Wiesbaden, 1996). K. Deller, “Review article of CAD A/I”, Orientalia 34 (1965), pp. 259–274. K. Deller, F. M. Fales and L. Jakob-Rost, “Neo-Assyrian Texts from Assur. Private Archives in the Vorderasiatisches Museum of Berlin. Part 2”, SAAB 9 (1995), pp. 3–137. V. Donbaz and S. Parpola, Neo-Assyrian Legal Texts in Istanbul (StAT 2; Saarbrücken, 2001). D. O. Edzard, “Name, Namengebung (Onomastik). B. Akkadisch”, RlA 9 (1998–2001), pp. 103–116. B. Faist, Alltagstexte aus neuassyrischen Archiven und Bibliotheken der Stadt Assur (StAT 3; Wiesbaden, 2007). ——, “Scribal Traditions and Administration at Emar”, in L. d’Alfonso, Y. Cohen and D. Sürenhagen (eds.), The City of Emar among the Late Bronze Age Empires. History, Landscape, and Society (AOAT 349; Münster, 2008), pp. 198–205. F. M. Fales and L. Jakob-Rost, “Neo-Assyrian Texts from Assur. Private Archives in the Vorderasiatisches Museum of Berlin. Part 1”, SAAB 5 (1991), pp. 3–157. G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C. (Istanbul, 1992). G. Galil, The Lower Stratum Families in the Neo-Assyrian Period (CHANE 27; Leiden – Boston, 2007). E. Klengel-Brandt and K. Radner, “Die Stadtbeamten von Assur und ihre Siegel”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), pp. 137–159. S. Lackenbacher, “Les étrangers dans l’empire néo-assyrien à travers la correspondence des Sargonides”, in J. J. Justel, J. P. Vita and J. Á. Zamora (eds.), Las culturas del Próximo Oriente Antiguo y su expansión mediterránea (Zaragoza, 2008), pp. 35–51. B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel, vol. 1 (Studia Pohl Series Maior 10/I; Rome, 1981). B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). O. Pedersén, Archives and Libraries in the City of Assur, II (Uppsala, 1986). J. N. Postgate, The Governor’s Palace Archive (CTN II; London, 1973). ——, “Assyrian Documents in the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Geneva”, Assur 2 (1979), pp. 93–107. K. Radner, Die neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden als Quelle für Mensch und Umwelt (SAAS VI; Helsinki, 1997). ——, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Tempelgoldschmiede von Assur (StAT 1; Saarbrücken, 1999). J. Reade, “Elam and Elamites in Assyrian Sculpture”, AMI N.F. 9 (1976), pp. 97–106 with pls. 21–28. ——, “Assyrian Eponyms, Kings and Pretenders, 648–605 B.C.”, Orientalia 67 (1998), pp. 255–265. M. W. Waters, A Survey of Neo-Elamite History (SAAS XII; Helsinki, 2000).

THE ASSYRIAN WORDS FOR “(FOOT) SOLDIER”1

Frederick Mario Fales University of Udine

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men Couldn’t put Humpty together again. (nursery rhyme, perhaps referring to Richard the III) “When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in a rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.” (Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, 1871)

Let us imagine that a colleague working, for example, in the field of Roman History were to ask himself the simple question: “what was the Assyrian terminology for ‘soldier’?” For the sake of our argument, we should envisage a well-read and well-organized scholar, not only intrigued by the fact that the Assyrian Empire was the earliest macroregional state structure to base its territorial expansion and economic growth upon the force of its army, but also with ease of access in his University library to the Akkadian dictionaries and the SAA series, namely, more or less to the full gamut of truly outstanding results which have been achieved in the field of research on Neo-Assyrian texts in the last twenty years. Now, this fictional colleague would be very hard put to come up with a clear and unequivocal result to his query, after a full hour of research. The reason for this outcome is not difficult to explain: while surely expecting, from his own experience

1

I am very pleased to contribute this essay to a book honoring our esteemed Colleague Prof. Bustenay Oded, who has aided throughout his long career all those working on Neo-Assyrian history with his crucial studies and thoroughly illuminating insights.

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in Roman History, a multiplicity of terms to characterize an ancient army, on the other hand, his perusal of translated sources would yield a certain variety of conflicting interpretations being offered as for the relatively few, but crucial, Neo-Assyrian terms for military functions, unit types, and ranks. Thus, even without having gone through a number of more detailed contributions, he might come to the conclusion that at present, a full century after Manitius’ broad description of the mechanisms of the Assyrian army, there is still no unanimous agreement on the matter on the part of specialists in Neo-Assyrian. And this conclusion would not be entirely erroneous. The range of varying interpretations that our hypothetical colleague might face may be exemplified in this contribution, taking into account merely four lexical items or complexes, i.e. ṣāb šarri, zūku, zakkû, and kallābu, which I have selected on the basis of the fact that they all appear – at least in one written context and/or in one or more recent interpretation – to fill the semantic slot reserved for the word “soldier” or “foot-soldier”. The following chart, based on the main vocabularies, on the SAA indexes, and on random quotes from other literature, may be useful to view the situation at the outset (see table 1). As may be seen, the chosen terms present a number of semantic overlaps from one interpretation to the next in the chart above: ṣāb šarri, zūku and kallābu all cover to some extent the general semantic area of “troops”, whereas zūku and zakkû show partial co-extension in the areas of “exemption” and of “professional soldier”, and finally zūku and kallābu would seem to overlap in part as terms for “foot-soldiers, infantry”. It is thus obvious that an attempt to clarify the specific and distinct semantic ranges of each term, i.e. when and how they were used in Neo-Assyrian, is at this point necessary, first and foremost as a stepping-stone in our ongoing activity of interpretation of the relevant texts. On the other hand, it should be stated forthwith that the result of a full and “final” unraveling of the meanings of these four terms side by side is not a fully foregone conclusion, since it depends exclusively on the documents at our disposal. Before beginning my analysis, I would like to illustrate in brief what, in my opinion, may be deduced at present concerning the overall structure of the Assyrian army. Mine is the surely provisional perspective of the historian who attempts to amalgamate and rationalize a vast – but not altogether complete or satisfying – gamut of data drawn from three types of source-material regarding the Assyrian war effort: (a) official texts (the ARI), (b) “everyday” texts, and (c) figurative depic-

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Table 1 TERM

CAD

ṣāb šarri ṣāb šarri alone (Ṣ, p. 1): “worker or soldier levied for royal service”

AHw / CDA

AEAD

SAA

Other (e.g.)

Within ṣābu: AHw: ṣāb šarri: “(z.T. als Kompositum?) für den Königsdienst Ausgehobener”;

ṣāb šarri given s.v. šarru: “draftee, king’s men”

ṣāb šarri alone in indexes: “king’s man, conscript” (SAA I, V, VII, XII, XV); elsewhere only ṣābu given.

Postgate, 1974, p. 219 (and van Driel, 1970, p. 173a), “ ‘(royal) soldier’ or simply ‘soldier’ ”: see in general Postgate, 1974, pp. 219–226.

“infantry”

In indexes: zūku “exempt” (SAA I), “infantry(?)” (SAA V), “exempt, professional soldier” (SAA XVI); zukkû “professional troops” (SAA X).

Postgate, 2000, p. 104: “. . . the word zūku . . . has no transparent etymology and is not attested before the first millennium B.C.”

CDA: ṣāb šarri: “royal troops” zūku

“infantry”

AHw: “Infanterie”; CDA: “infantry”

zakkû

“(a member of a class of feudatories”), with comment: “The evidence indicates that the designation zakkû refers to an Assyrian functionary who belonged to the lower stratum of the official hierarchy . . . and served in occupied Babylonia as a military official performing police duties”

“exempt; AHw: etwa “Frondienstfreier”; professional (soldier)” CDA: “(official) freed, exempted (from corvée duty)”

in indexes, verbal Postgate, 1974, p. 342: “exempt(ed) and derived (man)”; nominal forms ranged under zakû, “to be clean, exempt, pure” (SAA I, V, VI, VII, VIII, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII), or as zakkû, “exempt” (SAA II, IV, XV, XVI), “exempted (official)” (SAA VII), or as zekkû, “freed, exempted person” (SAA XVII).

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Table 1 (cont.) TERM

CAD

AHw / CDA

kallābu and kallāb šipirti

kallābu, “member of the light troops (a special military formation)”;

AHw: kallābu, “Meldereiter, Kurier”; kallāb šipirti, “reitender Briefbote”;

kallāb šipirti, “member of the light troops (a special military formation) serving as messenger”

CDA: kallābu, “(a foot-soldier)”; kallāb šipirti, “messenger”

(also read kallāpu, etc.)

AEAD Only kallābu: “(armored) horseman, knight, outrider”

SAA

Other (e.g.)

In indexes: kallābu, “(mng. uncert., dispatch-rider?)” (SAA I), “mounted scout (?)” (SAA III, IV); “outrider (?)” (SAA V, V, VIII, XI, XIII, XV, XVI, XVIII); and kallāb šipirti, “(mounted?) messenger” (SAA I), “dispatch rider” (SAA V), “dispatch rider (?)” (SAA XIV, XVI).

Postgate, 2000, p. 105: “. . . the kallāpu are a regular component of the Assyrian sector of the army and they occur in too great numbers to be specialists . . . If the foot-soldiers who appear on the reliefs as a regular component of the Assyrian sector are not kallāpu we have no other term for them”.

tions. In my reconstruction, these sources allow us to obtain a view of the analytical/structural subdivisions of the Assyrian army, as may be charted below (see Table 2). As may be seen, table 22 shows: (1) the functional units forming the army, to be subdivided in combat units – by type of weaponry (infantry, cavalry, chariotry, etc.) and thereupon in corps by level of armour and/or function (light, regular, heavy) – combat support units (by professional designation), and noncombat, or civilian, units (by professional designation). (2) the ethno-social subdivisions of the Assyrian army, which were basically two: “Assyrians” – a designation which seems to have been partly coterminous with that of “servants of the king” – and “others”, who were functionally classified as being of foreign ethnicity, and thus seem to have been in some cases employed as auxiliary trops on a regular basis, but elsewhere (and/or at other times) along less durable lines of affiliation to the Assyrian army, and even possibly as mercenary troops.

2 Table 2 is based on the results given in extenso in F. M. Fales, Guerre et paix en Assyrie: religion et imperialisme, Editions du Cerf (Paris, 2010), in press, and in F. M. Fales, Warfare in the Assyrian Empire (Oxford, 2010), in preparation.

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Table 2

(1) Units of the army

Combat units: c ha r i o t r y ↓ c ha r i o t e e r s /t e a m

c a v a l ry ↓ ho r s e m e n / g ro o m s

i nf antry ↓ l i g h t/ m e di um / h e av y

Combat support units (scouts, sappers, engineers, logistics, etc.) Non-combat /civilian units (domestics, victuallers etc., scribes etc.) (2) Ethno-social subdivisions of the army

(3) Administrative sectors of the army

(4) Chain of command of the army (basic hierarchy)

“Assyrians” ⎤ born → “servants of the king” assyrianized ⎦ (ARI: “like Assyrians”)

⎤

army → ilku ⎦ dullu

“bearded” / ⎤ ⎤ non-Assyrians exemptions “eunuchs” regular auxiliaries → (by ethnonym) → from ilku ⎦ foreign occasional troops ⎦ and/or dullu – kiṣir šarri, professional/permanent army Other professional/permanent cohorts ( ⇔ personal “domains”) occasional military activities (e.g., maritime warfare) Special corps for ← armed control of peacetime activities (e.g., military police) military campaigns – ṣab šarri, conscripts or recruits for ← specific army activities exceptional dullus K i n g ( + R oy al Fam i l y ) M a g n a t e s o f S t a t e – Pro v i nci al Go v e rno rs C o mm a n de r s ( ⇔ s i n g l e u n its, se cto rs, e v e n “ do m ai ns” ) S u b o r di n a t e Of f i c e r s ( ⇔ si ng l e uni ts, se cto rs, e v e n “ do mai ns” ) Rank and File (recruits / professionals; “Assyrians” / “others”; by units, sectors, etc.)

This subdivision, with juridical and socio-economic implications regarding the provision of taxes, workloads, and military service, or, to the opposite, regarding exemption from all such obligations, would seem to have bearing on some of the terms which will be taken up in this contributions, zūku and zakkû. A further subdivision of presumable ethnosocial (but also administrative and political) value, to which – however – only rare hints are made in the texts, is that between the ša ziqni and the ša rēši. (3) the sectors of the army, as determined by administrative status or even political standards and mechanisms: here, the main subdivision is that between the “royal cohort” (kiṣir šarri or šarrūti) and

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the remainder of the armed forces, culled from mainly recruitable elements tied to Magnates and/or provincial governors: this important binary split within the Assyrian army, which has been analyzed in different ways,3 will be taken up in the present contribution exclusively as concerns the term ṣāb šarri. Moreover, I believe that one should range in this general bracket also certain special corps created or called up for specific military activities (e.g. maritime warfare) and other special corps entrusted with the armed control of peacetime activities (e.g. the Itu’eans and Gurreans in their well-established function as military police). (4) the chain of command, as hierarchical synopsis of all forces which regulated the army. This feature is of course, for all historical armies, the most complex one to reconstruct, and one which presents special difficulties for the historian of Assyria, since – not unlike the Roman Empire – it seems to have been determined not only by questions of rank, but also (and perhaps in the main) on the basis of personal/ political/tactical standards and mechanisms, moreover to be analyzed diachronically. In a nutshell, one might say that the crucial “hub” of the chain of command is where the Assyrian empire shows the overlap of civilian and military power in general, or – from another point of view – the overlap of its own self-projected image as a full-fledged “statehood” and as an extended “patrimonial” holding.4 In any case, a very crude pyramid of power, such as may be reconstructed for the moment, obviously sees the Assyrian king at the top, but at times with co-extension of his commanding powers to other members of royal family (not only the Crown Prince, but also the Queen), then descends one step to encompass the Magnates and the provincial governors (in varying positions of institutional/territorial control vis-à-vis the king, whether in their civilian or military function), then – still descending – the actual military ranks, viz., the Commanders or head officers, the subordinate officers (both depending on all the divisions above themselves), and finally the rank and file –

3 The most recent contributions on the structure of the “royal cohort” are by R. Mattila, The King’s Magnates. A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (SAAS XI; Helsinki, 2000), pp. 149–150; T. Deszö, “Reconstruction of the Assyrian Army of Sargon II (721–705 B.C.), Based on Nimrud Horse Lists”, SAAB 15 (2006), p. 125, and J. N. Postgate, The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur. Studies on Assyria: 1971–2005 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 347–350. 4 See, for the moment, F. M. Fales, “Cracking the Code of Neo-Assyrian Administration: A Theoretical Framework”, SAAB 18 (2009), in press.

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who were, again on the basis of the higher subdivisions, balances and allotments of power, of varying origins.5 Let us begin, then, with the term that seems – already at first sight – to be the broadest in application, as well as the best studied one: ṣāb šarri. In his ground-breaking analysis of more than thirty years ago,6 J. N. Postgate made the following points: (1) “the term is never found as a profession, which is an initial indication that it was a temporary employment”; (2) “there are signs . . . that the ‘king’s men’ were in fact fighting troops, and not just ordinary workmen impressed to do the state’s hard labour”; (3) “Some at least of the king’s men were chariot troops . . . on the other hand, it is clear . . . that not all of them were chariot troops; . . . they were in three main types of employment: the cavalry and chariot troops . . . the official and domestic staff . . ., and the Aramaean units, who presumably constituted the bulk of the infantry”; (4) “it is of course possible, not to say probable, that some of the ‘king’s men’ were more permanently employed, not serving in fulfilment of their ilku obligations, but as professional soldiers”.; (5) “. . . the ‘king’s men’ could be recruited from distant parts of the empire”. A very large part of what Postgate wrote then may still be upheld nowadays. Specifically, in the light of the evidence at present available, and with a slight shift of analytical perspective, more centered on the contextually-based terminology employed than on a von Rankean search for objective historical fact, the following “profile” of the ṣāb šarri may be offered: 1 – The term designates all elements of the male population liable for recruitment or other forms of conscription within the armed forces of Assyria. The key-concept tied to participation to the Assyrian army as ṣāb šarris is “mobilization”, as expressed by the verb dakû and the noun dakûtu or dikûtu; see e.g. SAA I 18: . . . I am writing to Šarru-emurrani right now. He is going to mobilize (i-dak-ki-a) and bring here all the ṣāb šarris of Dur-Ladini, Dur-Bilihai and Larak, including those of Bit-Awukani.

5 This three-fold subdivision has been presented by Postgate, The Land of Assur, p. 344, as formed by the šaknu, who in his turn controlled the rab kiṣris and the rab 50 (rab haššē), resp. in command of the “Assyrian” and “auxiliary” troops. 6 J. N. Postgate, Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire (Rome, 1974), pp. 219–226.

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But perhaps the clearest connection between the status of ṣāb šarri and compulsory enrollment in the army may be drawn from a royal letter, CTN II, 185, in which the Assyrian ruler writes to a high official establishing campaign provisions of 3 sūtus for “all the ṣāb šarris who are under you”, as well as 7 sūtus for their families remaining at home. Through a calculation of the relevant rations – which I have made elsewhere7 – it may be suggested that while the conscripts drew only a month’s worth of provisions (after which, one may believe, they were expected to live off the enemy territory), their families were entitled to some 70 days of food at the very same rate –which would be an interesting oblique indication of the expected length of the campaign! 2 – Not all of the ṣāb šarris were sent on the yearly campaigns, however: there are also a few attestations (ND 2431 and duplicates, SAA I 91, 99, CTN II, 141, etc.) of “reserve forces” (ša kutalli) flanking the “king’s men”, perhaps even in roughly equivalent number as the latter.8 Also a further letter, SAA I 149, might regard these “reserves” although the term is not explicitly mentioned: The governor of Arba’il has [120] ṣāb šarris who did not go to the campaign with the king, but he will not agree to give them to me. I fear the king, my lord, and shall take away his (=the governor’s) men (without permission). (They are:) 30 men from Tille, 60 from the land of Hamudu of the governor of Kalhu, 30 from the city of [. . . .]ba. They have neither corn rations nor (allotted) tasks.

3 – The ṣāb šarris did not exhaust, by themselves, the human reserves which the Assyrian state could draw from its constitutive territories (whether internal provinces or externally allied lands) for its needs; letters such as SAA I 223 (on the Shadikanneans), SAA V 52, 78, etc., and – on the contrary – a grant for exemption such as SAA XII 48, show that the performance of the regular ilku for the Assyrian state, or the execution of specifically planned tasks or public works (dullu) was entrusted to members of communities which provided ṣāb šarris at the same time. A re-evaluation of the mechanisms of ilku and dullu, on which equally Postgate has provided a fundamental contribution,9

7 F. M. Fales, “Grain Reserves, Daily Rations, and the Size of the Assyrian Army: a Quantitative Study”, SAAB 4 (1990), pp. 23–34. 8 Cf. CAD, K, p. 606a. 9 Postgate, Taxation, passim; see also S. Parpola, “The Construction of Dur-Šarruken in the Assyrian Royal Correspondence”, in A. Caubet (ed.), Khorsabad, le palais de Sargon II, roi d’Assyrie (Paris, 1995), pp. 47–68, on dullu at Khorsabad.

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may be left for another occasion. In any case, it may be here suggested that factors of age and/or general health conditions could have determined who was assigned to the army and who was not; it is quite likely, in fact, that the entire system of reckoning of the early ages of life employed in Assyrian administration, by rūṭus or “spans”,10 could have been tied to functional aims such as this. A specific case of substitute mobilization within a family group is hinted at in the letter SAA V 21: Perhaps there is a son who has gone into service as a ṣāb šarri (a-na ERIM.MEŠ – LUGAL-u-ti) in lieu of his father.

4 – Mobilization of the ṣāb šarris was carried out at various levels by the Magnates and/or the provincial governors, in their separate or combined capacities as responsible for the population of their territories and as military leaders.11 Not by chance, therefore, we frequently find the notations “my ṣāb šarris”, i.e., literally, “my king’s-men” in letters by governors of high commanders. As for their officers further down the chain of command, quite little is known; the most interesting set of attestations on this count is provided by CTN III, 21–22, two clay sealings from wooden objects (presumably writing-boards) which specify that the attached list regarded “ṣāb šarris, reviewed (ERIM.MEŠ – MAN áš-ru-te)” with the name of the šaknu who had performed the operation – or to whom in any case the men were referred – within the ekal mašarti of Kalhu. 5 – Crucial evidence for the problem of which specific combat units were included among the ṣāb šarris is the letter SAA V 215 (NL 89), which lists in detailed form a partial total of personnel present for the campaign of 710 B.C.E. in the outpost of Mazamua.12 The “Mazamua letter” bears a detailed breakdown of (a) different combat units (chariotry and cavalry), of (b) civilian units, of (c) combat support units (but cf. below for the discussion on kallābu), for a total of 630 “Assyrians”;

10

Cf. CAD, R, pp. 438–439. Cf. Mattila, The King’s Magnates, passim; F. M. Fales, “Preparing for War in Assyria”, in J. Andreau, P. Briant and R. Descat (eds.), Économie antique. La guerre dans les economies antiques (= Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire, III; St.-Bertrandde-Comminges, 2000), pp. 35–62, for the basic materials on this point. 12 On this letter, cf. already Postgate, Taxation; see also Fales, “Preparing for War”, pp. 31–34, and most recently J. N. Postgate, “The Assyrian Army in Zamua”, Iraq 62 (2000), pp. 89–108 (= Postgate, The Land of Assur, pp. 261–280) with new collations and comments. 11

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and finally of (d) 800 auxiliary troops from the two ethnicities of the Itu’eans and the Gurreans, for a grand total of 1,430 ṣāb šarri. Thus, this text still constitutes the clearest evidence for the application of the term ṣāb šarri to quite varied groups of personnel attached to the Assyrian military machine. Something more on the rank and function of the ṣāb šarris may be made out from SAA V 251, in which an unknown author writes to Sargon: The king my lord gave me no orders regarding the charioteers, but I have reviewed them too along with the cavalry: 10 charioteers (LÚ*.EN.GIŠ. GIGIR.MEŠ), 21 of their ṣāb šarris (LÚ*.ERIM – MAN-šú-nu), in all 31 charioteers seen, 69 missing, under the command of the recruitment officer Tuti.

In this letter, we would seem to be dealing with a specific definition of ṣāb šarri, relevant to the rank-and-file personnel of the chariot teams, as distinguished from other relevant personnel, including the chariot fighters and/or owners.13 In sum, the ṣāb šarris could have provided the “chariot drivers” (mukil appate) and “third-men on the chariots” (tašlišu) for the chariot teams, after adequate training on the part of the mušarkisu, or “recruitment officer”. If we couple this attestation with SAA XV 60, which shows a threefold division between raksus,14 “chariot fighters” (mār dammaqūte) and the ṣāb šarris of the latter (LÚ*.ERIM.MEŠ – LUGAL-šú-nu), a difference in social status would seem to be indicated, whereby the chariot fighters had a specific function within the army.15 A further attestation of the same type is SAA V 152, a letter by Aššur-alik-pani, an official of Sargon in the North-East:

13 On the reading of LÚ*.EN.GIŠ.GIGIR as bēl narkabti, cf. K. Radner, Die neuassyrischen Texte aus Tall Šēḥ Ḫ amad, Mit Beiträgen von W. Röllig zu den aramäischen Beischriften (BATSH 6; Berlin, 2002), p. 10, note 100. 14 The tern raksu represents a further crux interpretum in the study of the Assyrian army; it is often rendered “recruit”, and even “mercenary”, but I would prefer to understand it as a more technical term for “horse trainer”. A few attestations involving this term will be quoted in the course of the present article. 15 As also noted by Postgate, “The Assyrian Army”, pp. 97, 106. On the other hand, Postgate fails to recall here that in the Mazamua letter also the mār dammaqūte are listed as part of the ṣāb šarris – a point which complicates the issue. A further problem is whether the bēl narkabti and the mār dammaqūte were mutual synonyms: Postgate, ibid., p. 95, denies any identity, whereas Radner, Die neuassyrischen Texte, p. 10, note 101, affirms it on the basis of Middle Assyrian forerunners.

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Now that the king my lord has written me, I shall assign my ṣāb šarris ([LÚ*].ERIM.MEŠ – LUGAL-ia), chariotry and cavalry as the king wrote me, and I shall be in the king my lord’s presence in Arba’il with my ṣāb šarris (ERIM.MEŠ – MAN-ia) and my army (e-mu-qi-ia) by the deadline set by the king my lord.

As may be seen, the ṣāb šarris are here quoted on the first count alongside both chariotry and cavalry, and thereupon in parallel to the general emūqu, “armed forces”, commanded by the writer. Taking the two sentences to mean in essence one and the same thing, the ṣāb šarris would again appear to represent temporary draftees as well as nonspecialized forces, in opposition to full-time and thus higher-ranking, members of the most prized formations of the Assyrian army. In any case, taking these three texts altogether, we should rule out a rigid and exclusive connection of the ṣāb šarri with the Assyrian infantry. Summing up, therefore, the ṣāb šarris may be defined as a term covering a specific administrative sector of the Assyrian army – the sector which, as such, was in opposition to the kiṣir šarri, “royal cohort” and to other similar formations tied to “patrimonial” and/or political subdivisions within the State – i.e. the more or less “private” armies going back to the members of the Royal Family, to the Magnates, even to some provincial governors, depending on the period. The primary meaning of ṣāb šarri as “king’s men” or “king’s troops” must thus be taken at face value: these are the troops that were drawn by conscription from the entirety of the areas under Assyrian statehood, with no inner distinction in themselves, and which – to the contrary – all high-ranking representatives of the State were expected to provide to the Assyrian ruler from their area of individual responsibility. Their lower military status than the professional soldiers of the same army should be explained essentially in terms of lesser technical preparation and shorter duration in the service. On the other hand, their training would seem to have been meant to reach positions in all the three combat units – not only the infantry, but also the cavalry and the chariotry, even as high up as the subordinate commanding ranks. Finally, alongside members of all the communities which were under Assyrian suzerainty as “Assyrians” or “servants of the king”, and were thus also obliged to provide to the State forms of ilku and dullu, also particular corps of non-Assyrian ethno-social status were considered “king’s men”. This point implies that such corps, essentially the Itu’eans and the Gurreans, but also perhaps other bodies of Aramean tribesmen subsumed for short under these two ethnonyms, had – at a

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specific moment in time, probably between Tiglath-pileser and Sargon – entered into a long-lasting agreement with the State, bargaining their political and military allegiance against a form of exemption from ilku and dullu – this point will be taken up again later, regarding the term zakkû. Through this agreement, they had become, to a certain extent, the “professionals” among the ṣāb šarris: they were thus understandably considered fully trusted elements of the Assyrian army, somewhat as the Gurkhas would become in 19th-century British-ruled India.

II I now move to consider the term zūku, for which – as noted by Postgate and AHw – no etymology is known. As a look at the CAD suffices to show, zūku has a number of attestations in the ARI, both by itself, and – under Sargon and Sennacherib – as zūk šēpē(ya), most of which point to a general meaning as “infantry”, “foot-soldiers”. Perhaps the most interesting of these passages is in Assurnasirpal’s annals, not only for its contents, but also because, due to its early date, it points to zūku as an “old” word in Assyrian, which might even have derived from Hurrian or other languages: I set out for the city Carchemish on the land Hatti and approached Bit-Bahiani. I received tribute from Bit-Bahiani. . . . I took with me the chariots, cavalry, and LÚ.zu-ku of Bit-Bahiani. . . . I received tribute from Ada-’ime, the (A)zallean . . . I took with me the chariots, cavalry, and LÚ.zu-ku of the land Azallu. . . . I received tribute from Ahunu, the man of Bit-Adini. . . . I took with me the chariots, cavalry, and LÚ.zu-ku of Ahuni. . . . I received tribute from Sangara, king of the land Hatti . . . I took with me the chariots, cavalry, and LÚ.zu-ku of the city Carchemish . . . I approached the city Hazazu which was ruled by Lubarna, the Patinean . . . I took with me the chariots, cavalry, and LÚ.zu-ku of the Patinean, and also took hostages from him” (RIMA 2, pp. 216–217: iii, 57–76).

A number of other passages in the ARI of particular interest for a definition of zūku as “infantry” come from Sargon’s account of his Eighth Campaign. The description of Mt. Simirria is specifically useful: . . . a large mountain peak, which stands out like the blade of a lance . . . its road was too rough for chariots to mount, bad for horses, and too difficult even for the advance of the zūk šēpē (LÚ.zu-uk GÌRii.)” (TCL 3, 18–22).

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Finally, the specific military tasks of the zūk šēpē are outlined in some detail in a series of passages of Sennacherib’s Annals regarding siege warfare. The most eloquent is OIP 2, 33: iii 22, regarding the Judean cities: I besieged and conquered (these cities), using piled up siege ramps,by bringing up battering rams, by an attack of the zūk šēpē (zu-uk GÌRii.), by tunnels, breaches, and kalbanatu-machines.

Now, for the “everyday” texts: the main items of information concerning this term seem to derive from a reduced number of letters. The first is SAA I 11, an abat šarri in which Sargon issues a stern reprimand to one Mannu-ki-Adad: The king’s word to Mannu-ki-Adad. 1,119 able-bodied men – they were 5,000 souls, (but) those of them who have died are dead and those of them who have survived are alive – were given for the zūku of the Palace, and (as such) entrusted as charges to your care. So why are you appropriating them, turning some into horse trainers (raksu), other into chariot fighters, and others again into cavalrymen, for your personal cohort?”

The second case of a certain interest derives from a letter by Belušezib, a scholar known for his careful deductions on political and military matters drawn from astrological observations, which he purveyed with regularity to Esarhaddon.16 In SAA X 111, a letter outlining the battle tactics for the invasion of Mannea,17 he twice mentions the LÚ.zuk-ku-ú: If the king has written to his army: ‘Invade Mannea’ – (in fact), not the whole army should invade; (only) the cavalry and the LÚ.zuk-ku-ú should invade. . . . The chariots and wagons should stay side by side in the pass, while the cavalry and the LÚ.zuk-ku-ú should invade and plunder the countryside of Mannea and come back and take up position in the pass . . . (Thereupon,) the whole army can enter and throw itself against the cities of Mannea” (SAA X 111: 9–rev. 3).

On the basis of the above passages,18 it may be safely stated that the term referred specifically to troops of the infantry, as implied by all dictionaries; on the other hand, the texts quoted above seem altogether

16

Cf. PNA, I/2, pp. 336–337. On this letter, cf. F. M. Fales and G. B. Lanfranchi, “ABL 1237: The Role of the Cimmerians in a Letter to Esarhaddon”, East and West 31 (1981), pp. 9–33. 18 Others will be quoted further on, in the discussion on kallābu. 17

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to suggest that the zūku were not (or not necessarily) recruitable elements, and to the contrary should have had the status of professional troops (cf. the Palace zūku, above), since they considered by the Assyrian kings to be particularly apt and trustworthy in battle. But – it may be asked – what was their exact administrative status?

III Now, it may be observed that, on a few occasions, the editors of the SAA team have chosen to interpret the word zūku as meaning outright, or at least in part, “exempt”.19 This choice implies, of course, that zūku is suspected to be a term with some affinity to the verb zakû and its derivates, and specifically to the noun zakkû (which the SAA consistently renders as “exempt, exempted official”), possibly a variant of a verbal adjective zukkû, attested in SAA X 111, above. Certainly a letter relevant to the zakkû such as SAA XVI 120 leaves one in doubt as to whom, exactly was meant: To the king, my lord, your servant Kinâ. Good health to the king my lord! May Nabû and Marduk bless the king my lord. The LÚ.zak-ku-ú who were brought to me are at the moment staying outside Arba’il. Now the Chief Cook is telling me: ‘They have told me thus from the Palace: “Order Kinâ to line up in my presence and to follow you” ’. Now what does the king my lord command?

Other passages present even greater ambiguities of meaning. In SAA I 172, a letter from the governor of Hamat, the royal request to raise grain for bread and fodder from the towns in the countryside is answered by the writer with a provisional list, which comprises – among others – “600 (homers of grain) of 2,000 LÚ.za-ku-e of the Kummuheans.” At the time of his initial treatise on zakkû, Postgate saw no intrinsic difficulty in this passage, which he considered as a good example for the juridical and economical status of “exempt”.20 On the other hand, nowadays, with the full dossier of Sargon’s letters from the Central Syrian

19 Cf. Table 1, with specific reference to the indexes to SAA I and SAA XVI, and relevant translations. 20 Postgate, Taxation, pp. 242–243.

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region at hand,21 it is harder to imagine that such a large number of people originating from the reign of Kummuh had come to be settled in the province of Hamat, merely on the ground of a mass measure of tax exemption by the Assyrian king. Rather, the insertion of a foreign contingent of soldiers in the Assyrian army, such as Sargon himself is known to have carried out, would be more plausible, also in the light of a possible employment of the Kummuheans for the control of critical border area such as the steppeland east of the Orontes, replete with problems caused by outlying Arab nomadic groups. Parpola’s translation accordingly thrusts in a tentative manner in this direction: “2,000 full-time (lit. ‘free’) (soldiers) of the (king) of Commagene”. Although not acknowledged by Parpola, a further letter to Sargon from the Euphrates area (SAA I 205), might also shed some light on the intricacies of zakkû as a term oscillating between a socio-economic and a military perspective. The author, Zēru-ibni, was the governor of Raṣappa, and is discussing in depth with the king the virtues of one Marduk-erība, who is at present employed as a replacement for an elder brother as a “horse trainer” (raksu), while a further brother is serving the governor himself as a messenger. Since the king obviously would like to have one of the family in his service, Zēru-ibni is sending them both, so that Sargon may choose, leaving the second choice to him. A bit dejectedly – to my mind – he adds that after the disbandment of his cavalry unit, zakkûs are hard to come by in the riverine area under his control: Right now I am sending Marduk-erība and his brother to the king my lord. Let the one who pleases the king my lord serve with the king my lord, and let them give the second-best to me. It is three years already since my cavalry (unit) was dissolved, and the king my lord knows that these riverside people all fend for themselves, none of them are za-ku-u.

That zakkûs could be associated with the armed protection of the local population, at times operating from the fortresses which were built and manned by the Assyrians in critical areas, would seem further confirmed from SAA XV 136, in which the writer greets the king

21 On these letters, cf. F. M. Fales, “Central Syria in the Letters to Sargon II”, in U. Hübner and E. A. Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein. Studien . . . Festschrift Manfred Weippert (Freiburg, 2002), pp. 134–152.

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with the following formula: šulmu ana URU.birati ana LÚ.zakkû ana LÚ.urdāni ša šarri bēlīya, “all is well with the fortresses, with the zakkûs, and with the dependents (lit., “servants”) of the king my lord”. The same impression may be gained from SAA V 199: Shall I not leave the horses and [zakkûs] in the fort, but shall I take the [horses] and zakkû with me, go down to Mazamua and reap the harvest? I am waiting for the king my lord’s messenger; what are the king my lord’s orders?

A final set of documents would seem to connect the zakkû with matters beyond simple exemption from taxes, and specifically to an employment in the army – in some conformance with the CAD’s unparalleled definition of the term as referring to “an Assyrian functionary who belonged to the lower stratum of the official hierarchy . . . and served in occupied Babylonia as a military official performing police duties”. This set comprises the adê of the Queen Mother Zakutu in favor of Ashurbanipal (SAA II 8), and one of the queries to the Sun-god, regarding a possible rebellion against the same king (SAA IV 142, with partial duplicates). Whether for the aim of a commitment to dynastic continuity, or to avert the possibility of any violent disruption of the royal line of the Sargonids, both the treaty and the query present a theoretically all-inclusive list of the political, social, and professional groups which constitute the imperial community. In the Zakutu treaty, the zakkû are placed in a particular position, after the true “in-group” of the empire and side by side with the broader “clientele” of the Palace: The treaty of Zakutu . . . with the royal seed, with the Magnates and the governors, the bearded and the eunuchs, the royal entourage, (and) with the LÚ.zak-ke-e, and all who enter the Palace, (and) with Assyrians (of ) high and low (status).

As for the query, the zakkû appear here on two fully different counts. In the first instance (Obv. 5–6), their prefects (šaknu) are placed squarely among the officers of the army, distinct from chariotry and cavalry, i.e. in a position that recalls that of the zūku in the annals of Assurnasirpal: . . . whether the ‘third-men’, the chariot drivers, the chariot fighters, or the mušarkisus, or the prefects of the zak-ke-e, or the prefects of the cavalry, or the royal commissars, or the personal guard . . .

In the second instance (obv. 12–15), after an extended enumeration of foreign military contingents, the list begins to reach its conclusion,

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enlarging its gaze – similarly to the Zakutu treaty – onto very general professional designations, but always in connection with the armed forces, and specifically with foot-soldiers: . . . or the eunuchs who bear arms, or the bearded (officials) who bear arms and stand guard for the king, or any of the zak-ke-e – (any) troops who have ever plotted sedition and rebellion – or their brothers, or their sons or their nephews, or their friends and guests, or those who are in their confidence . . .

Summing up on this point, it may be stated with a certain amount of assurance that (1) there is no particular evidence that (LÚ.) zūku had anything to do with the sphere of “exemption”, and (2) that also as regards some attestations of the (LÚ.) zakkû, a translation as “exempt, exempted man” in the purely socio-economic sphere yields little or no contextual resonance and concrete illumination, in basic agreement with the CAD’s definition of this term. To the contrary, I wish to put forward the suggestion that all cases of (LÚ.) zūku/zukkû both in the ARI and in “everyday” texts, as well as a number of attestations of (LÚ.) zakkû in the latter, basically point to employment in the military sphere, to full-time and/or professional commitment in this context, and to activities pertaining to the infantry unit. At this point, my personal feeling is that the designation zakkû could have either described the exemption from specific work services due to the State or the service to the very same State as a professional military.22 In this light, it may be noted that one specific Neo-Assyrian acceptation of the verb zakû has no relation with “exemption” or “freedom”, viz. the D stem zukkû used in the military sense of “make ready for departure”,23 “detach (troops)”.24 At least one letter (SAA V 34) provides a very good example for this technical usage: I will detach (ú-za-ka) up to 100 men to enter (Urartian territory) and cast the beams in the river; the remainder I will base in their garrisons and ambush positions.25

22 Notice in this connection, that AHw, p. 1505a refers zakkû to zakû I, i.e. the verbal adjective of zakû G, in the specific meaning “v(on) Ansprüchen frei, befreit” with some reservations (cf. 1506a: “z(um) T(eil) hierher ?”), and in fact links the noun with the D form of the verb, zukkû, as will be specified below. 23 See CAD, Z, p. 31b. 24 See AHw, p. 1507a. 25 Notice that SAA translates the verbal form ú-za-ka here as “I can free”, despite the fact that both CAD and AHw quote this passage under the specific military meaning noted above.

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I thus dare to suggest a derivation of the “military” attestations of the plural noun zakkû as a variant form of the D verbal adjective zukkû. As for the meaning, I would infer the existence of two semantic nuances, albeit mutually very close. The first (1) should refer to a general condition of availability or preparation of the troops, as in SAA I 205 (“these riverside people all fend for themselves, none of them are serviceable”); whereas the second (2) would represent a designation for a specifically “detached”, or “committed”, corps, i.e. for the crack troops of the infantry fighting at the behest of the king (as in the letter of Belušezib) under the command of a prefect (as in the oracle query). With the latter meaning, of course, we are very close to what may be made out from the ARI and from SAA I 11 as regards zūku – which however, as noted above, is a term that goes back to the 9th century B.C.E., and which in no way allows per se for a phonological/grammatical connection with the verb zakû. On the other hand, it is not to be entirely ruled out that such a connection was, in point of fact, effected, through a regrammaticalization of zūku as zukkû (and thence to zakkû) under the influence of the particular “military” acceptation of the D-stem of the verb. If this hypothesis could be considered acceptable, we would reach the conclusion that zūku and zukkû/zakkû did, over time, come to coalesce in part, being both specifically used as designation(s) of the crack infantry troops of the Assyrian army. Obviously, other solutions to the zūku/zakkû puzzle may be brought forth, but the suggested one has the undoubted advantage of reducing two previously semantically obscure/unstable terms to merely one area of significance, and to connect the latter with a relatively homogenous set of textual attestations.

IV It is now finally time to tackle the problem of kallābu. As implied above, Postgate has recently challenged the amply accepted notion that kallābu meant “outrider”, “mounted scout”, “dispatch rider”, or similar, i.e. that it referred to a subunit of the army which operated on horseback.26 He is ready, on the other hand, to admit that a number of the mentions of kallābu in the texts do, in fact, create associations with

26

Postgate, “The Assyrian Army in Zamua”, pp. 104–105.

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horses, starting from two passages in Assurnasirpal’s annals (RIMA 2, p. 207: 70, and 72), of which the latter is particularly interesting – due to its curious parallelism with the ones quoted above for the same king concerning his incorporation of foreign zūku: From the city Zamru I took with me the cavalry and the kallābu (RIMA 2, p. 207: 72).

A further passage of the ARI taken up by Postgate, but still not considered decisive, derives from the first part of Sargon’s Eighth Campaign (TCL 3: 25–26) – in fact from the lines immediately following the ones quoted above from the same text, which mentioned the zūku: I took the head of my host, I had the chariotry and the cavalry, the battle troops who go at my side, fly over the mountain like heroic eagles, and I made the plebeian troops, the kallābu, take up the rear (TCL 3: 25–26). However, Postgate does not quote the end of line 26, which reads: The camels, the pack-animals, scrambled to the summit of the peaks like wild goats born on the mountainside.

What we could thus very well have here, therefore, is a description of consistently mounted forces, from the chariots and cavalry who flanked the king, to the humble kallābu who took up the rear, presumably also protecting the pack-animals of the army, camels and donkeys/mules. Certainly, the alternative possibility that kallābu could have been somehow related to the infantry comes to the fore in the well-known passage regarding the symbolic casualties that Sargon declares at the conclusion of his campaign to the god Ashur:27 One charioteer, two cavalrymen, and three kallābu were killed (TCL 3: 426).

As for the “everyday” texts, the main association of the kallābu is to be found with members of combat support units, and specifically with the specialists in intelligence-gathering. The starting point of Postgate’s analysis, the “Mazamua letter”, SAA V 215, lists 80 kallābu just after the mention of a single muṭir ṭēmē, “intelligence reporter”, and immediately before the vast infantry units of the Itu’eans and Gurreans.

27

On this passage, cf. most recently V. A. Hurowitz, “ ‘Shutting up’ the Enemy – Literary Gleanings from Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camels’ Humps. Historical and Literary Studies presented to Israel Eph’al (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 108.

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Elsewhere, e.g., in the letters SAA I 147, in the query to the Sun-god SAA IV 142 (and 144), and in the administrative list SAA XI 126, kallābu are associated with the rādi kibsiāni, “trackers”, even in consistent numbers. The fact that the latter operated presumably on foot does not rule out the possibility that their mobility was attained on horseback; and this line of reasoning may be extended to the kallābu themselves. As for the quantities of men involved, the “decisive” evidence for a function as a sector of the infantry that Postgate claims for the text ND 2646, where “2,079 kallābu” are listed,28 may be viewed as an overstatement. What is clear, on the other hand, is that the kallābu as such were a specific corps of the Assyrian army, and that herein lies the basic difference with the attestations regarding the kallāb šipirti, who is always indicated as acting alone, or at most with a companion, in accompanying messengers (mār šipri) or in delivering messages himself. Postgate is right, on the other hand, to underscore the fact that there are texts which associate the kallābu with the zūku. The main attestation on this count comes from SAA V 277, a fragmentary letter, in which the following order (presumably given by the king or a high official) is quoted: . . . as for you, [be ready] wi[th your army and wi]th your ch[ariot] troops, assemble the Gurreans, the It[u’eans, the. . . .], the zūku, the kal[lābu, (and) the . . .]

The second is from the letter SAA XVI 90. Here, there is a question regarding brick masons (urasē) – a work group which, already in Sargon’s time, seems to have been formed on the spot by recruiting members from all over, even if they were professionally engaged in other tasks.29 In this letter, from Esarhaddon’s reign, the manpower for the job seems to have been culled from the kallābu and the zūku together: Let one of the eunuchs come out and give them orders. And as for the brick masons, the kallābu are available, and the kallābu are plentiful: the kallābu from Ub/Ár-[. . . .], the kallābu of the Palace, and the zūku [. . .] – if this is acceptable to the king my lord.

28

Postgate, “The Assyrian Army in Zamua”, p. 105. On the king’s direct orders regarding brick-masons, cf. Postgate, “The invisible hierarchy”, p. 339. 29

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To sum up: as the last-quoted letter states, the kallābu were “plentiful” in the Assyrian army. The “Mazamua letter”, although relevant to a provisional count of perhaps randomly assembled troops, gives their quantity as almost 6% of the total force. This and other totals, in partial agreement with Postgate, make it unlikely that the term referred to a military corps merely involved in intelligence-gathering matters. On the other hand, the regular pairing of the kallābu with intelligence specialists would indicate that this corps was regularly entrusted with opening the path for the Assyrian army – while at other times, such as on the Eighth Campaign, it was committed to holding the rear of the armed contingent. All such functions could, of course, be better achieved on horseback than moving around on foot; on the other hand, as is clear from the ARI, these men were not part of the main cavalry of the army, and in fact may be seen as somehow in parallel with the zūku – save for the fact that the latter appear to have been consistently professional soldiers, as we have seen above, while the kallābu were also recruitable as such, since they formed part of the ṣāb šarri in the “Mazamua letter”.

V So where does all this leave us? One of the aims of Postgate’s study of the “Mazamua letter” is the – absolutely commendable – attempt to find parallels between the terminology for the military employed in the NA texts, and the figurative depictions of the Assyrian army attested in the palace bas-reliefs.30 Now, most recently, a specialist on Assyria mainly active in the latter field of enquiry, Tamas Deszö, has conducted a full-length investigation on the representations of the armed forces of Assyria in the sculptural remains,31 coming up with an interesting tripartite division for infantry on the basis of the quantity of armor and general apparel worn (light – regular – heavy), and a similar bipartite division for the cavalry (unarmored – armored).

30

See also Postgate, “Assyrian uniforms”, in the same vein. T. Deszö, “The Reconstruction of the Neo-Assyrian Army as Depicted on Assyrian Palace Reliefs, 745–612 B.C.”, Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungarica 57 (2006), pp. 87–130. 31

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The light infantry is, to my mind correctly, identified by Deszö as that of the auxiliary troops of the Itu’eans and the Gurreans,32 whereas the heavy infantry – the one employed in sieges– is not “tagged” by this author with a correspondence in the texts. In my opinion, in view of Sennacherib’s passage on the zūku as employed in the attacks on besieged Judean cities seen above, the latter must have represented a specialized professional corps of heavy infantry. It remains to be seen, of course, whether, and in what way, such troops formed part of the “royal cohort” (kiṣir šarri or šarrūti): the reference seen above to “the zūku of the Palace”, seems to imply that they indeed were part of the administrative/functional subdivision under the direct dependence of the ruler, but a clear connection in this sense is still lacking. As for the cavalry, while the armored cavalry, consistently fighting on horseback, certainly corresponded to the pēthallu, “horsemen”, attested both in the ARI and the “everyday” texts, the unarmored members of this unit have no precise identification in Deszö’s classification; moreover, it may be noticed that their overall apparel, save for the presence of the horse, shows no basic differences with the markings of the so-called “regular” infantry, formed by archers or spearmen in Assyrian-style helmets, tunics, and boots, merely equipped with a breast armor.33 I venture to suggest that this unarmored cavalry, which was at all times – when it encountered difficulties of terrain or for aims of reconnoitering– ready to transform itself into a form of lightly armored infantry, corresponded to the kallābu.34

VI Thus the picture of the various categories of “soldiers” of the Assyrian army, to be symbolically offered as provisional research result to our

32

Idem, ibid. Deszö (ibid.) consistently calls this piece of apparel with the Greek term kardio phylax. 34 It may be recalled that two Aramaic sources may be summoned for a parallel with kallābu: the earliest is the Assur Ostracon (KAI 233:7), and the second is the well-known letter from the Jewish community of Elephantine to Bagohi (AP 30:16). I suggested long ago (JAOS 107 [1987], pp. 468–469) the derivation of both cases (consistently in the plural absolute state, klby’ ) from kallābu, which I at the time translated “auxiliaries” following the CAD (cf. DNWSI 1, p. 510, albeit with a residual preference for a noun derived from klb, “dog”, which to my mind yields no sense). 33

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fictional colleague from the field of Roman History, would be the following:

Light (auxiliary) infantry Regular (Assyrian) Infantry / Unarmored Cavalry Itu’eans and Gurreans ṣāb šarri

kallābu

Heavy Infantry zūku /zakkû kiṣir šarri (?)

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T. Deszö, “Reconstruction of the Assyrian Army of Sargon II (721–705 B.C.), Based on Nimrud Horse Lists”, SAAB 15 (2006), pp. 93–140. ——, “The Reconstruction of the Neo-Assyrian Army as Depicted on Assyrian Palace Reliefs, 745–612 B.C.”, Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungarica 57 (2006), pp. 87–130. F. M. Fales and G. B. Lanfranchi, “ABL 1237: The Role of the Cimmerians in a Letter to Esarhaddon”, East and West 31 (1981), pp. 9–33. F. M. Fales, “Grain Reserves, Daily Rations, and the Size of the Assyrian Army: a Quantitative Study”, SAAB 4 (1990), pp. 23–34. ——, “Preparing for War in Assyria”, in J. Andreau, P. Briant and R. Descat (eds.), Économie antique. La guerre dans les economies antiques (= Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire, III; St.-Bertrand-de-Comminges, 2000, pp. 35–62. ——, “Central Syria in the Letters to Sargon II”, in U. Hübner and E. A. Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein. Studien . . . Festschrift Manfred Weippert (Freiburg, 2002), pp. 134–152. ——, Guerre et paix en Assyrie: religion et imperialisme, Editions du Cerf (Paris, 2010), in press. ——, Warfare in the Assyrian Empire (Oxford, 2010), in preparation. ——, “Cracking the Code of Neo-Assyrian Administration: A Theoretical Framework”, SAAB 18 (2009), in press. V. A. Hurowitz, “ ‘Shutting up’ the Enemy – Literary Gleanings from Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camels’ Humps. Historical and Literary Studies presented to Israel Eph’al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 105–120. R. Mattila, The King’s Magnates. A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (SAAS XI; Helsinki, 2000). S. Parpola, “The Construction of Dur-Šarruken in the Assyrian Royal Correspondence”, in A. Caubet (ed.), Khorsabad, le palais de Sargon II, roi d’Assyrie (Paris, 1995), pp. 47–68. J. N. Postgate, Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire (Rome, 1974). ——, “The Assyrian Army in Zamua”, Iraq 62 (2000), pp. 89–108 (= Postgate, The Land of Assur, pp. 261–280). ——, “Assyrian Uniforms”, in W. H. van Soldt et al. (eds.), Veenhof Anniversary Volume: Studies Presented to Klaas R. Veenhof on the occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday (Leiden, 2001), pp. 373–388 (= Postgate, The Land of Assur, pp. 287–302). ——, The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur. Studies on Assyria: 1971–2005 (Oxford, 2007). ——, “The invisible hierarchy: Assyrian military and civilian administration in the 8th and 7th Centuries B.C.”, in Postgate, The Land of Assur, pp. 331–361. K. Radner, Die neuassyrischen Texte aus Tall Šēḥ Ḫ amad, Mit Beiträgen von W. Röllig zu den aramäischen Beischriften (BATSH, 6; Berlin, 2002). G. van Driel, “Land and People in Assyria,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 27 (1970), pp. 168–175.

APPROPRIATION OF LAND BY OFFICIALS IN THE NEO-ASSYRIAN PERIOD

Gershon Galil University of Haifa

I The Assyrian royal inscriptions present an ideal picture of the activities of the king and his magnates: without fail, they overcome obstacles, resolve conflicts, and act perfectly and morally. These records reflect a highly organized realm: the king always leads the army to victory and success, and his officials are diligent, resolute and obedient. This is the image of the Neo-Assyrian Empire and army, not only in the Assyrian royal inscriptions but in the Bible too: the prophet Isaiah describes the Assyrian army thus (Isa 5:26–29): There it comes with lightning speed! In its ranks, none is weary or stumbles, They never sleep or slumber; The belts on their waists do not come loose, Nor do the thongs of their sandals break. Their arrows are sharpened, All their bows are drawn. Their horses’ hoofs are like flint, Their chariot wheels like the whirlwind. Their roaring is like a lion’s, They roar like the great beasts; When they growl and seize a prey, They carry it off and none can recover it.

The picture presented by the Neo-Assyrian letters is quite different; these records indicate disorder, disobedience and corruption in the Assyrian army, temples and provinces, theft of royal and temple property, unjust confiscation of private property, enslavement of widows, poor administration, acceptance and payment of bribes, appropriation of land and people, inefficiency, covering up thefts committed by subordinates, false reports, desertion from the army, and more.

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Are these cases just exceptions, rare failures of the system, typical of peripheral areas or transitional periods, and not indicative of the typical behavior of most Assyrian officials? Or are they real reflections of the profile of the Assyrian officials, not as the kings would wish to shape their mode of behavior, or as they desired to present themselves, but as they truly were? The discussion below focuses only on the feature of land appropriation by Assyrian officials.1 This question has come up for discussion various times in a few notes and articles, but no detailed study on the subject as a whole has hitherto been conducted in previous literature.2 The article examines in chronological order 14 cases of land appropriation by Assyrian officials in the 8th–7th centuries, mainly from the reign of Tiglath-pileser III to the reign of Assurbanipal (see table). These 14 cases are not all the examples known to date, but they are undoubtedly the most obvious ones. Other possible cases are mentioned briefly in the notes.3 1. CTN V, pp. 208–211 = ND 2734+ = NL 41 This letter was sent to the king by Nergal-uballit ̣, governor of Arzūhina, and the eponym official for 731 B.C.E.4 It is undated, but it was probably composed in the last years of the reign of Tiglath-pileser III since

1 This article is based on a paper presented at the 6th Conference of the Israel Society for Assyriology and Ancient Near Eastern Studies (ISAANES) in Jerusalem in 2003. 2 For earlier discussions of this issue see J. N. Postgate, “The Ownership and Exploitation of Land in Assyria in the 1st Millennium B.C.E.”, in M. Lebeau and Ph. Talon (eds.), Reflets des deux fleuves:Volume de Mélanges offerts à A. Finet (Akkadica Suppl. 6; Leuven, 1989), p. 147, note 63; A. K. Grayson, “Assyrian Rule of Conquered Territory in Ancient Western Asia”, in J. M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (New York, 1995), p. 963; G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C.: A Political History (PIHANS 69; Istanbul, 1992), pp. 79–81, 85–88; SAA XIII, pp. xviii–xix; see also CAD, P, s.v. puāgu, pp. 472–473; Š, s.v. šulmānu, pp. 246–247; Ṭ , s.v. ṭātu, p. 64. 3 It is a great pleasure to present this article to Bustenay Oded, my teacher, colleague and dear friend, on the occasion of his 75th birthday. 4 For previous studies of this letter see H. W. F. Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part IV”, Iraq 20 (1958), pp. 187–190; 208–209; idem, The Nimrud Letters, 1952 (CTN V; London 2001), p. 210; K. Deller, “CAD, Vol. 16”, Orientalia 33 (1964), p. 90; J. N. Postgate, Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 3; Rome, 1974), pp. 38, 58, 137, 387; R. Mattila, The King’s Magnates: A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (SAAS XI; Helsinki, 2000), pp. 81, 97, 138, 140. See also A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910–612 BC (SAAS II; Helsinki, 1994), pp. 45, 110; see also PNA, p. 958a(4).

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the letter indicates that the king had appointed the writer governor of Arzūhina ten years before (ll. 11–13); therefore it should be dated after 735 B.C.E.5 The letter is a detailed and protracted response to the accusation that the writer appropriated land belonging to another official: About the matter on which the king my lord sent me a message, saying: ‘Surrender all the lands in the province of Urzūhina;6 you have usurped (ta-pu-ga), the lands of Bēl-aplu-iddina’ (ll. 4–8).

The identity of Bēl-aplu-iddina is not clear at all. He was probably a high Assyrian official, possibly a governor, but there is no textual evidence for his activity in Māzamua, nor is there any proof that he was governor of another neighboring province. The seized land is located within the confines of Arzūhina, so it is not a border dispute between two governors with a common boundary, or an attempt to annex territory of a nearby province (e.g., Māzamua).7 Nergal-uballit ̣ rejects the accusations. His main argument is that the land was abandoned by its owner, using repeatedly the verb rammû8 (ll. 40, 46, 49), and claiming that anyone may take over and cultivate parcels of abandoned land: What is this land of Bēl-aplu-iddina of which they told the king my lord: “The land is ours”? For ten years that the king my lord has appointed me to the governorship in Urzūhina, I have not at any time seen (anything of this). Bēl-aplu-iddina has not set his feet within that land (9–16) . . . There were no servants of Bēl-aplu-iddina. None came. There was not even a watchman in our presence (25–27) . . . Their land is abandoned (ra-mu); they have left it (39–40); . . . Let them give evidence . . . (as to) whose land it is (and) who abandoned it (ir-m[u-n]i) – (46–47); If land of the province of Urzūhina is abandoned (ra-mu), there will be confusion without

5 The other possibility is the end of Sargon’s reign (after 712 B.C.E.) but this was rightly rejected by Saggs (“The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part IV”, p. 208): “Nergaluballiṭ would hardly have based his case on mere ten years of office if he had held the province for twenty years during three reigns”. 6 The name Urzūhina also occurs as Arzūhina and Ahi-zūhina, see Saggs, idem, p. 208; Millard, The Eponyms, pp. 34, 40, 45, 47, 57–60; SAA V 201, 224, 227–228, 232, 277. 7 For Bēl-aplu-iddina see Saggs, ibid., pp. 208–209; Postgate, Taxation, pp. 137, 380; CTN V, pp. 132–134 = ND 2648 (for his estates in Isāna near Arpaddu in the West); CTN V, pp. 197–199 = ND 2462. A. Fuchs holds that he was “probably a governor in Māzamua” (PNA, p. 286b[4]). He also suggests (contra Saggs, ibid., p. 209) that he is possibly identical with a person appointed by Sargon II as ruler of Allabria/ Paddir (in western Iran) in 716 B.C.E. (idem, ibid., no. 5, with earlier literature). 8 For this verb see CAD, R, s. v. ramû: 4. rammû, pp. 130–131.

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g. galil (an appropriate decision by) my lord. Whoever desires a field, he should cut off (i-bat-taq – a piece from unused land) – (ll. 48–50).9

The right to use abandoned land is well attested in ancient Near Eastern law codes. For example, paragraph 30 of the code of Ur-Nammu, king of Ur (2122–2095 B.C.E.), the most ancient law code, discusses the case of a person who appropriates another’s field claiming that it was abandoned:10 “If a man violates the rights of another and cultivates the field of another man, and he sues (to secure the right to harvest the crop, claiming that) he (the owner) neglected (the field) – that man shall forfeit his expenses”.11 It is most significant that in this ancient law code, as in the foregoing letter, appropriating a field is firmly connected to the claim that it was abandoned, so anyone may take it and use it. A similar principle is manifested in paragraph 18 of Lipit-Ishtar’s code (ca. 1930 B.C.E., Isin),12 and in paragraph 30 of Hammurabi’s code; this states that if a man abandons his field for three years, and another person takes possession of it, and then the first one returns and claims it back, it will not be given back to him: If either a soldier or a fisherman abandons his field, orchard, or house because of the service obligation and then absents himself, another person takes possession of his field, orchard, or house to succeed to his holdings and performs the service obligation for three years – if he then returns and claims his field, orchard, or house, it will not be given to him; he who has taken possession of it and has performed his service obligation shall be the one to continue to perform the obligation.13

9 Cf. Postgate’s translation of the end of this paragraph (Taxation, p. 58): “. . . anyone who wants land selects it and takes it”. 10 See M. T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (SBL Writings from the Ancient World 6; Atlanta, 1995), p. 20; C. Wilcke, “Der Kodex Urnamma (CU): Versuch einer Rekonstruktion”, in Tz. Abusch (ed.), Riches Hidden in Secret Places: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of Thorkild Jacobsen (Winona Lake, IN 2002), pp. 320–321. 11 Roth, ibid., p. 20. 12 Roth, ibid., p. 29: “If the master or mistress of an estate defaults on the taxes due from the estate and an outsider assumes the taxes, he (the master) will not be evicted for three years; (but after three years of defaulting on the taxes) the man who has assumed the tax burden shall take possession of the estate and the (original) muster of the estate will not take any claims”. 13 Roth, ibid., pp. 92–93; M. E. J. Richardson, Hammurabi’s Laws: Text, Translation and Glossary (Sheffield, 2000), pp. 52–53; G. Galil, The Lower Stratum Families in the Neo-Assyrian Period (CHANE 27; Leiden – Boston 2007), pp. 348–349; and cf. also the Laws of the Hittites, nos. 39–41 (H. A. Hoffner, The Laws of the Hittites: A Critical Edition [Leiden, 1997]).

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This law is similar to the one concerning the desertion of a wife: if a man has abandoned his city and his wife and has disappeared for some years, his wife is allowed to marry another man and to enter his house; and if then the man returns and wishes to take his wife back, the wife shall not be restored to her first husband.14 In sum, ND 2734+ indicates the dearth of manpower and the surplus of lands in the Neo-Assyrian period. The lack of manpower created the feature of abandoned and uncultivated lands; and it opened opportunities for appropriating land. The governors received generous grants from the king inside and outside their provinces, but they were sometimes unable to cultivate the fields.15 2. CTN V, pp. 130–132 = ND 2635 = NL 43 This letter, which was sent to the king by Nabû-[. . .],16 indicates that Nabâ, an Assyrian official, probably appropriated land in the province of Māzamua.17 He denies this accusation, arguing that the king gave him the disputed cities: “When I was coming to the king my lord, I said to him: ‘Come! Let us go. Let me see whatever cities the king has given to you’. He did not go; however, as soon as I return from the presence of the king my lord, (then) he will go” (ll. 24–31). The writer of the letter reminds the king that he had ordered Nabâ to return the

14 See Laws of Hammurabi, no. 136; Laws of Eshnunna, no. 30; and see also MAL, A, nos. 36, 45, for a period of abandonment of two or five years. On this issue see G. R. Driver and J. C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws, II (Oxford, 1955), pp. 54–55, 217; R. Yaron, The Laws of Eshnunna (Jerusalem, 1988), no. 30; Roth, Law Collections, pp. 63, 107, 165–166, 170–171; Richardson, ibid., pp. 84–85; and recently Fleishman, “Continuity and Change”, pp. 487–491, with earlier literature. 15 ND 2734+ also indicates that at least two other high officials own land in the province of Arzūhina: the sukkallu and the sartinnu (ll. 16–21). See Postgate, Taxation, 1974, p. 38; Mattila, The King’s Magnates, pp. 81, 140 (contra Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part IV”, p. 209). Another official who owns land in the province of Arzūhina was the governor of Calah, see CTN II, 196 which probably indicates that Šamaš-bēlu-uṣur, the governor of Arzūhina in the reign of Sargon II, and the eponym for the year 710 B.C.E., has suddenly decided to levy taxes on the estate owned by governor of Calah in Arzūhina (see CTN II, p. 195). For further examples of disputes over taxes between Assyrian officials see CTN V, pp. 132–134 (ND 2648), 205–206 (ND 2486). 16 The identity of this person is unclear. Saggs (ibid., pp. 193–195; idem, The Nimrud Letters, 1952, p. 131) suggested reading Nabû-qa-a[l]?-[la]?. According to this, he cannot be identified with Nabû-hamātū’a, possibly a deputy of the governor of Māzamua (SAA V 199, 210–211, 213–214, 218, 226; SAA XV 179; PNA, pp. 833–834). 17 Māzamua is mentioned in line 32.

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cities, but Nabâ has disobeyed until now: “Concerning the cities about which the king my lord sent a message to Nabâ, he has not handed them back (la ú-sa-hi-ir la i-din)” (ll. 15–17). In sum, Nabâ probably owned land in this area and then tried to enlarge his holdings on the expense of the people of Manisa (a place not otherwise attested).18 The local governor (?) tried to defend his subjects and to restore their fields to them. He appealed to the king and even sent a few Manisaeans to the palace to testify that the land was their own (r[a]-ma-ni-šú-nu URU.MEŠ – l. 21). 3. CTN V, pp. 319–320 = ND 2800 = NL 95 This short and broken letter is another example of land seizure by a high Assyrian official in the 8th century B.C.E. In this case Aš[šūrmāt]ka-pahhir reports to the king that the (unnamed) governor of Guzana appropriated land: “Concerning the fields that the governor of Guzana took away by force (puāgu), about which the king my lord sent a message asking: ‘Were the fields taken (laqû) in the past?’ ”.19 The details of this episode are obscure, but it is clear that the appropriated land was located within the confines of the province of Guzana. The owner of the fields might be Aš[šūr-māt]ka-pahhir himself; and since the letter was sent to Tiglath-pileser III or Sargon II it is not impossible that the same person is also attested in a copy of the eponym list (A 5 ii 5) as an extra-canonical eponym of 718 B.C.E.20 4. SAA V 149 = ABL 1273 This letter indicates that the deputy of the palace herald (nāgir ekalli) “is plotting to take over (puāgu) the land of Hargu” (ll. r. 2–3). The Hargean leader appealed to the writer of the letter, possibly the local

18

See S. Parpola, Neo-Assyrian Toponyms (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1970), p. 236. For previous studies of this letter see Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part VIII”, p. 191; idem, The Nimrud Letters, 1952, pp. 319–320; K. Deller, “Neuassyrisch qanû, qinītu, tidintu”, in D. Charpin and F. Joannès (eds.), Marchands, diplomates et empereus: études sur la civilization mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris, 1991), pp. 352–353, see also PNA, p. 194b(1). 20 He is named instead of Zēru-ibni, governor of Raṣappa, see Millard, The Eponyms, p. 46. 19

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governor:21 “Be not silent (while) I am being crushed!” (r. 3–5).22 Now the Hargean is sent by his lord to the king to report these crimes: “Let the king, my lord, [ask him what] the [deputy of the palace herald] has ta[ken from] him, and decide his case” (ll. 8–11). Cleary the deputy of the palace herald is acting through two main channels: buying real estate (“he is buying up [a]ll the ho[uses]/es[tates] of the people” [l. 18]), and taking over land by force (see ll. 8–11). The deputy of the palace herald is unnamed but he might be Šulmu-bēli, who is well attested in seven letters which he sent to the king (SAA V 133– 136; 140–141; 143) as well as in three other letters (SAA V 148, 150, 193).23 The deputy of the nāgir ekalli was not only interested in the fields; he also exercises severe economic pressure on the people, probably by buying their land, expelling the farmers, forcing them to take loans, and then enslaving them, since they were unable to repay to loans:24 “. . . they said: ‘. . . we are to be sold – we know our merchants’ ” (r. 21–22); see also r. 11–14: “Why is he destroying [my] country by oppression? Let it be impressed upon him that he may not lay claims to people under [my] jurisdiction”. See also lines 17, 23, which indicate that thousands were involved in this crisis: “36[00 person]s are dying [. . .]”; “[he is ki]lling them” (l. 23). In sum, the deputy of the nāgir ekalli (possibly Šulmu-bēli) is appropriating land and people in Hargu, probably a trading colony in the province of Habruri, which lay between Arbela and the province of the nāgir ekalli. Contrary to the foregoing cases, the scenario here is much more complicated. It is not just another robbery of an isolated field or estate but a major economic crisis that befalls the Hargu area and affects thousands of people. The deputy’s steps were probably measured: first he operated in the private real-estate market by buying land in the area. Then he probably enlarged his holding by force,

21 He might be the governor of Habruri: cf. Mattila, The King’s Magnates, p. 35, and SAA V 150, which perhaps indicate that Hargu was a trading colony (see below). 22 Cf. also l. 8: “Their . . . have been utterly destroyed ([u]h-ta-pi-ú)”. 23 See Mattila, The King’s Magnates, p. 35: “ABL 1273: NN on Šulmu-bel’s attempt to appropriate the trade colony (kāru) of Hargu in Habruri”; see also pp. 138–139. For the province of the palace herald see F. M. Fales and J. P. Postgate (eds.), Imperial Administrative Records, Part II: Provincial and Military Administration (SAA XI; Helsinki, 1995), pp. 8–9; Mattila, ibid., pp. 136–137. 24 For slave trading in Hargu see SAA V 150, a letter which should be dated to 722 B.C.E. (see ll. 15–16).

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expelling people from their estates, forcing them to take loans; and then he enslaved them, with cooperation of private slave traders and by exploiting the special status of a trading colony which was probably exempt from taxation.25 5. SAA XV 24 = ABL 168 This letter was sent to the king by Nabû-bēl-ka’’in, a leading magnate of Assyria in Sargon’s reign.26 He evidently held the title “Governor of Arrapha” and was possibly also the grand vazir (sukkallu).27 The letter was probably sent in 710 B.C.E. (after Tishri – see l. r. 6), and it is a response to the accusation that the writer appropriated towns and fields of another prominent Assyrian official, Il-yada’, governor of Dēru.28 It opens by citing the kings words: “Concerning what the king my lord wrote to me: ‘Why have you appropriated (taš-ši) towns and fields of Il-yada’ in the province of Arrapha and in Šamaš-nāṣir’ ” (ll. 5–8). The writer denies the accusations, claiming first that he has not appropriated any towns of his rival in Arrapha (“What towns of his have I taken in the province of Arrapha” ll. 8–9). As to Šamaš-nāṣir (a town in the Diyala valley) the explanation is more complicated, and these are his five main arguments: (1) he is not interested in Šamašnāṣir at all, and he had even appealed to the king asking him to give the city to Il-yada’; (2) but the king decided to give it to Nabû-bēlka’’in. So he does not deny that he is holding the city (or at least partly: see below), maintaining that he has not appropriated it but merely fulfilled a royal order; (3) moreover, he has also obeyed another royal order: he gave Il-yada’ another city near his own city (Dēru?) instead of Šamaš-nāṣir; (4) he accuses his adversary of appropriating the villages of Šamaš-nāṣir; and (5) he is ready to give Il-yada’ another town if he dislikes the first:

25 For trading colonies (kāru) in the Neo-Assyrian period see recently S. Yamada, “Karus on the Frontiers of the Neo-Assyrian Empire”, Orient: Report of the Society for Near Eastern Studies in Japan 40 (2005), pp. 56–90, with earlier literature. 26 See SAA XV 24. 27 For Nabû-bēl-ka’’in see Mattila, The King’s Magnates, pp. 98, 167; J. N. Postgate and R. Mattila, “Il-yada’ and Sargon’s Southern Frontier”, in G. Frame (ed., with the assistance of L. S. Wilding), From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson (Leiden, 2004), p. 251, note 50; see also PNA, pp. 815–817. 28 For Il-yada’ see Postgate and Mattila, ibid., p. 252; PNA, pp. 515–516.

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As to Šamaš-nāṣir, did I not appeal to the king, my lord, that it be given to him? The king, my lord, (however) gave Šamaš-nāṣir to me, saying: ‘[G]ive (him) a town in its stead’. The town I gave him lies right [a] head of his city. Is Šamaš-nāṣir (as much) [at] my disposal? And he is appropriating (i-na-áš-ši) its villages! [I]f the king, my lord, commands, I will choose [a town], and [he can g]o and enter it, (and) re[turn th]is [town]. (ll. 10–23)

Note that Nabû-bēl-ka’’in is asking the king to invite him and his rival to the palace to decide their case, but suggesting that Nashur-Bēl (governor of Amidi) should arbitrate between them. To prove his innocence he reminds the king that in Tishri both he and Il-yada’ were in the presence of the king at the palace for 15 days, but Il-yada’ did not appeal to the king while they were there: “He should have appealed while I was th[ere], and we should have spoken with each other. Why did he appeal to the king only when I come here?” (ll. 8–12). In sum, since we hear only one side, it is hard to decide who is telling the truth and who is not. But clearly, Nabû-bēl-ka’’in virtually ignores the issue of the land in Arrapha, concentrating mainly on the territorial dispute over the control of Šamaš-nāṣir; so there might be a real problem here, and it is possible that after his appointment as governor of Arrapha he appropriated fields of Il-yada’ in this area. Certainly, each accuses the other of appropriating land, and both may be right: Nabû-bēl-ka’’in probably took over fields of Il-yada’ in Arrapha, and Il-yada’ possibly still holds a few villages adjacent to the border of the territory of Nabû-bēl-ka’’in in the Šamaš-nāṣir area. The king obviously wishes to prolong this conflict, since he orders the return of Il-yada’s holdings in Arrpha to Nabû-bēl-ka’’in and does not grant him land in the area of Dēru in its stead. 6. SAA I 124 = ABL 190 This letter of Kiṣir-Aššūr, governor of Dūr-Šarrukēn, was sent to the king in the last years of Sargon’s reign (ca. 706 B.C.E.).29 The king has accused the writer of appropriating the estates of the officials of

29 For a previous study of this text see F. M. Fales, L’impero assiro: storia e amministrazione (IX–VII secolo a.c.), Roma – Bari 2001, pp. 302–303; J. D. Hawkins, “The Political Geography of North Syria and South-East Anaolia in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in M. Liverani (ed.), Neo-Assyrisan Geography (Roma, 1995), pp. 92–94; and see also the entries in PNA, p. 621(7).

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Šēp-Aššūr, formerly governor of Dūr-Šarrukēn and now governor of Ṣimmira: “As to the estates (É.MEŠ) of the officials of Šēp-Aššūr, about which the king, my lord, wrote to me: ‘Why have you taken (ta-áš-ši) their estates and given them to your officials?’ ” (ll. 18–20). KiṣirAššūr admits that he seized these estates and settled there the people of Marqāsa, the capital city of Gurgum,30 probably exiles transferred to the Dūr-Šarrukēn area after 708 B.C.E.31 But he claims that officials that are transferred from one post to another should give up the lands which they received from the king with their previous job ex officio, since they are to obtain new grants in their new places: “Let Šēp-Aššūr rule as governor over there (in Ṣimmira), but his officials [must not have] estates in Dūr-Šarrukēn” (ll. 25–r. 1). He reminded the king that he is now actually living in the house of the previous governor: “Now, [Šēp-Aššūr] did built a house as governor of D[ūr-Šarruk]ēn; I was appointed in his stead, so I entered [his house] and took up residence in it” (r. 6–9). In his opinion, just as he has acquired his predecessor’s property, so should he own the estates of that person’s officials; but the former officials have claimed that the land was theirs, and the king has accepted their claim. There is evident misinterpretation and uncertainty about the new situation, which the king probably had no wish to clarify (divide et impera). Many Assyrian officials were transferred from one job to another, so more such cases no doubt existed.32

30

For the identification of Marqāsa with Mar’āš see S. Parpola and M. Porter, The Helsinki Atlas of the Near East in the Neo-Assyrian Period (Helsinki, 2001), p. 13, map 2. 31 For the annexation of Gurgum to Assyria in this year see Hawkins, “The Political Geography of North Syria”, pp. 92–94. 32 There are at least two additional examples of appropriating fields during the 8th century B.C.E. These texts clearly indicate appropriation of land, but it is unclear if the robber is a royal official or a private person: (1) In a letter sent to the king (Tiglath-pileser III, Shalmaneser V or Sargon II), Aššūr-išmânni, probably the governor of Kilīizi, and the eponym of 724 B.C.E., reports that an unnamed person seized 250 (homers) of land: “He has seized 100 (homers) of sown-land in Bit-eria, and 150 (homers) of (other land?)” (CTN V, pp. 196–197 = ND 2449 = NL 24, ll. 28–30). The robber might be an Assyrian official, but this is only a possibility. For previous studies of this text see Postgate, Taxation, pp. 375–376; see also Millard, The Eponyms, pp. 46, 59; RlA, II, p. 443b. For the location of Kilīzi, about 35 km east of Calah, see Parpola and Porter, The Helsinki Atlas, p. 11, and map 4; (2) ABL 307 is an obvious example of appropriation of a field during the reign of Sargon II: “PN eqlu ša PN2 ip-tu-ga PN2 mā atâ eqlu ta-pu-ga-ni” (ll. 10–13) = “PN appropriated PN2’s field, PN2 said: Why have you appropriated the field from me?” (CAD, P, p. 473a). But it is not clear if Šamaš-abu-uṣur of Nuhub, who took the field, is

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7. SAA XVI 29 = ABL 916 Mardî, previously an official of the governor of Barhalza,33 sent a letter to the king accusing Se’-rapâ, governor of Barhalza, of not repaying him his debts, and disobeying the orders of the crown prince (Esarhaddon, now the king): “You are to give him back [the things] that the governor of Barhalza owes him” (l. 8); “Give his outstanding debts back to him” (ll. 16–17). But the governor refuses to compensate him or to return him his property: “Now Se’-rapâ, the governor, refuses to give them (back), saying: ‘Appeal to the king!’ ” (r. 1). Since a field and orchards are mentioned in this text (r. 3, see below) it is reasonable to suppose that his “debts” (ha-ba-la-ta-ia – l. 16) included real estate. So Mardî probably owned an estate in Barhalza, and the local governor appropriated it, possibly in the absence of Mardî, when he joined Esarhaddon, who went into hiding.34 This implies that the letter should be dated to the beginning of Esarhaddon’s reign. Line r. 2 indicates a conflict between the people of Barhalza and Mardî (“the Barhalzeans hate me”), and line r. 3 is a citation of theirs appeal to the local governor to reject Mardî’s request to get his estate back: “Do not return the field and orchards; do not give them back to him! (A.ŠÀ GIŠ.SAR.MEŠ la tu-sa-har la ta-dan-áš-šú)” In sum, this is another case of land appropriation by the local governor; but here the complainer is not another governor but a local official, who was possibly also related in some way to the crown prince. He might be his village manager, same as his partner Martu’ was at the same time a village manager of the queen and an official

an official or not. For this text, which is a royal decision and not a letter proper, see K. Watanabe, “Die Briefe der neuassyri- schen Könige”, Acta Sumerologica 7 (1985), p. 151; M. Luukko, Grammatical Variation in Neo-Assyrian (SAAS XVI; Helsinki, 2004), p. 206, note 18. 33 Mardî is invoking the Babylonian gods Zababa, Nergal and Madanu, so he might be a Babylonian (l. 2). He is probably also mentioned with his partner Martu’, a village manager of the queen (both officials of the governor of Barhalza) in SAA VI 90 (683 B.C.E.). They are selling to Ahi-ṭalli land and people in Nabur, a city near Naṣibina. See also the testimony of Mardî himself concerning his relation with the governor of Barhalza: “[From the begin]ing I was his servant” (SAA XVI 29:4). For Mardî see S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part II, Commentary and Appendices (AOAT 5/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1983), p. 98; PNA, pp. 703b–704a (5; 10); Galil, The Lower Stratum, pp. 97–98. 34 For Esarhaddon’s hiding place see B. N. Porter, Image, Power, and Politics. Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (Philadelphia 1993), pp. 22–23, with earlier literature.

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of the governor of Barhalza, probably because he was looking after the estates of the queen in Barhalza (SAA VI 90). When Esarhaddon went into hiding, this official joined him, and possibly under these circumstances his estate was robbed. The crown prince sent a messenger with Mardî asking the governor to return the property, but this order was not obeyed. Now things have changed: the crown prince has been crowned, and has forgotten his promises to his official: “I have been left in the darkness; no one brings me before the king” (l. 15). The local governor recognizes the new situation so he refuses to give him back the land.35 8. SAA X 165 = ABL 228 This petition to Esarhaddon was composed after 674 B.C.E. by Nergal-ēt ̣ir, a Babylonian astrologer of the family Guhul-Marduk36 and the “guard” of the health of Aššūr-etel-šamê-erṣeti-Muballissu, Esarhaddon’s son and the young brother of Assurbanipal.37 He asked the king to send a bodyguard with him, and to let him return to Babylonia (to his father’s house?) for a short time, to bring out his brother and to retrieve his lost property (ll. r. 4’–8’). The one who is accused of appropriating the land was probably the son of Ahu-lē’i, the governor of Iašūbu:38 “Was it not when I was living in his country, in the land of Iašūbu, that the son of Ahu-lē’i . . .?” (9’–11e). Since Assyria controlled this area it is reasonable to suppose that the son of Ahu-lē’i was an Assyrian official.39

35

Line 4 may indicate that the governor took advantage of a dispute between Mardî and his brother (or partner): “My brother tried to make Bel-zeru-ibni kill me”. For Bel-zeru-ibni see K. L. Tallqvist, Assyrian Personal Names (Acta Societatis Scientiarum Fennicae 43/1; Helsinki, 1918), p. 63; PNA, p. 340a (rendered as Bel-zeru-epuš). 36 For Nergal-ēṭir see PNA, pp. 945a–946a (14). He wrote more than forty astrological reports in the course of ten years (679–669 B.C.E.: SAA VIII 244–287) and was the “guard” of Esarhaddon’s son for at least six years: “For six years I have been guarding Aššūr-etel-šamê-erṣeti-Muballissu and Bel and Nabû have provided good health” (ll. 6–9). 37 For Aššūr-etel-šamê-erṣeti-Muballissu see PNA, pp. 184–185, with earlier literature. He was installed by his elder brother Assurbanipal (after 668 B.C.E.) as šešgallu of Sin of Harran. 38 For the son of Ahu-lē’i see PNA, 82b(8). For the location of Iašūbu in the Diyala region see Parpola and Porter, The Helsinki Atlas, map 11. 39 For other cases of appropriating land in Babylonia see ABL 852 and ABL 416 = SAA VIII 309. But in both cases it is not clear if the land was taken over by an Assyrian official. In the first case (ABL 852) the Bit-Dakkuri chief seized the property of Aqār-Bēl-lūmur, a Babylonian official working for Assyria (see PNA, p. 122b[3]);

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9. SAA XVI 42 = ABL 415 In a letter to the king (Esarhaddon), Ṣallāia, a major-domo (rab biti), and Asalluhi-ēreš, a scribe, claim: “The governor of Arrapha has taken away (ip-tu-ag-ga → puāgu) the gift (ti-din-tu) which the king gave to our lord”.40 The royal grant was probably real estate donated to the unnamed lord of Ṣallāia and Asalluhi-ēreš, in the province of Arrapha. They seek the king’s help only after their first litigation has been mistreated: “. . . and when we litigate, they mistreat us” (ll. r. 7–8). It is not clear who tried to settle the lawsuit in the first instance, but he might be another governor (or governors), since the appeal opens with the general statement that: “The governors (in plural) squandered (ubta-di-du → badduddu; see also in line r. 3: ba-du-du-ni) the household of our lord” (ll. 8–9). The other details of this case are unclear, including the identity of the governor of Arrapha, who has taken away the property by force, and the identity of the robbed “lord”. Clearly, the conflict is not yet settled, and the king is in no hurry to return the stolen property to its owner. The official whose land was appropriated by the governor of Arrapha has not appealed to the king himself but has sent his subordinates to do the job for him.41 10. SAA X 58 = ABL 353 This letter was sent to the king by Balasî, the well known ummânu and teacher of the crown prince Assurbanipal, and one of the 17 scholars defined by Parpola as the “inner circle” that engaged in regular and in SAA VIII 309 Zakir accused Ṣillāia of taking away his property (it-ta-ši). Ṣillāia was active in Babylonia, and as Frame suggested (Babylonia 689–627 B.C., pp. 84–85) he “may have held an official position” but it is not clear (cf. PNA, p. 1174a[5]). 40 For a previous study of this text see Deller, “Neuassyrisch qanû, qinītu, tidintu”, p. 352; and see also the entries in PNA, pp. 136, 1167a (7). 41 Two more examples of appropriating fields in the 7th century are the following. These texts clearly indicate land appropriation, but it is unclear if the robber is a royal official or a private person. (1) In a petition to the king (SAA X 178 = ABL 1259) AqarAia complains that all his property (nikkassu) has been damaged (uh-te-eṭ-ṭu). It is not clear who is responsible for this crime or whether he was an Assyrian official or not, and what kind of property was damaged. The complainer was probably a Babylonian diviner active at the court of Nineveh in the reign of Esarhaddon (see PNA, p. 121, nos. 2 and 4). (2) In a letter sent to the king from Babylonia (ABL 716) Nabû-balāsuiqbi accuses Arrābu of seizing (it-ta-ši) his property and estates, but it is not clear if Arrābu was an Assyrian official or not. It was probably a long and protracted conflict, and the sartennu evidently decided this case not in favor of the complainer; therefore he now appeals to the king. In Frame’s opinion (Babylonia 689–627 B.C., p. 235, note 133) this letter may be dated after 648 B.C. See also PNA, p. 807a (14).

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correspondence with the king. He was active during the reigns of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, and is the author or co-author of 27 letters to the king (SAA X 39–66) and of 17 astrological reports (SAA VIII 80–83, 85–94, 96–99).42 He was certainly one of those closest to both kings. So it is quite surprising that anyone would dare to appropriate his fields and orchards anywhere. This time the land was taken over in the province of the Chief Cupbearer (māt rab šāqê) in the north, far from Nineveh: I have servants in the land of the Chief Cupbearer, and I have fields and orchards (there). (But) the servants of the Chief Cupbearer, coveting (iṣ-ṣa-ah-tú) my orchards, have snatched them (i-ta-ṣu → našû) and chased (uk-ta-áš-ši-du-ni) my people away. Fr[om the mo]ment they chased them, they (= my people) [go]t into a panic and disappeared ([ig-d ]u-ur-ru ih-tal-qu). (SAA X 58:r. 4–16).43

Balasî accuses the Chief Cupbearer’s officials, not the Chief Cupbearer himself; still, this is yet another typical conflict between two high Assyrian officials, a scholar serving in the palace in Nineveh and a governor of a province, who in this case holds the prestigious title “Chief Cupbearer”.44 11. SAA X 173 = ABL 421 This short petition was sent to the king by Marduk-šumu-uṣur, chief diviner of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, and a scholar of the “inner circle”, like Balasî (see no. 10, above). He was active for at least 20 years (ca. 670–650 B.C.E.) and is well known as an author or co-author of letters to the king and of queries to the sun-god.45 Marduk-šumu-uṣur claims in this letter that the governor of Barhalza, possibly Šarru-nūrī,

42 See Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars, pp. xxv–xxvi; PNA, pp. 254b–255b(3). 43 For previous studies of this text see Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars, no. 36, p. 42; Mattila, The King’s Magnates, pp. 50, 139. The letter was probably composed in the reign of Esarhaddon or of Assurbanipal. 44 The act of chasing and expelling cultivators of fields owned by other persons is well known from other texts and might also indicate a first step in land appropriation: see, e.g., SAA XV 168; SAA X 167. 45 See Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars, pp. xxv–xxvi; PNA, pp. 733a–734a (1; 3).

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the eponym official of 674 B.C.E.,46 appropriated his estate, a royal grant which he received from Esarhaddon, in Halahhu:47 The father of the king, my lord, gave me 10 homer of cultivated land in Halahhu. For 14 years I had the usufruct of the land, and nobody disputed it with me. (But) now the governor of Barhalza has come and mistreated the farmer (ih-te-si), plundered his house (im-ta-šá-a’) and appropriated my land (ip-tu-ag). The king, my lord, knows that I am a poor man (muškēnu), that I keep the watch of the king, my lord, and am guilty of no negligence within the palace. Now I have been deprived of my field (pe-ga-ku). I have turned to the king; may the king do me justice, may I not die of hunger! (SAA X 173:6 – r. 9)

Since the writer claims that he had received the royal grant from the king’s father (Esarhaddon) and that he had usufruct the land for 14 years, the letter was probably composed between ca. 666–and 655 B.C.E.48 In this case the governor of Barhalza has not taken over land within the confines of his province, but land lying in Halahhu; clearly then, this relatively modest farm of ten homers was located on the boundary of these two provinces. So the governor not only plundered this land but also erased the border between of these provinces, and actually this is a dispute between three officials: the governor of Halahhu is indirectly involved, but his position is not stated in the letter.49 12. SAA X 163–164 A major conflict between two Assyrian senior officials from Cutha is indicated by SAA X 163–164.50 Nabû-iqbi, an astrologer of Assurbanipal, complains in both letters to the king that Ašarēdu, governor (šākin 46

See Millard, The Eponyms, p. 61. For previous studies of this text see Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars, no. 114, p. 98; Fales, L’impero assiro, pp. 71, 211, 302, 318. 48 Parpola dated the letter to 667 B.C.E. (Letters from Assyrian Scholars, p. 98; idem, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars, p. 136). See also PNA, p. 734a(1). But it is not clear whether the land was granted at the beginning of Esarhaddon’s reign or later. 49 On the prohibition against taking over a royal grant, even if the favorite official or his descendents sin against the king, see, e.g., SAA XII 25–26, 29, 31. 50 For a previous study of this text and of the career of Ašarēdu see M. Dietrich, “Neue Quellen zur Geschichte Babylonies (II)”, WO 4 (1967–1968), p. 219; Idem, Die Aramäer Südbabyloniens in der Sargonidenzeit (700–648), (AOAT 7; Kavelaer and Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1970), pp. 52–54; Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C., pp. 98, 233, 273; M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 47

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ṭēmi) of Cutha, appropriated his paternal estate: “While [I am] keeping the king my lord’s watch [here in Nineveh], the commandant of Cutha, Ašarēdu, is giving my father’s house to a nayālu tenant and turning (ú-ta-[r]u) [al]l my assets into his possession” (SAA X 164: 6–12 ǁ SAA X 163:5–11, with few variations: “and ousted (ul-te-ṣi) my brothers from t[heir] home” (SAA X 163:10–11). He also accuses him of taking bribes (šulmānu), of stealing 50 minas of silver and one mina of gold from his father’s house, and of taking over his garden and giving it to his nephew (SAA X 163:r. 4’–12’). He also hints that he enslaved his tenants: “May my people not die in the trader’s (LÚ. DAM.[QAR]) house” (SAA X 164:r. 15–16a). It is therefore clear that Ašarēdu, the governor of Cutha did not hesitate to misuse his position and take over the land of another senior official from Cutha who was currently serving in Nineveh. Nabû-iqbi is a well known astrologer who wrote many astrological reports (see SAA VIII 416–436), and sent six letters to the king (ABL 1120, 1301; CT 54 37; SAA X 162–164). 13. KAV 197 KAV 197 is a petition sent by 20 oil-pressers from Aššūr to the master of their guild, Irmulu or Samulu.51 The date of this text is uncertain but can be estimated by prosopographic considerations to be during the reign of Assurbanipal.52 The oil pressers accuse two Assyrian officials Aššūr-nadin and Atamar-Aššūr, possibly tax-collectors, of much malpractice, including appropriating the land of the oil pressers’ widows by faking a tablet recording the deceased’s debt, and suing the poor widow who cannot pay the debt. Then they obtain a court order, take

1998), p. 139; S. C. Melville, The Role of Naqia/Zakutu in Sargonid Politics (SAAS IX; Helsinki, 1999), pp. 67–69 see also PNA, pp. 141(5), 835b–836a(5). 51 F. M. Fales, “People and Professions in Neo-Assyrian Assur”, in H. Waetzoldt and H. Hauptmann (eds.), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten (CRRAI 39, HSAO 6; Heidelberg, 1997), p. 36, note 34, and p. 39. 52 The most important related text is SAAB 9 73, which is dated to 698 B.C.E. It is of the same archive as KAV 197 (N 14), and probably both texts mention the same person, Ahū’-erība. In SAAB 9 73 he acts as a witness together with his brother, Aššūriddina, and his father, Ubru-Aššūr; only the father is designated as an oil-presser and the brothers are presented as his sons, possibly because they were still relatively young. Ahū’-erība acts as a witness in two other texts dated to 686 and 681 B.C.E. (see PNA, p. 70a [7]), and it seems that in KAV 197 he was an old man, or even a dead person, since his adopted son must confront the troubles. So if he was in his twenties in 698 B.C.E., it is possible to date KAV 197 to Assurbanipal’s reign.

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over the land “legally”, and later enslave the widow.53 If they sell the widow it means that she has no property at all, not even her house or her estate, so the precise translation of line 29 (i-qa-ri-ba Á.2–šú ina UGU É-šú i-šá-kan) should be: “he (then) approached (a court → qarābu, = suing the widow), (and) laid his arm on his house”, namely, took possession of the estate, appropriating the land of the deceased oil-presser.54 They complain that in this way the two corrupt officials have sold seven widows within two years. Moreover, “When they go to a collection, they give over half of the quotas they raise to the king, but the other half they raise for their own estates.” The series of allegation against these officials is long and drawn out, and reflects a very bleak picture of the Assyrian officials. 14. SAA XIII 126 = ABL 177 In a letter to the king (Assurbanipal?), Iddin-Aia, priest of Ninurta at Calah complains about another priest, Urad-Nabû,55 who has appropriated land and people of the temple in an original way: “(he) has written a field, a house and people, sons of temple votaries, in a sealed document (unqi) and has thus made them his own (ana ramanišú uttēre). Therefore, I am left with no control over them” (SAA XIII 126 = ABL 177, ll. r. 6’–10’).56 Iddin-Aia is also mentioned in other two letters (SAA XIII 124–125) and in six legal transactions (SAA XIII 92–95; ND 2307, 2314). In all except one of these legal texts he acts as

53 For previous studies of this text see E. Ebeling, “Eine Beschwerde einer assyrischen Handwerkergilde über gesetzwidrige Behandlung”, Orintalia 19 (1950), pp. 397–403; Postgate, Taxation, pp. 66, 97, 162–164, 363–367; Fales, “People and Professions”, pp. 36–37, 39–40; K. Radner, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Templegoldschmiede von Assur (StAT 1; Saarbrücken, 1999), p. 31. 54 Fales (ibid.) translated this line, on p. 40: “he (then) comes along with a claim, and exerts pressure on his (= the dead man’s) household”, claiming in note 45 that “something more precise than Postgate’s ‘take possession of his house’ (ibid., p. 364) seems required”. But in my opinion, actually something more precise than “exerts pressure” is required, and indeed, on p. 37, Fales refers to this same episode thus: “the felons can lay their hands on the house and sell the widow into serfdom”. This free translation (“lay his hand on the house”) is much more precise than the one given on p. 40, and the Neo-Assyrian idiom is very close to the English one. 55 In Postgate’s opinion (“The Ownership and Exploitation of Land”, p. 146) he was possibly the priest of Nabû at Calah. 56 For previous studies of this text see B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 10; Rome, 1981), vol. I, pp. 26, 107–108, II, pp. 25*, 107*; Postgate, ibid., p. 146, and note 51. See also PNA, pp, 503b–504a(8); CAD, T, p. 276a, s.v. târu.

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a witness; the only one exception (SAA XIII 94) indicates that he buys a weaver of multicolored trim for Ninurta’s temple at Calah. He was active for at least 33 years, during the reign of Assurbanipal and later (655–622* B.C.). This case is only one of many examples of corruption, disorder and robbery in the Temple sector in Assyria, mainly at the zenith of the Empire, in the time of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal.57

II The appropriation of land by Assyrian officials is well attested in NeoAssyrian letters. Clearly, the Assyrian kings generally granted land to governors outside the confines of their provinces for a purpose.58 This policy was the chief cause of the endless conflicts between the Assyrians governors and other officials who held royal grants in the same province. These disputes are not mentioned at all in the royal inscriptions since they might indicate the king’s failure to impose his authority

57 This issue is beyond the confines of my present essay. The following is only a partial list of the texts attesting to this feature: SAA X 96, 107, 353, 364, 369; SAA XIII 18–20, 25–26, 33, 128, 138, 154, 157, 172; VAT 4923. See also the short survey in SAA XIII, pp. xviii–xix, and p. xxiv, note 40; and Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C., p. 98. 58 For royal grants of land to Assyrian governors outside their provinces see the eleven examples presented below (land bought privately by these officials is excluded): The governor of Calah owns land in Arzūhina (CTN II, 196; Mattila, The King’s Magnates, p. 140); Bēl-aplu-iddina, the governor (?), owns land in Arzūhina (CTN V, pp. 208–211; Mattila, ibid., p. 140); and in Isāna (CTN V, pp. 132–134); SAA XI 219 indicates that the chief cupbearer, the palace herald, and the governors of Tamnūna and Nineveh own parcels of land cultivated by Gambulean deportees in the Harran area (see Fales and Postgate, Imperial Administrative Records, p. xxxiii; Mattila, ibid., pp. 140–141; Galil, The Lower Stratum, p. 30); Bēl-dūri, the governor of Damascus own land in Guzana (SAA I 233, and probably also in Neṣībina see SAA I 240); Il-yada’, governor of Dēru, own land in Arrapha (SAA XV 24); and officials of Šēp-Aššūr, governor of Ṣimmira own land in the area of Dūr-Šarrukēn (SAA XV 24). There are also many Assyrian officials that served in the palace but own royal grants of land outside Assyria (see list below; and again land bought privately by these officials is excluded): The sukkallu and the sartinnu own land in Arzūhina (CTN V, pp. 208–211); The sartinnu and the treasurers of the crown prince and the Aššūr temple own land in the Harran area (SAA XI 219); The treasurer of the Aššūr temple own lands in Assur but also in Kurbail and Guzana (see SAA XII 1–3; Mattila, ibid., p. 140); An anonymous high official own land in Arrapha (SAA XVI 42); Marduk-šumu-uṣur own land in Barhalza (SAA X 173); The (treasurer?) of the Nabû temple in Dūr-Šarrukēn own land in Halahhu (the governor of Aššūr is asking for land in return in the province of Dūr-Šarrukēn – SAA I 106).

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on the peripheral areas of the Empire. This is also the reason why the royal scribes ignored territorial conflicts between Assyrian vassals.59 In eight out of the 14 cases discussed above the person accused of seizing land by force is evidently the local governor, in the following six different provinces: Arzūhina (case no. 1), Guzana (3), Arrapha (5, 9), Dūr-Šarrukēn (6), Barhalza (7, 12), and Cutha (10). In two other cases the plunderer of the land is the governor’s deputy or his officials (4, 11): in both texts the governor also held another prestigious title (Palace Herald or Chief Cupbearer). So in ten of the 14 cases the land was appropriated by the local governor or by his officials. To these ten cases we may probably add case no. 8, which possibly indicates that the land was ravaged by the governor of Iašūbu. Only once are the robbers tax-collectors (13) or a priest (14); and in one case the position of the official is unclear (2). The socio-economic status of the persons whose land was appropriated is much more complicated. Most of them (ten) are middleor high-ranking Assyrian officials who served in the palace or in the provinces; the others are private middle-stratum persons (nos. 2, 4, 13 – the oil pressers) and once a priest stole temple land (no. 14). Four of the ten officials are clearly scholars who served in the palace, including very important scholars of the “inner circle”, for example, the Chief Haruspex (case no. 12, see also nos. 8, 10, 11). In other cases they were governors or their officials (see nos. 5, 6, and possibly no. 1). Once a middle-ranking official who served in the same province was ravaged (no. 7); another text indicates that the land of a senior official was appropriated, but his identity is unclear and his subordinates appeal to the king (no. 9), and in the last text the identity of the complainer is unclear, but he was also an Assyrian official (no. 3). The appropriated lands are located all over the Empire, from Babylonia in the south to the province of the rab šāqê in the north, and from Māzamua in the east to Guzana in the west. The texts indicate that the lands were taken over in five main areas: (1) the east and the north-east (Arzūhina, Māzamua, Hargu and Arrapha): five cases (nos. 1–2, 4–5, 9), most of them in the 8th century B.C.E., with only one exception (no. 9); (2) Assyria (Dūr-Šarrukēn; Aššūr and Calah): three cases (nos. 6, 13–14): all of them at the end of the 8th and in the 7th

59 For disputes between Assyrian vassals see G. Galil, “Conflicts between Assyrian Vassals”, SAAB 6 (1992), pp. 55–63.

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century B.C.E.; (3) Babylonia (Iašūbu? and Cutha): two cases (nos. 8 and 10) both in the 7th century; (4) the north (Barhalza and Halahhu): two cases (nos. 7 and 12), both in the 7th century; and (5) the west and the north-west (Guzana and the land of the rab šāqê): two cases (nos. 3, 12), one in the 8th and the other in the 7th century. So four out of six cases in the 8th century took place in the east/north-east (nos. 1–2, 4–5), and all cases in Assyria, Babylonia, and the north took place in the 7th century (nos. 7–8, 10, 12–14), with only one exception, dated ca. 706 B.C.E. (no. 6). About six of the 14 appropriated fields were royal grants (nos. 6, 9, 12, and probably also nos. 1, 3, 5) or temple property (14). In most other cases the land was probably private, and once it is even defined as “father’s estate” (10). One of the main reasons for these protracted disputes over the issue of the ownership of these fields is the king himself: his main motives were to restrict the power of the governors and to fuel endless conflicts between them; to weaken them and prevent rebellions (divide et impera). Accordingly, the king preferred to donate land deliberately in other provinces and did not hurry to solve these conflicts.60 In other cases the king did not fix clear norms and this vague situation is abused by various officials to appropriate land or to claim for more land in other provinces (see no. 6). A few letters illumine the greed of the Assyrian governors, another factor explaining land appropriations by Assyrian officials. The best example is SAA I 233: Bēl-dūri, governor of Damascus, already holds 500 hectares of land in the province of Guzana, but he wants more, and the king orders that it be given to him; he indeed receives 80 additional hectares in Guzana. Two verbs are used frequently to define land appropriation in this period: (1) puāgu – attested in five of the 14 texts discussed above (nos. 1, 3, 4, 9, 12); (2) našû – attested in four cases (nos. 5, 6, 8, 11). Other verbs designating the act of taking away fields by force or refusal to return the stolen property, are attested only once or twice in these 14 texts: sahāru, la sahāru (nos. 2, 7); laqû (no. 3); la nadānu (no. 3); uṣû (no. 10); šakānu (no. 13); and târu (no. 14).

60 In Mattila’s opinion this policy “also established a network of interlocking economic interests within the provinces and tied the personal interests of the major land owners to the fate and welfare of the entire empire” (The King’s Magnates, p. 141).

appropriation of land by officials

115

In sum, the Assyrian officials on many occasions did not behave in accordance with the clear and obligatory norms of management and reporting set by the Assyrian kings. In short times of crises (e.g., the last years of Esarhaddon) the disobedience and corruption even increased; however, these problems also characterize other periods and all areas of the Empire. These cases are not mere exceptions; on the contrary, they are a realistic reflection of the profile of the Assyrian officials, not as the kings wished to shape their mode of behavior, or as they desired to present themselves, but as they were in reality.

SAA XVI 29 = ABL 916 SAA X 165 = ABL 228 SAA XVI 42 = ABL 415

7

9

8

6

5

SAA V 149 = ABL 1273 SAA XV 24 = ABL 168 SAA I 24 = ABL 124

4

3

Esarhaddon (early years) Esarhaddon (after 674 B.C.E.) Esarhaddon

Sargon II (ca. 710 B.C.E.) Sargon II (ca. 706 B.C.E.)

Sargon II

CTN V, pp. 130–132 = Tiglath-pileser III NL 43 = ND 2635 – Sargon II CTN V, pp. 319–320 = Tiglath-pileser III NL 95 = ND 2800 – Sargon II

2

Date

CTN V, pp. 208–211 = Tiglath-pileser III NL 41 = ND 2734+ (735–727 B.C.E.)

Text

1

No.

puāgu

našû

sahāru

našû

našû

puāgu

la sahāru la nadānu puāgu laqû

puāgu

Verb

Arrapha

Iašūbu?

Barhalza

DūrŠarrukēn

Arrapha

Hargu

Guzana

Māzamua?

Arzūhina

Place of the Land

Governor of Guzana

Nergal-uballit, Governor of Arzūhina Nabâ

Official B (Robber/Disobeyer)

Mardî, Governor of Barhalza Official in Barhalza Nergal-ēt ̣ir, Astrologer The son of Ahu-lē’i? and Teacher Ṣallāia, rab bēti Governor of Arrapha Asalluhi-ēreš, Scribe

The Hargean and Deputy of the their Governor Palace Herald Il-yada’, Nabû-bēlu-ka’’in, Governor of Dēru? Governor of Arrapha Kiṣir-Aššūr, Officials of Šēp-Aššūr, Governor of Governor of Ṣimmira Dūr-Šarrukēn

Nabû-. . . and the Manisaeans Aš[šūr-māt]ka-pahhir

Bēl-aplu-iddina

Official A (Owner/ (Complainer

116 g. galil

SAA X 58 = ABL 353 SAA X 173 = ABL 421 SAA X 163–164 = CT 54 463, 510 KAV 197

SAA XIII 126 = ABL 177

10

14

13

12

11

Text

No.

Table (cont.)

Assurbanipal or later

Assurbanipal?

Esarhaddon or Assurbanipal Assurbanipal (666–655 B.C.E.) Assurbanipal

Date

târu

šakānu

uṣû

puāgu

našû

Verb

Assyria

Assyria

Cutha

māt rab šāqê Halahhu

Place of the Land

Official B (Robber/Disobeyer)

Balasî, Officials of the Scribe and Astrologer rab šāqê Marduk-šumu-uṣur, Governor of Barhalza Chief Haruspex Nabû-iqbi, Ašarēdu, Cuthaean Astrologer Governor of Cutha Aššūr-nadin; Oil pressers from Aššūr Atamar-Aššūr Iddin-Aia, Priest of Urdu-Nabû, Ninurta at Calah A Priest

Official A (Owner/ (Complainer

appropriation of land by officials 117

118

g. galil Bibliography

S. W. Cole and P. Machinist (eds.), Letters from Priests to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, (SAA XIII; Helsinki, 1998). K. Deller, “CAD, Vol. 16”, Orientalia 33 (1964), pp. 89–96. ——, “Neuassyrisch qanû, qinītu, tidintu”, in D. Charpin and F. Joannès (eds.), Marchands, diplomates et empereus:études sur la civilization mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris, 1991), pp. 345–355. K. Deller, F. M. Fales and L. Jakob-Rost with contributions by V. Donbaz, NeoAssyrian Texts from Assur, Private Archives in the Vorderasiatisches Museum of Berlin, Part 2, SAAB 9 (1995). M. Dietrich, “Neue Quellen zur Geschichte Babylonies (II)”, WO 4 (1967–1968), pp. 183–251. ——, Die Aramäer Südbabyloniens in der Sargonidenzeit (700–648). (AOAT 7; Kavelaer and Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1970). G. R. Driver and J. C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws, II (Oxford, 1955). E. Ebeling, “Eine Beschwerde einer assyrischen Handwerkergilde über gesetzwidrige Behandlung”, Orintalia 19 (1950), pp. 397–403. F. M. Fales, “People and Professions in Neo-Assyrian Assur”, in H. Waetzoldt and H. Hauptmann (eds.), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten (CRRAI 39, HSAO 6; Heidelberg, 1997). ——, L’impero assiro: storia e amministrazione (IX–VII secolo a.c.), Roma – Bari 2001. F. M. Fales and J. P. Postgate (eds.), Imperial Administrative Records, Part II: Provincial and Military Administration (SAA XI; Helsinki, 1995). J. Fleishman, “Continuity and Change in Some Provisions of the Code of Hammurabi’s Family Law”, in Y. Sefati, P. Artzi, Ch. Cohen, B. L. Eichler and V. A. Hurowitz (eds.), “An experienced Scribe who neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein (Bethesda, MD 2005), pp. 480–496. G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C.: A Political History (PIHANS 69; Istanbul, 1992). A. Fuchs and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part III, Letters from Babylonia and the Eastern Provinces (SAA XV; Helsinki, 2001). G. Galil, “Conflicts between Assyrian Vassals”, SAAB 6 (1992), pp. 55–63. ——, The Lower Stratum Families in the Neo-Assyrian Period (CHANE 27; Leiden – Boston 2007). A. K. Grayson, “Assyrian Rule of Conquered Territory in Ancient Western Asia”, in J. M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (New York, 1995), pp. 959–968. R. F. Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters belonging to the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum, I–XIV (Chicago, 1892–1914). J. D. Hawkins, “The Political Geography of North Syria and South-East Anaolia in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in M. Liverani (ed.), Neo-Assyrisan Geography (Roma, 1995), pp. 87–101. H. A. Hoffner, The Laws of the Hittites: A Critical Edition (Leiden, 1997). H. Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (SAA VIII; Helsinki, 1992). L. Kataja and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Grants, Decrees and Gifts of the Neo-Assyrian Period (SAA XII; Helsinki, 1995). T. Kwasman and S. Parpola (eds.), Legal Transactions of the Royal Court of Nineveh, Part I: Tiglath-Pileser III through Esarhaddon (SAA VI; Helsinki, 1991). G. B. Lanfranchi and S. Parpola (eds.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part II, Letters from the Northern and Northeastern Provinces (SAA V; Helsinki, 1990). M. Luukko, Grammatical Variation in Neo-Assyrian (SAAS XVI; Helsinki, 2004).

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M. Luukko and G. van Buylaere (eds.), The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (SAA XVI; Helsinki, 2002). R. Mattila, The King’s Magnates: A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (SAAS XI; Helsinki, 2000). S. C. Melville, The Role of Naqia/Zakutu in Sargonid Politics (SAAS IX; Helsinki, 1999). B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel, I–II (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 10; Rome, 1981). A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910–612 B.C. (SAAS II; Helsinki, 1994). M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 1998). S. Parpola, Neo-Assyrian Toponyms (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1970). ——, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part II, Commentary and Appendices (AOAT 5/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1983). ——, (ed.), The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part I, Letters from Assyria and the West (SAA I; Helsinki, 1987). ——, (ed.) Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (SAA X; Helsinki, 1993). S. Parpola and M. Porter, The Helsinki Atlas of the Near East in the Neo-Assyrian Period (Helsinki, 2001). B. N. Porter, Image, Power, and Politics. Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (Philadelphia 1993). J. N. Postgate, The Governor’s Palace Archive (London, 1973). ——, Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 3; Rome, 1974). ——, “The Ownership and Exploitation of Land in Assyria in the 1st Millennium B.C.E.”, in M. Lebeau and Ph. Talon (eds.), Reflets des deux fleuves: Volume de Mélanges offerts à A. Finet (Akkadica Suppl. 6; Leuven, 1989), pp. 141–152. J. N. Postgate and R. Mattila, “Il-yada’ and Sargon’s Southern Frontier”, in G. Frame (ed., with the assistance of L. S. Wilding), From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson (Leiden, 2004), pp. 235–254. K. Radner, Ein neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Templegoldschmiede von Assur (StAT 1; Saarbrücken, 1999). K. Radner and H. D. Baker (eds.), The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Helsinki 1998–): Vol. 1/I, 1998 (ed. K. Radner); Vol. 1/II, 1999 (ed. K. Radner); Vol. 2/I, 2000 (ed. H. D. Baker); Vol. 2/II, 2001 (ed. H. D. Baker); Vol. 3/I, 2002 (ed. H. D. Baker). M. E. J. Richardson, Hammurabi’s Laws: Text, Translation and Glossary (Sheffield, 2000). M. T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (SBL Writings from the Ancient World 6; Atlanta, 1995). H. W. F. Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part IV”, Iraq 20 (1958), pp. 182–212. ——, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952 – Part VIII”, Iraq 28 (1966), pp. 177–191. ——, The Nimrud Letters, 1952 (CTN V; London 2001). K. L. Tallqvist, Assyrian Personal Names (ASSF 43/1; Helsinki, 1918). K. Watanabe, “Die Briefe der neuassyrischen Könige”, Acta Sumerologica 7 (1985), pp. 139–156. C. Wilcke, “Der Kodex Urnamma (CU): Versuch einer Rekonstruktion”, in Tz. Abusch (ed.), Riches Hidden in Secret Places: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of Thorkild Jacobsen (Winona Lake, IN 2002), pp. 291–333. S. Yamada, “Karus on the Frontiers of the Neo-Assyrian Empire”, Orient: Report of the Society for Near Eastern Studies in Japan 40 (2005), pp. 56–90. R. Yaron, The Laws of Eshnunna (Jerusalem 1988).

A MONUMENT TO IMPERIAL CONTROL – LITERARY OBSERVATIONS ON THE THOMPSON PRISM OF ESARHADDON (NINEVEH A)

Victor Avigdor Hurowitz Ben-Gurion University of the Negev

One of the most important sources for the reign of Esarhaddon is the fully preserved hexagonal prism known for many years as the Thompson Prism, and eventually classified by Borger as Nineveh A.1 This text, written in the king’s eighth year (673 B.C.E.) has been the subject of recent scholarly interest2 because of light it sheds on Esarhaddon’s

1

R. Thompson, The Prisms of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal found at Nineveh 1927–1928 (London, 1931); R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (AfO Beiheft 9; Osanbrück, 1967; reprint of 1956 edition), pp. 36–66. This text is known from the Thompson Prism itself and thirty four additional duplicates. For the history of Esarhaddon’s reign see A. K. Grayson, “Assyria: Sennacherib and Esarhaddon (704–669 B.C.)”, in The Assyrian and Babylonian Empires and other States of the Near East, from the Eighth to the Sixth Centuries B.C., CAH III/2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991), pp. 103–141; J. A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire – Babylonian Society and Politics, 747–626 B.C. (Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund, 7; Philadelphia, 1984), pp. 67–84; G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C. – A Political History (Uitgaven van het Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul 69; Leiden, 1992), pp. 64–101; B. N. Porter, Images, Power, and Politics – Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society Held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge, 208; Philadelphia, 1993); E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon, king of Assyria”, in J. M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the ancient Near East (New York, 1995), pp. 949–958; K. Radner, “Esarhaddon, king of Assyria (681–669)”, Knowledge and Power, Higher Education Academy Subject Centre for Philosophical and Religious Studies, (2007) knp.prs.heacademy.ac.uk/essentials/ esarhaddon; idem, “The Trials of Esarhaddon: The Conspiracy of 670 B.C.”, in P. A. Miglus and J. M. Córdoba (eds.), Assur und sein Umland: Im Andenken an die ersten Ausgräber von Assur (Madrid, 2007), pp. 165–184. 2 H. Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (eds.), History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures (Jerusalem, 1983), pp. 36–57 (with previous bibliography); idem, “World Dominion: The Expanding Horizon of the Assyrian Empire”, in L. Milano, S. de Martino, F. M. Fales and G. B. Lanfranchi (eds.), Landscapes – Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers Presented to the

122

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reign until slightly after his failed Egyptian campaign, and before his victorious war with Šubria;3 but especially for the king’s “apology” in which he explains his selection as heir to Sennacherib and his subsequent struggle with his siblings to realize his own appointment to the throne. The apology was written not at the time of the events, in the king’s first year, but several years later, retrospectively and in connection with his own selection of Aššurbanipal to succeed him. The king wished to ensure that the challenges he faced upon his accession to kingship will not befall his chosen heir. The present study will not deal with the history of Esarhaddon’s reign or with the politics of his rise to power. It will focus instead on the literary features of the Thompson Prism4 in an attempt to under-

XLIV Rencontre Assyriolgique Internationale, Venezia 7–11 July 1997, History of the Ancient Near East/ Monographs – III/1 (Padova, 1999), pp. 55–62; idem, “An Assyrian Victory Chant and Related Matters” in G. Frame and L. Wilding (eds.) From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson (Leiden, 2004), pp. 269–276; I. Eph‘al and H. Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions of Esarhaddon: Prism Nineveh A and the Letter to the God”, in Y. Amit, E. Ben Zvi, I. Finkelstein and O. Lipschits (eds.), Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman (Winona Lake, Indiana, 2006), pp. 155–170. Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology” and “World Dominion” are included in Hebrew translation with updating in H. Tadmor, Assyria, Babylonia and Judah: Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East (ed. M. Cogan; Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 57–76 and 77–91. 3 See recently I. Eph‘al, “Esarhaddon, Egypt, and Shubria: Politics and Propaganda”, JCS 57 (2005), pp. 99–111; idem, in I. Eph‘al and H. Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions of Esarhaddon”. Eph‘al, on the basis of the use of direct speech and proverbs in Thompson Prism and the Letter to the Gods about the Shubrian campaign, suggests they were written by the same author. 4 A shorter predecessor of this text dating from 676 B.C.E. was published by A. Heidel, “A New Hexagonal Prism of Esarhaddon”, Sumer 12 (1956), pp. 9–38. It and six earlier known duplicates were classified by Borger as Nin. B. The differences between the two texts involving some extensive expansions and reordering of some incidents have been enumerated and discussed by Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology”, p. 46; Tadmor, “Victory Chant”, pp. 269–272; and Tadmor in Eph’al and Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions of Esarhaddon”, pp. 159–161. The literary analysis of Nin. A offered here is for all intents and purposes not effected by this text, although it is crucial for the compositional history of the Thompson Prism. There are, however, some links between sections of the text in the Thompson Prism which do not exist in the Heidel prism because they involve the expansions in the Thompson prism. In these cases I assume that the links are nonetheless intentional and meaningful, with the new portion of the text having creating links cognizant and on the basis of material in the original text.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 123 stand the composition as more than a collection of reports of individual events. Many important aspects of the text, both historical and literary have been discussed extensively in four important contributions by the late Professor Hayim Tadmor,5 but certain literary features remain left untouched in the apology, the “historical” narrative, the titularies and panegyrics, and the building account with which the text concludes (ignored totally by Tadmor but central to Geoffrey Turner’s study of the ekal māšarti);6 and the literary connections between the various sections of the entire work have not all been explored. In fact, any overall message of the entire text beyond the sum of the historical details it reports can be discerned only by literary analysis of the text as a whole, considering all its components together, including the Bauberichte, Schlußgebet and blessings to future kings with which it concludes.

I. The overall thematic structure of the text A. I 1–7 I 8–II 11 II 12–39 ----------B. II 40–IV 77

Identification of the building (with royal titles) (ekal RN) Apology Divine Appointment of the King (titles, pedigree, divine blessings) Foreign relations/ historical survey (ina ūmišuma)

Campaign nearest to home – II 40–64 Māt Tāmtim – Rebellion of Nabû-zēr-kitti-līšir son of Merodach-Baladan

5

See above, n. 2. G. Turner, “Tell Nebi Yūnus: The Ekal Māšarti of Nineveh”, Iraq 32 (1970), pp. 68–85. See as well M. L. Scott and J. MacGinnis, “Notes on Nineveh”, Iraq 52 (1990), pp. 63–73. 6

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Western campaigns7 – II 65–III 19 Sidon and environs – Abdi-Milkutti III 20–38 Kundi and Sissû – Sandaʾurri8 III 39–42 Arzâ and King Asuḫili Northern Campaigns – III 43–46 Ḫ ubušna9 and Teušpâ the Cimmerian III 47–55 Cilicia and Hittites III 56–58 Tīl-Ašuri/Pitânu and Barkaneans III 59–61 Manaya and Išpakâ the Scythian Southern Campaigns – III 62–70 Bīt-Dakkuri and Šamaš-ibni III 71–83 Gambula and Bēl-iqīša son of Bunanu IV 1–31 Adumutu and Ḫ azaʾilu10 Eastern Campaigns – IV 32–45 Media11 IV 46–52 Patušarri of Media and Sidir-parna and E-parna

7 Cf. M. Cogan, The Raging Torrent – Historical Inscriptions from Assyria and Babylonia Relating to Ancient Israel (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 131–137. 8 For identification of Sandaʾurri as the cuneiform form of the well known (heieroglyphic Luwian) Azatiwatas of Karatepe see J. D. Hawkins, “Some Historical Problems of the Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions”, Anatolian Studies 29 (1979), pp. 153–157. He has also been identified with sndwr mentioned in the Aramaic “Adon Papyrus” from Egypt. See A. R. W. Green, “Esarhaddon, Sandaurri, and the Adon Papyrus” in J. Kaltner and L. Stulman (ed.), Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon (JSOTS 378; London – New York, 2004), pp. 88–97. 9 See I. Medvedskaya, “The Localization of Ḫ ubuškia”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), p. 205. 10 See I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent 9th- 5th Centuries B.C. (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 125–130; A. F. Rainey, “Menasseh, King of Judah, in the Whirlpool of the Seventh Century B.C.E.”, in A. F. Rainey (ed.), kinattūtu ša dārâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv, 1993), pp. 152– 157. 11 E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon’s Eastern Campaign”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camel’s Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Eph‘al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 183–187.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 125 Farthest Campaign – IV 53–77 Bâzu12 IV 78–V 25 V 26–32 -----------C. V 33b–39 V 40–VI 53 VI 54–64 VI 65–73

Hymnic Coda and summary of foreign activities Sequel – Elamites and Gutians13 Transition passage from military campaigns to building activities (ultu) Baubericht (ina ūmišuma) Schlußgebet Blessings for restoring the building (ana arkât ūmē)

The Thompson cylinder seems to have been designed with attention to quantitative considerations, perhaps related to its visual appearance. The Baubericht at its end (including the transitional passage, thematically related Schlußgebet and concluding blessings) occupies a column and a half, i.e. one quarter of the inscription’s six columns. This happens to be the same percentage of the text as occupied by the identification + apology + panegyric emphasizing the divine appointment of the king. More specifically, the identification + apology + panegyric consist of 126 lines while the transitional passage + Baubericht + Schlußgebet + blessings to the future king occupy 124 lines. The opening and closing sections therefore balance each other quantitatively

12

See I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs, pp. 130–137. The Land of Bâzu is apparently in Arabia and in the Heidel Prism it is mentioned after Adumatu, but here it has been moved so as to end the review of campaigns far from home (see Tadmor, “An Assyrian Victory Chant”, pp. 270–272). This campaign is enveloped by a chiastic inclusio māt Bâzu nagû (IV 53) // nagê Bâzi (IV 76). The depiction of the Land of Bâzu as 120 bêru qaqqar bâṣi (IV 55) may involve a play on words (see Tadmor, “World Dominion”, p. 59.) A similar word play can be found in the famous “Letter to the God” describing Sargon’s Eighth Campaign where immediately after reaching the mountains Sinalḫuzi Biruʾatti the king says he had traversed šadê bīrūti, “remote mountains” (l. 28; see B. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature [3rd ed.; Bethesda, MD, 2005], p. 793 n. 2. In the Thompson Prism itself another example of a word-play on a topographical designation although not a city name per se may be IV 80: Ša-pîBēl āl dannūtīšu dannassu udannin . . . kīma dalti ina pān māt Elamti ēdilšu, “Šapî-Bēl, his fortress city I fortified its fortification . . . like a door in front the Land of Elam I locked it”. In III 43–46 we find a play on an ethnic name where Teʾušpâ Gimmirraja ummān-manda, “Teʾušpâ the Cimmerian who is an Ummān-manda” is beaten by weapons adi gimir ummānīšu, to the last of his troops. 13 The reference here can hardly be to the historic Gutians of the end of the Sargonic Period, but, rather to the mountainous area east of the Tigris past Elam. The archaic name may also bear legendary connotations of a barbaric people.

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and symmetrically frame the historical survey + Coda + sequel which with 254 lines make up 50% of the text. Such balance is missing by contrast in the considerably shorter Heidel Prism where the Baubericht + transitional passage preceding it occupy 138 lines and the titulary + historical section have 206 lines. Contrast with the Heidel prism suggests that the additions in the Thompson Prism were tailored and inserted into the text so as to create symmetry between the parts preceding the historical survey and those following. We should note that sensitivity to symmetry typifies the apology itself which divides precisely into two sections by the appearance of the king’s name and recurrence of anāku (see below).14

II. Identification of the Building The first seven lines in the composition serve both as a statement of ownership15 and titulary. However, their true grammatical and semantic function is to identify (for the person or gods who find the inscription and read it) the palace in which the inscription is placed, i.e. the

14 Aesthetic consideration in laying out an inscription and designing their content is not a unique phenomenon. L. Levine, “Observations of ‘Sargon’s Letter to the Gods’”, Eretz Israel 27 (2003), p. 114* writes about the large tablet containing the description of Sargon’s Urartian campaign “The way that the document is physically written on the tablet becomes part of the message”. See also V. A. Hurowitz, “ ‘Shutting Up the Enemy’” – Literary Gleanings from Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camel’s Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Eph‘al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 105–106; J. Marzahn, “Eight-sided prism with foundation inscription of Tiglath-pileser I (1114– 1076 B.C.)” in P. O. Harper, E. Klengel-Brant, J. Aruz and K. Benzel (eds.), Discoveries at Ashur on the Tigris – Assyrian Origins, Antiquities in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin (New York, 1995), pp. 122–124. 15 A. Leo Oppenheim (ANET, p. 289a) translates “Property of Esarhaddon”, and CAD, E, p. 60, s.v. ekallu 2) a – translates ekallu in such uses as “Royal property: as indication of ownership on bricks, objects, etc.”. These translations are in my opinion, misleading, ambiguous and leave the referent unclear. Inscriptions beginning with ekallu have been correctly called “labels”, but a label can refer to the object which it is on as well as the building which that object is in. When used on a brick or a part of a building, as in the case of the Thompson Cylinder or a building inscription it should be taken to mean “(the) palace (in which this object is found belongs to) RN”, so identifying the entire building and not just the brick as royal property. It is distinct from the use of ekallu in colophons of Aššurbanipal where it should be “this table belongs to the palace of Aššurbanipal”, identifying the tablet itself as royal property. Labels on small objects can have both or either connotation.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 127 ekal māšarti and royal palace mentioned in the Baubericht. There are ten titles here, six beginning with the term šarru and the last of which is a relative phrase beginning with ša and containing the cognate word šarrūti.

III. The Apology16 The titles in the initial passage are interrupted unexpectedly and before going on to Esarhaddon’s pedigree by a lengthy and novel narrative about his irregular rise to the throne. Esarhaddon, who was the youngest of his siblings, was selected by his father, in a public display and with a show of divine consent and sent to the crown prince’s palace, the bīt ridûti, for conditioning or training (I 9–22).17 This choice, circumventing the right of the eldest surviving son, was not to his brothers’ liking so they maliciously and falsely slander him, even trying to turn his father against him

16

See Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology”; Oppenheim, ANET, pp. 289–291 (translation); S. C. Mellville, “Esarhaddon” in M. W. Chavalas (ed.) The Ancient Near East – Historical Sources in Translation (Oxford, 2006), pp. 350–354 (translation); S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA IX; Helsinki, 1997), pp. LXXII–LXXIII (translation with references to prophecies); M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in NeoAssyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 1998), pp. 14–34 (discussion of apology and related texts); Porter, Images, Power and Politics, pp. 13–26; M. Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (Writings from the Ancient World 12; Atlanta, 2003), pp. 109–124 (prophecies related to Esarhaddon), pp. 137–142 (transliteration and translation of apology and references to related prophetic texts). For some literary aspects of the Apology see P. Gerardi, “Thus He Spoke: Direct Speech in Esarhaddon’s Royal Inscriptions”, ZA 79 (1989), pp. 245–260. Note also Ph. Talon, “De mes frères aînés, j’étais le cadet . . .: Une réinterpretation de l’apologie d’Assarhaddon” in Cinqante-deux reflexions sur le Proche-Orient ancient offertes en hommage a Leon De Meyer (Mesopotamian History and Environment, Occasional Publications, 2; Leuven, 1994), pp. 339–353; T. Ishida, “The Succession Narrative and Esarhaddon’s Apology: A Comparison”, in M Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds), Ah Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 166–173. 17 The term bīt ridûti is commonly translated functionally as “residence of the crown prince” (cf. CAD, R, p. 326) or semantically as “succession palace” (Nachfolgehaus; AHw, p. 134, s.v. bītu B 23) and related to redû A meaning “to follow” and ridûtu meaning “inheritance” or “succession”. However, the term is nearly as often used to indicate a storehouse in which case this supposed primary meaning would be irrelevant. Mr. Elnathan Weissert has suggested (oral communication) that the etymological meaning is, accordingly, “adjoining” or “abutting palace” relating to the location of the bīt ridûti rather than its role.

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(II 23–30).18 Esarhaddon knows of the lies and prays to Aššur and Marduk and receives their protection, being placed in a secret safehouse19 by unnamed parties (II 31–40). Afterwards the brothers “go crazy” and resort to physical uprising in Nineveh (I 41–44). However, the same seven gods who approved Esarhaddon’s appointment as heir to the throne confound the rebels (I 45–49), while some good citizens of Aššur do not join the rebellion (I 50–52). It is during this uprising that Sennacherib was assassinated. Esarhaddon, who has been in hiding all this time hears of the wicked goings on and undoubtedly of the assassination, and prays to the same seven gods plus Nergal who send him orders to fight back, promising support (I 53–62). Immediately and without making preparations, he rushes back to Nineveh in the bitter cold of the month of Shebat (I 63–70). He encounters the enemy masses in the Land of Hannigalbat, with help of Ištar vanquishes them (I 71–76), and they docilely accept his kingship (I 77–79). The people of Aššur who had been faithful to him come out to greet him and the rebels flee to places unknown (I 82–84a). Esarhaddon crosses the Tigris (I 84b–86) and ascends the throne to the approval of the populace and the gods (I 86–II 7). The former rebels are investigated, convicted and destroyed (II 8–11). The apology is bracketed by an inclusio: ina qibīt // kî qibītīšunu, “by command of . . . // as their command” (I 9, 20), indicating that the king’s successful rise to power was divinely ordained. Moreover,

18

For the accusation of lies leveled against political rivals here and following in this text see B. Pongratz-Leisten, “ ‘Lying King’ and ‘False Prophet’. The Intercultural Transfer of a Rhetorical Device within Ancient Near Eastern Idologies”, in A. Panaino and G. Pettinato (eds.), 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 (Melammu Symposia 3; Milan, 2002), pp. 229– 231. 19 ašar niṣirti designates primarily a secret place, but as Borger already indicates the note that the gods watched him there, iṣsu ̣ rūnni, give the term an additional meaning of “guarded place”. Ironically, its location still remains secret. Returning to Nineveh Esarhaddon crosses the Tigris to its west, and before that he encounters his enemies in the Land of Hannigalbat even further west. This may indicate that he was in hiding far from Nineveh, perhaps in Gozan or even Harran. In one of the prophecies (SAA IX 1.4 ll. 24) Sîn and Šamaš are said to have protected Esarhaddon at the time of his birth. These two gods are the ones who in Nin A I 85 command his return to Nineveh, so perhaps Sîn was one of his protectors in Harran. For further considerations in favor of Harran see now E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon’s Exile: Some Speculative History” in M. T. Roth, W. Farber, M. W. Stolper and P. von Bechtolsheim (eds.), Studies Presented to Robert D. Biggs, June 4, 2004 (Assyriological Studies 27; Chicago, 2007), pp. 189–191.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 129 it stands as an extended elaboration on the seventh royal title: ša ultu ṣeḫ erīšu DN1–7 . . . ana šarrūti . . . ibbû zikiršu “who, from his youth, the gods Aššur, etc. have called his name for kingship of the Land of Assyria” (I 5–6).20 It begins ša aḫ ḫ ēja rabûti ahūšunu ṣeḫ ru anāku, “Of my elder brothers their younger brother (was) I” (I 8).21 The seventh title is recapitulated further on in the words ina qibīt DN1–7 . . . zikiršun kabtu ittaʾidma . . . zikiršun kabtu ušazkiršunūti “by command of the gods 1–7 . . . their august command he (Sennacherib) obeyed, he (Sennacherib) made them swear by their (the gods’) name” (ll. 8–19). In other words, the roots ṣḫ r and zkr bracketing the seventh royal title are used to bracket Sennacherib’s selection of his heir. Note that these words, even though they become Leitworte, change meaning as they appear. ṣeḫ ru means “small” or “young” while ṣeḫ eru means “days of youth”. Zikru refers first to Esarhaddon’s name, but then to divine command and finally the divine name uttered in an oath. The apology is ninety-one lines long (I 8–87 + II 1–11) and is divided into exactly two parts by sentences containing the word anāku, placing Esarhaddon center stage. This pronoun appears in the first line (I 8) and again in the forty-sixth (I 53), the precise middle where the king reintroduces himself anāku Aššur-aḫ u-iddina, “I, Esarhaddon”.22 This is also the turning point in the narrative where the crown prince who has fled and was in hiding under divine protection now starts to assert himself. The first part is marked by the motif of the rebels acting against the will of the gods (see below). It is surrounded, however by a report of taking the oath (I 8–19) and a description of those who remained loyal to the oath protecting the king (I 50–52). The events of Esarhaddon’s selection and eventual succession to the throne are divinely determined and controlled in part by prophecies and oracles.23 The apology begins and ends with acts of “entry”

20

The seventh title is not present in the Heidel Prism and was introduced by the author of the Thompson Prism in order to link the titulary with the beginning of the apology. 21 Cf. Gerardi, “Thus, he Spoke”, p. 247. Borger regards this line as a subordinate clause in a longer sentence ll. 8–12. 22 This same collocation occurs next in II 12 to begin the second titulary and panegyric which follow immediately upon the apology. 23 For the important role of prophecy in the Apology narrative and Esarhaddon’s accession see the texts published by Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, pp. LXXII–LXXIII, 4–11 and the discussion of Nissinen, References to Prophecy, pp. 14–34. The text is periodically punctuated by groups of gods, but it is difficult to discern any exact pattern in the make up of the lists. The “identification of the building” mentions six gods,

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(erēbu) in ascending order of significance, and as such the second “entry” is essentially a coming to fruition of the first. At the beginning Esarhaddon happily enters the bīt ridûti (I 21–22) and at the end he happily (re)-enters Nineveh to sit on his father’s throne (I 87–II 2). Both entries occur on propitious days, certainly chosen by consulting the appropriate hemerology or determined by oracle, the first entry ina arḫ i šalme ūmi šemê (I 20), the second ina Addari arḫ i mitgari UD.8.KAM ūm eššeši ša Nabû (II 87).24 Entry into the bīt ridûti is preceded by a command (ina qibīt) of seven gods (I 9–10; cf. I 20) and oracular confirmation of Esarhaddon’s status by Šamaš and Adad (I 13–14); while entry into Nineveh to ascend the throne is accompanied by a virtual crescendo of favorable omens – the month is propitious, the day is a festival (I 87), and a south wind said to be the breath of Ea (mānit Ea), good for exercising kingship, blows for him (II 3–4).25 There are also favorable heavenly portents, while ecstatics sent by the gods and goddesses constantly arrive to satisfy his heart (II 5–7).26 Apart from these omens, extispicy is recorded in the middle of the apology as preliminary to Esarhaddon’s battle with the conspirators, these sent by the seven gods to whom he prays (I 60b–62).27 Another the same six occurring again in the Abdi-Milkutti incident in the historical survey (II 45–46) and “transitory passage” before the Baubericht (V 33b). The apology mentions seven gods adding Sîn in second place between Aššur and Šamaš (I 9–10). The same seven gods listed here recur in the apology as not standing by the conspirators (I 45). They appear once again at the beginning of the Coda concluding the historical survey (IV 78–79). However the gods mentioned as receiving the king’s prayers before he sets out to fight his rivals (I 59) number eight, adding Nergal. There are only six gods mentioned in the second titulary, Nabû being replaced by Nergal and only one Ištar being mentioned (II 30–39). 24 The series ūmē ṭābūti, “favorable days” in a highly broken entry between the entries for the sixth and the tenth days of Addaru, contains two signs – dPA, i.e. Nabû. See M. C. Casaburi, Ūmē Ṭ ābūti – “I Giorni Favorevoli” (History of the Ancient Near East/Studies 8; Padova, 2003), p. 109, §341. 25 According to Astrolabe B the month of Addaru is “the month of Ea and Enki’s(?) happiness (ITI ḫ u-ud lib-bi dEn-[. . .] ITI dÉ-a)” This entry is probably behind the reference to Ea in II 3. Cf. M. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, 1993), p. 340. 26 The ecstatics, maḫ ḫ û mentioned here may have some literary relationship to the brothers going out of their minds at the height of their wickedness (arkānu aḫ ḫ ēja imaḫ ḫ û; I 41) and subsequently becoming insane (ēmû maḫ ḫ ûtiš; I I 73) at the sight of Esarhaddon’s onslaught in battle. There may be an attempt to contrast legitimate inspiration of the ecstatics with the madness of the brothers, but the exact nuance of such a connection eludes me. 27 The section I 53–62 is bracketed by an inclusio referring to the portents. Esarhaddon presents himself as acting ina tukulti ilāni rabûti bēlīšu, “with (oracular) encouragement of the great gods his lords” (I 53) and his prayer is answered with šēr

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 131 allusion to an omen (perhaps astronomical) may be his statement that he had his soldiers cross the Tigris “at the command (ina qibīt) of the gods Sîn and Šamaš Lord of the Quay” (I 84–86).28 There are thus four incidents of divine command, two involving the king’s accession proper and two involving his military activities which made it possible. Interestingly, the omens at the time of selecting an heir and prior to going out to war are impetrated omens achieved through oracular inquiry initiated by Esarhaddon, while the ones at the return (?) and the time of the coronation are natural omens and prophecies initiated by the gods themselves. This is meant to reflect that Esarhaddon’s selection, even though initiated by his father has won full divine recognition and sanction as if they had planned it from the start. The accession also wins popular approval, although not as readily given as that of the gods. Esarhaddon’s selection by Sennacherib was done ina puḫ ur aḫ ḫ ēja, “in the gathering of my brothers” (I 11) while after his accession the new king punishes the sinful forces who planned evil against his brothers (aḫ ḫ ēja; II 9). They are investigated as a group (puḫ uršunu) (II 10). The king’s query annû māru ridûtīja, “is this the son my successor?” (I 12) and Šamaš reply šū tēnûka, “he is your replacement” (I 14) is echoed in the defeated opponents’ declaration accepting him as their sovereign annû šarrani, “this is our king” (I 77). This acceptance too is done ina puḫ rīšunu. The central event of the apology is the rebellion and its suppression (II 23–79). The account begins riddu kēnu eli aḫ ḫ ēja ittabikma, “the proper behavior was reversed for my brothers”.29 Use of the word riddu here echoes paranomastically the term māru ridûtīja, “my successor son” (I 12) as well as ridûtīja, “my succession” (I 17) designating takilti, “encouraging entrails” (I 61). Although the divine command is said to be an answer to an oracular inquiry it is phrased as a command and prophecy in second person imperative, alik lā kalât idāka nittallakma ninâra garêka, “go, do not desist, we will go at your side and kill your enemies”. This command is echoed in the following descriptions of the king’s actions. The king doesn’t wait one or two days (1 ūmi 2 ūmi ul uqqi; I 63), and Ištar stands at his side (idāja tazīzma; I 75) and at the end Esarhaddon destroys the descendants of his opponents (uḫ alliqa zēršun; II 11). 28 For the late Sargonid replacement of Adad by Sîn as Šamaš’s partner in extispicy see. W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Mesopotamian Civilizations 13; Winona Lake, 2007), pp. 8–9. 29 CAD, R, p. 324b, s.v. rīdu A 1b) suggests the possibility of error and suggest emending riddu kīnu. Even so, CAD, T, p. 10a s.v. tabāku, discussion, seems to revert back to CAD A/1 9b s.v. abāku B taking the verb as a IV perfect or of which tabāku may be a by- meaning “to be reversed” and translates “the proper behavior was reversed for (?) my brothers (they plotted evil)”.

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Esarhaddon’s present rank and bīt ridûti (I 21) where he resides, and links the account of the insurrection to that of the appointment. It is actually Esarhaddon’s succession which the brothers try to overturn. The next sentence ša ilāni umašširūma, “they abandoned that of the gods” (I 24) introduces a main theme in the account of the rebellion, namely that it is against the will of the gods. Similar expressions recur six more times in the course of the narrative: kî lā libbi ilāni . . . ušabšû (I 26); ša lā ilāni (I 29); ša lā ilāni minâ ippušū (I 34); mimma ša eli ilāni u amēlūti lā ṭâba ēpušūma (I 41–42); bālu ilāni (I 43); ša kî lā libbi ilāni innepšu (I 46). These seven occurrences of defying divine will stand in sharp contrast to the selection of the king and the protection afforded him which was kî ṭēm ilāni (I 38) and his reintroduction of himself where he says he ina tukulti ilāni lā iniʾu irassu, “with the encouragement of the gods he turns not aside his breast” (I 53). The absence of explicit reference to Sennacherib’s death by assassination, a sine qua non for Esarhaddon’s rise to the throne remains a mystery.30 It is probably alluded to in the difficult passage issiḫ ūma kakkē ina qereb Ninuʾa (I 43) because immediately afterwards the brothers are described as “without the gods butting each other like kids in order to exercise kingship” (I 44) and Esarhaddon, who hears quickly about what has happened starts to take action by going into mourning (ūʾa aqbīma ṣubāt rubûtīja ušarriṭma ušaṣriḫ a sipittu, “I said Woe! I tore my princely garments, and I shrieked lamentation”; I 56–57)31 fervently praying aššu epēš šarrūti bīt abīja, “so as to exercise kingship of my father’s house” (I 58). The mourning is certainly over his father’s death; he still wears “princely garments” and not “royal garments”, and he laments, and only now does he try something to exert his own kingship. In the famous letter to Esarhaddon concerning the assassination and Arad-Mullissi’s role, there is reference to adê ša sīḫ u, “the treaty of rebellion” (ABL 1091 = SAA XVIII 100: 4’). Also, one of the chronicles states “In the month of Ṭ ebet, the twentieth day, during an insurrection (ina sīḫ i) the son of King Sennacherib of

30 Nissinen, References to Prophecy, p. 21, n. 81 rejects the possibility proposed by Landsberger and Bauer the Sennacherib was murdered by Esarhaddon himself. 31 For the mannerisms described here, and in particular crying “woe” (ūʾa qabû), rending the garments (ṣubāta šurruṭu), and shreiking lamentations (sipitta šuṣruḫ u) as ones of mourning see M. Gruber, Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East (Studia Pohl 12/II; Rome, 1980), vol. 1, pp. 366–368; vol. 2, p. 457. If the king is in mourning it would not be an unfair assumption that he has just heard of his father’s assassination.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 133 Assyria killed his (father)”.32 This event may be referred to by the verb issiḫ ūma in the description of the rebellion I 43.33 Although the gods and the people are crucial in Esarhaddon’s ascent, he is, of course the central figure. Esarhaddon reintroduces himself in the second part of the apology as “ša ina tukulti ilāni rabûti bēlēšu ina qereb tāḫ āzi lā iniʾû irassu, “who by encouragement of the great gods his lords, in the midst of battle his chest does not turn away” (I 53). This title sets the theme of the next section of the apology which is the war on the road to Nineveh (I 53–86). Esarhaddon’s gods who are his tukultu, “encouragement”, stand off against the brothers’ armies who are their ṣābê tuklātīšunu, mentioned towards the end of this section (I 83). Just as Esarhaddon quickly hears (urruḫ iš ašmēma; I 55) the brothers’ wicked deed and goes into mourning, the rebels are said to have heard his battle march (u šūnu . . . alāk girrīja išmûma; I 83) and flee only to be caught. Amazingly, Esarhaddon’s military action begins with him setting out, seemingly on his own without even mustering and equipping his troops (pān ummānīja ul adgul, etc. I 63–65),34 and ends with his entire army (gimir ummānīja) crossing the Tigris (I 85–86). The troops are not there and by the time they appear the battle has already been decided. In fact, these passages frame a portrait of Esarhaddon heroically facing the enemy masses on his own, spreading his wings like a soaring eagle to defeat his enemies (I 67–68). Only the gods are on his side, the fear of the great gods overwhelming the enemies (I 72) and Ištar standing by him, breaking their bows (I 74–76). The author of the apology has done here verbally what Narām-Sîn’s artists have accomplished visually, protraying the hero, larger than life, fighting on his own with the army insignificantly in the background. Esarhaddon’s heroic status may be enhanced by subtle allusions to some battles of his father Sennacherib on the one and to Marduk’s battle with Tiamat in Enūma eliš on the other.35 Esarhaddon’s enemies are described (I 70–73):

32

J. J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Writings from the Ancient World 19; Atlanta, 2004), pp. 198–199, iii 34–35. 33 Oppenheim, ANET, p. 289 translates “they (even) drew weapons in the midst of Nineveh”, apparently deriving issiḫ ūma from nasāḫ u. Others (CAD, S, p. 209b s.v. seḫ û 4b), however, take it from seḫ û. If Oppenheim’s rendition reflects the plain meaning of the text, there may nonetheless be a double entendre. 34 This section anticipates the Baubericht and building the ekal māšarti as discussed below. 35 The inter-textual allusions in Essarhaddon’s apology resemble and may actually be related genetically to the allusions to Enūma-eliš found in Sennacherib’s account

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v. a. hurowitz ellamûʾa ina erṣetim māt Ḫanigalbat gimir qurādīšun ṣīrūti pān girrīja ṣabtūma ušaʾʾalū kakkēšun puluḫti ilāni rabûti bēlēja isḫupšunūtima tīb tāḫāzīja danni ēmurūma ēmû maḫḫûtiš Before me, in the Land of Hanigalbat All of their exalted warriors met my attack and whetted their blades The terror of the great gods, my lords overwhelmed them And the saw the onslaught of my mighty warfare and they became like mad men.

The first line in this passage is reminiscent of Sennacherib, who, when encountering the armies of the king of Meluḫḫa at Elteqeh says: ellumuʾa sidru šitkunū ušaʾʾalū kakkēšun, “before me they were arrayed in a line and they whetted their weapons” (Senn. 31 II 83–III 1). Even closer, and more important, at the battle of Ḫ alulê against Merodachbaladan he says: ellamūʾa ina Ḫ alulê ša kišad Idiglat šitkunū sidirta pān maškīja ṣabtūma ušaʾʾalū kakkēšun, “Before me, in Ḫ alulê on the bank of the Tigris they arrayed their lines, they blocked my passage and whetted their weapons” (Senn. 44 V 60–62). The end of the passage can be compared to Enūma eliš IV 87–94 describing Tiamat’s reaction to Marduk’s challenge to a duel: Tiʾamat annīta ina šemêša maḫ ḫ ûtiš ītemi ušanni ṭēnša issīma Tiʾamat šitmuriš elīta šuršiš malmališ itrurā išdāšu imanni šipta ittanamdi tâšu u ilāni ša tāḫ āzi ušaʾʾalū šūnu kakkēšun When Tiamat heard this she became like a mad-woman and went crazy Tiamat shrieked aloud, in a rage, Her36 frame shook all over, down to the ground, She was reciting an incantation, casting her spell, While the gods of battle were whetting their blades.

of his battle at Ḫ alulê discussed in detail by E. Weissert, “Creating a Political Climate: Literary Allusions to Enūma Eliš in Sennacherib’s Account of the Battle of Halule” in H. Waetzold and H. Hauptmann (eds.), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten, XXXIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992 (Heidelberg, 1997), pp. 191–202. 36 The possessive pronominal suffixes in ll. 90–91 are -šu, but all modern translations (Speiser, Dalley, Klein and Shifra, Foster, Talon) have translated them as third person feminine singular. The parallel with the Esarhaddon passage bears this out in that the party that goes mad is also the party whetting their blades.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 135 The expression maḫ ḫ ûtiš emû occurs only in these two texts,37 making it alone a possible inter-textual allusion, and its use in proximity to the more common kakkē šuʾʾulu to frame the depiction of the foe strengthens its role as a literary allusion. It is certainly significant that the relevant terms in the texts being compared, namely Thompson Cylinder and Enūma eliš, occur in chiastic order, ušaʾʾalū kakkēšun . . . ēmû maḫ ḫ ûtiš // maḫ ḫ ûtiš ītemi . . . ušaʾʾalū kakkēšun, and this reversing of elements in parallel phrases is recognized in biblical rhetoric as a sign of borrowing, the so-called “Zeidel Principal”.38 In addition to these parallels it should be noticed that Esarhaddon, when hearing of the events in Nineveh prayed to eight gods, Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Bēl, Nabû, Nergal, Ištar of Nineveh and Ištar of Arba-ilu (I 59) and these same eight gods are appealed to by Sennacherib at Halule (Senn. 44 V 62–64). By comparing Esarhaddon’s opponents with the enemies of Sennacherib and Tiamat, there is an implicit comparison of the Esarhaddon with his father Sennacherib and with Marduk. A final element in depicting Esarhaddon heroically is the use of animal imagery to form a contrast between him and all others.39 (1) The rebellious brothers are described: ana epēš šarrūti itti aḫ ameš itakkipū lalaʾiš, “about the exercise of kingship they butted at each other like rams” (I 44). (2) Those who come over to the king’s side are: idāja ittanasḫ arū kalmeš idakkakū, “they surrounded me gamboling like lambs” (I 79). (3) On the other hand, when the king prays for salvation and is about to go to war he says: labbiš annadirma, “like a lion I roared” (I 57). (4) When going out to battle: kima urînni mupparši ana sakāp zāʾirīja aptâ idāja, “Like a flying eagle (?) “I opened up my hands to vanquish my foes” (I 67). In other words, Esarhaddon is a ferocious animal who can rip apart his enemies, while others, rivals and supporters alike, are capable of butting each other at most, violent as that activity might be. In fact, the contrast is almost comic. 37 The link between the texts is strengthened by the existence of an alternative, slightly more common expression maḫ ḫ ûtiš alāku (cf. CAD, M/I, p. 91a). This would not be the only allusion to Enūma eliš in an Assyrian royal inscription. See especially E. Weissert, “Creating a Political Climate”. 38 See M. Zeidel, Hiqrey Miqra (Jerusalem, 1978, Hebrew). 39 For use of animal imagery in the inscription in general see below, n. 58 in discussion of the hymnic Coda. Cf. D. Marcus, “Animal Imagery in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, Orientalia n. s. 46 (1977), pp. 86–106.

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In summary, the apology develops through rhetorical devices and inter-textual allusions four major themes justifying Esarhaddon’s appointment and accession rather than his older brothers. They include divine support; popular support; the wickedness of his opponents; and his heroic stature as a sign of individual worthiness for the rank of king. Just as he withstood his rivals to the throne he will stand up and, with help of the gods, defeat enemies of the empire.

IV. Divine appointment of the King (Royal Titulary – Titles, pedigree, auto-panegyric and divine blessings; II 12–39) anāku Aššur-aḫ u-iddina šar kiššati // šar māt Aššur zikāru qardu // ašāred kal malkī mār Sîn-aḫ ḫ ē-erība šar kiššāti // šar māt Aššur mār Šarru-ukīn šar kiššati // šar māt Aššurma binût Aššur Mulissi narām Sîn Šamaš nišīt Nabû Marduk migir Ištar šarrati ḫ ešeḫ ti ilāni rabûti leʾum itpešu // ḫ assu mūdû ša ana udduš ilāni rabûti u šuklul ešrēti ša kullat māḫ āzī ilāni rabûti iššûšu ana šarrūti bānû bīt Aššur // ēpiš Esaggil u Bābilī muddiš ilāni u ištar ša qerebēšu ša ilāni mātāti šallūti ultu qereb Aššur ana ašrīšunu utirrūma // ušēšibu šubtu nêḫ tum adi ekurrāti ušaklilūma // ilāni ina parakkīšunu ušarmâ šubat dārāti ina tukultīšunu rabīti40 ultu ṣīt Šamši adi erēb Šamši šalṭiš attallakūma / māḫ ira ul īši malkī ša kibrāt erbetti ušaknišū šēpuʾa māt ana Aššur iḫ tụ̂ umaʾʾirūnni iâši 40

This passage is still a subordinate clause, but it is not clear to which relative pronoun, nor is it easy to identify the antecedent of tukultīšunu. It seems unlikely that both would be ša ilāni mātāti šallūti mentioned just before although this is preferred grammatically.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 137 šuddû u šūšubu41/ miṣir māt Aššur ruppušu dunni zikrūti / malê irti

umallâ qātūʾa

Šamaš nūr ilāni Marduk šar ilāni

nibīt šumīja kabti puluḫ ti šarrūtīja kīma imbari kabti

ana rēšēti ušēṣi ušasḫ ipu šadê kibrāti

Nergal dandanni ilāni Ištar bēlet qabli u tāḫ āzi

uzzu namurratum / u šalummatum qaštu dannatum / šiltaḫ u šamru

išruka širikti

Aššur ab ilāni Sîn bēl agî

išīm šīmātī

iqīšanni ana qīšti

I, Esarhaddon, King of the World, King of the Land of Assyria, Heroic male, Leader of all kings, Son of Sennacherib, King of the World, King of the Land of Assyria, Son of Sargon, King of the World, King of the Land of Assyria, Creation of Aššur and Mulissu, Beloved of Sîn and Šamaš, Exalted by Nabû and Marduk, Acceptable to Queen Ištar, Desired of the Great Gods, Capable and Expert, Wise and Knowing, Who, for renewing the (statues of the) great gods And completing to perfection the sanctuaries of all the holy cities The great gods raised him to kingship, Builder of the Temple of Aššur, Constructor of Esagil and Babylon, renewer of the gods and goddesses who are within it, Who returned the plundered gods of the lands to their places from within Aššur, And seated them in restful dwellings until he completed to perfection the temples42 And seated the gods in their cellas for permanent residence, (Who) with their great encouragement from east to west dominantly I walked about with no rival (and) the kings of the four quarters they made submit at my feet and the land which sinned against Aššur they gave to my command, I –

41 The phrase šuddû u šūšubu, “to depopulate and repopulate” appears four times including this one, see CAD, N/1, p. 97, s.v. nadû 7e). The other three times it is a divine prerogative, and in this case it is a divinely granted royal prerogative, adding to the quasi-divine status of the Assyrian king. 42 For placing gods in temporary residences, sometimes in the temples of other gods, while their own residences are uninhabitable or under repair see V. A. Hurowitz, “Temporary Temples”, in A. F. Rainey (ed.), kinattūtu ša dāraâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv, 1993), pp. 37–50.

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v. a. hurowitz Aššur, Father of the Gods, has filled my hands with destroying and rebuilding, and expanding the border of the Land of Assyria; Sîn, Lord of the Crown, has determined my destiny for masculine strength and courage; Šamaš, Light of the Gods, has pronounced my honored name for primacy; Marduk, King of the Gods, has caused the dread of my kingship to cover the mountains of the regions like a heavy cloud; Nergal, Almighty of the Gods, has given me fury, aweinspiring radiance and splendor as a gift; Ištar, Mistress of Battle and War has presented me as a present a mighty bow and a fierce javelin.

This entire section, stretching over twenty-eight lines of text actually consists of one, very long run-on sentence. It starts with the first person pronoun anāku; the king’s name and titles in apposition combined with subordinate verbal phrases, all of which are in casus pendens; followed by six finite sentences with indicative verbs. “I, Esarhaddon”, presented casus pendens, is grammatically the subject of them all. This passage joins the initial “identification of ownership” (I 1–7) by repeating the titles, the two passages together forming an envelope around the apology. In one sense it picks up where the initial list of titles left off, providing the king’s pedigree. Just as the “identification” contains the word šarru and šarrūtu seven times, so the pedigree here contains this word seven times (once in the name Šarru-ukīn). However, although it contains numerous titles, because of its syntax it is not just a list but is actually a narrative account of the king’s appointment by the gods and receiving from them divine gifts. This narrative is complex. It begins with anāku followed by the king’s name and some titles (II 12–13); the king’s pedigree two generations back (II 14–15); his special relationship to seven gods (II 16–18); and his intellectual abilities (II 18b–19). This leads into an enumeration of his pious works on behalf of the gods and cult (II 19–26a) including: selection to restore divine statues and temples (II 21a); building of temples and statues (II 22–23); restoration of plundered cult statues of gods all over to refurbished temples (II 23b–26a). Finally, and apparently as reward for his piety, he is granted dominion over the entire world (II 26b–29). He concludes with a list of blessings bestowed upon him by six individual gods: Aššur (II 30–31); Sîn (II 32); Šamaš (II 33); Marduk (II 34–35); Nergal (II 36–37) and Ištar (II 38–39). These blessings relate to world dominion and form an entrée leading into the following section describing the king’s military accomplishments.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 139 Yet this is no ordinary titulary and its background calls for further attention so as to reveal its true import in its present context as part of the total narrative. It is proposed here that it is based on Assyrian coronation rituals and their accompanying prayers and hymns. For such matters there are at our disposal two sources: (1) the middleAssyrian ritual for installing a king;43 (2) a neo-Assyrian hymn in honor of Aššurbanipal’s coronation.44 1. The middle-Assyrian ritual is known from three broken tablets (KAR 216 + 135 + 137) and is not fully preserved, the tops and bottoms of its four columns missing. This is not the place for a full analysis of this ritual, but the surviving parts show that besides carrying the king in processions between ceremonial loci, distribution of gifts to priests and courtiers, and lots of bowing and obsequiousness there are at least three main ceremonial acts: 1) a pronouncement by the šangû priest, Aššur šar Aššur šar, “Aššur is king, Aššur is king” (MVAG 43/1 8 I 28–29);45 2) crowning the king and an accompanying prayer (ikribu) on his behalf to be uttered by the šangû (MVAG 43/1 10 ii 14–12 ii 36); 3) enthroning him at which time all his courtiers present gifts, resign and are immediately reinstated by the king (MVAG 43/1 14 ii 46–iii 14). 2. The coronation hymn of Aššurbanipal is fully preserved. It is not a ritual per se but was recited most likely during the performance of a complex ritual as can be determined on the basis of a ritual instruction which it contains (r. 3). It consists of two parts. Lines 1 – r. 3 are a series of requests from various gods (Šamaš, Aššur, Šerua, the

43

See KAR 135 (+ KAR 216, 137); K. F. Müller, Das assyrische Ritual (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Ägyptischen Gesellschaft, 41/3; Leipzig, 1937); H. Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods: A study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature (Chicago, 1948), pp. 245–248; Foster, Before the Muses, p. 334. A more exact parallel to the divine granting of symbols of power to Aššurbanipal (SAA III 11 rev. 5–9) is the accession year of Esarhaddon described in Borger, Asarhaddon, p. 81, §53 AsBbA vs. 52 – rev. 1 and the “Myth of the Creation of Man and the Kings” (W. R. Mayer, “Ein Mythos von der Erschaffung des Menschen und des Königs”, Orientalia 56 (1987), p. 56, Rs. 38’–43’ and cf. p. 64. For a Babylonian coronation see A. K. Grayson, Babylonian Historical Literary Texts (Toronto, 1975), pp. 78–86. For a discussion of this text and coronation ceremonies in Mesopotamian writings in general see Z. Ben-Barak, “The Coronation Ceremony in Ancient Mesopotamia”, Orientalia Louvanensia Periodica 11 (1980), pp. 55–67. 44 LKA 31; SAA III 11; Cf. Foster, ibid., pp. 815–816. 45 See Marduk’s coronation in Enūma eliš IV 28 where the gods declare Mardukma šar.

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Great Gods) to grant blessings to Aššurbanipal. Afterwards the priest (?) lights a censer before Šamaš and makes what looks like a series of pronouncements declaring the gifts granted the king by several gods (r. 5), warnings against disloyalty to the king (r. 9–14), and an invitation to the great gods to bless the king and grant him dominion (r. 15–17). Of the elements of the coronation ritual, the pronouncement “Aššur is King, Aššur is King” is duplicated in Aššurbanipal’s coronation hymn (l. 15). Also the last line from the prayer said at the time of crowning the king appears in two parts in the hymn. Specifically, ina ešerte ḫ aṭtị̄ ka mātka rappiš qabâ šamâ magāra kitta u salima Aššur liddinakku, “with the righteousness of your scepter broaden your land; may Aššur grant you speaking, listening, agreement, justice and peace” (ii 34–36), are echoed by qabû šemû ketti mīšaru ana šarikti lu šarkūšu, “speaking and hearing justice and righteousness are given him as a gift” (SAA III 11:8);46 and ḫ aṭtụ iširtu ana ruppuš māti u nišēšu liddinūšu, “may they (the great gods) grant him a just scepter for broadening his land and his people” (l. 17). The two texts are clearly of different genres, each with its own purpose and background, but comparing them shows that elements of the middle-Assyrian ritual survived the generations, even while many innovations were introduced. The rituals with which they were associated also seem to have differed to the extent that ritual details can be learned from the hymn.47 What then, about Esarhaddon’s titulary? Tadmor has pointed out that Assyrian kings starting with Tukultī-Ninurta I were charged in the course of a cultic ceremony with the formula mātka ruppiš, “expand your land!”, and that this ceremony continued to be performed until

46 The idea encapsulated in the words “speaking, listening, agreeing” are “unpacked” a few lines later in “May the lesser speak, and the [greater] listen! May the greater speak, and the [lesser] listen. May concord and peace be established [in Assryia]” (ll. 12–14). 47 For example, the middle-Assyrian ritual makes no apparent reference to lighting a censer before Šamaš. Also, a line in the hymn “just as grain and silver, oil, the cattle of Šakkan and the salt of Bariku are good, so may Aššurbanipal, king of Assyria, be agreeable to the gods of his land” (5) seems to reflect a ritual act involving presentation of various materials, and there is nothing like this in the middle-Assyrian ritual. According to the prayer in the ritual the power to expand the empire is granted by Aššur while the hymn associates it first with Aššur and then with the great gods. In the ritual the crown is granted by Aššur and Ninlil while in the coronation hymn it is given by Anu.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 141 the time of Aššurbanipal.48 Now in Esarhaddon’s divine commission under discussion here this formula also appears but in an extended, poeticized form: Aššur ab ilāni šuddû (u) šūšubu miṣir māt Aššur ruppušu umallâ qātuʾa, “Aššur, father of the gods, has placed in my hands uprooting and settling and expanding the border of the land of Assyria” (II 30–31). There are, moreover, additional points of contact between this titulary and Assyrian coronation rituals and hymns. Aššurbanipal’s coronation hymn49 twice invokes the aforementioned formula. First, after a request that Aššur who gave him his scepter lengthen his days, we find: ina šēpēka mātka ruppiš, “At your feet expand your land” (SAA III 11:3). Later on is a request from the great gods: ḫ attu iširtu ana ruppuš māti u nišēšu liddinūniššu, “may they grant him a straight (just) scepter to expand his land and his people” (SAA III 11:17). In Esarhaddon’s titulary Nergal is said to have blessed the king: Nergal dandanni ilāni uzzu namurratum u šalummatum išruka širikti, “Nergal, the mightiest of the gods gave me as a gift fury, awe inspiring radiance and splendor” (Nin A II 36). Aššurbanipal’s coronation hymn declares about the same god: Nergal ittadin šalummassu, “Nergal gave him his splendor” (SAA III 11:7; note as well as the similarity in content the phonetic similarity between Nergal dandanni and Nergal ittadin). Esarhaddon’s titulary concludes: Ištar bēlet qabli u tāḫ āzi qaštu dannatum šultaḫ u šamru iqīšanni ana qīšti, “Ištar, Lady of war and battle gave me as a gift a mighty bow and a furious spear” (II 38). Aššurbanipal’s coronation prayer concludes with a request to all the gods to gather and bless the king and: kakki qabli u tāḫ āzi mullâ qātuššu // innaniššuma nišē ṣalmat qaqqadi lēpuša reʾûssin, “Fill his hand with the weapon of war and battle // give him the black-headed people, that he may rule as their shepherd” (SAA III 11:17–18). Finally, Esarhaddon’s first title is binût Aššur Mullissu, “creation of Aššur and Mulissu” (II 16). This idea is found in the Aššurbanipal hymn’s declaration: Aššur šar Aššurma šar Aššur-bāni-[apli]xx[xxx]x Aššur binût qātēšu, “Aššur is king – Yea Aššur is king! Aššurbanipal the [representative?] of Aššur is the creation of his hands” (SAA III 11:15).

48 49

Tadmor, “World Dominion”, p. 55. Cf. Foster, Before the Muses, pp. 815–816.

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It would not be too wild a conjecture that Esarhaddon’s titulary and the list of six blessings in particular actually have their background in the king’s coronation or investiture ceremony, at which time he would have been given symbols of his power. On the one hand, they echo the prayers recited at the coronation ceremony. On the other hand there may be reference to ceremonial acts. Aššur, represented by a priest, would grant him the ḫ aṭtụ ; Sîn would crown him; Šamaš, through oracular means would pronounce him king (cf. I 11–14 in the apology); Marduk and Nergal would grant him radiant garments symbolic of his overpowering radiance;50 and Ištar would grant him a bow. All these actions could be acted out in the course of the ceremony. Note the terms qāta mullû, širka šarāku, and ana qišti qiāšu, all of which denote both empowering and giving physically. Very similar ideas and expressions are found in Aššurbanipal’s Coronation Hymn which probably has the same ritual background;51 and in any case, the similarities show clearly that royal investiture may be the background of the passage. There are, undeniably, many differences, but these are because Esarhaddon’s titulary remains primarily that and was not meant to be an accurate transcript of the ritual and its prayers. Also, one can only expect that no two coronation ceremonies were identical in all their details, each individual ceremony being tailored to the specific monarch involved, but not losing the basic, traditional lines.52 If a concrete event is indeed behind the titulary, it would fit in to the overall narrative of the inscription, as a bridge between the end of the apology where the king enters Nineveh and sits on his father’s throne (I 87–II 11) and the beginning of the historical survey which recalls the ascent to the throne (II 45–45).

50 Cf. A. Livingstone, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (Oxford, 1986; reprinted Winona Lake, ID, 2007), pp. 124–125, 146 = idem, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (SAA III Helsinki, 1989) p. 102, no. 39, rev. 20–22. In this ritual text the line “The king, who from inside the Ekur wears on his head a gold crown and sits on a sedan chair, while thy carry him and go to the palace” is explained by a mythical passage: “(this is) Ninurta, who avenged his father. The gods, his fathers, seat him inside the Ekur. They give him the scepter, throne and staff. They adorn him with the splendour of kingship (melām šarrūti uzaʾʾanūšuma) and he goes out to the mountain”. 51 See most recently P. Machinist, “Kingship and Divinity in Imperial Assyria” in G. Beckman and T. J. Lewis (eds.), Text, Artifact and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion (Brown Judaic Studies 346; Providence, Rhode Island, 2006), pp. 157–159. 52 Comparison of the Assyrian ritual with Aššurbanipal’s coronation hymn shows that this is indeed the case. See above.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 143 V. Historical Survey This is, of course, the central and longest portion of the inscription making up half the text. As Tadmor has pointed out, the survey is not ordered chronologically as is customary in Assyrian annals but geographically, following the pattern of the “summary inscriptions”. Although this arrangement distorts the course of history by not representing the true order of events it has the advantage of portraying the king’s power and Assyria’s dominion as world wide, starting from Babylon near home and spreading out to the four points of the compass and the ends of the earth.53 It in fact is the full playing out of the title: (ša) ina tukultīšunu rabīti ultu ṣīt Šamši adi erēb Šamši šalṭiš attallakūma māḫ ira ul īši / malkī ša kibrāt erbetti ušaknišū šēpuʾa māt ana Aššur iḫ tụ̂ umaʾʾirūnni iāši, “(who) with their great encouragement, I went back and forth dominantly from east to west, having no rival. The kings of the four quarters they subdue and my feet, and any land which rebels against Aššur they place under my order” (II 26b–29). Even so, chronology is not entirely abandoned. Although not dated in the style of the annals, the first incident is presented as occurring immediately after Esarhaddon assumed the throne (II 45b–47). The statement iāti Aššur-aḫ u-iddina ina kussî abīja ṭābis ušēšibūnimma, “Me, Esarhaddon, they seated beneficially upon my father’s throne” (II 46) is an obvious echo of ina kussî abīja ṭābiš ūšib towards the end of the apology (II 2). In addition, for violating the oath of the great gods, Nabû-zēr-kitti-līsir is punished severely and killed: annu kabtu ēmudūšuma qereb māt Elamti inārūš ina kakke, “they inflicted upon him a heavy punishment, and killed him with weapons in the midst of Elam” (II 57), linking him to what the king did to those who plotted against him towards the end of the apology: annu kabtu ēmissunūtima uḫ alliqa zēršun, “I inflicted upon them a heavy punishment and destroyed their descendants” (II 10–11). If we follow Borger’s division the survey consists of fourteen episodes which could be considered a typological number and perhaps an expression of perfection or completeness of the king’s activities. However, Borger divides the confrontations with Abdi-Milkutti and

53 See S. Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part II”, SAAB 15 (2006), pp. 251–257.

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with Sandaʾurri into two Episodes (5 and 6 in his enumeration). To be sure, Kundu and Sissû are firmly located in Anatolia some distance from Sidon and the cities of the Mediterranean coast allied to AbdiMilkutti. Even so, in a literary analysis of the text, the two episodes should be combined, and indeed the Sandaʾurri incident begins exceptionally with the copulative u, “and”.54 Sandaʾurri is an ally of AbdiMilkutti of Sidon and their punishment by beheading is considered a single event (III 32–35). This would reduce the number of incidents in the main part of the historical survey to thirteen. The typological number can be restored, however, if we include in the enumeration the concluding incident involving the Elamites and Gutians (V 26–33a).

VI. Hymnic Coda and Summary of Foreign Activities (IV 78–V 25) The historical survey concludes with IV 78–V 25, the highly poetic nature of which Tadmor has pointed out.55 This poetic interlude deserves, however, a more extended analysis, both elaborating on the points Tadmor has made already, but also emphasizing its literary structure, an aspect not touched upon at all. Borger published this part of the text, as he did all Esarhaddon’s inscriptions as if it were prose, not diverging in this practice from the norm of all Assyriologists in standard editions and translations of Mesopotamian royal inscriptions. This, unfortunately, masks the texts’ poetic features and the special style of the royal inscriptions which can be characterized as “poeticized prose”.56 The main characteristic of this style is a high preponderance of balanced sentences resembling poetic parallelism which lend a cadence to the text. Following is a transliteration of the passage at hand divided into numbered strophes with caesuras and parallelism indicated in the individual verses by one (/) or two (//) slanted lines respectively.

54 In the Heidel Prism, the first eight campaigns begin with a participle, the Sandaʾurri incident being the only exception. 55 Eph‘al and Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions”, pp. 161–162. 56 For a discussion of this style cf. V. A. Hurowitz, “The Sun-Disk Tablet of Nebobaladan, King of Babylonia (BBSt 36)”, Eretz-Israel 27 (2003), pp. pp. 97–98 (Hebrew).

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 145 1 A Ina emūq Aššur Sîn Šamaš Nabû Marduk Ištar ša Ninua Ištar ša Arbaʾilī akšud kullat nākirī multarḫ i // Ina zikri ilūtīšunu malkī nākirīja kīma qanê mehê išubbū 2 B šarrāni āšibūte tāmtim ša dūrānīšunu tâmtimma // edû šalḫ ušun ša kīma narkabti eleppa rakbū // kūm sīsē ṣandū parrisāni palḫ iš ultanapšaqū libbašunu itarrakma / imaʾû martu 3 C ul ibši šāninī / ul immaḫ ḫ arū kakkīja // u ina malkī ālikūt maḫ rīja / la imšula ajjumma 4 D ša ana šarrāni abbēja išūṭūma etappalū zērāti / ina qibit Aššur bēlīja ina qātēja immanû pašqūti dūr-abnēšunu kīma karpat paḫ āri uparrir // pagar qurādīšunu ina lā qebēri ušākil zībū nakmu makkūršunu ašlula / ana qereb māt Aššur ilāni tiklīšunu šalātiš amnu / kīma ṣēni ābuka nišēšun šamḫ āti ---------------------------------5 D’ ša ana šūzub napištīšu qereb tâmtim innabtu ina gišparrīja ul ipparšid // ul ušēṣi napšassu Pētān birkī ša iṣbatu simmelāt šadî rūqūti kīma iṣsu ̣ rī ultu qereb šadî abāršuma aksâ idēšu dāmēšunu kīma butuqti nadbak šadî ušardi 6 C’ Sūtē āšibūte kultari ša ašaršunu rūqu / kīma ezzi tīb mēḫ ê assuḫ a šurussun 7 B’ ša tâmtum ana dannūtīšu / šadû ana emūqīšu iškunu Ina saparrīja ajjummma ul ūṣi // naparšudūmma ul ipparšid “ša tâmti ana šadê / ša šadî ana tâmtim” – ašābšunu aqbi 8 A’ Ina qibīt Aššur bēlījamannu ša ittīja iššannanu ana šarrūti / u ina šarrāni abbēja ša kīma iātīma šurbâta bēlūssu? Ultu qereb tâmtim nakrūtīja kiam iqbûni umma – šēlibu lapan Šamaš ekiam illak?

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1 A By the strength of Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Nabû, Marduk, Ištar of Nineveh and Ištar of Arbel I conquered all the vainglorious enemies. By the name of their divinity The kings of my enemies swayed like reeds in a storm. 2 B The kings, dwellers of the Sea, Whose inner wall is the Sea, whose outer wall is the Waves, Who ride a ship as if it were chariot, who harness the boats’ rowers as if they were horses Were suffering constant anguish in fear, Their hearts throbbed, and they vomited bile 3 C There is no one who opposes me, my weapons are irresistable And among the kings who went before me, no one resembles me 4 D Whoever despised the kings, my fathers and answered with hostility, by command of Aššur were counted into my hand. Their impenetrable stone walls I pulverized like a potter’s pot, The corpses of their heroes, without burial, I fed to the jackals. Their hidden possessions I plundered, and in the Land of Assyria I counted as plunder the gods in whom they trust And like sheep I led away their prosperous people. 5 D’ Whoever, in order to save his life, fled into the midst of the sea Did not escape my net, did not save his life. The open kneed (swift) who took to the distant mountain staircases (slopes) Like a bird I hunted down from the midst of the mountain and tied his hands; Their blood I made run like channels of mountain runoff 6 C’ The Suteans, who dwell in tents, whose place is remote, as with the fury of a rising storm I ripped out their roots. 7 B’ Whoever placed the Sea as his fortress or the mountain as his stronghold, From my net no one got out, and no one who fled was able to flee I commanded that those of the Sea (dwell) in the Mountain, and those of the Mountain dwell at Sea

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 147 8 A’ By command of Aššur my lord – Who can compete with me for kingship? And of the kings my fathers whose lordship can be great as mine? From the midst of the Sea my enemies say thus: The fox from before the Sun, whither can he go? The literary structure of the passage is somewhat loose, yet certain formal lines can be discerned expressed by word repetition and other factors. These lines give a superficial eight strophe chiastic structure to the passage indicated by the letters A-B-C-D//D’-C’-B’-A’. This surface structure which is expressed mainly in the beginning of strophes does not fully correspond with the underlying thematic structure. Strophe 1 contains two sentences, both of which begin with ina and mention deities and the enemies (nākirī). Strophe 8, which counterbalances it, also contains two sentences, both of which are rhetorical questions expecting a negative reply. Both strophes begin with ina, and both sentences in both strophes begin with prepositions (ina, ina // ina, ultu). Both strophes also mention the gods Aššur and Šamaš. Both sentences of strophe 8 contain forms of qabû creating an inclusio with zikri in strophe 1. Strophe 2 is a single sentence expanded internally by two parenthetic subordinate phrases, followed by a short compound sentence connected to the first by a common subject (šarrāni; the pronominal suffix in libbašunu is anteceded by šarrāni). It begins with šarrāni āšibūte tâmtim ša . . . which is balanced by Sūte ăšibūte kultari ša . . . in strophe 6. Strophe 6 itself is joined to strophe 7 by the word ašābu at its end, the result being that Strophe 2 is in fact counterbalanced by Strophes 6+7. Strophe 3 is divided by the conjunction u giving it effectively two stichoi. ul ibši šāninī parallels la imšula ajjumma and immaḫ ḫ aru is paralleled by māḫ rīja giving a chiastic AB//B’A’ structure to the verse. It is the only strophe which is not paired and would actually fit better between what are now strophes 4 and 5 as a pivot in the middle of the composition but there is no textual warrant for such relocation. Strophe 4 begins with ša ana which is balanced by ša ana at the beginning of strophe 5. There is a grammatical pattern in the description of the king’s enemies, namely a constant alternation between strophes expressed in singular and plural. Strophes 1 and 2 are in the plural (kullat nākirī; malkī nākirī; šarrāni); Strophe 3 is singular (verbs iprus); Strophe 4

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is plural (pronominal suffixes -šunu); Strophe 5 starts singular (verbs iprus; pronominal suffixes -šu) and ends plural (damēšunu); Strophe 6 is plural (āšibūte; -šunu); and Strophe 7 is first singular (pronominal suffixes -šu) and then plural (ašābšunu); and Strophe 8 is again singular. As for the thematic development of the passage, Strophe 1 speaks first about the inability to escape the king (akšud kullat nākirī multarḫ i), and goes on with the enemies’ fear of the king, a theme picked up in strophe 2 (libbašunu itarrakma imaʾû martu); strophe 3 reports the kings incomparable weapons or warfare (ul immaḫ ḫ arū kakkēja) which enhances his military prowess described in detail by strophe 4; strophes 5, 6 and 7 claim the king to be inescapable; and this theme is repeated in the proverb concluding strophe 8. The poem displays a strong geographical interest. In the first half, strophe 2 speaks of those who dwell at sea, i.e. island dwellers, while strophe 4 refers to city dwellers (dūr-abnēšunu). In the second half strophe 5 splits into a discussion of individuals who escape into the sea or the mountains, strophe 6 describes those who dwell far away in the desert, and strophe 7 again speaks of sea and mountain dwellers. Escape at sea is once again referred to in the final strophe 8. This geographical interest corresponds, of course with the “summary inscription” format of the historical survey which serves to emphasize the world wide extent of the king’s dominion. Tadmor has enumerated several poetic features in the language of the passage, listing examples of similes, chiastic constructions, and paranomastic infinitive constructions.57 He gives special attention to the recurrence of the theme of the sea and its importance in the text in its entirety. However, the references to the sea are not general maritime musings but recall two specific topoi in the historical survey. ša ana šūzub napištīšu qereb tâmtim innabtu, “He who, in order to save his life fled into the midst of the sea” (V 10) repeats Abdi-Milkittu šarrašu lapan kakkēja ina qabal tâmtim innabit, “RN their king from before my weapons fled into the midst of the sea” (II 71–72). More connections between the Coda and the survey will be discussed below.

57 There also seem to be a few instances of alliteration in this passage: malkī nākirīja kīma qanê; ša kīma narkabti eleppa rakbū; kīma karpat paḫ āri uparrir; imaʾû martu; naparšudūmma ul ipparšid.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 149 The text is heavily laden with imagery of various types.58 Tadmor, and Schott before him have identified three similes: malkī nākirīja kīma qanê išubbū, “Kings hostile to me bend down like reeds in a violent storm” (iv 80–81); damēšun kīma butuqi nadbak šadê ušardi, “I made their blood flow down like the floodwater in the mountain ravines” (v 14); kīma ezzi tīb meḫ ê assuḫ a šurussun, “like a raging violent storm I tore up their roots”. To these we should add the metaphors ša dūrānīšunu tâmtimma // edû šalḫ ušun; ša kīma narkabti eleppa rakbū // kūm sīsē ṣandū parrisāni, “whose inner walls are the sea and outer walls are the high waves, who ride boats like a chariot with harnessed rowers instead of horses” (iv 82–v 1). The first half of this statement is similar to ša tâmtum ana dannūtīšu / šadû ana emūqīšu iškunu, “who made the sea their fortress and the mountain their stronghold”59 (v 17). We also find similes pašqūti dūr-abnēšunu kīma karpat paḫ āri uparrir, “their hard stone walls I pulverized like a potter’s pot”, a line with a bit of alliteration of the consonant /p/;60 kīma ṣēni ābuka nišēšun šamḫ āti, “like sheep I led off their luxuriant people” (v 9); kīma iṣsu ̣ rī ultu qereb šadî abāršuma, “like a bird I hunted him from the midst of the mountains” (v 13). Finally, the king refers to his own power by the metaphors of a trap and net: ina gišparrīja ul ipparšid, “from my trap no one escapes” (v 11); Ina saparrīja ajjummma ul ūṣi, “from my net no one gets out” (v 18). It turns out that of the eight strophes making up this passage five use imagery one time or more, some of the images common to the royal inscription genre while others are inventions of the current author.61

58

Animal imagery appears in other parts of the composition as well. Imagery in the apology was discussed above as a device for portraying Esarhaddon’s might. In the historical section, hunting down Abdi-Milkutti is described: kīma nūni ultu qereb tāmtim abāršuma, “like a fish I hunted him from the midst of the sea” (II 72). Likewise, Sandaurri is: kīma iṣsu ̣ ri ultu qereb šadî abāršuma, “like a bird I hunted him from the midst of the mountains” (III 30). The land of Bâzu is said to be: “ašar ṣīru aqrabu kīma kulbabū malû ugaru”, “where snakes and scorpions fill the fields like ants” (IV 56). The references in the poetic summary to sheep and a bird are probably echoes of images 1, 4, and 6. Cf. D. Marcus, “Animal Imagery in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, Orientalia 46 (1977), pp. 86–106. 59 So CAD, D, p. 110, s.v. dannūtu 3b; but cf. CAD, E, p. 158, s.v. emūqu 1a2’ which translates less metaphorically “(those) who made the sea their strength, the mountain (the source of) their power”. 60 In the following line there seems to be less pronounced /g/ /q/ /k/ alliteration in pagar qurdānīšunu ina la qebēri ušākil zībū. 61 The rhetorical question which concludes this passage has been identified as a proverb, which ipso facto also belongs to the realm of metaphors, making their use even more prominent.

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As noted, Tadmor emphasizes the connections between the sea in this passage and those in the Abdi-Milkutti pericope. As a matter of fact tâmtum appears in the poetic passage as many as seven times (šadû occurs six times). There are other connections as well. First of all, the metaphor kīma iṣsu ̣ rī ultu qereb šadî abāršuma aksâ idēšu, “like a bird I hunted him from the midst of the mountains and I bound his hands” (V 13) links the poem to the nearly identically phrased kīma nūni ultu qereb tâmtim abāršuma akkisa qaqqassu, “like a fish from the midst of the sea I hunted him and cut off his head” (II 73) in the Abdi-malkutti incident and kīma iṣsu ̣ rī ultu qereb šadî abāršuma akkisa qaqqassu, “like a bird I hunted him from the midst of the mountains and I cut of his head” (III 30) in the Sandaʾurri passage which is actually a continuation of the Abdi-milkutti incident, although the fish and sea have been replaced by the bird and mountains. The bodily punishments inflicted are of course different, but akkisa and aksâ which sound nearly the same are linked through alliteration.62 Also, the proverb with which the poetic interlude concludes šēlibu lapan Šamaš ekīam illak, “to where will the fox go before Šamaš?” (v 25) echoes the Nabû-zēr-kittilīšir passage at the very beginning of the historical survey where this king is said to have: ana māt Elamti šēlabiš innabit, “he fled like a fox to the Land of Elam” (II 55).63 The statement Sūtē āšibūte kultari ša ašaršunu rūqu, “Southerners who dwell in tents whose place is far away” (V 15) may be a reflex of māt Bâzu nagû ša ašaršu rūqu, “The land of Bâzu, a district whose place is far away” (IV 53) beginning the last episode in the historical survey. pagar qurādīšunu ina lā qebēri ušākil zībū; nakmu makkūršunu ašlula / ana qereb māt Aššur ilāni

62 In III 30 there is a double entendre and a case of “reanalysis” by which abāršuma akkisa qaqqassu means primarily “I hunted him and cut off his head” but secondarily “I cut off his wing and his head”. Note the parallel expression nukkis kappīšu abrīšu nuballīšu, cut of his wings, his abru and his tail feathers” in Etana and Anzu (cf. CAD, A/2, p. 64a, s.v. abru 2). Because abru can also mean “fins” when referring to a fish this double entendre and reanalysis apply as well to II 73. For the literary phenomenon of “reanalysis” see E. L. Greenstein, “Reanalysis in Biblical and Babylonian Poetry”, in C. Cohen et al. (eds.), Birkat Shalom – Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature and Post-biblical Judaism presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Winona Lake, ID, 2008), pp. 499–510. 63 This may also echo the statement in the panegyric ultu ṣīt šamši adi erēb šamši šalṭiš attalakūma, “from the rising of the sun until the setting of the sun I go back and forth as ruler” (II 27). For descriptions of Esarhaddon as the Sun in the neoAssyrian royal correspondence see S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (Winona Lake, 2007), II, p. 130.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 151 tiklīšunu šalāṭiš amnu ; kīma ṣēni ābuka nišēšun šamḫ āti, “The corpses of their heroes without burial I fed the jackals; Their treasured possessions I plundered and in the midst of the Land of Assyria I counted as booty the gods in whom they trust; like sheep I led away their luxuriant people” (V 6–8) is probably based on kīma buqli aštaṭi pagar qurādīšun / ilānīšunu bušâšunu makkuršunu nišêšunu ašlula ana qereb māt Aššur, “Like malt I spread out the corpses of their heroes, their gods, their possessions, their belongings, their people, I plundered in the midst of the Land of Assyria;” (IV 70–72a), also from the description of the conquest of Bâzu. In other words, the poetic passage echoes much more of the AbdiMilkutti passage than Tadmor had detected; and recalls, as well the first and last passages in the historical survey. It can be characterized as a “Coda” in which themes explicated in the earlier parts of the work are recapitulated and, by being taken out of their original contexts, generalized.

VII. A Sequel to the historical survey (V 26–33a) The poetic Coda concluding the historical survey is followed by what looks like a sequel mentioning even more remote peoples. Tadmor suggests that this “epilogue” is meant to compensate for the king’s failure on his Egyptian venture, an event noted in the annals but not in the royal inscriptions.64 But how this is so, he does not explain. Be this as it may, this passage links to the all previous parts of the text. First of all it links to the Coda. Elamû Qutû malkī šepṣūti ša ana šarrāni abbēju etappalū zērāti . . ., “Elamites and Gutians, strong kings who answered my royal ancestors with hostility” (V 26–27) echoes ša ana šarrāni abbēja išūṭūma etappalū zērāti, “those who neglected (belittled?) my royal ancestors and answered with hostility” (V 3). Also danān Aššur bēlīja ša in kullat nākirī ētuppusu išmûma, “They heard the mighty acts of Aššur my lord which I did among all my enemies” (V 28) recalls ina emūq Aššur . . . akšud kullat nākirīja multarḫ i, “by the strength of Aššur . . . I captured all my vainglorious enemies” (IV 78–79). The concluding words of this sequel, mār-šiprētīšunu ša ṭūbi u sulummê 64 Eph‘al and Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions of Esarhaddon”, pp. 162–163.

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ana Ninua adi maḫ rīja išpurūnimma nīš ilāni rabûti izkurū, “their messengers of ‘good and peace’ (i.e. treaty) they sent before me to Nineveh and they swore the oath of the great gods” (V 31–33) reverts back to the conclusion of the apology. Having vanquished his rivals: nišê māt Aššur ša adê nīš ilāni rabûti ina muḫ ḫ īja izkurū adi maḫ rīja illikūnimma, “The people of the Land of Assyria who had sworn on my behalf the treaty oath of the great gods came before me” (II 80–81). This is followed shortly by the king’s entry into Nineveh (I 87–II 1; note the chiasm in the repeated elements). At the same time, it echoes the Nabû-zēr-kitti-līšir incident where the rebellious king is accused: rakbūšu adi maḫ rīja ul išpuram / šulmu šarrūtīja ul išʾal, “he did not send to me his riders, he did not ask about my royal well-being” (II 49–50). Yet another allusion to the Nabû-zēr-kitti-līšir event is the mention of the Elamites on the one hand, and Nineveh on the other at the very beginning of the historical survey and Esarhaddon’s reign (II 51, 64 [Ninuʾa], 55, 57, 58, 59 [māt Elamti]). This sequel, therefore brings the historical narrative full circle and extends the king’s power first demonstrated when he achieved kingship at home into the furthest reaches of his empire.

VIII. A Transitional Passage V 33b–39 which stands between the historical survey and the Baubericht appropriately mentions both military and building activities, summarizing the former (33b–34) and setting the stage for the later (36–39). In fact, it is enemies captured in the campaigns who enable the building projects, thereby introducing a cause and effect relationship into the textual juxtaposition of the subjects. But this short passage doesn’t mention the building project at hand, i.e. the ekal māšarti, but other projects and specifically the temples of the holy cities (ešrēt māḫ āzī) in Assyria (māt Aššur) and the south (māt Akkadî). It is within this context that Esarhaddon undertakes building the ekal māšarti, but piously attends to the gods before caring for his own needs. This passage connects, in fact with the divine assignment section, summarizing briefly one of the important assignments of the king. ešrēt māḫ āzī ša māt Aššur u māt Akkadî ušēpišma kaspu ḫ urāṣu uḫ ḫ izūma unammeru kīma ūmi, “The temples and holy cities of the Land of Assyria and the Land of Akkad I had them (the captives) build and they plated them (the temples) with silver and gold and

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 153 made them shine like the day (V 38–39) reiterates his title and commission: ša ana udduš ilāni rabûti u šuklul ešrēti ša kullat māḫ āzī ilāni rabûti iššû ana šarrūti; bānû bīt Aššur ēpiš Esaggil u Bābilī, “whom the great gods had called to kingship in order to renew the great gods and build to perfection to temples of all the holy cities; builder of the Temple of Aššur, makers of Esagil and Babylon” (II 19–22). As such, this transitional passage joins with the “divine assignments” to frame the historical survey and enhancing a chiastic structure to the entire inscription.

IX. The Baubericht, Schlußgebet and Blessings As is the custom of Assyrian royal inscriptions of the building inscription variety, this one too concludes with an account of construction or reconstruction of a specific edifice. This section is in fact the raison d’être of the inscription itself, for this project is the occasion for its composition and all else is essentially preamble or preparatory. Although this section is made of what look like three units of distinct literary genres, they all center round the edifice constructed, its building and its preservation. This particular building account tells of extensive restorations and additions to the ekal māšarti, or “review palace”.65 It has not been written ex nihilo, but is actually based on and incorporates passages from two inscriptions of Sennacherib which describe earlier restorations to the ekal māšarti.66 Not only this, but it contains several elements which link it literarily to the preceding, “historical” or “hymnic” sections of 65 The word “arsenal”, often used to designate this palace, implies a storehouse for military supplies, but the building so named had broader functions including mustering, examination, training and display of the army and ordinance. AHw, p. 624a translates ekal māšarti as “Zeughaus” A more precise etymological translation would be “inspection” palace. In this vein M. Luukko and G. Van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (SAA XVI; Helsinki, 2002), p. 19, no. 21: r. 15 render KUR-ma-šar-ti as “Review Palace”. The ekal māšarti of Nineveh has not been unearthed archaeologically so all that is known of its form and function is from the inscriptions of Sennacherib and Esarhaddon. For suggestions about the building’s architecture decorations, functions and the innovations and changes introduced by these two kings see Turner, “Ekal Māšarti”. Cf. also Porter, Images, Politics, Power, pp. 73–75. 66 The list of 22 kings of the west and the Cyprus (V 54–72) is not found in the Heidel Prism, it being an expansion of adkēma 22 šarrāni māt Ḫ atti ša aḫ i tāmtim u qabal tāmtim kalīšuna umaʾʾiršunūtima (Heidel V 54–55).

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the prism in which case it is either incorporating their language or, in the case of sections found in the Thompson Prism and not in the Heidel Prism their language is imitating it, in both cases forming links between the palace and the military/political activities. The Baubericht itself follows the narrative pattern typical of Mesopotamian building stories in general with several digressions.67 It starts with the adverbial formula ina ūmišuma, “At that time”, followed immediately by a statement of the reason to build or rebuild. In this case, the ekal māšarti in Nineveh is too small for all its intended functions (V 40–47a). Peculiarly, the king makes no mention of a specific decision to rebuild the inadequate building or of any divine approval or inspiration which he solicited for his plans.68 Instead, he immediately reports that he enlisted foreign captives to prepare bricks (V 47b–49a) and he tore down the previous structure (V 49b–50a). He also allots additional land for the new building (V 50b–52a) and lays the foundations and builds the foundation platform (V 52b–53). He next drafts a total of twenty-two kings of the western provinces of the Mediterranean coast and the islands of the sea to extract, prepare and transport to the building site all sorts of wooden beams and stone statues (V 54–VI 1).69 On a favorable month and day (ina arḫ i šemî ūmi mitgari; VI 2a)70 he starts building and sumptuously decorating several palaces which he describes in some detail, and surrounds them with an orchard and a courtyard and makes a canal for watering his horses (VI 2b–34). Apparently the entire complex is referred to as ekal māšarti or just ekallu šuʾātu, “that palace” (VI 35) and it consisted of

67 See V. A. Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTS Supplement Series 115 / JSOT/ASOR Monograph Series 5; Sheffield, 1992), pp. 78–79. 68 This motif is likewise missing in Sennacherib’s inscriptions concerning the ekal māšarte (see below). It’s absence becomes more peculiar in light of Esarhaddon’s inscription from Kalḫu about building an ekal māšarti there. In that text, dating from 672, he attributes his undertaking to wisdom granted by Niššiku/Ea and calls himself šinnat apkalli Adapa. See D. J. Wiseman, “An Esarhaddon Prism for Nimrud”, Iraq 14 (1952), p. 57, ll. 46–47. 69 See E. Lipiński, “The Cypriot Vassals of Esarhaddon” in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds.), Ah Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 58–64. This list is one of the expansions in the Thompson Prism not found in the Heidel Prism (see Eph‘al and Tadmor, “Observations”, p. 160). 70 A similar formula, ina arḫ i šalmi ūmi šemê is used in the apology for the day in which Esarhaddon enters the bīt ridûti (I 20), and here too the formula indicates a date confirmed by omens or reference to standard lists of propitious dates.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 155 several structures or of a single structure with several subdivisions, each one being an ekallu. The structures erected consist of a royal residence (bīt šarri; VI 5–6); a white limestone palace (ekāl pīli peṣî; VI 9); and six palaces of ivory and various types of wood (ekallāt šinni pîri etc.; VI 9b–12). We may surmise that the term mūšab šarrūtīja (VI 11) refers to the royal residence, while the palaces built ana multaʾʾûti bēlūtīja, “for my lordly pleasure”, applies to the other palaces. After completing all this work (ultu ekallu šuʾātu ultu uššīša adi gabdibêša arṣipma ušaklil; VI 35), he finishes everything with a happy and musical festival (VI 41–42a) and gives it a Sumerian ceremonial name, also translated into Akkadian (VI 35–43).71 On this occasion he also tells retrospectively and in parenthetical phrases of the sumptuous building materials (VI 37) and of the joy in which the workers worked all along (VI 38–40). He then goes on to describe in detail the inauguration festivities (VI 44–53). He invites the five main gods whom he has mentioned throughout the inscription (VI 44–45), offers them sacrifices (VI 46–47), receives their blessings (VI 47b–48), and lavishly fetes his nobles and people (49–53). The description concludes with a look to the future. First is a prayer to Aššur and the gods on behalf of the king and relating to the new palace (VI 54–64), and then is a call to future kings to restore the building when it gets old and replace his inscriptions. For this he asks that Aššur and Ištar forever hear his prayers (ana arkât ūmī; VI 65–74). This building is not a new edifice, having been built earlier and restored from time to time. It is not known when and by whom the building was originally constructed, but it predated Sennacherib who already writes that it was built by kings who preceded him. In fact, Sennacherib has left two inscriptions describing his work on the ekal māšarti: The Taylor Prism of the University of Chicago (Luckenbill, Sennacherib, 128–131 = Borger, BAL 86 = Frahm, Sanherib, T 16);72 and the Nebi-Yunis Inscription (Luckenbill, Sennacherib, 131–134 =

71 See A. R. George, House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia, (Mesopotamian Civilizations 5; Winona Lake, Indiana, 1993), p. 171. The use of Sumerian ceremonial names for temples or parts of temples is ubiquitous in Mesopotamia throughout history, but their application to royal palaces is a rare affectation of mostly late Assyrian kings. Of the ten such names listed by George, one is of Lipit-Ištar, one of Šulgi, one of Kurigalzu, two of Tiglath-pileser I, two of Tukultī-Ninurta I, and one each of Sargon, Sennacherib and Esarhaddon. 72 E. Frahm, Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO Beiheft 26; Horn, 1997), pp. 102–105, 128–129, 275.

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Frahm, Sanherib, T61). Note that the Taylor Prism refers to the building as ekal kutalli,73 (l. 39) while the Nebi-Yunis text uses that same term (l. 55) and then introduces ekal māšarti (l. 85). The Thompson Prism speaks only of the ekal māšarti. These two Bauberichte differ significantly from each other in length (Taylor 47 lines; Nebi-Yunis 35 lines) and content, and Esarhaddon borrows from both buildingaccounts in composing his own. I will examine here only a few of the borrowings from the earlier inscriptions by which we will see the author’s compositional technique as well as purpose. We will also note connections between the Baubericht and the earlier parts of the inscription. These connections help us understand the relation of the Baubericht to the earlier parts of the text and the position of the ekal māšarti in King Esarhaddon’s overall activities. 1. Nin A begins with an explanation for why the building project was undertaken (V 40–47): Ina ūmīšuma ekal māšarti ša Ninuʾa ša šarrāni ālik maḫ ri abbêja ušēpišu ana šūtešur karāši paqādi . . . . ašru šuʾātu imiṣannima At that time, the Inspection Palace of Nineveh which the kings who went before me, my fathers, had built, for mustering the camp and counting the . . . that site was too small.

This line is found at the beginning of Sennacherib’s Nebi Yunis cylinder with certain variants (55–58): inūšu ekal kutalli ša qereb Ninuʾa ša ana šūtešur karāši paqad sīsē u sanāqi mimma šumšu ušēpišu šarrāni ālikūt maḫ ri abbêja ša ekalli šâtu tamlûša ul ibšīma // ṣuḫ ḫ urat šubassa Ana šušmur sīsē ul šumdula babānû kisallu At that time, the side palace inside Nineveh Which the kings who had gone before me, my fathers, had built for the purpose of mustering the camp, counting the horses and inspecting all things, The foundation platform of that palace was no longer, its seat was small, For galloping of the horses the outer courtyard was not wide enough

73 This term is usually translated “rear palace”, designating the place where it was located. Frahm notes, however an alternative possibility “palace of (military) reserve (troops) on the basis of another meaning of kutallu as “substitute” (AHw, p. 518, s.v. kutallu 7).

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 157 Sennacherib’s Taylor Prism contains an expanded parenthetical statement referring to the royal palace which had been built previously (36–38). However, in the middle of the passage cited, and indicated here by ellipsis there is a long list of activities for which the palace was too small: Ana šūtešur karāši paqādi murnisqi parê narkabāti tilli unūt tāḫ āzi u šallat nākirī gimir mimma šumšu ša Aššur šar ilāni ana esqi šarrūtīja išruka ana šitmur sīsē šitamduḫ narkabāti For ordering the camp, counting the steeds, mules, chariots, weapons, and battle equipment And the booty of the enemies, all of everything that Aššur, king of the gods had given me as my royal portion, For the galloping of horses and rolling of chariots

This passage has no exact parallels at this point in either text of Sennacherib. However, the Taylor Prism’s description of what Sennacherib had built states (65b–71): Ana šūtešur ṣalmāt qaqqadi paqādi murnisqī parî agalī ibilī narkabāti attarāte ereqqi išpāte tilpanāte u uṣsị mimma šumšu unūt tāḫ āzi naṣmadī sīsē parî ša emūqi rabâti išû šuknēši ana nīri kisalla ša bābānû magal ušrabbi For ordering the black headed, counting the steeds, mules, donkeys, camels Substitute Chariots, wagons, quivers, spears and arrows And any type of battle equipment; (And) for breaking to the yoke pairs of horses and mules which had great strength I expanded very greatly the courtyard of the gate.

In the Nebi Yunis text we find as follows (66–68): aššu murnisqīja šuknēše ana nīri u paqādu šallat nākirī kabittu ša ušatlima Aššur kisalla ša bābānû magal ušrabbi In order to break my steeds to the yoke And count the heavy booty of the enemies which Aššur had given me I greatly expanded the courtyard of the gate

None of these three passages are identical, but they are similar enough in content and phraseology to highly suggest that Esarhaddon’s statement is based on the earlier ones combining terminology taken from each. Comparison of these three passages indicates that Esarhaddon is

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rebuilding the palace because it is no longer adequate for the function it served under Sennacherib. 2. Esarhaddon’s statement here seems to have influenced an earlier passage in the Thompson Prism so as to be now anticipated by it. In the apology we find (I 63–65) ištēn ūmi šina ūmī ul aqqi pān ummānīja ul adgul // arkâ ul āmur piqitti sīsē ṣimitti nīri u unūt tāḫ āzi ul āšur // ṣīdit girrīja ul ašpuk I didn’t hesitate even one or two days I didn’t look at the face of my troops nor did I see their behind I arranged a mustering of the horses yoked to yokes and battle equipment And didn’t pile up supplies for war.

This passage is a foreshadowing, the reverse of things to come when the ekal māšarti is built. Esarhaddon, when struggling with his brothers, had no ekal māšarti in which to muster his forces. The building of the ekal māšarti finally rectifies that intolerable situation. Since the Baubericht is obviously based on Sennacherib’s inscription, and occur in the Heidel prism as well these lines in the apology which was added later must be based on it, anticipating the future, rather than it on them. Other lines in the Baubericht also come to echo that same event. The Sumerian ceremonial name given the new building is EŠ.GAL. ŠID.DÙ.DÙ.A, translated ekāllu pāqidat kalāmu (VI 42), and mustering the troops is also recorded in the Schlußgebet in a passage to be examined below. 3. Apart from its military function as a place for mustering the forces, the palace is also to serve as a monument to the king’s mighty works and accomplishments. According to VI 28–29 the palace was a virtual portrait gallery of such events: danān Aššur bēlīja epšet ina mātāti nakrāti ēteppušu ina šipir urrakuti ēsiqa qerebša, “The mighty acts of Aššur my lord, the deeds that I/he did in the lands of the enemies, I incised inside it in work of the sculptor”. The reference to the Magnalia Aššur reminds the viewer of hanging the heads of AbdiMilkutti and Sandaurri on the necks of their magnates and parading them through the streets of Nineveh accompanied by singers and harps in order to: aššu danān Aššur bēlīja nišē kullumi, “to reveal to the populace the mighty acts of Aššur my lord” (III 36). To advertise Aššur’s greatness among the Arabs Esarhaddon refurbished their gods’ statues and: danān Aššur bēlīja šiṭir šumīja elīšunu ašṭurma, “I wrote upon them my inscription with the mighty acts of Aššur my

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 159 lord” (IV 13–14). The Elamites and Gutians also heard Aššur’s mighty acts: danān Aššur bēlīja ša ina kullat nākirī ētuppušu išmûma (V 28).74 The ekal māšarti serves, therefore as a culmination and permanent, centrally located monument to all the king’s ventures in the name of Aššur. Acts which were otherwise publicized locally or temporarily received permanent memorializing in this palace.75 4. Another two passages in the Thompson Prism which are dependent on Sennacherib’s texts are the Schlußgebet (VI 54–64) and the blessing for a future king who will restore the building when it becomes dilapidated (VI 65–74). The prayer, on the one hand, may be divided into three parts. The first part is ll. 54–57 (common language with Sennacherib underlined): Ina qibīt Aššur šar ilāni u ilāni māt Aššur kalīšunu ina ṭūb šēri ḫ ūd libbi nummur kabatti šebê litūti qerebša dāriš lurmīma lušbâ lalâša . . . At the command of Aššur, king of the gods and all the gods of the land of Assyria In sound flesh, happy heart, exultant mind and ripe old age May I dwell eternally in its midst and may I satisfy myself with its opulence

The third part of the prayer is ll. 62–64: Qereb ekalli šâtu šēd dumqi lamassi dumqi nāṣir kibsi šarrūtīja muḫ addû kabattīja dāriš lištabrû aj ipparkû idāša Within that palace, May a good genie and a good protective deity Which guards my royal footstep and makes my innards rejoice Eternally endure and not leave its side.

74

This passage is not in the Heidel cylinder. Apart from the visual displays mentioned above we find other visual displays of victory or dominion which by their nature are not permanent. Arzâ and his queen Asuḫili are seated, tied up with a bear, a dog and a pig in the gate of Nineveh (III 41–42); Uʾaba and his warriors are put in shackles and tied to the city gate (IV 29–30); Nāʾid-Marduk the Elamite, Bēl-iqīša of Gambula, Ḫ azaʾilu king of the Arabs, Uppis of Partakka, and Lajale King of Iadi come to Nineveh bearing tribute and kiss the king’s feet (II 63–64; III 77–78; IV 6–8; IV 38–39; IV 72b–75); the Elamites and Gutians send messengers to Nineveh to take oaths of fealty (V 31–33). 75

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Now this prayer of Esarhaddon is highly similar to the Schlußgebet concluding Sennacherib’s Nebi-Yunis inscription (ll. 91–94), there being nothing like it in the Taylor Prism. We read: Ina qibīt Aššur abi ilāni u Mulissu šarrati Qereb ekalli [šuʾāti] ina ṭūb šēri ḫ ūd libbi u numur pāni [ūmī lušārika lušbâ]litūtu lipūʾa dūri dāri ana ūmī rūqūti likūnu Qerebša šēdu nāṣir napšāti ilu mušallimu Urru u mūšu aj ipparkû idāšu By command of Aššur, father of the gods and Queen Mulissu Within [that] palace In sound flesh, happy heart, and radiant countenance [may I spend long days and be sated with] longevity. May my progeny for generations to distant days be established. Inside it may a protective genie which guards my life, and a god which provides well being, By day and night not leave its side

On the other hand, the Taylor Prism ends with blessings and curses respectively for the future king who will either restore or not restore the building (73b–83). The blessing is identical to that ending the Thompson Cylinder. So it seems that Thompson Cylinder has borrowed the concluding sections of both its predecessors. 5. This brings us to another important feature. The Schlußgebet contains an additional passage situated between the two segments cited above. In ll. VI 58 61 there is a passage unlike any other Schlußgebet in the Mesopotamian royal inscriptions: Ina zagmukki arḫ i rēštī kullat murnisqi parê gammalē tilli unūt tāḫ āzi gimir ummāni šallat nākirī šattišam la naparkâ lupqida qerebša At the New Year, the first month All steeds, mules, camels, weaponry, implements of battle, All my troops and booty of the enemies Annually, without cease, may I count in its midst.

This request reflects, on the one hand, the passage discussed above describing the purpose of the ekal māšarti and actually serves as a literary inclusio bracketing the Baubericht. On the other hand, mention of the New Year Festival as the occasion for the annual muster of troops and display of booty including captured enemy troops, recalls the Abi-Malkutti and Sandaʾurri incident at the beginning of the his-

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 161 torical survey in which the heads of these two kings were displayed on or near the New Year Festivals. The expression šattišam la naparkâ can also echo the end of the Nabû-zēr-kitti-līšir incident reporting that annually, without stop his successor Nāʾid-Marduk brought tribute to Nineveh (II 63). 6. One final feature of the Baubericht to be noted is the description of bringing the wood for the new building. In the Nebi-Yunis inscription we read (68–70): Ina emūqi ṣīrāti ša ilāni bēlīja šarrāni Amurri kālīšun ša ana šēpīja ušaknišu umaʾʾiršunūti urtu gušūrē erēni rabûti qereb Ḫ amānim ikšiṭū ana Ninuʾa išūṭūnimma With the exalted might of the gods, my lords, To all the kings of Amurru whom they had submitted to my feet I sent an order, They cut down great cedar beams in the Amanus And dragged them to me to Nineveh.

This passage is echoed in the Heidel Prism with appropriate changes in names of the geographical locations (Heidel V 54–V 12): Adkēma 22 šarrāni māt Ḫ atti ša aḫ i tâmtim u qabal tâmtim kālīšunu umaʾʾiršunūtima gušurē rabûti . . . ultu qereb māt Sirara māt Labnana . . . ultu qereb ḫ uršāni ašar nabnītīšunu ana ḫ ešeḫ ti ekallīja marṣiš pašqiš ana Ninuʾa ušaldidūni I called up 22 kings of the land of Hatti, of the coast and the midst of the sea, I gave all of them orders, Great beams . . . from the midst of Mount Sirara and Lebanon . . . From inside the forrest where they are formed, for the needs of my palace With great difficulty they dragged to me to Nineveh.

The Thompson Prism has the same text although it adds a list naming and locating geographically the twenty two kings, twelve of the seacoast and ten of Cyprus (V 54–VI 3). This passage connects with the AbdiMilkutti incident in the historical survey with its references to sixteen cities surrounding Sidon (III 1–8) and the regions qereb tâmtim (II 68, 70, 73), qabal tâmtim ( II 72) and most specifically upaḫ ḫ irma šarrāni māt Ḫ atti u aḫ i tâmtim kālīšunu . . . (II 80–81). It turns out, then that building the palace is intimately linked to Esarhaddon’s first foreign adventure which supplied the royal labor force.

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The ekal māšarti, whose construction occasioned the composition of Esarhaddon’s historical account, first in the Heidel Prism and shortly thereafter and in fuller form in the Thompson Prism, served three purposes, one practical and two symbolic. Practically it served its primary military purpose as a venue for inspecting, training and displaying the army. Symbolically it signaled the end of Esarhaddon’s struggle for ascendancy over his brothers which started in the internecine conflict recorded in the Apology. In addition, it served as a permanent reminder of the king’s and Aššur’s rule of the world. It was built by captives from one of his most prominent rivals, it housed visual representations of his other deeds, and served as a stage for annual demonstrations of imperial might. In every case the Baubericht portrays the building described as a physical witness to the events described in words in the rest of the inscription.

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 163 Bibliography Z. Ben-Barak, “The Coronation Ceremony in Ancient Mesopotamia”, Orientalia Louvanensia Periodica 11 (1980), pp. 55–67. R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (AfO Beiheft 9; Osanbrück, 1967; reprint of 1956 edition). J. A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire – Babylonian Society and Politics, 747–626 B.C. (Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund, 7; Philadelphia, 1984). M. C. Casaburi, Ūmē Ṭ ābūti – “I Giorni Favorevoli”, (History of the Ancient Near East/Studies 8; Padova, 2003). M. Cogan, The Raging Torrent – Historical Inscriptions from Assyria and Babylonia Relating to Ancient Israel (Jerusalem, 2008). M. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, 1993). I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent 9th–5th Centuries B.C. (Jerusalem, 1982). ——, “Esarhaddon, Egypt, and Shubria: Politics and Propaganda”, JCS 57 (2005), pp. 99–111. I. Eph‘al and H. Tadmor, “Observations on Two Inscriptions of Esarhaddon: Prism Nineveh A and the Letter to the God”, in Y. Amit, E. Ben Zvi, I. Finkelstein and O. Lipschits (eds.), Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman (Winona Lake, Indiana, 2006), pp. 155–170. B. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (3rd ed.; Bethesda, MD, 2005). E. Frahm, Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO Beiheft 26; Horn, 1997). G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C. – A Political History (Uitgaven van het Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul 69; Leiden, 1992). H. Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods: A study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature (Chicago, 1948). A. R. George, House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia, (Mesopotamian Civilizations 5; Winona Lake, Indiana, 1993). P. Gerardi, “Thus He Spoke: Direct Speech in Esarhaddon’s Royal Inscriptions”, ZA 79 (1989), pp. 245–260. J. J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Writings from the Ancient World 19; Atlanta, 2004). A. K. Grayson, Babylonian Historical Literary Texts (Toronto, 1975). ——, “Assyria: Sennacherib and Esarhaddon (704–669 B.C.)”, in The Assyrian and Babylonian Empires and other States of the Near East, from the Eighth to the Sixth Centuries B.C., CAH III/2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991), pp. 103–141. A. R. W. Green, “Esarhaddon, Sandaurri, and the Adon Papyrus”, in J. Kaltner and L. Stulman (ed.), Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon (JSOTS 378; London – New York, 2004), pp. 88–97. E. L. Greenstein, “Reanalysis in Biblical and Babylonian Poetry”, in C. Cohen et al. (eds.), Birkat Shalom – Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature and Post-biblical Judaism presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, I (Winona Lake, ID, 2008), pp. 499–510. M. Gruber, Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East, I–II (Studia Pohl 12/II; Rome, 1980). J. D. Hawkins, “Some Historical Problems of the Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions”, Anatolian Studies 29 (1979), pp. 153–167. A. Heidel, “A New Hexagonal Prism of Esarhaddon”, Sumer 12 (1956), pp. 9–38. V. A. Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTS Supplement Series 115 / JSOT/ASOR Monograph Series 5; Sheffield, 1992).

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——, “Temporary Temples”, in A. F. Rainey (ed.), kinattūtu ša dāraâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv, 1993), pp. 37–50. ——, “The Sun-Disk Tablet of Nebobaladan, King of Babylonia (BBSt 36)”, Eretz-Israel 27 (2003), pp. 91–109 (Hebrew). ——, “‘Shutting Up the Enemy’ – Literary Gleanings from Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camel’s Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Eph‘al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 104–120. T. Ishida, “The Succession Narrative and Esarhaddon’s Apology: A Comparison”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds), Ah Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 166–173. W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Mesopotamian Civilizations 13; Winona Lake, 2007). E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon, King of Assyria”, in J. M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the ancient Near East (New York, 1995), pp. 949–958. ——, “Esarhaddon’s Exile: Some Speculative History”, in M. T. Roth, W. Farber, M. W. Stolper and P. von Bechtolsheim (eds.), Studies Presented to Robert D. Biggs, June 4, 2004 (Assyriological Studies 27; Chicago, 2007), pp. 189–191. ——, “Esarhaddon’s Eastern Campaign”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camel’s Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Eph‘al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 183–187. L. Levine, “Observations of ‘Sargon’s Letter to the Gods’”, Eretz Israel 27 (2003), pp. 111*–119*. E. Lipiński, “The Cypriot Vassals of Esarhaddon”, in M Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds), Ah Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 58–64. A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (SAA III; Helsinki, 1989). ——, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (Oxford, 1986; reprinted Winona Lake, ID, 2007). M. Luukko and G. Van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (SAA XVI; Helsinki, 2002). P. Machinist, “Kingship and Divinity in Imperial Assyria”, in G. Beckman and T. J. Lewis (eds.), Text, Artifact and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion (Brown Judaic Studies 346; Providence, Rhode Island, 2006), pp. 152–188. D. Marcus, “Animal Imagery in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, Orientalia 46 (1977), pp. 86–106. J. Marzahn, “Eight-sided prism with foundation inscription of Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 B.C.)”, in P. O. Harper, E. Klengel-Brant, J. Aruz and K. Benzel (eds.), Discoveries at Ashur on the Tigris – Assyrian Origins, Antiquities in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin (New York, 1995), pp. 122–124. W. R. Mayer, “Ein Mythos von der Erschaffung des Menschen und des Königs”, Orientalia 56 (1987), pp. 55–68. I. Medvedskaya, “The Localization of Ḫ ubuškia”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), pp. 197–206. S. C. Mellville, “Esarhaddon”, in M. W. Chavalas (ed.) The Ancient Near East – Historical Sources in Translation (Oxford, 2006), pp. 350–354. K. F. Müller, Das assyrische Ritual (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Ägyptischen Gesellschaft, 41/3; Leipzig, 1937). M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS VII; Helsinki, 1998).

observations on the thompson prism of esarhaddon 165 ——, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (Writings from the Ancient World 12; Atlanta, 2003). S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA IX; Helsinki, 1997). ——, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (Winona Lake, 2007). S. Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part II”, SAAB 15 (2006), pp. 193–271. B. Pongratz-Leisten, “ ‘Lying King’ and ‘False Prophet’. The Intercultural Transfer of a Rhetorical Device within Ancient Near Eastern Idologies”, in A. Panaino and G. Pettinato (eds.), 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 (Melammu Symposia 3; Milan, 2002), pp. 215–243. B. N. Porter, Images, Power, and Politics – Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society Held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge, 208; Philadelphia, 1993). K. Radner, “Esarhaddon, king of Assyria (681–669)”, Knowledge and Power, Higher Education Academy Subject Centre for Philosophical and Religious Studies, (2007) knp.prs.heacademy.ac.uk/essentials/esarhaddon. ——, “The Trials of Esarhaddon: The Conspiracy of 670 B.C.”, in P. A. Miglus and J. M. Córdoba (eds.), Assur und sein Umland: Im Andenken an die ersten Ausgräber von Assur (Madrid, 2007), pp. 165–184. A. F. Rainey, “Menasseh, King of Judah, in the Whirlpool of the Seventh Century B.C.E.”, in A. F. Rainey (ed.), kinattūtu ša dārâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv, 1993), pp. 147–164. M. L. Scott and J. MacGinnis, “Notes on Nineveh”, Iraq 52 (1990), pp. 63–73. H. Tadmor, “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (eds.), History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures (Jerusalem, 1983). ——, “World Dominion: The Expanding Horizon of the Assyrian Empire”, in L. Milano, S. de Martino, F. M. Fales and G. B. Lanfranchi (eds.), Landscapes – Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriolgique Internationale, Venezia 7–11 July 1997, History of the Ancient Near East/ Monographs – III/1 (Padova, 1999), pp. 55–62. ——, “An Assyrian Victory Chant and Related Matters”, in G. Frame and L. Wilding (eds.), From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson (Leiden, 2004), pp. 269–276. ——, Assyria, Babylonia and Judah: Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East (ed. by M. Cogan; Jerusalem, 2006). Ph. Talon, “De mes frères aînés, j’étais le cadet . . .: Une réinterpretation de l’apologie d’Assarhaddon” in Cinqante-deux reflexions sur le Proche-Orient ancient offertes en hommage a Leon De Meyer (Mesopotamian History and Environment, Occasional Publications, 2; Leuven, 1994), pp. 339–353. R. Thompson, The Prisms of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal found at Nineveh 1927–8 (London, 1931). G. Turner, “Tell Nebi Yūnus: The Ekal Māšarti of Nineveh”, Iraq 32 (1970), pp. 68–85. E. Weissert, “Creating a Political Climate: Literary Allusions to Enūma Eliš in Sennacherib’s Account of the Battle of Halule”, in H. Waetzold and H. Hauptmann (eds.), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten, XXXIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992 (Heidelberg, 1997), pp. 191–202. D. J. Wiseman, “An Esarhaddon Prism for Nimrud”, Iraq 14 (1952), pp. 54–60. M. Zeidel, Hiqrey Miqra (Jerusalem, 1978, Hebrew).

TRIBUTE OR LOOTING IN SAMARIA AND JERUSALEM: SHOSHENQ IN JERUSALEM?

André Lemaire E.P.H.E., Paris

According to the tradition of the Ancient Near East, the capitals of the ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah, Samaria and Jerusalem, were fortified cities, in principle able to resist a siege and used as a refuge by the people around in time of war. However this resistance was not always successful, especially facing an enemy with a well organized army, and there was great danger for the population that the enemy might finally succeed in entering and plundering the city, and then slaughter its inhabitants. It might have been wiser to surrender just before the siege, agreeing voluntarily to pay tribute. It was the king’s weighty responsibility to choose between these two strategies. The historiography of the books of Kings mentions several times this problem, which so influenced the history of both kingdoms. An analysis of these texts from this viewpoint may help better to understand the historical importance of several military campaigns, especially the expedition of Shoshenq I. The “tribute or looting” alternative seems very clear in 1 Kgs 20:1–9.1 According to this Biblical story, “Ben-Hadad king of Aram . . . put Samaria under siege and fought against it. He sent envoys into the city to Ahab king of Israel saying: ‘. . . Your silver and gold are mine, your best wives and sons are mine’. The king of Israel answered: ‘As you say, my lord king, I am yours and all that I have’”. However a second embassy2 demanded still more: “. . . I will send my servants to search

1 See E. Noort, “Das Kapitulationsangebot im Kriegsgesetz Dtn 20:10ff und in den Kriegserzählungen”, in F. Garcia Martinez (ed.), Studies in Deuteronomy in Honour of C. J. Labuschagne (VTSup 53; Leiden, 1994), p. 206. 2 About different types of embassy, see A. Lemaire, “Ambassades, traités, hégémonies au Levant (Xe–VIIIe siècles avant notre ère)”, in E. Frézouls and A. Jacquemin (eds.), Les relations internationales. Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 15–17 juin 1993

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your palace and your subjects’ houses and they will take possession of everything you prize, and remove it (wĕlāqāḥ ū)”. This time, the king of Israel refused, with the elders’ concurrence: “Do not listen to him; you must not consent”. He replied to Ben-Hadad’s envoys: “I am ready to satisfy your first demand; but what you now ask I cannot do”. Setting aside here the historical problem of showing that the king of Aram is probably “Bar-Hadad son of Hazael”, and the king of Israel is probably originally Jehoash son of Jehoahaz son of Jehu,3 the difference between the two messages in content can be highlighted. In the first message the king of Israel must surrender and give his most precious things (silver and gold) and persons (wives and sons, probably as hostages) as a kind of exceptional tribute. In the second message, the king of Israel must surrender unconditionally and the servants of the king of Aram will plunder the palace and the city,4 taking anything they want. It is clear that, in the second case the king of Israel is totally passive: the servants of Bar-Hadad take (verb lāqaḥ 1 Kgs 20:6b) for themselves what they want. Actually they will plunder the city as if they had entered by force. Under these conditions the king of Israel and his counsellors think it better to resist, leaving them some chance to escape total plunder. The story has apparently a happy ending with the defeat of the Aramaeans: the enemy did not enter the city and Samaria was not looted. Actually Samaria seems never to have been looted before being taken by Sargon II (ca. 722 B.C.E.). However, probably ca. 740 B.C.E., “Pul king of Assyria invaded the country, and Menahem gave him a thousand talents of silver to obtain his help in strengthening his hold on the kingdom” (2 Kgs 15:19). The use of the verb nātan, “to give”, is characteristic, as is the explanation: it is a kind of exceptional tribute so that Tiglath-pileser III may recognize Menahem as a kind of vassal king. Thereafter Israel is the vassal of Assyria.5 The price is exorbitant: (Travaux du Centre de Recherche sur le Proche-Orient et la Grèce Antiques 13; Paris, 1995), pp. 119–142. 3 See, for instance, J. Fichtner, Das erste Buch von Königen (Die Botschaft des Alten Testaments 12,1; Stuttgart, 1964), pp. 293–297, and the bibliography cited in A. Lemaire, “Joas de Samarie, Barhadad de Damas, Zakkur de Hamat. La SyriePalestine vers 800 av. J.-C.”, in S. Ahituv and B. A. Levine (eds.), Eretz-Israel 24: The Avraham Malamat Volume (Jerusalem, 1993), p. 154*, note 4. 4 See D. Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, I (OBO 50/1; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1982), p. 373. 5 Menahem is mentioned among the kings giving tribute on a Neo-Assyrian stele. See H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem 1994),

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about 34.2 tons of silver; moreover, since the royal treasury was probably empty after two previous coups d’état, this sum could only be got by means of levying a new capital tax of “fifty silver shekels” on “all the men of wealth (gibbôrēy haḥ ayil)”, that is, about 60,000 men. This exceptional tribute was successful: Tiglath-pileser III went back to Assur “without staying in the country” (2 Kgs 15:20), meaning without transforming it into an Assyrian province. Later on, probably ca. 732/1 B.C.E., Hosea became king, apparently with the help of Tiglath-pileser III6 whose army was in the Southern Levant, more precisely in Damascus. Hosea paid tribute to him, as well as to his successor Shalmaneser V (2 Kgs 17:3). However, when he withheld this tribute (2 Kgs 17:4) he was arrested, and Samaria was captured after a long siege (2 Kgs 17:6). Although plundering is not explicitly mentioned, because the historiography emphasizes the deportation of the people, it is implicit. Tribute or looting? King Hoshea made the wrong choice, and in the end Samaria became an Assyrian province. The history of Jerusalem as capital of Judah seems to have been still more dramatic even though it lasts for a longer period. After the expedition of Shoshenq I, which we shall study at the end of this paper, about 900 B.C.E., “Baasha king of Israel attacked Judah” (1 Kgs 15:17) and threatened Jerusalem; Asa king of Judah “took (wayyiqqaḥ ) all the silver and gold that remained in the treasuries of the house of Yhwh and of the royal palace, and he gave them through his servants, and he sent them to Ben-Hadad son of Tabrimmon, son of Hezion, king of Aram, residing in Damascus” (1 Kgs 15:18). This sending of a “gift” (v. 19: šoḥ ad)7 was tied to a vassal/alliance treaty (bĕrît).8 The intervention pp. 68–69, 89, 106–107, 276; K. L. Younger Jr., “The Calah Annals” and “The Iran Stela”, in W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture (CS) II. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden, 2003), pp. 285 and 287. 6 See Younger, ibid., pp. 288, 291; cf. also H. Tadmor, ibid., pp. 140–141, 188– 189. 7 This word has probably no negative connotation in this context. See N. Na’aman, “The Deuteronomist and Voluntary Servitude to Foreign Powers”, JSOT 65 (1995), p. 37 (= Ancient Israel’s History and Historiography. 3. The First Temple Period, Winona Lake, 2006, p. 259); S. B. Parker, “Appeals for Military Intervention: Stories from Zinjirli and the Bible”, Biblical Archaeologist 59 (1996), p. 219; pace M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB; Doubleday, 1988), p. 188. 8 On this formula of alliance, see A. Lemaire, “ ’B, ‘père’ ou ‘maison paternelle’ en 1 Rois 15,19a?”, in A. Maman, S. E. Fassberg and Y. Breuer (eds.), Sha‘arei Lashon, Studies in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Jewish Languages Presented to Moshe Bar-Asher, I, Biblical Hebrew, Masorah, and Medieval Hebrew (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 46–51.

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of the Aramaean army in the North forced Baasha to withdraw, and Jerusalem did not have to suffer looting. In the last quarter of the 9th century B.C.E.,9 after taking the Philistine city of Gath, Hazael king of Aram “started to go up against Jerusalem. And Joash, king of Judah took (all the holy-gifts that Jehoshaphat, Joram, and Ahaziah his forefathers, kings of Judah, had dedicated, and his own holy-gifts, and)10 all the gold that was found in the treasuries of the house of Yhwh and in the royal palace, and sent them to Hazael King of Aram; and he withdrew from Jerusalem” (2 Kgs 12:18b–19). Joash of Judah did not want to suffer the same fate as the king of Gath (2 Kgs 12:18a) and preferred to pay a heavy tribute so that Jerusalem would not be looted. His initiative is emphasized: it is he who takes (lāqaḥ ) the holy-gifts and all the gold, and sends them to Hazael. Around 800 B.C.E., Amaziah king of Judah provoked Jehoash king of Israel (2 Kgs 14:8): the Judean army was defeated at Beth-Shemesh and Amaziah was taken prisoner. Jehoash entered Jerusalem (2 Kgs 14:13) and “took (lāqaḥ ) all the gold11 and silver and all the vessels found in the house of Yhwh and in the treasuries of the royal palace, as well as hostages, and returned to Samaria” (2 Kgs 14:14). Here it is clear that Jerusalem was looted12 by the king of Israel, without any agreement on the part of the king of Judah! About 734 B.C.E.13 Jerusalem is again threatened and besieged by an Aramaean army, that of Rezin, king of Aram, together with that of Pekah son of Remaliah king of Israel (2 Kgs 16:5) to force Jerusalem into an alliance against Assyria.14 Instead of consenting or letting Jerusalem be looted, Ahaz chose to send a gift to another, more power-

9 See A. Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram”, in D. Charpin and J. Joannès (eds.), Marchands, diplomates et empereurs. Études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris, 1991), p. 103. 10 The words in parentheses might be those of the historiographer, i.e., secondary (see E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige. 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25 [ATD; Göttingen, 1984], p. 358). 11 The mention of “gold” is textually somewhat uncertain. 12 Pace Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige, p. 372. There is no reason to doubt the historicity of this plundering and accept hostage-taking alone. 13 See P. Dubovský, “Tiglath-pileser III’s Campaigns in 734–732 B.C.: Historical Background of Isa 7; 2 Kgs 15–16 and 2 Chr 27–28’”, Biblica 87 (2006), pp. 153–170. 14 See H. Tadmor and M. Cogan, “Ahaz and Tiglath-Pileser in the Book of Kings. Historiographic Considerations”, Biblica 60 (1983), pp. 491–508; N. Na’aman, “Forced Participation in Alliances in the Course of the Assyrian Campaigns to the West”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds.), Ah, Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient

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ful king: “Tiglath-pileser king of Assyria”. Declaring himself his vassal (“I am your servant and your son”), “Ahaz took the silver and gold found in the house of Yhwh and in the treasuries of the royal palace and sent them to the king of Assyria as a bribe (šoḥ ad)”, (2 Kgs 16:8). Again, his initiative is clearly indicated: it is Ahaz who took and sent (wayyiqqaḥ . . . wayyišlaḥ ) the silver and gold. In 701 B.C.E. Sennacherib king of Assyria invaded the territory of Judah and threatened Jerusalem. As is well expressed in the speech of the Rabshaqeh, King Hezekiah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem were confronted with a grave choice; resistance or submission.15 After some resistance “Hezekiah king of Judah sent a message to the king of Assyria at Lachish” and paid him a heavy penalty of “three hundred talents of silver and thirty talents of gold; and Hezekiah gave him all the silver found in the house of Yhwh and in the treasuries of the royal palace . . .” (2 Kgs 18:14–15). This heavy tribute, which is confirmed with some variations (800 talents of silver instead of 300) by the Assyrian annals,16 explained why Jerusalem was not taken and Sennacherib did not enter Jerusalem (compare 2 Kgs 19:32). After some hesitation Hezekiah made the right choice: (heavy!) tribute rather than being looted. In 597 B.C.E. “the servants of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon went up against Jerusalem and the city was besieged. Nebuchadnezzar arrived while his troops were besieging it, and Jehoiachin king of Judah, his mother, his courtiers, his officers and his eunuchs, went out (/surrendered) to the king of Babylon . . . and the king of Babylon carried off all the treasures of the house of Yhwh and the treasures of the royal palace17 . . . as Yhwh had said” (2 Kgs 24:10–13; see 20:17; 21:14). Apparently here, because the king surrendered at the last moment, the city had to suffer looting, and the king and his court were made prisoners but were safe. The king made the right choice, albeit almost too late.

Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 80–98; idem, “The Deuteronomist”, pp. 262–265. 15 See recently P. Höffken, “Die Rede des Rabsake vor Jerusalem (2 Kön. xviii / Jes. xxxvi) im Kontext anderer Kapitulationssforderungen”, VT 58 (2008), pp. 44–55. 16 See CS II, p. 303. 17 Würthwein (Die Bücher der Könige, p. 470) considers this sentence “jüngere Nachträge” but is it likely, especially after a siege, that the Chaldaean army entered the city without plundering its treasures?

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This fearful experience was useless for Zedekiah, the last king of Judah. “Nabuchadnezzar king of Babylon advanced with all his army against Jerusalem, invested it and erected watch-towers against it on every side . . . In the fourth month . . ., on the ninth day of the month . . . the city was thrown open” (2 Kgs 25:1–4). The city was plundered, especially the bronze objects from the Temple (2 Kgs 25:13–17), and later burnt down (2 Kgs 25:8–9). This was because Zedekiah refused to surrender till the last moment, resisting the counsels of Jeremiah: “If you go out and surrender to the officers of the king of Babylon, you shall live and this city shall not be burnt down . . .” (Jer 38:17). The looting of the city is emphasized by the use of the verb lāqaḥ , with the Chaldaeans and the rab-ṭabbāḥ îm as its subject in 2 Kgs 25:14–15. Now with all these parallels in mind, let us go back to the first example: the campaign of Shoshenq I against Jerusalem (1 Kgs 14:25–26).18 For most commentators, here we clearly have the use of some annalistic or archival source, and the indication of a precise date attests to that kind of source.19 Moreover this mention and date can be compared to the list of cities submitted to Shoshenq I on the southern outer wall of the Karnak temple. Unfortunately this list of city-names is fragmentary and difficult to interpret; nor does Jerusalem appear on it. So we are left only with the statement of 1 Kgs 14:25–26: “In the fifth year of king Rehoboam, Shishak king of Egypt went up against Jerusalem. And he took (wayyiqqaḥ ) the treasures of the temple of Yhwh and the treasures of the royal palace and he took (lāqaḥ ) everything”.

18 See recently K. A. Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I into Palestine (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe 9; Tübingen, 2005); G. Moers, “7. Der Palästinafeldzug Scheschonqs I”, in B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testament N.F. 2. Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte (Gütersloh, 2005), pp. 246–271; E. Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age. Historical and Topographical Research (OLA 153; Leuven, 2006), pp. 102–130. 19 See, for instance, R. Kittel, Die Bücher der Könige (Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; Göttingen, 1900), p. 122; J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, The Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh, 1951), p. 268; Gray, I and II Kings, pp. 343–344; B. Mazar, The Early Biblical Period. Historical Studies (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 141; N. Na’aman, “Israel, Edom and Egypt in the 10th Century B.C.E.”, Tel Aviv 19 (1992), p. 85; D. B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times (Princeton, 1992), p. 326; N. Na’aman, “Sources and Composition in the History of Solomon”, in L. K. Handy (ed.), The Age of Solomon, Scholarship at the Turn of the Millennium (SHCANE 11; Leiden, 1997), p. 59, note 5; pace I. Finkelstein, “The Campaign of Shoshenq I to Palestine. A Guide to the 10th Century B.C.E. Policy”, ZDPV 118 (2002), p. 112 : “a theological construct”.

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Leaving aside developments regarding the golden shields (vv. 27–28), this comment is terse and does not detail precisely the events connected with this expedition against Jerusalem. For instance, the text does not mention whether Shoshenq took Jerusalem and entered the city. Most commentators actually interpret this very short statement as indicating that Shoshenq went up toward Jerusalem, but because Rehoboam paid him a heavy tribute20 taken from the treasures of the Temple and of the royal palace he did not enter the city.21 Moreover, some commentators maintain that this explains why Jerusalem is not mentioned in the list on the Karnak wall. Several objections to such an interpretation can be raised. 1) Though it is very often interpreted as a list of conquered and destroyed cities,22 with the destruction eventually discoverable in archaeological excavations,23 this interpretation of the list on the Karnak wall is not necessarily correct and seems hardly likely.24 For instance, as emphasized by D. Ussishkin,25 it is unlikely that Megiddo, mentioned in this list, was destroyed by Shoshenq since he erected there a stele, part of which was found during the excavations; Pharaoh would probably not erect a stele in a destroyed city. In fact, as indicated by the iconography of the Karnak wall these cities were very probably subdued cities but not destroyed cities.26 Furthermore, since Jeroboam had been a protégé of Pharaoh Shoshenq in Egypt (1 Kgs 11:40), he would presumably welcome this Pharaoh when he visited his country. In this context, even if Shoshenq had not entered nor destroyed 20 See, for instance, Montgomery and Gehman, ibid., p. 270; P. Buis, Le livre des Rois (Sources bibliques; Paris, 1997), p. 129. 21 See, for instance, V. Fritz, Das erste Buch der Könige (Zürcher Bibelkommentar AT 10.1; Zürich, 1996), p. 150. 22 See, for instance, Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel, p. 313. 23 See, for instance, Mazar, The Early Biblical Period, pp. 141, 147–148. 24 See already G. W. Ahlström, “Pharaoh and the Shoshenq I Campaign”, in A. Lemaire and B. Otzen (eds.), History and Traditions of Early Israel. Studies Presented to Eduard Nielsen (VTSup 50; Leiden, 1993), p. 7; I. Finkelstein and E. Piasetzky, “The Iron I–IIA in the Highlands and Beyond: 14C Anchors, Pottery Phases and the Shoshenq I Campaign”, Levant 38 (2006), pp. 57–58. 25 See D. Ussishkin, “Notes on Megiddo, Gezer, Ashdod, and Tel Batash in Tenth to Ninth Centuries B.C.”, BASOR 277/278 (1990), pp. 71–74; idem, “Jezreel, Samaria and Megiddo: Royal Centres of Omri and Ahab”, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume, Cambridge 1995 (VTSup 66; Leiden, 1997), pp. 359–360; see also Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I, pp. 47, 70–74, 97. 26 See A. Lemaire, “La datation des rois de Byblos Abibaal et Élibaal et les relations entre l’Égypte et le Levant au Xe s. av. n. è.”, Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (CRAI) 2006 [2009], pp. 1697–1716.

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Jerusalem, this city’s name should nevertheless have appeared in this list of subdued cities;27 the absence of this city from the list is more probably the consequence of its fragmentary character. In any event, the problem of the absence of Jerusalem from this list remains the same whether or not Rehoboam paid tribute to the Pharaoh, and whether or not Shoshenq entered and looted the city.28 2) The generally proposed interpretation of a heavy tribute given or sent by Rehoboam to the Pharaoh29 – eventually at Gibeon30 – is pure conjecture: it is nowhere mentioned, not in 1 Kgs 14:25–26 nor in any Egyptian text. In fact, in 1 Kgs 14:25–26 Rehoboam is only mentioned in the date formula. In these two verses the story seems to be told from Pharaoh’s viewpoint, as if Rehoboam did not exist or was not present. 3) The main objection against a tribute sent by Rehoboam is the Massoretic Text itself: the subject of the verb lāqaḥ , “to take”, is clearly Shishaq/Shoshenq, not Rehoboam. M. Noth tried to justify the interpretation of a tribute paid by Rehoboam saying that lâqaḥ may sometimes mean “to receive”, but this interpretation seems forced, as clearly seen by E. Würthwein.31 Nor does the context allow such an interpretation, first because there is no mention of Rehoboam giving or sending anything; second, as we have just seen, all the parallel Hebrew passages of the book of Kings indicate that when the subject of the verb lāqaḥ is evidently not the king of Judah this clearly means that Jerusalem was looted by a foreign

27 See already E. A. Knauf, “King Solomon’s Copper Supply”, in E. Lipiński (ed.), Phoenicia and the Bible (Studia Phoenicia 11; Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 44; Leuven, 1991), p. 182, note 60. However his general historical interpretation looks arbitrary. 28 Pace Noth, Könige I, p. 331. 29 Cf. J. Bright, A History of Israel (2nd ed.; London, 1972), p. 230; S. Herrmann, A History of Israel in Old Testament Times (Philadelphia, 1975), p. 196; J. A. Soggin, A History of Ancient Israel (Philadelphia, 1985), p. 198; G. Moers, “7. Der Palästinafeldzug Scheschonqs I”, in B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testament N.F. 2. (2005), p. 258; Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I, pp. 78–79, 97. 30 See Gray, I and II Kings, p. 345; K. A. Kitchen, The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 B.C.) (Warminster, 1986), pp. 298, 443, 446–447; Na’aman, “Israel, Edom and Egypt”, p. 81. 31 Würthwein, Das erste Buch der Könige, p. 183.

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army. Actually J. Fichtner32 and B. U. Schipper33 also see well that the general interpretation of a voluntary tribute is contradicted by the subject of the verb lāqaḥ , but they take this to indicate a “Konflikt mit der historischen Wahrheit”34 and propose that this was done to conceal the fact that king Rehoboam paid tribute to Shoshenq. However, we have seen above that the Hebrew historiographer(s) had no difficulty recognizing such a fact, and such an explanation looks arbitrary. Actually, if Shoshenq was welcomed, and even invited by his protégé Jeroboam, one could well understand that the first aim of this campaign was directed against Jerusalem,35 presumably to stop any attempt to suppress again the new pro-Egyptian kingdom of Israel.36 Thus, the Massoretic Text must normally be interpreted as indicating implicitly that Shoshenq’s army entered Jerusalem and plundered the city’s treasures. Unfortunately it does not give any details of this campaign or of Rehoboam’s attitude. Since Rehoboam appears to have kept his throne and not to have been taken prisoner, one could suggest, for instance, that he temporarily left Jerusalem to take refuge elsewhere, an attitude that we could liken to David’s, when faced with the revolt of Absalom (2 Sam 15:14ff.). However this is only a conjecture and the historian can only recognize that 1 Kgs 14:26 indicates that Shoshenq entered and plundered Jerusalem.37 Actually this was almost already recognized by M. Noth:38 “Die Formulierung in 25b.26 klingt zunächst so, als sei das Ziel des Feldzuges Jerusalem gewesen, als habe der Pharao diese Stadt eingenommen und die wertwollen Schätze aus ihr mit sich weggeführt”. There is apparently no serious reason why a historian could not accept such an obvious interpretation which reveals a defeat of king Rehoboam and the vulnerability of Jerusalem.

32

Fichtner, Das erste Buch von Königen, p. 221. Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit (OBO 170; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1999), p. 124. 34 Würthwein, Das erste Buch der Königen, p. 183. 35 See already Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I, pp. 79, 97. 36 Wilson, ibid., p. 99. 37 See already I. Benzinger, Die Bücher der Könige (Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament 9; Freiburg – Leipzig – Tübingen, 1899), p. 98 : “Er plündert Tempel und Schatzkammern”. 38 Noth, Könige I, p. 331. 33

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G. W. Ahlström, “Pharaoh and the Shoshenq I Campaign”, in A. Lemaire and B. Otzen (eds.), History and Traditions of Early Israel. Studies Presented to Eduard Nielsen (VTSup 50; Leiden, 1993), pp. 1–16. D. Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, I (OBO 50/1; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1982). I. Benzinger, Die Bücher der Könige (Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament 9; Freiburg – Leipzig – Tübingen, 1899). J. Bright, A History of Israel (2nd ed.; London, 1972). P. Buis, Le livre des Rois (Sources bibliques; Paris, 1997). M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB; Doubleday, 1988). P. Dubovský, “Tiglath-pileser III’s Campaigns in 734–732 B.C.: Historical Background of Isa 7; 2 Kgs 15–16 and 2 Chr 27–28”, Biblica 87 (2006), pp. 153–170. J. Fichtner, Das erste Buch von den Königen (Die Botschaft des Alten Testament 12/1; Stuttgart, 1964). I. Finkelstein, “The Campaign of Shoshenq I to Palestine. A Guide to the 10th Century B.C.E. Policy”, ZDPV 118 (2002), pp. 109–135. I. Finkelstein and E. Piasetzky, “The Iron I–IIA in the Highlands and Beyond: 14C Anchors, Pottery Phases and the Shoshenq I Campaign”, Levant 38 (2006), pp. 45–61. V. Fritz, Das erste Buch der Könige (Zürcher Bibelkommentar AT; Zürich, 1996). J. Gray, I and II Kings (2nd ed.; OTL; London, 1970). S. Herrmann, A History of Israel in Old Testament Times (Philadelphia, 1975). P. Höffken, “Die Rede des Rabsake vor Jerusalem (2 Kön. xviii / Jes. xxxvi) im Kontext anderer Kapitulationssforderungen”, VT 58 (2008), pp. 44–55. K. A. Kitchen, The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 B.C.), (Warminster, 1986). R. Kittel, Die Bücher der Könige (Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; Göttingen, 1900). E. A. Knauf, “King Solomon’s Copper Supply”, in E. Lipiński (ed.), Phoenicia and the Bible (Studia Phoenicia 11; Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 44; Leuven, 1991), pp. 167–186. A. Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram”, in D. Charpin and J. Joannès (eds.), Marchands, diplomates et empereurs. Études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris, 1991), pp. 91–108. ——, “Joas de Samarie, Barhadad de Damas, Zakkur de Hamat. La Syrie-Palestine vers 800 av. J.-C.”, in S. Ahituv and B. A. Levine (eds.), Eretz-Israel 24: The Avraham Malamat Volume (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 148*–157*. ——, “Ambassades, traités, hégémonies au Levant (Xe–VIIIe siècles avant notre ère)”, in E. Frézouls and A. Jacquemin (eds.), Les relations internationales. Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 15–17 juin 1993 (Travaux du Centre de Recherche sur le Proche-Orient et la Grèce Antiques 13; Paris, 1995), pp. 119–142. ——, “’B, ‘père’ ou ‘maison paternelle’ en 1 Rois 15,19a?”, in A. Maman, S. E. Fassberg and Y. Breuer (eds.), Sha‘arei Lashon, Studies in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Jewish Languages Presented to Moshe Bar-Asher, I, Biblical Hebrew, Masorah, and Medieval Hebrew (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 46–51. ——, “La datation des rois de Byblos Abibaal et Élibaal et les relations entre l’Égypte et le Levant au Xe s. av. n. è.”, Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres (CRAI) 2006 [2009], pp. 1697–1716. B. Mazar, The Early Biblical Period. Historical Studies (Jerusalem, 1986). E. Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age. Historical and Topographical Research (OLA 153; Leuven, 2006).

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G. Moers, “7. Der Palästinafeldzug Scheschonqs I”, in B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testament N.F. 2. Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte (Gütersloh, 2005), pp. 246–271. J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, The Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh, 1951). N. Na’aman, “Forced Participation in Alliances in the Course of the Assyrian Campaigns to the West”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds), Ah, Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 80–98. ——, “Israel, Edom and Egypt in the 10th Century B.C.E.”, Tel Aviv 19 (1992), pp. 71–93. ——, “The Deuteronomist and Voluntary Servitude to Foreign Powers”, JSOT 65 (1995), pp. 37–53. ——, “Sources and Composition in the History of Solomon”, in L. K. Handy (ed.), The Age of Solomon, Scholarship at the Turn of the Millennium (SHCANE 11; Leiden, 1997), pp. 57–80 E. Noort, “Das Kapitulationsangebot im Kriegsgesetz Dtn 20 :10ff und in den Kriegserzählungen”, in F. Garcia Martinez (ed.), Studies in Deuteronomy in Honour of C. J. Labuschagne (VTSup 53; Leiden, 1994), pp. 197–222. M. Noth, Könige I (Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament IX/1; Neukirchen, 1968). S. B. Parker, “Appeals for Military Intervention: Stories from Zinjirli and the Bible”, Biblical Archaeologist 59 (1996), pp. 213–224. D. B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times (Princeton, 1992). B. U. Schipper, Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit (OBO 170; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1999). J. A. Soggin, A History of Ancient Israel (Philadelphia, 1985). H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem 1994). H. Tadmor and M. Cogan, “Ahaz and Tiglath-Pileser in the Book of Kings. Historiographic Considerations”, Biblica 60 (1983), pp. 491–508. D. Ussishkin, “Notes on Megiddo, Gezer, Ashdod, and Tel Batash in Tenth to Ninth Centuries B.C.”, BASOR 277/278 (1990), pp. 71–91. ——, “Jezreel, Samaria and Megiddo: Royal Centres of Omri and Ahab”, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume, Cambridge 1995 (VTSup 66; Leiden, 1997), pp. 351–364. K. A. Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I into Palestine (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe 9; Tübingen, 2005). E. Würthwein, Das erste Buch der Könige, Kapitel 1–16 (ATD; Göttingen, 1977). ——, Die Bücher der Könige. 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25 (ATD; Göttingen, 1984). K. L. Younger Jr., “The Calah Annals” and “The Iran Stela”, in W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture (CS) II. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden, 2003), pp. 285 and 287.

A NEW LOOK AT THE END OF THE ASSYRIAN EMPIRE*

Sarah C. Melville Clarkson University

I. Introduction The collapse of the Assyrian Empire in 612 B.C.E. has been a source of controversy and fascination since ancient times as the sequence of events is far from clear and the lacunae in our sources inhibit historical analysis. Modern interpreters of Assyria’s demise have proposed various causes including decreasing returns on production, external and internal dissention, population decline in the heartland, resource depletion, and fundamental military weakness. While each of these may have contributed to Assyria’s decline, none is sufficient by itself to explain the empire’s abrupt end. The purpose of this paper is to shed further light on the problem by using a new approach. Applying some of the tenets of military and strategic theory, I argue that Assyria’s own cultural assumptions about warfare, coupled with its long history of military success and a failure of strategic imagination, played a vital role in rendering the heartland vulnerable to the type of bilateral attack which destroyed it. Since the sources are few, fragmentary and often cryptic, much of the scholarship concerning the end of the Assyrian Empire naturally concentrates on reconstructing the course of events and sorting out chronological problems.1 Other works focus on the analysis of

* It is an honor to dedicate this paper to Professor Bustenay Oded, whose work has been such an inspiration. 1 J. Oates, “The Fall of Assyria”, in CAH, III.2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991) pp. 162–193; R. Labat, “Das Ende Assyriens und das Neubabylonische Reich”, in J. Bottero, E. Cassin and J. Vercoutter (eds.), Fischer Weltgeschichte: Die altorientalischen Reiche, vol. III (Frankfurt, 1967), pp. 93–110 and A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East ca. 3000–330 BC, 2 vols. (London, 1994), pp. 540–546.

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ancient sources,2 or investigate the archaeological evidence of the fall of Assyrian cities.3 On the theoretical side, several publications that explore different paradigms for the rise and fall of empires consider the case of Assyria, albeit briefly.4 The most thorough recent assessment is Liverani’s contribution to a cross-disciplinary book on empires, in which he points out one of the key suppositions behind modern scholarship, “. . . namely that a state or empire cannot fall down unless it contains within itself the terms of its own ruin.”5 So far this doctrine has been interpreted in an entirely negative way; yet the extent to which the heartland6 of Assyria suffered from severe economic decline, that royal power was seriously undermined by internecine strife, or that Assyria’s succession wars had compromised its military readiness remain to be fully demonstrated. In fact, the empire did contain “the terms of its own ruin”: the innate belief that there was one right way to wage war and a persistent blindness to its own vulnerability. Because of the utility and appeal of a paradigmatic explanation for imperial decline, scholars now tend to treat the problem of Assyria’s

2 S. Zawadski, The Fall of Assyria and Median-Babylonian Relations in Light of the Nabopolassar Chronicle (Poznan, 1988); P. Machinist, “The Fall of Assyria in Comparative Ancient Perspective”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), pp. 179–196; and P.-A. Beaulieu, “The 4th Year of Hostilities in the Land”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 28 (1997), pp. 367–394. 3 See especially D. Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh”, in Parpola and Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995, pp. 307–324; D. Stronach and S. Lumsden, “UC Berkeley’s Excavations at Nineveh”, Biblical Archaeologist 55 (1992), pp. 227–233; and D. Pickworth, “Excavations at Nineveh: the Halzi Gate”, in D. Collon and A. George (eds.), Nineveh: Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, London, 7–11 July 2003, Volume 2 (London, 2005), pp. 295–316. 4 See, for example, N. Yoffee, “The Collapse of Ancient Mesopotamian States and Civilization”, in N. Yoffee and G. L. Cowgill (eds.), The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations (Tucson, 1988), pp. 57–59; N. Yoffee, Myths of the Archaic State: Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States and Civilizations (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 68–69. 5 M. Liverani, “The Fall of the Assyrian Empire: Ancient and Modern Interpretations”, in S. E. Alcock et al. (eds.), Empires: Perspectives from Archaeology and History (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 382–383. 6 For the purposes of this paper, I follow Altaweel who demarcates the heartland as the 150 × 79 km area having a N/S axis from the Lower Zab to Eski Mosul and a E/W axis from Wadi Tharthar and Jebel Sheikh Ibrahim to Wadi Fadha, Qara Chauq and the Khazir River. M. Altaweel, The Land of Ashur: A Study of Landscape and Settlement in the Assyrian Heartland, 2 vols. (Ph.D. diss. University of Chicago, 2004), p. 4. This area formed the nucleus of the Assyrian empire and included the capital cities. It was at the core of the Assyrian concept of “the land of Assur”, although in practice (and over time) this concept was quite elastic. See also, J. N. Postgate, “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23 (1992), pp. 247–263.

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collapse as more or less solved,7 but in so doing, they privilege economic factors over social norms when it is vital to consider both. The fall of Assyria must be studied in its cultural context and viewed as far as possible from the perspective of the people involved. In hindsight it is easy to recognize (and too often to assume) the patterns of economic and political weakness that the Assyrian state displayed in its last years. However, the evidence also shows that the Assyrians themselves did not grasp the magnitude of the emergency they faced and that right up until the destruction of their major cities it was “business as usual” for the king and his army. In order to understand how the Assyrian heartland could succumb so quickly to invasion, we must keep in mind two key principles which often get overlooked: first, that the Assyrians, were the products of their culture and therefore the way they fought was culturally generated as well; and second, that the people “on the ground” experiencing the decline and collapse of their society did not have the benefit of hindsight. They were limited by the realities of life in the ancient world (slow communication, uncertain intelligence about the enemy, and finite resources) and, in particular, by what past experience led them to expect of present conflict.

II. The cultural foundation of warfare Fundamental to the study of war is the understanding that “war is distinctly human, a cultural phenomenon” and that “culture is . . . a prime determinant of the nature of warfare”.8 That is, the way a society fights reflects its wider social, political and economic structures as well as its values, norms and codes of behavior. Every culture develops assumptions about how wars should be waged and these dictate the actual conduct of war. For example, ancient societies in which military service was linked to land ownership (e.g., Archaic Greece or early Republican Rome) could not support standing armies, campaign for

7 Yoffee, Myths of the Archaic State, p. 152 but note also Liverani, “The Fall of the Assyrian Empire”, pp. 389–390, who addresses this issue in some detail and points out some of the areas that need further research. 8 R. L. Carneiro, “War and Peace: Alternating Realities in Human History”, in Studying War: Anthropological Perspectives (London, 1993), p. 6; and J. Keegan, The History of Warfare (New York, 1994), p. 387.

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extended periods, or carry out complex battlefield maneuvers because the demands of seasonal agriculture limited the time the warrior class could spend on military service. Such societies acknowledged these constraints through a cognate ideology which lionized the type of war they could conduct: that which sought resolution through brief campaigns close to home and culminated in decisive battles fought hand-to-hand by citizen soldiers.9 Change in warfare occurred in response to new circumstances such as conflict with a culture whose assumptions about warfare were different (e.g., the Persians or the Carthaginians). In the case of the Greeks and Romans, the victory imperative overcame ideological restrictions and motivated leaders to adopt new tactics and technology. Therefore, if a society can correct its preconceptions quickly enough, it can prevail against a new foe as did the Greeks and Romans. The militaries of ancient near eastern cultures were no less affected by social organization, economic circumstance and their own belief systems. Here too, ideology reflected political structure by focusing almost exclusively on the king and his deeds. Throughout near eastern history, in ideological terms, military activity was essentially a royal activity and on one level warfare constituted a political exchange between individual rulers. As a general rule polities which have similar social organizations – in our case monarchies – and habitually fight each other tend to develop mutually beneficial conventional behaviors that actually help to limit the spread and effects of war. In the Near East, as armies fought each other repeatedly over long periods, warfare styles converged to create common expectations about warfare and its consequences. In this way, although defeat was by no means a desirable outcome, its cost in political and social terms could be negotiated and adjustments to the distribution of power made without recourse to excessive violence.10

9 See, for example, Plato Laws, Book 6: 778 in which Plato claims that fortification walls promote cowardice because they encourage men to avoid meeting the enemy at face to face, or Polybius 13.3. 3–7, where he explains that the early Romans thought only close-quarter, hand-to-hand battle could be decisive. 10 By excessive violence I mean widespread death and destruction inflicted on all members of society and their environment. Certainly warfare was brutal – cities were sacked, property destroyed and people suffered as a result – but because warfare between states was motivated by self-interest and the desire for gain, it was self-limiting to a degree. If power, wealth and territory are the goal, there is little to be gained by annihilating one’s enemy.

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We see these principles applied clearly during the late Bronze Age when warfare was usually conducted according to a common set of tacitly agreed upon, but unwritten, conventions.11 In other words, because enemies (i.e., Hittites, Egyptians, Mitanni, Assyrians and Kassites) were accustomed to fighting each other, they knew what strategies and tactics to employ and what type of outcome to expect in the event of either victory or defeat. The equilibrium that this type of symmetrical warfare created was completely disrupted by the escalating attacks of large groups of nomadic raiders (“Sea-Peoples” and Aramaeans), who brought different expectations, different rules and possibly new fighting styles to the battlefield.12 The newcomers delivered what current strategic theorists term a “strategic shock”; that is, an event which “suddenly discredits many or all preexisting assumptions about the environment and those conventions that govern effective navigation through it.”13 The ensuing period of widespread conflict caused the collapse of the Hittite Empire, the end of the Kassite dynasty and the destruction of numerous Levantine states. Of the great powers, only Egypt managed to adapt to the new situation quickly enough to fight off the invaders effectively, while Assyrian territory shrank under pressure from the Aramaeans to its most restricted core area. A society’s ability to change its expectations about warfare and adapt its military to meet previously unforeseen challenges is therefore of the utmost importance, not only to its continued success, but to its very existence.

11 M. Liverani, Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600–1100 B.C. (Padova, 1990), pp. 160–171. 12 The role of the so called “sea-peoples” in the end of the Bronze Age remains poorly understood and controversial. See R. Drews, The End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe of ca. 1200 B.C. (Princeton, 1993); E. Oren, The Sea Peoples and Their World: a reassessment (University Museum Monograph 108; Philadelphia, 2000) and bibliography contained therein. For the Aramaeans and further bibliography, see A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East ca. 3000–330 BC (London, 1994), pp. 393–401. 13 N. Freier, Known Unknowns: Unconventional “Strategic Shocks” in Defense Strategy Development (Carlisle, PA, 2008). While it is useful to use modern strategic terminology in the analysis of ancient events, I do not suggest that ancient states had the same concept of strategy or military doctrine that we do now. In fact, in the ancient Near East there was no written tradition concerning either military or diplomatic practice. Nor is there any evidence for the existence of military or political theory at that time. Nonetheless, military historians recognize basic behaviors, strategies and tactics that appear under given circumstances regardless of time and place.

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Though its roots belonged to the oldest Mesopotamian military traditions, the Assyrian way of war developed many of its essential characteristics during the Middle Assyrian period (ca. 1600–1100 B.C.E.) amid the wider cultural and political milieu of the Bronze Age florescence discussed above. Typically, depending on political and logistical circumstances, warfare took three basic forms during this period: devastation; battle, and siege. An invading army might burn and pillage its way through a region in hopes of forcing the enemy to submit.14 Battle occurred by mutual agreement, was usually short, and almost always followed, depending on the outcome, by either a negotiated advantage for the victor or maintenance of the status quo. Siege, which limited resources made a “race to starvation” for the opposing sides,15 was at that time a less common way to force an enemy into submission. Later, during the Neo-Assyrian period (excepting a couple of brief intervals of relative weakness) the Assyrians were a superpower and as such determined the “rules of war”. In spite of the sanguinary rhetoric of many Neo-Assyrian texts, all out annihilation in the sense of “total war” or “genocide” was not a recognized objective and the Neo-Assyrians essentially waged war according to age-old principles. Operationally, they perpetuated and improved upon the Bronze Age way of war, using devastation, battle, siege, retaliation, diplomacy and negotiation to great effect. Although it is important to view Assyria as part of a larger Mesopotamian cultural tradition, it is equally essential to understand that a key element of Assyria’s way of war was peculiar to Assyria alone, having developed in answer to the state’s unique circumstances. After the humiliation of Mitannian hegemony in the 15th century, and in response to the terrible pressure of the Aramaean incursions, which so drastically reduced Assyrian territory in the 12th and 11th

14 Though it could certainly be destructive, “devastation” was actually limited to areas within easy reach of the invading army, which chose targets not only for their strategic importance, but for the supplies and/or booty they offered (C. J. Rogers, “The Military Revolution”, lecture delivered at the West Point Summer Seminar in Military History, The United States Military Academy at West Point, NY, June 2008). Although Rogers’ lecture concerned Medieval Europe, many of his observations also apply to the ancient Near East. 15 Idem, ibid.

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centuries,16 the Assyrians developed into an aggressive military power, whose fundamental understanding of warfare was that it should be preemptive and reactive rather than defensive. In other words, the Assyrians recognized that the best defense was a good offense. By the 9th century, the impulse to defend the “land of Assyria” had combined with the religious mandate for imperial expansion17 to reinforce its cultural expectation of war. In fact, the Assyrians responded to the challenge of securing their expanding territorial empire by deploying their armed forces according to (and anticipating) Clausewitz’s four fundamental strategic principles: use all available force with maximum energy; concentrate the attack on one point of the enemy’s position; act quickly and waste no time, and follow through remorselessly.18 From the Assyrian point of view, this winning formula obviated the need for defensive strategy. As the Empire acquired more territory, warfare naturally gravitated out from the core to the periphery, but this situation simply validated what had become the Assyrians’ automatic military response to threat which was to take the offensive. The attack principle permeates the campaign narratives of the Assyrian kings. Starting with Tiglath-pileser I in the 11th century, kings took great care to record their military endeavors in elaborate, ideologically charged texts, whose complex literary and cultural apparatus need not concern us here. However, royal inscriptions invariably depict the king and his army leaving Assyria to enter enemy lands when on campaign. Every military operation is introduced by a phrase such as “In my N year I marched against the land GN,” “In my N campaign I moved out from Nineveh and crossed GN River,” and “In N day of N month I led forth my chariots and warriors against the land GN”.19 Here we see the union of ideology and practice: Assyrian kings did not passively await attack, but met any threat aggressively as their sacred duty required. Accordingly, all the major battles of the Neo-Assyrian period (until the Empire’s collapse) took place outside of the heartland: Shalmaneser III met an enemy coalition at Qarqar (in

16

Kurht, The Ancient Near East, p. 362. B. Oded, War, Peace, and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden, 1992). 18 C. von Clausewitz, Principles of War (Trans. H. W. Gatzke; Mineola, NY, 2003), pp. 46–47. 19 For examples, see e.g. A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC), (Toronto, 1995) and A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargon II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1994), passim. 17

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Syria), as did Sargon II; Sargon stopped an Elamite army at Der (in northern Babylonian); Sennacherib fought the Egyptians at Raphia (in southern Palestine) and a combined Babylonian-Elamite coalition at Halule (in northern Babylonia); and Ashurbanipal’s army defeated the Elamites at the Ullai River (in Elam), to name only the most famous examples. At least two kings, Sargon II and Esarhaddon, died on campaign in a foreign land. This is not to say that no fighting ever took place in the Assyrian heartland, for Assyria suffered sporadic raids by nomadic peoples, and a number of significant civil wars and rebellions (although it is difficult to gauge the effect, if any, these had on Assyria’s population centers).20 Assyrian kings were supremely confident in their ability to protect their homeland; so much so that in royal inscriptions, as Weeks puts it, “the enemy threat . . . may be depicted as numerically overwhelming but never is there the drama of a world on the verge of slipping into doom”.21 In terms of the Assyrian heartland such confidence was justified. After Tiglath-pileser I successfully pushed the Babylonians out of Ekallate (near Assur) at the turn of the 11th century, no heartland capital was besieged and no organized foreign invasion force penetrated the heartland’s borders until 615 when the Babylonians attempted to take Assur.22 As far as we know, the Assyrian core was essentially invasion-free for more than five hundred years – an astounding record only rivaled by Egypt and certainly one which no other near eastern state could match. Simply put, the Assyrians got it right; they developed a system of conquest and control that worked extremely well and brought peace to their heartland and much of their empire as well. This situation profoundly shaped the Assyrians’ concept of how war should and would be waged and so led them to develop a complacent attitude toward the safety of their homeland.

20

Some revolts are mentioned in letters, archival documents, chronicles, and the eponym chronicles, but otherwise we know little about them. For the letters and archival texts, see The State Archives of Assyria volumes; for the chronicles, see A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (Winona Lake, 2000), and J.-J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Trans. B. R. Foster; Leiden, 2005); for the eponym lists, see A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire (SAAS II; Helsinki, 1994). 21 N. E. Weeks, “Assyrian Imperialism and the Walls of Uruk”, in J. Azize and N. Weeks (eds.), Gilgameš and the World of Assyria. Proceedings of the Conference held at Mandelbaum House, The University of Sydney, 21–23 July 2004 (Leuven, 2007), p. 84. 22 Babylonian campaigns against Assyria began in 616 B.C.E., but the heartland was not penetrated until 615 B.C.E.

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IV. Imperial strategy and its consequences Assyria’s success can be attributed to its ad hoc and flexible political strategy as well as an army that outclassed its rivals in every respect. The development of the Assyrian state and the evolution of its armed forces were closely connected. From the 14th to at least the 8th century, the army was comprised of troops levied annually for seasonal campaigns because the state could not support forces in the field for longer periods. From the mid-8th century on, the Assyrian military became increasingly specialized, professional and ethnically diverse.23 As the state economic and political infrastructure grew it could support an army on campaign for longer periods, and as the empire expanded more and more defeated foreign elements were incorporated into its armed forces. At the height of its power the Assyrian state could maintain an army at great distances from the core for long periods and even, under limited circumstances, as an occupying force, although the stress put on the core by doing so became increasingly debilitating. Of necessity much of Assyria’s success depended on a shrewd balance of economy of force and ruthlessly applied violence. The Assyrians could not possibly hold their vast territorial empire with military manpower alone; they had to be able to deploy troops only when and where they deemed it necessary and/or profitable. As long as the threat of Assyrian reprisal was sufficient to check rebellion among clients and provinces, and the Assyrian army appeared to be invincible, able to strike ruthlessly, anywhere anytime, the Assyrians could focus military efforts where they were most needed or desired. Assyria’s imperial success continuously reinforced its expectations about how wars should be waged, and the notion that wars were fought on the periphery was taken for granted. Armies might muster in the heartland cities, but they did not campaign among them. Growth of the state and military permitted the implementation of a variety of imperial strategies, whose success further shielded the heartland from foreign threat. By the middle of the 7th century B.C.E. Assyria had reached the zenith of its power with territory spreading from Elam in the east 23

See for example, J. N. Postgate, “The Assyrian Army at Zamua”, Iraq 62 (2000), pp. 89–108; idem, “The invisible hierarchy: Assyrian military and civilian administration in the 8th and 7th centuries”, in The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur (Oxford, 2007), pp. 331–361.

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to Egypt in the west, and from the Persian Gulf in the south to the Taurus Mountains in the north. During the period of greatest imperial expansion in 8th and 7th centuries, the Assyrian kings faced significant problems concerning resource management. Increasing urbanization in the heartland demanded food and other resources which the local rural population could not supply.24 Realizing that they had to stimulate production elsewhere in order to reap long term benefits from their imperial territories and support heartland cities, the Assyrians made concerted efforts to develop trade and agriculture in targeted areas. In particular, the Sargonid kings stimulated both economic and agricultural growth in areas where the potential returns were favorable, such as Edom and Philistia.25 In potentially lucrative but less secure locations, such as the northern Tigris valley, they built fortification networks to guard incipient agricultural improvements and control movement through the territory.26 Less promising regions such as Ephraim and the Judean Shephelah they simply destroyed and turned into more or less empty buffer zones by deporting the indigenous population wholesale to more profitable areas.27 Since the purpose of maintaining clients and peripheral provincial territories was to stabilize and develop those areas without extended military involvement, overburdening them with exorbitant tribute quotas would have been both counterproductive and disruptive. In order to achieve the highest return for effort, Assyria had to leave clients and border provinces too weak to rebel, but economically strong enough to continue to supply the center’s needs. Ultimately, the goal of imperial development on the periphery was to supply and enrich the heartland and its cities. By the 7th century the large size of the urban capitals of Assyria – Calah (Nimrud),

24 M. Altaweel, The Land of Ashur: A Study of Landscape and Settlement in the Assyrian Heartland, 2 vols. (Ph.D. diss. University of Chicago, 2004), pp. 157 and T. J. Wilkinson, E. B. Wilkinson, J. Ur and M. Atlaweel, “Landscape and Settlement in the Neo-Assyrian Empire”, BASOR 340 (2006), pp. 26–27. 25 I. Finkelstein, “Archaeology, Bible and the History of the Levant in the Iron Age”, in S. Pollock and R. Bernbeck (eds.), Archaeologies of the Middle East: critical perspectives (Blackwell Studies in Global Archaeology; London, 2005), p. 213. 26 B. J. Parker, “Archaeological Manifestations of Empire: Assyria’s Imprint on South-eastern Anatolia”, AJA 107 (2003), pp. 525–558. 27 B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979).

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Nineveh, Assur and Dur-Sharrukin28 – had a significant impact on local settlement patterns and the rural population. Even Assur, the smallest of these cities, was reasonably large at about 70 hectares. Huge by comparison, Nineveh covered about 780 hectares of land and had an estimated population of up to 234,000.29 The sheer size of the cities made defending them a critical challenge. Given the high demand for supplies and the uncertainties of climate and agriculture, it is not surprising that none of these cities could feed its populace. As a result, “. . . large Assyrian cities turned into unproductive centers supported by supplies from the outside”.30 In order to feed the cities and facilitate growth, the Neo-Assyrian kings harnessed their resources and engineering expertise to develop, improve and glorify the heartland. They carried out substantial hydraulic projects to bring water to urban centers and to move goods into them,31 they created large botanical and zoological gardens as symbols of their power,32 and they also maintained royal roads as vital communication arteries between the heartland and distant parts of the empire.33 The Sargonid kings of Assyria were able to carry out projects on this scale as long as the heartland was not under threat of invasion and no rebellion on the periphery disrupted the flow of goods.

28 In addition to these cities, there were several large towns such as Tarbisu, ImgurEnlil (Balawat) and Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta which were large enough (cc. 20 to 50+ hectares) to have an impact on the landscape. See, H. Kühne, “The Urabanization of the Assyrian Provinces”, in S. Mazzoni (ed.) Nuove fondazioni del Vicino Oriente antico: realtà ed ideologia (Pisa, 1994), pp. 55–84. 29 The figure for Nineveh’s population given here obviously represents the very limits of possibility, but it does indicate the city’s unique position in Assyria and the wider Near East. By comparison, Calah was about 380 hectares and Dur-Sharrukin 315. See Altaweel, The Land of Ashur, pp. 41 and 154. 30 Zawadski, The Fall of Assyria, p. 18. 31 See especially J. E. Reade, “Studies in Neo-Assyrian Geography, part I: Sennacherib and the Waters of Nineveh”, RA 72 (1978), pp. 47–72, 157–180; A. M. Bagg, “Irrigation in Northern Mesopotamia: Water in the Assyrian Capitals (12th–7th centuries B.C.E.)”, Irrigation and Drainage Systems 14 (2000), pp. 301–324; and J. Ur, “Sennacherib’s Northern Assyrian Canals”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 317–345. 32 See especially M. Novák, “The Artificial Paradise: Programme and Ideology of Royal Gardens”, in S. Parpola and M. Whiting (eds.), Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East (Helsinki, 2002), pp. 443–460; K. Foster, “The Hanging Gardens of Nineveh”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 207–220, and the large bibliographies contained therein. 33 Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East; M. Altaweel, “The Roads of Assur and Nineveh”, Akkadica 124 (2003), pp. 221–228; idem, The Land of Ashur; and Favaro, S. Voyages et Voyageurs à l’Époque Néo-Assyrienne (SAAS XVIII; Helsinki, 2007).

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Assyria’s provincial territories acted almost as protective insulation for the heartland, especially in the west where the empire’s territorial depth was at its greatest. In theory, any invading army would have to fight its way through outlying provinces to get to the capital cities. The late Assyrian kings (particularly Sargon II and Sennacherib) focused on making their capitals worthy monuments to the glory of the empire.34 As centers of commerce, intellectual and religious activity and as emblems of royal power, cities had to be easily accessible to a variety of groups, including tribute-bearing foreign delegations and merchants’ caravans. As a result, kings encouraged traffic between cities and willingly breached their defensive ramparts with multiple gates. Just as it never occurred to the Assyrians to build a city without appropriately imposing fortifications – all cities had walls – it was obvious that the need to supply the urban population and develop the economy should take precedence over seldom (if ever) used defenses.35 Past masters of siege warfare, the Assyrians were well acquainted with all types of defensive measures: double walls; ramparts; moats; ditches; glacis, and deep gates with towers to provide enfilading fire. Although the Assyrians employed all these features in their capital cities, the combination of continuous peace at the core and large scale spending on other public works eventually affected urban defense systems.

34 For the ideology of Neo-Assyrian cities, see, for example, L. Levine, “Cities as Ideology: The Neo-Assyrian Centres of Ashur, Nimrud, and Nineveh”, CSMSB 12 (1986), pp. 1–7; L. Battini, “Un example de propagande néo-assyrienne: les défenses de Dur-Sharrukin”, in Contributi e Materiali di Archeologia Orientale 6. (Studi in memoria di Henri Frankfort, 1997), pp. 217–231; M. Novák, “The Artificial Paradise: Programme and Ideology of Royal Gardens”, in S. Parpola and M. Whiting (eds.), Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East (Helsinki, 2002), pp. 443–460; S. Lumsden, “The Production of Space at Nineveh”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 187–198; and M. Rivaroli, “Nineveh: from ideology to topography”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 199–206. 35 I am not suggesting that the Assyrians built poor fortifications; defenses were certainly built according to the highest standards of the day. However, we need to remember that although all near eastern cities had monumental defensive works, even the most vulnerable or strategically important ones would not expect to be attacked very frequently and peaceful interludes could last decades (or in Assyria’s case, centuries). Most of the time, cities were centers of commerce, politics and religion and although fortifications were necessary, they could not be so elaborate as to get in the way of day to day functioning. Inevitably, as a result, there was a certain trade-off between safety and convenience, especially where gates were concerned.

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The smallest and among the oldest of the main Assyrian cities, Assur had special status as the spiritual center of Assyria. It was the only heartland city to be granted tax exempt status (kidinnutu privileges) and it benefited from almost continuous royal patronage as kings, always mindful of their pious duties, were careful to build and repair the city’s temples.36 Assur was a naturally well protected city; it had water on two sides and a moat and double wall on the other side so it seemed ideal for defense. However, after Sennacherib improved the northern portion of the defensive wall at the beginning of the 7th century, there seems to have been little further work done on the city’s fortifications. When the Medes attacked Assur in 614 the city was caught off guard – this in spite of repeated Babylonian campaigns into Assyrian territory during the previous two years and one earlier attempt on the city.37 Unprepared to defend itself a second time and with no possibility of another rescue (the Assyrian army lifted the first siege), Assur fell quickly, possibly after the storming of the main gate.38 Through the 8th and 7th centuries, changing royal priorities had a similar effect on other Assyrian capitals. The walls of Calah (Nimrud), built by Assurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III in the 9th century, were in places up to 37 meters thick, had a length of 7.5 km and were punctuated at regular intervals by towers.39 Both the citadel and the arsenal (Fort Shalmaneser) were aligned with the wall and did not extend beyond it, as was the impressive but impractical practice in cities built by later Assyrian kings.40 Although Calah remained a vital military and administrative center throughout the Neo-Assyrian period, the kings who subsequently built there focused on non-military projects. After Sargon II moved his capital from Calah, the city’s defenses were apparently not a source of royal concern until Esarhaddon (680–669) undertook some much needed renovations there, including improved access to Fort

36 H. Reviv, “Kidinnu Observations on Privileges of Mesopotamian Cities”, JESHO 31 (1988), pp. 286–298. 37 ABC, p. 92, Chron. 3.16–17. 38 P. Miglus, “Die letzten Tage von Assur und die Zeit danach”, ISIMU 3 (2003), p. 87. The exact number and disposition of Assur’s gates during the late Assyrian period is uncertain, although Miglus argues that there were six or seven. See idem, “Die Stadttore in Assur: Das Problem der Identifizierung”, ZA 72 (1982), pp. 266–279. 39 M. E. L. Mallowan, Nimrud and Its Remains, I (London, 1966), p. 76. 40 M. Novák, “From Assur to Nineveh: the Assyrian town planning programme”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 177–186.

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Shalmaneser.41 Over fifty years later in 614, when the city was attacked by a foreign power for the first time in (at least) five hundred years, it did not immediately fall, but repair to the severe damage inflicted on Fort Shalmaneser during the first attack had not been completed when the second and final assault came two years later in 612.42 That the city was not prepared to meet this challenge attests both to its straightened economic circumstances and to Assyria’s inability to realize a programmatic defensive strategy. The other heartland cities faired similarly. Although Dur-Sharrukin was abandoned as a capital city after its founder Sargon II’s death, and therefore was not a significant enemy target during the final days of the empire, it serves as a good example of how ideology overcame practical defensive strategy in late Assyrian city planning. The city plan for Sargon’s new capital, located on an open plain without the obvious advantages of defensive terrain, reveals that he was much more interested in creating an impression than in building an impregnable city. Battini describes Sargon’s defenses at Dur-Sharrukin as “un instrumentum regni plutôt qu’une oeuvre militaire”.43 The fortification wall, although augmented by towers and possibly topped by stone crenellations, was about 12 m high and the city had seven large and impressive double gates, each of which had a direct approach. The platform of Sargon’s citadel, which projected beyond the wall, seems to have been intended to create the visual effect of “riding on the walls” rather than for actual defense.44 The defensive advantage that the extra height of the citadel afforded was diminished by its situation astride the walls. The city’s “arsenal” was similarly situated. In texts describing Dur-Sharrukin the emphasis is on bounty and splendor. Indeed, Sargon claimed that his purpose was to “provide the wide land of Assyria with food to repletion”.45 Although this city was never completed and in spite of its martial designation dûr (meaning fort in Akkadian), it is clear that the ideological message conveyed by its splendid design mattered more to its architect (i.e., the king) than defensive utility. 41 Mallowan, Nimrud and Its Remains, p. 81 and J. and D. Oates, Nimrud: an Assyrian City Revealed (London, 2001). pp. 27–28. 42 Mallowan, ibid., p. 82; and Oates, ibid., p. 148. 43 Battini, “Un example de propagande néo-assyrienne”, p. 219. 44 Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh”, pp. 307–324; Novák, “From Assur to Nineveh”, p. 181 and Battini, ibid. 45 Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargon II, Zyl 34–37.

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After Sargon’s death, Sennacherib moved the capital to Nineveh, where he doubled the size of the city and implemented a truly grandiose improvement plan, part of which involved elaborate fortifications: a huge wall, a moat, and outer rampart. Yet defense does not seem to have been the king’s priority. Understandably, Nineveh’s water supply system took precedence. Sennacherib built some 150 km of canals, tunnels, aqueducts, dams and other waterways in order to supply the city, its surrounding fields and his gardens with water.46 Although large-scale flooding was not actually used to breach Nineveh’s defenses as the ancient sources claim,47 the fact remains that the Khosr River’s flow into Nineveh created a vulnerable point in the defenses where it entered the city. Moreover, by concentrating on his ambitious hydraulic projects, Sennacherib was unable to finish building Nineveh’s defensive fortifications, a task none of his successors was able to achieve either.48 The extant remains of the 12 km perimeter wall show that it was well dressed, in excess of 15 m high, and included numerous towers, but any defensive advantages it afforded were mitigated by the city’s fifteen gates.49 These gates, each of which opened directly onto a wide main highway, make it clear that “they were not designed, from the outset, to meet the exigencies of a full-scale siege”.50 Although the gates incorporated huge towers, excavation has proved just how vulnerable they were. The last defenders of Nineveh attempted to compensate for the wide (7m)51 entrances of the Adad and Halzi Gates by blocking them as best they could, but these measures proved to be too little, too late and though the city withstood a first assault in 614, it fell in 612 after only three months.52

46

Bagg, “Irrigation in Northern Mesopotamia”, p. 316. J. Scurlock, “The Euphrates Flood and the Ashes of Nineveh (Diod. II 27.1–28.7)”, Historia 39 (1990), pp. 382–384; Machinist, “The Fall of Assyria”; and A. Pinker, “Nahum and Greek Tradition on Nineveh’s Fall”, Journal of Hebrew Scripture 6 (2006), pp. 2–16. 48 Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh”, p. 313. Ashurbanipal made extensive repairs, however. 49 For information on excavations of the gates and bridges leading to them over the moat, see M. Scott and J. McGinnis, “Notes on Nineveh”, Iraq 52 (1990), pp. 63–73. 50 Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh”, p. 313. 51 This width is not in itself particularly unusual, but the number of gates and the ease of approach did little to impede an attacker. 52 S. D. Stronach and S. Lumsden, “UC Berkeley’s Excavations at Nineveh”, Biblical Archaeologist 55 (1992), p. 231. 47

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There are very good reasons why the late Assyrian kings were insouciant about the defense of their cities: economic and social requirements were more pressing than the remote possibility of attack. Moreover, as the economic situation in the empire worsened after Ashurbanipal’s death (ca. 627), it would have been unconscionable to invest in enhancing defenses that had not been needed since time immemorial. Assyrian kings were not being especially remiss by making defense a low priority; they were being pragmatic and economical, expending resources where they seemed most needed. However, by dogmatically following conventional practice and by allowing historical experience to mandate present and future action, the Assyrians failed to recognize the enormity of the threat they faced. With hindsight it is easy to criticize the Assyrians’ failure of strategic imagination, but if we consider their point of view, it is difficult to fault them. Their military methods were proven and extremely successful, and their enemies apparently predictable; therefore, channeling funds into defense would have seemed completely unnecessary. Consequently, when the unthinkable actually happened and foreign armies penetrated the Assyrian heartland, Assyria was not prepared to defend itself. The Assyrians never developed a practical defensive strategy for the heartland for several reasons: a standard perimeter defense was unfeasible due to the vast area involved;53 a true defense in depth was simply beyond the capabilities of the state,54 and the army’s long and successful experience supported assumptions that warfare would be won on the attack.55 By the late 7th century, the Assyrian way of war had become entrenched

53 On the impracticality of perimeter defenses, see E. Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire from the First Century A.D. to the Third (Baltimore, 1976), p. 19. 54 Defense in depth requires the deployment of forces in mutually supportive but staggered positions so that an enemy attack can be absorbed and progressively weakened. Such an arrangement also allows the commander to distribute reserves where and when they are needed. Assyria did not have the manpower or means to implement such a strategy on a grand scale, although they came close to it in very specific areas of the periphery such as the northern Tigris valley, for which, see B. J. Parker, The Mechanics of Empire: The Northern Frontier of Assyria as a Case Study in Imperial Dynamics (Helsinki, 2001), p. 156. 55 But see Pinker, “Nineveh’s Defensive Strategy and Nahum 2”, whose misguided effort to explain the fall of Nineveh in terms of an Assyrian reliance on chariots as a main part of their defensive strategy must be rejected, cavalry having largely superseded chariots by that time. Moreover, the assumption that the Assyrians even had a programmatic defensive strategy seems entirely anachronistic.

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and automatic and so they reacted to invasion the only way they knew how – they took the offensive.

VI. The fall of Assyria Having gradually wrested control over most of Babylonia away from the Assyrians, in 616 B.C.E. Nabopolassar campaigned up the Euphrates to Gablinu where, according to Babylonian sources, he defeated an Assyrian army.56 Shortly thereafter, with the help of Egyptian allies, the Assyrian king, Sin-shar-ishkun, chased the Babylonians out of Assyrian territory. Later in the same year Nabopolassar invaded again, this time skirting the Assyrian heartland to the east. The Assyrian army met him near Arraphka where they were allegedly defeated by the Babylonians yet again. It is worth noting, however, that Nabopolassar and his army did not penetrate the Assyrian heartland in either campaign, but seemed to be testing Assyria’s defenses. In any case, the Babylonians did not press their advantage but withdrew immediately after the second battle. At this point Nabopolassar was probably not attempting to overthrow the Assyrian Empire, but simply aimed to secure his hold over Babylonia and perhaps seek a border adjustment more favorable to Babylonian interests.57 The Assyrians apparently did not view these events as unusually threatening and therefore failed to anticipate or prepare for their enemy’s next move. Having twice defeated Assyria in battle, in the following year the Babylonians launched a more ambitious campaign. In 615 Nabopolassar entered the Assyrian heartland and briefly assaulted Assur, to which unprecedented sacrilege Sin-shar-ishkun responded in the customary way by attacking aggressively. He was able to push the Babylonians back to Takrit (in the vicinity of modern Tikrit) and besiege them there for a short while before defeat or the need for supplies forced him to withdraw. At this point, the war still followed the conventional Mesopotamian pattern and there was nothing to suggest that Assyria could not win it, or in the unlikely event that Assyria should actually lose, that the outcome would be so devastating as to prevent its 56

The sequence of events set out in this and the following paragraphs is gleaned from the “Fall of Nineveh Chronicle” except where noted. For the chronicle, see ABC, pp. 90–96; and Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, pp. 218–224. 57 Oates, “The Fall of Assyria”, p. 178.

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eventual recovery. The threat to Assur, Assyria’s southern-most city, although perhaps a cause for moral indignation, was not seen as a harbinger of the doom to come. A few months later in 614 a new enemy, the Medes, caught Sinshar-ishkun by surprise by invading Assyria from the east.58 When the Medes attacked Assyria they delivered a strategic shock. Median participation drastically changed the nature of the conflict and Assyria’s expectations of the situation were immediately rendered useless and obsolete, although the Assyrians themselves did not realize this. Still a tribal-based society, the Medes’ attitude toward warfare was very different from that of the Mesopotamian states and thus, as Liverani remarks, “The Median intervention produced a real break in political tradition, changes articulated under the banner of freedom, ethnicity, and a chiefdom level polity”.59 The Medes did not intend to take over Assyria and rule it, nor were they sufficiently organized to carry out such a plan even if they had wanted to. The Medes went to Assyria only to destroy it. 60 Conversely, the Assyrians and Babylonians (and other traditional foes) understood that war was an instrument of the state through which power passed to the strongest in some cosmically determined succession. The Babylonians saw themselves as the “heirs of Assyria”, appointed by the gods to be next in line to hold sway over the Near East. Victory would simply prove this point. In 614, over the course of their initial campaign, the Medes failed to take Nineveh and Calah,61 but captured Tarbisu and sacked Assur, after which they made a treaty agreement with the Babylonians. The Median-Babylonian alliance presented the Assyrians with a number

58 One wonders what had happened to the vaunted Assyrian intelligence network, which seems to have failed rather spectacularly to inform Sin-shar-ishkun of MedianBabylonian machinations. 59 Liverani, “The Fall of the Assyrian Empire”, p. 391. 60 Liverani, idem, pp. 389–391 recognizes the fact that the Medes “dramatically altered” what otherwise could have been a conventional outcome. Had Babylonia been Assyria’s only opponent and in the event that Assyria had lost, Babylonia would simply have assumed the imperial mantle and Assyria would have become part of the Babylonian empire. See also Yoffee, Myths of the Archaic State. 61 Calah does not get mentioned in the Chronicle, but the archaeology supports the supposition that it was attacked twice, presumably in 614 and then 612 when it succumbed. See, Oates, Nimrud, p. 25. The fact that all three major cities, Calah, Nineveh and Assur, withstood a first attack before succumbing to a second attests (paradoxically) to the fundamental solidity of the fortifications and to the many weaknesses of urban defense (too many gates, easy approaches and only one field army to defend several huge cities).

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of extraordinary challenges: war at home; simultaneous attacks from two opponents operating on different fronts, and an enemy, the Medes, bent solely on annihilation. Now united in their confrontation with Assyria, the two armies subsequently returned to their respective homelands. In an apparent effort to preempt any joint action of his enemies, Sin-shar-ishkun responded to these dire events by taking the offensive and leading a campaign south into Babylonian territory in 613. With allies guarding their flank against the Medes,62 the Assyrians were able to force Nabopolassar out of Anat where he had been attempting to put down a rebellion of the (pro-Assyrian) Suhu. Sin-shar-ishkun’s actions here were characteristically Assyrian: he did not stay to defend his territory, but, faithful to the Assyrian way of war, he launched a counter-attack. It probably never occurred to him to do anything else. This was still a war Sin-shar-ishkun thought he knew how to fight according to proven military principles: take the war to the enemy, protect the flank, foment rebellion in enemy territory, and attack, attack, attack. Nonetheless, Assyria could not win this war the traditional way. Although Sin-shar-ishkun seems to have been a capable general, who mustered all the resources at his disposal and deployed them rationally (particularly in terms of mobility and the use of allies), he had neither the means nor the time to adapt to the new conditions, and more importantly, he was simply not prepared to mount an effective defense against a numerically superior and implacable enemy. Under the circumstances and given the information we have, it is difficult to imagine what the Assyrian king could have done differently. Assyria’s vulnerability was as much the result of its historical success as of its later years of internal decline. In this situation, collapse was probably inevitable. In 612 the Medes and Babylonians besieged and then violently sacked Nineveh and Calah. After the death of Sin-shar-ishkun, the remnants of the Assyrian army and the new administration, having retreated to Syria, fought on with characteristic tenacity and some Egyptian aid for a few more years, but the death knell of the Assyrian Empire had sounded.

62

It has been suggested that the Assyrians enlisted Scythian aid, but this remains a point of contention. For the Scythian role, see Oates, “The Fall of Assyria”, p. 179, but note also Zawadski, The Fall of Assyria, pp. 88ff., who does not think the Scythians played a significant part and that the Assyrian allies are best identified as nomads.

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Like all cultures, the Assyrians developed expectations of warfare in accordance with their social and economic organization in order to meet their political objectives. Great success over a long period of time reinforced the deep-seated Assyrian conviction that the heartland was essentially inviolate and that warfare was best carried out on the offensive. Weakened by economic circumstances and the strategic complacency that often accompanies long success, Assyria could not withstand the “game-changing” strategic shock that the Medes delivered. With no hope of surrendering their freedom in exchange for survival the Assyrians had no option but to fight a war they could not win. Although many factors contributed to the decline of the Assyrian Empire, its final collapse was the result of military endeavor and is therefore best understood in this context. In the case of Assyria we clearly see the dangers inherent in a social and military conservatism which adhered too stubbornly to preconceived notions about how war should be waged and which could not adapt to new challenges.

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Bibliography M. Altaweel, “The Roads of Assur and Nineveh”, Akkadica 124 (2003), pp. 221–228. ——, The Land of Ashur: A Study of Landscape and Settlement in the Assyrian Heartland, 2 vols. (Ph.D. diss. University of Chicago, 2004). A. M. Bagg, “Irrigation in Northern Mesopotamia: Water in the Assyrian Capitals (12th–7th centuries B.C.E.)”, Irrigation and Drainage Systems 14 (2000), pp. 301– 324. L. Battini, “Un example de propagande néo-assyrienne: les défenses de Dur-Sharrukin”, in Contributi e Materiali di Archeologia Orientale 6. (Studi in memoria di Henri; Frankfort, 1997), pp. 217–231. P.-A. Beaulieu, “The 4th Year of Hostilities in the Land”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 28 (1997), pp. 367–394. R. L. Carneiro, “War and Peace: Alternating Realities in Human History”, in Studying War: Anthropological Perspectives (London, 1993), pp. 3–28. C. von Clausewitz, Principles of War (Trans. H. W. Gatzke; Mineola NY, 2003). D. Collon and A. George (eds.), Nineveh: Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, London, 7–11 July 2003, Volume 2 (London, 2005). R. Drews, The End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe of ca. 1200 B.C. (Princeton, 1993). S. Favaro, Voyages et Voyageurs à l’Époque Néo-Assyrienne (SAAS XVIII; Helsinki, 2007). I. Finkelstein, “Archaeology, Bible and the History of the Levant in the Iron Age”, in S. Pollock and R. Bernbeck (eds.) Archaeologies of the Middle East: critical perspectives (Blackwell Studies in Global Archaeology; London, 2005), pp. 207–222. K. Foster, “The Hanging Gardens of Nineveh”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 207–220. N. Freier, Known Unknowns: Unconventional “Strategic Shocks” in Defense Strategy Development (Carlisle, PA, 2008). A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargon II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1994). J.-J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Trans. B. R. Foster; Leiden, 2005). A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC) (Toronto, 1995). ——, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (Winona Lake, 2000). J. Keegan, The History of Warfare (New York, 1994). H. Kühne, “The Urabanization of the Assyrian Provinces”, in S. Mazzoni (ed.) Nuove fondazioni del Vicino Oriente antico: realtà ed ideologia (Pisa, 1994), pp. 55–84. A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East ca. 3000–330 BC, 2 vols. (London, 1994). R. Labat, “Das Ende Assyriens und das Neubabylonische Reich”, in J. Bottero, E. Cassin and J. Vercoutter (eds.), Fischer Weltgeschichte: Die altorientalischen Reiche, vol. III (Frankfurt, 1967), pp. 93–110. L. Levine, “Cities as Ideology: The Neo-Assyrian Centres of Ashur, Nimrud, and Nineveh”, CSMSB 12 (1986), pp. 1–7. M. Liverani, Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600– 1100 B.C. (Padova, 1990). ——, “The Fall of the Assyrian Empire: ancient and modern interpretations”, in S. E. Alcock et al. (eds.), Empires: Perspectives from Archaeology and History (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 374–391. S. Lumsden, “The Production of Space at Nineveh”, in Collon and George, Nineveh, pp. 187–198. E. Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire from the First Century A.D. to the Third (Baltimore, 1976).

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P. Machinist, “The Fall of Assyria in Comparative Ancient Perspective”, in Parpola and Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995, pp. 179–196. M. E. L. Mallowan, Nimrud and Its Remains, I–II (London, 1966). P. Miglus, “Die Stadttore in Assur: Das Problem der Identifizierung”, ZA 72 (1982), pp. 266–279. ——, “Die letzten Tage von Assur und die Zeit danach”, ISIMU 3 (2003), pp. 85–99. A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire (SAAS II; Helsinki, 1994). M. Novák, “The Artificial Paradise: Programme and Ideology of Royal Gardens”, in S. Parpola and M. Whiting (eds.) Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East (Helsinki, 2002), pp. 443–460. ——, “From Assur to Nineveh: the Assyrian town planning programme”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 177–186. J. Oates, “The Fall of Assyria”, in CAH, III.2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991) pp. 162–193. J. and D. Oates, Nimrud: an Assyrian City Revealed (London, 2001). B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). ——. War, Peace, and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden, 1992). E. Oren, The Sea Peoples and Their World: a reassessment (University Museum Monograph 108; Philadelphia, 2000). B. J. Parker, The Mechanics of Empire: The Northern Frontier of Assyria as a Case Study in Imperial Dynamics (Helsinki, 2001). ——. “Archaeological Manifestations of Empire: Assyria’s Imprint on Southeastern Anatolia”, AJA 107 (2003), pp. 525–558. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997). D. Pickworth, “Excavations at Nineveh: the Halzi Gate”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 295–316. A. Pinker, “Nineveh’s Defensive Strategy and Nahum 2”, ZAW 118 (2006), pp. 618–625. ——. “Nahum and Greek Tradition on Nineveh’s Fall”, Journal of Hebrew Scriptiure 6 (2006), pp. 2–16. J. N. Postgate, “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23 (1992), pp. 247–263. ——. “The Assyrian Army at Zamua”, Iraq 62 (2000), pp. 89–108. ——. “The invisible hierarchy: Assyrian military and civilian administration in the 8th and 7th centuries”, in The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur (Oxford, 2007), pp. 331–361. J. E. Reade, “Studies in Neo-Assyrian Geography, part I: Sennacherib and the Waters of Nineveh”, RA 72 (1978), pp. 47–72, 157–180. H. Reviv, “Kidinnu Observations on Privileges of Mesopotamian Cities”, JESHO 31 (1988), pp. 286–298. M. Rivaroli, “Nineveh: from ideology to topography”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 199–206. M. Scott and J. McGinnis, “Notes on Nineveh”, Iraq 52 (1990), pp. 63–73. J. Scurlock, “The Euphrates Flood and the Ashes of Nineveh (Diod. II 27.1–28.7)”, Historia 39 (1990), pp. 382–384. D. Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh”, in Parpola and Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995, pp. 307–324. D. Stronach and S. Lumsden, “UC Berkeley’s Excavations at Nineveh”, Biblical Archaeologist 55 (1992), pp. 227–233. J. A. Tainter, The Collapse of Complex Societies (Cambridge, 1988). J. Ur, “Sennacherib’s Northern Assyrian Canals”, in Collon and George (eds.), Nineveh, pp. 317–345. N. E. Weeks, “Assyrian Imperialism and the Walls of Uruk”, in J. Azize and N. Weeks (eds.), Gilgameš and the World of Assyria. Proceedings of the Conference held at

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Mandelbaum House, The University of Sydney, 21–23 July 2004 (Leuven, 2007), pp. 79–90. T. J. Wilkinson, E. B. Wilkinson, J. Ur and M. Atlaweel, “Landscape and Settlement in the Neo-Assyrian Empire”, BASOR 340 (2006), pp. 23–56. N. Yoffee, “The Collapse of Ancient Mesopotamian States and Civilization”, in N. Yoffee and G. L. Cowgill (eds.), The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations (Tucson, 1988), pp. 44–68. ——, Myths of the Archaic State: Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States and Civilizations (Cambridge, 2005). S. Zawadski, The Fall of Assyria and Median-Babylonian Relations in Light of the Nabopolassar Chronicle (Poznan, 1988).

ASSYRIA, ARAMAEANS AND ARAMAIC*

Alan R. Millard University of Liverpool

Assyrian interactions with the Aramaeans were widespread and longlasting and so probably reflect Assyria’s policies more clearly than her relations with any other peoples or kingdoms. While most of the information comes from Assyrian royal inscriptions, some Aramaic reports can be set beside them. The fact that the Assyrian royal inscriptions portray everything from an Assyrian perspective, with the aim of glorifying the king and his gods, does not evacuate their narratives of value as sources for historical reconstructions of the times they describe. In this connection, it is worth noting how place names and royal names correspond in Assyrian and Aramaic sources. At a time when there is a fashion in some circles to treat any ancient records with skepticism unless they have independent corroboration, these examples of congruence, entirely the product of accidental discoveries, should foster confidence in Assyrian and Aramaic records which lack such corroboration. The comparable situation between Assyrian and biblical texts does not need demonstration (see table). The triumphalist element is obvious in the Assyrian reports, yet admissions that some kings had to attack the same enemy more than once before gaining victory and that some enemy rulers escaped cannot be ignored. For example, Nūr-Adad of Nisibin faced three campaigns by Adad-nirari II, Ahuni of Bīt Adini faced two by Shalmaneser III

* These observations are offered as a willing tribute to Bustenay Oded whose work on warfare and deportations has brought better knowledge of Assyrian policies. They are expanded from a lecture given at the meeting of the Society for Biblical Literature in Boston, U.S.A., in November 2008.

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a. r. millard Table of correspondences between names of kingdoms and kings in Aramaic and Assyrian inscriptions.

Bit-(A)gus Aramu Attarsamak Mati’il Damascus Hazael Hamath Zakkur Sam’al Gabbar Hayyan Panamuwa Aššur Tiglath-pileser

Aramaic

Assyrian

gš ’rm ‘trsmk mt’‘l

(a-)gu-(ú-)si a/abi -ra-mu a-tar-šúm-ki ma-ti-i’-ilu

ḥz’l ḥmt zkr sm’l gbr ḥy’ pnmw ’šwr tgltpl(y)sr

ḫ a-za-i’-ilu ḫ a/a-ma-tu za-ku-ri sa-ma-’a-al-la gab-ba-ri ḫ a-ya-a-nu pa-na-am-mu-u aš-šur tukulti-apil-ešarra

and Nūr-Adad of Dagara “climbed a rugged mountain to escape” from Ashurnasirpal II.1 Of course, those admissions were only made when there was a final victory; when there was not, the Assyrians left no record for posterity! Yet absence of an Assyrian victory was not the only reason for the apparent omission of some kings and kingdoms from Assyrian records. Some absences indicate there was no contact, as for Damascus and Israel in the reign of Ashurnasirpal II. Other absences may mean that the ruler concerned was contendedly maintaining good relations with Assyria, paying tribute regularly and avoiding relationships with anyone hostile to Assyria. The oath taken by Amme-ba’li of Bīt Zamāni when Tukulti-Ninurta II was “merciful” to him (rēmuttu aškunaššu) in 886 B.C.E. is one example of the conditions for peaceful relations. Tukulti-Ninurta reported, “I had him take an oath by Assur, my lord, . . . [. . .]: ‘If you give horses to my enemies, may Adad [strike your] land with terrible lightning’ ”.2 When Ammeba’li was assassinated by some of his nobles, about 879 B.C.E., Ashurnasirpal avenged him, replacing him with the brother of the leading rebel, who, after paying annual tribute for a while, then also rebelled

1 See RIMA 2, pp. 149–151, A.0.99.2, 42–79; RIMA 3, pp. 29–30, A.0.102.5. iii 3b–6; RIMA 2, pp. 203–204, A.0.101.1, 23b–31a. 2 See RIMA 2, p. 172, A.0.100.5, 24b–25.

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and suffered the inexorable Assyrian penalty in 866 B.C.E.3 It is safe to assume other rulers, such as Šamaš-nūrī of Guzān, or Ušpilulme of Kummuh, accepted similar terms to Amme-ba’li and so could count on Assyrian support were they attacked. The Assyrians first faced specifically Aramaean forces in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 B.C.E.), according to available records. His campaigns took him north of the Tur ‘Abdin to repel the incursions of the Mushki and other groups, then further south, across north Syria to the Euphrates, repelling Aramaeans. In both cases, there was a perceived threat to Assyria. When describing the imperialist aggression of the Assyrian kings, it is worth noting the geography of Assyria. The land was open to invasion from every quarter, from Babylonia in the south, from the Zagros Mountains in the east, from the Anatolian foothills in the north and from the steppe west of the Tigris. In the third millennium B.C.E., kings of the dynasty of Akkad and of the Third Dynasty of Ur had exercised some control, in the Old Babylonian period, Shamshi-Adad I had ruled Assyria from Shubat-Enlil west of the Habur River and afterwards the kingdom of Mittanni, based on the Habur, subjugated Assyria. Not surprisingly, when Assyria made herself independent in the 14th century B.C.E., her kings were eager to ensure she could not be overwhelmed again and so tried by diplomacy, threat or war to keep good relations with her neighbors or control them. At the end of the second millennium, the movements of Aramaean tribes from the west presented an obvious danger as they overran Assyrian outposts in the Habur valley and spread further east. In response, Tiglath-pileser and Aššur-bēl-kala (1073–1056 B.C.E.) marched as far as the Mediterranean, defeating them at various places, including Dūr-Katlimmu,4 but their triumphs were hollow, for the Aramaeans apparently confined their successors to the small area along the Tigris from Aššur to Nineveh for the next century. When Aššurdān II (934–912 B.C.E.) and Adad-nērārī II (911–891 B.C.E.) began to reassert Assyrian strength to the west, they had to start with the land between the Tigris and the Habur, which had fallen to the Aramaeans. As Kirk Grayson wrote, Aššur-dān II “regained territory lost during Assyria’s eclipse and he repatriated people who had fled during hard

3 4

See RIMA 2, pp. 211 and 220, A.0.101.1. ii 118–25, iii 105–109. Aššur-bēl-kala, RIMA 2, p. 102, A.0.89.7, iii 22.

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times”.5 In Assyrian eyes, the campaigns to the Habur and beyond were mounted in order to regain territory that had been Assyrian in earlier centuries and to ensure the security of the Assyrian homeland through control of adjacent regions. Imperialistic their actions may have been, but knowledge of the past and a desire to avoid renewed oppression were also involved. There was an inherent problem in the policy, for there was always a potentially hostile power beyond the furthest frontier, so that Assyrian forces could not stop their advances until they met an insuperable obstacle, such as the Mediterranean Sea or the desert road to Egypt – eventually they were to surmount those. That advance brought Israel and Judah into Assyria’s grasp. Although subject kings might be required to swear by Assyrian gods, Assyrian domination did not impose Assyrian language and cuneiform script. Mario Fales has recently raised the question, “Did the Assyrians, after the formation of the empire in the latter half of the 8th century (and the disappearance of independent Aramean polities), also use the Aramaic language and script to vehiculate their political-ideological ‘message’ in West Semitic-speaking regions on stone monuments?”6 While new discoveries may alter the situation, the existence of monolingual stelae bearing Assyrian cuneiform inscriptions in the west, notably those of Sargon II from Hamath, Samaria, Ashdod, Ben Shemen and Qaqun,7 as well as the one from Cyprus, suggest Assyrian kings celebrated their triumphs in their own language and script alone. Local Assyrian appointed rulers set up monuments with cuneiform inscriptions, some with other languages, too, e.g. Aramaic for Adad-it’î of Guzan and Shamshi-ilu at Til Barsip, Aramaic and Luwian for Ninurta-bēl-uṣur at Hadatu (Arslan Tash). The bilingual monuments of Azittawada at Karatepe or Urikki at Çineköy are in Luwian and Phoenician versions, while one of Urikki adds a cuneiform version.8 These multilingual inscriptions were erected for local 5 A. K. Grayson, “Assyria: Ashur-dan II to Ashur-nirari V”, in J. Boardman, I. E. S. Edwards, G. L. Hammond and E. Sollberger (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History, III/1, (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1982), p. 249. 6 F. M. Fales, “Multilinguism on Multiple Media in the Neo-Assyrian Period: A Review of the Evidence”, SAAB 16 (2007), pp. 106–107. 7 See A. Horowitz, T. Oshima and S. Sanders, Cuneiform in Canaan. Cuneiform Sources from the Land of Israel in Ancient Times (Jerusalem, 2006), p. 20. 8 See R. Tekoğlu and A. Lemaire, “La Bilingue royale Louvito-Phénicienne de Çineköy”, Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, Comptes rendus (Paris, juilletoctobre 2000), pp. 961–1006, with mention of a poorly preserved trilingual monument of Urikki at Incirli, p. 992, of which the Phoenician text is now presented by

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rulers and may do no more than exemplify the boast of Yariris of Carchemish that he could read four scripts.9 There is no reference to Assyria on the Tell Fekheriyeh Statue where, it is worthy of note, the Aramaic text uses the title mlk rather than an Assyrian term, although it readily adopts other Assyrian words. The number of Assyrian cuneiform tablets recovered outside Assyria is small,10 so cuneiform writing was evidently current only for Assyrian administrative purposes and occasionally for legal deeds. That may be partly accidental, but I suggest it is a sign of the growth in the employment of Aramaic in daily business, to which now the several dozen Aramaic documents on clay tablets bear witness.11 Naturally, Aramaean rulers have not left monuments telling of their subjugation by Assyria, but, as is well known, some tell how they gained Assyrian support. Kilamuwa records in Phoenician how he bought Assyrian aid when his neighbours threatened him (as did Ahaz of Judah when Damascus and Samaria threatened him, 2 Kgs 16:5–9),12 and Bar-Rakib proudly tells how his father, Panamuwa II, had Assyria’s support for his rule and died in battle in Assyria’s service, then how loyal he, Bar-rakib was to Tiglath-pileser (III). The stele of king Zakkur of Hamath is too damaged for the manner of his rescue from a coalition of neighbours to be certain, but the suggestion of Assyrian intervention is plausible, in view of Zakkur’s likely place of origin, Anah, then under Assyrian control.13 Various local kings proclaimed their achievements and their piety in Aramaic on stone monuments and one had treaty terms engraved on stone. Apart from those inscribed stones, the quantity of extant texts in Aramaic, written earlier than 600 B.C.E. is remarkably small, taking S. A. Kaufman, “The Phoenician Inscription of the Incirli Trilingual: A Tentative Reconstruction and Translation”, Maarav 14.2 (2007), pp. 7–26. 9 Karkamiš A15b, §§19, 20, see J. D. Hawkins, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions, I, Inscriptions of the Iron Age, 1 (Berlin, 2000), pp. 130–133. 10 See the list, with distribution map, in K. Radner, Die Neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden als Quelle für Mensch und Umwelt (SAAS 6; Helsinki, 1997), pp. 6–18; and Horowitz, Oshima and Sanders, Cuneiform in Canaan, p. 20. 11 A. Lemaire, Nouvelles Tablettes araméennes (Geneva, 2001). 12 See B. Oded, “Ahaz’s Appeal to Tiglath-Pileser III in the Context of the Assyrian Policy of Expansion”, in M. Heltzer, A. Segal and D. Kaufman (eds.), Studies in the Archaeology and History of Ancient Israel in Honour of M. Dothan (Haifa, 1993), pp. 63*–71*. 13 A. Millard, “The Homeland of Zakkur”, Semitica 39 (1990), pp. 47–52. Anah is listed as one of the places controlled by Nergal-eresh in his stele from Saba’a, see RIMA 3, pp. 208–209, A.0.104.6, 25.

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into account the number of kingdoms and the wide area they covered. Of the kings of Damascus, Hazael alone is known from contemporary Aramaic inscriptions in his name, but they are the short notices on two bronze horse trappings and on two pieces of ivory veneer. The Zakkur Stele mentions a Bar-Hadad, son of Hazael of Aram (Damascus). Names of owners are incised on a few bronze bowls and other objects and on seals. The seals demand a little more attention. In the Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals, N. Avigad and B. Sass registered 107 stamp seals and impressions with Aramaic legends.14 Of those, perhaps 50% were made in the 7th century B.C.E., or earlier, and to them should be added perhaps as many as 30 or 40 cylinder seals, maybe one hundred Aramaic seals in all. In contrast, the Corpus lists at least 149 seals from the small kingdom of Ammon and hundreds more from Israel and Judah. The amount of archaeological excavation, construction work and looting in the Holy Land and Jordan may partly explain the difference, but is hardly the sole reason for it. Excavation and construction has increased enormously in Syria, Lebanon and Jordan in the past half-century, without producing the same quantities of seals inscribed in Aramaic. It is not only the disparity in the number of seals that is striking: the number of Aramaic ostraca and graffiti is very small, too, Whereas several Aramaic ostraca of pre-Persian times have been found in the Holy Land, very few have come from sites in Syria.15 The reverse is true for stone monuments; there are many more and more complete examples in Aramaic than there are in Hebrew. In discussing the place of Aramaic in the last century of the Assyrian empire, Mario Fales has argued that, while there was writing on papyrus and leather, its existence has been exaggerated and the evidence for it is “in fact, quite evanescent”.16 He asserted there is “increasing evidence for the use of Aramaic writing on ostraca in many different parts of the empire” and drew attention to ‘the very limited number of known sealings which appear to have been applied to papyrus sur-

14

N. Avigad and B. Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem, 1997). See J. A. Fitzmyer and S. A. Kaufman, An Aramaic Bibliography, Part 1: Old, Official, and Biblical Aramaic (Baltimore, 1991), B.1. For two graffiti found at Tell Rifa’at, see A. Millard, “Aramaic”, in P. Haarer (ed.), Alphabetic Responses to Western Semitic Writing (Oxford, forthcoming). 16 F. M. Fales, “The Use and Function of Aramaic Tablets”, in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Louvain, 2000), pp. 123–124. 15

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faces’ listed in the compilation made by S. Herbordt.17 The three clear examples of papyrus and cord imprints from Nimrud form, indeed a, limited number, yet it is dangerous to treat that as a sign of the rarity of documents written on papyrus (or leather). Until 1966 only five Hebrew bullae which had sealed papyrus documents had been recorded, together with many dozen ostraca, then a small hoard of sixteen was found at Lachish. Still in 1980, Sean Warner could suppose little Hebrew writing was done on papyrus, ostraca being the common material.18 Today hundreds of Hebrew bullae have been found, the majority bearing the “fingerprints” of papyrus on the back.19 The almost total absence of Aramaic bullae from Syrian and Assyrian sites need not, therefore, indicate minimal writing on papyrus, being, rather, an accident of survival and discovery. From the beginning of the 8th century B.C.E. and slightly later there are examples of Aramaic cursive script which show there were texts less monumental than the stone stelae and the earliest, the Tell Deir ‘Alla plaster text, dated about 800 B.C.E., represents a literary composition written fluently on a roll of papyrus or leather. The graffiti from Hamath offer further illustrations of the cursive handwriting, which is well attested in the 7th century on clay tablets. I still maintain clay tablets were substitutes for more flexible writing materials when those were not available, except in those cases where bilingual deeds are concerned. The Neo-Assyrian tablets excavated at Tall Šēh Hamad include 61 with Aramaic annotations and of those, 31 are written in ink.20 The scribes were unlikely to have made pens and ink only for writing notes on cuneiform tablets or potsherds; those epigraphs surely attest a wider use of ink for writing on flexible surfaces. The few references to such forms of writing do 17 Idem, ibid., n. 182. See S. Herbordt, Neuassyrische Glyptik des 8.–7 Jh. v. Chr. unter besonderer Berüksichtigung der Siegelungen auf Tafeln und Tonverschlüssen (SAAS 1; Helsinki, 1992), p. 68. Photographs of the backs of the bullae are given in B. W. Buchanan and P. R. S. Moorey, Catalogue of Ancient Near Eastern Seals in the Ashmolean Museum, 3, The Iron Age Stamp Seals (Oxford, 1988), pl. II, nos. 64–66. 18 S. Warner, “The Alphabet: An Innovation and Its Diffusion”, Vetus Testamentum 39 (1980), pp. 81–90. 19 R. Deutsch, Messages from the Past. Hebrew Bullae from the Time of Isaiah through the Destruction of the First Temple. Shlomo Moussaieff Collection and an Up to Date Corpus (Tel Aviv, 1999); idem, Biblical Period Hebrew Bullae. The Josef Chaim Kaufman Collection (Tel Aviv, 2003). 20 See W. Röllig, in K. Radner, Die neuassysrischen Texte aus Tall Šēh Hamad (BATSH 6; Berlin, 2002); idem, “Keilschrift versus Alphabetschrift. Überlegungen zu den epigraphs auf Keilschrifttafeln”, in P. Bienkowski, C. B. Mee and E. A. Slater (eds.), Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society (London, 2005), pp. 119–126.

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not prove its rarity; there are no references to writing on potsherds! In the light of the epigraphic remains recovered from ancient Israel and Judah and the Transjordanian kingdoms, the meager quantity of Aramaic texts, other than stone monuments, surely points to the widespread use of perishable writing materials. The Aramaic clay tablets disclose the impact of Assyrian legal terminology on Aramaic, an impact which endured, as the Elephantine papyri reveal. On the other hand, Aramaic texts share curses, notably in the stelae from Sefire and Bukan and the Tell Fekheriyeh Statue. These are apparently of western origin and reach back to the 9th century at least.21 Their evidence for a stock of curses from which scribes could draw strengthens the possibility that some of the curses in the “Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon”, those with comparisons, came from the same tradition, a tradition the Hebrew writers of Deuteronomy and other books shared.22 The impact of Aramaic at a lower level is noteworthy. Craftsmen making ivory carvings found in the Assyrian palaces at Nimrud (Kalhu) sometimes marked the elements of composite pieces to ensure their correct assemblage. They engraved or scratched a variety of signs, simple strokes, devices of greater or lesser complexity and letters of the “Phoenician” alphabet. With single letters deciding whether they are Phoenician or Aramaic is often impossible, however Aramaic features are present in some, so it is likely that Aramaean artisans made most of them. The ivories are dated to the ninth and eighth centuries, although precision is unobtainable – the only pieces which can be dated by inscriptions do not have identifiable carvings. One pyxis bears on its rim the name of Šamši-ilu, the Assyrian turtanu and governor of Bīt Adini, who flourished from the time of Adad-nirari III (810–783 B.C.E.) to Ashur-nirari V (754–745 B.C.E.), but there is, regrettably, no record of any decoration.23 The ivory carvers were skilled and some knew their letters; so the cabinet makers who fitted the carvings into the wooden furniture also had to recognize the sequences the marks required. The same holds for some of the bricklayers at Nimrud.

21 A. Lemaire, “Une inscription araméenne du VIIIe s. av. J.-C. trouvée à Bukan”, Studia Iranica 27 (1998), pp. 22–27. 22 See K. Watanabe, Die adê-Vereidigung anlässlich der Thronfolgerung Asarhaddons (Baghdader Mitteilungen Beiheft 3; Berlin, 1987), pp. 33–34. 23 G. Herrmann, S. Laidlaw and H. Coffey, Ivories from Nimrud VI: Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992), (London, 2009), pp. 178–79, no. 213.

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Elements of a polychrome glazed brick panel bearing part of a winged disk and geometric and floral patterns were found fallen into one room at Fort Shalmaneser in 1989.24 On the upper faces of some bricks were groups of vertical lines and drawings in white paint of unconnected objects, such as a cauldron, a plough, a star, a face. Similar drawings were noticed on bricks from other panels at Nimrud, at Khorsabad, at Babylon and at Susa. Recorded for the first time in 1989 were letters of the alphabet written in black ink on some of the bricks.25 They afford proof that the letters were intended to make a sequence, for three bricks carry parts of the name and titles of Shalmaneser III on their glazed edges and, when they are placed in order, one of them is seen to bear the letter gimel and, after a gap of one brick, which would have carried daleth, the next has he. As early as the middle of the 9th century B.C.E., therefore, workmen in Assyria who could not read the cuneiform signs were sufficiently acquainted with the order of the Aramaic alphabet to use it as their guide. Clearly, some basic knowledge of Aramaic script had entered Assyria with craftsmen and builders, whether they were migrants or deportees. Societies can exist in which a ruling class speaks and writes one language while another is current among the ruled, yet the “dockets” scratched in Aramaic on cuneiform tablets and the unilingual Aramaic tablets found within Assyria as well as those from further west show Aramaic was being written across the empire. If Mario Fales and André Lemaire correctly interpret two small tablets with a few words in Aramaic on each as amulets, then they attest a wider use of Aramaic than the purely legal or administrative, as Fales expressed it, “full and operating synchretism between the Assyrian and Aramaic-speaking element within the major cities of the empire in the 7th century B.C.E.”.26 Letters of the alphabet used to indicate a sequence implies knowledge of their order, something which would be unlikely unless the letters had wider use for some in the society already about 850 B.C.E. That the Aramaic tablets belong to the last century of Assyria’s existence need not mean

24 See J. Curtis, D. Collon and A. Green, “British Museum Excavations at Nimrud and Balawat in 1989”, Iraq 55 (1993), pp. 21–30. 25 See Millard, “The Graffiti on the Glazed Bricks from Nimrud”, pp. 35–36. 26 F. M. Fales, Aramaic Epigraphs on Clay Tablets of the Neo-Assyrian Period (Studi Semitici N.S. 2; Rome, 1986), pp. 222–224; Lemaire, Nouvelles Tablettes araméennes, pp. 113–114.

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that none were written earlier as very few Neo-Assyrian tablets survive from earlier centuries, either.27 Several years ago I commented that “In the earlier period of the NeoAssyrian Empire there appears a symbiosis of peoples, of Assyrians and Arameans”,28 today the grounds for that statement are strengthened. When the Assyrians made treaties with Aramaean kings, or seized their realms, their culture might have an impact on art, language and law, as the Tell Fekheriyeh Statue exhibits most clearly. When the Assyrians deported Aramaeans, they imported their language and the alphabetic script into other parts of the empire. It is hard to perceive what else the Aramaeans, as opposed to other peoples, carried with them, for there is no artistic or architectural style that appears distinctive, they are only known by their language, yet in that their influence has continuing effect.

27 See A. Millard, “Observations from the Eponym Lists”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), pp. 207–215. 28 “Assyrians and Arameans”, Iraq 45 (1983), p. 106.

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Bibliography N. Avigad and B. Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem, 1997). B. W. Buchanan and P. R. S. Moorey, Catalogue of Ancient Near Eastern Seals in the Ashmolean Museum, 3, The Iron Age Stamp Seals (Oxford, 1988). J. Curtis, D. Collon and A. Green, “British Museum Excavations at Nimrud and Balawat in 1989”, Iraq 55 (1993), pp. 21–30. R. Deutsch, Messages from the Past. Hebrew Bullae from the Time of Isaiah through the Destruction of the First Temple. Shlomo Moussaieff Collection and an Up to Date Corpus (Tel Aviv, 1999). ——, Biblical Period Hebrew Bullae. The Josef Chaim Kaufman Collection (Tel Aviv, 2003). F. M. Fales, Aramaic Epigraphs on Clay Tablets of the Neo-Assyrian Period (Studi Semitici N.S., 2; Rome, 1986) ——, “The Use and Function of Aramaic Tablets”, in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Louvain, 2000). ——, “Multilinguism on Multiple Media in the Neo-Assyrian Period: A Review of the Evidence”, SAAB 16 (2007), pp. 95–122. J. A. Fitzmyer and S. A. Kaufman, An Aramaic Bibliography, Part 1: Old, Official, and Biblical Aramaic (Baltimore, 1991). A. K. Grayson, “Assyria: Ashur-dan II to Ashur-nirari V”, in J. Boardman, I. E. S. Edwards, G. L. Hammond and E. Sollberger (eds), The Cambridge Ancient History, III/1, (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1982), pp. 238–281. J. D. Hawkins, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions I, Inscriptions of the Iron Age, 1 (Berlin, 2000). S. Herbordt, Neuassyrische Glyptik des 8.–7 Jh. v. Chr. unter besonderer Berüksichtigung der Siegelungen auf Tafeln und Tonverschlüssen (SAAS 1; Helsinki, 1992). G. Herrmann, S. Laidlaw and H. Coffey, Ivories from Nimrud VI: Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992), (London, 2009). A. Horowitz, T. Oshima and S. Sanders, Cuneiform in Canaan. Cuneiform Sources from the Land of Israel in Ancient Times (Jerusalem, 2006). S. A. Kaufman, “The Phoenician Inscription of the Incirli Trilingual: A Tentative Reconstruction and Translation”, Maarav 14.2 (2007), pp. 7–26. A. Lemaire, “Une inscription araméenne du VIIIe s. av. J.-C. trouvée à Bukan”, Studia Iranica 27 (1998), pp. 15–30. ——, Nouvelles Tablettes araméennes (Geneva, 2001). A. Millard, “Assyrians and Arameans”, Iraq 45 (1983), pp. 101–108. ——, “The Homeland of Zakkur”, Semitica 39 (1990), pp. 47–52. ——, “Observations from the Eponym Lists”, in S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting (eds.), Assyria 1995 (Helsinki, 1997), pp. 207–215. ——, “Aramaic”, in P. Haarer (ed.), Alphabetic Responses to Western Semitic Writing (Oxford, forthcoming). B. Oded, “Ahaz’s Appeal to Tiglath-Pileser III in the Context of the Assyrian Policy of Expansion”, in M. Heltzer, A. Segal and D. Kaufman (eds.), Studies in the Archaeology and History of Ancient Israel in Honour of M. Dothan (Haifa, 1993), pp. 63*–71*. K. Radner, Die Neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden als Quelle für Mensch und Umwelt (SAAS 6; Helsinki, 1997). W. Röllig, “Keilschrift versus Alphabetschrift. Überlegungen zu den epigraphs auf Keilschrifttafeln”, in P. Bienkowski, C. B. Mee and E. A. Slater (eds.), Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society (London, 2005), pp. 119–126. R. Tekoğlu and A. Lemaire, “La Bilingue royale Louvito-Phénicienne de Çineköy”, Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, Comptes rendus (Paris, juillet–octobre 2000), pp. 961–1006.

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S. Warner, “The Alphabet: An Innovation and Its Diffusion”, VT 39 (1980), pp. 81–90. K. Watanabe, Die adê-Vereidigung anlässlich der Thronfolgerung Asarhaddons (Baghdader Mitteilungen Beiheft 3; Berlin, 1987).

SÎN-ŠARRU-IŠKUN AND EZIDA IN CALAH1

Jamie Novotny and Greta Van Buylaere University of Pennsylvania and University of Cambridge

Sîn-šarru-iškun, like his father Assurbanipal and his grandfather Esarhaddon, appears to have been actively engaged in building projects in Assur, Calah, and Nineveh. Bricks, clay cylinders, cones, prisms, and tablets discovered in these cities attest to restoration work on the Nabû temple in Assur, the Nabû temple in Calah, and the western entrance of the “Alabaster House” in Nineveh; this king also dedicated ornate, inscribed objects to several gods in Assur. Few royal inscriptions of his have been positively identified in museum collections and no complete up-to-date edition (with English translations) of his res gestae has yet been published. We take this opportunity to present a new edition of one of his texts: Cylinder B, an inscription recording his restoration of a temple in Calah, most probably Ezida. Before we dive into our edition, which includes several newly identified fragments, let us first examine briefly Sîn-šarru-iškun’s known projects in Assyria.

I. Sîn-šarru-iškun: Overview of Building Activities in Assyria2 Although few inscriptions of Sîn-šarru-iškun have been identified, and most of these are fragmentarily preserved, it is known that this 1 We would like to thank Grant Frame and Mikko Luukko for offering their critical remarks on a draft of this manuscript. Their time and care is greatly appreciated. Moreover, we are grateful to Jon Taylor for permitting us to collate Sîn-šarru-iškun fragments in the British Museum and to the Trustees of the British Museum for allowing us to publish copies of pieces either unpublished or not previously published in facsimile. The post-canonical eponyms cited for Sîn-šarru-iškun follow the dates provided in PNA, 1/I, pp. XVIII–XIX; the asterisk following the date indicates that the post-canonical eponym is not dated with absolute certainty. 2 Sîn-šarru-iškun also worked on the Nergal temple in Sirara. For this badly damaged inscription on a clay prism, see F. J. Stephens, Votive and Historical Texts from Babylonia and Assyria (YOS 9; New Haven, 1937), p. 19 and pls. XXXI–XXXII, no. 80.

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king sponsored building or restoration projects in no less than three Assyrian cities: Assur, Calah, and Nineveh. In Assur, he rebuilt the Nabû temple (Eĝidrukalamasumu). Descriptions of the work are known from clay cylinders and prisms (Cylinder A),3 as well as from clay cones (RIMS 1, J, nos. 236–248).4 The inscription on clay cones, which has the shorter of the two reports, states that the project was initiated when the king’s heart prompted him to rebuild this temple. He boasts of having laid its foundations in a favourable month, on an auspicious day, and of having mixed good quality beer and karānu-wine into the mortar; he mentions also that his brick-makers and basket-carriers joyfully constructed the temple from top to bottom while singing (RIMS 1, J, lines 7–11). Cylinder A provides further information and some alternate details about the project’s initiation. The building report (Cyl. A lines 22–34) records 3 Selected bibliography: V. Scheil, “Inscriptions des derniers rois d’Assyrie”, RA 10 (1913), pp. 199–205, no. 2; idem, Le Prisme S d’Assarhaddon, Roi d’Assyrie 681–669 (Paris, 1914), pp. 51–56; O. Schröder, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts. II (= KAH 2; Leipzig, 1922), nos. 128, 131, and 135–137; ARAB, II, pp. 414–416, §§ 1156–1164; F. M. Th. de Liagre Böhl, Mededeelingen uit de Leidsche Verzameling van Spijkerschrift-Inscripties 3. Assyrische en nieuw-babylonische oorkonden (1100–91 v. Chr.), (Amsterdam, 1933), pp. 33–42; M. Falkner, “Neue Inschriften aus der Zeit Sin-šarru-iškuns”, AfO 16 (1952–1953), p. 305; V. Donbaz and A. K. Grayson, Royal Inscriptions on Clay Cones from Ashur Now in Istanbul (Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Supplements 1; Toronto, 1984), pl. 37 no. 265 and pl. 41 no. 306; and M. Sigrist and A. R. Millard, “Catalogue des Tablettes Cunéiformes du Couvent SaintÉtienne”, RB 92 (1985), p. 576. Cylinder Exemplars: Ass 13158 (+) Ass 13158a (VA Ass 2316), Ass 13595 (VA 5060), and LB 1323. Prism Exemplars: Ass 948 (VA 7501), Ass 13266 + Ass 13594 (VA 8419 + VA 5059), Ass 13374 (VA 8418), Ass 18738 (A 3620), Ass 19423 (A 3634), and SÉ nos. 155–156 (Couvent Saint Étienne, l’École Biblique et Archéologique Française, Jerusalem). For the provenances of the cylinders and prisms, see O. Pedersén, Katalog der beschrifteten Objekte aus Assur: die Schriftträger mit Ausnahme der Tontafeln und ähnlicher Archivtexte (Saarbrücken, 1997), pp. 153–154, 157, 159, and 207. One cylinder was inscribed in the post-canonical eponymy of Belahu-uṣur (616*). Ass 3518 (+) Ass 3830 (VA 7506 [+] VA 7518); Schröder, KAH 2, nos. 130 and 132 is another inscription of this king on a prism from Assur. 4 Selected bibliography: Schröder, KAH 2, nos. 129 and 133; ARAB, II, pp. 413– 414, §§ 1152–1155; Falkner, ibid., p. 305; L. Jakob-Rost, “Die Tonnagel-Inschriften aus Assur”, Forschungen und Berichte 22 (1982), pp. 146 and 175, no. 111; Donbaz and Grayson, ibid., pp. 55–60 and pls. 32–34 J nos. 236–248. Exemplars: Ass 6626 (A 3448), Ass 10625 (VA Ass 2128), Ass 12548 (A 3547), Ass 12726 (A 3549), Ass 12727 (VA 8416), Ass 12729 (A 3550), Ass 12946 (A 3554), Ass 12951 (A 3555), Ass 13014 (A 3557), Ass 13105 (A 3558), Ass 13165 (A 3560), Ass 13223 (A 3561), Ass 13331 (A 3563), Ass 13458 (A 3565), and Ass 13591 (A 3567). For the provenances of the cones, see Pedersén, ibid., pp. 136, 143, and 145–146. Six exemplars were inscribed in the post-canonical eponymy of Sa’ilu, the chief cook (620*). Falkner (ibid., p. 305) lists Ass 3253, Ass 3334 and Ass 4203 as duplicates of this inscription; we are unable to confirm this. For Ass 3253, see Pedersén, ibid., p. 85.

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that Nabû’s temple had become extremely dilapidated. The situation is described as follows: [For a] long [time], it fell into disrepair and (eventually) it became like the ground (itself). (On account of this), the god Nabû and the goddess Tašmetu took up residence in the temple of the Assyrian Ištar and (there) they received strewn offerings. Kings, [predecessors of mine] that came before me, did not think about (re)building that temple; they did not pay (it any) attention. I, Sîn-šarru-iškun, king of the universe, king of Assyria, the one who respects the great gods, the one who is assiduous towards their places (of worship), conceived in my heart (the idea of re)building that temple; my mind urged me (to carry out this project). (Cyl. A lines 24–28)

Once the ruins were cleared, the king took the necessary measures to ensure this temple was constructed carefully. He states that when the new foundations were laid, the former ground plan was followed exactly; the foundations were set in place in a favourable month, on an auspicious day, and in accordance with the craft of the incantation-priest. The walls were then raised from the foundations to the crenellations and are said to have shone like day; numerous bricks of Sîn-šarru-iškun attest to this.5 When the work was completed, Nabû and Tašmetu were escorted from their temporary home in the temple of the Assyrian Ištar to their daises; the event was concluded with sumptuous offerings. Two tablets discovered at Assur preserve copies (or models) of texts written on the metal covering of objects commissioned and dedicated to several gods in this city. After the completion of Eĝidrukalamasumu or just prior to this occasion, Sîn-šarru-iškun commissioned for Nabû

5 Selected bibliography: L. Messerschmidt, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts, I (= KAH 1; Leipzig, 1911), no. 56; Schröder, KAH 2, no. 134; ARAB, II, p. 416 §1165; C. B. F. Walker, Cuneiform Brick Inscriptions in the British Museum, the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, the City of Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery, the City of Bristol Museum and Art Gallery (London, 1981), no. 189; and L. Jakob-Rost and J. Marzahn, Assyrische Königsinschriften auf Ziegeln aus Assur (Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler der Königlichen Museen zu Berlin 23; Berlin, 1985), nos. 143–145, 148, and 151. Brick Exemplars: Ass 2043 (VA Ass 3285), Ass 6655 (VA Ass 3284a), Ass 13123, Ass 13188, Ass 13189 (VA Ass 3284b), Ass 13352 (VA Ass 3284c), Ass 13444, Ass 13445, Ass 13446, Ass 13447, Ass 13448, Ass 13449, Ass 13450, Ass 13462, Ass 13463, Ass 13465, Ass 13466, Ass 13467 (BM 115697 [1922–8–12,72]), Ass 13606, Ass 13607 (VA Ass 3284f ), Ass 13799 (VA Ass 3284g), Ass 13946a (VA Ass 3284h), and VA Ass 3284i. For the provenances of the bricks, see Pedersén, ibid., pp. 167, 182, and 190–192.

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and Tašmetu a gold(-plated) kallu-bowl and a silver spoon (Ass 1328 = VAT 9948);6 and for the goddesses Antum and Šala (a consort of Nabû) he dedicated musukkannu-wood offering-tables plated with coverings of a silver alloy (ešmarû) (KAV 171). In Calah, Sîn-šarru-iškun had work carried out on a temple, most likely Ezida since cylinder fragments of his were discovered in the ruins of this building (see the catalogue below) and since Nabû and Tašmetu are mentioned in the fragmentary building report of the inscription discovered in the ruins of this temple. Due to the poor state of preservation of the building report of Cylinder B (lines 30–37), the extent of the project is not entirely certain.7 It is known, however, that the project was carefully carried out according to the craft of the incantation-priest; the king laid some of its foundations, completely built the sections he was working on (presumably from the foundations to the crenellations), did something with its “grand designs”, and returned Nabû and Tašmetu to their seats. The work, according to the inscription, started in his accession year (627). In Nineveh, he restored the western entrance of the South-West Palace, which he refers to as the “Alabaster House”, undoubtedly referring to its numerous sculpted and inscribed limestone slabs and colossal apotropaic figures. Cylinder C (lines 12’–15’) records that he cleared away the dilapidated portions, completely rebuilt the walls of these sections from their foundations to their crenellations, and made its structure larger than it had been previously.8 Sîn-šarru-iškun may have also worked on Nineveh’s wall. A copy of Cylinder C preserved on a tablet (IM 3209 + IM 3249), which is either an archival copy or

6

Falkner, ibid., pp. 306–307 and pl. XV. See below for a selected bibliography and a catalogue of exemplars. K 1662 (ex. 1) and ND 4323 (ex. 11) were inscribed in the post-canonical eponymy of Daddî, the (great) treasurer (622*). The other known inscription of this king from Calah is a label on a clay sealing discovered in the Review Palace; see CTN III, no. 83 (ND 6228). 8 Selected bibliography: L. W. King, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum, part 34 (= CT 34; London, 1914), pls. 2–3 and 5–7; ARAB, II, pp. 411–413, §§1142–1147 and 1150; and A. K. Grayson, “Cylinder C of Sîn-šarru-iškun, a New Text from Baghdad”, in Wevers and Redford (eds.), Studies on the Ancient Palestinian World Presented to Professor F. V. Winnett on the occasion of his retirement 1 July 1971 (Toronto, 1972), pp. 157–168. Exemplars: Ki 1904–10–9,352 + Ki 1904–10–9,353; Ki 1904–10–9,357 (BM 99324; unpublished fragment identified by A. K. Grayson); 81–7–27,8 + 82–5–22,26; DT 64 + 82–5–22,7; K 8541; and IM 3209 + IM 3249. Ki 1904–10–9,352+ was inscribed in the post-canonical eponymy of Nabûtapputi-alik, the chief eunuch (613*), and IM 3209+ is dated to that of Bel-ahu-uṣur, the palace overseer (616*). 7

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a model of the text written on cylinders, states that the inscription was “for the wall of Nineveh”; this exemplar may indicate that there are two recensions of Cylinder C. Sîn-šarru-iškun appears to have sponsored other projects in Nineveh, possibly even work on the Nabû temple; unfortunately, we are not certain of what he worked on since the building reports of four badly damaged clay cylinders – K 2744 (= Cylinder D), BM 122613, 80–7–19,13 (mentions the Tigris), and K 8540 + 82–5–22,28 – are either completely missing or very badly damaged.9

II. Cylinder B: Edition and Comments This inscription of Sîn-šarru-iškun is presently known from fourteen cylinder fragments, several of which were discovered in or near the Ezida temple in Calah; one fragment is known with certainty to have come from Nineveh (BM 123414, ex. 6). Most of the Cylinder B fragments in the Kouyunjik collections of the British Museum unearthed in the 19th century likely come from Calah, rather than from Nineveh (see ex. 1, below). All fourteen pieces are barrel cylinders, with the inscription written in Neo-Assyrian script and Standard Babylonian dialect (with some Assyrianisms), and with each line separated by a horizontal ruling; there are no rulings between lines on the copy of ex. 2.10 Exs. 1, 4, and 5 were correctly identified as texts 9 Selected bibliography: CT 34 pls. 3–4; ARAB, II, p. 413, §1151; A. R. Millard, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nineveh: Ashurbanipal”, Iraq 30 (1968), p. 111 and pl. XXVII; Grayson, “Cylinder C of Sîn-šarru-iškun”, p. 158 n. 4; W. Schramm, “Assyrische Königsinschriften”, WO 8 (1975–1976), pp. 45–48; R. Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals: Die Prismenklassen A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften (Wiesbaden, 1996), p. 356; and J. Reade, “Ninive (Nineveh)”, RlA 9 (1998–2001), p. 410. There is no consensus on the attribution of BM 122613; Weissert (apud Borger, ibid., p. 356) suggests that it is an inscription of Sîn-šarru-iškun and Reade proposes that it belongs to Assurbanipal and that it joins (not physically) BM 122616 + BM 127966 (+)? BM 128073. The principal issue is the dating of the post-canonical eponymy of Sîn-šarru-uṣur, governor of Hindanu, in whose tenure as eponym this cylinder was inscribed. R. M. Whiting (in A. R. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910–612 BC [SAAS 2; Helsinki, 1994], p. 116) dates this post-canonical eponym to the reign of Assurbanipal (636*) and the tenure of Sîn-šarru-uṣur, the palace scribe, to that of Sîn-šarru-iškun (625*). The language of the text, especially the epithet “beloved of the god Nabû and the goddess Tašmetu”, suggests a date in the time of Sîn-šarru-iškun. This issue falls outside the scope of the present paper and, therefore, will not be resolved here. 10 We are unable to confirm the accuracy of Wiseman’s copy.

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written under the auspices of this king at the time of their original publication. However, many fragments were cited as being inscriptions of Esarhaddon (exs. 2 and 8–10) or Assurbanipal (exs. 7 and 13–14) when first published. L. W. King (CT 34, pls. 2–7) published copies of three fragments (exs. 1 and 4–5) of Cylinder B in 1914, together with copies of Cylinder C. Two years later, M. Streck made a serious attempt to sort out Sîn-šarru-iškun’s cylinders.11 D. D. Luckenbill just over ten years later, published English translations of the known Sîn-šarru-iškun inscriptions.12 M. Falkner prepared a bibliography and a catalogue of the known exemplars.13 D. J. Wiseman published six cylinder fragments (exs. 2–3 and 8–11) discovered at Nimrud; he identified most of them as texts belonging to Esarhaddon.14 R. Borger correctly identified the pieces mislabelled as Esarhaddon and prepared a much-welcomed conflated transliteration, which comprised nine exemplars (exs. 1–5 and 8–11).15 A. R. Millard published in 1968 a copy of BM 123414 (ex. 6) as an inscription possibly belonging to Assurbanipal.16 A. K. Grayson utilised Cylinder B in reconstructing the damaged passages in his edition of Cylinder C.17 M. Mahmud and J. Black published a copy of a fragment of a clay cylinder discovered in Ezida (ex. 1), but made no attempt to identify its contents.18 E. Weissert correctly identified Sumer 44 no. 5 and rightly proposed that this piece belongs to the same cylinder as K 1662 (ex. 1);19 this non-physical join now proves that ex. 1, and likely exs. 4 and 5, originates from Calah, not Nineveh. While working on Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals, Borger

11 M. Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergange Niniveh’s (VAB 7/1–3; Leipzig, 1916), pp. CCVII–CCXVI, CDXCIV–CDXCV, 382– 389, and 838–843. 12 ARAB, II, pp. 409–416, §§1136–1165. 13 Falkner, “Neue Inschriften aus der Zeit Sin-šarru-iškuns”, pp. 305–307. 14 D. J. Wiseman, “The Nimrud Tablets, 1951”, Iraq 14 (1952), pp. 66 and 68 (= pl. XXII); idem, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud”, Iraq 26 (1964), pp. 122–124 and pl. XXVII. 15 R. Borger, “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, JCS 19 (1965), pp. 68 and 76–78. 16 Millard, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nineveh: Ashurbanipal”, p. 111 and pl. XXVI. 17 Grayson, “Cylinder C of Sîn-šarru-iškun”. 18 M. Mahmud and J. Black, “Recent Work in the Nabu Temple, Nimrud”, Sumer 44 (1985–1986), pp. 137 and 152, no. 5. 19 E. Weissert, “On the Recently Discovered Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions from Nimrud”, NABU 1990/4, pp. 103–105, no. 126.

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identified BM 123414 (ex. 6) as an exemplar of this text and recognised 89–4–26,154 (ex. 12) as an inscription that paralleled Cylinder B;20 according to him, the first three lines contain a major variant in the inscription’s prologue (see the commentary to line 17–20). In 2001, J. Novotny discovered that ND 6209 (ex. 7) was not inscribed with an inscription of Assurbanipal, as previously thought: it actually bears a text of his son and second successor. Lastly, while preparing this manuscript, the authors were able to identify two additional fragments using published information on Esarhaddon’s and Assurbanipal’s res gestae from Calah and an unpublished catalogue of inscribed objects from Nimrud: ND 6222 (ex. 13) and ND 6221 (ex. 14). Unfortunately, even with the discovery of several new pieces, Sîn-šarru-iškun’s Cylinder B is still badly damaged. Missing text in the prologue and concluding formulae can in some places be restored from the other positively identified inscriptions of this king (see the commentary below). Cylinder B was inscribed in the post-canonical eponymy of Daddî, the treasurer (622*). Like Cylinder A, this inscription alternates between first and third person. The text, according to Grayson’s typology, is a “display text without military conquest” (= his IB1a);21 and a “summary inscription without military accounts” according to F. M. Fales’ typology.22 Although there are no complete lines, none of the forty-eight lines are entirely missing. The inscription comprises six sections: the subject (lines 1–21), a temporal clause (lines 22–29), the building report (= predicate; lines 30–37), benedictions for the king (lines 38–41), advice to future rulers (lines 42–47), and the date (line 48). The building report most likely describes the rebuilding of part of Ezida in Calah. The line count follows Borger’s edition up to line 16, but deviates from line 17 onwards since Cylinder B mentions the king’s genealogy from Assurbanipal to Sargon II, not just his father (see the commentary below). In the translation, square brackets are used sparingly since the reader can always check the transliteration to see exactly what is preserved and what is restored.

20

Borger, Beiträge, pp. 351, 357, and LoBl 113. A. K. Grayson, “Assyria and Babylonia”, Orientalia (1980), p. 153. 22 F. M. Fales, “Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: Newer Horizons”, SAAB 13 (1999– 2001), p. 131, Chart 7. 21

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G. Van Buylaere collated exs. 1 (K 1662 only), 3–7, and 10–13 from the originals in the British Museum (London) and prepared the copies published here. We were unable to collate exs. 2, 8–9, and 14 as they are in the Iraq Museum (Baghdad). Ex. 1 = K 1662 (+) Sumer 44 no. 5 (museum and excavation numbers not known). K 1662 is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of twenty-four lines (lines 1–10 and 35–48) are preserved; the maximum width is 12.3 cm. Sumer 44 no. 5 is from the right side of the cylinder and parts of eight lines (lines 40–47) and the right edge are preserved; the maximum dimensions are 5.7 × 6.7 cm. It is likely that K 1662 (+) Sumer 44 no. 5, K 1663 (ex. 4) and K 1664 (ex. 5) belong to the same cylinder; these pieces have (near) identical texture and colour of the clay, scribal hand (the same scribe), and distance between lines. Although the provenance of K 1662 is not recorded, it is now known that it originates from Ezida in Calah since it certainly belongs to the same cylinder as Sumer 44 no. 5, which was discovered in 1985 or 1986 in room NT 12 or NT 13 of Ezida, in back-fill. Thus, also K 1663 (ex. 4) and K 1664 (ex. 5) originate from Calah. Selected bibliography: CT 34 pls. 4–5; Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige, pp. CCVIII–CCXIII and 382–387; ARAB, II, pp. 409–410, §§1137–1141; Borger, “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, pp. 76–77; Mahmud and Black, “Recent Work in the Nabu Temple, Nimrud”, pp. 137 and 152; and Weissert, “On the Recently Discovered NeoAssyrian Royal Inscriptions from Nimrud”. Ex. 2 = ND 4315. This piece is from the left side of the cylinder and parts of thirty-three lines (lines 1–8 and 23–47) are preserved; the diameter is 12.0 cm and the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 5.0 cm. The piece, which was found in three fragments, was unearthed in 1955 in the Loftus tunnel, at or near the door entry to the Tašmetu shrine, on the south side. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud”, pp. 122– 123 and pl. XXVII; and Borger, ibid., pp. 76–77. Ex. 3 = ND 1123. The piece is from the right side of the cylinder and parts of seven lines (lines 1–7) and the right edge are preserved; the cylinder’s diameter is ca. 11 cm and the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 3.1 cm. ND 1123 was discovered in 1951 in the fill outside the SW corner of the SE Palace. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, “The Nimrud Tablets, 1951”, pp. 66 and 68.

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Ex. 4 = K 1663. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of eleven lines (lines 7–17) are preserved; the maximum width is 8.3 cm. For the provenance, see the comment in ex. 1. Selected bibliography: CT 34 pl. 6; Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige, pp. CCVIII–CCXIII and 382–387; ARAB, II, p. 412, §§1148–1149; and Borger, “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, pp. 76–77. Ex. 5 = K 1664. The piece is from the left side of the cylinder and parts of four lines (lines 8–11) and the left edge are preserved; the maximum width is 2.2 cm. For the provenance, see the comment in ex. 1. Selected bibliography: CT 34 pl. 5; Streck, ibid., pp. CCVIII–CCXIII and 382–387; and Borger, ibid., pp. 76–77. Ex. 6 = BM 123414. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off) and parts of nineteen lines (lines 20–32 and 34–40) are preserved; lines 28–29 and 32–33 are written on the same line. The maximum width of the inscribed surface is 6.5 cm. BM 123414 was discovered at Nineveh (the exact provenance is not recorded). Selected bibliography: Millard, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nineveh: Ashurbanipal”, p. 111 and pl. XXVI; and Borger, Beiträge, p. 357. Ex. 7 = ND 6209. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of eleven lines (lines 19–28

Figure 1: ND 6209.

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and 30) are preserved; lines 28–29 are written on the same line. The maximum width of the inscribed surface is 7.9 cm. The object was discovered in 1957 in the fill of A.B. (= Layard’s so-called palace of Aššur-etel-ilani). Selected bibliography: Wiseman, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud”, p. 123. Ex. 8 = ND 4314. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off) and parts of thirteen lines (lines 20–32) are preserved; the maximum dimensions are 7.0 × 10.0 cm. The fragment was discovered in 1955 in SEB XIII (“South-East Building”, northwest quarter of the Nabû temple), on the earth floor against the south wall. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., pp. 122–123 and pl. XXVII; and Borger, “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, pp. 76–77. Ex. 9 = ND 4313. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of eight lines (lines 24–31) are preserved; the maximum dimensions are 5.0 × 7.0 cm. The object was discovered with ND 4312, in 1955 in SEB XI, on the pavement, in the NW corner at a depth of ca. 2.40 m. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., pp. 122–123 and pl. XXVII; and Borger, ibid., pp. 76–77. Ex. 10 = ND 4312. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off) and parts of nine lines (lines 38–46) are preserved; the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 5.0 cm. The object was discovered with ND 4313. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., pp. 123–124 and pl. XXVII; and Borger, ibid., pp. 76–77. Ex. 11 = ND 4323. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of three lines (lines 46–48) are preserved; the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 4.6 cm. The fragment was discovered in 1955 in SEB XIII, on the earth floor between a stone channel and the secondary cross wall in the southern part of the room. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., p. 124; and Borger, ibid., pp. 76–77. Ex. 12 = 89–4–26,154. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of eight lines (lines 18–25) are preserved; the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 6.5 cm. The provenance of the object is not known; it is possible that the fragment originates from Nimrud, although it cannot be ruled out that it comes from Nineveh (and that the cylinder never reached

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Figure 2: ND 4323.

Figure 3: 89–4–26,154.

its final destination). Selected bibliography: Borger, Beiträge, p. 351 and LoBl 113.

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Figure 4: ND 6222.

Ex. 13 = ND 6222. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (the edges are broken off ) and parts of seven lines (lines 10–16) are preserved; the maximum width of the inscribed surface is 5.2 cm. The object was discovered in 1957 in the courtyard of the Nabû temple, south of the doorway of the tablet room, in debris just about floor level. Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., p. 123. Ex. 14 = ND 6221. This piece is from the central part of the cylinder (no edges preserved) and parts of seven lines (lines 1–7) are preserved. The fragment was not available for examination, but based on the catalogue description it is certainly an exemplar of Cylinder B. The description reads: “l.2: . . . pa-ni-tum bi- . . .; l.4: [dIštar] ša Ninuaki dIštar (15) ša [Arba-iluki]; l.6: . . . gi-mir eš-ret . . .” The fragment was discovered in 1957 with ND 6222 (ex. 13). Selected bibliography: Wiseman, ibid., p. 123.

IV. Composite Transliteration 1) ⌈a!!⌉-[na-ku md30–LUGA]L–GAR-un LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL ŠÚ [LUGAL KUR–A]N.ŠÁR.KI 2) ni-⌈iš ⌉ [IGI.II A]N.ŠÁR dNIN.LÍL na-ram dAMAR.UTU dzar-pa-nitum bi-bil l[ìb-bi d30] ⌈dNIN.GAL⌉

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3) i-tu-⌈ut⌉ ku-un lìb-bi dAG dAMAR.UTU mi-gi[r DINGIR.MEŠ š]u-ut AN KI 4) šá AN.ŠÁR dNIN.LÍL d+EN dAG d30 dNIN.GAL d15 šá NINA.KI d 15 š[á LÍMMU-DINGIR.KI d]U.GUR u dnusku 5) i-na b[i]-rit maš-ši-šú ki-niš ip-pal-su-šú-ma is-[su-qu-šú a-n]a LUGAL-u-ti 6) za-nin-[ut na]p-ḫ ar ma-ḫ a-zi šá-an-gu-tu gi-mir eš-ret SIPA-u-ut [nap-ḫ ar ṣal-mat–SAG.DU e-pe-šú i]q-bu-u-šú 7) ki-ma [AD u AMA it-t]a-nar-ru-šú-ma i-na-ru a-a-bi-šú ú-šamqí-tú [ga]-⌈ri-šú⌉ 8) šá d⌈é-a?⌉ a-na e-nu-te kiš-šá-ti ib-nu-šú-ma ina nap-ḫ ar x[x x x x] 9) a-na ku[n-ni SUḪ UŠ KUR šu-te-šur b]a-ʾu-ú-la-a-ti a-ge-e EN-u-ti e-pi-ru-uš [na-an-nar AN-e d30] 10) GIŠ.GIDRU ⌈i⌉-[šar-tú uš-pa-ru ke-e-nu a-na] SIPA-u-ti UN.MEŠ DAGAL.MEŠ dAG pa-qid k[iš-šá-ti ú-šat-me-ḫ u rit-uš-šú] 11) dal-[ḫ a-a-ti a-na tu-q]u-ni ab-ta-a-ti [a-na ke-še-ri x x x x x] 12) [x x x x x x x a]-na šu-šu-bi d+EN u dAG ul-lu-[u SAG.MEŠ-šú] 13) [x x x x x x x x x x]-mu a-ḫ i-iz ṭè-e-me u mil-ki mu-ta-m[u-ú damqa-a-ti] 14) [x x x x x x x x x x x]x da-in de-en mi-šá-ri šá at-mu-šú UGU UN.MEŠ a[r-ma-niš DÙG.GA] 15) [šá ik-kib-šú nu-ul-la-a-ti an-zíl-la-šú sur-ra]-⌈a⌉-te la ka-ṣir ik-ki pa-ši-šú [x x x] 16) [x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x] ik-ki-bi-šú-nu na-ṣi-ru [x x x x x] 17) [DUMU mAN.ŠÁR–DÙ–IBILA LUGAL GAL LUGAL da]n-nu LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–⌈AN.ŠÁR⌉ [LU]GAL ⌈KUR⌉–[EME. KU u URI.KI LUGAL kib-rat LÍMMU-tim] 18) [DUMU mAN.ŠÁR–ŠEŠ–SUM-na LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL kiš]-⌈šá⌉-ti L[UGAL KUR–AN.ŠÁR.KI GÌR.NÍTA KÁ.DINGIR.RA.KI LUGAL KUR–EME.KU u URI.KI] 19) [DUMU md30–ŠEŠ.MEŠ–SU LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL] ⌈kiš⌉-šá-ti LUGAL KUR–aš-⌈šur⌉.[KI NUN la šána-an] 20) [ŠÀ.BAL.BAL mLUGAL–GI.NA LUGAL GAL LUGA]L ⌈dan-nu⌉ LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–aš-šur.KI GÌR.NÍTA KÁ.DINGIR. RA.[KI LUGAL KUR–EME.KU u URI.KI] 21) [x x x x x NUN na-aʾ]-du GÌR.NÍTA it-pe-e-šú na-ram dAG u d taš-me-t[um x x x x]

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22) [ul-tu AN.ŠÁR dEN d]AG d30 dUTU be-lut KUR u UN.MEŠ ú-[x x x x x x] 23) ŠU.⌈II!!⌉-[u-a ú-mal-lu-u? ú-sa]-at dum-qí e-pu-šú-u-in-ni za-ʾi-iri-ia ik-mu-u x[x x x x x] 24) ṭu-da-a[t x x x x x-n]i-ma ṭa-biš ú-še-šib-ú-in-ni ina GIŠ.GU.ZA L[UGAL-u-ti AD DÙ-ia] 25) i-na GIŠ.MI-šú-nu DÙG.⌈GA⌉ [ṣu-lu-li-šú]-nu rap-ši ki-niš ar-teʾa-a ba-ʾu-ú-[lat den-líl] 26) ul-tu ṣe-ḫ e-ri-ia a-d[i ra-bé]-ia ar-ki DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ EN.MEŠ-ia lu at-tal-lak-ma lu ab-⌈ri⌉ x[x x x] 27) áš-ra-te-šú-nu áš-te-ʾe-e-[m]a mim-ma šá UGU DINGIR-ú-tišú-nu GAL-ti DÙG.GA a-na e-pe-še ⌈lìb⌉-[bi ub-la] 28) šá za-na-an ma-ḫ a-zi šuk-lul [eš-re-e-t]i? šu-te-šur par-ṣi ⌈ki-dude?-e?⌉ ma-šu-⌈ú⌉-ti! 29) ka-a-a-an uš-ta-ad-d[a]-nu [kar-šú-u-a] 30) i-na SAG LUGAL-ti-i[a ina maḫ ]-re-e BALA-ia [šá ina GIŠ. GU.ZA] LUGAL-u-ti ra-⌈biš⌉ [ú-ši-bu] 31) ⌈É⌉ [dx x š]á ⌈m⌉dIŠKUR–ERIM.GAB[A x x]x LUGAL pa-⌈a⌉ maḫ ri-ia [e-pu-šú e-na-aḫ -ma] 32) i-na [x x x x x]x KI i-na ši-pi[r KA.KUG.GAL-lu-ti x x x] 33) i-na x[x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x] 34) te-me-en-⌈šú⌉ [a]d-di-⌈ma⌉ É ⌈x x x⌉ [x x x x x x x x x] 35) É šu-a-⌈tú⌉ [x x x x] ⌈ar-ṣip⌉ [ú-šak-lil x x x x x x x] 36) GIŠ.Ḫ UR.MEŠ-šú GAL.ME[Š x x x x x x x x x]x x[x x x x x] 37) dAG u dtaš-me-t[um x x x x x] šub-tu [x x x x] 38) dAG IBILA gaš-[ru x x x x ḫ ]a-diš I[GI?.BAR?-m]a lim-ma-ḫ ir pa[nu-uk-ka? x x x x] 39) ur-rik UD-me-i[a MU.AN.NA].⌈MEŠ⌉-ia ⌈šu⌉-[um-d]il na-anna-bi k[i-im-ti? ru-up-piš] 40) kur-bu LUGAL-u-t[i ḫ u-ud lìb-bi ṭu-ub UZU.M]EŠ na-mar kabat-ti a-na da-riš ki-i-[na] 41) LÚ.KÚR.MEŠ-⌈ia⌉ [né-er ki-šad la ma-g]i-ri-ia šuk-niš še-pu-ú-a 42) NUN EGIR-⌈ú⌉ [ina LUGAL.MEŠ DUMU.MEŠ-ia] e-nu-ma É šu-a-tú in-na-ḫ u-ma il-la-ku ⌈la⌉-ba-riš 43) an-ḫ u-us-[su lu-ud-diš MU.SAR-u ši-ṭi]r MU-ia li-mur-ma ÌxGIŠ lip-šu-⌈uš⌉ UDU.SISKUR BAL-qí 44) ⌈it⌉-ti MU.[SAR-e ši-ṭir MU-šú liš-k]un dAG u dtaš-me-tum ikri-[b]i-šú i-šem-mu-ú 45) šá ⌈MU⌉.SAR-⌈ú?⌉ [ši-ṭir MU-ia ú-nak-ka-ru-ma it-ti MU. SAR]-⌈e⌉ ši-ṭir MU-šú la i-šak-ka-nu

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46) AN.ŠÁR d+EN ⌈d⌉[AG a-na ni-iš ŠU.II-šú] ⌈a⌉-a iz-zi-zu-ma a-a iš-mu-u su-up-pe-e-šú 47) LUGAL-us-s[u lis-ki-pu? a]g-giš li-ru-ru-šú-ma M[U-šú NUM]UN⌈šú⌉ ina KUR li-ḫ al-liq-qu 48) [ITI.x x x] UD-3-KAM lim-mu mda-ad-di-i LÚ.IGI.DUB

V. Translation 1–6) [I, Sîn-šarru]-iškun, great king, mighty king, king of the universe, [king of] Assyria, favourite [of the god] Aššur (and) the goddess Mullissu, beloved of the god Marduk (and) the goddess Zarpanitu, the desire of [the god Sîn’s] (and) the goddess Nikkal’s [hearts], steadfast choice of the gods Nabû (and) Marduk, favoured one [of the gods] of the heavens (and) netherworld; the one upon whom the gods Aššur, Mullissu, Bel (Marduk), Nabû, Sîn, Nikkal, Ištar of Nineveh, Ištar of [Arbela], Nergal, and Nusku gazed with favour among its leaders and [selected for] kingship; they commissioned him [to perform] the roles of provisioner [of] all the cult-centres, administrator of the entirety of (its) sanctuaries, (and) shepherd of [the totality of the ‘black-headed’ people]; 7–16) they guided him like [a father and a mother], killed his foes, (and) defeated his adversaries; the one who the god Ea created for the lordship of the universe and in the whole of [. . .; (the one) who the luminary of the heavens, the god Sîn], crowned with the crown of lordship to make the [foundation of the land firm (and) to organize the] people; (the one) [in whose hands] the god Nabû, overseer of the [universe, placed] the staff of [righteousness (and) the rod of justice for] shepherding the widespread people; [. . . to bring order to] what is confused, [to repair] what is destroyed [. . .] to make the gods Bel (Marduk) and Nabû reside [. . . they] lifted up [his head]; who comprehends rational thought and counsel, who speaks [eloquent (words), . . .], administer of just verdicts; whose words [are pleasing] to the people [like a mountain apple; to whom treacherous talk is taboo (and) lies an abomination]; the merciful one, the purification-priest [. . .; who . . .] their taboo; protector [. . .] 17–29) [son of Assurbanipal, great king], mighty [king], king of the universe, king of Assyria, king of [Sumer and Akkad, king of the four quarters; son of Esarhaddon, great king, mighty king, king of the] universe, king [of Assyria, governor of Babylon, king of Sumer and

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Akkad; son of Sennacherib, great king, mighty king, king of the] universe, king of Assyria, [the unrivalled prince; descendent of Sargon (II), great king], mighty [king], king of the universe, king of Assyria, governor of Babylon, [king of Sumer and Akkad; . . .] attentive [prince], capable governor, beloved of the god Nabû and the goddess Tašmetu [. . . After the gods Aššur, Bel], Nabû, Sîn, (and) Šamaš [nominated me] for ruling the land and (its) inhabitants, [placed . . . into my] hands, performed good [deeds] for me, bound my foes, [. . .] the path of [. . .] and made me sit comfortably on the [royal] throne [of the father who created me]; under their beneficent protection, their extensive [aegis], I constantly shepherded the subjects [of the god Enlil] in a just manner. From my youth until I became an [adult], I constantly followed after the great gods, my lords, and I indeed beheld [. . .]; I was assiduous towards their sanctuaries [and my] heart [prompted me] to do whatever was suitable for their great divinity (and therefore) I constantly gave [thought] to providing for cult-centres, restoring [sanctuaries], (and) putting in order forgotten cultic rites (and) rituals. 30–37) At the beginning of my kingship, [during the] first regnal year [that I sat] in majesty [on the] royal [throne], the temple of [the god Nabû], which Adad-nerari (III), [. . .], a king who preceded me, [had built, became dilapidated and . . .] using the craft of [the incantation-priest . . .] through [. . . I] (re)laid its foundation(s) and the temple . . . [. . .] I [completely] (re)built that temple [. . .] Its grand designs [. . .] the god Nabû and the goddess Tašmetu [. . .] (their) seat(s). 38–41) O Nabû, powerful heir, [may you look] favourably [upon . . .] and may it be acceptable to [you . . .]. Prolong my days (and) increase my [years]; make my progeny (and) [family extensive]; bless [my] kingship; for eternity, make firm [for me happiness, good health], (and) bright mood; [kill] my enemies; (and) [conquer those in]submissive to me (and) make (them) bow down at my feet. 42–47) [May] a future ruler, [someone among the kings, my descendants], when that temple becomes dilapidated and old, [renovate its] dilapidated part(s). May he see [an inscription] (bearing) my [inscribed] name and anoint (it) with oil, offer sacrifices, (and) [place] (it) with an inscription (bearing) [his (own) inscribed name]. (Then) the god Nabû and the goddess Tašmetu will listen to his prayers. Whoever [destroys] an inscription (bearing) [my inscribed name and] does not place (it) [with an inscription] (bearing) his (own) inscribed name, may the gods Aššur, Bel, (and) [Nabû] not attend [to his prayer] and

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may they not hear his supplications. [May they overthrow] his kingship, curse him angrily, and make [his name] (and) his [seed] disappear from the land. 48) [Month . . .], day 3, eponymy of Daddî, the treasurer.

VI. Minor Variants 20: ex. 12 has [kiš]-⌈šá-ti⌉ for ŠÚ. 21: ex. 8 has it-pe-šú instead of it-pe-e-šú. 23: ex. 12 omits -u- between -šú- and -in-. 24: ex. 8 has -u-in- for -ú-in-. 25: ex. 6 -ʾe-⌈e⌉ for -ʾa-a. 27: ex. 9 has -ra-ti- for -ra-te-.

VII. Restorations The following is a list of parallel passages in other inscriptions of Sînšarru-iškun on which the restorations in Cylinder B are based. 1: 2: 5: 6: 7: 8: 9: 10:

Cyl. A:1, Cyl. C:1, RIMS 1 J:1 Cyl. C:2 Cyl. A:3 Cyl. C:6–7 Cyl. A:18, Cyl. C:8 Cyl. C:10 Cyl. A:3–5, Cyl. C:11 Cyl. A:6–7, Cyl. C:12, Cyl. D:3’ 11: Cyl. A:4–5 12: Cyl. C:19 13: Cyl. C:14 14: Cyl. C:15 15: Cyl. A:9 17–20: Cyl. A:12–16, Cyl. C:20–22, RIMS 1 J:1–5, KAH 2 130 i–ii

21: 23: 24: 27: 28: 29: 30: 31: 32: 35: 39: 41: 42: 43: 44: 45: 46:

Cyl. A:10, Cyl. D:6’ Cyl. A:19, Cyl. C:3’ Cyl. A:19, Cyl. C:9 Cyl. A:22 Cyl. A:20, Cyl. C:7’ Cyl. A:20 Cyl. C:6’ Cyl. A:23–24 Cyl. A:29 RIMS 1 J:11 KAV 171:12 KAV 171:13 Cyl. C:16’ Cyl. C:17’ Cyl. C:19’ Cyl. C:21’–22’ BM 122613:10’

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The textual commentary is limited to new readings, rejected proposed restorations, and a brief discussion of the building history of Ezida in Calah. The primary purpose of the notes is to support the readings and translations established in this new edition. Comments are therefore kept to a minimum. Line 1: The inscription most likely begins with anāku (‘I’), rather than with the king’s name since other prism, cylinder, and cone inscriptions of Sîn-šarru-iškun begin in this fashion. See Cyl. A:1, Cyl. C:1, and RIMS 1 J:1. Wiseman’s copy (ibid., “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud”, pl. XXVII) has the masculine determinative (a single vertical wedge); since ND 4315 (ex. 2) was unavailable for examination, we were unable to confirm the accuracy of the copy. Line 8: The reading d⌈é-a?⌉ is based on Cyl. C:10 (dé-a dbe-let-DINGIR. MEŠ); this interpretation is supported by the traces on exs. 1, 2, and 5. The end of the line cannot be restored with certainty. Compare Cyl. C:10 [ina nap-har x x ú-šá-x]x-ru nab-ni-ti; and BM 122613:6 [. . .] ⌈x⌉ MAN SAG.DU ú-šá-qí-ru nab-n[i-ti (. . .)]. Line 14: Until now the word between UGU and ar-ma-niš in the epithet šá at-mu-šú UGU UN.MEŠ a[r-ma-niš DÙG.GA] (‘whose words [are pleasing] to the people [like a] mountain apple’) was damaged in all instances of this king’s inscriptions. Thanks to ex. 13, we now know that this word is nišū (‘people’). Line 17–20: With the identification of ND 6209 (ex. 7) and 89–4– 26,154 (ex. 12), it is now certain that Cylinder B also mentions four generations of Sîn-šarru-iškun’s genealogy, just like Cyl. A (lines 12–16), Cyl. C (lines 20–23), KAH 1, no. 56, RIMS 1 J (lines 1–5), and KAH 2, no. 130. Borger (ibid., 1965 pp. 77–78) correctly addressed this issue in his commentary to line 17, but he did not account for the extra three lines in his composite transliteration. Therefore, the last line of ex. 4 (= Borger’s line 17) contains the titles of Assurbanipal; the first three lines of ex. 12 contain the titles of Esarhaddon, Sennacherib, and Sargon II; the first two lines of ex. 7 contain the titles of Sennacherib and Sargon II; and the first line of exs. 6 and 8 (= Borger’s line 17) contain the titles of Sargon II. Line 25: Borger’s restoration arteʾʾe is confirmed by ex. 6; note the variant in ex. 7: ar-te-ʿa-a. The end of the line can be securely restored as ar-te-ʾa-a ba-ʾu-ú-[lat den-líl], a well-attested expression; for exam-

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ple, see Borger, Beiträge, p. 94 Prism B i 40, Prism C ii 2, and Prism T iv 11. Line 28: The signs before ma-[. . .] in ex. 7 are not clear. Based on other exemplars and other inscriptions of Sîn-šarru-iškun, ki-du-de-e is expected. Line 30: The end of the line is now [šá ina GIŠ.GU.ZA] LUGAL-u-ti ra-⌈biš⌉ [ú-ši-bu] (‘[that I sat] in majesty [on the throne of] kingship’). Compare Borger’s edition (ibid., “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, p. 77, line 27), where ra-biš is omitted. Lines 30–37: The Nabû temple was one of the nine temples that Ashurnasirpal II claims to have (re)founded when he made Calah his primary royal residence (RIMA 2, p. 291, A.0.101.30 lines 55–60); Ezida, a name that was adopted from this deity’s temple in Borsippa, is situated on the east side of the citadel mound. The building plan consists of two large courtyards on the east, the shrines themselves facing onto the inner court; there are also two smaller courtyards, a twin set of shrines, and a reception suite (‘Throne Room’) in the northwest quarter of the building (‘South-East Building’ or SEB). The entire southern part of the temple was rebuilt by Adad-nerari III, to whom Assurbanipal and Sîn-šarru-iškun attribute its foundation (or at least its last rebuilding); see Borger, Beiträge, p. 164 Prism Kh x 88–90; and Cylinder B line 31 (see above). Little is known about this king’s work on Ezida from the textual record, but inscriptions of his were found on a slab in the main shrine and on colossal figures with folded hands, presumably divine attendants of the god. In addition, Bel-tarṣi-iluma, the governor of Calah, dedicated two further statues (also attendants) for the life of Adad-nerari and his mother Sammuramat (Semiramis); see Grayson, RIMA 3, pp. 226–227, A.0.104.2002. Adad-nerari appears to have (re)built the southern wing of the temple, although the original version of the temple (the northern section) was almost certainly 9th century in date (reign of Ashurnasirpal II). Sargon II made repairs and alterations, as suggested by the upper wall decoration with recesses and rows of engaged columns in the style of the Nabû temple at Khorsabad. Assurbanipal reports that he rebuilt/ restored part of Ezida, most likely the southern part of the temple, the wing worked on by Adad-nerari III. Fragments of large decagonal clay prisms found in the debris from the collapse of the upper walls, which had fallen into the rooms soon after the fall of Calah, or in the rubble left by squatters or 19th century archaeologists who had dug through

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the fallen and standing mud brick walls, describe work on this temple.23 The building report of Prism Kh (x 88–97) reads: [At] that time, the temple of the god Nabû which is inside Calah (and) which Adad-nerari (III), son of Šamši-Adad (V), king of Assyria, a king prior to me, had built, had become old. I cleared away its dilapidated portion(s) and I mixed beer and wine into (its) kalakku-mortar. Basket carriers moulded bricks while singing. I completely (re)built (this section of Ezida) from top to bottom while there was singing and joyous celebration. I roofed it with long cedar beams (and) [. . . I] decorated all its copings.24

This work took place early in Assurbanipal’s third decade as king; two exemplars of Prism Kh are dated to the eponymy of Nabû-nadin-ahi, governor of Kar-Shalmaneser (646). Aššur-etel-ilani made some repairs to the rooms on the east side of the north courtyard, an area that may have served as temple offices. Bricks of this son of Assurbanipal attest to this; he may have also made repairs to the smaller shrines NTS 1 and 2. Aššur-etel-ilani’s brick inscription reads: I, Aššur-etel-ilani, king of the universe, king of Assyria, son of Assurbanipal, king of the universe, king of Assyria, son of Esarhaddon, king of the universe, (who was) also king of Assyria, had bricks made for (re)building Ezida, which is inside Calah. I dedicated (this brick) for the preservation of my life.25

While Sîn-šarru-iškun was king, he also made repairs to this prominent Calah temple, as attested by fragments of clay cylinders discovered in the ruins of Ezida (see the catalogue above for the find spots). Unfortunately, the building report of Cylinder B (lines 30–37) is badly damaged and little can be gleaned about this project of the king.

23

The fragments were discovered by the British School of Archaeology (in 1950 and 1955–57) and by the Iraqi State Organization for Antiquities and Heritage (in 1985–86). The majority of these are now housed in the Iraq Museum (Baghdad), but a few are in deposit 1307 of the British Museum. For the provenances, see E. E. Knudsen, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud – II”, Iraq 29 (1967), pp. 65–69; and Mahmud and Black, “Recent Work in the Nabu Temple, Nimrud”, p. 136. For a recent study of Prism Kh (formerly Borger’s CND), see J. Novotny, “Classifying Assurbanipal Inscriptions: Prisms C, Kh (= CND), and G”, in R. D. Biggs, J. Myers, and M. T. Roth (eds.), Proceedings of the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago July 18–22, 2005 (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 62; Chicago, 2008), pp. 127–135. 24 Borger, Beiträge, pp. 164–165. 25 Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige, p. 380.

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Despite this, he boasts of laying some of its foundations and placing the statues of Nabû and Tašmetu back on their daises.26 Line 38: The restoration is based on Assurbanipal inscription BM 22467 (inscription on a limestone slab from the courtyard of Ezida in Nineveh) lines 14–15.27 The number of signs between gaš-[ru] and [ḫ ]a-diš is not known; we tentatively suggest four signs, although there could be more.

IX. Appendix: Score 1 0 ⌈a!!⌉-[na-ku md30–LUGA]L–GAR-un LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL ŠÚ [LUGAL KUR–A]N.ŠÁR.KI 1 [. . . –LUGA]L–GAR-un LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL ŠÚ [. . .] 2 ⌈a!!⌉-[. . .] 3 [. . . A]N.ŠÁR.KI! 2 0 ni-⌈iš⌉ [IGI.II A]N.ŠÁR dNIN.LÍL na-ram dAMAR.UTU dzar-pani-tum bi-bil l[ìb-bi d30] ⌈dNIN.GAL⌉ 1 [. . . A]N.ŠÁR dNIN.LÍL na-ram dAMAR.UTU dzar-pa-ni-tum bibil l[ìb- . . .] 2 ni-⌈iš⌉ [. . .] 3 [. . .] ⌈dNIN.GAL⌉ 3 0 i-tu-⌈ut⌉ ku-un lìb-bi dAG dAMAR.UTU mi-gi[r DINGIR.MEŠ š] u-ut AN KI 1 [. . .] ku-un lìb-bi dAG u dAMAR.UTU mi-gi[r . . .] 2 i-tu-⌈ut⌉ [. . .] 3 [. . . š]u-ut AN KI 4 0 šá AN.ŠÁR dNIN.LÍL d+EN dAG d30 dNIN.GAL d15 šá NINA.KI d 15 š[á LÍMMU-DINGIR.KI d]U.GUR u dnusku 1 [. . . d]NIN.LÍL d+EN dAG d30 dNIN.GAL d15 šá NINA.KI d15 š[á . . .] 2 šá AN.ŠÁR d[. . .] 3 [. . .d]U.GUR u dnusku 26 For studies on Ezida, see in particular D. Oates, “Ezida: the Temple of Nabu”, Iraq 19 (1957), pp. 26–39; Mallowan, Nimrud, pp. 231–285; J. N. Postgate and J. Reade, “Kalhu”, in RlA 5 (1976), pp. 309–311 §13; B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel 1: Untersuchungen zu Kult, Administration und Personal (Studia Pohl, Series Maior 10/1; Rome, 1981), pp. 97–103; and Oates, Nimrud, pp. 111–123 and 203–209. 27 Th. Bauer, Das Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals (Assyriologische Bibliothek, Neue Folge 1–2; Leipzig, 1933), pp. 52–53.

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j. novotny and g. van buylaere 0 i-na b[i]-rit maš-ši-šú ki-niš ip-pal-su-šú-ma is-[su-qu-šú a-n]a LUGAL-u-ti 1 [. . .]-⌈rit⌉ maš-ši-šú ki-niš ip-pal-su-šú-ma i[s- . . .] 2 i-na b[i- . . .] 3 [. . . -n]a LUGAL-u-ti 0 za-nin-[ut na]p-ḫ ar ma-ḫ a-zi šá-an-gu-tu gi-mir eš-ret SIPAu-ut [nap-ḫ ar ṣal-mat–SAG.DU e-pe-šú i]q-bu-u-šú 1 [. . . na]p-ḫ ar ma-ḫ a-zi šá-an-gu-tu gi-mir eš-ret SIPA-u-ut [. . .] 2 za-nin-[. . .] 3 [. . .i]q-bu-u-šú 0 ki-ma [AD u AMA it-t]a-nar-ru-šú-ma i-na-ru a-a-bi-šú ú-šamqí-tú [ga]-⌈ri-šú⌉ 1 [. . . -t]a-nar-ru-šú-ma i-na-ru a-a-bi-šú ú-šam-qí-tú [. . .] 2 ki-ma [. . .] 3 [. . .]-⌈ri-šú⌉ 4 [. . .] ⌈x⌉ [. . .]-šú ú-⌈šam⌉-[. . .] 0 šá d⌈é-a?⌉ a-na e-nu-te kiš-šá-ti ib-nu-šú-ma ina nap-ḫ ar x[x x x x] 1 [. . .]-⌈a?⌉ a-na e-nu-te kiš-šá-ti ib-nu-šú-ma ina nap-ḫ ar [. . .] 2 šá d⌈é⌉-[. . .] 4 [. . .]-šá-ti ib-nu-šú-ma ina nap-ḫ ar x[x . . .] 5 šá d ⌈é⌉-[. . .] 0 a-na ku[n-ni SUḪ UŠ KUR šu-te-šur b]a-ʾu-ú-la-a-ti a-ge-e EN-u-ti e-pi-ru-uš [na-an-nar AN-e d30] 1 [. . .b]a-ʾu-ú-la-a-ti a-ge-e EN-u-ti ⌈e⌉-[. . .] 4 [. . .]-a-ti a-ge-e EN-u-ti e-pi-ru-uš [. . .] 5 a-na ku[n- . . .] 0 GIŠ.GIDRU ⌈i⌉-[šar-tú uš-pa-ru ke-e-nu a-na] SIPA-u-ti UN.MEŠ DAGAL.MEŠ dAG pa-qid k[iš-šá-ti ú-šat-me-ḫ u rituš-šú] 1 [. . .S]IPA-u-ti UN.MEŠ DAGAL.MEŠ dAG pa-qid k[iš- . . .] 4 [. . .] SIPA-u-ti UN.MEŠ DAGAL.MEŠ dAG pa-qid [. . .] 5 GIŠ.GIDRU ⌈i⌉-[. . .] 13 [. . .].⌈MEŠ⌉ [. . .] 0 dal-[ḫ a-a-ti a-na tu-q]u-ni ab-ta-a-ti [a-na ke-še-ri x x x x x] 4 [. . .-q]u-ni ab-ta-a-ti [. . .] 5 dal-[. . .] 13 [. . .]-⌈a⌉-ti [. . .]

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0 [x x x x x x x a]-na šu-šu-bi d+EN u dAG ul-lu-[u SAG. MEŠ-šú] 4 [. . .]-na šu-šu-bi d+EN u dAG ul-[. . .] 13 [. . .] ⌈d⌉AG ul-lu-[. . .] 0 [x x x x x x x x x x]-mu a-ḫ i-iz ṭè-e-me u mil-ki mu-ta-m[u-ú dam-qa-a-ti] 4 [. . .]-mu a-ḫ i-iz ṭè-e-me u mil-ki mu-ta-[. . .] 13 [. . . ṭ]è-e-me u mil-ki mu-ta-m[u- . . .] 0 [x x x x x x x x x x x]x da-in de-en mi-šá-ri šá at-mu-šú UGU UN.MEŠ a[r-ma-niš DÙG.GA] 4 [. . . x]x da-in de-en mi-šá-ri šá at-mu-šú U[GU . . .] 13 [. . .] šá at-mu-šú UGU UN.MEŠ a[r- . . .] 0 [šá ik-kib-šú nu-ul-la-a-ti an-zíl-la-šú sur-ra]-⌈a⌉-te la ka-ṣir ik-ki pa-ši-šú [x x x] 4 [. . .]-⌈a⌉-te la ka-ṣir ik-ki pa-š[i- . . .] 13 [. . .] ik-ki pa-ši-šú [. . .] 0 [x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x] ik-ki-bi-šú-nu na-ṣi-ru [x x x x x] 4 [. . .] ik-ki-bi-šú-nu na-ṣi-ru [. . .] 13 [. . .]-nu na-ṣi-ru [. . .] 0 [DUMU mAN.ŠÁR–DÙ–IBILA LUGAL GAL LUGAL da]n-nu LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–⌈AN.ŠÁR⌉ [LU]GAL ⌈KUR⌉–[EME. KU u URI.KI LUGAL kib-rat LÍMMU-tim] 4 [. . . da]n-nu LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–⌈AN.ŠÁR⌉ [LU]GAL ⌈KUR⌉–[. . .] 0 [DUMU mAN.ŠÁR–ŠEŠ–SUM-na LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL kiš]-⌈šá⌉-ti L[UGAL KUR–AN.ŠÁR.KI GÌR. NÍTA KÁ.DINGIR.RA.KI LUGAL KUR–EME.KU u URI.KI] 12 [. . .]-⌈šá⌉-ti L[UGAL . . .] 0 [DUMU md30–ŠEŠ.MEŠ–SU LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL] ⌈kiš⌉-šá-ti LUGAL KUR–aš-⌈šur⌉.[KI NUN la šá-na-an] 7 [. . .] ⌈x x⌉ [. . .] 12 [. . .] ⌈kiš⌉-šá-ti LUGAL KUR–aš-⌈šur⌉.[. . .] 0 [ŠÀ.BAL.BAL mLUGAL–GI.NA LUGAL GAL LUGA]L ⌈dan-nu⌉ LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–aš-šur.KI GÌR.NÍTA KÁ.DINGIR.RA.[KI LUGAL KUR–EME.KU u URI.KI] 6 [. . . KU]R–aš-⌈šur.KI⌉ [. . .] 7 [. . . LUG]AL ŠÚ LUGAL KUR–aš-šur.KI GÌR.NÍTA KÁ.DINGIR.RA.[KI . . .]

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j. novotny and g. van buylaere 8 [. . . LUGA]L ⌈dan⌉-nu LUGAL ŠÚ LUGAL [. . .] 12 [. . .]-⌈šá-ti LUGAL? KUR?⌉–aš-šur.KI ⌈GÌR.NÍTA⌉ [. . .] 0 [x x x x x NUN na-aʾ]-du GÌR.NÍTA it-pe-e-šú na-ram dAG u d taš-me-t[um x x x x] 6 [. . .]AG u dtaš-m[e- . . .] 7 [. . . i]t-pe-e-šú na-ram dAG u dtaš-me-t[um . . .] 8 [. . .]-du GÌR.NÍTA it-pe-šú ⌈na⌉-r[am . . .] 12 [. . .] ⌈na-ram⌉ dAG u dtaš-me-tum (traces) [. . .] 0 [ul-tu AN.ŠÁR dEN d]AG d30 dUTU be-lut KUR u UN.MEŠ ú-[x x x x x x] 6 [. . .-l]ut KUR u UN.[. . .] 7 [. . . d]30 dUTU be-lut KUR u UN.MEŠ ú-[. . .] 8 [. . .]AG d30 dUTU be-l[ut . . .] 12 [. . .] ⌈d⌉UTU be-lut KUR u UN.[. . .] 0 ŠU.⌈II!!⌉-[u-a ú-mal-lu-u? ú-sa]-at dum-qí e-pu-šú-u-in-ni za-ʾii-ri-ia ik-mu-u x[x x x x x] 2 ŠU.⌈II!!⌉-[. . .] 6 [. . .]-i-ri-⌈ia⌉ ik-⌈mu-u⌉ [. . .] 7 [. . .] e-pu-šú-u-in-ni za-ʾi-i-ri-ia ik-mu-u x[x . . .] 8 [. . .]-⌈at⌉ dum-qí e-pu-šú-u-in-ni za-⌈ʾi-i⌉-[. . .] 12 [. . .] ⌈e⌉-pu-šú-in-ni za-⌈ʾi⌉-[. . .] 0 ṭu-da-a[t x x x x x-n]i-ma ṭa-biš ú-še-šib-ú-in-ni ina GIŠ.GU.ZA L[UGAL-u-ti AD DÙ-ia] 2 ṭu-da-a[t . . .] 6 [. . .]-še-šib-u-in-ni ina GIŠ.G[U. . . .] 7 [. . .]-biš ú-še-šib-ú-in-ni ina GIŠ.GU.ZA L[UGAL- . . .] 8 [. . . -n]i-ma ṭa-biš ú-še-šib-u-in-ni [. . .] 9 [. . .] ⌈x⌉ [. . .] 12 [. . . ṭ]a-biš ú-še-[. . .] 0 i-na GIŠ.MI-šú-nu DÙG.⌈GA⌉ [ṣu-lu-li-šú]-nu rap-ši ki-niš ar-te-ʾa-a ba-ʾu-ú-[lat den-líl] 2 i-na GIŠ.M[I- . . .] 6 [. . . t]e-ʾe-⌈e⌉ ba-⌈ʾu⌉-ú-[. . .] 7 [. . . -š]i ki-niš ar-te-ʾa-a ba-ʾu-⌈ú⌉-[...] 8 [. . .]-nu rap-ši ki-niš ar-[. . .] 9 [. . .GI]Š.MI-šú-nu DÙG.⌈GA⌉ [. . .] 12 [. . .] ⌈ki⌉-niš a[r- . . .] 0 ul-tu ṣe-ḫ e-ri-ia a-d[i ra-bé]-ia ar-ki DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ EN.MEŠ-ia lu at-tal-lak-ma lu ab-⌈ri⌉ x[x x x]

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2 ul-tu ṣe-ḫ e-ri-i[a . . .] 6 [. . . l]u! ⌈at⌉-tal-lak-ma lu ab-⌈ri⌉ x[x . . .] 7 [. . . DIN]GIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ EN.MEŠ-ia lu at-tal-lak-ma lu a[b- . . .] 8 [. . .]-ia ar-ki DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ EN.MEŠ-⌈ia⌉ [. . .] 9 [u]l-tu ṣe-ḫ e-ri-ia a-d[i . . .] 0 áš-ra-te-šú-nu áš-te-ʾe-e-[m]a mim-ma šá UGU DINGIR-ú-tišú-nu GAL-ti DÙG.GA a-na e-pe-še ⌈lìb⌉-[bi ub-la] 2 áš-ra-te-šú-nu áš-te-[. . .] 6 [. . .-t]i ⌈DÙG⌉.GA a-na e-pe-⌈še lìb⌉-[. . .] 7 [. . .]-⌈ú⌉-ti-šú-nu GAL-ti DÙG.GA a-na e-pe-še [. . .] 8 [. . . -m]a mim-ma šá UGU DINGIR-ú-ti-šú-nu GA[L- . . .] 9 [á]š-ra-ti-šú-nu áš (copy: PA)-te-ʾe-⌈e⌉-[. . .] 0 šá za-na-an ma-ḫ a-zi šuk-lul [eš-re-e-t]i? šu-te-šur par-ṣi ⌈ki-dude?-e?⌉ ma-šu-⌈ú⌉-ti! 2 šá za-na-an ma-ḫ a-zi [. . .] 6 [. . .m]a?-šu-⌈ú⌉-ti! 7 [. . . k]i?-⌈du?-de?-e?⌉ ma-[. . .] 8 [. . .-t]i? šu-te-šur par-ṣi ⌈ki-du⌉-[. . .] 9 [š]á za-na-an ma-ḫ a-zi šuk-⌈lul⌉ [. . .] 0 ka-a-a-an uš-ta-ad-d[a]-nu [kar-šú-u-a] 2 ka-a-a-an [. . .] 6 ⌈ka⌉-a-a-an uš-[. . .] 8 [. . . -d]a-nu [. . .] 9 [k]a-a-a-an uš-ta-ad-d[a- . . .] 0 i-na SAG LUGAL-ti-i[a ina maḫ ]-re-e BALA-ia [šá ina GIŠ. GU.ZA] LUGAL-u-ti ra-⌈biš⌉ [ú-ši-bu] 2 i-na ⌈SAG⌉ [. . .] 6 [. . .] LUGAL-u-ti ra-⌈biš⌉ [. . .] 7 [. . . SA]G? L[UGAL?- . . .] 8 [. . .]-re-e BALA-ia [. . .] 9 ⌈i⌉-na SAG LUGAL-ti-i[a . . .] 0 ⌈É⌉ [dx x š]á ⌈m⌉dIŠKUR–ERIM.GAB[A x x]x LUGAL pa-⌈a⌉ maḫ -ri-ia [e-pu-šú e-na-aḫ -ma] 2 ⌈É⌉ [. . .] 6 [. . . x]x LUGAL pa-⌈a⌉ maḫ -ri-ia [. . .] 8 [. . .š]á ⌈m⌉dIŠKUR–ERIM.GAB[A . . .] 9 ⌈É x⌉ [. . .]

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i-na [x x x x x]x KI i-na ši-pi[r KA.KUG.GAL-lu-ti x x x] i-na [. . .] [. . .] x [. . .] [. . .x]x KI i-na ši-pi[r . . .] i-na x[x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x] i-na x[x . . .] [. . .] (blank) [. . .] te-me-en-⌈šú⌉ [a]d-di-⌈ma⌉ É ⌈x x x⌉ [x x x x x x x x x] te-me-en-⌈šú⌉ [. . .] [. . .a]d-di-⌈ma⌉ É ⌈x x x⌉ [. . .] É šu-a-⌈tú⌉ [x x x x] ⌈ar-ṣip⌉ [ú-šak-lil x x x x x x x] [. . . x]x x[x . . .] É šu-a-⌈tú⌉ [. . .] [. . .] ⌈ar-ṣip⌉ [. . .] GIŠ.Ḫ UR.MEŠ-šú GAL.ME[Š x x x x x x x x x]x x[x x x x x] [. . . x]x x[x ...] GIŠ.Ḫ UR.MEŠ-šú GAL.ME[Š . . .] [. . .] ⌈x⌉ x[x . . .] d AG u dtaš-me-t[um x x x x x] šub-tu [x x x x] [. . .] šub-tu [...] d AG u dtaš-me-t[um . . .] [. . . x]x ú-ša[r?]-⌈x⌉ [. . .] d AG IBILA gaš-[ru x x x x ḫ ]a-diš I[GI?.BAR?-m]a lim-ma-ḫ ir pa-[nu-uk-ka? x x x x] 1 [. . .]-ma-ḫ ir pa-[. . .] 2 dAG IBILA gaš-[. . .] 6 [. . . -m]a lim-m[a- . . .] 10 [. . .ḫ ]a-diš I[GI?. . . .] 0 ur-rik UD-me-i[a MU.AN.NA].⌈MEŠ⌉-ia ⌈šu⌉-[um-d]il na-anna-bi k[i-im-ti? ru-up-piš] 1 [. . .-d]il na-an-na-bi k[i- . . .] 2 ur-rik UD-me-i[a . . .] 6 [. . . n]a-an-na-[. . .] 10 [. . .].⌈MEŠ⌉-ia ⌈šu⌉-[. . .] 0 kur-bu LUGAL-u-t[i ḫ u-ud lìb-bi ṭu-ub UZU.M]EŠ na-mar kabat-ti a-na da-riš ki-i-[na] 1 [. . . . M]EŠ na-⌈mar⌉ ka-bat-ti a-na da-riš ki-i-[na] 2 kur-bu LUGAL-u-t[i . . .] 6 [. . .] ⌈x⌉ [. . .] 10 [. . .] na-mar ka-bat-ti a-n[a . . .]

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0 LÚ.KÚR.MEŠ-⌈ia⌉ [né-er ki-šad la ma-g]i-ri-ia šuk-niš še-pu-ú-a 1 [. . .-g]i-ri-ia šuk-niš še-pu-ú-a 2 LÚ.KÚR.MEŠ-⌈ia⌉ [. . .] 10 [. . .-g]i-ri-ia šuk-[. . .] 0 NUN EGIR-⌈ú⌉ [ina LUGAL.MEŠ DUMU.MEŠ-ia] e-nu-ma É šu-a-tú in-na-ḫ u-ma il-la-ku ⌈la⌉-ba-riš 1 [. . .] ⌈e⌉-nu-ma É šu-a-tú in-na-ḫ u-ma il-la-ku ⌈la⌉-ba-riš 2 NUN EGIR-⌈ú⌉ [. . .] 10 [. . .] e-nu-ma É šu-a-tú i[n- . . .] 0 an-ḫ u-us-[su lu-ud-diš MU.SAR-u ši-ṭi]r MU-ia li-mur-ma ÌxGIŠ lip-šu-⌈uš⌉ UDU.SISKUR BAL-qí 1 [. . . -ṭi]r MU-ia li-mur-⌈ma⌉ ÌxGIŠ lip-šu-⌈uš⌉ UDU.SISKUR BAL-qí 2 an-ḫ u-us-[. . .] 10 [. . .-ṭi]r [M]U-ia li-mur-ma ÌxGIŠ li[p- . . .] 0 ⌈it⌉-ti MU.[SAR-e ši-ṭir MU-šú liš-k]un dAG u dtaš-me-tum ikri-[b]i-šú i-šem-mu-ú 1 [. . . -k]un dAG u dt[a]š-me-tum ik-ri-[b]i-šú i-šem-mu-ú 2 ⌈it⌉-ti MU.[. . .] 10 [. . .] u dtaš-me-tum i[k- . . .] 0 šá ⌈MU⌉.SAR-⌈ú?⌉ [ši-ṭir MU-ia ú-nak-ka-ru-ma it-ti MU.SAR]-⌈e⌉ ši-ṭir MU-šú la i-šak-ka-nu 1 [. . . -ṭ]ir MU-šú la i-šak-ka-nu 2 šá ⌈MU⌉.SAR-⌈ú?⌉ [. . .] 10 [. . .]-⌈e⌉ ši-ṭir ⌈MU⌉-[. . .] 0 AN.ŠÁR d+EN ⌈d⌉[AG a-na ni-iš ŠU.II-šú] ⌈a⌉-a iz-zi-zu-ma a-a iš-mu-u su-up-pe-e-šú 1 [. . .] ⌈a⌉-a iz-zi-zu-ma a-a iš-mu-u su-up-pe-e-šú 2 AN.ŠÁR d+EN ⌈d⌉[. . .] 10 [. . .] iz-z[i- . . .] 11 [. . .] ⌈x⌉ [. . .] 0 LUGAL-us-s[u lis-ki-pu? a]g-giš li-ru-ru-šú-ma M[U-šú NUM]UN-⌈šú⌉ ina KUR li-ḫ al-liq-qu 1 [. . . a]g-giš li-ru-ru-šú-ma M[U-šú NUM]UN-⌈šú⌉ ina KUR li-ḫ al-liq-qu 2 LUGAL-us-s[u . . .] 11 [. . .] ina KUR [. . .] 0 [ITI.x x x] UD-3-KAM lim-mu mda-ad-di-i LÚ.IGI.DUB 1 [. . .] UD-3-KAM lim-mu mda-ad-di-i LÚ.IGI.⌈DUB⌉ 11 [. . .] m⌈da⌉-ad-di-[. . .]

242

j. novotny and g. van buylaere Bibliography

Th. Bauer, Das Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals (Assyriologische Bibliothek, Neue Folge 1–2; Leipzig, 1933). F. M. Th. de Liagre Böhl, Mededeelingen uit de Leidsche Verzameling van Spijkerschrift-Inscripties 3. Assyrische en nieuw-babylonische oorkonden (1100–91 v. Chr.), (Amsterdam, 1933). R. Borger, “Der Aufstieg des neubabylonischen Reiches”, JCS 19 (1965), pp. 59–78. ——, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals: Die Prismenklassen A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften (Wiesbaden, 1996). S. M. Dalley and J. N. Postgate, The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser (CTN III; London, 1984). V. Donbaz and A. K. Grayson, Royal Inscriptions on Clay Cones from Ashur Now in Istanbul (RIMS 1; Toronto, 1984). F. M. Fales, “Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: Newer Horizons”, SAAB 13 (1999–2001), pp. 115–144. M. Falkner, “Neue Inschriften aus der Zeit Sin-šarru-iškuns”, AfO 16 (1952–1953), pp. 305–310. A. K. Grayson, “Cylinder C of Sîn-šarru-iškun, a New Text from Baghdad”, in J. W. Wevers and D. B. Redford (eds.), Studies on the Ancient Palestinian World Presented to Professor F. V. Winnett on the occasion of his retirement 1 July 1971 (Toronto, 1972), pp. 157–168. ——, “Assyria and Babylonia”, Orientalia 49 (1980), pp. 140–194. ——, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC), (RIMA 2; Toronto, 1991). ——, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC), (RIMA 3; Toronto, 1996). L. Jakob-Rost, “Die Tonnagel-Inschriften aus Assur”, Forschungen und Berichte 22 (1982), pp. 137–177. L. Jakob-Rost and J. Marzahn, Assyrische Königsinschriften auf Ziegeln aus Assur (Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler der Königlichen Museen zu Berlin 23; Berlin, 1985). L. W. King, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum, part 34 (London, 1914). E. E. Knudsen, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud – II”, Iraq 29 (1967), pp. 49–69 and pls. XIV–XXIX. D. D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1926– 1927). M. Mahmud and J. Black, “Recent Work on the Nabu Temple, Nimrud”, Sumer 44 (1985–1986), pp. 135–155. M. E. L. Mallowan, Nimrud and Its Remains, 2 vols. (London, 1966). B. Menzel, Assyrische Tempel 1: Untersuchungen zu Kult, Administration und Personal (Studia Pohl, Series Maior 10/1; Rome, 1981). L. Messerschmidt, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts, I (Leipzig, 1911). A. R. Millard, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nineveh: Ashurbanipal”, Iraq 30 (1968), pp. 98–111 and pls. XIX–XVII. ——, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910–612 BC (SAAS 2; Helsinki, 1994). J. Novotny, “Classifying Assurbanipal Inscriptions: Prisms C, Kh (= CND), and G”, in R. D. Biggs, J. Myers, and M. T. Roth (eds.), Proceedings of the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago July 18–22, 2005 (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 62; Chicago, 2008), pp. 127–135. D. Oates, “Ezida: the Temple of Nabu”, Iraq 19 (1957), pp. 26–39.

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J. and D. Oates, Nimrud – An Assyrian Imperial City Revealed (London, 2001). O. Pedersén, Katalog der beschrifteten Objekte aus Assur: die Schriftträger mit Ausnahme der Tontafeln und ähnlicher Archivtexte (Saarbrücken, 1997). J. N. Postgate and J. Reade, “Kalhu”, in RlA 5 (1976), pp. 303–323. J. Reade, “Ninive (Nineveh)”, RlA 9 (1998–2001), pp. 388–433. V. Scheil, “Inscriptions des derniers rois d’Assyrie”, RA 10 (1913), pp. 197–205. ——, Le Prisme S d’Assarhaddon, Roi d’Assyrie 681–669 (Paris, 1914). W. Schramm, “Assyrische Königsinschriften”, WO 8 (1975–1976), pp. 37–48. O. Schröder, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur verschiedenen Inhalts (Leipzig, 1920). ——, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur historischen Inhalts. II (Leipzig, 1922). M. Sigrist and A. R. Millard, “Catalogue des Tablettes Cunéiformes du Couvent SaintÉtienne”, RB 92 (1985), pp. 570–576. F. J. Stephens, Votive and Historical Texts from Babylonia and Assyria (YOS 9; New Haven, 1937). M. Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergange Niniveh’s (VAB 7/1–3; Leipzig, 1916). C. B. F. Walker, Cuneiform Brick Inscriptions in the British Museum, the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, the City of Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery, the City of Bristol Museum and Art Gallery (London, 1981). E. Weissert, “On the Recently Discovered Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions from Nimrud”, NABU 1990/4, pp. 103–105, no. 126. D. J. Wiseman, “The Nimrud Tablets, 1951”, Iraq 14 (1952), pp. 61–71. ——, “Fragments of Historical Texts from Nimrud”, Iraq 26 (1964), pp. 118–124 and pls. XXVI–XXVII.

POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE HUMAN TYPES IN THE EGYPTIAN WISDOM LITERATURE*

Nili Shupak University of Haifa

A salient characteristic of the Egyptian wisdom literature is the division of mankind into opposite categories juxtaposed for the sake of illuminating and delineating them. Hence the antithetical pairs: the hot-tempered and the silent man, the wise man and the fool, and the pious and the wicked man. Such pairs of opposites are not unique to Egyptian literature. They appear in the Bible too and in collections of Greek proverbs from the Hellenistic period on. For this discussion I have chosen to focus on the silent versus the hot-tempered man. To the best of my knowledge this pair is unique to Egyptian literature, unlike the wise man and the fool, and the pious and the wicked man, who are present in Biblical and Greek writings.1

* This paper is a revision of a lecture delivered at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Boston in November 2008. It is a great pleasure for me to dedicate it to my dear colleague and friend Prof. Bustenay Oded, the “true silent man”. 1 For parallels in Greek proverbs and in the Bible see: N. Lazaridis, “ ‘It is better to be silent than speak in vain’: The challenge of producing proverbs in Demotic and Greek”, in R. Mairs and A. Stevenson (eds.), Current Research in Egyptology 2005, Proceedings of the Sixth Annual Symposium, University of Cambridge 6–8 January 2005 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 66–73; N. Shupak, Where Can Wisdom Be Found? The Sage’s Language in the Bible and in Ancient Egyptian Literature (OBO 130; Friburg, 1993). For similar opposites in the temple material see G. Englund, “The treatment of Opposites in Temple Thinking and Wisdom Literature”, in G. Englund (ed.), The Religion of the Ancient Egyptians, Cognitive Structures and Popular Expressions (AUU; Upsala, 1989), pp. 77–88. Englund believes that the binary thinking of both the wisdom literature and the temple material aims at preserving the cosmic order, the Maʿat. But the temple attitude differs from the wisdom literature in that its knowledge is reserved for the elite minority. Nordh assumes that the antithetical pairs of human beings had mythic prototypes: The good god Horus corresponded to the calm man, and the enemies of the gods, Seth and Apophis, to the hot-tempered man. See K. Nordh, Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings. Conceptual Background and Transmission (AUU; Uppsala, 1996), p. 43.

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I try to answer several questions that arise in this context. Do these opposites mark general characteristics of such people, or are they designations for positive and negative human types? Do the life-style and behavior patterns of these figures relate to social or to religious life, or to both? Did the meanings of the terms change over time? Was the ideology embodied in the two terms limited to a particular social stratum? And finally, how did the contrasts between the hot-tempered and the silent one relate to those between the wise man and the fool, and the pious and the wicked man? The questions can be answered through analysis of Egyptian sources in which the terms appear from the third millennium to the late centuries BCE.2 Of these, the most important are the passages where the silent and the hot-tempered man parallel the other terms designating human types or human traits.

I. The Silent Man The silent man, a central theme in Egyptian wisdom literature, is first mentioned in the Instruction to Kagemni at the end of the third millennium BCE: The timid man (snḏw) prospers, The man of exactitude (mty) is praised, The tent is open to the silent man (grw), The place of the calm man (hrw) is wide. (Instruction to Kagemni, 1[Old Kingdom]).3

The silent man, grw, who appears here in synonymous parallelism with the terms “timid”, “exact”, and “calm”, is a perfect person liked by all, to whom “the tent is open”. Analysis of other Egyptian sources show that grw (from the 18th Dynasty also called grw-mꜣ‘ – see below) 2 This analysis relies mainly on wisdom literature and school texts that are part of the sphere of wisdom. But it refers also to a few sources from the New Kingdom that do not belong to the wisdom literature, but significantly contribute to the understanding of the images of the silent and the hot-tempered man (prayers, magical texts and autobiographical inscriptions). For publications and studies on the relevant texts see P. Vernus, Sagesses de L’Égypte pharaonique (Paris, 2001); Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, pp. 21–30. Some dates of the compositions mentioned are debatable. Those given in the following discussion reflect, at most, the dominant opinion in research. 3 Quotations from the Egyptian texts were translated by the author unless otherwise stated. For an English translation of most of the compositions discussed see M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3 vols. (Berkeley, 1973–1980).

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stands in parallelism with the terms “calm-tempered” (hrw, also mentioned in the Instruction to Kagemni) and “cool-tempered” (ḳbḥ,ḳb), which appear in the collocations: “The truly cool-tempered” (ḳb mꜣ‘), “cold-bellied” (ḳb ẖ t), “cool-tempered” (ḳbb srf ),4 “calm of heart” (hrw ib) and “calm of step” (hrw/ḳb nmt.t).5 The determinatives depicting the “silent, calm man” are a sitting man, his hand to his mouth ¡, and a pot of flowing water wV. The three terms – the “silent man”( grw), the “cool-tempered” (ḳbb) and the “calm-tempered” (hrw) relate to one single identity – an ideal man of perfect behavior in all areas of life. In the social sphere the silent man demonstrates the following qualities: 1. Restraint in speech: He knows when to keep silent and when to speak. Having nothing to say, one should remain silent. If you are a respected man Who sits in his master’s council, Concentrate on excellence, Be silent (gr.k) because it is more profitable than chattering (?) (tftf );6 Speak only when you know, It is the skilled who should speak in council; Speaking is harder than any craft, Only he who understands it controls it. (Instruction of Ptahhotep, 362– 369 [Old Kingdom])

One should remain silent also as a reaction to a wrathful partner: In the Egyptian textbook named “Kemit” (meaning “The Complete”), from the beginning of the second millennium BCE, which was the first textbook ever produced, the author praises himself in these words: I am a most excellent silent man ( grw), Conquering the heat (i.e. the fire of contention) Of him who opens his lips, I am not a chatterer. (Kemit, pls. 15–16, ll. 13–14).

4

Lit.: “extinguisher of heat”. For further discussion of terms and collocations in the semantic field of silence, see Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, pp. 150–157. 6 The determinative of the word tftf is a plant but is probably misused. Here the appropriate sense would be to chatter. Kurth suggests explaining tftf as a doubling of tf, to spit, in the sense of uttering many words (“viele Worte ausstossen”). See D. Kurth, Altägyptische Maximen für Manager, Die Lehre des Ptahhotep (Darmstadt, 1999), p. 65. 5

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The silent man displays similar restraint and self-control in the following passages: If you meet an adversary in action, Who is your equal, of your own social standing, You will prove yourself more upright than he by remaining silent (gr), While he speaks evil. Then his defamation will be great in the mouth of the judges, And your name will be good in the mind of the great. (Instruction of Ptahhotep, 68–73) I am silent ( gr) towards him of hot temper, And patient with the fool, To put down [any] strife. (Autobiographical inscription: Stela of Inyotef son of Senet, Les, p. 80, 1.16)

2. The silent man is deliberate in action and modest in manner. Autobiographical writings from the second millennium BCE make repeated use of the expression “calm of step” (hrw nmt.t): Calm of step, obedient to him who has raised him up. Sure-footed, calm of step. Of valued speech, calm of step. (Janssen, vol. 1, 29: 19–20, 26–31)

Moreover, The Instruction of Amenemope, from the late second millennium states: “The true silent man (grw mꜣ‘) will hold himself aside (6, 7)” bringing to mind the passage from the instruction to Kagemni quoted above. 3. The modest silent man, in contrast to the greedy one (‘wnty), does not boast of his possession when he prospers: If you plow, and the field prospers, And god gives you abundance, Do not boast at your neighbors’ presence. One has great respect for the silent man (grw), It is the man of character who is the possessor of wealth. (Instruction of Ptahhotep, 161–167). Do not rejoice in wealth acquired through robbery, Neither grieve because of poverty . . . The boat of the greedy is left in the mud, While the bark of the truly silent man (grw mꜣʿ) sails with the wind. (Instruction of Amenemope, 10, 6–11 [19th–20th Dyn.])

4. He is obedient and does the will of those in authority over him. The higher officials praise him thus:

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The King/Egypt is pleased (hrr) with his utterances. He is a respite to the heart (hrw ḥr ib). (Urk. IV 411, 2; 959,5; 1009,9 etc. [New Kingdom, 18th Dyn.])

The inscription of high priest Menheperre-seneb from the 18th Dynasty provides a fitting summation of the fine qualities of the silent man, one that brings to mind the Instruction to Kagemni some thousand years earlier: A true silent man, of a fine mind, Attentive, beloved of his master, Exact of speech, Courteous, He whose utterances find favor with the lord of the two lands (i.e. Pharaoh). (Urk. IV 993, 3–8).7

The silent man is a symbol and example not only in the social framework but also on the religious sphere. Here, from the time of the New Kingdom, there appears beside the grw – the silent man, another term – grw mꜣ’, the truly silent, to designate the ideal believer who behaves according to the laws of Maʿat (Cf. below). The silent man’s devotion to his gods shines forth in the next passage, where his faith in the god’s mercy and his obedience are contrasted with the unworthy conduct of greedy officials who exploit the temple sacrifices: As for all the silent men ( grw nb) in the temple, They say: “Great is the benevolence of Re”. Cling to the silent man ( grw), then you find life, And your body will prosper upon earth. (Instruction of Amenemope, 7, 7–10)

A similar picture of the silent man comes from the hymns of personal piety that also belong like the Instruction of Amenemope to the New Kingdom. “The silent man” appears in them alongside other adjectives testifying to obedience and humility before the god (Cf. ‫ אביון‬,‫ עני‬,‫ענו‬ in the Bible). Amen-Re . . . Lord of Thrones of the Two Lands (Egypt) . . . The august god who hears prayer, Who comes at the voice of the poor in distress,

7 For further discussion on the use of these epithets to describe the character of the officials in the Middle Kingdom see D. M. Doxey, Egyptian Non-Royal Epithets in the Middle Kingdom: A Social and Historical Analysis (Leiden, 1998), pp. 58–61, 64.

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n. shupak Who gives breath to him who is wretched . . . You are Amun, the lord of the silent, Who comes at the voice of the poor; When I call you in distress, You come to rescue me, To give breath to him who is wretched, To rescue me from bondage. (Nebre Stela from Deir el-Medina).8

Up to now I have sketched the image of the ancient Egyptian ideal, the silent man. He appears to have been the very model of the traits and qualities that were the heart’s desire of the wise man both on the social level and in the realm of religion and faith.9 He is restrained in speech and argument, he is modest and obedient to those above him, and finally he is the ideal pious man who is devoted to his god. The opposite of the silent man is not the talker, but an agglomeration of negative qualities and defects connected with excessive activity and lust, which constitute the personality of the hot-tempered man.10

II. The Hot-Tempered Man Two terms in Egyptian designate the hot-tempered man and both use an image of heat as illustration. One is s̆mm (ḫmm) designated by a determinative of a brazier with a flame rising from it, and a wounded man with blood streaming from his head signifying an enemy. ßÎÎl¢ The other term is tꜣ(w) whose determinative is like that of s̆mm, a brazier with a flame. Additionally its connection to heat is demonstrated t by writing the word with the hieroglyph tꜣ, a potter’s kiln.11 B {ll

8

Translated by Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, II, pp. 105–106. Gods too are qualified by this term, e.g. Thoth, Osiris. The god Amun often appears in the hymnal literature as one who loves and protects the silent man. Cf. Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, 151; G. Lanczkowski, “Reden und Schweigen im ägyptischen Verständnis, vornehmlich des Mittleren Reiches”, Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Institut für Orientforschung 29 (1955), p. 196. 10 For additional terms in antithetical parallelism with the silent one, e.g. a disobedient man (thi mTn), greedy man (ʿwnty), loud of voice (ḳꜣ ḫrw), see Shupak, ibid., p. 163. 11 Strife and anger are often likened in Egyptian wisdom literature to heat and flame. Thus the terms t3 and s̆mm belonging originally to the semantic field of heat were adapted and used to denote anger and strife, see Shupak, ibid., pp. 128–129. But the hot-tempered man whose behavior is usually likened to heat and flame is also destroyed by it “The flame is its burial shroud” (Amenemope 6, 6; cf. also Ostracon Deir el Medina 1265, II 5 where flame (nsr.t) appears in a fragmentary text. See also 9

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Both terms stand in synonymous parallelism and are collocated with parts of the body – “hot mouthed” (tꜣ rꜣ Amenemope 5,10; 12,16; šmw rꜣ Ostracon Leipzig 8:1);12 “hot bellied” (tꜣ ẖ t Ptahhotep 352; in antithetic parallelism with ḳb ẖ t “cold bellied” ibid., 323) and “hot hearted” (tꜣ ib in antithetic parallelism with ʿn “gentle man” ibid., 378–379) and they denote a figure who became a symbol of everything negative in ancient Egypt, an archetypically negative figure. No wonder they also stand in synonymous parallelism with other negative types like: “enemy” (rḳw, s rḳw Amenemope, 5,12; 15,13–14), “violent man” (thw ibid., 5,12), “contentious man” (ẖ nn Instruction to Merikare 24–31; s̆tm Ptahhotep, 373) and “evil doer” (pꜣ irry bin Amenemope, 4,12). The hot-tempered man is the opposite of the silent man in all areas of life. On the social level and on the plane of human relationships, the main transgression of the hot-tempered man is the inability to control his tongue. 1. Thus he is frequently called “hot of mouth”: Start no quarrel with the hot-mouthed man ( tꜣ rꜣ) . . . For a storm that comes forth like fire in straw, Such is the heated man (s̆mm) in his hour . . . (Instruction of Amenemope, 5,10–15; cf. ibid. 12,16; Ostracon Leipzig 8:1)

2. He bursts out in anger: Be not mute but yet be cautious of offending, When you answer a speech angrily. Turn away your face and control yourself, For the flames of the hot-heart (t3 ib) spread. (Instruction of Ptahhotep, 375–378).

H. W. Fischer-Elfert, Abseits von Maʿat, Fallstudien zu Ausenseitern im Alten Ägypten (Würzburg, 2005), p. 118. Fischer-Elfert explains the contact between s̆mw and the heat in a different way, assuming that the s̆mw is an epileptic and the heat is a symptom of his disease. 12 The adjective tꜣ usually comes in the wisdom texts in collocations except for one instance. (The Admonitions of an Egyptian Sage 5,3); tꜣ rꜣ is always accompanied by the definite article and by the determinatives of an enemy, (which is also characteristic of s̆mm), and a snake. In the Egyptian concept the snake was the enemy of the universal order and a symbol of hostility and warfare, hence no wonder the hot tempered man is coupled with it. Cf. Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, pp. 123–124.

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3. He spreads gossip and slander: Do not repeat slander, And do not listen to it, For it is but the prattling of the hot-bellied (tꜣ ẖ t), Repeat only what you see and not what you hear . . . Slander is like a (bad) dream13 against which one covers his face.14 (Instruction of Ptahhotep, 350–360)

4. His words do harm: Let him not cast words to entrap you . . . (Instruction of Amenemope, 11,17). Fast is the speech when the heart is upset . . . He tears down and builds up with his tongue, He speaks evilly, He gives an answer deserving of beating . . . (ibid., 12,1–5)

He is perceived as a transgressor not only against social morality, in human relationships, but also on religious grounds in the relationships of man with his gods. 1. The hot-tempered doubt the existence of god when they declare: “If I knew where the god is I would offer him sacrifice.” (Admonitions of an Egyptian Sage, 5,3 [Middle Kingdom, 12th Dyn.]). 2. They fail in, or are alienated from, the ceremonial duties in the temple.15 You do not enjoy a drink in (Any)’s front courtyard and somebody with a boomerang follows close behind pꜣy.k s̆mw (Ostracon Deir el-Medinah 1265: I 3–4 [New Kingdom, 19th Dyn.]).16

3. In view of the foregoing, the hot-tempered man is considered dangerous, a person to avoid:

13

See manuscripts L1, L2. The Egyptians took various magical measures including covering one’s face in sleep, against the effects of bad dreams. 15 In Borghouts’ opinion, the hot man appears in a text dealing with the hot one’s incapacity to accomplish the cultic rituals of the festivals. See J. F. Borghouts, “The ‘hot one’ (pꜣ s̆mw) in Ostracon Deir el Medinéh 1265”, Göttinger Miszellen 38 (1980), pp. 21–28. Fischer-Elfert’s opinion is that, being an epileptic, the hot one is not allowed to participate in temple celebrations. See Abseits, esp. pp. 113–116. 16 Originally translated into German by Fischer-Elfert, ibid., p. 93. 14

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Do not befriend a heated man (s̆mm), Let not a hostile man approach you! (The Instruction of Amenemope, 15, 13–14; cf. ibid. 11,13). He is like a young wolf in the farmyard, He turns one eye against the other, He causes brothers to quarrel . . . A fire is in his belly. (ibid., 12,18–13,6)

4. He is called by the extreme appellation “the abomination of the people” (Pap. Anastasi 5: 7, 7) and some manuscripts contain entreaties and curses designed to remove him from human society: Begone, be on your way to the East,17 you hot mouth (pꜣ s̆m rꜣ)! You will not be brought [back], You will be [exposed] to a cold shadow in the wintertime, You will be [regelated] to a hot spot in summertime. (Ostracon Leipzig 8: 1–5 [Ramesside Period])18

5. Numerous texts describe the punishment and bitter fate of the hottempered man. The sun, it is said, will not shine on him nor does Hapy, the Nile flood, flow for him (Pap. Anastasi. 5: 7, 7–8). Storm and flood will bear him away (Amenemope 4, 12–16); people persecute and chastise him (Ostracon Deir el-Medina 1265, col. 1). Not only his fellow mortals see him as a sinner but the gods too: hence divine forces (bꜣw) seize him and punish him (Pap. Anastasi 5:7, 6–7). Metaphors from plant and animal life illustrate his bitter end. At times he will resemble a tree withering rapidly in the desert (Amenemope 6, 1–6; Ostracon Deir el-Medina 1265, col. 2, 4–5). At other times he is compared to a doomed animal like a drowning rat or a trapped bird (Pap. Anastasi 5: 7, 9–12).19

17 The East is the place where according to the Egyptian tradition executions in the netherworld were carried out. Cf. J. F. Borghouts, “Magical Practices among the Villagers”, in L. H. Lesko (ed.), Pharaoh’s Workers: The Village of Deir el Medina (Ithaca, 1994), p. 184, note 42. 18 Translated by Borghouts, ibid., p. 128. Taking into account this passage and the relevant passage in Ostracon Deir el Medinah 1265 Borghouts suggests stretching the meaning of ‘the hot one’ a bit further than in the instruction texts. He believes that ‘the hot one’ may be an Egyptian prototype of the village witch (ibid.). 19 A magic spell appearing in the damaged text of Pap. Leipzig 1899 may also relate to the bitter fate of the hot one see: Fischer-Elfert, Abseits, pp. 156–157 and cf. J. F. Borghouts, Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts (Leiden, 1978), p. 2, note 4. Amenemope 5, 1–6, however, hints at hope for the hot-tempered man: the community will surrender him to the god and will look compassionately upon him and will “fill his belly with your bread.” Cf. Lichtheim, Moral Values in Ancient Egypt (OBO 155; Friburg,

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Careful reading of the passages quoted above shows the hot-tempered man as the diametrical opposite of the silent man in all spheres of life. The two passages that follow reinforce that impression. They belong to the religious framework, and contrast the silent and the hot tempered man, clearly reflecting the differences between them. 6. The first passage is chapter four in Amenemope (19th–20th Dynasty): As for the hot-tempered man ( pꜣ s̆mm) in the temple, He is like a tree growing in the forest (or in the desert?), In a moment his branches wither, His end will come in a pile of wood (or a raft?), He floats far from his native place, And fire is his tomb (lit. his shroud). The true silent man ( grw mꜣ‘) will stand apart, He is like a tree growing in a grove, He is green and doubles his fruits, He stands before his lord, His fruits are sweet, his shade pleasant, His end will come in the garden. (Amenemope 6,1–12)

The setting of the events is the temple. The heated man and the silent man are compared to trees: the heated one is a wild tree growing in a forest or in the desert, while the silent man is like a cultivated tree growing in a garden or in a place bathed in sunlight. The fate of the heated man is bitter. His blossom is brief and his end sudden. His destruction is twofold – he is inundated by water and burnt in fire, and in the end is buried far from the place of his growth. Quite the opposite is the destiny of the silent man. He prospers (lit. “greens”) and sends forth a double quantity of sweet fruit. He is placed before his lord (the god) and his end is natural – in the place of his growth, the garden.20

1997), p. 42; D. Römheld, Wege der Weisheit, Die Lehren Amenemopes und Proverbien 22, 17–24 (Berlin, 1989), p. 177. In Fischer-Elfert’s opinion, Amenemope 5, 17 should be added, dealing as they do with the stage of atonement and compassion of the god who forgives the sinner. See Fischer-Elfert, Abseits, p. 128. 20 Various interpretations have been offered for the meaning of tree-growing places- ḫnty with respect to s̆mm and tḥnt with respect to grw mꜣʿ. Here two are given that seem most suitable as regards context and orthography. For other proposals see especially Israeli, who suggests distinguishing between “a tree growing in a place into which water may be easily channeled” which designates the silent man, and “a tree growing in a place where there is no access to channeled water” which relates to the hot one; S. Israeli, “Chapter Four of Amenemope”, in S. Israelit-Groll (ed.), Studies in

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The text does not elucidate the misconduct of the heated man. This is indirectly suggested by the contrastive structure of the passage. The silent man is described as one who “sets himself apart”, that is, a modest man who keeps to himself. The heated man’s traits may be inferred to be the opposite. The silent man is pious, his heart devoted to the god, while the heated man only makes a pretence of belief. He parades his faith by talking and shouting, practices which are rejected in Egyptian texts concerned with ritual procedure, for example: Do not raise your voice in the house of god, He abhors shouting, Pray with loving heart, whose every word is hidden. He will grant your needs, He will hear your words, He will accept your offerings. (Instruction of Any, 4,1–4 [New Kingdom, 18th Dyn.]). God does not approve of him who approaches too closely, Do not raise your voice at his house God loves the silence. Plate 20, verso 5, 1–2 [New Kingdom, 19th–20th Dyn.]4: (Pap. Chester Beatty Compare with “The god loves the silent one more than him of the loud voice (ḳꜣ ḫrw)” (ÄHG 195 1. 56 [New Kingdom]).

The hot-tempered one is rejected and his plea denied, whereas the modest silent one obtains mercy because of his moral qualities. The idea that the first is rejected because he cannot control his mouth appears again in the prayer to Thoth, god of wisdom, in Pap. Sallier 1, also from the Ramesside era: Come that you may rescue me, the silent one ( pꜣ grw), Thoth (you are) a pleasant well to the thirsty man in a desert; It is sealed to him that finds his mouth, But it is open to the silent one ( pꜣ grw), The silent one ( pꜣ grw) comes and finds the well, But to the heated man ( pꜣ s̆mm) you are (sealed).21 (Pap. Sallier 1: 8, 5–6 [New Kingdom, 19th–20th Dyn.]).

The god Thoth is compared to a spring of fresh water that slakes the thirst of man in the desert. The hot-tempered man, confident in his

Egyptology, Presented to Miriam Lichtheim (Jerusalem, 1990), vol. 1, pp. 464–484, and Fischer-Elfert, Abseits, pp. 116–119 who agrees with her. 21 Thus suggested by G. Fecht, Literarische Zeugnisse zur “Persönlichen Frömmigkeit” in Ägypten (Heidelberg, 1965), p. 75, note 26 and p. 98.

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speech, “him that finds his mouth”, cannot find the spring but the silent one does, i.e. the god reveals himself to the silent believer but remains concealed from the man of hot temper. Hence the moral of this text resembles the one in the fourth chapter of the Instruction of Amenemope: a pleasant fate awaits the silent one while the end of the hot-tempered one is miserable and bitter.22

III. Conclusion From the foregoing quotations and examples emerges a picture of the ideal man and his negative opposite, as they were perceived in ancient Egyptian culture. The silent one and his synonyms designate one of perfect character in all spheres. He is temperate and modest in manner, restrained in speech and argument, honest and generous to his fellow men. He is also a pious man devoted to his god. His opposite, the hot-tempered man, quarrels and shouts readily, spreads rumors and denies the very existence of the god. This concept of dichotomy that praises restraint, modesty and silence while it condemns impatience and impulsiveness is not limited to any particular social stratum, class or activity. It relates to conduct within different spheres of life,

22 Recently Fischer-Elfert, Abseits, pp. 91–163 proposed regarding s̆mw as an epileptic alienated by society because of his illness. He bases himself mainly on Pap. Anastasi 5 which states: “Your s̆mw is like the bꜣw (the forces) of Amun, an abomination of the people” (7, 5–6). In the light of Borghouts’ research, accepted by Fischer-Elfert, the god’s forces that overcome the transgressor, manifest themselves in physical or mental illness. Moreover, Fischer-Elfert finds epileptic symptoms in passages describing the hot-tempered man in Ostracon Deir el-Medina 1265 (col. 2, lines 3, 5, 6, 7, 10: he rolls from side to side, fire and falling are mentioned, and he lacks peace of mind. In the Instruction of Amenemope (5,10; 12,10–13,1; 13,7) he is called “hotmouthed”, he rolls his eyes, causes brothers to quarrel and a fire burns in his belly. I think that just like every other sinner accused of transgression against the gods, the s̆mw in Pap. Anastasi 5 is described as seized by divine forces as a punishment by the god. However, it is hard to see him as an epileptic because: 1) The main symptom of that illness is not the heat of the s̆mw as reflected both in the semantics of the term and in the images of fire and flame depicting him as a man of anger. 2) The opposite of the s̆mw is the silent man. He is apposed to him as seen above in chapter 4 of the Instruction of Amenemope and in the prayer to Thoth. It is difficult to see the epileptic as the opposite of the silent ideal man, since the silent man belongs to the field of behavior and not to that of health. 3) The Fischer-Elfert’s suggestion that the epileptic became a symbol of the negative person in Egyptian literature is odd since he himself claims that Egyptian has no term for this disease.

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from that of the village (The Eloquent Peasant),23 school life (instructions and textbooks), deportment at the royal court (autobiographies) and extends to rituals in the temple (Amenemope, chapters 4 and 5, Ostracon Deir el-Medina 1265, Pap. Sallier 1). This concept has a long history, from the Old Kingdom, in the middle of the third millennium, ending with the Demotic instructions in Hellenistic times. Changes did occur over the generations.24 To the usually general admonitions in praise of silence and reproof of quarrels of the Old and the Middle Kingdom, the New Kingdom added the antithetical pair of the silent and the hot-tempered man. Typical of the writings of that time is the addition of “personal piety” reflected in their religious tone, evident particularly in the direct link between the believer and his god. That development also left its mark on the human figures at the center of the discussion: the silent man is now also the true believer who faithfully performs the god’s rituals, while the hot-tempered man pretends to believe (as noted in the Instruction of Amenemope, in the hymn to Thoth, and in other texts which do not belong to wisdom literature of the same period, like the Ostracon Deir el-Medina 1265). From this period, alongside the silent man, the grw, there appears the true silent man, the grw mꜣʿ belonging to the ethical-religious domain and reflecting the shift in Egyptian perceptions from a socially centered ethic to a religiously centered one. Thus the grw was not only an ideal person on the social plane but also the ideal believer, the grw mꜣ‘, the true silent one who behaves according to the laws of Maʿat.25 Later, in the Demotic Instructions, the religious element reached its fullest expression as the heated and the silent man were replaced by the pious (rmt nṯr, i.e. “man of god”) and the wicked and evil one (sꜣbe and rmṯ bin).This process of diminishing the importance of didactic and social aspects and the increased emphasis on religious observance as the basis of the moral order, can be detected in other Egyptian pairs of opposites also. Hence the frequent use of the antithetical pair wise-fool26 in the literature of the Old and the Middle Kingdom,

23 See The Eloquent Peasant, where the peasant calls himself “silent man” (B1 285) and the god Osiris is named “lord of silence” (B1 27). 24 Cf. the table below. 25 On the distribution of the grw mꜣʿ and examples of its usage, see Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, pp. 166–167. 26 The most common terms signifying the pair wise man and fool are in the Old and Middle Kingdom the rḫ and wḫꜣ. Later in the Demotic instructions the terms rmt rḫ and rmt swg or ẖ ne are used.

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notably in the Instruction of Ptahhotep. The use of the pair wise-fool decreases in New Kingdom sources and their place is taken by the silent and the hot-tempered man (Instruction of Amenemope, Pap. Sallier). Surprisingly, however, they reappear in the Demotic instructions alongside the pious (lit. “the man of god”)27 and the wicked (sꜣbe and rmṯ bin), even as boundaries between the didactic-social and the religious ethics tend to blur.28 Thus in the Demotic Papyrus Insinger, silence appears for the first time as a quality of the wise man who also resembles the pious (10,3; 23,7), whereas the behavior of the fool (in Egy. lḫ, swg, ẖ ne) resembles that of the hot-tempered man who is very like the wicked one.29 As Miriam Lichtheim notes: “A man’s piety makes him receptive to ‘instruction’ and ‘training’, and willing to obey the commands of God . . . Conversely the fool is impious because he refuses to listen to the divine commands and to the teachings of his fellow men.”30 And a final question arises. Why is the silent man or silence itself selected as an Egyptian cultural ideal? The answer is complex and by no means unequivocal. The circumstances of different periods appear to have produced this ideal. For instance, on the political plane, the talker is likely to kindle rebellion and cause the regime to collapse (Instruction to Merikare, 24–31). Silence was encouraged because silent behavior facilitated the smooth functioning of the royal administration. On the ritual plane the noisy worshipper disturbs the ceremonies and desecrates the sanctity of the god’s house. Hence the god loves silence and the silent man, and reproves “him of the loud voice” (See above, Instruction of Any; Pap. Chester Beatty 4, and ÄHG). But more than anything else, the answer seems to lie in the Egyptian belief in a cosmic order on earth – the Maʿat. Egyptian myth tells of

27 In Coptic “rm n pnoute” where it stands for righteous man ‫ צדיק‬in the Bible (e.g. Prov 13,22; Isa 26,7). 28 Cf. Shupak, “Where Can Wisdom”, pp. 221–222, 258–261; and M. Lichtheim, Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature in the International Context, a Study of Demotic Instructions (OBO 52; Friburg, 1983), pp. 45–48, 118–121. Lichtheim believes that the dyad, man of god and wicked man, parallels the wise man and the fool, and that the author of Papyrus Insinger employed these terms to enlarge that latter dichotomy. But a semantic analysis of the terms shows that the two groups in the Egyptian perception belong originally to two different spheres, the one concerned with the intellectual and didactic field, and the other with the religious one. See, Shupak, ibid., pp. 259–261. 29 Cf. Lichtheim, ibid., pp. 119–120. 30 M. Lichtheim, “Observations on Papyrus Insinger”, in E. Hornung and O. Keel (eds.), Studien zu Altägyptischen Lebenslehren (OBO 28; Friburg, 1979), p. 291.

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the creator god who, at the beginning of time, separated the good from the evil and imposed Maʿat, the rule of law and order, essential for the creation to survive. The silent man, also called the truly silent ( grw, grw mꜣʿ)31 is the one who behaves according to those laws, i.e. the laws of Ma‘at. The silent man with his ideal way of life is a shining example, prevents anarchy from conquering the earth and returning it to the primordial chaos of the universe before creation. Not so the man of hot temper, whose flame wipes out all that is considered good. Table: Changes in Concept Regarding Restraint as Opposed to Heated Behavior Old and Middle Kingdom New Kingdom

Demotic Instructions

General admonitions in praise of silence and reproof of quarrels silent and hot- tempered man grw/ grw mꜣʿ # s̆mw The ideal man and the true believer versus the negative person and the “false” believer pious and “wicked” man rmṯ nṯr # sꜣbe/rmṯ bn (“man of god” # “impious/evil man”)

wise and fool rḫ # wḫꜣ/ ḫm

wise and fool rmṯ rḫ # rmṯ swg/ẖ ne

31 The truly cool-tempered one, ḳb mꜣʿ comes in the Late Period autobiographies. See Shupak, Where Can Wisdom, pp. 164, 386, note 43.

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J. P. Borghouts, Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts (Leiden, 1978). ——, “The ‘hot one’ (p3 s̆mw) in Ostracon Deir el Medinéh 1265”, Göttinger Miszellen 38 (1980), pp. 21–28. ——, “Magical Practices among the Villagers”, in L. H. Lesko (ed.), Pharaoh’s Workers: The Village of Deir el Medina (Ithaca, 1994), pp. 119–130. D. M. Doxey, Egyptian Non-Royal Epithets in the Middle Kingdom: A Social and Historical Analysis (Leiden, 1998). G. Englund, “The treatment of Opposites in Temple Thinking and Wisdom Literature”, in G. Englund, (ed.), The Religion of the Ancient Egyptians, Cognitive Structures and Popular Expressions (AUU; Upsala, 1989), pp. 77–88. G. Fecht, Literarische Zeugnisse zur “Persönlichen Frömmigkeit” in Ägypten (Heidelberg, 1965). H.W. Fischer-Elfert, Abseits von Maʿat, Fallstudien zu Ausenseitern im Alten Ägypten (Würzburg, 2005). S. Israeli, “Chapter Four of Amenemope”, in S. Israelit-Groll (ed.), Studies in Egyptology, Presented to Miriam Lichtheim (Jerusalem, 1990), vol. 1, pp. 464–484. J. Janssen, De traditioneele egyptische Autobiographie vóór het Nieuwe Rijk, vol. 1: Teksten, vol. 2: Vertaling en Commentaar (Leiden, 1946). D. Kurth, Altägyptische Maximen für Manager, Die Lehre des Ptahhotep (Darmstadt, 1999). G. Lanczkowski, “Reden und Schweigen im ägyptischen Verständnis, vornehmlich des Mittleren Reiches”, Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Institut für Orientforschung 29 (1955), pp. 186–196. N. Lazaridis, “ ‘It is better to be silent than speak in vain’: The challenge of producing proverbs in Demotic and Greek”, in R. Mairs and A. Stevenson (eds.), Current Research in Egyptology 2005, Proceedings of the Sixth Annual Symposium, University of Cambridge 6–8 January 2005 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 66–73. M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3 vols. (Berkeley, 1973–1980). ——, “Observations on Papyrus Insinger”, in E. Hornung and O. Keel (eds.), Studien zu Altägyptischen Lebenslehren (OBO 28; Friburg, 1979), pp. 283–305. ——, Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature in the International Context, a Study of Demotic Instructions (OBO 52; Friburg, 1983). ——, Moral Values in Ancient Egypt (OBO 155; Friburg, 1997). K. Nordh, Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings. Conceptual Background and Transmission (AUU; Uppsala, 1996). D. Römheld, Wege der Weisheit, Die Lehren Amenemopes und Proverbien 22, 17–24, (Berlin, 1989). K. Sethe, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie, 4 vols. (Berlin, 1927–1930). ——, Ägyptische Lesestücke, Texte des Mittleren Reiches (Hildesheim, 1971). N. Shupak, Where Can Wisdom Be Found? The Sage’s Language in the Bible and in Ancient Egyptian Literature (OBO 130; Friburg, 1993). P. Vernus, Sagesses de L’Égypte pharaonique (Paris, 2001).

A “DINNER AT THE PALACE” DURING NEBUCHADNEZZAR’S REIGN1

David B. Weisberg Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion

This article, dedicated to Bustenay Oded, is a sequel to research on some political issues and international relations during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar II.2 In it we would like to concentrate upon the life and times of Nebuchadnezzar by reconstructing a “dinner at the palace” during Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, basing ourselves upon our best cuneiform evidence. There are several valuable sources from the Neo-Babylonian period dealing with “Dinner at the Palace”. At the same time, we might augment the often-meager sources from the time of Nebuchadnezzar by drawing in a prudent manner from additional sources: (1) Relevant texts from the Neo-Assyrian period (and occasionally from other periods as well); (2) Neo-Babylonian texts dealing with meals that were sent over to and served in the temple, and (3) Parallels from other periods in history. With regard to Nebuchadnezzar’s palace, we might well ask, “to which palace do we refer?”3 We have in mind Nebuchadnezzar’s royal residence in Babylon, to which he refers as: ekallu bīt tabârti nišī

1 It is a pleasure to dedicate this paper to Bustenay Oded whose scholarly works have illumined our knowledge of Assyria. A version of this paper, “A ‘Dinner at the Palace’ during Nebuchadnezzar’s Reign”, was read at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Boston, MA, on November 25, 2008. I am pleased to thank William Hallo and SungDuk Yun for their kind help. Steven Holloway, Shalom Paul, JoAnn Scurlock, and Lawson Younger, Jr. contributed valuable comments that enriched the paper, and Gershon Galil’s editorial guidance was most helpful. 2 “Notes on Nebuchadnezzar’s 37th Year” was presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, San Diego, CA, November 19, 2007, and will be published in the Tikva Frymer Memorial Volume. 3 See M. Jursa, “Palast. Neubabylonisch,” RlA 10 (2004), pp. 209–212.

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markasu māti “a palace, a building to be admired by the people, the center of the land”.4 In answer to the questions, “Who had dinner at the palace and what is the term for the meal they had?” we want to draw an analogy from the situation at an Assyrian capital city in a period before the one of our central focus. In describing the king’s mess at Calah, Kinnier Wilson raises “the question of the membership of the king’s mess, in so far as it is possible to determine it from barely sufficient sources”.5 He notes that people who dined with the king would have been members of his inner circle, or, as he calls it, his “privy council.”6 He lists princes, members of the royal family and persons close to the king, including high-ranking military officers, court herald and other senior officials. We must assume a similar roster for Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylonian dinner table. The relevant Akkadian term for the meal at the palace is naptanu, a “sumptuous banquet”, specifically naptan šarri. References relevant to our study are all from the Neo-Assyrian period and deal with setting the table, and serving and finishing the meal. šarru ina napteni uššab paššūra pan šarri išakkunu naptanšu ugammar “the king sits down for the meal, they place the table before the king, he finishes his meal”.7

On the use of the term naptanu, we cite the following note from the CAD: In earlier texts, naptanu is often parallel to kurummatu and denotes the food allotment (consisting of cereals, beer and meat) issued to troops and personnel as well as that served for the king or in the temples. In NA and NB, naptanu usually refers to the meal served to the gods and (as leftovers from the god’s meal) to kings, and thence comes to denote, as a literary term, a sumptuous meal or banquet.8

What was served at the dinner? We can assume that despite the fact that luxury foods (that must have been consumed at the court) were

4 S. Langdon and R. Zehnpfund, Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften (VAB 4; Liepzig, 1912), p. 136, vii 37, cited in CAD, M/1, p. 283 s.v. markasu and CAD, T, p. 31 s.v. tabrītu. 5 J. V. Kinnier Wilson, The Nimrud Wine Lists (CTN I; London, 1972), p. 34. 6 Idem, ibid., p. 34. 7 KAR 146 iv(!) 7, 9 (NA), cited in CAD, N/1, p. 323. 8 CAD, N/1, p. 323.

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“status symbols for the elite”,9 the staples must have also appeared on the table of the king. We are speaking of “bread, . . . beer, oil, fresh fruits and vegetables”.10 To these, we may add “meat, milk, cheese and eggs”.11 Providing specific facts on products sent from the temple to the king, P-A Beaulieu published an article entitled “Cuts of Meat for King Nebuchadnezzar,” in which a document from the Eanna archive – that “enumerates the ingredients of a shipment of kurummat šarri” = provisions for the king – is edited and collated.12 The text is GCCI 1 238, dated to the Spring of 579 BCE, and it records the conveyance of foodstuffs from the Eanna temple to the court of Nebuchadnezzar. The shipment consisted of sesame oil, Dilmun dates, beer, salt, a sweet cake, cuts of mutton, rib roast and a dove. Beaulieu’s reading in the broken passage GCCI 1, 238:4 of tu9 for TÚG is not accepted in CAD, s. v. taqānu (CAD, T, pp. 197 ff. See also AHw, p. 1323, s. v. taqānu, cited by Beaulieu). As for “salt”, ṭābtu, mentioned there, there seems to be no other qualification “prepared” as Beaulieu suggests (See CAD, Ṭ , pp. 10 ff.). Furthermore, an adjective denoting some kind of salt would have to be a feminine plural, unlike tuqqunu. Maybe the reading is: 2 akalu of salt, a garment (or cover), uqqunu(?). Fruits of various kinds could be eaten or dried out for preservation. Some were used for drinks, the most important of which was wine: Wine manufacturing . . . occurred in the areas of Syrian agriculture north and west of Babylon. It was known, even in Nebuchadnezzar’s time as ‘mountain beer’, or ‘bright wine like the uncountable waters of the river’ . . . wine consumption [appears to have been] the exclusive prerogative of the god and the rich. It was an expensive luxury.13

Referring to a number of clay tablets found at Nimrud, we find texts that “. . . describe the administration of the wine ration to the royal household of about six thousand people”.14

9 J. M. Renfrew, “Vegetables in the Ancient Near Eastern Diet”, in J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, 1–4 (New York, 1995–2000), p. 202. 10 Renfrew, “Vegetables”, p. 202. 11 Idem, ibid., p. 202. 12 P.-A. Beaulieu, “Cuts of Meat for King Nebuchadnezzar”, NABU (1990), No. 93, pp. 71–72. 13 Renfrew, “Wine from Grapes”, in Sasson, Civilizations, p. 199. 14 Renfrew, ibid., p. 200.

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For clarification of two descriptive phrases referring to select beverages cited by Renfrew, we turn to Langdon-Zehnpfund.15 The two phrases occur in a list of the establishment of regular donations offered to Marduk and Ṣarpanitum, in an inscription dealing with the reconstruction of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar. They are: šikar satum = “mountain beer” [= referring presumably to wine] . . . and karanam ellu . . . kima me nari la nibim = “bright wine like the uncountable waters of the river”. The former reference, šikar satum, is normalized by the CAD as šikar šadî with the note “(wr. sa.tu.um) ka-ra-nam ellu”.16 For help with these phrases and other issues dealing with wine, I called Dan Listermann, of the Listermann Brewery in Cincinnati, someone who has worked in wine and beer archaeology. Mr. Listermann proposed that “bright wine” would probably mean “clear (or) translucent wine”. To my question, “Would it affect the taste?” he responded: “Not a whole lot”. [It] probably [means] just “pretty”. He did not know of any wine specifically characterized as “mountain grown”, nor as “mountain beer”. We now want to address the question: Did the King or the Priests eat the Meal Presented to the god? (interaction between Palace and Temple.) To quote Bill Hallo: “It’s been an open secret all along that statues don’t eat much!!” If the statue did not eat the meal, it is likely the priests and their families did. We cite the amusing passage from the “Additions to the Book of Daniel” in which there is a sarcastic critique of the Babylonian priests, who are suspected of eating the portions supposed to be for the deity. The story of Daniel exposing the fraud of the priests of Bel appears in the apocryphal work, “Bel and the Dragon”,17 here retold based upon the version in the New Oxford Annotated Bible.18 In the days of Cyrus, the Persian, Daniel was a companion of the king. At that time, the Babylonians supplied food and drink daily to their idol, Bel. Though the king worshiped the idol every day, Daniel worshiped his God, claiming that the idol was inanimate and could

15

Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften, p. 90. VAB 4, p. 90, I 22 (Nbk.) cited in CAD, K, p. 205, s. v. karānu. See also S. Paul, “Classifications of Wine in Mesopotamian and Rabbinic Sources”, IEJ 25 (1975), pp. 42–44. Paul cites parallels to karānu ellu in rabbinic texts, especially ‫יין צלול‬. 17 Chapter 14 of the Greek Version of Daniel. 18 See New Oxford Annotated Bible (New York, 1991), p. 184. 16

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not eat or drink. A test was devised whereby the food was set out, the priests and their families left the temple and locked the doors, asserting that if the food was missing the next morning, it proved that Bel ate and drank the offerings. However, later that night, the priests and their families returned through a tunnel and trap door and ate everything up. Next morning, the king was at first convinced, until Daniel “unconvinced” him by pointing out the footprints on the ashes that Daniel had scattered on the floor. It certainly seems clear, then – at least in the Neo-Babylonian period and presumably for earlier periods as well – that the king received substantial portions of the meal presented to the god. There was a sense in which the divine offerings that ended up with the king were considered all the more blessed since they had been offered to the deity – which had been graciously declined. Thus Oppenheim, first describes the divine repasts in Mesopotamia as involving setting a table before the statue, and then serving various drinks, meat and fruit. Subsequently, Oppenheim tells about the further use of the meal: Having been presented to the image, the dishes from the god’s meal were sent to the king for his consumption. Clearly, the food offered to the deity was considered blessed by contact with the divine and capable of transferring that blessing to the person who was to eat it. This person was always the king.19

However, a more cynical, or realistic view is possible: One can safely assume that under the cover of religious piety, Nebuchadnezzar, who controlled the police and military forces in society and spent his entire life fighting and looting, was unlikely to be concerned with whether or not food was in point of fact “blessed” by the god. More likely he was a rough character who was using this pious language about his generosity in sending food over to the god as a propaganda ploy to fend off potential hostile criticism from opponents. It is inconceivable that such a person would send over such luxury food items without skimming off a good deal for himself and the court. We therefore view it likely that the palace and the temple, or the king and the priests, shared the meals prepared for the god. To the issue of the interaction between the temple and king, albeit not in the days of Nebuchadnezzar, we shall quote Mariano San 19 A. L. Oppenheim, “The Care and Feeding of the Gods”, Ancient Mesopotamia. Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago, 1977), pp. 188 ff.

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Nicolò.20 San Nicolò states that the Neo-Babylonian rulers of the Chaldean dynasty pursued a policy of positive support for and maintenance of the priestly and temple establishment. Furthermore, the early Achaemenid rulers pursued a similar policy. He brings evidence from the other side of the coin, namely the extent to which the temples contributed to the requirements of the royal establishment. San Nicolò transliterates and translates three documents that record deliveries of foodstuffs from the Lady-of-Uruk to the palace at Abanu in the second year of Cambyses. AnOr 8 67 records various animals being donated for the meal of the King in Abanu; GCCI 2, records delivery of sheep from Ištar of Uruk to the palace in Abanu and YOS 7, 123 records an oath by the Overseer of the flocks of the Lady-of-Uruk that he will deliver animals to Abanu. With regard to the question with which we are dealing, “Who ate the offerings in the Babylonian temple”? the question arises, “Is there a parallel with biblical ‘show bread’ (‫?”)לחם הפנים‬21 ‫( לחם הפנים‬English: “showbread”) refers to twelve loaves of bread placed upon the golden table in the temple of Jerusalem. The meaning of the term is obscure.22 According to rabbinic texts, the showbread was not offered up on the altar, and a biblical text states that every Sabbath new breads replaced the old on the golden table.23 So the question arises, what was the disposition of the show bread? Was this bread eaten by the priests (and their families), by (them and by) others, or was it simply disposed of? – As was the case with most of the Mincha offerings, the showbreads were eaten by male priests in the sacred precincts.24 In Israelite tradition, there are restrictions upon non-priests eating some sacred offerings, whereas in Babylonian tradition we do not see any such restrictions.

20 M. San Nicolò, “Zur Verproviantierung des Kgl. Hoflagers in Abanu durch den Eanna-Tempel in Uruk”, ArOr 17/2 (1949), pp. 323–330; Jursa (“Palast. Neubabylonisch”, p. 211), speaks of a “royal residence”, at Abanu/Amanu, which, if it is not a “palace,” might be an “administrative center”. See the YOS 17, 358 reference to Amanu (Nbk. year 41), cited there. 21 My thanks go to Shalom Paul and JoAnn Scurlock for their helpful comments. 22 M. Harran, “‫”לחם הפנים‬, Encyclopaedia Biblica, Vol. 4 (Jerusalem, 1962), cols. 493–495 (Hebrew). 23 Lev 24:8. 24 Lev 24:9, see Yoma 17b.

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In 1 Sam 21:1–7, an interesting situation arises. David, fleeing from Saul and desperately hungry, did eat of the bread of the temple. This would appear to be parallel to the case of the Babylonian monarchs partaking of the temple fare. Perhaps Saul’s fear was that he knew that certain temple offerings could be consumed only by non-priestly royal persons and the fact that David was permitted by Ahimelek, the priest, was evidence that Ahimelek considered David to be the king. Our study was designed to focus not upon the battles and international events of the days of Babylon’s longest ruling monarch, but upon aspects of the material culture from Nebuchadnezzar’s time. Some of the features we have discussed might pertain to special banquets held at the palace and others to ordinary meals. Whichever is the case, we have tried to view things from the perspective of everyday life.

268

d. b. weisberg Bibliography

P.-A. Beaulieu, “Cuts of Meat for King Nebuchadnezzar”, NABU (1990), No. 93, pp. 71–72. R. P. Dougherty, Records from Erech. Time of Nabonidus (YOS 6; New Haven, 1920). ——, Archives from Erech, Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods (GCCI 2; New Haven, 1933). E. Ebeling, “Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts”, Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Assur (Leipzig, 1919). M. Harran, “‫”לחם הפנים‬, Encyclopaedia Biblica, Vol. 4 (Jerusalem, 1962), cols. 493– 495 (Hebrew). M. Jursa, “Palast. Neubabylonisch”, RlA 10 (2004), pp. 209–212. J. V. Kinnier Wilson, The Nimrud Wine Lists (CTN I; London, 1972). S. Langdon and R. Zehnpfund, Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften (VAB 4; Liepzig, 1912). A. L. Oppenheim, “The Care and Feeding of the Gods”, Ancient Mesopotamia. Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago, 1977). S. Paul, “Classifications of Wine in Mesopotamian and Rabbinic Sources”, IEJ 25 (1975), pp. 42–44. P. A. Pohl, Analecta Orientalia 8 (Rome, 1933). J. M. Renfrew, “Vegetables in the Ancient Near Eastern Diet”, in J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, 1–4 (New York, 1995–2000), pp. 195–202. ——, “Wine from Grapes”, in Sasson, Civilizations, pp. 199–200. M. San Nicolò, “Zur Verproviantierung des Kgl. Hoflagers in Abanu durch den Eanna-Tempel in Uruk”, ArOr 17/2 (1949), pp. 323–330. A. Tremayne, Yale Oriental Series, Babylonian Texts, Volume 7 (New Haven, 1925). D. B. Weisberg, Yale Oriental Series, Babylonian Texts, Volume 17 (New Haven, 1980).

PART TWO

BIBLICAL STUDIES

A POSSIBLE TERMINUS AD QUEM FOR THE DEUTERONOMISTIC LEGISLATION – A FRESH LOOK AT DEUT 17:16

Rainer Albertz Münster University

Bustenay Oded is one of the few scholars who is not only an outstanding expert on the Neo-Assyrian literature, history and ideology but also endeavours to use his vast knowledge of this culture to shed more light on the history, literature and religion of ancient Israel and Judah. Therefore, I would like to convey my greetings and compliments to him with a study that also has to do with a possible connection between Judaean literature and history in the wider perspective of Assyrian/Babylonian and Egyptian affairs.1 As I wrote my History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period more than 15 years ago, I came to realize that “the most important decision in the history of Israelite religion is made with a dating of an essential part of Deuteronomy to the time of Josiah”.2 This decision shapes the whole reconstruction, because Deuteronomy became very influential for the subsequent literary and theological history of the Hebrew Bible. Needless to say, all kinds of Deuteronomistic literature is dispersed among the historical and prophetic books (Josh–2 Kgs; Jer; Hos; Amos; Mic; Zeph; Zech, and so on) and in some way even through the rest of the Pentateuch. Moreover, after the date or even the existence of the older Pentateuchal sources J and E was seriously queried, the dating of the Deuteronomy became the final great anchor for fixing the literary history of the Hebrew Bible. Its historical setting is of crucial importance for all kinds of diachronic reconstructions.

1

A shorter version of this paper was presented at the colloquium in honour of Nadav Na’aman in Tel Aviv on January 24, 2008. 2 R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, I (Louisville, 1994), p. 199.

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r. albertz I. Problems of Dating the Deuteronomic Legislation

The traditional dating of Deuteronomy is mainly based on W. M. L. de Wette’s hypothesis of 1805/6 that the law book, which according to the account in 2 Kgs 22–23 king Josiah has used for his cultic reforms (22:8, 11), can be equated with the legal corpus of Deuteronomy (Deut 12–26), or at least with its oldest core (“Urdeuteronomium”). But as P. R. Davies has rightly pointed out, this kind of dating is highly problematic as it presupposes both that such equating is justifiable and that the Deuteronomistic report of Josiah’s reform is true.3 The question of the reliability of 2 Kgs 22–23 and the historicity and scale of the Josianic reform is still an issue of scholarly debate, which cannot be continued here;4 suffice is to refer to the volumes edited by W. Groß5 and L. L. Grabbe,6 including the important contributions from I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman7 and N. Na’aman.8 In any event, for methodological reasons I agree with Davies that any dating of the legal corpus of Deuteronomy must be without an appeal to de Wette’s hypothesis.9 Regarding the Deuteronomy legislation in itself, G. Hölscher as early as 1922 argued that it should rather be dated in the early postexilic period (around 500 B.C.E.)10 and no less a figure than O. Kaiser

3 P. R. Davies, “Josiah and the Law Book”, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 393. European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005), pp. 69–70. 4 Cf. my own contribution to this debate, R. Albertz, “Why a Reform Like Josiah’s Must Have Happened”, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 393; European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005), pp. 27–46. 5 W. Groß (ed.), Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung”, (BBB 98; Weinheim, 1995). 6 L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 393. European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005). 7 I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of Its Sacred Texts (New York – London, 2001), pp. 275–296, 347–353. 8 N. Na’aman, “The Kingdom of Israel and Judah under Josiah”, in N. Na’aman, Ancient Israel and Its Neighbors: Interaction and Counteraction. Collected Essays, I (Winona Lake, IN, 2005), pp. 361–388. 9 Davies, “Josiah and the Law Book”, pp. 69–70. 10 G. Hölscher, “Komposition und Ursprung des Deuteronomiums”, ZAW 40 (1922), p. 247.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 273 supported this view in his influential Einleitung.11 For Hölscher, the “ideological character of the Deuteronomic legislation” proves above all else that it did not emerge from the reality of an existing state in the pre-exilic period but was written as an “ideal program” seeking to change reality by making “bold demands”.12 The utopian character of Deuteronomic law of the king (Deut 17:14–20) especially confirms Hölscher in his opinion that Deuteronomy cannot be pre-exilic but must be seen as an ideal program for the post-exilic future.13 Similar arguments have been repeated recently by Davies.14 But even scholars who generally accept the Josianic dating of the Deuteronomic corpus have increasingly become convinced that smaller or larger parts of the Deuteronomic legislation were later added by what they call a Deuteronomistic redaction. Again, the impression that some of the laws develop a “utopian theory” first determined N. Lohfink’s judgement that the entire “Draft of constitution” (Deut 16:18–18:22) was a later insertion of the exilic period.15 He derived its Deuteronomistic origin from the observation that in the law of the king the torah is already conceived as a ‫( ספר‬Deut 17:18), as in DtrH (Deut 31:9; 2 Kgs 22:8, 10, 11, 13, 16; 23:2, 3, 21, 24). Later he suggested

11 O. Kaiser, Einleitung in das Alte Testament: Eine Einführung in ihre Ergebnisse (5th ed.; Gütersloh, 1984), pp. 132–134. 12 Hölscher, ibid., pp. 228–229. 13 Idem, ibid., pp. 199–200, 230. 14 See Davies, “Josiah and the Law Book”, pp. 73–74. Arguing with him I tried to show that Deuteronomy suits the 5th century rather worse in than the late 7th and early 6th (Albertz, “Why a Reform Like Josiah’s Must Have Happened”, pp. 30–43). 15 N. Lohfink, “Die Sicherung der Wirksamkeit des Gotteswortes durch das Prinzip der Schriftlichkeit der Tora und durch das Prinzip der Gewaltenteilung nach dem Ämtergesetzen des Buches Deuteronomium (Dt 16,18–18,22)”, in H. Wolter (ed.), Testimonium Veritati: Philosophische und theologische Studien zu kirchlichen Fragen der Gegenwart. Festschrift W. Kempf (FTS 7; Frankfurt am Main, 1971), pp. 149–151; idem, “Distribution and Functions of Power: The Laws Concerning Public Offices in Deuteronomy 16:18–18:22”, in D. L. Christensen (ed.), A Song of Power and the Power of Song: Essays on the Book of Deuteronomy (Sources for Biblical Theological Study 3; Winona Lake, IN, 1993), pp. 345–349. Lohfink was followed by G. Braulik with the additional argument that the “Draft of constitution” does not match the order of the Deuteronomic corpus, which – according to him – was influenced by the sequence of the commandments of the Decalogue (G. Braulik, “Die Abfolge der Gesetze in Deuteronomium 12–26 und der Dekalog”, in N. Lohfink [ed.], Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft [BEThL 68; Leuven, 1985], p. 271). Assigning it to the Fourth Commandment seems problematic to him (idem, Die deuteronomischen Gesetze und der Dekalog [Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 145; Stuttgart, 1991], pp. 60–61).

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that all the “historicizing introductions” to laws,16 that appear in the law of the king (Deut 17:14) and the law of the prophet (18:9) probably presuppose the Deuteronomistic narrative.17 Although never proven in detail, Lohfink’s theses became very influential in Europe. Many scholars believe that the “Draft of constitution” (Deut 16:18–18:22) in general,18 or parts of it – be it both the law of the king and the law of the prophet (17:14–20; 18:8–22)19 or the former20 or the latter21 – constitutes an idealistic program for the new beginning after the exile, which may be labelled as “Deuteronomistic”. Anyway, no one has ever demonstrated that conceptual or stylistic fractures between the “Draft of constitution” and the rest of legal corpus really exist. Nor has anyone shown that the law of towns of asylum (Deut 19) better matches the law of feasts (16) than the law of the prophet

16 The “historicizing introductions” (Deut 6:10; 7:1; 8:7; 11:29, 31; 12:20, 29; 17:14; 18:9; 19:1, 8; 26:1; 27:2 and those outside Deut) were briefly investigated by R. Achenbach (Israel zwischen Verheißung und Gebot: Literarkritische Untersuchungen zu Deuteronomium 5–11 [Frankfurt am Main, 1991], pp. 127–132). According to him they belong originally to the Deuteronomic speeches framing the legal corpus, from which they secondarily penetrated the latter. But this result remains doubtful, because Achenbach uses the alleged exilic origin of the law of the king as a proof of the Deuteronomistic origin of the “historicizing introductions”. 17 N. Lohfink, “Kerygmata des Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerks”, in J. Jeremias and L. Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten. Festschrift H. W. Wolff (Neukirchen, 1981), p. 91. 18 H. D. Preuss, Deuteronomium (EdF 164; Darmstadt, 1982), p. 136; C. SchäferLichtenberger, “Der deuteronomische Verfassungsentwurf. Theologische Vorgaben als Gestaltungsprinzipien sozialer Realität”, in G. Braulik (ed.), Bundesdokument und Gesetz: Studien zum Deuteronomium (HBS 4; Freiburg, 1995), pp. 110–113; idem, Josua und Salomo: Eine Studie zu Autorität und Legitimität des Nachfolgers im Alten Testament (VTS 58; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1995), pp. 53–106. 19 J. C. Gertz, Die Gerichtsorganisation Israels im deuteronomischen Gesetz (FRLANT 165; Göttingen, 1994), pp. 30–31; E. Otto, “Von der Gerichtsordnung zum Verfassungsentwurf: Deuteronomische Gestaltung und deuteronomistische Interpretation im ‘Ämtergesetz’ ”, in I. Kottsieper, J. van Oorschot, D. Römheld and H. M. Wahl (eds.), “Wer ist wie du, Herr, unter den Göttern? ”: Studien zur Theologie und Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift O. Kaiser (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 150–152; idem, “Von der Programmschrift einer Rechtsreform zum Verfassungsentwurf des Neuen Israel: Die Stellung des Deuteronomiums in der Rechtsgeschichte Israels”, in G. Braulik (ed.), Bundesdokument und Gesetz: Studien zum Deuteronomium (HBS 4; Freiburg, 1995), pp. 101–102. 20 C. Bultmann, Der Fremde im antiken Juda: Eine Untersuchung zum sozialen Typenbegriff ‘ger’ und seinem Bedeutungswandel in der alttestamentlichen Gesetzgebung (FRLANT 153; Göttingen, 1992), pp. 150–154; B. Gosse, “Deuteronome 17,18–19 et la restauration de la royaute au retour de l’exil”, Bibbia et oriente 181 (1994), p. 137. 21 M. Köckert, “Zum literaturgeschichtlichen Ort des Prophetengesetzes Dtn 18 zwischen dem Jeremiabuch und Dtn 13”, in R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann (eds.), Liebe und Gebot: Studien zum Deuteronomium. FS L. Perlitt (FRLANT 190; Göttingen, 2000), pp. 95–96.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 275 (18:9–22). As far as I can see, among those scholars only E. Otto tried to reconstruct an original Deuteronomic layer of – a possibly better – thematic coherence: According to him, originally it was a programmatic legal reform (16:18*, 19; 17:2–13*; 18:1–8*).22 Later this was secondarily reworked by an exilic DtrD, who inserted the laws of the king and the prophet (17:14–20; 18:9–22); thus it became a “draft of constitution” for the post-exilic community.23 In Germany, it was mainly U. Rüterswörden who insisted that a substantial layer of the “draft of constitution” belonged to the original Deuteronomic legislation (Deut 16:18*, 19, 21–22; 17:8–10, 12; 17:14–15, 16aα, 17*, 20; 18:1, 2–3, 6–8, 9–15).24 He shows (1987: 30) that a compositional bridge connects the cultic (Deut 12:1–16:17*) with the judicial and political laws (16:18–18:22*), which evidently alternates between the two subjects.25 He emphasizes that the law of the king, all its restrictions notwithstanding, still acknowledges the rule of king and his divine election: “The law of the king is not a factor that might have prevented Josiah from carrying out his reform in keeping with Deuteronomy”.26 Finally he refers to political discourses in the Greek culture, which show comparable concepts of restriction and separation of powers (cf. Herodotus III: 80–83).27 However, Rüterswörden too envisages an exilic Deuteronomistic revision (Deut 16.18*, 20; 17:11, 18–19; 18:16–20), which realigns the Deuteronomic “draft of constitution” with the needs of a cultic community.28

22

E. Otto, “Von der Gerichtsordnung zum Verfassungsentwurf ”, pp. 152–155; idem, “Von der Programmschrift einer Rechtsreform zum Verfassungsentwurf des Neuen Israel”, pp. 94–99. 23 Cf. the scheme of the reconstructed Deuteronomic layer in E. Otto, “Vom Bundesbuch zum Deuteronomium: Die deuteronomische Redaktion Dtn 12–26*”, in G. Braulik et al. (eds.), Biblische Theologie und gesellschaftlicher Wandel. Festschrift N. Lohfink (Freiburg, 1993), p. 266. 24 U. Rüterswörden, Von der politischen Gemeinschaft zur Gemeinde: Studien zu Dt 16,18–18,22 (BBB 65; Frankfurt am Main, 1987). 25 See the ABAB sequence in Deut 16:1–7 cultic; 16:18*, 19 judicial; 16:21; 17:1 cultic; 17:2–7 etc. judicial. 26 See Rüterswörden, ibid., p. 91. The German original runs: “Das Königsgesetz ist kein Grund, der Josia daran gehindert haben könnte, seine Reform auf dem Boden des Deuteronomiums zu vollziehen”. 27 Rüterswörden, ibid., pp. 102–103. Cf. also the similarities shown by Hagedorn especially with regard to the Deuteronomic and Greek concepts of kingship (A. C. Hagedorn, Between Moses and Plato: Individual and Society in Deuteronomy and Ancient Greek Law [FRLANT 204; Göttingen, 2004], pp. 140–156). 28 Rüterswörden, ibid., pp. 108–111; cf. also idem, “Der Verfassungsentwurf des Deuteronomiums in der neuen Diskussion: Ein Überblick”, in P. Mommer (ed.), Altes

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Unable to discuss these divergent suggestions here, I would like to make just three short comments. First, all the proposals depend on uncertain appraisals and assumptions, which are difficult to substantiate: how far can any legislation deviate from reality in order to change it without becoming totally unrealistic? Second, was there ever a Deuteronomic legal corpus that was not stylized as a speech of Moses just before the occupation of the land, so that we can regard all historicizing remarks in the laws as secondary? Third, distinguishing different Deuteronomic and Deuteronomistic layers in Deut 12–26 is extremely difficult; many words and phrases were of course shared by both.29 For example, to prove the Deuteronomistic origin of the law of the king the close relationship between Deut 17:14–15 and 1 Sam 8:5 is often pointed out:30

Deut 17:14

‫הגּוֹיִ ם‬-‫ל‬ ַ ‫ְך   כּ ָכ‬ ְ ‫י מ ֶל‬ ֶ ‫  ﬠ ַל‬ ָ  ‫ימה‬ ָ ‫ָא ִשׂ‬

Deut 17:15

‫שׂוֹם ָתּ ִשׂים ָﬠ ֶליָך ֶמ ֶלְך‬

1 Sam 8:5

‫הגּוֹיִ ם‬-‫ל‬ ַ ‫לּנוּ ֶמ ֶלְך ְל ָשׁ ְפ ֵטנוּ ְכּ ָכ‬-‫ה‬ ָ ‫ימ‬ ָ ‫ִשׂ‬

Since the phrase ‫ ֶמ ֶלך‬+ ‫ ִשׂים‬only occurs in these three verses of the Hebrew Bible the relationship of the two passages is established. Moreַ ‫ ְכּ ָכ‬occurs only in Deut over, apart from Ezek 25:8 the phrase ‫הגּוֹיִ ם‬-‫ל‬ 17:14 and in 1 Sam 8:5, 20. But the question is whether this correspondence points to a Deuteronomistic origin of Deut 17:14–15. Considering that the Deuteronomistic Historian stresses the judicial function of the king, which is consequently ignored in Deuteronomic law of the Testament – Forschung und Wirkung. Festschrift H. Graf Reventlow (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), pp. 313–328. 29 A closer look at the “historicizing introductions” in Deuteronomy shows, for example, that there are, of course, many agreements with Deuteronomistic phrases like “the land that YHWH, your God, will give you” in Deut 17:14; 18:9; 19:1; 26:1 and Josh 1:11, 15, or “that you occupy it and settle in it” in Deut 17:14; 19:1; 26:1 and Josh 21:43; but there are other phrases like “when YHWH, your God, exterminates the nations, whose land YHWH, your God, will give you” (Deut 19:1; cf. 12:29), or “when YHWH, your God, extends your boundaries” (Deut 12:20; 19:8), which are restricted to Deuteronomy and not taken up in the DtrH. Thus, stylistic analyses like these remain ambiguous. 30 See Preuss, Deuteronomium, p. 137.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 277 king, because this function has been transferred to the central court (Deut 17:8–13), it is much more probably that the Deuteronomistic Historian presupposed the law of the king, cited it, but tacitly changed it according to his own concept of kingship. This single observation leads us to a general problem that most of those who readily assigned the law of the king to the Deuteronomist were not aware of. As G. N. Knoppers and B. M. Levinson have pointed out,31 the concept of kingship presented by the Deuteronomistic historian remarkably differs from that envisioned in Deut 17:14–20. While the law deprives the king of all his traditional judicial and cultic functions, the historian shows the kings as just judges (2 Sam 14; 1 Kgs 3), as pious architects and keepers of the sanctuary, and even as the highest priests (2 Sam 6–7; 1 Kgs 6–8; 2 Kgs 12:1–17; 22–23) – much more in accordance with the traditional kingship ideology.32 If we take this clash of concepts seriously, a Deuteronomistic origin of the Deuteronomic law of the king becomes highly unlikely.33 In light of these insights, Knoppers believes “that the law of the king is fundamentally deuteronomic and not deuteronomistic”.34 And Levinson, following Cross’s model in accepting the Josianic dating of the first edition of the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH1), surmises a pre-Josianic date for the Deuteronomic legislation: “Possibly, Deuteronomy stemmed from the hands of court scribes under Manasseh who were committed to the ideals of Hezekiah’s initial cultic reform and centralization. Disillusioned by the situation under Manasseh, they drafted a 31 G. N. Knoppers, “The Deuteronomist and the Deuteronomic Law of the King: A Reexamination of a Relationship”, ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 329–346; idem, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings”, CBQ 63 (2001), pp. 393–415; B. M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York – Oxford, 1997); idem, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History’s Transformation of the Torah”, VT 51 (2001), pp. 511–534. 32 I have already pointed out that the Deuteronomistic historians move the synthesis of pre-state and state religion found in Deuteronomy again much closer to state religion, especially as regards Jerusalem kingship and temple theology (cf. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, I, pp. 224–231; II, pp. 387–399). 33 Cf. Knoppers, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic History”, p. 414. 34 Idem, “The Deuteronomist and the Deuteronomic Law of the King”, p. 333, note 19. A Josianic date of the law of the king was earlier defended by A. Caquot (“Remarques sur la ‘loi royale’ du Deutéronome (17/14–20)”, Semitica 9 (1959), pp. 21–33.). One of the few recent scholars, who adheres to a pre-exilic date of all the law of the king, is F. Crüsemann (Die Torah: Theologie und Sozialgeschichte des alttestamentlichen Gesetzes [München, 1992], p. 277).

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utopian legal program for cultural renewal . . ./ The mistrust of royal power, on account of Manasseh’s pragmatic foreign policies, might well account for the sharp delimitation of royal authority by the authors of Deuteronomy”.35 So the insight that the law of the king, often seen as a later part of the Deuteronomic legislation, probably does not stem from the Deuteronomistic Historian, but possibly precedes him (cf. 1 Sam 8:5), tends to prevent a late dating of the legal corpus; but this conclusion is not clear-cut because the date of the Deuteronomistic History remains ambiguous.

II. Looking for a terminus ad quem As we have seen, the law of the king (Deut 17:14–20) has played a major part in the discussion on a possible date of the Deuteronomic legislation. Since it is often seen as a later part of this legislation,36 the dating of this law can perhaps provide us with a terminus ad quem for most of the legal corpus. So a closer look at the law of the king is most promising.37 1. The law of the king (Deut 17:14–20) The law consists of four parts: first, permission and conditions for enthroning a king (vv. 14–15), second, prohibitions on royal government (vv. 16–17), third, a positive stipulation of copying and studying the law, and fourth, the prohibitory and positive goals of this legislation (v. 20). The “historicizing introduction” (v. 14a) belongs to the law; in contrast to the offices of judge, priest and prophet, the king is not seen as a necessary institution, but only a possible one, which can be installed after Israel’s conquest of the promised land, if wanted. Because this institution is seen as borrowed from abroad, some regulations have to been made to impart to it an Israelite character: Only those men can be enthroned whom YHWH has chosen and who belong to the own people. Under this perspective the pro-

35

Levinson, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy”, pp. 527–528. For the older research history see F. García López, “Le roi d’Israel: Dt 17,14–20”, in N. Lohfink (ed.), Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft (BEThL 68, Leuven, 1985). pp. 276–282. 37 For the diverse proposals for its date see Hagedorn, Between Moses and Plato, p. 140, note 193. 36

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 279 hibition against enthroning a foreigner (v. 15bβ) is understandable.38 The stipulation of copying and studying the law for the monarch just installed (vv. 18–19) is probably a later addition, since the prohibitory legislative goal in v. 20 to prevent the king’s hubris would be better inserted directly after the restrictions (vv. 16–17);39 in any case these verses only underline what is already said in v. 20aβ, that the king is subjected to the rule of law. The restrictions on royal government in vv. 16–17 are of special interest:40 v. 16aα1 Only he shall not acquire numerous horses for himself, v. 16aα2β nor return the people to Egypt in order to acquire more horses, v. 16b since YHWH has said to you: “Do not return that way again!” And he shall not acquire numerous wives for himself, v. 17aα lest his heart turn aside, v. 17aβ v. 17b nor shall he acquire much silver and gold for himself.

38 This prohibition, which led Chr. Bultmann (Der Fremde im antiken Juda, p. 154) to date the law of the king in the 5th century B.C.E., can be sufficiently explained by the experience of the long lasting foreign domination, which Israel and Judah had to suffer in the 8th and 7th centuries, as E. W. Nicholson recently argued (“ ‘Do Not Dare to Set a Foreigner Over You’: The King in Deuteronomy and the ‘Great King’ ”, ZAW 118 [2006], pp. 58–61). There is no indication in the text that the prohibition “reacts against the circle around Deutero-Isaiah where one could actually imagine having a foreign king appointed by YHWH over Israel” as A. C. Hagedorn suggested (Between Moses and Plato, p. 141). He seems to take a post-exilic dating for granted. Hagedorn himself admits that in Isa 45:1–4 the verb ‫ בחר‬is not used in connection with Cyrus, but with Israel. 39 Cf. G. von Rad, Das fünfte Buch Mose: Deuteronomium (2nd ed.; ATD; Göttingen, 1968), p. 85; R. P. Merendino, Das Deuteronomische Gesetz: Eine literarkritische, gattungs- und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Dt 12–26 (BBB 31; Bonn, 1969), p. 180; G. Seitz, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Deuteronomium (BWANT 93; Stuttgart, 1971), pp. 232–233; A. D. H. Mayes, Deuteronomy (The New Century Bible Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI, 1981), p. 273; Rüterswörden, Von der politischen Gemeinschaft zur Gemeinde, p. 60; Chr. Bultmann, ibid., p. 150; E. Nielsen, Deuteronomium (HAT; Tübingen, 1995), p. 174; R. D. Nelson, Deuteronomy (OTL; Lousville – London, 2002), pp. 225; R. Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft: Untersuchungen zur alttestamentlichen Monarchiekritik (FAT Zweite Reihe 3; Tübingen, 2004), p. 199. The second argument often applied that the verses presuppose a written legal corpus, does not count, because we do not know, when such a citable law book was written. According to the Deuteronomistic account (2 Kgs 22–23) it is already presupposed from the start of the Josianic reform onwards. The existence of a written Torah – probably after the death of Josiah – is also presupposed in Jer 8:8. 40 The translation is Nelson’s (ibid., p. 211).

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Three of the stipulations contain identical phrases: ‫לּוֹ‬-‫יַ ְר ֶבּה‬-‫“ לֹא‬he shall not multiply (for himself )” (v.16aα1, v.17aα, and v.17b); and through the inversion of the last sentence and the final ‫ ְמאֹד‬the sequence of restrictions constitutes a clear rhetorical unit. Likewise the content of the stipulations is clear: The first tries to limit the “horses”, that is, the king’s chariot army (cf. Isa 30:16; 31:1), the second seeks to limit the king’s harem, hence his international diplomacy and his national social power, and the third attempts to limit the royal family’s income from royal estates, taxes and trade. All these restrictions aim at a general limitation of the king’s political and economic power.41 Apart from these well formulated stipulations, in v.16aα2β there is an odd statement, namely the king is not allowed “to return the people to Egypt in order to acquire more horses”. The sentence deviates from the surrounding terminology. This is not a general restriction on royal power, but a very special prohibition of a specific act of foreign policy. In closing, the statement reverts to the general theme of V.16aα1, the acquisition of horses, but with the collective singular ‫סוּס‬ instead of the plural used before. Here then is a clear case of a varying Wiederaufnahme. From these observations we can certainly conclude, as many scholars do,42 that we are dealing with a later insertion. Whether the reference to an explicit injunction of YHWH in v.16b, “Do not return that way again!” belongs to the same insertion is not entirely clear, because the address changes to the plural.43 However,

41

Cf. the interesting socio-historical interpretation of P. Dutcher-Walls, “The Circumscription of the King: Deuteronomy 17:16–17 in Its Ancient Social Context”, JBL 121 (2002), pp. 607–609. – The short warning in Deut 17:17aβ that the kings must not deviate, probably meaning, from his obedience to the law, may be a hint at kings like Solomon or Ahab, who are said to have been seduced by her foreign wives to apostasy (1 Kgs 11:3; 16:31–32; 21:25). Whether this is a later addition or not is not relevant to the present argument. The Temple Scroll (11Q 19 LVI:19) further clarifies the reference to Solomon belatedly. 42 Cf. R. P. Merendino, Das Deuteronomische Gesetz, p. 180; F. García López “Le roi d’Israel: Dt 17,14–20”, pp. 286–87; U. Rüterswörden Von der politischen Gemeinschaft zur Gemeinde: p. 80; F. F. Foresti, “Storia della redazione di Dtn. 16,18–18,22 e le sue connessioni con l’opera storica deuteronomistica”, Teresianum 39 (1988), pp. 109– 110; D. J. Reimer, “Concerning Return to Egypt: Deuteronomy VII 16 and XXVIII 68 Reconsidered”, in J. A. Emmerton (ed.), Studies in the Pentateuch (VTS 41; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1990), p. 222; M. Rose, 5. Buch Mose, 2 vol. (ZB.AT; Zürich, 1994), p. 77; E. Nielsen, Deuteronomium, p. 174. However, C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger ( Josua und Salomo, pp. 74–76) tries to invalidate the given arguments, but she overlooks the fact that Deut 17:16aα2β is a specific prohibition within a general restriction on arms. 43 The Temple Scroll (11Q 19 LVI:17) reads singular, but this represents the lectior facilior.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 281 the plural here could have the rhetorical function of addressing the audience directly. The editor himself probably laid down his prohibition with the full support of divine authority.44 Commentators rack their brains as to the meaning of this strange prohibition.45 Some think of simple commercial transactions like Israelite slaves in return for horses,46 others of alliances involving the

44 No such commandment of God is known elsewhere, although a similar reference is also made in Deut 28:68. Some scholars sought a point of reference in Exod 14:13 (e.g. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, “Der deuteronomische Verfassungsentwurf ”, p. 114), others in Deut 28:68 (e.g. Reimer, ibid., p. 228); N. Lohfink (“Hos. XI 5 als Bezugstext von Dtn. XVII 16”, VT 31 [1981], pp. 226–228) proposed the verse Hos 11:5, but this is textually uncertain. None of the points of reference are convincing. Perhaps the solution is that suggested by J. H. Tigay: “Deuteronomy may be interpreting the promise as implying a command: If God promised that Israel would never return to Egypt, Israel may not choose to do so” (J. H. Tigay, Deuteronomy [The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1996], p. 167). 45 For the interesting Jewish “Wirkungsgeschichte” of this strange prohibition see J. J. Maier, “Grundlage und Anwendung des Verbots der Rückkehr nach Ägypten”, in B. Kollmann et al. (eds.), Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum. Festschrift H. Stegemann (BZAW 97; Berlin – New York, 1998), pp. 225–244. 46 Rose, 5. Buch Mose, p. 79; Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft, p. 208. Müller completely misses the point, if he thinks that the people were sent to Egypt for the transport of horses from there (p. 208). He tries to relate the stipulations especially to Solomon and argued that 1 Kgs 10:28 verifies that Solomon imported his horses from Egypt. However, the interpretation of the place names is debated. For example, M. Noth and V. Fritz have argued that the place names should originally be read Muṣri and Quwê, both to be located in Cilicia (see M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament [3rd ed.; Tübingen, 1967], pp. 235–236; V. Fritz (Das erste Buch der Könige, 2 vols. (ZBK.AT; Zürich, 1996/1998), p. 120; ANET, p. 279a). In contrast, B. U. Schipper (Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit. Die kulturellen Kontakte von Salomo bis zum Fall Jerusalems [OBO 170; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1999], pp. 76–81) defends the traditional understanding, but stresses that the wholesale trade in Cilician horses and Egyptian or better Nubian horses and chariots already reflects the circumstances of late 8th and the 7th centuries, going back to Solomon. During this later period the Assyrians highly valued the large Nubian horses for their chariots; they are listed, for example, in the booty which Esarhaddon took from Egypt (cf. L. A. Heidorn, “The Horses of Kush”, JNES 56 (1997), pp. 105–114). D. O. Cantrell and I. Finkelstein (“A Kingdom for a Horse: The Megiddo Stables and Eighth Century Israel”, in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern [eds.], Megiddo IV. The 1998–2002 Seasons, II [Tel Aviv University Monograph Series 24; 2 vols; Tel Aviv University, 2006], pp. 656–660) argue that the large number of 17 stables found in Megiddo Stratum IV, which they tend to date in the first part of the 8th century B.C.E., should be understood in the context of a flourishing middleman trade in Kushite horses, which the Northern Kingdom established. They were bought in Egypt, trained in Megiddo, and then sold much dearer to the Assyrians and other neighbouring states. This is the context in which these authors explain Deut 17:16 too (p. 658). But this explanation is very doubtful. Let us assume a transit trade in Egyptian horses, even though Kushite horses are mentioned in Assyrian sources not before the second part of the 8th

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exchange of delegations.47 But considering that the Judaeans involved in such commerce must have been so numerous that the editor could speak of a return of “the people ‫ ָה ָﬠם‬to Egypt”, and that it aimed at the enlargement of the body of chariot troops for the Judaean king, I believe that only one explanation remains plausible: the trade concerns Judaean mercenaries48 sent to the Egyptian army in return for Egyptian horses and chariots. A military explanation of this kind is supported by the understanding of the Temple Scroll, which reads: “return the people to Egypt in account of war” by inserting ‫למלחמה‬ (11Q19 LVI:16).49 It conforms with considerations already given by G. von Rad, E. Nielsen, J. Maier and R. D. Nelson.50 The editor who inserted Deut 17:16aα2β.b into the law of the king wanted to prohibit explicitly any military arrangement between the Judaean king and the Pharaoh in which Judaean mercenaries were sold in return for logistical support from Egypt. In his eyes, the extradition of a considerable number of Judaeans to Egypt was no less than

century, when the city of stratum IV had already been destroyed (732 B.C.E.) and there was no longer any horse training in Megiddo (no single stable was found in Megiddo stratum III!). Nevertheless, the stables of Megiddo IV are much earlier than any possible dating of Deut 17 and can validate only the politics of the Northern Kingdom, not of Judah. In the Judaean fortress of Lachish the buildings that D. Ussishkin interpreted as stables for horses and chariots are much less impressive; Ussishkin surmises about 100 horses and 50 chariots (D. Ussishkin [ed.], The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish [1973–1994], II [Tel Aviv Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 22; Tel Aviv, 2004], pp. 831–834). These buildings intimate Judaean military needs far more than an international horse trade. Moreover, belonging to stratum III, which lasted until 701, they belong to the history of the 8th, and not the 7th and 6th centuries. In any case, Deut 17:16* cannot refer to any professional trade in Egyptian horses with Assyria because in this verse the horses are paid for in people, not in money, and this commerce is meant to strengthening Judaean, not Assyrian, military power. 47 See Mayes, 1981, p. 272; Tigay, Deuteronomy, p. 167. S. R. Driver (Deuteronomy, p. 212) fluctuates between both possibilities; G. N. Knoppers (“Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic History”, p. 401) also remains undecided. F. Crüsemann (Die Torah, p. 276) thinks of the corvee (Jer 22:13–16) and the division of an Egyptian tribute among all the people (2 Kgs 23:35) ordered by Jehoiakim; but that assumes a metaphorical understanding. 48 The term ‫ עם‬means “people” generally but also “men at arms” more specifically: e.g., Exod 14: 6; 17:13; Num 21:23; Deut 20:1–2, 9; Jos 8:3, 10; 2 Sam 10:10; 1 Kgs 16:16, 21–22; 22:4; 2 Kgs 3:7; 8:21; 13:7; I thank N. Na’aman for this pointer. 49 The Temple Scroll adds in Deut 17:16aβ the phrase “silver and gold”, but this may have been influenced by v. 17b. 50 See von Rad, Das fünfte Buch Mose: Deuteronomium, pp. 85–86; Nielsen, Deuteronomium, p. 185; Maier, “Grundlage und Anwendung des Verbots der Rückkehr nach Ägypten”, p. 228; Nelson, Deuteronomy, p. 224.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 283 the end of salvation history. The editor sought to condemn this royal policy with all his power. Therefore he used the strange wording “he shall not return the people to Egypt”, intended to recall the Exodus; therefore he chose such a prominent place for his very specific command in the law of king; and therefore he transformed the divine promise of Exodus into an explicit prohibition of God: “Do not return that way again!” Thus the prohibition, as strange as it looks like at the first glance, embodies a clear statement. As far as I can see, nobody has noticed so far the possible significance of this prohibition for the literary history of Deuteronomy. Being an insertion into the Deuteronomic law of the king, which has been often regarded as a late part of it, it can perhaps provide us with a terminus ad quem not only for the law of the king itself but also for most of the Deuteronomic legislation, if a clear historical reference for it can be established. 2. Possible historical references Influenced by the general stipulations of the law of the king, most scholars have not really looked for unambiguous historical references but have been content to state that such alleged transactions happened again and again.51 But considering that the prohibition Deut 17:16aα2β.b is an insertion into the law of the king, one is entitled to search for its own specific historical context. Some scholars have correctly assumed that the prohibition may have some specific event in view.52 Nelson and Nielsen thought of Manasseh’s participation in Ashurbanipal’s campaign against Egypt 667/6 B.C.E.53 This campaign possibly brought the first Judaean soldiers to Egypt, but they were a symbol of loyalty of the Judaean vassal to its Assyrian overlord against

51

See Rose, 5. Buch Mose, p. 95; Schäfer-Lichtenberger, “Der deuteronomische Verfassungsentwurf ”, p. 114; Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft, pp. 208– 213). The argument of A. Caquot (“Remarques sur la ‘loi royale’ du Deutéronome (17/14–20)”, p. 28) is typical in this direction: “Ce ne serait donc pas une condamnation rétroperspective de Salomon mais la dénonciation d’un péril que peut faire courir à son peuple tout roi israélite engagé dans la politique mondiale. Le ‘retour en Égypte’ ne doit pas être pris au pied de la lettre, le verset n’envisage pas en particulier telle ou telle politique d’alliance égyptienne: l’Égypte du verset 16 est le symbole des empires païens . . .” 52 Merendino, Das Deuteronomische Gesetz, p. 180; Reimer, “Concerning Return to Egypt”, p. 222. 53 Nelson, Deuteronomy, p. 244; Nielsen, Deuteronomium, p. 185; ANET, p. 294.

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Egypt, especially against its rebellious Nubian dynasty, not a military arrangement with it.54 Additionally Nelson refers to the Ionian and Carian mercenaries sent about 662 B.C.E. to Egypt from Asia Minor by the king of Lydia, an act that helped Psammetichus I to establish his rule over the Nile delta (Herodotus II:152); he settled these troops in mercenary colonies such as Elephantine (II:154; cf. II:30). The only problem is that Herodotus does not mention any Judaean mercenaries in this context. However, B. Porten and others favour the reign of Psammetichus I (664–610 B.C.E.) as the first period in which Judaean soldiers settled in Egypt; it is their offspring whom we meet much later in the 5th-century Jewish garrison of Elephantine.55 For Porten, the missing link in the chain of evidence is the Letter of Aristeas §13, which reports à propos Jewish migration to Egypt that the first Jews “had been sent out as allies/auxiliaries (συμμαχίαι) to fight against the King of the Ethiopians together with Psammetichus”. The letter is admittedly legendary in many respects, and written much later (about 120 B.C.E.), but the information is so concrete that it seems reliable.56 Unfortunately it does not state which Pharaoh of this name is meant: Psammetichus I in the 7th century, or his grandson Psammetichus II, who reigned 595–589 B.C.E. Maintaining that both kings have fought the Ethiopians, Porten firmly opts for Psammetichus I, taking precisely the verse Deut 17:16 as his strongest argument: “This injunction implies a trade of mercenaries for horses by Manasseh”.57 Porten’s interpretation of the injunction is fine, but his historical dating is somewhat questionable. First, he takes the Josianic, or even pre-Josianic date of the Deuteronomic code for granted, and uses it for his historical identification; second, he is 54 Recently D. Kahn has reconstructed the Assyrian invasions of Egypt (“The Assyrian Invasions of Egypt [673–663 B.C.] and the Final Expulsion of the Kushites”, SAK 34 [2006], pp. 251–267). 55 B. Porten, Archives from Elephantine: The Life of an Ancient Jewish Military Colony (Berkley, 1968), pp. 8–13; E. G. Krealing, The Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri: New Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. from the Jewish Colony at Elephantine (New Haven, 1953), pp. 43–46). Krealing mentions this opinion first among others, without deciding among them. 56 Krealing, ibid., p. 45. 57 Porten, ibid., p. 12. C. Steuernagel was the first to opine that Deut 17:16 should be related to Psammetichus I (“Bemerkungen über die neuentdeckten jüdischen Papyrusurkunden aus Elephantine und ihre Bedeutung für das Alte Testament”, Theologische Studien und Kritiken 82 [1909], pp. 7–8). Clearly, his argument depends primarily on his dating of the emergence of the Deuteronomic law book to the reign of Manasseh, which has meanwhile become doubtful.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 285 unaware that the injunction he is concerned with is a later addition to the law of the king; and third, he reconstructs a historical situation in the 7th century in accordance with Deut 17:16 but devoid of historical evidence. To mention only the main arguments: first of all it is highly questionable whether Psammetichus I – in contrast to Psammetichus II – launched any greater military campaigns against the Ethiopians; in his reign there are only a few indications of military encounters with Nubia, which remain ambiguous.58 In the Cambridge Ancient History T. G. H. James doubts them altogether.59 The major war against a Nubian king, Tanutamun, who tried to re-establish his claim on the Egyptian throne, was fought in 664/3 B.C.E. by Ashurbanipal himself; 58 Early on S. Sauneron and J. Yoyotte (“La Campagne Nubienne de Psammétique II et sa signification historique”, BIFAO 50 [1952], p. 201) referred to a fragmentary inscription on a sandstone block from Edfu, which mentions a campaign to the lands of Wawat, which may be located in lower Nubia. In this inscription the name Psammetichus alone is preserved; its identification with Psammetichus I is based only on two cartouches of this king, which are preserved on other blocks of the same building. But this identification remains uncertain; the inscription could likewise refer to Psammetichus II. The inscription of the general Djed-ptah-iouf-ankh clearly verifies only the existence of foreign mercenaries among the armies of Psammetichus I; but whether the general’s very general statement that he was sent by the king to repulse foreign enemies (l. 3) points to a campaign against the Nubians, as M. H. de Meulenaere (“La statue du général Djed-ptah-iouf-ankh [Caire JE 36949]”, BIFAO 63 [1965], p. 30) suggested, remains uncertain. Finally, the account of the Macedonian rhetorician Polyaenus (Strategika VII 3), who claimed that Psammetichus defeated Tanutamun near Memphis, contradicts the Assyrian sources in many respects and remains doubtful. That it refers to a later war, not Ashurbanipal’s second invasion of 664/3, as Sauneron and Yoyotte (ibid., p. 200; idem, “Les auxiliaires juifs de Psammétique dans la Lettre d’Aristéas”, VT 2 [1952], p. 134) and S. M. Burstein (“Psametik I and the End of the Nubian Domination in Egypt”, JSSEA 14 [1984], pp. 31–34) suggest, cannot be verified. See a similar critical assessment already made by K. S. Freedy and D. B. Redford (“The dates of Ezekiel in Relation to Biblical, Babylonian, and Egyptian Sources”, JAOS 90 [1970], pp. 476–477, note 69). 59 T. G. H. James (“Egypt: The Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties”, pp. 713– 714). Early on, A. Alt (“Psammetich II. in Palästina und in Elephantine”, ZAW 30 [1910], pp. 294–296) and Krealing (The Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri 1953: 45) were of the same opinion so they did not relate the information in the letter of Aristeas to Psammetichus I but to Psammetichus II. Krealing pointed out: “The Psammetichus referred to can hardly be Psammetichus I, for in his day the relations between Egypt and Ethiopia were peaceful”. Also according to T. C. Mitchell (“The Babylonian Exile and the Restoration of Jews in Palestine [586–c. 500 B.C.]”, in J. Boardman et al. [eds.], Cambridge Ancient History, Vol. III/2 [2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991], p. 429) the letter of Aristeas probably refers to the Nubian campaign of Psammetichus II. The new editor of the letter, N. Meisner (“Aristeasbrief”, in E. Hammershaimb and N. Meisner [eds.], Unterweisung in erzählender Form [JSHRZ II/1; Gütersloh, 1973], pp. 35–87), clearly relates §13 to the Nubian campaign of Psammetichus II, but doubts whether such Judaean military support would have been possible after the first deportation in 597 B.C.E.

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and even if Psammetichus I joined in its later phase in some way,60 he was not so outstanding a hero as to be remembered later in the Letter of Aristeas.61 Second, Psammetichus I had scant need to conclude a military deal with Manasseh because, even after succeeding to reunite Egypt under his government, he remained a loyal ally of the Assyrians to the end of his reign, as Na’aman has pointed out.62 Third, Manasseh had no need to multiply his carriage troops since he remained all his life a loyal Assyrian vassal too. Even the legendary report in 2 Chron 33:11 does not clearly mention a rebellion of Manasseh, which Porten suggests.63 In sum, the message of neither the letter of Aristeas §13 nor Deut 17:16* matches the historical situation of the 7th century. By contrast, if we realize that the prohibition of Deut 17:16aα2β.b is no longer tied to the era of the Josianic reform or even decades preceding it, but should probably be dated later, connecting it to both the information of the letter of Aristeas and the grand campaign of Psammetichus II against Nubia in the second part of year 593/2 B.C.E. at once becomes feasible.64 Now, by the beginning of the 6th

60

D. Kahn (“Judean Auxiliaries in Egypt’s Wars against Kush”, JAOS 127 [2008], p. 512) connects the account of Polyaenus, where Psammetichus fights against Tanutamun, to a later phase of the withdrawal of the Kushites from Egypt (between 661 and 656 B.C.E.), but clarifies that “the Letter of Aristeas might point out to a different period of time, when the King of Kush did not control Egypt anymore”. 61 In his earlier article Kahn (“The Assyrian Invasions of Egypt [673–663 B.C.]”, p. 265, note 85) associated the Letter of Aristeas with this “Assyrian war against the Kushites aided by Psammetichus, the soon to be independent ruler of Egypt”, but he was aware of the problems. Recently he preferred a different solution, see below. 62 Na’aman, “The Kingdom of Israel and Judah under Josiah”, pp. 366–367. Cf. his military support for Assyria against the Babylonians in 616 B.C.E. His son Necho continued this pro-Assyrian policy until the very end of the Assyrian empire: cf. his support in Carchemish 609 and 605 against the Neo-Babylonians. 63 Porten, Archives from Elephantine, p. 12. Proving in detail that the political constellation under Manasseh does not accord with the information from the Letter of Aristeas, Kahn (“Judean Auxilaries in Egypt’s Wars against Kush”, pp. 513–514) considers the reign of Josiah the most auspicious period for the dispatch of Judaean mercenaries to Egypt for a war against Nubia. According to him, Josiah was already an Egyptian vassal and obliged to support his overlord. But even if we accept the vassal status of Josiah, which is still an issue of scholarly debate, there is no unambiguous evidence for a Nubian campaign of Psammetichus I in the later part of his reign (Kahn means 640–610 B.C.E.). The fragmentary inscription from Edfu, insofar as it concerns Psammetichus I at all, is unfortunately not dated. 64 Attested by the stelae from Shellal (newly found in 1964), Tanis and Karnak and by Herodotus II: 161; cf. Sauneron and Yoyotte, “La Campagne Nubienne de Psammétique II et sa signification historique”; H. S. K. Bakry, “Psammētīchus II and His Newly-Found Stela at Shellâl”, Oriens Antiquus 6 (1967), pp. 225–244; H. Goedicke, “The Campaign of Psammetik II against Nubia”, MDAIK 37 (1981), pp. 187–198;

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 287 century, the international constellation was totally transformed.65 On the one hand the Assyrian Empire had receded; Necho II, the father of Psammetichus II, had meanwhile decided to intervene in the international politics of Western Asia, aiming to inherit the Assyrian domination of Palestine and Syria against the Neo-Babylonian empire. Accordingly, Psammetichus II was interested to win the Palestinian mini-states, including Judah, as allies against Babylon. The anti-Babylonian gathering of these states’ ambassadors, which according to Jer 27–28 took place in Jerusalem in 594 B.C.E., when Psammetichus II had just ascended his throne, probably had to do with his influence.66 On

P. der Manuelin, Living in the Past: Studies in Archaism of the Egyptian Twenty-Sixth Dynasty (New York, 1994); R. B. Gozzoli, “The Nubian War Texts of Psammetichus II: An Essay of Explication”, JSSEA (1995), pp. 46–49; idem, The Writing of History in Ancient Egypt during the First Millennium B.C. (ca. 1070–180 B.C.): Trends and Perspectives (Gold House Publications Egyptology 5; London, 2006). In the past the campaign was often dated to 591 B.C.E., cf. still James, “Egypt: The Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties”, pp. 726–729; for the amended date see H. Hauben, “Das Expeditionsheer Psametiks II. in Abu Simbel”, in K. Geus and K. Zimmermann (eds.), Punica – Libyca – Ptolemaica. FS W. Huß (Studia Phoenicia 16; Orientalia Lovaniensa Analecta 104; Leuven, 2001), pp. 52–53 – As far as I can see, a relation of Deut 17:16* to the Nubian campaign of Psammetichus II is considered only once, but with no further clear conclusion as to its date (see D. J. Reimer “Concerning Return to Egypt”, pp. 227–229). J. M. Modrezejewski, The Jews in Egypt: From Ramses to Emperor Hadrian (Edinburgh, 1995), pp. 22–26) inclines to a later dating of Jewish settlements in Egypt, but he does not come to a definite conclusion. 65 Cf. R. Albertz, “Die Zerstörung des Jerusalemer Tempels 587 v. Chr.: Historische Einordnung und religionspolitische Bedeutung”, in J. Hahn (ed.), Zerstörungen des Jerusalemer Tempels: Geschehen – Wahrnehmung – Bewältigung (Tübingen, 2002), pp. 23–39. 66 According to Jer 28:1 the conference took place in the 4th year of Zedekiah. Assuming the synchronism of 2 Kgs 25:8; Jer 52:12, and 32:1, which identifies the 11th year of Zedekiah with the 19th year of Nebuchadrezzar, D. Kahn (“Some Remarks on the Foreign Policy of Psammetichus II in the Levant [595–589 B.C.]”, JEH 1 [2008], pp. 144–147) dates the conference to 593/2 B.C.E. So according to him it is highly improbable that Judean mercenaries could have taken part in the Nubian campaign of Psammetichus II, because this campaign and the Jerusalem conference took place at almost the same time: “If it was Zedekiah who sent his troops to aid Psammetich II against Kush in 593, a shift in Judah’s alliance towards Egypt must have occurred prior to the ‘anti-Babylonian conference’ ” (p. 145), which would not fit. However, the synchronism accepted by Kahn is problematic. It is responsible for the wrong dating of the first deportation in the 8th year of Nebuchadrezzar (2 Kgs 24:12), which according to the Babylonian Chronicle actually took place in his 7th year (TUAT I/4, pp. 403–404). And it necessitates taking 597/6 B.C.E. as the year of Zedekiah’s accession so that this year was not counted at all in the system of regnal years of the last three Judaean kings; it should have been ascribed to Jehoiakim or Jehoiachin. A more reliably synchronism is given by Jer 52:28–9, which correctly dates the first deportation to Nebuchadrezzar’s 7th year and the second to his 18th. Accordingly, 597/6 can be counted as Zedekiah’s first year, and his 4th year falls in 594/3. The

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the other hand an influential party in Judah compelled Zedekiah, once enthroned by Nebuchadrezzar, to snatch his historical chance of discarding the Babylonian yoke with the help of Psammetichus. In such a situation a military arrangement between the Judaean and the Egyptian king, like that implied by Deut 17:16*, would be perfect. Zedekiah supported Psammetichus II’s campaign against the old Ethiopian rival in the south, helping him to gain a free hand in the north; he sent a large group of Judaean soldiers. In return Psammetichus II delivered horses and chariots to Zedekiah in order to strengthen his military power for an encounter with the Babylonians. This arrangement could possibly have been settled on at the Jerusalem conference of 594, as James suggested.67 The Nubian campaign of Psammetichus II in 593/2 was a triumph; the Nubian kings were driven out of their capital Napata down to Meroë; all trace of them in Egypt was expunged.68 From the graffiti left at Abu Simbel we know for sure that Carian, Greek, and Phoenician mercenaries saw action in this campaign.69 Although we have no direct epigraphic evidence of the Judaean mercenaries mentioned in the Letter of Aristeas, they may well be subsumed under the “foreign legion” άλλογλόσσος, which is mentioned in a Greek inscription from there.70 After his brilliant victory Psammetichus II appeared in 592 in Palestine for a propaganda tour in order to demonstrate

different synchronism of 2 Kgs 25:8 and Jer 52:12 is probably due to wrongly counting the year of Nebuchadrezzar’s famous victory in Carchemish (605) as his first regnal year, which actually was his year of accession. For the entire discussion see R. Albertz, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. (Studies in Biblical Literature 3; Atlanta, GA, 2003), pp. 76–81. Thus, the sequence of events reconstructed by K. S. Freedy and D. B. Redford (“The Dates of Ezekiel in Relation to Biblical, Babylonian, and Egyptian Sources”, pp. 475–477) is still valid, although they still follow the earlier dating of the Nubian campaign to 592. 67 T. G. H. James (“Egypt: The Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties”, p. 718). Porten’s main argument against such a solution, namely that according to Jer 51:59 Zedekiah journeyed in the same year to Babylon “to acknowledge his allegiance to Nebuchadnezzar” (Archives from Elephantine, p. 11), hardly counts, since we know that he was torn between the pro- and anti-Babylonian option all his life (cf. Jer 37–38). 68 James, ibid., pp. 726–730. 69 Cf. A. Bernand and A. A. ‘Abd-al-lat ̣if, Inscriptions grecques, cariennes et semitiques des statues de la façade (Caire, 1959). 70 A. Bernand and O. Masson, “Les Inscriptions Grecques d’Abu-Simbel”, Revue des études grecques 70 (1957), p. 5. In his detailed investigation of the different units of the Nubian campaign, H. Hauben (“Das Expeditionsheer Psametiks II. in Abu Simbel”, p. 65) still considers this presumption a valid hypothesis; in his view, the arguments of Sauneron and Yoyotte (“Les auxiliaires juifs de Psammétique”; “La Campagne Nubienne de Psammétique II”, p. 188, note 4) concerning the Letter of

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 289 his proven military power.71 The military arrangement with Zedekiah was no doubt confirmed; Psammetichus promised his military support, and Zedekiah revoked his vassal treaty with Babylonia (Ezek 17:7, 15–18). Unfortunately Psammetichus II died in 589; this was the signal for Nebuchadrezzar to punish his disloyal Judaean vassal. The grim outcome is well known; although Pharaoh Apries indeed sent some military help, which forced the Babylonians to interrupt their siege (Jer 37:5), Jerusalem was taken and destroyed in 587 B.C.E.72 Against this historical background the prohibition inserted into the Deuteronomic law of king (Deut 17:16aα2β.b) proves a sharp judgement on the rebellious policy of king Zedekiah.73 Never again may a king go so far as to sell segments of his people to his Egyptian ally to win the latter’s military support for his perilous international policy. Therefore, it was included in the “timeless” law of the king. The range

Aristeas, whereby they once doubted any Jewish participation in this campaign, are not convincing. 71 James, “Egypt: The Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties”, p. 718; Miller and Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah, p. 411. After studying the Demotic source (Papyrus Rylands 9) in detail, D. Kahn (“Some Remarks on the Foreign Policy of Psammetichus II in the Levant [595–589 B.C.]”, pp. 148–153) stressed the military character of this tour; according to him it was this intervention of Psammetich II in the Levant that induced Zedekiah to switch his loyalty. But to speak of a “military reconquest of the Levant by Psammetichus II” (p. 151) seems doubtful. Ezek 17:7–8, 15 presupposes that Zedekiah did not simply give way to military pressure but made his own choice. 72 Although the reconstructed arrangement between Zedekiah and Psammetichus II is not directly evinced, there are some indirect allusions to it: cf. Jer 37:5; Ezek 17:9, 15, 17 (interpreted in that way by M. Greenberg, “Ezekiel and the policy of Psammetich II”, JBL 76 [1957], pp. 304–309); Ezek 29:6; Lam 4:17; cf. 2 Kgs 18:21; the Lachish letter III can also be understood in this context (ANET, p. 322), cf. O. Lipschits, “Nebuchadrezzar’s Policy in ‘Hatu-Land’ and the Fate of the Kingdom of Judah”, UF 30 (1998), pp. 471–473; Albertz, “Die Zerstörung des Jerusalemer Tempels 587 v. Chr.”, pp. 26–29. Foreign mercenaries as a typical feature of the Egyptian armies are probably mentioned in Jer 46:16, 21. 73 It corresponds with Isaiah’s prophetical accusations against a similar policy of Hezekiah towards the Assyrians (cf. Isa 30:1–5, 15–17; 31:1–3). That Deut 17:16 should perhaps be regarded as a sideswipe at Zedekiah’s Egypt-friendly policy was suggested way back by A. Bertholet (Deuteronomium [KHCAT 5; Freiburg et al., 1899], p. 55). Thus, such a late pre-exilic dating of the law of the king seems to him equally justifiable as an exilic. For other reasons, J. Hempel (Die Schichten des Deuteronomiums. Ein Beitrag zur israelitischen Literatur- und Rechtsgeschichte [Beiträge zur Kulturund Universalgeschichte 33; Leipzig, 1914], p. 240) also dated the law of the king in the time of Jehoiakim and Zedekiah, although he presumed the presence of Judaean mercenary colonies already under Psammetichus I. He rightly points out that Deut 17:16 reflects a new possibility of loss of population apart from victims of war and deportations.

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of dating of the insertion can be narrowed down to between 594 and 590 B.C.E. Does such a date make sense as a possible terminus ad quem of most of the Deuteronomic legislation?

III. Literary-historical consequences I cannot verify here in detail whether such a terminus ad quem of the emergence of the Deuteronomic legal corpus leads to plausible results or not. But I would like to point out just two literary-historical consequences, which seem already clear to me. 1. Literary growth of Deut 12–26 after the death of Josiah The considerations above confirm generally the traditional dating of the Deuteronomic legislation during the reign of king Josiah. But it also opens a considerable time span of about 15 to 19 years for its post-Josianic growth. The latter period is of particular interest. We know from the accusations of Jeremiah (Jer 5:4–5; 8:8–9) that the reform movement came to an end with the sudden death of Josiah in 609 B.C.E. because Jehoiakim did not support it thereafter. Thus the main proponents of the movement, the royal scribal group around the Shaphan family, formed an opposition to the king as can be demonstrated from Jer 36 and other texts. The prohibition inserted in Deut 17:16, which strongly condemns Zedekiah’s pro-Egyptian policy, clearly shows that its author stood in opposition to the ruling king along with the anti-Babylonian nationalistic party behind him.74 We can infer that the people who transmitted, reworked and expanded the Deuteronomic legislation after Josiah’s death and the failure of the reform belonged to these opposition groups, probably still under the leadership of the Shaphan family. Because of their status, being no longer directly responsible for Judaean politics, the more critical, theoretical and even utopian character of their legislative revisions is understandable. For example, the possibly inserted stipulation in the law of the king that the monarch should constantly study the Deuteronomic law book (Deut 17:18–19) could be from their pen, reflecting their

74 For the controversies between the two parties in the late pre-exilic time see Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, I, pp. 231–242.

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 291 frustration with kings like Jehoiakim and Zedekiah, who knew about the law but dismissed it.75 In any event, these tradents did not envision a “utopian program” for a new beginning after the exile, as is often suggested.76 They promoted it, even though they experienced the first deportation of 597 B.C.E., for the continuation of the Josianic reform on the basis of an improved legislation at a time when a better king would be enthroned.77 Of course, these early tradents and editors of the Deuteronomic law have nothing to do with the later Deuteronomistic Historians, who were, as I have tried to show elsewhere,78 successors of the nationalist party who trusted in the old kingship and temple theology. The Deuteronomic tradents stood closer to Jeremiah and his followers (Jer 26:24; 36; 40:6). These literary-historical considerations agree with some important conclusions reached by Levinson from his insight into the differences between the Deuteronomic and Deuteronomistic concepts of kingship. He states: “The degree of incompatibility is so strong as to invite a reconsideration of the model for deeming later literary layers of Deuteronomy ‘Deuteronomistic’ and assigning them to the Deuteronomistic Historian. The question of literary stratification within Deuteronomy, which cannot be denied, should be made heuristically independent of the attribution of such strata to DtrH”.79 2. Questioning a Josianic Dating of DtrH However, the solution I offer for solving the problem pointed out by Knoppers and Levinson presupposes an exilic dating of DtrH, that is, in the second half of the 6th century, as originally established by 75 In Albertz, “Why a Reform Like Josiah’s Must Have Happened”, p. 35, where I briefly considered the present hypothesis for the first time, I suggested that all the law of the king may be conceptualized under the reign of Jehoiakim and Zedekiah in order to find an easier explanation for its “utopian flavor”. Since then U. Rüterswörden (Von der politischen Gemeinschaft zur Gemeinde, pp. 50–66) has convinced me that the body of the law was already part of the Josianic law code. 76 See e.g. Lohfink, “Die Sicherung der Wirksamkeit des Gotteswortes durch das Prinzip der Schriftlichkeit der Tora”, pp. 147–151; Otto, “Von der Gerichtsordnung zum Verfassungsentwurf ”, pp. 152–155. 77 Between 609 and 590 the Deuteronomic tradents could not know that the Judaean state would definitely come to an end; that they tried to immplement their program even without a Davidic ruler highlights Gedaliah’s attempt at reform. 78 Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, II, pp. 387–399; idem, Israel in Exile, pp. 279–285. 79 Levinson, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy”, p. 529.

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Noth.80 Cross’s variant, which assumes a first edition of DtrH during the reign of Josiah,81 leaves no room for a separate Deuteronomic literary tradition of its own, even if one is willing to distinguish several Deuteronomistic groups with different political agendas, as I am.82 Accepting Cross’s model uncritically, Levinson is obliged to push the Deuteronomic legislation back to time of Manasseh, which is a “black hole” with regard to internal Judaean groups and conflicts.83 My result does not confirm Levinson’s pre-dating of the Deuteronomic corpus; on the contrary, the insight that Deut 17:16* does not refer to the political situation in the mid-7th century, but to that in the early 6th century, makes his solution of the problem rather improbable and seriously calls the Cross hypothesis into question.84

80

Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, p. 91. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, pp. 278–285. 82 For example, between the Deuteronomistic Historians and the Deuteronomistic redactors of the book of Jeremiah: see Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, II, pp. 382–399; or with regard to the even more radical Deuteronomistic redactors of the Book of the Four (Hos, Amos, Mic, and Zeph), see Albertz, Israel in Exile, pp. 204–237; J. Wöhrle, Die frühen Sammlungen des Zwölfprophetenbuches: Entstehung und Komposition (BZAW 360; Berlin – New York, 2006), pp. 245–284. Referring to the differences between the Deuteronomistic History and the Deuteronomistic book of Jeremiah, Knoppers (“Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic History”, pp. 114–115) still believes in a synchronic solution. He postulates a “Deuteronomistic editing of Deuteronomy”, which he would set apart from the Deuteronomistic editing of the books of Jos–2 Kgs and Jer. But such a terminology would predicate a degree of similarity and simultaneity, which is rather questionable. 83 Levinson, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy”, pp. 527–528. 84 For the internal problems of Cross’s hypothesis see Albertz, Israel in Exile, pp. 276–278. Unfortunately in the English edition of my History of Israelite Religion (1994), the translator – strongly influenced by this hypothesis – did not distinguish “Deuteronomics” from “Deuteronomists”. I had no opportunity to amend this translation. 81

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 293 Bibliography R. Achenbach, Israel zwischen Verheißung und Gebot: Literarkritische Untersuchungen zu Deuteronomium 5–11 (Frankfurt am Main, 1991). R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, 2 vols. (Louisville, 1994). ——, “Die Zerstörung des Jerusalemer Tempels 587 v. Chr.: Historische Einordnung und religionspolitische Bedeutung”, in J. Hahn (ed.), Zerstörungen des Jerusalemer Tempels: Geschehen – Wahrnehmung – Bewältigung (Tübingen, 2002), pp. 23–39. ——, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. (Studies in Biblical Literature 3; Atlanta, GA, 2003). ——, “Why a Reform Like Josiah’s Must Have Happened”, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 393; European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005), pp. 27–46. A. Alt, “Psammetich II. in Palästina und in Elephantine”, ZAW 30 (1910), pp. 288–297. H. S. K. Bakry, “Psammētīchus II and His Newly-Found Stela at Shellâl”, Oriens Antiquus 6 (1967), pp. 225–244. A. Bernand and O. Masson, “Les Inscriptions Grecques d’Abu-Simbel”, Revue des études grecques 70 (1957), pp. 1–46. A. Bernand and A. A. ‘Abd-al-lat ̣if, Abou-Simbel: Inscriptions grecques, cariennes et semitiques des statues de la façade (Caire, 1959). A. Bertholet, Deuteronomium (KHCAT 5; Freiburg et al., 1899). G. Braulik, “Die Abfolge der Gesetze in Deuteronomium 12–26 und der Dekalog”, in N. Lohfink (ed.), Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft (BEThL 68; Leuven, 1985), pp. 252–272. ——, Die deuteronomischen Gesetze und der Dekalog (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 145; Stuttgart, 1991). C. Bultmann, Der Fremde im antiken Juda: Eine Untersuchung zum sozialen Typenbegriff ‘ger’ und seinem Bedeutungswandel in der alttestamentlichen Gesetzgebung (FRLANT 153; Göttingen, 1992). S. M. Burstein, “Psametik I and the End of the Nubian Domination in Egypt”, JSSEA 14 (1984), pp. 31–34. D. O. Cantrell and I. Finkelstein, “A Kingdom for a Horse: The Megiddo Stables and Eighth Century Israel”, in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV. The 1998–2002 Seasons, II (Tel Aviv University Monograph Series 24; Tel Aviv, 2006), pp. 643–665. A. Caquot, “Remarques sur la ‘loi royale’ du Deutéronome (17/14–20)”, Semitica 9 (1959), pp. 21–33. F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA, 1973). F. Crüsemann, Die Torah: Theologie und Sozialgeschichte des alttestamentlichen Gesetzes (München, 1992). P. R. Davies, “Josiah and the Law Book”, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 393. European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005), pp. 65–77. S. R. Driver, Deuteronomy (3rd ed.; ICC; Edinburgh, 1902). P. Dutcher-Walls, “The Circumscription of the King: Deuteronomy 17:16–17 in Its Ancient Social Context”, JBL 121 (2002), pp. 601–616. I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of Its Sacred Texts (New York – London, 2001). F. Foresti, “Storia della redazione di Dtn. 16,18–18,22 e le sue connessioni con l’opera storica deuteronomistica”, Teresianum 39 (1988), pp. 5–199.

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K. S. Freedy and D. B. Redford, “The dates of Ezekiel in Relation to Biblical, Babylonian, and Egyptian Sources”, JAOS 90 (1970), pp. 462–485. V. Fritz, Das erste Buch der Könige, 2 vols. (ZBK.AT; Zürich, 1996/1998). F. García López, “Le roi d’Israel: Dt 17,14–20”, in N. Lohfink (ed.), Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft (BEThL 68, Leuven, 1985). pp. 277–297. J. C. Gertz, Die Gerichtsorganisation Israels im deuteronomischen Gesetz (FRLANT 165; Göttingen, 1994). H. Goedicke, “The Campaign of Psammetik II against Nubia”, MDAIK 37 (1981), pp. 187–198. B. Gosse, “Deuteronome 17,18–19 et la restauration de la royaute au retour de l’exil”, Bibbia et oriente 181 (1994), pp. 129–138. R. B. Gozzoli, “The Nubian War Texts of Psammetichus II: An Essay of Explication”, JSSEA (1995), pp. 46–49. ——, The Writing of History in Ancient Egypt during the First Millennium BC (ca. 1070– 180 BC): Trends and Perspectives (Gold House Publications Egyptology 5; London, 2006). L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 393. European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5; London – New York, 2005). M. Greenberg, “Ezekiel and the policy of Psammetich II”, JBL 76 (1957), pp. 304–309. W. Groß (ed.), Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung”, (BBB 98; Weinheim, 1995). A. C. Hagedorn, Between Moses and Plato: Individual and Society in Deuteronomy and Ancient Greek Law (FRLANT 204; Göttingen, 2004). H. Hauben, “Das Expeditionsheer Psametiks II. in Abu Simbel”, in K. Geus and K. Zimmermann (eds.), Punica – Libyca – Ptolemaica. FS W. Huß (Studia Phoenicia 16; Orientalia Lovaniensa Analecta 104; Leuven, 2001), pp. 53–77. L. A. Heidorn, “The Horses of Kush”, JNES 56 (1997), pp. 105–114. J. Hempel, Die Schichten des Deuteronomiums. Ein Beitrag zur israelitischen Literaturund Rechtsgeschichte (Beiträge zur Kultur- und Universalgeschichte 33; Leipzig, 1914). G. Hölscher, “Komposition und Ursprung des Deuteronomiums”, ZAW 40 (1922), pp. 161–255. T. G. H. James, “Egypt: The Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties”, in J. Boardman et al. (eds.), Cambridge Ancient History, III/2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991), pp. 677– 747. D. Kahn, “The Assyrian Invasions of Egypt (673–663 B.C.) and the Final Expulsion of the Kushites”, SAK 34 (2006), pp. 251–267. ——, “Judean Auxiliaries in Egypt’s Wars against Kush”, JAOS 127 (2008), pp. 507– 511. ——, “Some Remarks on the Foreign Policy of Psammetichus II in the Levant (595– 589 B.C.)”, JEH 1 (2008), pp. 139–57. O. Kaiser, Einleitung in das Alte Testament: Eine Einführung in ihre Ergebnisse (5th ed.; Gütersloh, 1984). G. N. Knoppers, “The Deuteronomist and the Deuteronomic Law of the King: A Reexamination of a Relationship”, ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 329–346. ——, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings”, CBQ 63 (2001), pp. 393–415. M. Köckert, “Zum literaturgeschichtlichen Ort des Prophetengesetzes Dtn 18 zwischen dem Jeremiabuch und Dtn 13”, in R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann (eds.), Liebe und Gebot: Studien zum Deuteronomium. FS L. Perlitt (FRLANT 190; Göttingen, 2000), pp. 80–100. E. G. Krealing, The Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri: New Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. from the Jewish Colony at Elephantine (New Haven, 1953).

deuteronomic legislation – a fresh look at deut. 17:16 295 B. M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York – Oxford, 1997). ——, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History’s Transformation of the Torah”, VT 51 (2001), pp. 511–534. O. Lipschits, “Nebuchadrezzar’s Policy in ‘Hatu-Land’ and the Fate of the Kingdom of Judah”, UF 30 (1998), pp. 467–487. N. Lohfink, “Die Sicherung der Wirksamkeit des Gotteswortes durch das Prinzip der Schriftlichkeit der Tora und durch das Prinzip der Gewaltenteilung nach dem Ämtergesetzen des Buches Deuteronomium (Dt 16,18–18,22)”, in H. Wolter (ed.), Testimonium Veritati: Philosophische und theologische Studien zu kirchlichen Fragen der Gegenwart. Festschrift W. Kempf (FTS 7; Frankfurt am Main, 1971), pp. 143– 155 = in N. Lohfink, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur, I (SBAB 8; Stuttgart, 1990), pp. 305–323. ——, “Hos. XI 5 als Bezugstext von Dtn. XVII 16”, VT 31 (1981), pp. 226–228. ——, “Kerygmata des Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerks”, in J. Jeremias and L. Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten. Festschrift H. W. Wolff (Neukirchen, 1981), pp. 87–100. ——, “Distribution and Functions of Power: The Laws Concerning Public Offices in Deuteronomy 16:18–18:22”, in D. L. Christensen (ed.), A Song of Power and the Power of Song: Essays on the Book of Deuteronomy (Sources for Biblical Theological Study 3; Winona Lake, IN, 1993), pp. 336–352. J. Maier, “Grundlage und Anwendung des Verbots der Rückkehr nach Ägypten”, in B. Kollmann et al. (eds.), Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum. Festschrift H. Stegemann (BZAW 97; Berlin – New York, 1998), pp. 225–244. P. der Manuelin, Living in the Past: Studies in Archaism of the Egyptian Twenty-Sixth Dynasty (New York, 1994). A. D. H. Mayes, Deuteronomy (The New Century Bible Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI, 1981). N. Meisner, “Aristeasbrief ”, in E. Hammershaimb and N. Meisner (eds.), Unterweisung in erzählender Form (JSHRZ II/1; Gütersloh, 1973), pp. 35–87. R. P. Merendino, Das Deuteronomische Gesetz: Eine literarkritische, gattungs- und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Dt 12–26 (BBB 31; Bonn, 1969). M. H. de Meulenaere, “La statue du général Djed-ptah-iouf-ankh (Caire JE 36949)”, BIFAO 63 (1965), pp. 19–32. J. M. Miller and J. H. Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (Philadelphia, PA, 1986). T. C. Mitchell, “The Babylonian Exile and the Restoration of Jews in Palestine (586–c. 500 B.C.)”, in J. Boardman et al. (eds.), Cambridge Ancient History, III/2 (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1991), pp. 410–460. J. M. Modrezejewski, The Jews in Egypt: From Ramses to Emperor Hadrian (Edinburgh, 1995). R. Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft: Untersuchungen zur alttestamentlichen Monarchiekritik (FAT Zweite Reihe 3; Tübingen, 2004). N. Na’aman, “The Kingdom of Israel and Judah under Josiah”, in N. Na’aman, Ancient Israel and Its Neighbors: Interaction and Counteraction. Collected Essays, I (Winona Lake, IN, 2005, pp. 329–388 = Tel Aviv 18 [1991], pp. 3–71). R. D. Nelson, Deuteronomy (OTL; Lousville – London, 2002). E. W. Nicholson, “ ‘Do Not Dare to Set a Foreigner Over You’: The King in Deuteronomy and the ‘Great King’ ”, ZAW 118 (2006), pp. 46–61. E. Nielsen, Deuteronomium (HAT; Tübingen, 1995). M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (3rd ed.; Tübingen, 1967). ——, Könige 1: Könige, 1. Teilband, 1. Könige 1–16 (BK; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1968). E. Otto, “Vom Bundesbuch zum Deuteronomium: Die deuteronomische Redaktion

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Dtn 12–26*”, in G. Braulik et al. (eds.), Biblische Theologie und gesellschaftlicher Wandel. Festschrift N. Lohfink (Freiburg, 1993), pp. 260–278. ——, “Von der Gerichtsordnung zum Verfassungsentwurf: Deuteronomische Gestaltung und deuteronomistische Interpretation im ‘Ämtergesetz’ ”, in I. Kottsieper, J. van Oorschot, D. Römheld and H. M. Wahl (eds.),“Wer ist wie du, Herr, unter den Göttern?”: Studien zur Theologie und Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift O. Kaiser (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 142–155. ——, “Von der Programmschrift einer Rechtsreform zum Verfassungsentwurf des Neuen Israel: Die Stellung des Deuteronomiums in der Rechtsgeschichte Israels”, in G. Braulik (ed.), Bundesdokument und Gesetz: Studien zum Deuteronomium (HBS 4; Freiburg, 1995), pp. 93–104. B. Porten, Archives from Elephantine: The Life of an Ancient Jewish Military Colony (Berkley, 1968). H. D. Preuss, Deuteronomium (EdF 164; Darmstadt, 1982). G. von Rad, Das fünfte Buch Mose: Deuteronomium (2nd ed.; ATD; Göttingen, 1968). D. J. Reimer, “Concerning Return to Egypt: Deuteronomy VII 16 and XXVIII 68 Reconsidered”, in J. A. Emmerton (ed.), Studies in the Pentateuch (VTS 41; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1990), pp. 217–229. M. Rose, 5. Buch Mose, 2 vols. (ZB.AT; Zürich, 1994). U. Rüterswörden, Von der politischen Gemeinschaft zur Gemeinde: Studien zu Dt 16,18–18,22 (BBB 65; Frankfurt am Main, 1987). ——, “Der Verfassungsentwurf des Deuteronomiums in der neuen Diskussion: Ein Überblick”, in P. Mommer (ed.), Altes Testament – Forschung und Wirkung. Festschrift H. Graf Reventlow (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), pp. 313–328. S. Sauneron and J. Yoyotte, “La Campagne Nubienne de Psammétique II et sa signification historique”, BIFAO 50 (1952), pp. 157–207. ——, “Les auxiliaires juifs de Psammétique dans la Lettre d’Aristéas”, VT 2 (1952), pp. 131–135. C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, “Der deuteronomische Verfassungsentwurf. Theologische Vorgaben als Gestaltungsprinzipien sozialer Realität”, in G. Braulik (ed.), Bundesdokument und Gesetz: Studien zum Deuteronomium (HBS 4; Freiburg, 1995), pp. 105–188. ——, Josua und Salomo: Eine Studie zu Autorität und Legitimität des Nachfolgers im Alten Testament (VTS 58; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1995). B. U. Schipper, Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit. Die kulturellen Kontakte von Salomo bis zum Fall Jerusalems (OBO 170; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1999). G. Seitz, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Deuteronomium (BWANT 93; Stuttgart, 1971). C. Steuernagel, “Bemerkungen über die neuentdeckten jüdischen Papyrusurkunden aus Elephantine und ihre Bedeutung für das Alte Testament”, Theologische Studien und Kritiken 82 (1909), pp. 1–12. J. H. Tigay, Deuteronomy (The JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1996). D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (Tel Aviv Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 22; Tel Aviv, 2004). J. Wöhrle, Die frühen Sammlungen des Zwölfprophetenbuches: Entstehung und Komposition (BZAW 360; Berlin – New York, 2006).

THE BOOK OF JUDGES  DATING AND MEANING

Yairah Amit Tel Aviv University

I. Introduction Dating any biblical book is a complex task, involving assumptions by now axiomatic in research or at least enjoying widespread recognition. The assumptions underlying my research are as follows: 1. The early book of Deuteronomy and the subsequent Deuteronomistic school that edited the historiography according to its ideology emerged in the second half of the 7th century B.C.E. The activities of this school continued even in the post-Exilic era.1 2. Historiographic materials in the Bible written after the Deuteronomistic school coalesced, and dealing with the same periods and topics, are influenced by this school or argue against it, but are not indifferent to it.2 3. In Judah outside the establishment, namely royal circles, temples, and schools for scribes, literacy spread in the second half of the 8th century B.C.E. and the ensuing periods.3

1 M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford, 1972), pp. 1–9. Weinfeld differentiates “the author of the book of Deuteronomy” from “the Deuteronomic redactor”, who could be “the Deuteronomist” (Dtr.), i.e., the editor of the historical books, or the editor of prose segments in the book of Jeremiah (ibid., p. 4, n. 1). I use “Deuteronomic” to describe the early edition of the book of Deuteronomy and “Deuteronomistic” for literary materials written under the influence of the earlier composition and including all the materials that the Deuteronomistic school edited. 2 See, for example, the books of Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles, and see below, p. 308. 3 D. W. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and Schools in Monarchic Judah: A SocioArchaeological Approach (JSOTSup 109; Sheffield, 1991); also N. Na’aman, The Past that Shapes the Present – The Creation of Biblical Historiography in the Late First Temple Period and After the Downfall (Jerusalem, 2002, Hebrew), pp. 19–29.

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4. Our book of Judges, which is included in the “Deuteronomistic history”, underwent editing and the difference between the early layers and materials added in later editing is evident.4 In the light of these assumptions, any decision about the dating of the book of Judges demands that a relationship be shown between it and the Deuteronomistic school. So first we must ask if such a relationship exists, and if it does, in what strata of the book it appears and what we can learn from this about their times.

II. Does the Book of Judges Have Deuteronomistic Characteristics? The widespread acceptance of Martin Noth’s revolutionary theory in the second half of the 20th century resulted in identification of the book of Judges as Deuteronomistic, part of more comprehensive, longer Deuteronomistic composition.5 According to Noth’s methodology, this composition includes several books: from Deuteronomy, with its account of the end of the wanderings in the desert, to the end of the book of Kings, that is, the destruction of the first Temple and the exile from Judah. Noth even claimed that the underlying stratum of this composition was written and edited by one person, who resided in Mizpah after the destruction of the first Temple.6 The view

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The term “Deuteronomistic history” is taken from the research of Noth (The Deuteronomistic History [JSOTSup 15; Sheffield, 1981]), who was the first to treat the book of Deuteronomy along with the Former Prophets as an independent composition written by one editor. On the editing of the book of Judges see the introductions and the critical commentaries on this book from the end of the 19th century. With respect to the latter part of the 19th century, I mention only the commentary of Moore (Judges [ICC; Edinburgh, 1966]), published as early as 1895. Following Wellhausen, he argued that someone from the Deuteronomistic school edited Judg 2:6–16:31 as early as the beginning of the 6th century B.C.E. In the context of the end of the 20th century, I mention my commentary: Y. Amit, Judges – Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 1999, Hebrew), pp. 6–15. 5 Noth’s book (The Deuteronomistic History) was written during WWII, in 1943, but his theory became influential only with appearance of the second edition in 1957. See Th. C. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London, 2005), p. 26. 6 For a summary of Noth’s theory, its research implications, reservations about it, corrections made to it, and current thinking about it, see Römer, ibid., pp. 21–43. While few disagree with Noth’s theory about the extent of the composition, many have reservations about the conclusions regarding its character and believe that it is the product of an entire school of thought, not the work of one hand.

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that Judges is a Deuteronomistic book, accepted by most researchers still today, will naturally entail conclusions that the loaded term “Deuteronomistic” implies. Examples follow. If Judges is Deuteronomistic it cannot be dated as early as the end of the 7th century B.C.E., that is, the eve of the destruction, or its composition accordingly connected with the period of Josiah, as Cross and his followers claimed,7 or it should be placed in the period after the destruction, namely the mid-6th century B.C.E., as Noth and his school maintained.8 If Judges is Deuteronomistic, we should at least be able to find in it some of the concepts that characterize the Deuteronomistic ideology regarding beliefs and rituals.9 If Judges is Deuteronomistic, the style and language that reflect the Deuteronomistic Weltanschauung should be evident.10 1. What Is Indeed Deuteronomistic in Judges? Most researchers have found concepts and matters of style that are Deuteronomistic in character, mainly in the second introduction to Judges (2:6–3:6), and in the frameworks of the deliverance stories which constitute most of the book (3:7–11, 12–15, 30; 4:1–3, 23–24; 5:31b; 6:1–2, 6; 8:27b-28; 10:6–16; 13:1; 15:20; 16:31b).11 But they 7 F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, 1973), pp. 274–289; also see R. D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 18; Sheffield, 1981); and Na’aman, The Past that Shapes the Present, pp. 55–60. 8 Noth, The Deuteronomistic History, p. 12. See for example I. Engnell, A Rigid Scrutiny: Critical Essays on the Old Testament (tr. J. T. Willius; Nashville, 1962). Actually, also those mentioned in n. 7 above discussed the impact of the Exile on the composition. 9 For the distinction between the material that represents the world of the book of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic concepts see M. Weinfeld, “The Change in the Conception of Religion in Deuteronomny”, Tarbitz 31 (1962), pp. 1–17 (Hebrew); and idem, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, pp. 1, 191–224; also Y. Amit, History and Ideology – An Introduction to Historiography in the Hebrew Bible (The Biblical Seminar 60; Sheffield, 1999), pp. 49–64. 10 See Weinfeld’s appendix (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, pp. 320– 359), which is arranged according to concepts and phraseology. 11 In this framework I do not treat the distinction between the phraseology of the cyclical formulae and the changeable data (names, years, etc.) which were not all written by the same hand. See W. Richter, Die Bearbeitungen des “Retterbuches” in der Deuteronomischen Epoche (BBB 21; Bonn, 1964), who even suggests there was layering in the Deuteronomistic editing; see M. Weinfeld, “The Period of the Conquest and of the Judges in Early and Late Israelite Historiography”, in S. Abramsky et al.

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find none in the stories themselves, which lack the Deuteronomistic style and its world of beliefs. Many of the stories thus seem to reflect pre-Deuteronomic materials, termed by some scholars the “Book of Saviours”; from this point it is possible to reconstruct backwards a hypothetical trajectory of these stories, until as a first stage they found their place in the “Book of Saviours”, and afterwards in the Deuteronomistic composition.12 According to the criterion that serves Weinfeld’s cautious approach to determining if a text should be related to the Deuteronomistic literature, we should not differentiate style from ideas. By this criterion Judges is related to the actual book of Deuteronomy and to its school mainly in the area of faithfulness to God and the struggle against idolatry. These subjects appear in the second preface to the book (2:6–3:6), where there is a heavy dose of Deuteronomistic language, and they constitute the stage of sin in the cyclical model of the stories’ openings, a model that uniquely characterizes the book of Judges. In this model the entire period is described as a review of the usual five-stage cycle: sin, punishment, crying out, deliverance, and tranquillity, and so on again and again. But most of the formulations of the stages in this scheme, in all their variety, are not characterized as Deuteronomistic. For example, the expression “God gave them over to the hands of X” or “God delivered them to the hands of X” (punishment stage) can be found in the story of Deborah (Judg 4:9) and in the story of Saul and the woman who practiced necromancy (1 Sam 28:19), which ordinarily are not considered to be Deuteronomistic. The expression “the children of Israel cried out to God” (crying-out stage) has footprints already in the book of Hosea, who prophesied in the middle of the 8th century (Hos 7:14; 8:2). The expression “and God raised up a deliverer” (deliverance stage) is mentioned only in Judges, so we can infer nothing from this about characteristic Deuteronomistic language, whereas “raising up a prophet” appears already in Amos (2:11), who also prophesied in the

(eds.), Sefer Shmuel Yeivin – Studies in Bible, Archeaology, Language and Biblical History (Jerusalem, 1970), pp. 187–205 (Hebrew), and idem, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, pp. 320–359; and critical commentaries on Judges. 12 Following Wellhausen and Moore, Noth (The Deuteronomistic History, p. 42) discussed the possibility that the Deuteronomist used the heroic tribal traditions that were collected before him. According to W. Richter (Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Rrichterbuch [BBB 18; Bonn, 1963]) this extends to Judges 3–9. See also idem, Die Bearbeitungen des “Retterbuches” in der Deuteronomischen Epoche (BBB 21; Bonn, 1964).

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8th century, before the fall of the northern kingdom of Israel. The turn of phrase that summarizes a period, “and the land was quiet X years” (tranquillity stage) is unique to the book of Judges, so it cannot be deemed a Deuteronomistic marker. These expressions appear in the writing of 8th century prophets and in stories that are not known for Deuteronomistic expressions and concepts, or are specific to the book of Judges; relating them to the Deuteronomistic lexicon assumes that only a Deuteronomistic editor would have advanced the expression of a cyclical worldview, so any expression that represents such a worldview is ipso facto Deuteronomistic. But as for the sinning stage, expressions will naturally be used that describe behaviour incongruent with the Divine will, such as unfaithfulness to God and pursuing foreign gods. Some of the phrases in this context can be found in controversial Deuteronomistic texts, for example, the idiom “he did evil in the eyes of the Lord”: this is repeated in the sinning stage in the preface to the book (Judg 2:11) and in the openings of all the stories (Judg 3:7, 12; 4:1; 6:1; 10:6; 13:1). It is also used when Samuel reproaches Saul for not destroying Amalek entirely: “Why did you not obey the voice of the Lord? You rushed after the spoils, and you did what was evil in the eyes of the Lord” (1 Sam 15:19), as well as in Nathan’s rebuke of David: “Why have you scorned the word of the Lord, doing that which is evil in His eyes? You have struck Uriah the Hittite with the sword” (2 Sam 12:9). This expression, which does not appear in these stories in the context of idolatry, undoubtedly came to signify Deuteronomistic material, appearing frequently in the books of Deuteronomy and Kings; still, one might wonder if the expression was used earlier and was adopted by the Deuteronomist because it met his needs.13 The phrase “. . . worshipped other gods” appears in the words of David in an episode where Saul is pursuing him: “If it is the Lord who has incited you against me, then He will be appeased with an offering – but if it is men, may they be cursed before the Lord, for

13 Weinfeld (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, p. 339) doubts that the texts from Samuel mentioned in this list are Deuteronomistic; see also W. Brueggemann, “Social Criticism and Social Vision in the Deuteronomic Formula of the Judges”, in J. Jeremias and L. Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten, Festschrift fur H. W. Wolff (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1981). McCarter in his commentary on Samuel (P. Kyle McCarter, I Samuel [AB; Garden City, NY, 1980], pp. 20, 270; idem, II Samuel [AB; Garden City, NY, 1984], pp. 7–8, 305–306) relates them to the pre-Deuteronomistic prophetic historiography. Some researchers assign these texts to the Deuteronomist, but I prefer to highlight the existence of another voice, the pre-Deuteronomistic.

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they have driven me away this day from attaching myself to the heritage of the Lord as if to say, ‘Go worship the gods of others!’ ” (1 Sam 26:19).14 Even this expression “other Gods” appears already in Hosea (3:1), the Israeli prophet of the 8th century.15 Furthermore, the use of the Hebrew root z-n-h in connection with the struggle against other gods makes its first appearance not in the Deuteronomistic materials but in Hosea’s prophecies.16 These expressions of unfaithfulness to God and the struggle against idol worship – and no one questions that they are Deuteronomistic – are in fact few in Judges and are concentrated, as noted, in the preface to the book and especially in two of the opening verses, 2:12,19.17 Moreover, the Deuteronomistic aspects of the cyclic concept itself, a key principle in the editing of the entire book (2:6 to 16:31), is dubious. The principle by definition can exist under conditions of forgiveness and recurrent repentance despite the backsliding, and therefore does not quite fit Deuteronomy’s stringent approach, which sees idolatry as a dead end whose consequences are perdition, obliteration, and destruction. The author of Kings, which is unquestionably Deuteronomistic, only once applies the stages of the cycle, to portray of the reign of Jehoahaz son of Jehu (2 Kgs 13:1–9). But in using it only once to depict that single period he deprives the expression of its cyclicity.18 14 The concept that God exists only within the borders of the land He granted to His people is not Deuteronomistic. Therefore, Weinfeld (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, p. 320) assigns the expression to E source. See also his writing on the expression “to serve Yahweh”, ibid., p. 332. 15 Some scholars argue that this language is more typical of a later literature, so this phrase might have been added later; nevertheless, P. R. Davies (In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’ [JSOTSup148; Sheffield, 1992], p. 100) admits: “the substance of this accusation corresponds to Hosea’s message elsewhere”. 16 Hos 1:2; 2:7; 4:15; 9:1. Cf. Judg 2:14; 8:33; and see also 8:27b. See also D. R. Davis, A Proposed Life-Setting for the Book of Judges (Ann Arbor, 1983), pp. 152–153. 17 Y. Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Leiden, 1999), pp. 364–366. 18 Also the use of the components of the cycle (sin, punishment, crying out, deliverance, tranquillity) in this case reflects the problematic application of the model and the need for modification and adaptation. The sinner who does evil in God’s eyes is king Jehoahaz, who like Jeroboam continued to lead Israel astray. Jehoahaz is also the one who repented and cried out to God, and God answered him, although not because the king turned to Him, but rather because He saw the suffering of Israel. The deliverer is anonymous because the text finds it difficult to describe an evil king as the chosen saviour, even though the fruits of victory go usually to the king and he is the one considered the saviour in a war situation. Israel attained peace even though they did not desist from the sins of the house of Jeroboam. However, Jehoahaz, who continued to reign as king, was punished by losing most of his power.

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In light of the foregoing we can argue that the expressions and stages of the cyclical model belong to the period that preceded the appearance of the book of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic school. It contains indications of the development of faith during the second half of the 8th and the early 7th century B.C.E., akin to the language and thought of the writing prophets who arose in the middle of the 8th century, with a burning desire to inculcate the people with loyalty and trust in God. We can present this subject somewhat differently. Is it possible that in the century between the appearance of written or classical prophecy and Josiah’s reform no historical thinking occurred in Israel or in Judah? Did the destruction of the kingdom of Israel, and the consequent arrival in Judah of refugees from the north, not affect the literary and spiritual leaders in Judah? To my mind these are rhetorical questions; it is reasonable to assume that there was a reaction from Judah along with an intellectual response. From the affinity to the writing prophets, we can even deduce that the response went beyond the royal court and temple circles and became a concern for intellectuals and thinkers from Judah who were afraid for the future of their people and their land. So the list of expressions above is not sufficient to prove a Deuteronomistic stamp reflecting the situation prevailing at the end of the 7th century B.C.E.19 It is reasonable to assume that the book of Deuteronomy and Josiah’s reform were not created ex nihilo in the last quarter of the 7th century B.C.E., but they were the natural continuation of the intellectual trends following the trauma of the exile of Israel and its transformation into an Assyrian province. They were likewise the result of practical trends that accompanied the preceding intellectual activity and came to fruition through the reform focused on centralization of the cult. To summarize, if some of the expressions attributed to Deuteronomistic editing are not unique to the book of Deuteronomy but have parallels in the literature which may be called pre-Deuteronomic; if the concept of cycles does not characterize Deuteronomistic thought; and if most of the recognized Deuteronomistic expressions are found

19 The encounter with the imperialistic ambitions of Assyria and the exile of Israel as central, traumatic events affected the concept of God held by Israel and Judah, the appearance of classical prophecy, and the creation of the genre of historiography. This is central to my understanding of biblical literature. See Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 363–375; idem, History and Ideology, pp. 20–33.

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mainly in the second preface to the book (Judg 2:6–3:6) – then a sweeping categorization of the entire book of Judges as Deuteronomistic literature is very doubtful; at most we can classify the tendentious preface as belonging to this school.20 2. If Judges Was a Product of Deuteronomistic Editing, What Might We Expect? Curiously, subjects that characterize Deuteronomistic writing are not reflected in the book of Judges, despite the numerous opportunities for them to be raised. I will cite three important examples. 1) Centralization of cult, an important principle in Deuteronomistic thought, is absent from Judges, without even a hint from the author(s). Therefore, it seems reasonable to me to assume that the author was not even familiar with this drive to centralize the cult ritual.21 In contrast, the book of Judges abundantly describes ritual altars in local and family frameworks. The altar where the angel of God is revealed to Gideon is in Ophrah of the Abiezrites (6:24), whereas the altar that Gideon commanded be destroyed was his father’s but was dedicated to the Baal (6:25–32). In fact, he built a legitimate altar dedicated to God right next to it (6:26–32).22 Jephthah spoke before the Lord in Mizpah (11:11), whereas Manoah’s altar was in the field (13:8–23). Micah’s House of God, which had a carved and a molten image in the centre,

20

Reservations about the overall categorization of the material as Deuteronomistic have been articulated of late by M. Z. Brettler (The Book of Judges [London – New York, 2002], pp. 114–115) who focuses on issues of style and ideas; also see Römer (The So-Called Deuteronomistic History, pp. 90–91) who claims that the book of Judges has the least amount of typical Deuteronomistic material. In this context I may mention that in Judges the hallmarks of later hands are to be found (e.g., 8:27b; 19–21), see Amit The Book of Judges, pp. 155, 283–284. On the stories of Samson, partially or wholly, as a late composition, see Brettler (ibid., pp. 40–60) and more bibliography there. 21 Where the Deuteronomistic editor is aware of this goal, and on the other hand knows about the legitimate multiplicity of places for cult worship, he feels the need to justify the latter. See 1 Kgs 3:2 ff, which relates to the reality of recognized cult places for worship before the erection of one central place in Jerusalem. Y. Kaufman (The Book of Judges – A Commentary [Jerusalem, 1962, Hebrew], pp. 30–31) views the absence of any hint about centralization of the cult as proof that Judges was not influenced by Deuteronomy. 22 Gideon was criticized in the matter of the ephod (Judg 8:27), and this is related to the way one has to worship God. According to critical research these expressions of rebuke are late. See Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 230–232, and the bibliography there; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, p. 155.

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is described as part of a private house that hosted travellers too, and its contents and the Priest who worked there were destined to serve as the basis for the temple in Dan (Judg 17–18).23 Here too, the criticism is not levelled at the multiplicity of places of cult worship but at the way the worship was conducted in them. The concept of one central chosen place, even somewhat peripatetic, was not yet on the horizon in the book of Judges.24 2) The Deuteronomistic literature centres attention on a prophet or prophets who mediate between God and His people. The foremost prophet is Moses, the protagonist of the book of Deuteronomy itself, about whom we are told, “Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses – whom the Lord singled out, face to face” (Deut 34:10). Following Moses, Joshua also receives the appellation “servant of the Lord” (Josh 24:29).25 Thus the Divine promise comes to fruition: “I will raise up a prophet for them from among their own people, like yourself” (Deut 18:18, and also v.15). This promise is fulfilled in the book of Samuel, in which are different types of prophets with different roles; it is especially pronounced in the book of Kings where the prophets also appoint kings, reveal coming events before they unfold, and represent history as the realization of prophetic visions.26 In contrast, in Judges treatment of the prophet as a national leader, or as an intermediary between God and His people, was still in its infancy, and throughout the book there are repeated direct interactions between the Divine and the human. The angel of God who comes from Gilgal to

23 With respect to the placement of this story in Judges as a conclusion and not an appendix, see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 310–336; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 258–259. On understanding the story as a hidden polemic criticizing Bethel see idem, Hidden Polemic in Biblical Narrative (Leiden, 2000), pp. 99–129. 24 The book of Joshua also describes a reality that preceded the conquest of Jerusalem during the reign of David (2 Sam 5:6–9). Although there is no question about the Deuteronomistic editing in Joshua, some holy places are described that serve, due to the circumstances, the entire nation (i.e., at Gilgal, Ch. 5; Shilo 18:1; Shechem, chapter 24). The recognition that there should be only one place for cult worship, versus the knowledge that this principle can only be applied after the temple is built on one chosen, fixed location, creates an unsatisfactory compromise: one place for worship which changes according to the needs of the hour, but that serves the needs of the entire nation. 25 Compare Deut 34:5; Josh 1:1 and another thirteen times in the book of Joshua; also 2 Kgs 18:12; Dan 9:11; and five times in Chronicles. 26 See G. von Rad, Deuteronomy (OTL; tr. D. Barton, London, 1966), pp. 74–91; A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible, Their Literary Types and History (Jerusalem, 1988), pp. 97–105.

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Bochim (Judg 2:1, 4) is not described as a prophet, and those who think him a prophet do so through their own interpretative understanding.27 True, Deborah is called a prophet (Judg 4:4a). She was told by God to appoint Barak (Judg 4:6–7), and she also judged those in Israel who came to her for judgement (Judg 4:4b–5). But she did not lead the army during the war and she did not prevent God’s direct intervention in the war (Judg 4:14–15; 5:20).28 During the era of Gideon we are told that God sent “a man, a prophet” to rebuke Israel (Judg 6:8). But the rebuke pertains only to the past, and not to any fulfilment of future prophecy. Moreover, some scholars consider this rebuke (6:8–10) a later addition.29 Still, the appellation “a man, a prophet” helps us to distinguish him from the “angel of God” who was sent to Gideon,30 but it also exacerbates the problem we have in understanding Gideon as a Deuteronomistic prophet.31 In addition, history as shaped by the book of Judges emphasizes the completion of cycles, which renders superfluous the need for prophecies to be realized. So prophets are described twice in the book of Judges, but their appearance is not intended to obviate the direct revelation of God, and their role could have been filled by an angel closely identified with God (6:11–24; 13:2–23) or even by God Himself (6:36–40; 10:11–16). Note that this conflicts with the Deuteronomistic approach, which makes a great effort to distance the Divine from the human. 27 The term “angel of God” connotes a messenger of God, but it can be a heavenly creation (Judg 6:11–24) or human (Hag. 1:13). According to Rabbi Levi ben Gershon (Gersonides): “this angel was a prophet, and it cannot be that an angel of God would speak in public in this manner”. By contrast, see Judg 10:11–16, which describes God Himself speaking in this manner. 28 For the consequences of making these fine distinctions in the role of Deborah, see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 206–207. In any case, defining her as a prophet, and the fact that this definition is not clearly stated for other judges, raises this question: were the judges viewed as prophets by the authors, or by later generations who saw them as “early/former prophets” because they tended to use this appellation for anyone who received the word of God? 29 In Qumran cave 4 a fragment of a manuscript was discovered that preserves Judg 6:2–13 (4QJudgesa). But verses 7 to 10 are missing. According to several researchers this is evidence that this segment is none other than a later addition. See Amit, The Book of Judges, p. 224, n. 3; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, p. 17. 30 The term “angel of God” is mentioned in Judg 6:11, 12, 21–22. Despite his human appearance, he is identified with God (Judg 6:14–16, 23). See also the story about the birth of Samson in which the narrator is careful to use the term “angel of God” (Judg 13:3, 9, 13, 15–21). Whereas in human conversation he is called “man of God” or “man” (Judg 13:6, 8–11) even if his appearance is that of “an angel of God.” In the conclusion of the story Manoah realizes that “we have seen God” (Judg 13:22). 31 See above, note 26.

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3) The Deuteronomistic school described the people of Israel as comprised of twelve tribes.32 This is reflected, for example, when Moses sent twelve spies, one from each tribe (Deut 1:23); and when the blessings and curses were pronounced, the tribes were divided into two groups of six (Deut 27:12–13). This numerical framework of twelve, which serves the Priestly editing of the Pentateuch, is foreign to the authors of Judges, who evidently were not yet aware that dealing with the people of Israel as a whole necessitated such a twelveunit framework. In the opening chapter of the book (Judg 1), which is considered part of the first preface (Judg 1:1 to 2:5), Judah and Simeon are mentioned in apposition to the seven northern tribes, making a total of nine tribes. Nowhere in the book is the concept of twelve tribes mentioned except for the episode of the concubine in Gibeah, which is not integral to the book and is viewed as an addendum (Judg 19:29).33 Even the Song of Deborah, which would have afforded a perfect opportunity to mention all the “twelve tribes”, cites only ten.34 We conclude that presenting the nation of Israel as composed of twelve tribes was still an idea that was not integral to the book of Judges and to its opening chapter.35 32 I will not go into the typology of the number twelve, which is basically artificial, or into the exceptions which enlarge the number (e.g., 1 Chron 1–9) or into the typologies that emphasize the number ten (e.g., the model of 10+1 in 1 Kgs 11:31–32 versus v. 30). 33 Concerning the different approaches to this question see C. Edenburg (The Story of the Outrage at Gibeah [Jdg 19–21]: Composition, Sources and Historical Context [Ph.D. diss. Tel Aviv University, 2003]) who assigns this composition to the beginning of the Persian era. According to my approach (Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 337–357; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 280–284) we have here an addition which is an exception that we can define as editorial digression, and which is actually an overt polemic against the tribe of Benjamin and a covert polemic against Saul. 34 The tribes mentioned are Ephraim, Benjamin, Zebulun, Issachar, Naphtali, Reuben, Dan, and Asher. Also Machir and Gilead are mentioned, who usually represent, respectively, Manasseh and Gad. It makes no difference if we classify them with those who participated in the war or those who did not. On this topic see Amit, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 109–113. In any case Judah, Simeon and Levi are not mentioned. 35 This is not the place to go into a detailed analysis of the first preface (Judg 1:1– 2:5) which is a unique and independent unit that serves through its structure and function as an exposition for the book of Judges and not as an addendum to the book of Joshua. For a detailed discussion, see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 120–166. On the other hand, the integration of the book of Judges into the Deuteronomistic historiography necessitated changes and modifications for its insertion into a new framework, as in the case of Judg 1:1, “After the death of Joshua” and 2:6–10, which in my opinion should not be considered a “resumptive repetition” but a “summarizing repetition,” see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 136–141. For a different opinion see

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These examples underscore the absence from Judges of unique Deuteronomistic positions. They appear neither as hints nor as oppositional remarks. We can even add that the literature written after the appearance of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic compositions (e.g., Chronicles) echo Deuteronomistic concepts that are introduced in the works that preceded the redactors. The ways in which these concepts are dealt with (adopted, modified, or opposed) give us a means to understand the later author’s conceptual worldview.36 Such references are lacking in the book of Judges. Therefore, most of the book of Judges – aside from the second preface (2:6 to 3:6) and a few interpolations by later redactors – belongs to the generation that did not yet know the ideology and style of Deuteronomy; indeed, here we have a pre-Deuteronomic composition.37 This conclusion can lead to an additional one: just as we can point out influences by the written

A. G. Auld, “Judges I and History: A Reconsideration”, VT 25 (1975), pp. 261–285; and N. Na’aman, “The ‘Conquest of Canaan’ in Joshua and in History”, in N. Na’aman and I. Finkelstein (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy – Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (Jerusalem, 1990), pp. 328–336 (Hebrew). Both of them claim that the whole first preface (Judg 1:1–2:5) is late. Their claim that the author of this preface relies on Joshua 13–19 (tribal land allotments) is not convincing because this preface includes – even according to their argument – early materials that do not appear in Joshua, and because indicators of typical Deuteronomistic material are lacking. For example, the writer of Judges Ch. 1 mentions the concept of proscription (herem) to explain the etiology of a city’s name and not as a goal of the conquest (Judg 1:17). In my estimation they do not succeed in proving that Judges 1 is based on Joshua and not vice versa! According to my approach, Judges 1 is an exposition that prepares the background for the period of the judges with all the negative features that it entails. This exposition even attempts to justify the future choice of Judah, and certainly has the hallmarks of late editing too. 36 See S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (Frankfurt am Main, 1989). 37 A similar claim was made in the beginning of the 20th century by Burney, who perceived the pen of E2 in the book. See his commentary on the Book of Judges: 1970, published in originally 1918. Cf. M. Z. Segal, Introduction to the Scripture, I–II (Jerusalem, 1967, Hebrew), p. 170 -J, and H. Schulte, Die Entstehung der Geschichts Schreibung im Alten Israel (BZAW 128; Berlin – New York, 1972), pp. 77–104, who discusses the pre-Deuteronomistic character of long narrative segments in the book. S. B. Gurewicz (“The Bearing of Judges I–II 5 on the Authorship of the Book of Judges”, Australian Biblical Review 7 [1959], pp. 37–40) thinks that the Judahite edition of the book was edited after the exile by Tiglath-pileser III, in the days of Pekah son of Remaliah, king of Israel. F. E. Greenspahn (“The Theology of the Framework of Judges”, VT 36 [1986], pp. 385–396), states that only in chapters 2 and 10 could he finds Deuteronomistic signs. The theological frameworks throughout the book are dated, according to him, much earlier than the book of Deuteronomy. See of late A. Rofé, “The Historiography at the End of the Kingship Era: The Ephraimite versus the Deuteronomistic Composition”, Beit Mikra 38 (1992), pp. 14–28 (Hebrew).

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prophecy on the book of Deuteronomy, so can we assume that the book of Judges influenced Deuteronomy, and not vice versa. To summarize, the Deuteronomistic pen, which integrated into the book of Judges ideas and style, is mainly apparent in the second preface, in contrast to the main body of the book. This is a product of intellectual circles in Judah at a certain point in time during the century after the destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel and before the cult reform of Josiah.

III. Can the 8th century serve as an Appropriate Background for Judges? That the main body of the book of Judges is “free” of Deuteronomistic influences leads to the conclusion that it was written before the book of Deuteronomy and its school. On the other hand, the assumption that non-establishment writing did not proliferate until the 8th century B.C.E. leads to conclusion that this book was not written before that time. To confirm this conclusion we have first to determine why the book of Judges does not represent court or temple literature, and we have to clarify more exactly whether the period from the end of the 8th to the beginning of the 7th century can serve as an appropriate backdrop for the writing of Judges. 1. The Book of Judges – A Non-Establishment Composition The Book of Judges does not represent court or temple writings. The book does not praise the kingship and/or the temple functionaries, indicating that it was not written under their auspices or for them. Confirmation that the book is not an establishment work rests on the status of kingship, which is referred to in Judges in three places. The first is a hint about the rejection of dynastic rule in the episode that concludes the cycle of Gideon stories (8:22–23). In close proximity we have a negative description of the kingship of Abimelech (8:29– 9:57), which focuses on the role of a bramble-king (9:7–21), whose rise to kingship is accompanied by bloodshed (9:1–6), and his rule is described the outcome of civil war (23–50) and defined as arbitrary (the Hebrew root s-r-r [v.22] has a negative connotation). In the end he was killed by his subjects (9:51–55). These two adjacent episodes concerning kingship are at the heart of the book of Judges. The narration

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moves on from Gideon, who refuses to rule as king, to Abimelech, who after three years is denied recognition as king. Without doubt, the intention is to impress the reader with the problematic aspects of a monarchic government. The third episode which concludes the book (chapters 17–18) presents kingship as the only means to tackle the anarchy of the period of the judges.38 The transition from a rejection of the monarchy and monarchy gone wrong, to the positing of monarchy as the sole solution reflects a sophisticated and ambivalent attitude to kingship. The reader of Judges is exposed to the pros and cons of monarchy. He or she cannot conclude that this type of rule is the ideal or the realization of a goal. Rather it is a solution whose exigency is proven by the desire of sectors in the population to crown a king, and by observing the failure of the judges who ruled before the kingship was established. The book highlights this failure by presenting the judges sequentially from the positive to the negative – from judges who were “saviours” (from Othniel to Gideon) to judges who were a disappointment (Jephthah and Samson). Between Abimelech and Samson there are two sets of consecutive judges (Tola and Jair in 10:1–5, and afterwards Ibzan, Elon, and Abdon in 12:8–15). Their appearance twice, each time consecutively in two different lists, indicates that continuity prevented a return to the sinning stage, which means that continuity of governing can break the aforementioned vicious cycle in the period of the judges. The structure of the book, which includes analysis of the leadership styles of the judges and of the nature of kingship, recognition of the advantages of continuity, and the book’s conclusion about the necessity of kingship – all reflect the need for kingship and at the same time limited expectations of it, because any solution has its constraints. On the other hand, it is doubtful that the royal court was interested in such a book, which does not flatter, glorify or praise the king. The priesthood is barely mentioned in Judges. Some of the personalities could have fulfilled priestly roles, for example, Manoah and Gideon, as mentioned above. The priest at the end of the book, who moved from Mount Ephraim to Dan and raised a dynasty of idolworshipping priests (Judg 18:30–31), is a personality about whom the Second Temple scribes already had deep reservations, which are rep-

38 On chapters 17–18 as the natural conclusion of the Book of Judges, and chapters 19–21 as an additional exception see notes 20, 23, and 33 above.

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resented by the “suspended” Hebrew letter nun in the name Manasseh (v. 30). By this they tried to blur the connection with Moses, and instead emphasize the evil and misleading Manasseh.39 Elsewhere, although cult ceremonies take place the priests are absent. Instances are the Israelites’ inquiry after the Lord while the priest is not mentioned (1:1) and the sacrifices they make in Bochim, with nothing said about the priests (2:5).40 Who then composed the book? Judges seems to have been written by scribes in Judah who, even if they served in the royal court, penned this subversive composition, probably after work hours and under the guidance of other intellectuals like prophets or educated ministers and priests. Their target audience was the widening circle of literate citizens in search of answers to the type of existential questions that this composition, as I will show next, provides. The book of Judges, therefore, is an extra-establishment work, which could have been written at a time when texts were also accessible to people outside the establishment. 2. The Book of Judges and the End of the 8th century – A Good Match It is reasonable to assume that the period from the end of the 8th century B.C.E. until the composition of the book of Deuteronomy was a time of intense intellectual and literary activity. Oral materials were preserved by being committed to writing, texts were copied, and work was in progress to develop the ideologies that gave rise to Deuteronomic thinking. 1) The second half of the 8th century was a fateful time for the residents of the northern kingdom Israel, and the people of Judah – over the “fence” – watched the situation intently. The close proximity of the

39 See B. Bat. 109b: “Was [Gershom who fathered Jonathan] really the son of Manasseh as a verse says he was? Was he not in fact the son of Moses? For it is written: ‘The sons of Moses were Gershom and Eliezer!’[. . .] But because he performed deeds like those of Manasseh, the verse connects him with Manasseh”. Rashi adds that because of the honour due to Moses it is written with the letter nun in order to change the name, and it is suspended to intimate that it was not Manasseh but Moses. 40 The appearance of Phinehas son of Eleazar the Priest (Judg 20:28) is simply an addition using a resumptive repetition in a story which is itself an addition. With respect to the late dating of the episode see above, note 33, and on the verse itself see Amit, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 302–303.

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Assyrian empire, which eventually resulted in enslavement and exile; the transformation of the kingdom of Israel into an Assyrian province in which the culture was syncretistic, resulting in a new identity replacing the lost national identity; and the awakening of the effort to preserve literary texts that apparently reached Judah with the refugees from the north in the wake of the conquest – all contributed to an ambience conducive to the writing of the early version of the book of Judges. The book preserves heroic stories of figures from the north and concurrently describes the northern society as sinful.41 Moreover, we can learn about the steps taken to preserve literary material from the esoteric verse that begins the fifth section in the book of Proverbs (chapters 25–29): “These too are proverbs of Solomon, which the men of King Hezekiah of Judah copied” (Prov 25:1). 2) I argue above that there are no clearly Deuteronomistic concepts in the book of Judges, and I further maintain that from a spiritual/ philosophical viewpoint something important took place in Israel, and more especially in Judah, as a consequence of the Assyrian conquest and the fall of the northern kingdom of Israel: the appearance of prophets who represented a new theological direction. It is customary to term them “classical prophets”, or “writing prophets”, or “rebuking prophets”. Under these rubrics are prophets such as Hosea, Amos, Isaiah, and Micah, all of the 8th century; they, their disciples, or those influenced by them recognized the need to put their prophecies into writing, despite their not being members in good standing of the court establishment; their goal was that the people read and know, and maybe even fear. This situation reflects the need to confront a new political and social reality and to try to understand it, analyze it, and learn some lessons from it. This is the basis for the warnings to the northern kingdom that we see in the prophecies of Hosea and Amos, and the attempt of first Isaiah to respond to questions such as whence does the king of Assyria derive his power? Can we understand and justify the fate of Israel in the north? How can Judah avoid a similar fate? When will the end come to Assyria’s ascendancy? What are the geographical boundaries of the God recognized by the people of Judah? And more. 41

Designating Othniel from Judah as the first of the judges indicates Judahite editing, which does not preserve a story of deliverance, but reports it. See Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 160–166; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 67–70. Actually, the story about Othniel appears in Judg 1:12–13.

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It seems to me that the background against which the book of Judges was written was precisely this new reality: the need to deal with the above issues and to offer an explanation for the wheels of history in order, in the end, to draw some conclusions respecting Judah. Naturally, some ideas in the book, such as the search for the role and place of God in history, influenced subsequent literary works; but other ideas, such as the cyclic nature of history, were set aside.

IV. The Book of Judges: A Judahite Indictment of the Northern Kingdom In content, Israel is the central focus of the book of Judges. It delineates the heroes of the northern kingdom, and most of the events take place in its territory. The sequence of deliverance stories begins with the Benjaminite Ehud son of Gera and continues on to Deborah from the hill country of Ephraim or from Issachar (4:5; 5:15). Next are Barak from Naphtali, Gideon from Manasseh, Jephthah who originated in Gilead, and lastly Samson from Dan. In her song Deborah sees before her eyes only the tribes of the north. Also the consecutive judges (the so-called “minor judges” listed in 10:1–5 and 12:8–15) are from Israel, none hailing from Judah.42 Judah is mentioned in the cycle of Samson stories as the tribe interested in extraditing Samson to the Philistines, and in fact it did so (Judg 15:9–17). This fits the viewpoint of Israel, which sees Judah in an adversarial role. The stamp of Judah is found in edited segments that were inserted to emphasize the significant differences between Israel and Judah. This is reflected in the first part of the preface that opens the book (1:1–20)43 and describes how Judah’s tribe went to battle together with that of Simeon, his brother. They took possession of the Canaanite areas and Judah continued to progress, and only in locations where he did not

42 On the term “consecutive Judges” see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 43–45; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 181–184, 213–214. 43 With the exception of the first part of v. 1: “After the death of Joshua”, which is a late editorial addition intending to connect with the book of Joshua; see also note 35, above.

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dispossess the enemy, despite trying (Judg 1:19),44 did the Canaanites remain. This description is actually in conflict with the ensuing list (vv. 21–36) whose topic is the tribes that did not dispossess the Canaanites, although they could have succeeded. Instead the northern tribes preferred to subjugate them and to use them as forced labour. The northern tribes were even ready to dwell among the Canaanites (Judg 1:21–36). In this second list seven northern tribes are enumerated. The order in which they are listed is geographic, from south to north (from Benjamin to Dan), but it is also according to increasing blame: from Benjamin, who did not dispossess the Jebusite inhabitants of Jerusalem, to Dan, who were forced to abandon their territory because the House of Joseph preferred to allow the Canaanites to live on their land since that way the Canaanites would serve as forced labour. Traces of Judahite influence are found in the redactor’s inclusion of a segment (Judg 3:7–11) without any story of salvation and instead a collection of formulaic passages that precede the medley of judges. So not surprisingly the first judge is Othniel son of Kenaz from Judah, who battled an enemy from Aram-naharaim in the distant north. This is a judge from Judah who differs from the other judges because he is preoccupied with the problems of all the tribes, not only his own. The area of operation of the other judges, as is well known, is regional.45 The editors’ purpose in inserting Judah at these two points is therefore to present the tribe in a positive light as possible, and to emphasize the negative in the deportment of the tribes of Israel. The description of Israel through cyclical history is a golden opportunity to highlight the northern tribes’ repeated sinning and their leaders’ limited influence. This also serves to justify the fate in history of the northern kingdom as a nation wallowing in sin. The depiction of instability in the era of the judges might even have been inspired by the instability in the kingdom of Israel and the frequent change of dynasties there. The critique of the sites of cult worship in the northern kingdom is conveyed in a hidden polemic, aimed at Bethel yet deliberately avoid44

See critical commentaries on this verse and compare to Josh 15:18. On Othniel son of Kenaz as a source for formulaic statements and on the interpretation of the entire unit as a work of editing, see the bibliography in note 41 above. Oded sees this episode as a pro-Judah polemic and a hidden polemic against Benjamin and the house of Saul. See B. Oded, “Cushan-Rishathaim (Judges 3:8–11): An Implicit Polemic”, in M. V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples, and Traditions – A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Indiana, 1996), pp. *89–*94. 45

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ing any mention of this city in either the story of Bochim in the beginning of the book (2:1–5) or in that of the establishment of a temple in the hill country of Ephraim and Dan at its end (chapters 17–18).46 Needless to say, the opening and closing episodes have tremendous rhetorical significance in the process of reading and absorbing a text. This criticism is further proof that the province of Samaria and its active temple at Bethel, which continued to function intensively even after the destruction of the north (2 Kgs 17:28) and which later was a thorn in Josiah’s side (2 Kgs 23:15), were the focal point for the author from Judah. By carefully observing how the northern kingdom fared, the Judahite author-editors of the book of Judges concluded that first and foremost they must be faithful to God and avoid any worship of foreign gods. Secondly, immense weight is given to stable leadership, which can be watchful to promote worship of God. The critique of the era of the judges from the Judahite vantage point is an attempt by the part of the nation that was not exiled to avert the anticipated attack. The preoccupation with the distant period of the judges as a “test case” aided the authors in “distancing their testimony”, so that they could study and analyze the past and draw inferences and conclusions applicable to the present situation. In other words, the present moulds the past.

V. The Extent of the Editing Is the book composed of already existing materials strung together or is it a reworking to meet specific needs? Did the Judahite writers find a “Book of Saviours” and then modify it for their own purposes? Or did they perhaps utilize oral traditions that the exiles brought with them from the north, and then mould them to suit their situation? It is doubtful whether these questions have an unambiguous answer, especially as many agree that the source for much of the material was in the north. However, the extent and the depth to which the materials were reworked are most significant, from the viewpoint of both the sequence of the units and the individual units themselves. 46

On Bethel as a hidden polemic in the book of Judges, see Amit, Hidden Polemic, pp. 99–129. There is no reason why these polemics, in the end of the 8th century, could not be overt. But with the empowerment of Bethel the polemics had to go underground.

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1. The Sequence Careful planning of the sequence is evident from the opening, which delineates a reality that lacks leadership (chapter 1), until the ending and the conclusion that a king is needed (chapters 17–21). Similarly, careful planning characterizes the order of the judges, which proceeds from those who are “saviours” to those who are a disappointment, reaching the nadir with a judge unrelated to salvation (Judg 13–16). This sequence is intended to lead the reader to the conclusion that continuity in governance, that is, a monarchy, is critically necessary. 2. The Shaping of Individual Units and the Focus on Details In-depth analysis of the individual stories reveals an attempt to confront intellectually issues related to the development of biblical faith. I will limit myself to two examples. The story of Ehud son of Gera is not only about someone whose tactical planning brought success during war, that is, he killed King Eglon of Moab and saved the Israelites. It is also about the limits of human tactics and the need for Divine providence in order to succeed.47 The subject of the relationship between human behaviour and Divine providence comes up right at the start of the story, which presents the king of Moab as unaware that his subjugation of Israel is due to God’s desire to punish Israel. Therefore, Eglon increases his forces with alliances with the Ammonites and the Amalekites (Judg 3:12–13). The connection between the framework of the story (Judg 3:12–15) and the story itself, which reflects the success of human efforts that are congruous with God’s will, is evidence that the editing is not an artificial pasting of a beginning and an ending to the main story by some Deuteronomistic redactor, but is a unified, coherent composition whose purpose is to illustrate the opening premise. The God of the preface, who is a universal God, also rules over Moab. He is the God of Ehud, who enables his tactics to come to fruition, and He is also the God of Isaiah who knows that Assyria is only a vehicle of God for punishing Israel (Isa 10:5–19).

47

Amit (The Book of Judges, pp. 171–198). About the discussion on “dual causality” and the two systems that were behind the events, the human and the Divine, see idem, “Dual Causality Revisited: Another Look”, Beth Miqra 37 (1992–1993), pp. 41–55 (Hebrew).

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The story of Samson is not only an epic that glorifies his heroism in taking on the Philistines, but is principally a story in which a struggle takes place against the myth by depicting a dependent hero whose strength is from God. In the event this hero did not save his people, as we learn from a number of subtle hints: from the opening, which does not mention a saviour (Judg 13:1), from the story of his birth, which states that he will only begin to deliver Israel from the hands of the Philistines (Judg 13:5), and from the story about his end, which relates his death in a Philistine prison, but also describes his most heroic act, in which he kills more Philistines than in all the other heroic acts as a result of a direct appeal to God (Judg 16:23–31, esp. v. 28).48 The conclusion is that the purview of the editing is not only the opening, the development and the ending, but is also the shaping of the characters, the development of the plot, the choice of the gaps, the preferences of style, and more – in short, all the details contained in the materials that constitute this book and not the early “book of saviours”.

VI. Summary and conclusions From the foregoing analysis it is clear that the book of Judges concerns not only the virtues of Judah, which survived when Israel was exiled, or the lessons that Judah must learn to ensure that its fate is not as bleak as that of the northern kingdom. Nor is its meaning only support for a monarchy, with reservations because it is seen as necessary but problematic. The importance of its meaning lies also in understanding the significance of studying, contemplating and recording historical forces, that is, historiography. The discovery of regularity in history, be it with respect to cyclical aspects or to the continuity of rule, helps human beings and/or society to understand the ways of God. The writing of history provides future generations of readers with the raw materials and data for understanding Divine actions and the reasons for them. The book of Judges is therefore an attempt at the systematic writing of history by authors, even if they wrote physically within the

48 For a more complete discussion of the stories of Samson and their objectives, see Amit, The Book of Judges, pp. 266–308; idem, Judges – Introduction and Commentary, pp. 215–256.

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royal court, who were not dependent on or obligated to the monarchy. So it seems to me that the book was written in Judah and is the product of the thinking of intellectuals who, against the background of the destruction of the northern kingdom, tried to understand and explain the historical process in which they were caught up, hence to enable those who came after them to draw conclusions. Because the book of Judges resonates in some ways with the needs of the great Deuteronomistic composition, it eventually found its place in it. On the basis of materials that came from the north (after the exiles in 732 and 722 B.C.E.) the author-editors in Judah elaborated and gave form to the major portion of the book; the Deuteronomistic writers and redactors took this work and turned it into a document describing the transition from the days of Joshua to the era of the judges, by creating the period of “the days of the elders” (Judg 2:7) and by reworking a document that describes the times of the judges. They also coined the term “judge”/“judges” as title for those in authority. This term appear for the first time in the second preface to the book of Judges (Judg 2:16–19, also see 2 Sam 7:11) and thus prepared the ground for the term “the days of the judges” which appears from the time of the Deuteronomistic editing onwards (2 Kgs 23:22; Ruth 1:1; 1 Chron 17:6, 9). For them, “judges” is a general term that covers the leaders of the period that preceded the kingship, among whom are the “deliverers” who saved the people of Israel. The book of Judges in the Judahite edition met the need to shape a transition from Joshua to the crowning of a king in Israel. The book, with its reworking and placement, was intended to prepare the reader for the next book, Samuel, which describes the beginnings of the monarchy in Israell.49 I maintain, therefore, that the book of Judges is a pre-Deuteronomic work and to include it in the Deuteronomistic historiography brings in its wake writings that are Deuteronomistic and even later. But these cannot blur the main message of the book. This suggestion focuses our attention on the literary compositions of the end of the 8th century B.C.E. and onwards, which preceded Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic literature, and of necessity influenced them. Similarly, according to this suggestion the Deuteronomistic literature is viewed as a body of works that is devel-

49 The main portion of the book of Samuel, according to my assumptions, is preDeuteronomistic. See Amit, History and Ideology, pp. 42–71.

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oping, and that despite its innovative approach one cannot say it came out of thin air. It was bound to have come from somewhere or from some preceding stage, and to have been the continuation of processes and developments beginning in Judah in the 8th and 7th centuries B.C.E. In recent years there has been a growing trend to present the book of Judges as a pro-Davidic work, whose main thrust is to support the dynasty of the house of David. Brettler concludes his book on Judges with the words “May my lord King David live forever,” whose source is in 1 Kgs 1:31. He thereby underlines what he considers the book’s pro-Davidic political focus.50 We must ask this: if David or his dynasty are so pivotal to the book of Judges, why did the author or redactor not do what the book of Ruth does (Ruth 4:17 and vv. 18–22), namely go out of its way at the end of the story to tell the readers that the heroes who lived “in the days of the Judges” are the forefathers of David? Whoever finds David in the book of Judges can do so on the basis of well-developed hidden polemic techniques. It is clear that the authoreditor is interested in promoting a king in Judah, a king who will do what is right in the eyes of God, and thus will dictate the direction of history. Moreover, it is also clear that the author-editor is interested in a stable and ongoing dynasty, though the identity of the king or the dynasty is not revealed, and to know who they are, the reader must be able to discover the signs and clues if they exist. Therefore, the proJudah line cannot be questioned, but the pro-Davidic undercurrents are too difficult to find. “The motivations for choosing the technique of the hidden polemic might have been realistic worries concerning censorship, that is, unease about dealing with a particular subject in an open or indirect way. This unease may have been connected with cultural-political circumstances [. . .] or may have been motivated by the intention to force the reader to confront and to figure out the reason or difficulty that obviated the explicit mention of a particular expected subject”.51 In any case, this technique carries a rhetorical side effect, that is, the discovery that a given subject is the pretext for a polemic. In the present case it is hard to be certain which is the polemical pretext: the critique of the royal family because of the proAssyrian policies of Ahaz or the difficulty in dealing with the results

50 51

Brettler, The Book of Judges, p. 116, but also see the entire segment pp. 111–116. Amit, Hidden Polemic, p. 250.

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of Sennacherib’s campaign at the end of the reign of Hezekiah. That said, the book of Judges, which supports the monarchy despite possible limitations and disadvantages of a king, does not seem to be an unambiguous contribution to the promotion of the ideal of David and his dynasty. The book of Judges is a Judahite composition that utilizes the lessons of history to argue cogently for the necessity of monarchic rule that is permanent and stable, in order to avoid descent into the anarchy of “each will do as right in his own eyes”.

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Bibliography Y. Amit, “Dual Causality Revisited: Another Look”, Beth Miqra 37 (1992–1993), pp. 41–55 (Hebrew). ——, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Leiden, 1999). ——, History and Ideology – An Introduction to Historiography in the Hebrew Bible (The Biblical Seminar 60; Sheffield, 1999). ——, Judges – Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 1999, Hebrew). ——, Hidden Polemic in Biblical Narrative (Leiden, 2000). A. G. Auld, “Judges I and History: A reconsideration”, VT 25 (1975), pp. 261–285. M. Z. Brettler, The Book of Judges (London – New York, 2002). W. Brueggemann, “Social Criticism and Social Vision in the Deuteronomic Formula of the Judges”, in J. Jeremias and L. Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten, Festschrift für H. W. Wolff (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1981). C. F. Burney, The Book of Judges with Introduction and Notes and Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Book of Kings with an Introduction and Appendix (New York, 1970). F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, 1973), pp. 274–289. P. R. Davies, In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’ (JSOTSup 148; Sheffield, 1992). D. R. Davis, A Proposed Life-Setting for the Book of Judges (Ann Arbor, 1983). C. Edenburg, The Story of the Outrage at Gibeah (Jdg. 19–21): Composition, Sources and Historical Context (Ph.D. diss., Tel Aviv University, 2003). I. Engnell, A Rigid Scrutiny: Critical Essays on the Old Testament (tr. J. T. Willius; Nashville, 1962). F. E. Greenspahn, “The Theology of the Framework of Judges”, VT 36 (1986), pp. 385–396. S. B. Gurewicz, “The Bearing of Judges I–II 5 on the Authorship of the Book of Judges”, Australian Biblical Review 7 (1959), pp. 37–40. D. W. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and Schools in Monarchic Judah: A Socio-Archaeological Approach (JSOTSup 109; Sheffield, 1991). S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (Frankfurt am Main, 1989). Y. Kaufmann, The Book of Judges – A Commentary (Jerusalem, 1962, Hebrew). P. Kyle McCarter, I Samuel (AB; Garden City, NY, 1980). ——, II Samuel (AB; Garden City, NY, 1984). G. F. Moore, Judges (ICC; Edinburgh, 1966). N. Na’aman, “The ‘conquest of Canaan’ in Joshua and in History”, in N. Na’aman and I. Finkelstein (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy – Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (Jerusalem, 1990), pp. 284–347 (Hebrew). ——, The Past that Shapes the Present – The Creation of Biblical Historiography in the Late First Temple Period and after the Downfall (Jerusalem, 2002, Hebrew). M. Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 15; Sheffield, 1981). R. D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 18; Sheffield, 1981). B. Oded, “Cushan-Rishathaim (Judges 3:8–11): An Implicit Polemic”, in M. V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples, and Traditions – A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Indiana, 1996), pp. *89–*94. G. von Rad, Deuteronomy (OTL; tr. D. Barton, London, 1966). W. Richter, Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Rrichterbuch (BBB 18; Bonn, 1963). ——, Die Bearbeitungen des “Retterbuches” in der Deuteronomischen Epoche (BBB 21; Bonn, 1964).

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A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible, Their Literary Types and History (Jerusalem, 1988). ——, “The Historiography at the end of the kingship era: The Ephraimite versus the Deuteronomistic composition”, Beit Mikra 38 (1992), pp. 14–28 (Hebrew). Th. C. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London, 2005). H. Schulte, Die Entstehung der Geschichts Schreibung im Alten Israel (BZAW 128; Berlin – New York, 1972). M. Z. Segal, Introduction to the Scripture, I–II (Jerusalem, 1967, Hebrew). M. Weinfeld, “The Change in the Conception of Religion in Deuteronomy”, Tarbitz 31 (1962), pp. 1–17 (Hebrew). ——, “The Period of the Conquest and of the Judges in Early and Late Israelite Historiography”, in S. Abramsky et al. (eds.), Sefer Shmuel Yeivin – Studies in Bible, Archeaology, Language and Biblical History (Jerusalem, 1970), pp. 187–205 (Hebrew). ——, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford, 1972).

DID THE JEWS WORSHIP IDOLS IN BABYLONIA?

Adele Berlin University of Maryland

Did the Judean exiles worship other gods (or idols) in Babylonia?1 The idea that “there [in exile] you will serve other gods” is expressed in the warnings in Deut 4:28; 28:36, 64 and also in Jer 5:19 and 16:13, and many scholars take the phrase literally as indicating actual religious practice among the exiled Judeans. Yehezkel Kaufmann, speaking of the Jeremiah passages, says that the prophet adopted from Deuteronomy “the peculiar idea that the exiles will be forced to worship other gods”.2 Gerhard von Rad refers to Deuteronomy’s “gloomy picture of an Israel rejected and sunk in the heathen worship of idols”.3 Bernard Levinson glosses Deut 28:64 with the comment that “Dispersion of the population dissolves its political identity, and idol worship dissolves its religious identity.”4 Although these deuteronomic and jeremianic passages present themselves as pre-exilic, they are often considered postexilic additions, and therefore their “predictions” are understood as retrojections of exilic religious practice. Thus Yair Hoffman concludes that “the exiles did, indeed, worship idols”. Hoffman reasons that “The exilic author [of the verses in Deuteronomy] would never have ascribed to Moses false prophecies.”5 That is, the postexilic readers of Deuteronomy could not have accepted Deuteronomy’s warning if it had not already

1

It is a great pleasure to dedicate this essay to my friend and colleague Bustenay Oded, who has contributed so much to our knowledge of Israel and Judah and their intersections with the Assyrian and Babylonian empires. 2 Y. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel (Translated and abridged by Moshe Greenberg; Chicago, 1960), p. 423; cf. also p. 204. 3 G. von Rad, Deuteronomy. A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia, 1966), p. 50. 4 New Oxford Annotated Bible (Augmented 3rd ed.; Oxford – New York), p. 294. I would note that although we may separate political and religious identities, the ancient reader would see them as two facets of the same thing. Levinson is correct, though, that this threat speaks to national identity. 5 Y. Hoffman, “The Conception of ‘Other Gods’ in Deuteronomistic Literature”, Israel Oriental Studies 14 (1994), p. 114.

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come true. Hoffmann seems to derive additional support for idolworship among the exiles from Second Isaiah’s polemics against idols, in chapters 40 and 48, which were directed at the Judean exilic audience, not at the Babylonians. But Isaiah’s polemics do not prove that the Judeans worshipped idols. Rather, they argue that the Babylonian deities, whose power might be deduced from the Babylonian victory over Judah, were in reality impotent and that, hence, the God of Israel will triumph over Babylonia. These are prophetic words of hopeful encouragement, not of chastisement.6 They belittle divine images (i.e., Babylonian religion); they do not scold Israel for false worship. Second Isaiah’s most critical anti-idol remarks, found in Isa 43:22–24, which do accuse Israel of improper worship, are best interpreted as referring to the practices of pre-destruction Israel.7 I find most readings of the deuteronomic prediction of idolatry in exile to be too literal; I understand the phrase as a literary trope rather than as a statement of fact. The deuteronomic threat is not an anticipation of historical reality, but rather a warning that the Judeans would be cut off from their God. Moreover, postexilic literature is silent about the worship of foreign gods in exile, and in one case, Psalm 44, denies that it occurred. I want to examine the deuteronomic threat and the psalmic denial, not as a historical inquiry to uncover actual practice (there is precious little evidence for that) but as an inquiry into the biblical literary/theological trope of idol-worship in exile. For the purpose of my inquiry, it does not matter whether “other gods” means actual deities with powers that competed with God’s (usually considered the pre-exilic understanding), or man-made images devoid of power (the exilic understanding). In its most basic sense, to serve other gods simply means to be outside the land of Israel, God’s domain, the territory sanctified by God as belonging to him. 1 Sam 26:19 expresses this basic sense. When David is forced to be on the run from Saul, he complains that “they have driven me out today from my share in the heritage of the Lord, saying,

6 See Hoffman, ibid., pp. 109–110. For the historical and literary context that informs Isaiah’s anti-idol polemics, the inner-Babylonian disputes over Marduk vs. Sin in the time of Nabonidus, see P. Machinist, “Mesopotamian Imperialism and Israelite Religion: A Case Study from Second Isaiah”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past (Winona Lake, 2003), pp. 237–277. 7 So J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55 (AB; New York, 2002), p. 231.

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‘Go, serve other gods’ ”. There is a clear sense here that God is territorially limited, at least as it relates to the practice of his cult (cf. 2 Kgs 5:17; Ps 137:4), and that a person can be under the aegis of a god only when residing in his territory. Residence in another country would then imply being under the aegis of that country’s gods. Notice that only when she is about to accompany Naomi to Bethlehem does Ruth swear allegiance to Naomi’s people and God, by which she not only becomes a member of Naomi’s family but also becomes a member of Naomi’s people (Ruth 1:16).8 The nexus between people and God is clear here, but land is also part of the picture. It is hard to imagine Ruth making this declaration if the women were to remain together in Moab. The story is silent on Naomi’s religious practice in Moab (there is no reason to think she worshipped Moabite gods), but even in the postexilic book of Ruth there is a remnant of God’s territoriality, at least vis à vis a non-Jew in a pre-exilic literary setting. On the national level, for the entire nation of Israel or Judah, to “serve other gods” simply means to be exiled from their land, from God’s territorial domain. Deuteronomy elevated this concept to a central position, using it to explain the fact of exile and also the reason for it. The worship of other gods, quite literally, became the sin par excellence for which the exile was the punishment. (Notice that in 1 Sam 26:19 service to other gods is not the cause of David’s removal from the land of Israel but only the result.) For Deuteronomy, to worship other gods, or idolatry, is the code-word for any failure to observe God’s commandments, as it is also Leviticus 26 (although Leviticus does not mention idol-worship in exile). This archetypical sin stands for any disloyalty to God or any breech of the covenant (Deut 11:28; 17:3; 28:14; 29:25; 30:17; 31: 18–20; and cf. 1 Sam 8:8). The reason is that to serve other gods undermines the absolute and unique authority of God (e.g., Lev 26:1; Deut 6:12–14). It is a political rebellion against the divine overlord.9 Punishment is always implied, although exile is not mentioned in every instance.

8 For the idea of a covenant with the family see M. S. Smith, “ ‘Your People Shall Be My People’: Family and Covenant in Ruth 1:16–17”, CBQ 69 (2007), pp. 242–258. 9 See M. Halbertal and A. Margalit, Idolatry (Cambridge, Mass., 1992), p. 220; N. MacDonald, “Recasting the Golden Calf: The Imaginative Potential of the Old Testament’s Portrayal of Idolatry”, in S. C. Barton (ed.), Idolatry. False Worship in the Bible, Early Judaism and Christianity (London – New York, 2007), pp. 29–34.

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Let us look at the major passages in Deuteronomy. Deut 4:25–28: When you have had children and children’s children, and become complacent in the land, if you act corruptly by making an idol in the form of anything, thus doing what is evil in the sight of the Lord your God, and provoking him to anger, I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that you will soon utterly perish from the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess; you will not live long on it, but will be utterly destroyed. The Lord will scatter you among the peoples and only a few of you will be left among the nations where the Lord will lead you. There you will serve other gods made by human hands, objects of wood and stone that neither see, nor hear, nor eat, nor smell.

Deuteronomy 4 is concerned with making images, not with worshipping the gods of other nations, about which so many other passages in Deuteronomy speak (e.g., Deut 6:14; 7:25–26; 12:29–31; 13:25). The making of cult statues is probably implied in the worship of other gods, but Deuteronomy 4 insists that even if the image were of the God of Israel, it would constitute idolatry, for in the view of Deuteronomy any type of image-worship is antithetical to proper Israelite practice. The physical representation of God no less than the worship of other gods constitutes idolatry (cf. Exod 20:8 and Deut 5:8–9). Deut 4:25–31 offers a measure-for-measure punishment: Make images when you are forbidden to and you will be sent to a place where you will be forced to worship images. Jer 5:19 contains a similar measure-for-measure statement, although it has to do with foreign gods, not images of God: “. . . Because you forsook me and served alien gods (‫ )אלהי נכר‬in your own land, so you will serve foreign ones [‫ ]זרים‬in a land not your own”. The word ‫ זרים‬may stand for foreign gods, as in Deut 32:16; Isa 43:12; Jer 2:25; 3:13 – or it may refer to foreign people (cf. NRSV: “serve strangers”). The result is the same in either case, since it means to be under foreign rule in a foreign land with a foreign god.10 Jeremiah’s vision of restoration in Jer 30:8–9 also juxtaposes serving ‫ זרים‬with serving the Lord.11 The idea is that in a foreign land, one is under the authority

10 Yair Hoffman suggests that by using the ambiguous term zarim, Jeremiah has blunted the sense of Deuteronomy’s warning by interpreting it ambiguously. (Y. Hoffman, Jeremiah 1–25 [Miqra leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 2001], pp. 199, 210 [Hebrew]). Note, however, that Jer 16:13 did not have a problem with Deuteronomy’s threat of idolatry. 11 The idea of being under foreign rule in the land of Israel is not contemplated here by Jeremiah, but is a postexilic trope found in Nehemiah 9, part of the trope

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of, or the servant of, the king and the gods of that land. The verb ‫עבד‬, “to serve,” commonly used in this context, does not necessarily mean “to worship” but rather “to be the servant of ”. Indeed, there seems to be some slippage, both ancient and modern, in the meaning of ‫עבד‬, from “to acknowledge the supremacy of ” to “to engage in cultic obeisance to”. Deuteronomy is largely responsible for this slippage by its construction of the parallel between actual idolatry in the land of Israel and the threat of “idolatry” in exile. Deut 28:36: The Lord will bring you, and the king whom you set over you, to a nation that neither you nor your ancestors have known, where you shall serve other gods, of wood and stone. Deut 28:64: The Lord will scatter you among all peoples, from one end of the earth to the other; and there you shall serve other gods, of wood and stone, which neither you nor your ancestors have known. Jer 16:13: I will hurl you out of this land to a land that neither you nor your ancestors have known, and you will serve there other gods, day and night.

The punishment that Deuteronomy envisions is best understood in the context of treaty-curses, which themselves should be understood as threatening the reversal of the ideal norms of life, the blessings that await those who adhere to the treaty/covenant: agricultural ruin and famine as opposed to agricultural prosperity; invasion, destruction, and exile by a foreign enemy as opposed to dwelling securely in the land. The biblical threat of serving idols in exile is likewise a reversal of the norm, the norm being the proper worship of God and God’s protection of his people. In a foreign land, Israel is deprived of the privilege of serving its God and lacks God’s protection. The expression “that neither you nor your ancestors have not known” underlines the departure from normal experience. Notice that the object that has not been known is either a nation (Deut 28:36), a land (Jer 16:13), or other gods (Deut 28:64), all of them pieces of the idea that nation=land=gods. In pre-exilic thought, when God is limited to a given territory, this is simply the way to refer to the punishment of exile and there is no reason that we should take it as evidence of actual exilic religious practice.12 The confusion arises in exilic times, when God is perceived as of on-going exile after the Return. Notice, however, that in that context there is no question of “other gods”. 12 J. Tigay, Deuteronomy (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1996), pp. 52–53.

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universally potent and as being the God of Israel in exile. Then a bifurcation arises between recognizing God’s supremacy, which Israel must do everywhere, and worshipping God in the sacrificial cult, which can be done only in the Temple. This is seen clearly in Psalm 137, with its strong allegiance to God despite the impossibility of cultic worship of him in a foreign land. In exilic and postexilic literature it was a commonplace to explain the exile as a result of sin, and to portray the destruction and exile much as it was described in Deuteronomy (as Lamentations does). But absent from the postexilic picture is a record of idol-worship in exile. There is general silence on the matter, except in Ps 44:18–22, where it is specifically denied. This is not to say that there was no deviant religious practice during the Neo-Babylonian or Persian periods, but that this part of the deuteronomic portrayal of exile is omitted. I suggest that exilic and postexilic writers came to see idol-worship in exile as a continuation of the sin that caused the exile, rather than as the punishment for sin, as Deuteronomy saw it. By omitting or denying foreign worship in exile, the postexilic writers are saying that the reason for exile no longer exists, and therefore the exile should come to an end. They are also saying that they have remained God’s loyal subjects despite their displacement from the land of Israel – a point that is central to the preservation of their Judean identity. There are two passages, Isa 43:12 and Ps 44:18–22, in which we glimpse the way exilic or postexilic writers contravene the deuteronomic threat of “other gods”: Isaiah 43:12. ‫וְ ֵאין ָבּ ֶכם זָ ר‬. The phrase is part of God‘s highly rhetorical statement, through the mouth of the prophet ,that God alone can bring about the restoration because he is stronger than any other force in the world, and that no foreign god protects Israel in Babylonia.13 Joseph Blenkinsopp captures the nuance nicely by translating “this is no alien God in your midst” and explaining that God is proving his identity as the traditional God of Israel, known to the audience, and not some foreign imitation.14 In Second Isaiah, God has clearly transcended his territorial boundaries and wields his power in Babylonia, as he does throughout the world (by virtue of having created it). This

13 S. M. Paul, Isaiah 40–48 (Miqra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 2008), p. 174 (Hebrew). 14 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, pp. 223–225.

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Isaianic view, then, supersedes the deuteronomic view that Israel will be denied God’s protection in a foreign land. The main thrust of Second Isaiah’s message is that God is with Israel in Babylonia. Despite the sin that caused the exile, YHWH is still Israel’s God and Israel is God’s people (‫[ הנקרא בשמי‬Isa 43:7]). Psalm 44:18–22.15 There is little consensus regarding the date of Psalm 44. While some scholars place it in the preexilic period, I follow those who date it to postexilic times. In favor of this later dating, and its inclusion under the rubric of literature of exile, is language about destruction and dispersal that calls to mind Lamentations and other psalms that clearly lament Jerusalem: rejection by God and disgrace (v. 10), dispersal among the nations (v. 11), the butt and scorn of the neighbors (vv. 14–15, 17), the place of jackals and deep darkness (v. 20), the call to God to rouse himself and not to hide his face (vv. 24–27). The idea that the exile was a form of slavery into which Judah was sold for no money, in v. 13, has an echo in Isa 52:3: “For nothing were you sold, and for no money you will be redeemed.” Verses 18–22 have been a stumbling-block to modern commentators. :‫יתָך‬ ֶ ‫ָכּל זֹאת ָבּ ַא ְתנוּ וְ לֹא ְשׁ ַכ ֲחנוָּך וְ לֹא ִשׁ ַקּ ְרנוּ ִבּ ְב ִר‬ :‫לֹא נָ סוֹג ָאחוֹר ִל ֵבּנוּ וַ ֵתּט ֲא ֻשׁ ֵרינוּ ִמנִּ י ָא ְר ֶחָך‬ :‫יתנוּ ִבּ ְמקוֹם ַתּנִּ ים וַ ְתּ ַכס ָﬠ ֵלינוּ ְב ַצ ְל ָמוֶ ת‬ ָ ‫ִכּי ִד ִכּ‬ :‫ֹלהינוּ וַ נִּ ְפר ֹשׂ ַכּ ֵפּינוּ ְל ֵאל זָ ר‬ ֵ ‫ִאם ָשׁ ַכ ְחנוּ ֵשׁם ֱא‬ :‫ֹלהים יַ ֲח ָקר זֹאת ִכּי הוּא י ֵֹד ַע ַתּ ֲﬠ ֻלמוֹת ֵלב‬ ִ ‫ֲהלֹא ֱא‬

The crux is v. 18, which many commentators take to be a denial of Israel’s guilt prior to the exile, although it is hard to see how the syntax supports this view. Typical is the comment of J. J. Stewart Perowne, who describes the psalm as “A complaint that all these calamities have come upon them without any fault or demerit on the part of the nation.” Perowne finds that this “assertion of national innocence . . . is without parallel in the Old Testament.”16 Indeed, if this were the meaning of the psalm, it would be without parallel, for nowhere in the Bible does anyone make the claim of Israel’s lack of guilt. At most one can say that the literature of exile omits or minimizes the confession of guilt, in order to appeal to God’s mercy for the present suffering

15

An earlier version of this discussion of Psalm 44 is found in A. Berlin, “Psalms and the Literature of Exile: Psalms 137, 44, 69, and 78”, in P. W. Flint and P. D. Miller (eds.), The Book of Psalms. Composition and Reception (Leiden, 2005), pp. 71–74. 16 J. J. S. Perowne, The Book of Psalms (Grand Rapids, 1976), p. 364.

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of his people. But Israel’s pre-exilic guilt is always hovering in the background; to deny it would be to remove the theological reason for the exile. To deny guilt in a psalm of lament unrelated to the exile is to impugn God. For this reason, James Luther Mays (and others) compare the psalmist with Job, a man who did not sin but who was punished nonetheless.17 But I find this Job analogy weak, for unlike the book of Job, psalms of lament are not concerned with the reason for suffering but with bringing it to an end. The complaint in psalms is not that God is unjust, but that he is hiding his face from the psalmist. To the extent that lament literature is protest literature, it is protesting the duration and degree of suffering, not the reason for it.18 A look at English translations of Ps 44:18 shows the disagreement on the interpretation of this verse in regard to the temporal relationship between the clauses. (In some cases this requires paraphrasing; italics are mine). KJV, NJPS, NRSV: “All this has come upon us, yet we have not forgotten you”. RSV, NAB: “All this has come upon us though we have not forgotten you”. NIV: “All this happened to us, though we had not forgotten you”. NEB: “All this has befallen us, but we do not forget you”. REB: “Though all this has befallen us, we do not forget you”. I understand KJV, NJPS, and NRSV to say that “we have not forgotten you” occurs simultaneously with “all this has come upon us”. That is, despite the event, the people have not forgotten God. But some think that the “have not forgotten” preceded what came upon the people. RSV, NAB, and especially NIV clearly put the forgetting of God before the exile, making the present speaker deny all guilt, and thereby reject the deuteronomic idea that exile is the result of current sin. NEB and REB, on the other hand, clearly make the exile prior to the forgetting

17

J. L. Mays, Psalms (Interpretation; Louisville, 1994), p. 176. I disagree with the sharp dichotomy proposed by Dalit Rom-Shiloni (“Psalm 44: The Powers of Protest,” CBQ 70/4 [2008], pp. 683–698) between the “orthodox” views that justify the actions of God by blaming Israel and the “nonorthodox” views that protest against God. Rom-Shiloni includes the psalms of lament and the book of Lamentations in her second category; but a verse like Lam 3:42: ‫נחנו פשענו ומרינו‬ ‫ אתה לא סלחת‬clearly shows that the same author can protest against God and at the same time acknowledge Israel’s guilt. 18

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331

of God – that is, the exiles in Babylonia have not forgotten and do not forget God. I side with NEB and REB, and take the “forgetting” clause to apply to the period during the exile, not before it.19 The syntax also supports this interpretation. Compare the sequence of qatal verbs in 2 Sam 12:18: ‫“( בהיות הילד חי דברנו אליו ולא שמע‬While the child was alive, we spoke to him [David] but he did not [or: would not] listen”). Both actions occur at the same time or in rapid succession as part of the same event. The second verb is clearly not pluperfect, and is likewise not pluperfect in Ps 44:18. It is not that the people have been exiled despite their loyalty to God, but rather that they have not forgotten and still do not forget God in spite of the fact that they have been exiled. Notwithstanding their trouble and disgrace, the people have been true God and to the covenant and have not entreated other gods, for if they had, God would know it (v. 22).20 The last point is a striking attestation to God’s omniscience, even in Babylonia, a point made also in Isa 43:12 and elsewhere in Second Isaiah. Verses 18–22 is not a denial that sin led to the exile, but a statement of the faithfulness of the people under adverse circumstances. The phrasing of the psalm is very deuteronomic. Far from rejecting the deuteronomic view that the sin of idolatry leads to the punishment of exile, Psalm 44 embraces it and builds on it. It declares that during the exile the people desisted from this sin; and that therefore the exile should end, because the reason for it no longer exists. Verses 18–19 echo Deut 28:9: “The Lord will establish you as his holy people . . . if you keep the commandments of the Lord your God and walk in his ways”. The psalmist pleads for the positive side of the deuteronomic promise, without addressing the justification for the negative side (the punishment of exile), except to say that that is how God wanted it (cf. v. 4). The psalm prays for the end of the exile, using the same theological reasoning that was used in deuteronomic and prophetic literature to predict it.

19

As does A. Hakham, Psalms, I (Da‘at Mikrah; Jerusalem, 1970), p. 251 (Hebrew). There is some similarity with Psalm 139, which also is concerned with God’s inspection of the psalmist and a denial of idolatry, albeit in different language and context (in v. 24 and perhaps also in v. 20; see J. Holman, “Are Idols Hiding in Psalm 139:20?” in B. Becking and E. Peels (eds.), Psalms and Prayers [Leiden, 2007], pp. 119–128). 20

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The absence or denial of idol-worship in exile makes an ideological point, not a historical one. In the face of the deuteronomic threat that Israel would be cut off from God in exile, these postexilic texts are at pains to show an unbroken relationship with God, who obviously, in Psalm 44 and elsewhere, continued to be addressed in prayer in exile. The exiles did not abandon God (although they may have felt that he abandoned them) but remain loyal to him, even while in a foreign land, and they use traditional biblical “loyalty” language to express this. Moreover, they resist the deuteronomic idea that they would be forced to abandon God and to serve other gods, for by so doing they prove that they are no longer guilty of the sin that brought about the exile, and so there is no longer a reason for the exile to continue. By contradicting the deuteronomic threat of idol-worship, these psalmists are paving the way for the deuteronomic hope for the restoration (Deut 4:29–31; 30:1–10 and passim). To sum up, the expression “to serve other gods” is at times a metaphoric expression and should not always be taken literally as signifying actual idolatrous worship. It has the general sense of being in a foreign land, under the aegis of the gods of that land. Deuteronomic literature gives it the stronger nuance of being disloyal to God, either in a literal sense, in its polemic against impermissible forms of worship, or more figuratively, in its threat about exile, where it means the opposite of serving God. In the absence of atheism, one had to serve one god or another; hence, “to serve other gods” is another way of saying “not to serve the God of Israel”. Similarly, the exilic or postexilic denial of serving other gods is not to be understood literally as desisting from idol-worship, but rather as a way of declaring that even in a foreign country the Jews remained loyal to God, had access to him through prayer, and continued to view him as their sovereign. This is a key tenet in maintaining a sense of national identity in exile, for even in postexilic literature, where God is not confined geographically, one’s nationality is defined by the god one worships (see Ruth 1:16; Jonah 1:8–9). To worship other gods means, in exilic literature, not only to be in exile, but to abandon one’s Judean-ness.21

21 For a survey of strategies through which Judean exiles preserved their ethnic identity see B. Oded, “The Judean Exiles in Babylonia; Survival Strategy of an Ethnic Minority”, in M. Mor et al. (eds.), For Uriel: studies in the history of Israel in antiquity presented to professor Uriel Rappaport (Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 53–76. Although it reached me too late to be included in this discussion, M. S. Smith, God in Translation (Tübingen, 2008) touches on related issues.

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Bibliography A. Berlin, “Psalms and the Literature of Exile: Psalms 137, 44, 69, and 78”, in P. W. Flint and P. D. Miller (eds.), The Book of Psalms. Composition and Reception (Leiden, 2005), pp. 71–74. J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55 (AB; New York, 2002). M. Halbertal and A. Margalit, Idolatry (Cambridge, Mass., 1992). A. Hakham, Psalms (Da‘at Mikrah; Jerusalem, 1970, Hebrew). Y. Hoffman, “The Conception of ‘Other Gods’ in Deuteronomistic Literature”, Israel Oriental Studies 14 (1994), pp. 103–118. ——, Jeremiah 1–25 (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 2001; Hebrew). J. Holman, “Are Idols Hiding in Psalm 139:20”? in B. Becking and E. Peels (eds.), Psalms and Prayers (Leiden, 2007), pp. 119–128. Y. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel (Translated and abridged by Moshe Greenberg; Chicago, 1960). N. MacDonald, “Recasting the Golden Calf: The Imaginative Potential of the Old Testament’s Portrayal of Idolatry”, in S. C. Barton (ed.), Idolatry. False Worship in the Bible, Early Judaism and Christianity (London – New York, 2007), pp. 29–34. P. Machinist, “Mesopotamian Imperialism and Israelite Religion: A Case Study from Second Isaiah”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past (Winona Lake, 2003), pp. 237–277. J. L. Mays, Psalms (Interpretation; Louisville, 1994). B. Oded, “The Judean Exiles in Babylonia; Survival Strategy of an Ethnic Minority”, in M. Mor et al. (eds.), For Uriel: studies in the history of Israel in antiquity presented to professor Uriel Rappaport (Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 53–76. S. M. Paul, Isaiah 40–48 (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 2008; Hebrew). J. J. S. Perowne, The Book of Psalms (Grand Rapids, 1976). G. von Rad, Deuteronomy. A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia, 1966). D. Rom-Shiloni, “Psalm 44: The Powers of Protest”, CBQ 70 (2008), pp. 683–698. M. S. Smith, “ ‘Your People Shall Be My People’: Family and Covenant in Ruth 1:16–17”, CBQ 69 (2007), pp. 242–258. ——, God in Translation (Tübingen, 2008). J. Tigay, Deuteronomy (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1996).

CAIN AND THE KENITES

John Day Oxford University

The purpose of this article is to reargue the case for understanding the story of Cain in Gen 4 as being an aetiology of the tribe of the Kenites. This was first argued in the 19th century by H. Ewald, J. Wellhausen and B. Stade and taken up by others,1 but a glance at commentaries on the book of Genesis in recent decades indicates that this standpoint is now largely overlooked or even rejected,2 though without good reason, as I shall argue.

1

H. Ewald, “Erklärung der Biblischen urgeschichte. 4. Die geschlechter des ersten Weltalters”, Jahrbücher der Biblischen wissenschaft [sic] 6 (Göttingen, 1853–1854), pp. 5–6; J. Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs (2nd ed.; Berlin, 1889), p. 11; 3rd ed. Berlin, 1899, p. 9; B. Stade, “Das Kainszeichen”, ZAW 14 (1894), pp. 250– 318; H. Zeynder, “Kainszeichen, Keniter und Beschneidung”, ZAW 18 (1898), pp. 120–125; E. Meyer, Die Israeliten und ihre Nachbarstämme (Halle, 1906), pp. 219, 394–399; H. Gunkel, Genesis (Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; 3rd ed.; Göttingen, 1910), p. 48, ET: Genesis (Macon, 1997), p. 48, in contrast to earlier editions of his commentary; W. Vischer, Jahwe der Gott Kains (Munich, 1929), pp. 1–28; S. Mowinckel, The Two Sources of the Predeuteronomic Primeval History (JE) in Gen 1–11 (Avhandlinger utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademi i Oslo, II. Hist.Filos. Klasse 1937, No. 2; Oslo, 1937), pp. 25–43; G. von Rad, Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis (ATD 2/4; 5th ed.; Göttingen, 1958), pp. 87–88, 90, ET: Genesis (2nd ed.; London, 1963), pp. 104–105, 107 (though von Rad envisages the originally tribal figure of Cain as having been universalized in its current primaeval setting); H. Heyde, Kain, der erste Jahwe-Verehrer (Stuttgart, 1965). S. R. Driver, Genesis (Westminster Commentaries; London, 1904), p. 72 regarded the Kenite view as possible. Amongst more recent commentators J. A. Soggin, Genesis 1–11 (Commentario storico ed esegetico all’Antico e al Nuovo Testamento, AT 1/1; Turin, 1991), p. 99 also regards it as possible, but J. J. Scullion, Genesis: A Commentary for Students, Teachers, and Preachers (OT Studies 6; Minnesota, 1992), p. 52 is the only Genesis commentary in recent decades I have discovered that asserts categorically that Cain is the eponymous ancestor of the Kenites. 2 Commentators on the book of Genesis who fail even to mention the Kenite view include E. A. Speiser, Genesis (AB; Garden City, 1964); J. C. L. Gibson, Genesis, 1 (Daily Study Bible; Edinburgh, 1981); G. W. Coats, Genesis with an Introduction to Narrative Literature (FOTL; Grand Rapids, 1983); G. J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC; Waco, 1987); V. P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17 (NICOT; Grand Rapids,

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The most obvious argument for seeing a connection between Cain and the Kenites is the very name, since the Hebrew word ‫ ַקיִ ן‬is used for both. That ‫ ַקיִ ן‬denotes the Kenites is clear from Num 24:22 and Judg 4:11. The latter passage states, “Now Heber the Kenite had separated from the Kenites (‫) ַקיִ ן‬, the descendants of Hobab the father-in-law of Moses . . .”. In Num 24:21–22 we read of Balaam, “And he looked on the Kenite, and took up his discourse, and said, ‘Enduring is your dwelling place, and your nest is set in the rock; nevertheless Cain shall be wasted. How long shall Asshur take you away captive?’ ” In each case the context makes it indubitable that ‫ ַקיִ ן‬is a collective singular name referring to the Kenites. Incidentally, in the latter passage ‫ַאשּׁוּר‬ ִ ‫ ַא‬, clearly refers to the Assyrians, not to the Arab tribe of the ‫שּׁוּרם‬ since in the Hebrew Bible ‫ ַאשּׁוּר‬occurs numerous times in the singular and never in the plural with reference to Assyria (e.g. Gen 2:14; 10:11, 22; Isa 8:4; 10:5, 12; Hos 5:13; 7:11; 8:9; Nah 3:18), whereas the Arab ִ ‫( ַא‬Gen 25:3).3 tribe appears only in the plural as ‫שּׁוּרם‬ 1990); R. Alter, Genesis (New York, 1996); J. McKeown, Genesis (Two Horizons OT Commentary; Grand Rapids, 2008). N. M. Sarna, Genesis (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1989) does not mention the Kenite hypothesis in his discussion of the Cain story (Gen 4:1–16), though he subsequently indicates awareness of the possible Midianite-Kenite connection of Cain’s son Enoch on p. 36. R. Davidson, Genesis 1–11 (Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge, 1973), p. 50 regards this and all other attempts to trace the Cain story’s prehistory as “purely speculative”. U. (M.D.) Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis (ET: Jerusalem, 1961), pp. 179–183, and C. Westermann, Genesis 1–11 (BKAT I/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1974), pp. 385–388, 428–432, ET: Genesis 1–11 (London, 1984), pp. 282–284, 315–318 explicitly reject the Kenite interpretation. An older commentator who rejected the view that Cain was an aetiology of the Kenites was J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (ICC; 2nd ed.; Edinburgh, 1930), pp. 111–115, though he accepted that Gen 4:13–16 was an aetiology of nomadic life more generally. 3 Contra J. de Vaulx, Les Nombres (Sources bibliques; Paris, 1972), pp. 295–296; G. J. Wenham, Numbers (Tyndale Commentary; Leicester, 1981), p. 181; J. Milgrom, Numbers (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1990), p. 209; T. R. Ashleigh, The Book of Numbers (NICOT; Grand Rapids, 1993), p. 508, who claim that ‫ ַאשּׁוּר‬in Num 24:22 refers to the Arab tribe. Occasionally it has been supposed that ‫ ַאשּׁוּר‬in Ps 83:9 (ET 8) also refers to the Arab tribe rather than to Assyria (e.g. H. Gunkel, Die Psalmen [Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; Göttingen, 1925–1926], p. 365; de Vaulx, Les Nombres, p. 296) but not only does the singular form tell against this but the fact that ‫ ַאשּׁוּר‬is said there to be “the (strong) arm of the children of Lot” (i.e. of the Moabites and Edomites just referred to; cf. Gen 19:30–38; Deut 2:9, 19), language ִ ‫ ַא‬. appropriate for the mighty Assyria but not the insignificant Arab tribe of the ‫שּׁוּרם‬ That “arm” is a metaphor for “strength” or “power” is indicated by various biblical references, e.g. Ex 6:6; 15:16; 2 Kgs 17:36; Job 22:8; Isa 33:2; Jer 21:5; Dan 11:6. Yet again, ִ ‫( ַא‬e.g. de it has occasionally been supposed that 2 Sam 2:9 refers to these Arab ‫שּׁוּרם‬ Vaulx, Les Nombres, p. 296), where we read that “He [Abner] made him [Ishbaal] king over Gilead, the Ashurites, Jezreel, Ephraim, Benjamin, and over all Israel”. However,

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We thus appear to have here a reference to the Assyrians taking the Kenites into captivity. In my view the line about the Kenites’ captivity could well be a later gloss since it conflicts both with the positive tone regarding the Kenites in the first line as well as all the surrounding verses that speak of Israel’s victories over her enemies in the time of David and Saul, when the Kenites were rather a friendly tribe that was spared (cf. 1 Sam 15:6). Although we have no explicit reference to the Kenites being carried captive in the Assyrian records, the reference to this most naturally fits into the period of the 8th century or possibly 7th century B.C.E., when the Assyrians were most aggressive in their policy of deportation of various peoples of the Levant (including Arabs), the standard volume on which has been written by Bustenay Oded, in whose honour I am pleased to dedicate this essay.4 Not only does the name ‫ ַקיִ ן‬5 suggest a connection between Cain and the Kenites but the lifestyle to which Cain is destined – a life of wandering – also fits the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the Kenites. Cain is described as becoming “a fugitive and a wanderer (‫ )נע ונד‬on the earth” (Gen 4:14), the hiphil of the first of these verbs being used

since all the other places alluded to are in northern Israel or Transjordan, a reference ִ ‫ ַא‬seems out of place (as would even more, of course, a reference to the Arab ‫שּׁוּרם‬ ִ ‫ ָה ֲא‬to to Assyria). Most likely the text is slightly corrupt and we should emend ‫שׁוּרי‬ ‫ = ָה ָא ֵשׁ ִרי‬the Asherites (cf. Judg 1:32), i.e. the northern Israelite tribe of Asher (cf. Targum, “the house of Asher”). Cf. J. A. Soggin, “The Reign of ’Eshba‘al, Son of Saul”, Old Testament and Oriental Studies (Biblica et Orientalia 29; Rome, 1975), pp. 41–43; B. Oded, “Ish-bosheth”, Encyclopaedia Judaica 10 (2nd ed.; Detroit – Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 80–81; though D. Edelman, “The ‘Ashurites’ of Eshbaal’s State”, PEQ 117 (1985), p. 85–91, thinks in terms of an Asherite enclave further south. The reading ִ ְ‫ ) ַהגּ‬presupposed by the Peshitta and Vulgate, is less likely, since 2 “Geshurites” (‫שׁוּרי‬ Sam 3:3 implies that Geshur was an independent kingdom at this time. The LXX B text has Thaseirei, the A text reads Thasour, whilst the Lucianic recension has Ezri: the first two readings imply the corruption of the initial Hebrew letter he to taw. W. Wifall, “Asshur and Eber, or Asher and Heber? A Commentary on the Last Balaam Oracle, Num 24 21–24”, ZAW 80 (1970), pp. 110–114 implausibly emends the text so as to find a reference to the Israelite tribe of Asher also in Num 24:22, 24, and Eber is emended to Heber in Num 24:24, but these speculations have found no following. 4 See B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). Cf. too I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs (Jerusalem – Leiden, 1982). 5 The name ‫ ַקיִ ן‬is most naturally to be seen as cognate with Arabic qayn as well as Aramaic qyny’, “smith”, the latter being attested with several different vocalizations. (Hebrew ‫ ַקיִ ן‬, “spear” in 2 Sam 21:16 is related to this.) This gains support from the fact that Cain’s descendant, Tubal-Cain, is said to have “made all kinds of bronze and iron tools” (Gen 4:22). The Yahwist’s connection of the name with the root ‫קנה‬, “to create” (Gen 4:1) is, of course, in the nature of a popular etymology and is comparable to J’s other suggested etymologies for Seth, Noah, Babel, Levi and Judah (Gen 4:25; 5:29; 11:9; 29:34, 35).

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elsewhere of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for forty years (Num 13:32). That the Kenites were semi-nomadic is attested, for example, by Judg 5:24, where Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, is described as “of tent-dwelling women most blessed”, and one of Cain’s descendants, Jabal, is referred to in Gen 4:20 as “the father of those who dwell in tents”. It has also often been believed in the past that the Rechabites, who lived in tents rather than houses, as well as refusing to drink wine, sow seed or plant vineyards long after the time of the Israelite settlement (Jer 35:1–19, esp. 7–10),6 are represented as being descendants of the Kenites in 1 Chron 2:55, but this interpretation now appears unlikely.7 Anyway, the combination of the name Cain (qayin) and the life of wandering which is his fate makes it attractive to see the story of Cain as an aetiology of the Kenites. This coheres with Genesis more generally, which is noteworthy for the large number of aetiologies (both ethnic and otherwise) that it contains. An additional two arguments for a Kenite background to the figure of Cain in Gen 4, which have been generally overlooked in recent years, emerge from the names of his brother Seth and his son Enoch. Thus first, it can hardly be due to chance that the oracles of Balaam, which allude to the Kenites as Cain in Num 24:22 refer only a few verses earlier (Num 24:17) to another tribal group as Seth (literally

6 It is interesting to note that the lifestyle of the Nabataean Arabs, who lived in the wilderness not so far away from the earlier Kenites, is described in remarkably similar terms in Diodorus Siculus, 19.94.3 (deriving from the 4th century B.C.E. historian Hieronymus of Cardia): “It is their custom neither to plant grain, set out any fruitbearing tree, use wine, nor construct any house . . .” Moreover, just as the Rechabites kept to this lifestyle in obedience to the command of Jonadab son of Rechab (Jer 35:6, 8, 14, 16, 18), so Diodorus (loc. cit.) presents the Nabataeans’ lifestyle as a legal obligation (disobedience to which was punishable by death). 7 On the one hand, 1 Chron 2:55 makes reference to certain “Kenites, who came from Hammath, father of ‫”בית רכב‬. By analogy with other references in this chapter the last expression must allude to a personified place name, Beth-rechab, rather than to the “house of Rechab”, contrary to what has often been supposed in the past. This is perhaps to be equated with Beth-markaboth, apparently near Beer-sheba, attested in Josh 19:5; 1 Chron 4:31. On the other hand, the Rechabites are repeatedly described as being descended from Jonadab son of Rechab (Jer 35:6, 8, 14, 16, 19; cf. 2 Kgs 10:15, 23), Rechab surely being a reference to Jonadab’s actual father. Evidence is lacking that “son of Rechab” might mean “coming from Beth-rechab”, not that I have seen anyone suggest that (see J. Day, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan [JSOTSup. 265; Sheffield, 2000], pp. 133–135 for a critique of alleged comparable examples of “son of Anat” and “son of Rehob”). See further C. H. Knights, “Kenites = Rechabites?: 1 Chronicles ii 55 Reconsidered”, VT 43 (1993), pp. 10–18.

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Sheth).8 We there read that what is clearly the Davidic monarchy “will smite the foreheads of Moab, the scalps9 of all the sons of Seth”. The tribal name Seth here is identical in spelling to the figure of Seth in Gen 4, but this has been somewhat concealed in English Bibles, which inconsistently follow the Greek spelling Seth in Gen. 4 but the Hebrew spelling Sheth in Num 24. It is clear from Num 24:17 that the “sons of Seth” are to be located in the area of Moab, and so a bit further north than the Kenites. It is generally accepted that “the sons of Seth” are to be equated with the tribe of the Shutu, the name of a nomadic people in Transjordan attested in the Egyptian execration texts from the early 2nd millennium B.C.E. as well as in other texts.10 This view was first put forward by A. H. Sayce and has been widely accepted since.11 Jer 48:45 echoes Num 24:17, stating that “it [a fire] has destroyed the forehead of Moab, the scalp of the sons of tumult (‫”) ָשׁאוֹן‬, reading “sons of tumult (‫ ”) ָשׁאוֹן‬instead of “sons of Seth (‫”) ֵשׁת‬, but this must represent either a misunderstanding of an expression that had become obscure with the passage of time or alternatively a tendentious alteration of the

8

Wenham, Genesis 1–15, p. 115 states dogmatically that “There is certainly no connection between Seth and the tribe of Shut mentioned in Num 24:17”, failing to take account of the fact that the tribal names Seth and Cain are mentioned in close proximity in Num 24, just as the primaeval individuals Seth and Cain are closely associated in Gen 4. 9 Reading ‫ וְ ָק ְדקׂ ד‬for MT ‫וְ ַק ְר ַקר‬, following the Samaritan version and Jer 48:45. “Scalp” makes an excellent parallel to “forehead”, and interestingly ‫ ָק ְדקׂ ד‬, “scalp”, is similarly found as the object of the verb ‫מחץ‬, “smite”, in Ps 68:22 (ET 21). 10 Cf. A. H. Sayce, “Ur of the Chaldees”, ExpT 13 (1901–1902), pp. 64–66, which should be contrasted with his earlier view in “Balaam’s Prophecy (Numbers xxiv.17–24) and the God Sheth”, Hebraica 4 (1887), pp. 1–6, where he thought Sheth was a Moabite god; W. F. Albright, “The Land of Damascus between 1850 and 1750 B.C.”, BASOR 83 (1941), p. 34, n. 8, and “The Oracles of Balaam”, JBL 63 (1944), p. 220, n. 89; de Vaulx, Les Nombres, p. 290; Milgrom, Numbers, p. 208; E. W. Davies, Numbers (New Century Bible Commentary; London and Grand Rapids, 1995), p. 275. G. von Rad (Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis, p. 92) also shares this view but the ET Genesis, p. 109 wrongly refers to “Guti” instead of “Suti” owing to the translator misreading the Gothic script letter “S” as “G”! 11 For the references to the Shutu in the Execration texts see K. Sethe, Die Ächtung feindlicher Fürsten, Völker und Dinge auf altägyptischen Tongefässscherben der mittleren Reiches (Berlin, 1926), pp. 46–47, 56 (texts e4–6, f5); G. Posener, Princes et pays d’Asie et de Nubie (Brussels, 1940), pp. 89–90 (texts E52–53); Y. Koenig, “Les textes d’envoûtement de Mirgissa”, Revue d’Egyptologie 41 (1990), pp. 101–125 (111; texts F4, G5); cf. ANET, p. 329, and COS 1, p. 51 for some of these. This tribal group is also attested in Akkadian under the name Suti in texts such as those from Mari. Cf. J. R. Kupper, “Sutéens et Ḫ apiru”, Revue d’Assyriologie 55 (1961), pp. 197–205. It has sometimes been proposed that there is a connection between the Shutu and the Shosu, but I cannot go into this question here.

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original allusion.12 Either way, what is clear from the poetic parallelism ֵ ֵ‫ ְבּנ‬, “sons of Seth”, must origiin Num. 24:17 is that the phrase ‫שׁת‬-‫י‬ nally have been an ethnic designation for a tribal group in the area of Moab, just as the immediately preceding and following lines use the parallel ethnic names Jacob/Israel and Edom/Seir respectively. Secondly, as for Enoch, the name of Cain’s son in Gen 4:17, it is noteworthy that the identical name (Hebrew ‫ )חנוך‬occurs as one of the sons of Midian in Gen 25:4 and 1 Chron 1:33,13 presumably denoting a Midianite clan, just as Ephah, another son of Midian mentioned in the same verse, is attested as a N. W. Arabian tribal name in Assyrian inscriptions as Ḫ a-a-a-ap-pa-a-a (Tiglath-pileser III, 734 B.C.E.) or Ḫ a-ia-pa-a (Sargon II, 716 B.C.E.). Bearing in mind the evidence for the association of the Kenites with the Midianites (e.g. Moses’s fatherin-law is described as both a Midianite in Ex 3:1; 18:1 [Jethro]; Num 10:29 [Hobab], and a Kenite in Judg 1:16; 4.11 [Hobab]), it seems difficult to view this as merely due to coincidence. It is no objection to Cain’s equation with the Kenites/Midianites that his son Enoch had a city named after him (Gen 4:17),14 since 1 Sam 30:29 specifically makes mention of “the cities of the Kenites” in the Negeb (cf. too a town in Judah named Kain in Josh 15:57). It may be that Enoch is to be equated with the Hanikites, a tribal group in north Arabia, as E. A. Knauf has suggested.15 If one follows the natural and generally accepted understanding that Gen 4 is from J and Gen 5 is from P, and that the former

12

For the former view see, e.g., Albright, “The Oracles of Balaam”, p. 220, n. 89, and for the latter opinion see, e.g., B. A. Levine, Numbers 21–36 (AB; Garden City, 2000), p. 202. 13 The only difference, insignificant in importance, is that the MT spells the Midianite name as ‫ ֲחנ ֹך‬in Gen 25:4, whereas the antediluvian figure’s name includes the vowel letter waw, i.e. ‫חנוך‬. However, the vowel letter waw is included in the other occurrence of the Midianite name in 1 Chron 1:33. It should also be noted that Hanoch (Enoch) appears additionally as the name of a Reubenite clan in Gen 46:9; Ex 6:14; Num 26:5; 1 Chron 5:3. 14 Although the MT states that Cain named the city after his son Enoch and there is no textual evidence to the contrary, some scholars wish to emend the text so as to read either that Enoch named the city after himself or that Enoch named it after his son, i.e. Irad (supposedly denoting Eridu). However, against the last view it may be noted that it is not till the next verse that we read that Enoch begat a son Irad, so a reference to a city being named after him already in v. 17 seems premature. Also an allusion to Eridu in Mesopotamia seems out of place in this context. So the city will have been called Enoch (Hanoch), whether we retain the MT or follow the first emendation. 15 Cf. E. A. Knauf, Midian: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. (Abhandlungen des deutschen Palästinavereins; Wiesbaden, 1988), pp. 81–84.

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is earlier than the latter, it is plausible to suppose that P deliberately transferred the position of Enoch to its special seventh place so as to correspond to the seventh figure of Enmeduranki in the antediluvian Mesopotamian King list.16 In this way we can explain how traditions about Enmeduranki as a seer with solar associations became attached to the figure of Enoch, whose name originally denoted a Midianite clan name (cf. Enoch’s 365-year length of life in Gen 5:24 and his promotion of the solar calendar in 1 Enoch 72–82).17 A further point may now be noted that coheres with the Kenites being around since near the beginning of humanity, such as we are arguing is implied in Gen 4. This is the fact that the Kenites were closely associated with the Amalekites (cf. Judg 1:16; 1 Sam 15:6) and that in the course of Balaam’s oracles we read: “First of the nations was Amalek, but his end is to perish for ever” (Num 24:20). Different opinions have been expressed as to whether “first of the nations” means that the Amalekites were the first in importance or the first that existed.18 The evidence clearly suggests, however, that it is the latter meaning that is intended. First, the Amalekites were such a tiny tribal group that it would have been ludicrous for anyone ever to imagine that they could be regarded as the first in importance.19 Secondly, the

16 There are various versions of the Mesopotamian antediluvian King list. Not all of them have ten kings (some have eight or nine) and the position of Enmeduranki also differs slightly between them. However, Enmeduranki does occur as the seventh out of ten names in Berossus, who I shall argue elsewhere in a forthcoming Festschrift article has a number of particularly striking parallels with the Priestly source both here and in their accounts of the Flood over against other versions. 17 On the Mesopotamian background to the Enoch traditions generally see J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, DC, 1984), pp. 33–75; H. S. Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic: The Mesopotamian Background of the Enoch Figure and of the Son of Man (WMANT 61; NeukirchenVluyn, 1988), pp. 15–342. 18 Some have seen a reference to Amalek’s antiquity, e.g. Meyer, Die Israeliten, p. 395, whereas others have understood a reference to Amalek’s pre-eminence, e.g. D. Edelman, “Saul’s Battle against Amaleq”, JSOT 35 (1986), pp. 71–84, who originally proposes that the reference is to Amalek’s pre-eminence in a long-standing rivalry with Israel for control of the Ephraimite hills, but her thesis about such a conflict, which she also sees in 1 Sam 15, is highly speculative. Again, Levine, Numbers 21–36, p. 204 claims that both meanings are implied, but this seems unlikely, as is his view that the antiquity part refers to Amalek’s being the first to do battle with Israel (Ex 17:8–16), a view found already in the Targum. 19 Some mediaeval Arab historians believed that the Amalekites had once been pharaohs of Egypt, an idea that was taken up in Immanuel Velikovsky’s eccentric reconstruction of ancient history in Ages in Chaos, I (London, 1953), pp. 55–101, which equated them with the Hyksos. However, T. Nöldeke, Ueber die Amalekiter

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words “first” (‫ )ראשית‬and “end” (‫ )אחרית‬clearly stand in antithetical parallelism, and since the word “end” has a temporal reference this must likewise be the case with “first”, as in all the other instances where the words ‫ ראשית‬and ‫ אחרית‬stand in opposition (Deut 11:12; Isa 46:10; Job 8:7, 42:12; Eccles 7:8). It is plausible to suppose that there is a connection between the tradition that Amalek was the most ancient of nations and the implication of Gen 4 that the closely associated Kenites arose in the second generation of humanity.20 This must reflect an alternative view to the one found in Gen 36:12, 16 according to which Amalek was the grandson of Esau/Edom, but it should be noted that Gen 14:7 likewise attests the notion that the Amalekites existed at an earlier date. If we accept that the story of Cain was intended as an aetiology of the Kenites, there seems no natural reason why this should originally have been regarded as taking place so soon after the creation of the world and the first man. It is much more likely that this has been projected back from a later time. In this way we can answer the old problem of where Cain got his wife from (Gen 4:17): the story originally came from a later period when lots of women were around.21 Similarly, the danger that someone might slay Cain (Gen 4:14–15) presupposes the existence of other people, which is not the case with the story in its current primaeval setting. Again, the genealogy of Cain’s descendants that follows (Gen 4:17–24), which describes the acquisition of various aspects of civilization, is ignorant of the Flood that subsequently destroyed civilization – this too fits an originally later setting. One may recall that in Gen 25:4 Midian and various Midianite clans are still represented as emerging at a later time as descendants of Abraham. But are we to assume that by being projected back to primaeval times the tribal figure of Cain has been transformed into merely a primaeval individual divorced of ethnic overtones?22 It is true that Cain is depicted as a primaeval individual and that his story is now part of

und einige andere Nachbarvölker der Israeliten (Göttingen, 1864) had already shown in the 19th century how implausible it was to suppose that these historians had access to authentic information going back thousands of years. 20 Cf. Meyer, Die Israeliten, p. 395. 21 A later Jewish solution to this problem was to claim that Cain married his sister (Jubilees 4:9; Sanhedrin 58b). This might have been influenced by P’s statement in Gen 5:4 that Adam “had other sons and daughters” (in addition to Seth), though the earlier J account says nothing of his having had daughters. 22 Cf. von Rad, Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis, pp. 87–88, ET: Genesis, pp. 104–105.

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the early history of humanity, not just that of a tribe. However, that of itself does not prevent his being understood at the same time as the eponymous ancestor of the Kenites, just as the various individual sons of Shem, Ham and Japheth in Gen 10 are at the same time symbolic of various nations and cities, Esau is the ancestor of the Edomites (Gen 36, etc.) and so on. Even less does it mean, as C. Westermann supposed,23 that we have here an argument against the whole concept of an original connection of Cain with the Kenites. In favour of the view that the narrative retained its tribal overtones we may point to the fact that the story of Cain is followed immediately afterwards in Gen 4:17–24 by a genealogy of his descendants from Enoch to Lamech, and what is there stated is suggestive of a tribal understanding. We have already noted that Enoch was the name of a Midianite clan. Moreover, Cain’s descendants include Jabal, the father of those who dwell in tents and have livestock, Jubal, the father of those who play the lyre and harp, and Tubal-Cain, who made all kinds of tools of bronze and iron (Gen 4:20–22). This is a rather limited range of professions, much less than what we find, say, in the technogony section of Philo of Byblos’s Phoenician History,24 and hardly constitutes an aetiology of the full range of human activities. Rather, what we have here would appear to be occupations typical of the Kenites. Thus, just as Jabal was the father of those who dwell in tents, so we know the Kenites to have been tent dwellers (Judg 5:24), and just as Tubal-Cain was a metal worker, so the Kenites must have been a tribe of smiths, as their very name indicates. As for Jubal, the father of those who play the lyre and pipe, it should be noted that music is often associated elsewhere with wandering herdsmen, as in Greek mythology where it was the shepherd god Pan who invented the pipe. Moreover, even in the final form of the text it cannot be claimed that Cain is an ancestor of the whole human race, since we are not informed of his descendants beyond Gen 4. Most scholars support the likelihood that J’s Noah, the ancestor of the world’s nations, was understood to be rather a descendant of Seth, just as in P (notwithstanding the resemblances in names between the J Cainite genealogy in Gen 4 and P’s Sethite genealogy in Gen 5). This

23

Westermann, Genesis 1–11, ET: Genesis 1–11, loc. cit. For a comparison of the early advances in civilization recounted in Gen 1–11, including our passage in Gen 4, and those in Philo of Byblos, see J. Ebach, Weltentstehung und Kulturentwicklung bei Philo von Byblos (BWANT 108; Stuttgart, 1979), pp. 278–354. 24

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is supported by the fact that in Gen 9:20ff. J depicts Noah as a tiller of the soil, thereby becoming the first to discover wine, the fruit of the vine (anticipated in the fragmentary J genealogical insertion in Gen P’s narrative in 5:29), which does not cohere so well with the nomadic genealogy of Cain. In conclusion, a strong case can be made for assuming that the figure of Cain is to be regarded as the eponymous ancestor of the tribe of the Kenites, and that this is true as much of the final form of the text of Genesis as it is of the original story lying behind it. Commentators writing on Genesis in recent decades have been wrong to overlook or reject this.

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Bibliography W. F. Albright, “The Land of Damascus between 1850 and 1750 B.C.”, BASOR 83 (1941), pp. 30–36. ——, “The Oracles of Balaam”, JBL 63 (1944), pp. 207–233. R. Alter, Genesis (New York, 1996). T. R. Ashleigh, The Book of Numbers (NICOT; Grand Rapids, 1993). U. (M. D.) Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis (ET: Jerusalem, 1961). G. W. Coats, Genesis with an Introduction to Narrative Literature (FOTL; Grand Rapids, 1983). R. Davidson, Genesis 1–11 (Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge, 1973). E. W. Davies, Numbers (New Century Bible Commentary; London and Grand Rapids, 1995). J. Day, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan (JSOTSup. 265; Sheffield, 2000). S. R. Driver, Genesis (Westminster Commentaries; London, 1904). J. Ebach, Weltentstehung und Kulturentwicklung bei Philo von Byblos (BWANT 108; Stuttgart, 1979). D. Edelman, “The ‘Ashurites’ of Eshbaal’s State”, PEQ 117 (1985), pp. 85–91. I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs (Jerusalem – Leiden, 1982). H. Ewald, “Erklärung der Biblischen urgeschichte. 4. Die geschlechter des ersten Weltalters”, Jahrbücher der Biblischen wissenschaft [sic] 6 (Göttingen, 1853–1854), pp. 1–19. J. C. L. Gibson, Genesis, 1 (Daily Study Bible; Edinburgh, 1981). H. Gunkel, Genesis (Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; 3rd ed.; Göttingen, 1910; ET: Genesis [Macon, 1997]). ——, Die Psalmen (Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament; Göttingen, 1925–1926). V. P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17 (NICOT; Grand Rapids, 1990). H. Heyde, Kain, der erste Jahwe-Verehrer (Stuttgart, 1965). E. A. Knauf, Midian: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. (Abhandlungen der deutschen Palästinavereins; Wiesbaden, 1988). C. H. Knights, “Kenites = Rechabites?: 1 Chronicles ii 55 Reconsidered”, VT 43 (1993), pp. 10–18. Y. Koenig, “Les textes d’envoûtement de Mirgissa”, Revue d’Egyptologie 41 (1990), pp. 101–125. J. R. Kupper, “Sutéens et Ḫ apiru”, Revue d’Assyriologie 55 (1961), pp. 197–205. H. S. Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic: The Mesopotamian Background of the Enoch Figure and of the Son of Man (WMANT 61; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1988). B. A. Levine, Numbers 21–36 (AB; Garden City, 2000). J. McKeown, Genesis (Two Horizons OT Commentary; Grand Rapids, 2008). E. Meyer, Die Israeliten und ihre Nachbarstämme (Halle, 1906). J. Milgrom, Numbers (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1990). S. Mowinckel, The Two Sources of the Predeuteronomic Primeval History (JE) in Gen 1–11 (Avhandlinger utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademi i Oslo, II. Hist.-Filos. Klasse 1937, No. 2; Oslo, 1937). T. Nöldeke, Ueber die Amalekiter und einige andere Nachbarvölker der Israeliten (Göttingen, 1864). B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). ——, “Ish-bosheth”, Encyclopaedia Judaica 10 (2nd ed.; Detroit – Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 80–81.

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G. Posener, Princes et pays d’Asie et de Nubie (Brussels, 1940). G. von Rad, Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis (ATD 2/4; 5th ed.; Göttingen, 1958, ET: Genesis, 2nd ed.; London, 1963). N. M. Sarna, Genesis (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia, 1989). A. H. Sayce, “Ur of the Chaldees”, ExpT 13 (1901–1902), pp. 64–66. ——, “Balaam’s Prophecy (Numbers xxiv.17–24) and the God Sheth”, Hebraica 4 (1887), pp. 1–6. J. J. Scullion, Genesis: A Commentary for Students, Teachers, and Preachers (OT Studies 6; Minnesota, 1992). K. Sethe, Die Ächtung feindlicher Fürsten, Völker und Dinge auf altägyptischen Tongefässcherben der mittleren Reiches (Berlin, 1926). J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (ICC; 2nd ed.; Edinburgh, 1930). J. A. Soggin, “The Reign of ’Eshba‘al, Son of Saul”, Old Testament and Oriental Studies (Biblica et Orientalia 29; Rome, 1975), pp. 31–49. ——, Genesis 1–11 (Commentario storico ed esegetico all’Antico e al Nuovo Testamento, AT 1/1; Turin, 1991). E. A. Speiser, Genesis (AB; Garden City, 1964). B. Stade, “Das Kainszeichen”, ZAW 14 (1894), pp. 250–318. J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, DC, 1984). J. de Vaulx, Les Nombres (Sources bibliques; Paris, 1972). I. Velikovsky, Ages in Chaos, I (London, 1953). W. Vischer, Jahwe der Gott Kains (Munich, 1929). J. Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs (2nd ed.; Berlin, 1889; 3rd ed.; Berlin, 1899). G. J. Wenham, Numbers (Tyndale Commentary; Leicester, 1981). ——, Genesis 1–15 (WBC; Waco, 1987). C. Westermann, Genesis 1–11 (BKAT I/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1974; ET: Genesis 1–11 [London, 1984]). W. Wifall, “Asshur and Eber, or Asher and Heber? A Commentary on the Last Balaam Oracle, Num 24 21–24”, ZAW 80 (1970), pp. 110–114. H. Zeynder, “Kainszeichen, Keniter und Beschneidung”, ZAW 18 (1898), pp. 120–125.

TOBIT IN GALILEE*

Devorah Dimant University of Haifa

The Book of Tobit is unique in numerous ways, many of which have been repeatedly discussed in scholarly publications. Originally written in Aramaic and probably composed between 300–200 B.C.E.,1 this book is a typical post-biblical composition. Its complex textual transmission,2 its peculiar use of biblical allusions and themes, and its preoccupation with the situation of Israelite exiles in Mesopotamia – all have been examined in great detail.3 However, little attention has been paid to the question why the author chose to present his hero as a member of one of the sinful northern tribes in the first place.

* For Boustenai Oded, whose interest in real and fictional deportations contributed to the present article. 1 Cf. e.g. C. A. Moore, Tobit (AB; New York, 1996), pp. 40–42; J. A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (CEJL; Berlin – New York, 2003), p. 52. 2 The work has come down to us in several translations of diverse textual character. It has survived in three Greek recensions: a long one, preserved by codex Sinaiticus, a short one, attested by most of the Greek manuscripts, among them the uncials Alexandrinus and Vaticanus, and the third, partly surviving in two Greek cursive manuscripts 106 and 107 (from 6:9 to 12:22) and the Syro-Hexapla version (from 7:11 to 12:22). Cf. R. Hanhart, Tobit (Septuaginta, Vetus Testamentum Graecum VIII, 5; Göttingen, 1983), pp. 32–34. The short text seems like an effort to abbreviate and smooth away awkward Greek and multiple Semitisms scattered throughout the long text. Cf. R. Hanhart, Text und Textgeschichte des Buches Tobit (MSU XVII; Göttingen, 1984), pp. 23–27. The third recension stands between the long and the short texts. But see the nuanced assessment of S. Weeks, “Some Neglected Texts of Tobit: The Third Greek Version”, in M. Bredin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Tobit (Library of Second Temple Studies 55; London – New York, 2006), pp. 12–42. The long recension, reflected also by the Vetus Latina, serves as the main basis for the present article, since it is the textual witness closest to the Aramaic fragments of Tobit found at Qumran. Cf. Fitzmyer, ibid., p. 10. 3 Cf. Moore, Tobit; B. Ego, Buch Tobit (JSHRZ; Gütersloh, 1999); H. SchüngelStraumann, Tobit (HThKAT; Freiburg – Basel, 2000); Fitzmyer, ibid., to mention only a few of the recent commentaries published on Tobit. See also two collections of articles, one edited by G. G. Xeravits and J. Zsengellér, The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology (SuppJSJ 98; Leiden – Boston, 2005), and the other by Bredin, ibid.

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Given that most of the Jewish contemporary writings, at least those which have come down to us, chose the Judaite context, one is puzzled by the particular choice of the Book of Tobit. For instance, the seer of the Book of Daniel is a Jerusalemite. His revelations and activities in the courts of Babylonian and Persian kings are related to the fate of Jerusalem and Judaea in a world governed by successive heathen empires. Also Zerubabel of 1 Esdras 3–4 is a Judaite, a scion of the Davidic royal lineage (Hag 1:4; Ezra 3:2, 8; 1 Chron 3:18–19), who is active in obtaining from the Persian king Darius permission for the Judaite exiles to return to Jerusalem. Ezra and Nehemiah themselves are of Judaite stock and work for the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the settlements around it.4 Even the widow Judith from a town in Samaria, the heroine of the book which carries her name, is emblematic of meeting the menace to Jerusalem and the temple threatened by the advancing Assyrian/Babylonian army (Jdt 4). Her name itself points to a Judaite context. Baruch, Jeremiah’s faithful scribe of the Letter of Baruch, is exiled to Babylon. However, his activity is addressed to the Judaite exiled king Yehoyakhin and his entourage (Baruch 1:3).5 Baruch also assists in sending money for sacrifices in the temple of Jerusalem, still standing at the time of the pseudepigraphic narrative framework (Baruch 1:7–9). The choice of an Israelite background for Tobit is therefore not self-evident. It is, in fact, unique in the ancient Jewish literature known to the modern reader. Making this background the focus of the present analysis may shed further light on the motives for selecting it, the aim it sought to achieve, and the literary strategies employed for expressing them.6 Most telling is the initial choice of the geographical region for Tobit’s hometown. The narrative locates it in Galilee, thereby placing

4 Ezra’s pedigree goes back to the high priesthood in Judaea (Ezra 7:1–4). The origin of Nehemiah is not specified but his concern and activities centre on Jerusalem and Judaea, and suggest a Judaite origin. The entire project of return from Babylon to Jerusalem is presented as an enterprise of two tribes, Judah and Benjamin, accompanied by Levites (Ezra 1:5). 5 Cf. 2 Kgs 24:12–16; 25:27–30. 6 Richard Bauckham is one of the few who has given serious consideration to the choice of the Northern background for the plot of Tobit. In his opinion it points to book’s hope for “the return of the exiles of the northern tribes to the land of Israel and their reconciliation to Jerusalem and the national and cultic centre”. Cf. R. Bauckham, “Tobit as a Parable for the Exiles of Northern Israel”, in M. Bredin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Tobit (Library of Second Temple Studies 55; London – New York, 2006), p. 141. In what follows I propose a different interpretation for the choice in question.

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Tobit in the sinful surroundings of the idolatrous northern tribes. But why opt for the Galilee rather than, say, Samaria, which is closer to the idolatrous cultic centre built by Jeroboam at Bethel (1 Kgs 12:29; 2 Chron 11:15)? The answer lies in the location of Tobit’s hometown. It is named Tisbe, a place not known from any other source,7 but it is said to be situated near Kedesh (Tob 1:2),8 Kedesh-Naphtali in the full biblical name. Kedesh-Naphtali was a famous biblical city in the Galilean area of Naphtali.9 Kedesh appears to have been selected because it is listed among the sites conquered in 733–732 B.C.E. by the Assyrian king Tiglath-Pileser III (745–727 B.C.E.). The biblical account of this event (2 Kgs 15:29) notes that this town’s inhabitants, together with all the dwellers of the “Land of Naphtali”, were deported to Assyria. So the Land of Naphtali, and Kedesh as one of its major towns are emblematic of the Assyrian conquest of the Galilean region and the deportation of its inhabitants to Assyria. These features provide the protagonist of Tobit with sinful surroundings, and from here he is subsequently deported to Nineveh together with his countrymen. While the Land of Naphtali and Kedesh-Naphtali are chosen to represent a district conquered by the Assyrians, this also illustrates the author’s tendency to rely on biblical data without recourse to more precise historical information. Tob 1:2 gives the name of the Assyrian conqueror of the Galilee as Enemesar (’Ενεμέσσαρος), a corruption of the name of the Assyrian king Shalmanesser which is preserved correctly in the Syriac and the Old Latin versions. The name is taken from the report of 2 Kgs 17:5–6 about Shalmanesser’s conquest of Samariah, and the deportation to Assyria of its Israelite inhabitants. However,

7 The attempt by J. T. Milik (“La Patrie de Tobie”, RB 73 [1966], pp. 522–530) to identify this unknown city with the modern village of Tubas near modern Nablous is unconvincing. Milik has further suggested that the Book of Tobit is of Samaritan origin. In fact, the absence of any Samaritan locality in Tobit’s narrative indicates that no Samaritan sympathies or anti-Samaritan polemics are involved. Jonas Greenfield observed that while the northern background of Tobit has a literary purpose, “there is no need to assume that Tobit is a ‘northern’ literary work”. Cf. J. C. Greenfield, “Aḥiqar in the Book of Tobit”, in M. Carrez, J. Dové and P. Grelot (eds.), De la Tôrah au Messie: Études d’exégèse et d’herméneutique Bibliques offertes à Henri Cazelles (Paris, 1981), p. 330, n. 7. 8 Κυδιώς in both the long and the short recensions. The city is well attested in postbiblical sources. For a list of the various Greek transliterations of the name see D. T. Ariel and J. Naveh, “Selected Inscribed Sealings from Kedesh in the Upper Galilee”, BASOR 329 (2003), pp. 72–73. See n. 18 below. 9 The Galilean location may also be associated with the other idolatrous cult centre established by Jarobe’am at Dan (1 Kgs 12:29).

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this biblical account telescopes two separate events: Samaria was conquered by Shalmanesser V (727–722 B.C.E.), at the end of two years’ siege, but this king died soon afterwards. It was Shalmanesser’s successor, Sargon II (722–705 B.C.E.), who recaptured the city in 720 B.C.E. and deported its inhabitants.10 Moreover, the account of 2 Kgs 17:5–6, 24 does not specify the Israelite hometowns of the deportees. On this point the author of Tobit draws his information from 2 Kgs 15:29. As for the conquest of the Galilee and Gilead, their annexation to Assyria, and the deportation to Assyria of their Israelites, these acts were in fact the work of Tiglath-Pileser III (745–727 B.C.E.), 12 years before the fall of Samaria, as indeed is stated by 2 Kgs 15:29 and recorded in the Assyrian inscriptions of this king.11 In this connection 2 Kings reports on the deportation from Kedesh and “all the land of Naphtali”.12 The Book of Tobit appears to combine the biblical reports on Tiglathpileser and on Shalmanesser. The Chronicler in 1 Chron 5:26 similarly merges them. The latter does it for its own theological purpose,13 but the combination may still attest to a tradition which telescopes the conquest of the Galilee and Transjordan and that of Samaria into a single event. As noted, Kedesh was selected by Tobit’s author as representative of the region conquered by the Assyrians. But beside its location in the conquered Galilee, Kedesh of the biblical narration had also merits. It was a Levite city and the only Town of Refuge in northern Israel (Josh

10

Cf. M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB; New York, 1988), p. 179. H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 279–281; G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 9; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1996), pp. 69–70. 12 Cf. Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, pp. 177–178. In Tadmor’s opinion, TiglatPileser’s conquests left a substantial body of Israelite inhabitants in the Galilee and the policy of resettling conquered areas with Babylonian populations was pursued in Samaria only later by Sargon II. See H. Tadmor, “The conquest of Galilee by Tiglath pileser III, king of Assyria”, in M. Z. Hirschberg (ed.), All the Land of Naphtali (Jerusalem, 1967), pp. 62–67 (Hebrew). However, N. Na’aman (“Population Changes in Palestine Following Assyrian Deportation”, Tel Aviv 20 [1993], pp. 1993, pp. 105– 106) points out that archeological survey of Lower Galilee showed a sharp decline of population during the seventh and sixth centuries B.C.E. Na’aman concludes that the Assyrians did not resettle the Galilee but left it “in a state of partial abandonment and devastations” (ibid., p. 106). 13 The Chronicler mentions the conquest of the Galilee only in passing (1 Chron 5:6), for he is only interested in showing the fate of the Transjordan tribes. Cf. S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; London, 1993), pp. 141–142. 11

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20:7–9; 21:32). Perhaps this special status served to buttress the pious image of the neighbouring Tobit. The emphasis laid on the Land of Naphtali in the biblical account of the Assyrian conquest supplied the author of Tobit with an obvious candidate for his protagonist’s origin, namely the tribe of Naphtali. Once Naphtali and its region were selected, other biblical themes were brought into the picture. The choice of the name Deborah for the grandmother14 and tutor of Tobit, who instructed him in the laws of the Torah (Tob 1:8), points to the influence of the biblical story about the war of the northern tribes against Yabin king of Hazor and his general Sisera (Judg 4–5). For Kedesh-Naphtali was the hometown of Barak, who commanded the army and enjoyed the support of the prophetess Deborah, known for her leadership and piety. Barak used his hometown to assemble and organize his army (Judg 4:6, 10). In this war the tribes Naphtali and Zebulun excelled (Judg 4:6, 10; 5:18) and earned warm praise in the Song of Deborah (Judg 5:18). This episode makes the tribe of Naphtali a notable figure in the early biblical history of the northern tribes and therefore had additional appeal for the author of Tobit.15 The association of the Galilean Kedesh-Naphtali, devastated by the Assyrians, with the hometown of Barak makes it clear that for the author of Tobit the two biblical locations with the same name were one and the same place, as they used to be for modern commentators.16 However, the Kedesh-Naphtali of Barak is to be located in the vicinity of Mount Tabor and the Kishon river, namely in Lower Galilee, where the battle with the Canaanites took place. The Kedesh-Naphtali of Upper Galilee is too far removed from the geographical location of

14 Thus the long recension (S). The short one has “mother”. For the Naphtalite towns see J. Svensson, Towns and Toponyms in the Old Testament (Stockholm, 1994), pp. 78–82. 15 The members of the tribe of Naphtali also fought in the battles conducted by Gideon (Judg 6:35; 7:23). In discussing the Naphtalite origin of Tobit, Bauckham, “Tobit as a Parable”, pp. 151–152 does not take into account the complete, above referred, biblical background. However, he brings in Isa 9:1–2. The Isaiah verse seems to refer to the conquests of Tiglath-Pileser in the north of Israel. But whether or not it alludes to the eschatological return of Naphtali, as suggested by Bauckham, ibid., p. 152, is disputable. In my judgment it does not. So its relevance to the story of Tobit is dubious. 16 Cf. e.g. Moore, Judges, p. 117.

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Barak’s battle with Sisera. It is now recognized that the two cities are distinct and should be identified with two different sites.17 Again, this detail illustrates the Book of Tobit’s exclusive dependence on the biblical information, without a more accurate grasp of the topographical reality behind the biblical stories about Barak and Deborah. Yet it is interesting to note that living as he did in the 3rd or 2nd century B.C.E., the book’s author may have known the Galilean Kedesh of his own time. For Kedesh continued to flourish during the Second Temple period and is mentioned in several contemporary sources. It is listed among the localities visited by the Ptolemaic official Zenon in the middle of the 3rd century B.C.E.18 According to 1 Maccabees 11:63–74, in 145 B.C.E. the Hasmonaean Jonathan fought the army of the Seleucid king Demetrius II (145–140 B.C.E.) near Kedesh (cf. Josephus, Ant. xiii, 154, 162).19 At the end of the 1st century C.E. Josephus describes Kedesh as a Tyrian village (War ii, 459). Recent archaeological excavations in Tel Kedesh suggest that it was partly settled by a Phoenician population and that under the Persian and Seleucid rules it housed an administrative centre.20 If so, it may have represented for Tobit’s author the tragic fate of the idolatrous tribes’ homeland. The Galilean picture depicted by the Book of Tobit is thus a tapestry of biblical allusions, in both its geographical and historical respects.

17 Cf. Y. Aharoni and M. Tadmor, “Kedesh (in Upper Galilee)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 855–856; E. Stern, “Kedesh, Tel (in Jezreel Valley)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), p. 860. 18 The city is mentioned in two papyrus letters. One (Papyrus Zenon 59004) lists Kedesh (Κύδισος) among localities visited by Zenon in Eretz Israel. Cf. V. A. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, I (Cambridge, Mass., 1957), pp. 121–122. The other (P.L. Bat. 20) is a letter sent to Zenon and received in Kedesh. Cf. P. W. Pestman (ed.), Greek and Demotic Texts from the Zenon Archive (Leiden, 1980), pp. 138–140. 19 Josephus describes Kedesh as lying “between the land of Tyre and Galilee”, Ant. xiii, 154. 20 Cf. A. Berlin and S. C. Herbert, “Tel-Kedesh, 1997–1999”, IEJ 50 (2000), pp. 118–123; idem, “Life and Death on the Israel-Lebanon Border”, BAR 31 (2005), pp. 35–43. More than 2000 sealings were found in one area of the site, attesting to the existence of an archive in Kedesh serving the regional administration. On one sealing the name of Kedesh is inscribed in Greek (Κυδίσσυ). Cf. Ariel and Naveh, “Selected Inscribed Sealings from Kedesh”, pp. 72–73.

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Obviously, the author did not, or could not adapt it to the actual reality.21 The artificial character of the northern Israelite context is reflected by other facets of the narrative. The reader learns that Tobit’s religious practice and attitude are defined in terms of the Judaite faith: loyalty to the Jerusalem temple and furnishing it with gifts of produce, in compliance with the Torah directives (Tob 1:6–9).22 Most of the Israelite personalities connected with Tobit and living in Mesopotamia follow the generally accepted Jewish religious ethos of Second Temple period, ethos espoused by writings promoting Judaite protagonists. For instance, Tobit scrupulously observes the dietary laws in his gentile surroundings in Nineveh (Tob 1:11), just like Daniel in Babylon (Dan 1:8, 16) and Judith in Holofernes’ camp (Jdt 10:5; 12:1, 9, 19).23 So despite the Israelite origin of Tobit’s various characters they follow the general Jewish practices and beliefs prevalent in Second Temple times. Since all Tobit’s associates are members of his own family24 their piety portrays the Judaic faith of his household. The conclusion called for by the foregoing analysis is that the Israelite background was selected as representative of sin and punishment in exile. It permitted Tobit’s author to contrast with it the “Judaite” ethos embraced by Tobit, that is, the Jewish religious practice of his time, presented as the correct one, and as the one that should be followed by all Jews living outside the Land of Israel, whether Judaites or Israelites. The fictitious plot and characters, the heavy reliance on biblical motifs and information, and the imprecise details pertaining to the actual history and topography of Mesopotamia have led scholars to 21 This parallels the author’s imprecise historical and geographical data related to Mesopotamian localities, as recognized long ago. For instance, the description of Tobias’ journey in the company of the angel Raphael from Nineveh to Ecbatana and Raga in Media (Tob 6–9) makes no topographic sense. Cf. F. Zimmermann, The Book of Tobit (New York, 1958), p. 16; Moore, Tobit, p. 10; Ego, Buch Tobit, pp. 898–899; Fitzmyer, Tobit, pp. 32–33. 22 Cf. D. Dimant, “The Book of Tobit and the Qumran Halakhah”, in D. Dimant and R. G. Kratz (eds.), The Dynamics of Language and Exegesis at Qumran (Tübingen, 2009), pp. 121–143. 23 The same concern is observed in the apocryphal prayer of Esther (addition to Esther, 22) where she states that she has not eaten of the royal food. See the comment of Moore, Tobit, p. 41. 24 Cf. D. Dimant, “The Family of Tobit”, in K. D. Dobos and M. Köszeghy (eds.), “With Wisdom As A Robe”: Studies in Honour of Ida Froehlich (Sheffield, 2008), pp. 160–165.

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conclude that Tobit’s story is legendary. This is certainly true for the plot and personalities. Nevertheless, the general atmosphere and conditions of the Assyrian diaspora as depicted by the Book of Tobit have been strikingly confirmed and exemplified by documents and archives from the Assyrian, Neo-Babylonian and Persian kingdoms discovered and published during the last century. Even some narrative details of the book can now be illustrated by contemporary economic and political documents.25 These yield reliable historical data about the conditions of life and occupations of Israelites, and for that matter of Judaeans, exiled in Mesopotamia and living under the successive rules of Assyria, Babylonia and Persia. Accordingly, much more is known today about the Assyrian kings’ deportation policy, continued on a more limited scale by the NeoBabylonian kings.26 The deportees were taken from their homeland and resettled together with their families,27 a detail which fits the tale of Tobit, how he was deported with his wife and son and other close relatives (Tob 1:9–10, 20). The deportation of Israelites from the north of Eretz-Israel to Assyria is also attested by the royal inscriptions

25 Cf. R. Zadok, On West Semites in Babylonia during the Chaldean and Achameaneian Periods (Jerusalem, 1977), pp. 44; idem, The Jews in Babylonia (Haifa, 1979), p. 34; idem, “Some Jews in Babylonian Documents”, JQR 74 (1984), pp. 294–297; idem, “Foreigners and Foreign Linguistic Material in Mesopotamia and Egypt”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), p. 433; idem, The Earliest Diaspora: Israelite and Judeans in Pre-Hellenistic Mesopotamia (Tel Aviv, 2002), pp. 9–13, 18–26; B. Oded, “The Settlements of the Israelite and Judean Exiles in Mesopotamia in the 8th–6th Centuries B.C.E.”, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSupp 81; Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2000), pp. 90–103. Scholarly assertions of the “non-historicity” of the Book of Tobit (cf. e.g. Moore, Tobit, pp. 10–11) should therefore be qualified. 26 Cf. B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). 27 Cf. H. Tadmor, “Assyria and the West: the Ninth Century and Its Aftermath”, in H. Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts (eds.), Unity and Diversity (Baltimore – London, 1975), pp. 40–42. Tadmor notes that the survivors of the Chaldean and Judaean deportations must have formed the core of the builders and inhabitants of Nineveh, rebuilt by Sennacherib as his capital (ibid. p. 41). On the Assyrian policy of large-scale deportations and population exchanges in the conquered lands see Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, pp. 177–178. Israel Ephʿal remarked that in contrast to the Assyrians, the NeoBabylonian rulers permitted deportees to maintain their national identity and internal organization. Cf. I. Ephʿal, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th centuries B.C.: Maintenance and Cohesion”, Orientalia 47 (1978), pp. 74–90, especially p. 83. See also Oded, ibid., pp. 22–26.

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and chronicles of the Assyrian kings,28 and the presence of Israelites in Assyria is suggested by the Israelite names mentioned in various Assyrian documents.29 The statement that Tobit was exiled to Nineveh is borne out by the evidence that many foreigners lived in Nineveh, among them Israelites and Judaean.30 Tobit’s maintenance of ties with his deported relatives in far-off cities exemplifies the general practice of the Assyrian kings31 to scatter deportees from their original location across several settlements in Assyria or in other countries it conquered.32 Tobit lived in Nineveh; his cousin Raguel’s family was settled in Ecbatana; another cousin of his, Gabael, with whom Tobit did business, was based in Raga (Tob 1:14[short recension]; 4:1; 9:2). The presence of Israelites in Assyria may be detected by the Yahwistic and biblical names of various persons mentioned in Assyrian documents. Some of them were apparently officials or merchants,33 as was Tobit. Even the story that Tobit achieved prominence in the Assyrian royal administration of Shalmanesser (1:12) is fictional only in respect of the specific personage of Tobit, not in respect of the historical circumstances; documents attesting to the employment in the royal administration of officials from various countries are well known today.34 Some of these officials were Israelites.35 Commerce was another occupation taken up by inhabitants of various origin in

28 Cf. the survey of N. Na’aman, “Population Changes in Palestine Following Assyrian Deportation”, Tel Aviv 20 (1993), pp. 104–106, 111. 29 Cf. Zadok, “Foreigners and Foreign Linguistic Material in Mesopotamia and Egypt”, p. 433 and the references cited in n. 35. 30 Cf. Tadmor, “Assyria and the West”, pp. 40–42. Note the notices about settling captives in Nineveh in the Annals of Senacherib. Cf. D. D. Luckenbill, The Annals of Senacherib (Chicago, 1924), pp. 60, 73; Oded, “The Settlements of the Israelite and Judean Exiles in Mesopotamia”, pp. 93–95, 97–99. 31 Cf. Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 24–25; idem, “Observations on the Israelite/ Judaean Exiles in Mesopotamia during the Eighth-Sixth Centuries B.C.E.”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), pp. 208–209. 32 Cf. Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 30–32; Oded, “Observations on the Israelite/ Judaean Exiles”. On deportees’ settlement in various locations in Assyria see also P. Garelli, “Les Deplacements de Personnes dans l’empire assyrien”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), pp. 79–82; G. Galil, “Israelite Exiles in Media: A New Look at ND 2443+”, VT 59 (2009), pp. 71–79. 33 Cf. Zadok, The Jews in Babylonia, pp. 34–35, 153. 34 Cf. Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 104–107. 35 Cf. Oded, ibid., p. 79; A. Malamat, “Exile, Assyrian”, Encyclopaedia Judaica 6 (1971), col. 1035; W. F. Albright, “An Ostracon from Calah and the North-Israelite Diaspora”, BASOR 149 (1958), p. 36; Galil, “Israelite Exiles in Media”, pp. 75–79.

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exile in Assyria.36 This information provides an authentic backdrop to other details of Tobit’s story. His statement that he left money with his relative Gabael in Raga (Tob 1:14 [short recention]) is related to his commercial activity, or to his role as an official of Shalmanesser (Tob 1: 13–16). Also noteworthy are descriptions of Tobit’s trips in Mesopotamia on business and for other purposes, and later his move from Nineveh to Ecbatana. Although we have no precise examples of such travels, the case of a Jewish person, probably an Israelite, who journeys from Nineveh to Babylon, as attested by documents from Babylon, is interesting.37 Another detail that receives indirect confirmation in Assyrian documents is connected with the story of the slander and the animosity of Tobit’s neighbours in Nineveh (Tob 1:19; 2:8). It has been pointed out that as foreign populations, brought to Assyria by force and continuing to preserve their own social and linguistic communities, the Israelites and the Judaites aroused animosity and jealousy in the indigenous people.38 The foregoing analysis has shown that in constructing the background of Tobit in Galilee, as in other respects, the book relies heavily on the reports of the biblical literature. The details of the plot, the depiction of the characters, and their religious practices are all based on biblical narrative motifs and concepts. Therefore the early phase in Galilee lacks any precise geographical and historical data, as do the specific details of the plot, related to the life and fortunes of Tobit’s family in the Mesopotamian diaspora. It is therefore clear that the biblical materials served to express the author’s religious ideas. Yet Tobit’s general conditions and circumstances outside the Land of Israel accord with the reality of Jews, Israelites as well as Judaites, exiled in Mesopotamia, as gleaned from authentic Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian documents from the sixth to the 2nd century B.C.E. However, the authentic ring of Tobit’s life in Mesopotamia does not necessarily point to this area as the place of the original composition of Tobit. For

36 Cf. Oded, ibid., pp. 102–104. On an Israelite or Judaean who came to Nippur from Assyria see Oded, ibid., pp. 103–104; Zadok, The Jews in Babylonia, pp. 13–14; A. B. Moldenke, Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (new edition by J. A. Delaunay; Paris, 1977), pp. 84–85. 37 Cf. Zadok, ibid., pp. 34–35. Galil (“Israelite Exiles in Media”) shows that Israelite exiles were settled by the Assyrian in Media, a detail which sheds fresh light on some details in the Book of Tobit. 38 Cf. Oded, Mass Deportations, pp. 46–47.

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precise information on the conditions of the Mesopotamian Diaspora may have well reached the Land of Israel. The Book of Tobit is, then, a fictional story set in authentic historical context. The Israelite Diaspora was selected as emblematic of a Jewish population in exile and in order to vehicle the exemplary Judaic religious ethos to be adopted by such exiled Jews. It could have been written by a Jewish author living in the Land of Israel as a guide for Jews living outside the Land of Israel.

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Y. Aharoni and M. Tadmor, “Kedesh (in Upper Galilee)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 855–856. W. F. Albright, “An Ostracon from Calah and the North-Israelite Diaspora”, BASOR 149 (1958), pp. 33–36. D. T. Ariel and J. Naveh, “Selected Inscribed Sealings from Kedesh in the Upper Galilee”, BASOR 329 (2003), pp. 61–80. R. Bauckham, “Tobit as a Parable for the Exiles of Northern Israel”, in M. Bredin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Tobit (Library of Second Temple Studies 55; London – New York, 2006), pp. 140–164. A. Berlin and S. C. Herbert, “Tel-Kedesh, 1997–1999”, IEJ 50 (2000), pp. 118–123. ——, “Life and Death on the Israel-Lebanon Border”, BAR 31 (2005), pp. 35–43. M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB; New York, 1988). D. Dimant, “The Family of Tobit”, in K. D. Dobos and M. Köszeghy (eds.),“With Wisdom As A Robe”: Studies in Honour of Ida Froehlich (Sheffield, 2008), pp. 160–165. ——, “The Book of Tobit and the Qumran Halakhah”, in D. Dimant and R. G. Kratz (eds.), The Dynamics of Language and Exegesis at Qumran (Tübingen, 2009), pp. 121–143. B. Ego, Buch Tobit (JSHRZ; Gütersloh, 1999). I. Ephʿal, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th centuries B.C.: Maintenance and Cohesion”, Orientalia 47 (1978), pp. 74–90. J. A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (CEJL; Berlin – New York, 2003). G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 9; Leiden – New York – Köln, 1996). ——, “Israelite Exiles in Media: A New Look at ND 2443+”, VT 59 (2009), pp. 71–79. P. Garelli, “Les Déplacements de Personnes dans l’empire assyrien”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), pp. 79–82. J. C. Greenfield, “Aḥiqar in the Book of Tobit”, in M. Carrez, J. Dové and P. Grelot (eds.), De la Tôrah au Messie: Études d’exégèse et d’herméneutique Bibliques offertes à Henri Cazelles (Paris, 1981), pp. 329–336. R. Hanhart, Tobit (Septuaginta, Vetus Testamentum Graecum VIII, 5; Göttingen, 1983). ——, Text und Textgeschichte des Buches Tobit (MSU XVII; Göttingen, 1984). S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; London, 1993). D. D. Luckenbill, The Annals of Senacherib (Chicago, 1924). A. Malamat, “Exile, Assyrian”, Encyclopaedia Judaica 6 (1971), cols. 1034–1036. J. T. Milik, “La Patrie de Tobie”, RB 73 (1966), pp. 522–530. A. B. Moldenke, Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (new edition by J. A. Delaunay; Paris, 1977). C. A. Moore, Tobit (AB; New York, 1996). G. F. Moore, Judges (ICC; Edinburgh, 1895). N. Na’aman, “Population Changes in Palestine Following Assyrian Deportation”, Tel Aviv 20 (1993), pp. 104–124. B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, 1979). ——, “Observations on the Israelite/Judaean Exiles in Mesopotamia during the Eighth– Sixth Centuries B.C.E.”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), pp. 205–212. ——, “The Settlements of the Israelite and Judean Exiles in Mesopotamia in the 8th– 6th Centuries B.C.E.”, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds.), Studies in Historical

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Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSupp 81; Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2000), pp. 90–103. P. W. Pestman (ed.), Greek and Demotic Texts from the Zenon Archive (Leiden, 1980). H. Schüngel-Straumann, Tobit (HThKAT; Freiburg – Basel, 2000). E. Stern, “Kedesh, Tel (in Jezreel Valley)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), p. 860. J. Svensson, Towns and Toponyms in the Old Testament (Stockholm, 1994). H. Tadmor, “The conquest of Galilee by Tiglath pileser III, king of Assyria”, in M. Z. Hirschberg (ed.), All the Land of Naphtali (Jerusalem, 1967), pp. 62–67 (Hebrew). ——, “Assyria and the West: the Ninth Century and Its Aftermath”, in H. Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts (eds.), Unity and Diversity (Baltimore – London, 1975), pp. 36–48. ——, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994). V. A. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, I (Cambridge, Mass., 1957). S. Weeks, “Some Neglected Texts of Tobit: The Third Greek Version”, in M. Bredin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Tobit (Library of Second Temple Studies 55; London – New York, 2006), pp. 12–42. G. G. Xeravits and J. Zsengellér, The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology (SuppJSJ 98; Leiden – Boston, 2005). R. Zadok, On West Semites in Babylonia during the Chaldean and Achameaneian Periods (Jerusalem, 1977). ——, The Jews in Babylonia (Haifa, 1979). ——, “Some Jews in Babylonian Documents”, JQR 74 (1984), pp. 294–297. ——, “Foreigners and Foreign Linguistic Material in Mesopotamia and Egypt”, in K. van Lerberghe and A. Schoors (eds.), Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński (Leuven, 1995), pp. 431–447. ——, The Earliest Diaspora: Israelite and Judeans in Pre-Hellenistic Mesopotamia (Tel Aviv, 2002). F. Zimmermann, The Book of Tobit (New York, 1958).

TO STOP NEHEMIAH FROM BUILDING THE JERUSALEM WALL – JEWISH ARISTOCRATS TRIGGERED AN ECONOMIC CRISIS

Joseph Fleishman Bar-Ilan University

Neh 4:1–17 reviews the serious difficulties that arose while building the Jerusalem wall. Neh 5:1–5 reveals an additional serious problem that Nehemiah had to solve immediately: 1

There was a great outcry by the common folk and their wives against their brother Jews. 2Some said, “Our sons and daughters are numerous; we must get grain to eat in order that we may live!” 3Others said, “We must pawn our fields, our vineyards, and our homes to get grain to stave off hunger.” 4Yet others said, “We have borrowed money against our fields and vineyards to pay the king’s tax. 5Now we are as good as our brothers and our children as good as theirs; yet here we are subjecting our sons and daughters to slavery – some of our daughters are already subjected – and we are powerless, while our fields and vineyards belong to others”.

This paper suggests that the ‫וּסגָ נִ ים‬ ְ ‫“ ח ִֹרים‬nobles and prefects”, who were Jewish aristocrats and rulers of the province Yehud Medinta and opposed reconstruction of the wall around Jerusalem as well as the ideology behind it, deliberately triggered the acute economic crisis described briefly in Neh 5:1–5.1 These Jews, who held the most senior posts in the province, except for the post of governor, wanted

1 It is reasonable to assume that ‫“ ח ִֹרים‬horim” is a term that refers to the nobles, and ‫“ ְסגָ נִ ים‬prefects” are those who held ruling positions among the nobles and senior posts in the government. They may have constituted the upper council with authority in the leadership of Yehud Medinta. Whatever the exact definitions of these terms, it is clear that the nobles and authorities were aristocrats. On the meanings of these terms, see e.g., H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC; Texas, 1985), p. 191; J. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; London, 1988), pp. 223–224; R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament period (English trans. by J. Bowden; Louisville, Kentucky, 1994), p. 446.

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Nehemiah to fail. They strongly opposed the charismatic and energetic leader whose worldview, especially regarding the Jewish identity of Yehud and any ties with neighboring provinces, was in opposition to their own worldview, and endangered their strong ties and cooperation with their neighbors. They precipitated an economic crisis to achieve their goal. In order to provide a clearer picture of the circumstances and severity of the situation depicted in Neh 5:1–5, we will first note a number of major background factors. At a meeting in Shushan “in the month of Kislev of the 20th year” (Neh 1:1),2 Nehemiah – cupbearer (Neh 1:11) of Artaxerxes I,3 met Hanani – referred to as “one of my brothers” (Neh 1:2)4 and the latter’s colleagues from Jerusalem.5 Nehemiah

2 It is difficult to ascertain when the meeting of Hanani and his men with Nehemiah took place. Is the “twentieth year” mentioned in v. 1 the twentieth year of the reign of King Artaxerxes I? See the note below on this issue. Is this the year in which Nehemiah stood before the king during the month of Nisan and made his requests (Neh 2:1), or does the “twentieth year” refer to another matter? Some suggest correcting the date of the meeting to the last third of the nineteenth year, shortly before the coming Spring when King Artaxerxes would celebrate his twentieth year of reign. See W. Rudolph, Esra und Nehemiah (Tübingen, 1949), p. 102; Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 205. But perhaps the editor or narrator is considering the months of the Jewish calendar according to which Kislev and the following Nisan are in the same year, which in this instance is the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes. 3 On the identification of this king as Artaxerxes I see Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 205; E. M. Yamauchi, Persia and the Bible (Michigan, 1990), p. 242; P. Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Indiana, 2002), pp. 569–571. 4 This man is mentioned in Nehemiah 7. Apparently, his full name is Hananiah and he had the status of “captain of the fortress, in charge of Jerusalem”. In various passages in Nehemiah, the term “brother” is a sociological term used to refer to a colleague rather than to a biological brother (see e.g., 3:1, 14, 17, 34; 4:8; 5:1, 5, 8 (twice), 10; 10:11, 29; 11:12, 13, 14, 17). Therefore, unlike Blenkinsopp (ibid., p. 207), we do not think that Hanani was Nehemiah’s biological brother, though he is so called by Nehemiah (7:2), but rather a man of status, a member of the party asking Nehemiah for help to strengthen the Jewish identification by separatism from a number of factors within and external to the province of Yehud. Apparently, Hanani was termed “brother” by Nehemiah only much later, after he knew him well, and viewed him as of similar heart. See also, e.g., Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 238–239. 5 Some maintain that this was a delegation that arrived in Shushan during the period that Judah was part of the province of Samaria, and those who came to Nehemiah from Judah circumvented the authorities of the province and approached Nehemiah who held a senior position, hoping he would help them achieve their goals (J. M. Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah [AB; New York, 1965], p. 94). The discussion between the parties seems to lend credibility to this approach, for they reply to Nehemiah’s questions one by one in the order asked, as do people who have prepared for a meeting, in contrast to travelers whose speech is excited and somewhat confused by a chance meeting with men in power. Apparently the text is not a stenographic report of an interview or meeting. It is very possible that an editor or narrator took a hand

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“asked them about the Jews, the remnant who had survived the captivity, and about Jerusalem. They replied, ‘The survivors who have survived the captivity there in the province are in dire trouble and disgrace; Jerusalem’s wall is full of breaches and its gates have been destroyed by fire’” (Neh 1:2–3). Nehemiah was shocked by what he heard. He writes: “When I heard that, I sat and wept, and was in mourning for days, fasting and praying to the God of Heaven” (Neh 1:4). The reality painted by Hanani and his colleagues broke Nehemiah’s heart, but not his spirit. He determined to request permission from his king to permit him to go to Yehud in order to rebuild Jerusalem’s wall – and thus to redeem Jerusalem from its disgrace, i.e., from the sorry situation that degraded the Jews in their own eyes as well as in the eyes of their neighbors, resulting in defamation of the Name of God6 – as well as the Yehud Province that he estimated was in danger of collapse. Almost certainly Nehemiah had relatives in Jerusalem, but his mourning and pain were not limited to them. Rather, he had a comprehensive religious-national attitude regarding the matter. Therefore he determined to play an active role in the project of building the wall and gates of Jerusalem.7 He would rehabilitate Jerusalem and Judah even though it meant giving up an easy life which included a higher status and economic comfort.8 In order to achieve his goal, Nehemiah first had to request the king’s permission. This was not at all simple. Rebuilding the Jerusalem wall was likely to cause serious problems to the Jews of the province of Yehud as it had done in the not-so-distant past. Not long before, the king had ordered the stoppage of building the Jerusalem wall in the wake of a letter of hatred sent to him, that stressed the danger of a in organizing and formulating it. So from the text itself it is difficult to ascertain the exact nature of the men who met with Nehemiah (cf. F. C. Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah [NICOT; Michigan, 1982], p. 151). 6 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 191; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 224. For instances of ‘disgrace’ in central episodes in Nehemiah, see 1:3; 2:17; 3:36; 5:9; 6:13. 7 We are not concerned with the historical accuracy or the objectivity of what is related in the chapters relevant to this research. See e.g., N. K. Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, in M. R. Sneed (ed.), Concepts of Class in Ancient Israel (Atlanta, GA, 1999), p. 12. We concur with the approach of R. P. Carroll, “Coopting the Prophets: Nehemiah and Noadiah”, in E. Ulrich, J. W. Wright, R. P. Carroll and P. R. Davies (eds.), Priests, Prophets and Scribes (JSOT Sup; Sheffield, 1992), p. 90, who states with regard to the details noted in the various texts: “They exist in the text and must therefore be considered as having a real textual existence by the reader”. 8 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemia, p. 151.

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fortified Jerusalem to the peace of the Persian Empire (Ezra 4:7–21), for “it was a rebellious and wicked city” (Ezra 4:12). Nehemiah dared present his request to the king despite the danger that the king would question his loyalty. A factor in his favor was that by the twentieth year of his reign Artaxerxes had strengthened his hold extensively in the empire, and no longer thought that external factors posed a serious threat.9 Nevertheless, the king’s sensitivity toward the provinces Beyond the River in general, and the province of Yehud in particular were certainly not unknown to Hanani and his men, just as they were not unknown to the king himself. Using intelligence and wisdom, Nehemiah managed to persuade Artaxerxes to permit him to go to Yehud Medinta to build the wall of Jerusalem and fortify the Jewish province.10 Why was the situation of the Jews and of Jerusalem so bad? Various researchers point in a number of directions in accord with the realities of the government in Yehud and Jerusalem. Some maintain that Yehud was part of the province of Samaria and suffered from the heavy hand of the Samarians.11 Others are of the opinion that it was a separate province.12 Indeed, in light of the seals and bullas found in Jerusalem, one may conclude that apparently during this period, the province of Yehud was separate from the Province of Samaria. It was ruled by the Jewish governors Elnathan – apparently the heir of Zerubbabel, as well as Yehoezer and Ahazi, both of them lived at the beginning of the 5th century B.C.E.13 Some understand that Jerusalem’s difficult situation before Nehemiah stemmed from conspiracies by “enemies in Judah

9 See T. A. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago – London, 1948), pp. 312–313; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 149; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 204; E. M. Yamauchi, Persia and the Bible (Michigan, 1990), pp. 249–253. 10 We are of the opinion that Nehemiah succeeded in persuading his king to permit him to go to Jerusalem by means of a number of Zoroastrian principles that he put forth in their meeting described in Neh 2:1–9. See J. Fleishman, “The Rebuilding of the Wall of Jerusalem: Neh 2:1–9 and the Use of Zoroastrian Principles”, JNSL 34 (2008), pp. 59–82. 11 Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 99. 12 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 152; S. Mittmann, “Tobia, Sanballat und die Persische Provinz Juda”, Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 26 (2000), pp. 31–38; Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, p. 488. 13 See N. Avigad, Bullae and Seals from a Post-exilic Judean Archive (Qedem 4; Jerusalem, 1976), pp. 32–36; Briant, ibid., pp. 488, and literature on p. 951. J. Naveh (“Scripts and Writing”, in H. Tadmor [ed.], History of the Jews: The Restoration – The Persian Period [Jerusalem, 1983, Hebrew]) disagrees with this suggestion.

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and Benjamin” following Artaxerxes’ injunction against building the wall of the city, which was sent out following the letter of hatred written by these enemies (Ezra 3:7–16).14 Olmstead, for example,15 maintains that following the rebellion of Megabysus, Jewish zealousy rose, and hotheads, to use his term, began to build the wall(s??) in opposition to Ezra’s opinion and attempts to persuade this zealous minority to keep the law. The results were not slow to come. Whatever the actual reason, the wall(??) of Jerusalem was breached, and the city and its inhabitants were subject to constant skirmishes against themselves and their property by their various enemies.16 In our opinion, Hanani and his associates who met Nehemiah were apparently Jewish ideologists of a religious national bent similar to that of Nehemiah. These people defined the general condition in Jerusalem as ‫“ ֶח ְר ָפּה‬disgraceful”,17 and frustrating. It is likely that they approached Nehemiah the Jew, cupbearer of the King, to request his assistance because they knew him as a man who would listen to them. One cannot know if at a certain stage they asked him to come personally to the province of Yehud in order to rehabilitate the state or if they merely wished for his assistance. Nehemiah, after obtaining the king’s permission, traveled to Jerusalem. Three days later, he went on a secret tour to examine for himself the state of the wall. It is very possible that Nehemiah went around the wall under a cloak of secrecy because he had learned from Hanani and his colleagues who had come from Jerusalem about a group from outside the province of Yehud who were opposed to the building of the wall, as well as about an internal opposition element that was a potential collaborator with it.18 At a meeting he called shortly after his tour, he said to the Jews – the priests, nobles, prefects and the rest of the officials: “. . .‘You see the bad state we are in – Jerusalem lying in ruins and its gates destroyed by fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem and suffer no more disgrace’. I told them of my God’s benevolent care for me, also of the things that the king had 14 See e.g., Rudolph, Esra und Nehemiah, p. 103; L. H. Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther (NCB; Oxford, 1977), p. 105; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 99; Fensham, ibid., pp. 155, 160; G. Widengren, The Persian Period (Philadelphia, 1977), p. 528. 15 Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire, pp. 313–315. 16 Cf. Fensham, ibid., p. 152. 17 For the meaning of the term ‫ ֶח ְר ָפּה‬, see below. 18 See below regarding this issue.

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said to me, and they said, ‘Let us start building’! They were encouraged by [His] benevolence” (Neh 2:17–18). According to this report, Nehemiah managed to convince his listeners, including the nobles and the rulers – who, however, shortly afterwards became his bitter enemies – that there was a most urgent national need to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem. Chapters 3–6 are devoted to the building of the wall and Nehemiah’s struggles with the internal and external enemies. Chapter 3 presents a list of the factors that participated in building and financing the wall.19 Many obstacles lay in the path of carrying out the various projects that Nehemiah took upon himself, particularly in the building of the wall. He had many internal as well as external enemies. Of the enemies outside the province of Yehud, the main one who was also the most powerful, was Sanbalatt the Horonite. His national identity and religious faith have been the subjects of serious differences of opinion among the researchers. Many scholars think that Sanballat was an Israelite.20 Others think he was a non-Israelite21 despite the theophoric suffix to the names of his sons. Some maintain that though he was a non-Israelite, he was syncretically a servant of God.22 In any case it is clear that Nehemiah and his colleagues did not consider Sanballat a fellow Jew or a worshipper of God.23

19 For an analysis of the list, the authenticity of the knowledge on the integration of the priests, their duties in general and the contribution of High Priest Eliashib in particular, on the main emphasis in this list and on the distinction between builders and funders, see O. Lipschits, “Who Financed and Who Arranged the Building of Jerusalem’s walls? The Sources of the List of the Builders of the Wall (Nehemiah 3:1–32) and the Purposes of its Literary Placement within Nehemiah’s Memoirs”, in M. Bar-Aser et al. (eds.), Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, its Exegesis and its Language (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 73–89. 20 E.g., G. N. Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period”, in O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Indiana, 2006), pp. 273–280; H. Eshel and B. Zissu, “Two Notes on the History and Archaeology of Judea in the Persian Period”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”, Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, II (Indiana, 2006), p. 828. 21 Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 203; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 216. 22 See e.g., L. H. Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther (NCB; Oxford, 1977), p. 107; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, pp. 100–101; Blenkinsopp, ibid., pp. 216–217; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 102, 182. 23 Cf. Myers, ibid., p. 101; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, pp. 163–164.

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The national origin and religious identity of Tobiah the Ammonite have also been subject to controversy. Some researchers think that Tobiah was the son of a respected Jewish family of influence and status both in Yehud and on the eastern side of the Jordan River.24 One can find some evidence about this family from sources in the postPersian period. Others maintain that he was a non-Jew.25 Some scholars maintain that the theophoric suffix of Tobiah’s name attests that he and his parents believed in God, and that this does not fit in with his Ammonite origin.26 But Williamson27 does not consider this a difficulty. Some maintain that this proves that other nations as well served God.28 Others claim that Tobiah should be seen as the younger partner of Sanballat and under his authority, and understand the mocking expression “servant” accordingly.29 There are even researchers who assume that in the wake of the events in Ezra 4:8–23, Tobiah was temporarily awarded rulership over Yehud in agreement with the Samarian authorities.30 Other scholars maintain that he was the son of a mixed marriage.31 With regard to Geshem the Arab, there are scholars who assert that after the destruction, in southern Judah the dominant population was Jewish, but Edomites and Arabs filtered in. So Geshem was the governor of a mainly Jewish province, but referred to as an “Arab” by Nehemiah, perhaps in order to criticize him, though it may signify that Geshem and his men maintained contact with Arabs.32

24 Cf. Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 101; Blenkinsopp, ibid., pp. 217–219; Mazar, 1974, pp. 270–290; Eshel and Zissu, “Two Notes”, p. 828. 25 Batten is of the opinion that all three leaders in the struggle against Nehemiah were of non-Jewish origin (The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 203). Fensham, on the other hand, considers that only a possibility (ibid., p. 164). Williamson concurs (ibid., p. 183). 26 Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 107. 27 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 183. 28 This is what Delitzch thinks. Apud Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 198. 29 D. J. A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (NCBC; London, 1984), p. 145; Williamson, ibid., p. 183. 30 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, pp. 218–219; Williamson, ibid., p. 184; Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 198. 31 Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 145; Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 108; Williamson, ibid., pp. 183–184. 32 M. Heltzer and M. Kochman, Ezra and Nehemiah (Olam Ha-Tanach; Tel Aviv, 1994, Hebrew), pp. 109–110.

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Many researchers assume that Geshem was the Arab governor of a province south of Judah.33 According to Myers,34 the three major opponents of Nehemia were not local governors who had no power; rather, they were Persian officials of status who exploited their power to bother Nehemiah.35 This paper is not meant to focus on the identity, belief, and activities of the “three governors of the region” as defined by Eshel-Zissu,36 but it is important to stress that in their struggles with Nehemiah, they disregarded his special status with King Artaxerxes.37 In every possible way, they disrupted the building of the wall, and did not cease their enmity toward Nehemiah and their attempts to undermine his activities even after the wall was completed.38 What was the reason for the bitter and prolonged struggle between Nehemiah on one side, and the three governors on the other side? Scholars are of the opinion that the main issue of conflict was not religious, but rather the autonomy of Judah. Apparently Yehud had fallen under Samarian rule after Artaxerxes ordered the stoppage of building the wall (Ezra 4:8–23). Nehemiah wished to change the situation. As far as they were concerned, Nehemiah’s deeds constituted a rebellion against their own authority.39 Jealousy, apparently, was a primary motive for Nehemiah’s opponents’ reactions.40 One may conclude from Nehemiah’s first reaction to his enemies, “but you have no share or claim or stake in Jerusalem” (2:20), that Nehemiah is demanding autonomy for Yehud relative to all of her neighbors, and this was Nehemiah’s intention from the very begin-

33 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 168. For information on additional external sources regarding the Arab kingdom during the 5th century B.C.E., see Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 225. On the power of the Arabic kingdom during this period, see Williamson (Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 192). The power of the Arabic kingdom may explain why Geshem commanded respect (6:6). See Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 148. Also see Brockington, ibid., p. 125. 34 Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 100. 35 On the identity of Geshem and on the reason for his interference in what was happening in Jerusalem and his opposition to Nehemiah, see Eshel and Zissu, “Two Notes”, pp. 828–831. 36 Eshel and Zissu, ibid., p. 828. 37 Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 105; Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, p. 12. 38 For a survey of the conflicts between the three leaders and Nehemiah, see e.g., Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 225. 39 Myers, ibid., p. 105. 40 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 201.

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ning.41 But it is almost certain that Nehemiah is expressing a position decisively against the involvement of Sanballat, Tobiah and Geshem in Jerusalem’s affairs, and against their claims for religious rights in the Temple.42 Apparently, this is the essence of Nehemiah’s separatist position and the one he wished to impose upon Yehud Medinta. Nehemiah’s does not use his monarchal authority in order to respond to his opponents’ steps. Rather, he declares his belief that God will bring about the success of any work done by himself and his men (2:20).43 Jews, too, mainly from the among the artistocracy, with power and wealth, objected to building the wall; they considered it a project based on an ideology44 aimed at determining the Jewish identity of Yehud Medinta according to the separatist ideology which was contrary to their own definition of Jewish identity.45 These Jews were Nehemiah’s internal enemies and sought ways to harm him and his supporters. Apparently the internal and external opposition to Nehemiah developed for a number of reasons.46 In our opinion, the main reason was the severe disagreement regarding the Jewish identity of the provinces of Yehud Medinta. The first struggle in this regard is told in Neh 5:1–5. Many scholars have attempted to explain various aspects of the event depicted in Neh 5:1–5 as well as Nehemiah’s steps to resolve the problem presented to him at the acme of its severity and power (Neh 6–13). We will only try to understand the source of the problem, its ramifications, and the goals of those who triggered the outcry.47

41

Blenkinsopp, ibid., pp. 226–227. Eshel and Zissu, “Two Notes”, p. 829. 43 Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 106. 44 For this definition of Nehemiah’s projects, see Carroll, “Coopting the Prophets: Nehemiah and Noadiah”, p. 90. 45 For this reason for building the wall, see e.g., J. Cataldo, “Persian Policy ant the Yehud Community during Nehemiah”, JSOT 28 (2003), pp. 248–249; P. F. Esler, “EzraNehemiah as a Narrative of (Reinvented) Israelite Identity”, Biblical Interpretation 11 (2003), pp. 413–426. For different opinions among researchers regarding Jewish identity during the Return to Zion period, see e.g., M. Weinfeld, “The Trend of Universality and the Trend of Separatism during the Return to Zion Period”, Tarbiz 33 (1963), pp. 228–242. 46 See below. 47 On recent studies devoted to the issue in Neh 1–13, see e.g., Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, pp. 1–19; S. Chavel, “ ‘Let My People Go!’: Emancipation, Revelation, and Scribal Activity in Jeremiah 34.8–14”, JSOT 76 (1997), pp 71–95; L. Alonso-Schökel, “‘We are Equal to our Brothers’ – an Exegesis of Neh 5:1–13”, in T. Holm (ed.), The Literary Language of the Bible: The Collected Essays of Luis Alonso-Schökel (BIBAL, Collected Essays, Vol. 3; Richland Hills, Texas, 2000), pp. 17–27; G. R. Williams, “Contextual Influences in Readings of 42

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Verse 1, the exposition, introduces the situation described in vv. 2–4. The narrator defines the speakers’ words as an outcry because “cry” in many connections is the terminus technicus that defines the cry for help by a poverty-stricken person whose legal-social rights have been pillaged and whose economic-social situation is dire.48 Therefore, the reader understands from the exposition that he is about to read about an acute social-legal problem. Verses 2–4 report the cry of people who belong to three different groups that can be identified by the prefaces to their remarks. “Some said”, in vv. 2, 3, 449 informs us that the first group apparently comprises the poverty-stricken who own no property, have many children, and are hungry for food.50 Those who belong to the second group were once property owners. They gave their fields, vineyards and homes as security for loans. Since they could not pay off their loans, they lost this property. They, too, are hungry.51 The members of the third group were apparently better off financially than the other two groups. They maintain that the lack of ready cash for paying the different taxes compelled them to borrow money. Consequently, they lost their property.52 Now they, too, are hungry for bread. The common denominator of the complaints, according to vv. 2–4, is that at present all those belonging to the three groups crying out, have no possessions, no means to support themselves and their households, and worst of all, they lack food. All are hungry. Not only that! From v. 5 we learn that the situation is even worse. The three groups have an additional complaint in common:53 “Now we are as good as our brothers, and our children as good as theirs; yet here we are subjecting our sons and daughters to slavery – some of our daughters are already subjected – and we are powerless, while our fields and

Nehemiah 5: A Case Study”, Tyndale Bulletin 53 (2002), pp. 57–74; Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, pp. 584–586. For the influence of the current situation as described in Neh 1–13 on social laws in the Bible, see C. Levin, “The Poor in the Old Testament: Some Observations”, Religion and Theology 8 (2001), pp. 253–257. 48 See e.g., Exod. 22:21–23; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 256; W. H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40, II (AB; New York: 2006), p. 259. 49 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 238; Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, p. 495. 50 Blenkinsopp, ibid., pp. 256–257. 51 Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 257; Williamson, ibid., pp. 237–238. 52 On the difficulties of the borrowers in general, and the necessity to pay various taxes in particular, see Blenkinsopp, ibid., pp. 257–258; Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, p. 403. 53 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 258.

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vineyards belong to others” (Neh 5:5). The wailing parents complain that the sale of their children means that their situation as returnees is worse than their situation in exile. In exile they were servants, but at least the family was united. In Yehud, on the other hand, the children are torn from their parents and subject to other members of their people.54 The formulation of v. 5 makes it difficult to understand the exact complaint of those who were compelled to sell their children into slavery. In the first part, it states that the complainers had to sell their male and female children as slaves because of critical economic exigencies. So what is meant by “some of our daughters are already subjected?” Some propose to delete the word “daughters” in the previous section to avoid the duplication.55 But this solution has no textual basis. The Masoretic interpretation is also reflected in ancient translations, such as the Septuaginta. Moreover, the shame of the sobbing parents and their desperate situation is well stressed by the verse in its traditional interpretation. Many of the early, as well as late commentators and translators think that the words “some of our daughters are already subjected” attest that the process of enslaving the children had begun in a more distant past, but it is more likely that the order of events should be understood as follows: the builders and apparently the first group, who were enmeshed in heavy debts and severe economic difficulties, first sold some of their daughters into slavery. When the situation worsened, they were compelled to sell their other children as well, both male and female.56 A Greek translation translates: kata-dunasteu-omenai “some of our daughters they take by force”,57 meaning that they did not initiate the act; their daughters were taken away from them by force. According to this translation, the rich people used force and acted against the law.58

54

Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 239. Batten, ibid. 56 This is what can be understood from the Septuaginta in situ and from modern translations such as the KJV, p. 583; NEB, p. 537. Modern commentators concur with this opinion. See e.g., Clines, 1984, p. 167; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 190; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 253. Some Jewish commentators also point out that the sale had already begun. See e.g., Rashi, Malbim, in situ. 57 BHS, p. 1437. 58 Perhaps this may also be understood from the commentary by Ibn Ezra in situ: “They capture our daughters with force.” 55

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Many commentators insist that the expression has a sexual connotation, basing themselves on Esther 7:8.59 And there are even translators who translate the verse: “some of our daughters have even been raped”.60 But Fensham considers this an exaggerated interpretation.61 Blenkinsopp brings up the possibility that the act is “ravage”, that is, it signifies destruction, and he, too, bases this on a linkage to Estr 7:8.62 The criers do not blame the nobles or governors who cooperate in the violation of the law. For the Torah recognizes the legitimacy of selling a man into slavery for an unpaid debt. And it seems that debt slavery for unpaid debts was an accepted practice.63 But it is clear that the sobers blame those who aid and abet the violators for trampling the values of brotherhood and equality among the Jews. They turn to the social values embedded in various laws.64 Also, using the word “we are as good as our brothers” [lit.: “our flesh is like the flesh of our brothers”] attests that the subject here is not universal equality, but equality and brotherhood among members of the Jewish people.65 Fensham maintains that the poor people understand the urgency in building the wall, and therefore do not address their complaints to Nehemiah and the building project, but to their wealthy brothers who are exploiting their financial distress.66 At the end of v. 5, the sobbing parents of all three groups state: “we are powerless, while our fields and vineyards belong to others”.67

59 Malbim in situ; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 167, Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 192, n. 7; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 238. 60 Jerusalem Bible, 1996, in situ. 61 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 192, note 7. 62 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 254, note e. 63 See e.g., Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, p. 495. For a comprehensive discussion of the sale into slavery because of a debt according to the laws of the Bible and in various Biblical stories, see G. C. Chirichigno, Debt-Slavery in Israel and the Ancient Near East (JSOTsup 144; Sheffield, 1993). 64 E.g., the laws concerning securities were intended to protect the poor: See Ex 22:24; Deut 24:10–13; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 258; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 238–239. 65 Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 239; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 16. 66 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, pp. 190–191. 67 In the Septuaginta in situ, the verse is translated: “our fields and our vineyards are with the ‫‘ ח ִֹרים‬nobles’ [i.e., the wealthy]”. Batten (The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 240) accepts the Septuaginta version. But it seems to us that in light of the link to the text in Deut 28:32: “your sons and daughters shall be delivered to another people, . . . but you shall be helpless”, the masoretic text is preferable (as pointed out by Fensham, ibid., p. 192).

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These words constitute the acme of the cry. The parents maintain that because of their critical economic situation, they are unable to redeem their children from slavery, and the loss of their children is not temporary.68 Some researchers proposed connecting the letters as follows: ֵ ” translating the word ‫ לא‬as signifying force. But “‫וּאין לא ְליָ ֵדנוּ‬ Williamson justifiably rejects this conjecture.69 The criers refer to the Jews who are wealthy and powerful as “others” – an expression used in Deut 28:32 to refer to non-Jews. Thus they determine that the Jews who caused their economic collapse and enslavement of their children were acting like members of another people, not like brothers should act. The criers who are small householders – not merchants or otherwise employed, and whose existence is therefore in danger70 compel Nehemiah to focus on their straitened circumstances and to resolve it effectively.71 Nehemiah apparently understands only now that he must find a solution to the acute economic distress of his followers, the builders of the wall. He gathers together the popular assembly,72 the nobles and the rulers who instigated the economic-social collapse of the builders, and says to them: “. . . ‘Are you pressing claims on loans made to your brothers?’ Then I raised a large crowd against them, and I said to them, ‘We have done our best to buy back our Jewish brothers who were sold to the nations; will you now sell your brothers so that they must be sold [back] to us?’ They kept silent, for they found nothing to answer” (Neh 5:7–8). Nehemiah responds immediately for fear that the situation will run out of control.73 In his emotional outburst, he blames aristocrats and governors directly, not the ordinary Jews,74 for bringing about the situation of the criers.75 He accuses them of behaving like usurers, that is like lenders who take from the borrowers their possessions; not only that, but they enslave

68 In the Vulgate in situ, the translation is as follows: nec habemus unde possint redimi “and we have no means by which they may be redeemed”. The translations in the KJV (p. 583) and in the Oxford Bible (p. 590) are similar. 69 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 233, n. 5c. 70 See below on this issue. 71 Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, p. 12. 72 It assembled on important occasions to reach decisions. See e.g., Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, p. 447. 73 As he did at the first meeting (2:16–18). See Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 190. 74 Williamson, ibid., pp. 239–240. 75 This disagrees with the statement by Van Seters that Nehemiah reproved them for permitting the situation to deteriorate. See J. Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code (Oxford, 2003), p. 93.

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the children of the borrowers.76 Some think that Nehemiah is blaming them for taking interest forbidden by the laws in Lev 25:35–38 and in Deut 23:20–21.77 The acuteness of the situation described in this verse can be understood from Nehemiah’s words to those of the large assembly who were compelled by him to attend, as he held them responsible for the situation of the men in the three groups. “And I said to them, ‘We have done our best to buy back our Jewish brothers who were sold to the nations; will you now sell your brothers so that they must be sold [back] to us?’ They kept silent, for they found nothing to answer” (Neh 5:8). From Nehemiah’s exhortation, we learn that the Jews who subjugated the children of the Jews in the three sobbing groups had acted like slave merchants and sold them as slaves to non-Jews who lived in Yehud Medinta, or perhaps even outside of it. Thus one can understand how the criers had been left without anything: property, houses, food, and even their children.78 Neh 5:1–13 does not reveal exactly when the demonstration occurred. The story of the outcry by the three groups follows the story of the various and unceasing attempts by Sanballat the Horonite, Tobiah the Ammonite, and Geshem the Arab to stop reconstruction of the wall, and the story of Nehemiah’s diligence in defending the city and building the wall (Neh 2:19–20; 3:33–4;17). But there are scholars who maintain that the story in Neh 5:1–13 is not written in its chronological order. One of the arguments by researchers negating chronological order is that the eruption of such a severe economic-social crisis is not possible within the brief span of 52 days during which the wall was built (Neh 6:15). In their opinion it is more likely that the economic crisis was precipitated by Nehemiah’s efforts to ensure the resettlement of Jerusalem (11:1). Such a serious crisis results from an ongoing process over a period of time of oppressive economic-social measures.79 Yet even those who adhere to this opinion agree that the placing of the

76

See e.g., Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 259. See e.g., Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora, p. 93. 78 This paper will not deal with Nehemiah’s reforms. On the purpose of the reforms, see Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 226. On its link to Jer 34, see Chavel, “ ‘Let My People Go!’ ”, pp. 88–95. It was not revolutionary with regard to land. See Chavel, ibid., p. 93; Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, pp. 12–13. 79 Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 237. 77

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chapter attests that the editor viewed the economic crisis as a consequence of the building of the wall.80 Another claim posited by those who consider the chapter not in its chronological order is that it is not reasonable that Nehemiah took care of the polarity in the economic crisis during the fifty-two days of building that were so hectic.81 Similarly the assembly certainly required cessation of the work, and this makes it unlikely that the crisis occurred during the period of external pressure under which Nehemiah worked. Blenkinsopp debates the issue.82 On the one hand he thinks that the building project may have precipitated the economic crisis, and the month of Elul is a suitable time to collect (call in) debts. On the other hand, he maintains that there are chapters in Ezra-Nehemiah that are not presented in chronological order, so it is not surprising that Ch. 5 of Nehemiah is also not in its real order. In his opinion, compelling people from villages to move to Jerusalem (11:1–2) might have caused a severe social crisis. This is evident from the regulations concerning the behavior of the lenders, which is one of the most fascinating issues in chapter 10. In opposition to the opinions expressed above, and in favor of the chronological order, is that undoubtedly the recruitment for building the wall worsened the economic plight of the builders. The builders who cried out are the heads of families supporting themselves by a small economic farm, who have no possibility of supporting themselves from commerce or another type of business. They depend upon their agricultural produce; loss of the produce in one year could have tragic consequences.83 One of the factors that precipitated the economic crisis is that Nehemiah forbade the men to return to their homes while the wall was being built. Therefore the agricultural farm

80

Batten, ibid., p. 237. Heltzer and Kochman, Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 238. 82 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, pp. 255–256. 83 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 235–236; Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 257; Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, p. 495. On the difficult economic situation of those who were dependent upon farming, see also Chirchigno, Debt-Slavery, p. 218. On the phenomenon of children being sold by farmers impoverished because of a national crisis, see M. Adamthwaite, Late Hittite Emar: The Chronology, Sychronisms, and SocialPolitical Aspects of a Late Bronze Age Fortress Town (Louvain, 2001), p. 13. 81

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suffered destitution.84 Suddenly, their situation had become unbearable. Consequently, the complete economic collapse, described in Neh 5:1–5, could have occurred within a brief period of time, and the story is indeed in its chronological order. Fensham points out an additional reason for the crisis that helps explain the immediate economic collapse at that point in time.85 In his opinion the tension between Yehud and its neighbors caused a break in economic ties between them, and thereby contributed to Yehud’s worsening economic situation. In our opinion, the chapter is in chronological order and the economic crisis indeed occurred during the building of the wall. Since there is no proof from the text itself that vv. 1–13 are not in their proper place, there is no reason to move the chapter. One may assume that it describes the sequence of events chronologically.86 Moreover, it is difficult to know exactly how long it took for the wall of Jerusalem to be built.87 Perhaps the last stage took fifty-two days,88 but it is reasonable to assume that the polarization in social levels began even before Nehemiah appeared on the scene, and the situation worsened due to logistic preparations.89 These include: recruiting builders, their division into sectors responsible for building particular sections of the wall, setting into motion cleaning, repairs, and other building-related jobs. The builders were cut off from their households for an extended period of time. For these people, with no economic strength, even a few weeks without production could have had serious consequences. Therefore one may imagine that building the wall was the main cause of the acute economic crisis. In the sequence of the stories as they appear to us, there is a reasonable indication that the editor wished the reader to understand that what is told in Neh 5:1–13 about the acute situation in which the community of Yehud Medinta found itself, and the solution imposed by Nehemiah occurred while the wall was being built. 84 Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 129; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 165; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 255. 85 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, pp. 190–191. 86 Cf. Fensham, ibid., pp. 190–191; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 235–236. 87 According to Josephus, 11:179, the wall was built over a period of two years and four months. Some scholars reject his evidence as untrustworthy, and suggest various interpretations to his words. See e.g., Williamson, ibid., pp. 260–261; Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 273. 88 Cf. Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 259; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 260–261; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 273. 89 Cf. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion, p. 495.

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We will now try to show that the main reason behind the economicsocial situation of the criers, that almost collapsed not only the project of building the wall, but also the society in Yehud Medinta, was the nobles’ and rulers’ opposition policy. This is hinted at in the first verse of chapter 5 that is expository: “There was a great outcry by the common folk and their wives against their brother Jews” (Neh 5:1). In v. 7 Nehemiah turns an accusing finger toward the nobles and governors: “After pondering the matter carefully, I censured the nobles and the prefects, saying, ‘Are you pressing claims on loans made to your brothers?’ Then I raised a large crowd against them”. The censure verifies that Nehemiah held the nobles and deputies responsible for the situation. Why did the aristocracy and governors of Yehud Medinta behave so cruelly toward their fellow Jews who were recruited to rebuild the broken-down wall and the gates that had been consumed by fire? It is important to note that from the outcry of the three groups, one may deduce that there was food in the province of Yehud, and the lack of food was not a consequence of an acute national economic crisis in the province. The criers stressed that food was available to the nobles and rulers and that they were preventing it from reaching the builders of the wall, most of whom were loyal to Nehemiah. The nobles and rulers were the Jerusalem elite; they sought ties with factors external to Yehud Medinta who opposed Nehemiah, and particularly with Samaria.90 They precipitated the severe crisis intentionally, within the framework of their struggle against Nehemiah. By means of the initiated economic crisis, from which the builders would suffer, they hoped to crush Nehemiah. They were violently opposed to his worldview, especially regarding the Jewish identification of Yehud Medinta, that clashed with their own conceptions and endangered their strong ties and cooperation with their neighbors. Nobles and governors hoped that an economic crisis would begin a chain reaction with the following results: 1. It would lead to the economic collapse of Nehemiah’s supporters who had been recruited to build the wall, and deliver a fatal blow to their social status and honor. This would precipitate severe agitation among the builders and deteriorate their morale. Consequently,

90

Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question”, pp. 279–280.

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2. 3. 4.

5.

6.

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they would turn their backs upon this man who had brought such evil upon them. The agitation and disquiet would lead to serious protest marches such as described briefly in Neh 5:1–5. The governor of the province Beyond the River would fear internal disorder in Yehud Medinta and would interfere immediately. Because of Nehemiah’s special status, the governor would report to the king, and the king would order a detailed investigation of the incident as occurred in the case of Tattenai (Ezra 5:3, 13), and when a letter of hatred was sent (Ezra 4:7–23). It may be assumed that the consequences would be similar to those after the earlier letter of hatred, and perhaps even harsher. By presenting Nehemiah’s failings, they hoped to bring about Nehemiah’s removal from his post and his return to Persia,91 and thus stop the building of the wall. We must remember that the builders of the wall of Jerusalem had been beaten severely not many years beforehand when the king ordered cessation of the building in the wake of the letter of hatred sent to him by the “enemies of Judah and Benjamin”. The recipients of the king’s missive “hurried to Jerusalem, to the Jews, and stopped them by main force” (Ezra 4:23). Apparently the provocateurs did not completely obey the king’s instructions; they damaged the wall, and perhaps even harmed some of the Jews.92 After Nehemiah’s removal, they hoped another governor of Yehud would be appointed in accord with the wishes of Nehemiah’s opponents. The nobles and governors who had significant economic power93 felt certain that if Nehemiah were removed, within a short period of time they and the new governor could calm down the economic-social tensions and restore the quiet and social order; then they would be regarded as defenders of the weak. This could be done through acts similar to those carried out by Nehemiah, i.e., by remission of debts and various social amendments. Remission of debts is a recognized institution not only in Biblical Law, but also among different

91

Just as in the case of Zerubbabel who is mentioned for the last time in Ezra 5:2 in the second year of Darius’ reign. 92 Rudolph, Esra und Nehemiah, p. 103; Brockingon, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, pp. 106–106; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 99; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 155; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, pp. 203–204. 93 See e.g., Cataldo, “Persian Policy”, pp. 244–245.

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nations. Suffice us to recall Solon’s reform at the beginning of the 6th century B.C.E.,94 and the reform of Artaphernes of Ionia, part of the Persian Empire, at the beginning of the 5th century B.C.E.95 It is very possible that the nobles and rulers of Yehud hoped that after two failures to rebuild the wall, this dream would be shelved and along with it, realization of the separatist ideology. On what is the suggestion regarding the economic crisis based? We cannot base this thesis either on the data in the first part of Neh 5:1–13 that describes the economic-social plight and its solution, or even on information gleaned from the second part of the chapter (14–19) that describes Nehemiah’s attempts to alleviate the economic situation of the Jews in the province of Yehud. But it seems to us that the proposal may be based deductively on an analysis of some data found in the Book of Nehemiah that include information on the opposition to the wall building project. These are the main points of the argument. In chapters 3–4 that relate the story of building the wall, there are brief bits of knowledge hinting at the opposition of Jews to the activity. Therefore the Jewish nobles and governors could expect that exerting economic pressure on the builders would cause agitation also among other population levels, even if currently they were loyal to Nehemiah. This would result in the collapse of Nehemiah. From Neh 3:5 one may conclude that already at the beginning of his leadership, Nehemiah confronts internal opposition in Tekoa, the southern part of the province, to building the Jerusalem wall.96 Perhaps this opposition stemmed from ties with Geshem the Arab.97 An echo of their difficulties, complaints and the opposition of those loyal to Nehemiah is found in chapter 4 that reviews the various problems faced by Nehemiah when building the wall. Judah was saying, “The strength of the basket-carrier has failed, and there is so much rubble; we are not able ourselves to rebuild the wall”. And our foes were saying, “Before they know or see it, we shall be in among them and kill them, and put a stop to the work”. When the Jews living

94 95 96 97

Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 236; Yamauchi, Persia and the Bible, pp. 269–292. See Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, pp. 494–497, 586. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 226. Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 113.

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j. fleishman near them would arrive, they would tell us time and again “. . . from all the places where . . . you shall come back to us . . .” (Neh 4:5–6).98

Most likely, the nobles and governors were aware of these facts, of the difficulties and the consequences; they hardened their hearts toward the builders in order to trigger their collapse. The primary information on the strong and clever opposition to Nehemiah on the part of the higher class Jews with regard to building the wall, and their methods of operation is mentioned in chapter 6. This chapter relates the desperate attempts by the enemies of Nehemiah who lived outside the province of Yehud as well as his internal enemies to cause him to fail even when the wall had been almost completed. The information about the cooperation between Nehemiah’s external and internal enemies that appears in 6:1–19, informs us that Sanballat, Tobiah,99 and Geshem finally became convinced that their activities against building the wall had failed, an attack against the city was no longer possible, and they had not managed even to cause Nehemiah to fail and rid themselves of him. They understood that they had to change their tactics. So they cooperated with those within Yehud who agreed with them,100 hoping to harm Nehemiah personally.101 Nehemiah blames his external enemies for falsely accusing him of wishing to reign over Judah and arranging for false prophets to

98 On Nehemiah’s difficulties as reflected in these verses, see e.g., Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, pp. 248–249. Likewise Williamson (Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 226), who stresses that the speakers express their despair and melancholy brought on by their sense that they will not succeed in building the wall. 99 Many scholars reject the opinion that Tobiah’s name in v. 1 is a late addition, for he is not mentioned afterwards until v. 12, and Tobiah did not participate in the action whose goal was personal violence. He withdrew from opposition because of his ties with the Jewish elite group. See Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 49; Brockington, 1977, p. 125; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 267. Clines (1984, p. 173) maintains that Tobiah is not mentioned not because he did not participate, but because he was a clerk of Sanballat, not a ruler. Fensham (1982, pp. 199–200), also thinks that Tobiah participated in the action. In his opinion, in this chapter it seems that Geshem began to secure a more central position. 100 Some researchers think that internal opposition to Nehemiah began even earlier. See e.g., Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 191. However, in any case, at the time under discussion, the cooperation between the external opposition and the internal opposition was clear. 101 Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, pp. 249–250; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 137; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, pp. 172–173; Williamson, ibid., p. 253. On the cooperation between the internal opposition to Nehemiah – primarily on the part of those who held senior posts and those who married foreign woman – and Nehemiah’s foes outside the province of Yehud, see e.g., Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, p. 12.

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pronounce this (6:7). On the contrary, Nehemiah says, his enemies hired false prophets to prophesize against him. He was referring to Shemaiah, Noadiah and “the other prophets” (6:15) who were hired by Tobiah and Sanballat, the enemies of Nehemiah.102 The story in Neh 6:10–14 is the first one about a tie between the enemies of Nehemiah outside the province of Yehud and certain Jews who lived in Yehud in order to fight their war against Nehemiah. The story clearly reveals that there were nobles within Jerusalem who opposed the steps taken by Nehemiah.103 Scholars have emphasized the centrality of Tobiah from here on104 because the goal had become to isolate Nehemiah and harm his relationship with Jerusalemites, especially with the priests. Tobiah, who has strong ties with the Jerusalemites, especially with the priests, is the one who can lead such a campaign.105 Shemaiah and the other prophets of the Temple were part of the intrigue plotted within the Temple area with the support of Tobiah and intended to eliminate Nehemiah.106 The objective was to intimidate Nehemiah and bring about his carrying out deeds that would give him “a bad name” (6:13). Payment was given to the prophets for two purposes: (a) to influence Nehemiah directly to change his mind; (b) to influence the masses.107 Nehemiah, who adamantly refused the demands of his external enemies who had proposed: “Come, let us get together in Kephirim” (6:2), is not afraid to meet Shemaiah who was “housebound” and suggested “Let us meet in the House of God, inside the sanctuary . . . for they are

102 From here we learn that the false prophets were paid before the desired results were obtained. See M. Heltzer, “ ‘True’ and ‘False’ Prophecies”, Eretz-Israel 24 (1993), pp. 75–76 (Hebrew). Some researchers think that it is possible that Shemaiah operated at his own initiative, and the payment he received from Tobiah and Sanballat was not necessarily tied to the attempt to entrap Nehemiah, for there is no prohibition against paying a prophet. See e.g., 1 Sam 9:7. See Clines, ibid., p. 175. 103 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 204. 104 In vv. 12, 14, he is mentioned before Sanballat, which is unusual. 105 Willaimson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 257–258. On the other hand, Clines writes (p. 175) that it is still not clear why Nehemiah brought together Tobiah and Shemaiah. He even suggests erasing Sanballat’s name from vv. 12, 14 (ibid., p. 176). Fensham opposes this suggestion (The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 205). 106 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 271. He surmises that Shemaiah was among the Temple personnel, and therefore his home was within the Temple area. Williamson (Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 258) suggests that Shemaiah’s advice to escape to the Temple, may indicate that Shemaiah belonged to the family of the priests. 107 Heltzer, “ ‘True’ and ‘False’ Prophecies”, pp. 75–76.

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coming to kill you, by night they are coming to kill you” (6:10).108 It is difficult to know why Nehemiah went to Shemaiah’s home or why Shemaiah made the proposal.109 Shemaiah and Nehemiah’s enemies who had hired him did not assess correctly Nehemiah’s intelligence or audaciousness. He saw through their plot110 and did not fall prey to the trap set for him by Shemaiah and those who had sent him.111 In protest, Nehemiah said: “O my God, remember against Tobiah and Sanballat these deeds of theirs, and against Noadiah the prophetess, and against the other prophets that they wished to intimidate me” (6:14). From these words we learn that additional enemies against Nehemiah sprang up from among the prophets. Batten112 interprets this according to the Septuaginta:113 “and to the rest of the prophets who warned me”. According to this reading, the text speaks of a group of prophets who favored Nehemiah, and therefore Shemaiah’s name was eliminated from the verse. Noadiah was a prophetess who stood by Nehemiah, and perhaps she is the one who revealed to him prophetically that Shemaiah was a false prophet. But there is no justification for rejecting the Masoretic formulation and accepting the Septuaginta version, especially since the term ‫“ ירא‬fear” presents the reason for the behavior of Nehemiah’s internal and external foes (6:8, 13, 14).114 We can deduce from this verse that Sanballat

108 For the meaning of the word ‫ ָﬠצוּר‬different suggestions have been made, and this is not the place to explain them in detail and evaluate them. 109 For various suggestions regarding why Nehemiah went to Shemaiah’s house, see Malbim in situ; Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 255. There are also a number of suggestions regarding why Shemaiah made his proposal. See Rashi in his commentary on v. 13; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 139; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 204; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 175; Blenkinsopp, EzraNehemiah, pp. 270–271; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 258–259. 110 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 205; Clines, ibid., p. 175. 111 There are a number of theories concerning how and why Nehemiah concluded that Shemaiah had been hired by Tobiah and Sanballat. See e.g., Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 257; Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 126; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 259; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 271; Clines, ibid., p. 175. 112 Batten, ibid., p. 258. 113 Lucian Text (BHS 1439). 114 On the great significance of this verb in chapter 6, and on the motif of fear also in connection with a true prophet versus a false prophet, and on Nehemiah’s understanding that in a conflict with false prophets, the only thing he had to fear was fear itself, see D. Shepherd, “Prophetaphobia: Fear and False Prophecy in Nehemiah 6”, VT 55 (2005), pp. 237–238, 249–250.

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and Tobiah attempted to destroy Nehemiah not only by means of Shemaiah, but also by means of the prophetess Noadiah. The main difficulty with this verse is that it mentions a prophetess who did not appear beforehand and is not at all familiar to us,115 whereas Nehemiah speaks a lot about Shemaiah, yet does not even mention him in this verse that sort of summarizes what appears in vv. 10–14.116 There are scholars who think that one may deduce from this verse that other prophets besides Shemaiah were involved in this episode or perhaps there were additional attempts by other prophets to harm Nehemiah. Brockington, Myers and Williamson agree with the second view.117 Fensham also thinks that Noadiah belongs to the group of prophets who opposed Nehemiah’s activities.118 Some researchers are of the opinion that Noadiah represented yet another group of prophets who spoke openly against Nehemiah, maintaining that the construction of the wall was not being done at the command of God, whereas Shemaiah appeared, at least in public, as Nehemiah’s supporter.119 The information in Neh 6:17–19 regarding the ties of Tobiah the Ammonite – bitter enemy of Nehemiah, with the nobles, that is with the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem during the period of the rebuilding of the wall, is very important to our topic. After we are told that the work on constructing the wall was completed after 52 days, we read: 16

When all our enemies heard it, all the nations round about us were intimidated, and fell very low in their own estimation; they realized that this work had been accomplished by the help of our God. 17Also in those days, the nobles of Judah kept up a brisk correspondence with Tobiah, and Tobiah with them. 18Many in Judah were his confederates, for he was a son-in-law of Shechaniah son of Arah, and his son Jehohanan had married the daughter of Meshullam son of Berechiah. 19They would also speak well of him to me, and would divulge my affairs to him. Tobiah sent letters to intimidate me.

115

Clines (Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 177) wonders if she was Shemaiah’s wife. Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 258. 117 Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 126; Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 139; and Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 260. 118 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 206. 119 For a discussion focused on the prophetess Noadiah, and her group of believers, their worldview, and their violent ideological war against Nehemiah, see Carroll, “Coopting the Prophets: Nehemiah and Noadiah”, pp. 88–89. 116

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Indeed, it is difficult to know exactly to what period the phrase “also in those days” refers. There are two main possibilities: while the wall was being built, or during the days immediately following completion of the wall. Despite the indefiniteness, it is translated as: “furthermore, throughout that period” which attests not only to the severe opposition to Nehemiah during the construction of the wall, but even to the conspiracy of the nobles of Yehud against Nehemiah afterwards.120 We learn from this passage that Tobiah had broadly-based links with Jerusalem121 by means of which Nehemiah’s opponents outside Yehud Medinta were updated by Nehemiah’s internal enemies within Jerusalem with regard to what was happening within the city.122 We deduce from this that some of the upper class settlers in Jerusalem opposed Nehemiah’s project and his policy to isolate Yehud Medinta. Therefore they established and maintained contact with Tobiah who was among Nehemia’s opponents.123 Among those who cooperated with Tobiah were two major and powerful factions: some of them had “taken the oath”; others, were those with whom he had marriage ties. Some suggest that among those who had taken the oath were a number of Tobiah’s relatives by marriage who had formalized their ties with him by taking an oath which included a curse if violated, as was customary regarding marriage in those days.124 Blenkinsopp understands from 6:17–19 that there was a broadbased network of marriage ties between Sanballat and Tobiah and the Jerusalemite aristocracy.125 But Fensham’s opinion is more likely – that it is not reasonable to suppose that Tobiah had marital ties with the many people referred to.126 Blenkinsopp also thinks that Tobiah’s

120

Cf. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 262. According to Blenkinsopp (Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 219), it is possible that he even had some authority in Jerusalem. Williamson (ibid., p. 261) thinks that Tobiah was a Samarian official under Sanballat, who lived in Jerusalem for a period of time. 122 Malbim in situ. See also Williamson, ibid., p. 261; and Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 127. 123 Cf. Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 208. 124 M. Zer-Kavod, Ezra and Nehemiah (Jerusalem, 1980, Hebrew), p. 98. It seems that Myers (Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 139), too, is of the opinion that Tobiah’s family ties were the basis for his status in Jerusalem. Batten (The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 260) states that Tobiah’s marital ties enabled him to maintain contact with so many of the nobles of Yehud. 125 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 365. 126 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 208. 121

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party was not based only on marital ties, though he is of the opinion that Tobiah had family ties to many Jerusalemites.127 Brockington also thinks that the term does not refer only to marital ties, and possibly hints at other ties, such as economic or commercial ones.128 It seems likely that use of the term “the oath-takers” – whose parallel term in Akkadian is bel ade129 – hints that in Jerusalem during this period there was a party that supported Tobiah.130 It is reasonable to assume that those who had taken an oath vis-à-vis Tobiah were primarily the noble Jews mentioned in the previous v. 17.131 One can imagine that Nehemiah had great difficulty with this party, even though we barely hear about them.132 Two marital ties mentioned in the passage constitute important examples that reveal Tobiah’s success in forming ties with the leadership in Yehud Medinta: Tobiah married the daughter of Shechaniah son of Arah. Arah’s name appears when his descendants are mentioned as among those came to Yehud (Ezra 2:5). From the list of builders of the wall, we know the name of Shemaiah son of Shechaniah (3:29), who may have been Tobiah’s wife’s brother.133 Apparently, Shechaniah belonged to the Jerusalemite aristocracy or was of prominent status in the city.134 Yehochanan son of Tobiah – apparently from his marriage to Shechaniah’s daughter135 – married the daughter of Meshullam son of Berechiah. Meshullam son of Berechiah son of Meshizbal (Neh 3:4, 30) is included on the list of builders of the wall as one who participated in building two sections. He might have been an important official (Neh 3:30).136 Blenkinsopp is of the opinion that proof that he was

127

Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 271. Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 127. See also, Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 177. 129 Paul, “Nehemiah 6:19”, p. 177, n. 1; Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 274. 130 The creation of social parties is characteristic of the period. See Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 274. 131 Mazar, Canaan and Israel, p. 279. 132 Williiamson, 1985, p. 261. In Akkadian, this expression is interpreted as “servant”, i.e., a vassal bound by an adû agreement”. See CAD, A/2, p. 134. One wonders if the expression is used here to stress the subservience to Tobiah, and thus to mock the nobles of Jerusalem for their policy. 133 Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, 260; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 274. 134 Batten, ibid., p. 260. 135 Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 274. 136 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 261. 128

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an important personage is that his daughter was married to Tobiah’s son. Blenkinsopp and Batten think that proof of his importance is that only his father’s name appears, not his daughter’s.137 He brings the opinion of Herzfeld who maintains that Meshullam was head of the House of David during this period. Some researchers think that under discussion is the office that was in the Temple, though its purpose is not clear. Fensham brings up both possibilities.138 Batten writes that Meshullam did not have his own house; he had only a room in the Temple.139 There are researchers who suggest that this was the Temple office assigned to Tobiah later on (13:4–9).140 Williamson thinks that Meshullam favored building the wall, but nevertheless had ties with Tobiah, which attests to an approach that supported building the wall as part of the reconstruction of the city, but opposed Nehemiah’s separatist approach which considered construction of the wall a symbol of realization of the Jewish separatist worldview.141 It is likely that Tobiah, like the High Priest Eliashib, did not dare oppose Nehemiah at the time the wall was being built. The names Shechaniah and Meshullam appear among the descendants of Zerubbabel (I Chron 3:19–22). Some scholars maintain that Shechaniah and Meshullam were Zerubbabel’s grandsons.142 Some scholars think that the passage reveals that Tobiah was interested in linking up with Nehemiah peacefully by means of the aristocracy of Yehud,143 in order to promote his mercantile interests in the Capital.144 His supporters also tried to help him do so. Those who agree with this approach think that Nehemiah did not completely reject Tobiah.145 But after it became clear to Nehemiah – perhaps due to the extensive correspondence between Tobiah and his supporters in Jerusalem146 – that Tobiah was exploiting his ties with the aristoc-

137

Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 234; and Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 260. Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 178. 139 Batten, ibid., p. 220; Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, p. 119; Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 239; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, pp. 157–158. 140 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 210. 141 Williamson, ibid., p. 261. 142 Geiger, apud Zer-Kavod, Ezra and Nehemiah, p. 98. 143 Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, p. 177. 144 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 274. 145 Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, pp. 208–209. Although Clines (ibid., pp. 176–177) thinks that Nehemiah considers any interference on the part of Tobiah as a disturbance and threat. 146 Blenkinsopp, ibid., p. 274. 138

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racy of Yehud to the detriment of Nehemiah, and to influence him,147 Nehemiah distanced himself from Tobiah. Unlike this approach, there are scholars who think that the intentions of Tobiah and his supporters were negative from the beginning, and they did not wish to reach agreement with Nehemiah.148 According to this approach the correspondence between Tobiah and his supporters was secret, and Nehemiah learned about it from other sources. Apparently, Nehemiah was compelled to cope with double agents, as can be understood from his words: “they would take my words to him [Tobiah]”. This expression is similar to the Akkadian expression awātam šuṣû, which is translated as “to betray a secret”.149 Thus the exact meaning of the clause is that: “they revealed to him my secrets”.150 In our opinion, the position of the story in Neh 5:1–13 and the information in Neh 3:5 and 4:5–6 reveal that Nehemiah suffered from opposition among the Jews. Especially from the information in Ch. 6, we learn that Jewish aristocrats and rulers precipitated the economic crisis in Neh 5:1–5.

Conclusion Nehemiah attributed the primary significant attempt to cause him to fail and cease his activities, especially building the wall of Jerusalem, to ְ ‫ ח ִֹרים‬Jewish “nobles and prefects” of Yehud. He castigated the ‫וּסגָ נִ ים‬ them for precipitating economic distress. These Jewish leaders had acted, hoping to demoralize the builders of the wall who were among Nehemiah’s loyal supporters. They caused them to lose not only all their property, but also their personal honor. They deprived them of their homes, their property and their children so that Nehemiah would be considered by his loyal supporters – as well as by the governor of the province Beyond the River, the upper echelons of the Persian Empire, and the king – as an agitator who was sending shockwaves 147

Fensham, ibid., pp. 208–209. See Myers (Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 137) and Clines (ibid.) raise this as an alternative explanation. Paul concurs (“Nehemiah 6:19”, pp. 177–178). 149 CAD, A/2, s.v. aṣû, 5g), pp. 372–373. 150 On Tobiah’s power at a later period as well, one may learn from his taking control of the Temple office, and of his shameful removal from it by Nehemiah (Neh 13:4–9). 148

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throughout the sensitive region of Yehud and its environs. They hoped that social agitation in the province of Yehud would lead to demonstrations similar to the one described in Neh 5:1–5, and to activities against Nehemiah. Consequently, Nehemiah would be removed from his post, and his separatist policy would be buried. In this manner they violently opposed Nehemiah’s current activities and his future plans that stemmed from his desire to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem and promote his separatist conception. Indeed, to stop Nehemiah from building the wall, Jewish aristocrats triggered an economic crisis. The ‫וּסגָ נִ ים‬ ְ ‫ ח ִֹרים‬failed, however, to achieve their goal. Nehemiah managed to resolve the economic crisis, and he succeeded in rebuilding the Jerusalem wall.

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Bibliography M. Adamthwaite, Late Hittite Emar: The Chronology, Sychronisms, and Social-Political Aspects of a Late Bronze Age Fortress Town (Louvain, 2001). R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament period (English trans. by J. Bowden; Louisville, Kentucky, 1994). L. Alonso-Schökel, “ ‘We are Equal to our Brothers’ – an Exegesis of Neh 5:1–13”, in T. Holm (ed.), The Literary Language of the Bible: The Collected Essays of Luis Alonso Schokel (BIBAL, Collected Essays, Vol. 3; Richland Hills, Texas, 2000), pp. 17–27. N. Avigad, Bullae and Seals from a Post-exilic Judean Archive (Qedem 4; Jerusalem, 1976). L. W. Batten, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah (ICC; Edinburgh, 1913). J. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; London, 1988). P. Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Indiana, 2002). L. H. Brockington, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther (NCB; Oxford, 1977). R. P. Carroll, “Coopting the Prophets: Nehemiah and Noadiah”, in E. Ulrich, J. W. Wright, R. P. Carroll and P. R. Davies (eds.), Priests, Prophets and Scribes (JSOT Sup; Sheffield, 1992), pp. 87–99. J. Cataldo, “Persian Policy and the Yehud Community during Nehemiah”, JSOT 28 (2003), pp. 240–252. S. Chavel, “ ‘Let My People Go!’: Emancipation, Revelation, and Scribal Activity in Jeremiah 34.8–14”, JSOT 76 (1997), pp. 71–95. G. C. Chirichigno, Debt-Slavery in Israel and the Ancient Near East (JSOTsup 144; Sheffield 1993). D. J. A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (NCBC; London, 1984). H. Eshel and B. Zissu, “Two Notes on the History and Archaeology of Judea in the Persian Period”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”, Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, II (Indiana, 2006), pp. 823–831. P. F. Esler, “Ezra-Nehemiah as a Narrative of (Reinvented) Israelite Identity”, Biblical Interpretation 11 (2003), pp. 413–426. F. C. Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah (NICOT; Michigan, 1982). J. Fleishman, “The Rebuilding of the Wall of Jerusalem: Neh 2:1–9 and the Use of Zoroastrian Principles”, JNSL 34 (2008), pp. 59–82. N. K. Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5”, in M. R. Sneed (ed.), Concepts of Class in Ancient Israel (Atlanta, GA, 1999), pp. 1–19. M. Heltzer, “ ‘True’ and ‘False’ Prophecies”, Eretz-Israel 24 (1993), pp. 74–77 (Hebrew). M. Heltzer and M. Kochman, Ezra and Nehemiah (Olam Ha-Tanach; Tel Aviv, 1994, Hebrew). S. Japhet, “Periodization between History and Ideology II: Chronology and Ideology in Ezra-Nehemiah”, in O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Indiana, 2006), pp. 491–508. G. N. Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period”, in O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Indiana, 2006), pp. 265–289. C. Levin, “The Poor in the Old Testament: Some Observations”, Religion and Theology 8 (2001), pp. 253–257. O. Lipschits, “Who Financed and Who Arranged the Building of Jerusalem’s walls? The Sources of the List of the Builders of the Wall (Nehemiah 3:1–32) and the Purposes of its Literary Placement within Nehemiah’s Memoirs”, in M. Bar-Aser et al. (eds.), Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, its Exegesis and its Language (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 73–89.

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B. Mazar, Canaan and Israel (Jerusalem, 1974, Hebrew). S. Mittmann, “Tobia, Sanballat und die Persische Provinz Juda”, Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 26 (2000), pp. 1–50. J. M. Myers, Ezra-Nehemiah (AB; New York, 1965). J. Naveh, “Scripts and Writing”, in H. Tadmor (ed.), History of the Jews: The Restoration – The Persian Period (Jerusalem, 1983; Hebrew). T. A. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago – London, 1948). S. M. Paul, “Nehemiah 6:19 – Counter Espionage”, Hebrew Annual Review 1 (1977), pp. 177–179. W. H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40 (AB; New York: 2006). W. Rudolph, Esra und Nehemiah (Tübingen, 1949). D. Shepherd, “Prophetaphobia: Fear and False Prophecy in Nehemiah 6”, VT 55 (2005), pp. 232–250. J. Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code (Oxford, 2003). W. J. Watts (ed.), Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch, Society of Biblical Literature (Atlanta, 2001). M. Weinfeld, “The Trend of Universality and the Trend of Separatism during the Return to Zion Period”, Tarbiz 33 (1963), pp. 228–242. G. Widengren, The Persian Period (Philadelphia, 1977). G. R. Williams, “Contextual Influences in Readings of Nehemiah 5: A Case Study”, Tyndale Bulletin 53 (2002), pp. 57–74. H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC; Texas, 1985). E. M. Yamauchi, “Two Reforms Compared: Solon of Athens and Nehemiah of Jerusalem”, in G. Rendsburg et al. (eds.), The Bible World: Essays in Honor of Cyrus H. Gordon (New York, 1980), pp. 269–292. ——, Persia and the Bible (Michigan, 1990). M. Zer-Kavod, Ezra and Nehemiah (Jerusalem, 1980, Hebrew).

THE VALLEY OF ELAH BATTLE AND THE DUEL OF DAVID WITH GOLIATH: BETWEEN HISTORY AND ARTISTIC THEOLOGICAL HISTORIOGRAPHY

Moshe Garsiel Bar-Ilan University and Giv‘at Washington College

The description of the battle between the Philistines and the Israelites in the Valley of Elah, with its focus on the combat between David and Goliath (1 Sam 17), is one of the high points of artistic biblical historiography included in the Book of Samuel.1 How should scholars approach such a book that contains historical information intertwined with theological and literary characteristics? There is no unified method of coping with this question. Many historians of the biblical period have tried to analyze the text in a critical way, to extract pieces of historical value from it, to add more information drawn from extra-biblical documents, from archaeological findings, etc.; and, based on all the above, to reconstruct the history of Israel in biblical times.2 Other researchers who follow Wellhausen’s lead claim that in most cases the biblical historiography reflects the times of its late sources and their writers’ views rather than the early times about

1 I am grateful to Professor James S. Ackerman (IU) for reading the article draft and making many helpful observations; Professor Joshua Schwartz, and Professor Stuart Cohen (BIU) also contributed some helpful comments. 2 See, e.g., J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel Aviv, 1964, Hebrew); B. Mazar, Biblical Israel: State and People (edited by S. Ahituv; Jerusalem, 1992); J. Bright, A History of Israel (Louisville, 2000); Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands: In the Light of Archaeological Study, I–II (New York, Toronto – London, 1963); Ch. Herzog and M. Gichon, Battles of the Bible (London, 1978); A. Malamat and H. Tadmor, in H. H. Ben-Sason (ed.), A History of the Jewish People (London, 1976); A. Malamat, History of Biblical Israel: Major Problems and Minor Issues (Leiden, Boston – Köln 2001); H. Reviv, From Clan to Monarchy: Israel in the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 1979, Hebrew); R. A. Gabriel, The Military History of Ancient Israel (Westport, CT, 2003). To this list, I would like to add Prof. Bustenai Oded’s excellent written course: The History of Israel during the First Temple Period, I–IV (2nd revised and augmented ed.; Raanana, 2007–2008, Hebrew).

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which they narrate.3 Another group of scholars concentrate on the history of traditions. The story of the Elah Valley battle, for instance, belongs, in their view, to a hypothetical ancient corpus of collected traditions defined as “The History of David’s Rise” (= HDR). This ancient collection provides legitimatization for David’s Kingship.4 The story of the Elah Valley battle contains problems and inconsistencies that have been considered as an outcome of this long process of traditions’ assemblage and growth. Such is the case with the inconsistency between the accounts in chapter 16 and chapter 17 regarding the issue of how David was introduced into the king’s court. This problem is intensified by the shorter version found in LXXB. Another discrepancy arises around the question of who really did slay Goliath, Elḥanan (2 Sam 21:19) or David? – All of the above stimulate examinations of the process of traditions’ growth.5 Many scholars believe that our story reached its final shape rather late, when it was incorporated within the Deuteronomistic History. And as against to the above diachronic approaches, there are other scholars, who are familiar with the discipline of general literature, and they tend to disregard the historical background as well as the process of compilation and the history of the text. They concentrate primarily on the literary aspects of the story as it is in its present shape, and interpret it according to one of several scholarly methods of literary criticism.6 3 See J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin, 1905), esp. pp. 165–293. 4 See L. Rost, The Succession to the Throne of David (Trans. by M. D. Rutter and D. M. Gun; Sheffield, 1982); P. K. McCarter, Jr., I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB; Garden City, 1980), pp. 27–30; R. W. Klein, 1 Samuel (WBC; Waco, Texas, 1983), pp. xxxi–xxxii. 5 For different views, compare, e.g., 4 articles in D. Barthélemy, D. W. Gooding, J. Lust and E. Tov, The Story of David and Goliath: Textual and Literary Criticism: Papers of a Joint Research Venture (OBO 73; Friburg, 1986); A. Rofé, “The Battle of David and Goliath: Folklore, Theology, Eschatology”, in J. Neusner, B. A. Levine and E. Frerichs (eds.), Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (Philadelphia, 1978), pp. 117–151; A. G. Auld and C. Y. S. Ho, “The Making of David and Goliath”, JSOT 52 (1992), pp. 19–39. For a summary and more bibliography on this issue, see M. Garsiel, “Elements of History and Reality in the Description of the Elah Valley Warfare and the Combat Between David and Goliath (1 Sam 17)”, Beit Mikra 41 (1997), pp. 293–294 (Hebrew); A. F. Campbell, 1 Samuel (FOTL VII; Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2003), pp. 189–193; D. T. Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel (NICOT; Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2007), pp. 434–436. 6 See, e.g., H. Jason, “The Story of David and Goliath: A Folk Epic?”, Biblica 60 (1979), pp. 36–70; J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, I–IV (Assen, 1981, 1986, 1990, 1993); R. Polzin, Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A

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Since the biblical historiography contains history that is intertwined with theological outlook and enriched with rhetoric and literary structures and literary devices, it seems to me that an integrated and interdisciplinary approach should be adopted.7 According to this recommended approach, understanding the historical situation as it is depicted in a given biblical text and attested in extra biblical knowledge is imperative, inasmuch as most of the story’s materials are based upon historical items rendered by early sources. If we try to understand the significance and the message of the story of the Elah battle and the duel of David and Goliath, we should undertake an exhaustive study of the historical background: the political situation, the geographical setting, the weaponry, the art of warfare, the archaeological findings from the area sites, etc. The biblical narrative’s ideas and messages are based on a substructure of historical events. And our analysis should take into consideration all of the different components that were integrated in any given story.

I. The Armies’ Movements and the Battlefield Let us begin with the historical-geographical background. Once King Saul solidified his position as an independent ruler of a small kingdom in the central mountain region after his victory in the battle of Michmas, he felt free to add more picked soldiers to his army (14:52), and to supply them with better arms most of which were taken from the Philistines as spoils of war.8 In the second stage, Saul probably tried to expand his small kingdom and provide protection to the Judahite cities in the Lowland (Shephelah) of Judah, the area that served as the

Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part Two: 1 Samuel (Bloomington, 1989); R. Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (New York, 1999). 7 This approach has been demonstrated in my books: M. Garsiel, The Kingdom of David: Studies in History and Inquiries in Historiography (Tel Aviv, 1975, Hebrew); Idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel: Studies in the Book of Samuel, I–IV (A written course for The Open University of Israel; Raanana, 2008). 8 On the Battle of Michmas and its consequences, see M. Garsiel, “The Battle of Michmas: a Historical Literary Study (1 Sam 13–14)”, in U. Simon and M. GoshenGottstein (eds.), Studies in Bible and Exegesis, I, Arie Toeg in Memoriam (Ramat-Gan, 1980), pp. 15–50 (Hebrew); idem, The Rise of the Monarchy, II, pp. 17–68.

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western buffer zone near Philistia. From a geo-strategic point of view the war in the Elah Valley was inevitable. In order to put an end to Saul’s independence and expansion, the Philistines had to launch a military campaign. Their troops came out from their eastern main cities, Gath (Tel Zafit) and Ekron (Tel Miqne). Archaeological excavations in both sites have confirmed the existence of flourishing cities during the second half of the 11th century B.C.E.9 The Philistine army probably took the route alongside the Elah Brook that flows all the way from the mountain range north of Bethlehem westward, and encircles Mount Azekah going towards the hill of Gath on its way to the Mediterranean. The Philistine army moved the opposite (upstream) way – eastward – and gathered their troops between Mount Azekah and Sochoh (Kh. ʿAbbad) in an area dubbed “Ephes Dammim”, which refers probably to a part of the Elah Brook, near the western entrance to the Elah ravine.10 They intended to continue marching eastward along the ancient route that was created by the Elah Brook, and to reach the central mountain ridge near Bethlehem. Their strategic objective was to disconnect the Land of Judah from the Land of Benjamin, to threaten both main cities: Bethlehem to the south and Gibeah of Saul (Saul’s capital; identified with Tel al-Ful) to the north, thus putting an end to the independent kingdom ruled by Saul. This war was not just a background to the duel between David and Goliath, inasmuch as similar duel episodes were not permitted to interrupt the main story sequence, but they ere included as condensed episodes in the book’s appendix (2 Sam 21:15–22; 23:20–21). Nor was it just an insignificant event, one of so many wars and skirmishes that took place between the two rival armies, most of which were generalized and condensed in just a few words (1 Sam 14:47,52). Nor was it

9

See A. M. Maier, “Ten Years of Excavations at Biblical Gat Plishtim”, Qadmoniot 40 (2007), pp. 15–24 (Hebrew); T. Dothn and S. Gitin, “Miqne, Tel (Ekron)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 1053–1058; T. Dothan and M. Dothan, People of the Sea: The Search for the Philistines (New York, 1992), pp. 237–252; N. Bierling, Giving Goliath his Due: New Archaeological Light on the Philistines (Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1992), p. 150. 10 For this identification, see Z. Kallai, “The Wars of Saul”, in J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel-Aviv, 1964), p. 138; Garsiel, “Elements of History and Reality”, p. 296; compare some other options cited by Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, p. 438.

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just a battle to win control of the fertile land of the Elah Valley.11 This story deals with a major and critical battle that was meant to secure the kingdom’s independence and the safety of the tribes of Judah, Benjamin, Ephraim, and others who were under imminent threat. No wonder that in order to prevent the Philistines from achieving their strategic objective, the people of Israel as well as the tribe of Judah (among who were David’s older brothers [1 Sam 17:13–14]) combined forces, and under the Saul’s leadership headed towards the Elah Valley (17:52). But prior to the campaign, Saul had to secure his rear flank by making an agreement with the Jebusite enclave of Jerusalem. Later, the Israelites repaid the Jebusites by delivering Goliath’s head to them. We will discuss this matter in section V below. At first sight, it seems that there is a discrepancy in the location of Saul’s troops: on the one hand, it is stated that they encamped in the Elah Valley (v. 2), while on the other hand, in the subsequent verse, we find that both armies encamped on opposite hills and a ravine separated them. We suggest a distinction between two tactical steps: at the first one, the Philistines were heading towards the western entrance of the narrow ravine that leads to the Elah Valley. They encamped between Sochoh and Azeqah in “Ephes Dammim”, very close to the western entrance to the ravine (v. 1); while Saul organized his troops in the eastern spacious part of the Elah Valley (near today’s Qibbutz Ha-Lamed Hay). The Israelites could not afford a battle in this spacious valley against the heavily armed Philistine army. Hence, in the second stage, after they had identified the Philistines’ intention to enter the ravine through its western entrance, they hurried to the northern range of hills that is overlooking the ravine.12 Had the Philistines entered the narrow ravine from the west and advanced eastward a short distance, the Israelites would have met them with a barrage of sling stones, arrows, and light spears from the northern hills above the ravine. In such an ambush and onslaught, the Israelites would

11 Cf. J. A. Beck, “David and Goliath, A Story of Place: The Narrative-Geographical Shaping of 1 Samuel 17”, WTJ 68 (2006), p. 327. 12 Later on, on one of these hills, King David would build a fortified city, probably its name is Sha‘arayim, see Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Sha‘arayim”, The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, 8 (2008), Article 22 (against N. Na’aman, “In Search of the Ancient Name of Khirbet Qeiyafa”, The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, 8 [2008], article 21).

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A photo of the battlefield

have an advantageous start. The Philistines, reading the Israelites’ trap correctly, did not enter into the ravine. Instead, they moved to the opposite range of hills that is overlooking the ravine from the south, near the Judahite city of Sochoh. Now, both armies were facing each other from opposite ridges, separated by a ravine, waiting for the other army to loose patience, descend to the ravine, cross it, climb up the opposite hill’s slope and attack its enemy. Needless to say, that in such a move, the climbing attackers would probably sustain heavy losses. No wonder that both armies found themselves in a standoff situation.

II. Goliath’s Appearance and Weaponry vis-à-vis David’s This stagnation was broken by the appearance of a Philistine who came out of the Philistine ranks. Since he was standing below, in the ravine between (byn) the two armies, the narrator used a wordplay dubbing

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him ’iš-habbenayim; lit. the man of between (the two sides).13 Then, the narrator introduces him as Goliath of (the city of) Gath. By adding his residence, the narrator creates another pun attached to this individual: In Hebrew, the first and last letters of Goliath’s name (glyt) fit the two letters creating his city’s name (gt) respectively. These two subsequent puns seem to be integral parts of the story. And there is one more: David comes down from his hometown, Beth-lehem. The second part of this place name, lḥem, contains two punning options: 1. bread, food; 2. war. The narrator employs both: David came to supply ten loafs of bread and other groceries to his brothers and their commander, and he was watching the war closely.14 In our episode the giant’s name occurs only once more, in v. 23. Elsewhere in our episode, he is called “the Philistine” (ha-plyshty) – twenty-seven times plus several other pronouns. However, in other episodes in 1Sam 21:10; 22:10 his name appears again. In the first case, the text explicitly connects him with the battle of the Elah Valley. The problem arises out of one of the appendixes attached at the end of the Book of Samuel, where four short episodes dealing with David and some of his elite unit of heroes who killed four formidable Philistine fighters, sons of the Rafah of the city of Gath (2 Sam 21:15–22). The problem lies within the third short episode, where the killing of Goliath is attributed to another individual at another location: “Again there was fighting with the Philistines at Gob; and Elhanan son of Jaare-orgim the Bethlehemite killed Goliath the Gittite, whose spear had a shaft like a weaver’s beam” (vv. 18–19). The text in 1 Chron 20:5 tries to settle this discrepancy by narrating that Elhanan had killed Lahmi, Goliath’s brother. But this kind of harmonization is artificial, and the problem remains: Who really killed Goliath the Gittite? A few modern scholars tentatively suggest a “conspiracy theory”, according to which Elhanan of Bethlehem was the one who really killed Goliath. But later on, he was robbed of this credit, and his

13 For further discussion of this title, see: McCarter, 1 Samuel, pp. 290–291; Garsiel, “The Combat between David and Goliath”, pp. 297–298 (n. 19); Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, pp. 439–440. 14 See M. Garsiel, “Word Play and Puns as a Rhetorical Device in the Book of Samuel”, in S. B. Noegel (ed.), Puns and Pundits: Word Play in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Literature (Bethesda, MD, 2000), p. 195.

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exploit was transferred to David in order to glorify the king as a great hero.15 Others modify the theory and attribute to Elhanan the killing of Goliath, while David had killed another unnamed Philistine giant. In a later period the name of Goliath and the description of his special spear were transferred from Elhanan’s exploit to David’s. The last explanation is based upon the fact that in twentyseven of the instances in our story, the opponent is addressed as the “Philistine”, and only twice his name “Goliath” is mentioned explicitly.16 According to both of these explanations, the episode of Elhanan’s exploit is an early and trustworthy tradition. Other scholars suggest that Elhanan is David’s earlier given name. Indeed, a change of name is rather frequent in the Bible. From his later perspective, the author prefers to use David’s later name regularly. However, in the third episode of the duel between Elhanan and Goliath, the author of this appendix preserved his archaic name only once in order to retain the surprise of his feat. His later name dwd may be interpreted either as a popular nickname: “the beloved (one)”, which served the author as a frequent Midrashic name derivation for making a point that everybody loved David;17 or it may be regarded as a regnal name.18 Both suggestions may be combined: At the beginning, his given name was changed from Elhanan to David by his followers who loved him, and later on, the latter became his royal name. Anyway, the M.T. of Elhanan’s episode was severely corrupted: (a) Its opening, “And there was another fighting with the Philistines at Gob . . .” is an exact duplication of the previous episode (compare v. 19 with 18). (b) The place name Gob, otherwise unknown in the Bible and extra-biblical sources, appears twice in these episodes. In 1 Chron 20:4–5, the place name in the Book of Samuel’s second episode was changed to Gezer; whereas in the Elhanan’s episode no 15 See, e.g., F. Stolz, Das erste und zweite Buch Samuel (ZBK AT 9; Zürich, 1981), pp. 283–284; C. S. Ehrlich, “Goliath”, The Anchor Bible Dictionary, II (New York, 1992), pp. 1073–1074; S. Herrmann, A History of Israel in Old Testament Times (Revised and Enlarged edition; London, 1981), pp. 138–139. 16 See, e.g., M. H. Segal, The Books of Samuel: Edited and Interpreted with a Detailed Introduction (Jerusalem, 1964, Hebrew), pp. 135–136; McCarter, 1 Samuel, p. 291; Campbell, 1 Samuel, p. 177. 17 For all the references accompanied with discussion, see Garsiel, “Word Play in the Book of Samuel”, pp. 190–191. 18 See, e.g., A. M. Honeyman, “The Evidence for Regnal Names among the Hebrews”, JBL 67 (1948), pp. 23–25.

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place name is mentioned. Several other emendations were offered to this place name.19 I suggest that in the original text the place name of the Elhanan’s episode should be read ba-Gay’ (in the ravine). It is exactly the same ravine where David killed Goliath and later the Israelite began their pursuit after the Philistines westward (1 Sam 17:3, 52). (c) Elhanan’s father’s name (y’ry-’rgym) is badly corrupted: the second word of the construct state is a dittography of the second word of another construct state (mnwr ’rgym) at the end of the same verse. I agree with earlier suggestions that the scribe’s error reflects the name yšy (Jesse,) David’s father.20 Only Jesse is referred to in the whole Bible as Jesse the Beth-lechemite (byt-ha-laḥmy; cf. 16:1,18; 17:58). And to conclude the argument for the equation Elhanan = David, I claim that the author of the four episode appendix certainly referred to David in his third episode. Otherwise, his summary at the episode’s end, “Those four were descended from the Raphah in Gath, and they fell by the hands of DAVID and his men” (2 Sam 21:22), would be inaccurate. Only the above suggested equation justifies the inclusion of David within the killers of the four Raphah’s sons! . . . Uncharacteristic of sparse biblical narrative style, the 1 Sam 17 narrator expatiates on Goliath’s appearance: he was very tall (4 cubits and a span), according to some ancient text witnesses; or a giant (6 cubits and a span), according to the traditional text.21 We should not take the latter literally. This measure is based upon the number 7 as a symbol of completeness. Goliath had just a span more than six cubits height, which means that he was a giant, but not an extreme one as defined by the seven-number system. To the Israelites, however, he appeared as a formidable giant, heavily equipped with unique gear and weapons. In the Israelite army there were at least two tall fighters: King Saul (9:2) and Eliab, David’s older brother (16:7). We will discuss their reaction to the challenge later. After the description of his height and fighting prowess, the narrator presents Goliath’s defensive gear and offensive weapons in detail (vv. 5–7). He wore a bronze helmet, a scale-armor, and bronze

19 20 21

Gath, Gibton, Gibeon. Honeyman, “Regnal Names”, pp. 23–25. On the two versions, see McCarter, 1 Samuel, p. 286.

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greaves to protect himself; and a long-shield (ṣinnah) bearer walked in front of him. The narrator mentions only two attack weapons: a javelin (kidon) and a spear (ḥanith). We will discuss these items later. David, on his part, refused the offer to take the king’s armor, helmet and sword; and he took just some shepherd’s accessories and his sling. On his way towards his opponent, he picked up five smooth stones from the brook (i.e. the ravine between both armies.) The late general Moshe Dayan addressed Goliath’s description from a military perspective.22 Dayan points out the disadvantages of Goliath’s gear and weapons. With its heavy emphasis on defense, it is also heavy, awkward, and restrictive of maneuvering and quick movements. Actually, his obsession with a comprehensive defense system reflects a hidden fear. And his efforts to put on and carry three metal defensive objects manifest his intention to let the metal do his battle. David, by contrast, avoided Saul’s offer for a partly similar armament, and preferred his sling as his main weapon. According to Dayan, David came a lot better prepared for the duel than his opponent: He did not carry any heavy equipment, which gave him freedom of maneuver and speed. The latter is attested when the two opponents were closing range: The Philistine was walking (v. 41), while David was running (vv. 41, 48). But most important of all, David was going to use a long range weapon. “David ”, says Dayan, “fought Goliath not with inferior but (on the contrary) with superior weaponry; and his greatness consisted not in his being willing to go out to battle against someone far stronger than he was. But in his knowing how to exploit a weapon by which a feeble person could seize the advantage and become stronger”. There are some insights in Dayan’s approach. However, there are some inaccuracies in his presentation. And a thorough investigation in the description of Goliath’s armament is called for, since it raises some more problems: (a) Dayan was right in his argument that the sling is a long-rang weapon which was used by many great armies of the time. But this exactly raises the question: how did Goliath intend to defend himself from long-rang weapons? (b) Why did not Goliath himself (or his arms bearer) carry long-rang weapons, such as a sling with its fitted stones, or a bow with a bundle of arrows;

22 M. Dayan, “Spirit of the fighters”, Courageous Actions – Twenty Years of Independence, vol. 11 (Tel Aviv, 1968), pp. 50–52.

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or several light casting spears – all of which were well known, very much in use over hundreds of years all over the region, and are well documented even in the Bronze Age Aegean?23 (c) What is the difference between Goliath’s javelin (kidon) and his spear (ḥanit)? (d) What is the meaning of the simile that his spear’s shaft looks likes a weavers’ beam (ki-menor orgim)? (e) Why did not the narrator mention his sword? This offensive weapon is explicitly mentioned several times later (17:45,51; 21:10; 22:10). (f) What kind of warfare tradition is reflected in Goliath’s defensive and offensive weaponry? Let us go back to Goliath’s appearance and description. Goliath repeatedly descended to the ravine between both armies. He was accompanied with a bearer of a long shield,24 which was designed to protect him from Israelite sharp shooters, who might hide in the ravine waiting to hit him with arrows, sling stones or light throwing spears. Goliath himself was very well protected by his bronze helmet, scale armor and greaves. But a few small parts of his body were exposed to enable him to see and move. The shield bearer served as a front line of defense to prevent a long-range hit. And he accompanied Goliath in his provocative appearances in the ravine. He was mentioned even a little bit before the duel took place (17:41).25 But he probably moved away, when it was understood that a duel is going to materialize, that is why he is not present when the taunting exchange took place; and he was not in the way, when Goliath took a look at David’s countenance and despised his look, and later on, he did not cover his master, when David used his sling. Furthermore, when the sling stone hit Goliath and he fell, David ran toward him, drew his sword and beheaded him. The shield bearer was not near enough to help his master. As I have mentioned above, Goliath himself was well prepared for a one-on-one duel. His bronze helmet provided protection against hitting swords as well as two-edged stabbing swords. It provided protection against long rang shooting (arrows, sling-stones

23 See, e.g. P. Warren, “The Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Thera, and the Aegean Setting”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 99 (1979), pp. 126, 128. 24 On the long shield (ṣinnah), its weight and the wide protection it granted, cf. 1 Kgs 10:16; Ps 5:13; 91:4. 25 LXXB omits the shield bearer in this verse, since the duel is supposed to be a one-on-one combat.

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light throwing spears). But it had a vulnerable point – his eyes and part of his forehead remained uncovered to enable him to see (and David exploited exactly this soft spot). Goliath covered his torso with scale armor, i.e. a garment in which small bronze scales were sewn. The fish-like scales were thick and heavy, and meant to protect the warrior from a variety of piercing weapons. The greaves with the attached bronze plates were meant to protect his feet. Goliath believed that he was well protected against all the longrange weapons of the time. Before examining Goliath’s offensive weapons, we must take a close look at his battle supposition: Goliath expected his adversary to arrive with a helmet, scale armor, shield, and attacking weapons (like a sword or a javelin). And, indeed, Saul provided David with his helmet, armor and a sword. But David gave it up, and went out with his sling as his main weapon. No wonder that Goliath belittled his opponent’s equipment (vv. 38–43). According to these expectations, Goliath prepared himself when he chose his attacking weapons. He did not take long-range weapons with him, inasmuch as those cannot pierce a shield, helmet and armor. Furthermore, longrang weapons are ineffective when used against a single opponent who moves erratically in the field. These weapons are lethal when hunters shoot at a deer grazing or drinking from the brook. They are very effective when used against a group of people or an army unit, or when a siege on a fortified city takes place. In the last three examples both adversaries would shower their enemies with a barrage of arrows, sling-stones, and casting-spears. But in a one-onone combat, the adversary observes immediately when his opponent prepares to shoot, when he spins the sling above his head (or parallel to his side); when he pulls back the string of his bow, when he runs forward and pulls backward his hand that holds the spear and with a momentum hurls it forward. At this time the “target” individual may move to the side or hide behind a rock etc. Once the opponent is well equipped with a defensive apparatus, it is highly unlikely to hit him at his exposed parts. David knew it and chose five smooth stone – he took into consideration that he might miss several times. Goliath, on his part, ignored the sling in David’s hand. This evaluation explains why I have reservations about Dayan’s theory concerning the “superiority” of David’s equipment. Unlike Dayan, I maintain that Goliath was equipped with a moderate rang throwing spear. The narrator made a point to tell that this

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one was unique: unlike light spears that a warrior may take and hurl one after the other, Goliath’s spear’s shaft is compared in the text to the weavers’ beam. And its blade was very heavy and made of iron. Y. Yadin suggested that the text refers to a special spear known in Egypt, Greece and Rome. The warrior would take a cord, double it, wrap the doubled cord around the spear’s shaft several times, and leave a little loop into which he would insert his finger (or two). After he gets a throwing momentum and releases the shaft, he still accompanies the spear with a push of the cord’s loop. This technique causes the spear to spin, and grants better range and accuracy.26 It seems to me that the text concentrates on the enormous weight of Goliath’s weaponry and on which metal is it made of, but not on the technique of its use as suggested by Yadin. Furthermore, the narrative points to the uniqueness of each of the objects, and why it caused such a panic in the Israelite army. The explanation that the spear had an attached cord does not look so threatening. It seems to me that the narrator points at the top horizontal beam that holds all of the warp threads. In order to tighten treads, stone weights were attached to their bottom ends. If we add to it the weft threads, the upper beam must be a thick and massive one and be able to carry all of the apparatus’s weight. To the Israelites, this extraordinary spear, with its heavy shaft plus long and heavy iron blade, when hurled by Goliath’s strong arm, seemed capable of piercing any bronze shield and bronze armor together. Should Goliath miss his human target, he intended to move to “Plan B”: using his thrusting javelin, which he put on his shoulder and held with the other hand. The javelin was a unique one as well. Unlike other spears and javelins, it was made of cast bronze as one piece. Propelled by Goliath’s strong arm, it could penetrate a shield, or armor, or even both. Since he went out to the ravine ready to fight, and were holding the spear in one hand, the javelin in the other supported by his shoulder, it was impossible to draw the sword at this stage. The sword would be drawn only after Goliath 26 Y. Yadin, “Goliath’s Javelin and the menor oregim”, PEQ 87 (1995), pp. 58–69; idem, The Art of Warfare, II, pp. 354–355. Yadin refers to the Mycenaean Warriors’ Vase whose painting illustrates several warriors; each carries a spear with a loop attached a little bit below the upper point. But according to Yadin’s theory, the socalled “loops” should be at the middle of the shaft and not near the top. I suggest that the painting demonstrates a spear with a banner to mark the special unit or a small flag for magical purpose.

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had hurled the spear, missed his target, then tried his javelin. In case his javelin falls from his hands or his opponent comes too close, then comes the time for “Plan C”; Goliath would draw the sword.27 The narrator did not mention the sword in Goliath’s description, since it was hidden in its sheath (v. 51), and was not as intimidating as the other offensive weapons. This kind of warfare as described in the text raises a question: What kind of battle tradition does it reflect. We have to deal with various opinions on this matter.

III. Goliath’s Arms and the Date of the Story The detailed description of Goliath’s arms apparatus and some other elements within the story and beyond it evoked some debates and reconsiderations concerning its author (or redactor), his time and his motives for compilation. While many scholars examined the story (and other stories in the Book of Samuel) in terms of its historical background, i.e. the kingdom of Saul (the last third of the 11th century B.C.E.), and saw in Goliath’s armor description as well as other elements concerning the Philistines a reflection of the Aegean warfare traditions that prevailed at the time of the rise of the Israelite kingdom;28 another group of scholars took a different approach. K. Galling,29 A. Rofé,30 I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman,31 and Azzan Yadin32 began reexamining Goliath’s weaponry in terms of archaeological evidence and literary parallels.

27 On the sword as a last resort weapon, cf. T. R. Hobbs, A Time for War: A Study of Warfare in the Old Testament (Wilmington, 1989), p. 114. 28 See, e.g., Y. Yadin (Sukenik), “Let the Young men, I Pray Thee, Arise and Play before us”, JPOS 21 (1948), pp. 110–116; idem, The Art of Warfare, II, pp. 262–267, 354–355, 382; Kallai, “The Wars of Saul”, pp. 139–140; Liver, “Goliath”, p. 509; Bierling, Giving Goliath his Due, pp. 147–150; T. and M Dothan, People of the Sea, p. 47; Garsiel, “The Combat between David and Goliath”, pp. 304–307. For more works, see note 2 above. 29 See K. Galling, “Goliath und sine Rüstung”, VTSup., 15 (1966), pp. 150–169. 30 See Rofé, “David and Goliath”, p. 132. 31 See Finkelstein, “The Philistines”; Finkelstein and Silberman, David and Solomon, pp. 179–207. 32 See A. Yadin “Goliath’s Armor and Israelite Collective Memory”, VT 54 (2004), pp. 373–395.

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The latter group of scholars reached rather similar results in their investigative comparisons: Goliath’s bronze helmet has no match in the illustrated monuments of Medinet Habu reliefs (from the time of Ramses III). In these artistic carved and painted reliefs, different groups of “Sea People” warriors are portrayed as wearing feathered head covers (or styled hair gear.) But in all the descriptions of the naval battle, the land battle, captives, and the mercenaries, none of these Sea People’s warriors is wearing a bronze helmet. Furthermore, excavations of Late Bronze Aegean sites (especially Mycenaean sites) yielded just a few bronze helmets.33 On the other hand, the story of the duel between David and Goliath manifests a great resemblance to Homer’s epics (late 8th century B.C.E.), the Iliad and the Odyssey, especially in terms of weaponry and the “representative duel”. There is a consensus among the latter scholars that the story of David and Goliath does not reflect the Philistine art of warfare of the end of the 11th century B.C.E., nor the subsequent 10th century. And, on the other hand, they maintain that Homer’s epics influenced the final shape of the biblical story of David and Goliath. But when time had come to draw a conclusion about the final redactor of this story and to pinpoint his date, different periods were suggested by the above scholars. Finkelstein and Silberman suggested the late 7th century B.C.E. as the proper time when the story reached its final shape. This was the time of the Josianic comprehensive reform, when two intensive national ambitions ran on a collision course: on the one hand, Egypt strove to reconstruct its great empire of the past into the land of Canaan; while, on the other hand, the Judean king, Josiah, wanted to restore and expand the kingdom of his forefathers, David and Solomon, over the whole region. In this time Homer’s epics were well known in the coastal plain and the Lowland of Judah. Since Pharaoh employed Greek hoplites in his army, the Philistines turned out to represent the formidable enemy – the Egyptians. The ancient story of the duel between David and Goliath was developed to represent in a symbolic way the bitter confrontation between the Israelites and the Egyptians of the late 7th century B.C.E. And the

33 Cf. A. M. Snodgrass, Early Greek Armor and Weapons (Edinburgh, 1964), pp. 3–35; idem, Arms and Armor of the Greeks (London, 1967), pp. 24–26, 42.

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story’s latent message was that as David the young Judean shepherd got the upper hand and killed the Philistine giant, so his descendent, Josiah, will defeat Egypt. Finkelstein tried to support his suggestion with more arguments drawn from other texts within the Book of Samuel and beyond. But his arguments were refuted by Itamar Singer.34 While agreeing with most of Finkelstein’s argumentations and adding some more of his own, Azzan Yadin came to a different dating: the end of the 6th century B.C.E., when, on the one hand, there was a greater Greek influence upon the people of Israel, and the second phase of the Deuteronomistic History reduction took place and, on the other hand, the Homeric epics were well known among the Jewish community of Judea. Rofé took the dating even later – the 4th century B.C.E. – very close to the formal beginning of the Hellenistic Period. Such a late date for the Book of Samuel raises a question: why can’t we find a significant accumulation of Greek words in the book, especially in the story at issue? Encountering the suggestions and argumentations of the latter group, it seems to me that it is worth while to look once again at some of the archaeological findings, relating to the subject at hand. We begin with the argument that the “Sea People” do not wear bronze helmets in the Egyptian reliefs. Hence, Goliath’s bronze helmet description was written several hundreds of years later, when Greek culture had greater influence in the Land of Israel. However, a close and comprehensive look at the Egyptian reliefs, unearthed near Mdinet-habu, do not provide any absolute proof for this conclusion. Indeed, in some of the reliefs that depict Ramses III’s naval and land wars, or his captives, or mercenaries in the Egyptian troops, one group, probably the Philistines, is wearing what seems to be a feathered headdress. If we take a close look for more details, we see that a band fixes the feathers to the headgear, and a side strap descends from the band and goes under the chin, helping to secure the headgear. The question is whether the feathers and band were attached to a fabric hat or a skin hat, or a bronze helmet. The latter seems to be more plausible, since the band seems to be metallic, with triangle-zigzag-pattern, and baton-like ornaments around

34 See I. Singer, “The Philistines in the Bible: A Reflection of the Late-Monarchic Period?” Zmanim: A Historical Quarterly 94 (2006), pp. 74–82 (Hebrew).

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it. The effort to secure the apparatus makes sense especially if it provides a better protection against head injuries. Only a metallic helmet would provide it. The feathers were designated for cooling the bronze helmet from overheating. Probably it was intended also to make a distinction between different ethnic units or warring parties.35 Anyway, this kind of “evidence” is inconclusive as a proof against an 11th century B.C.E. bronze helmet covering Goliath’s head. Furthermore, there is another group of Sea People, the Sherdens. They are depicted in some reliefs as wearing a large rounded helmet that covers a great deal of the head: the top, part of the nape, and the ears. Sometimes it is topped with horns or a disk, and a strap helps to secure the headgear. Many scholars agree that this object is a bronze helmet.36 Now we will move to the original homeland of the major part of the Sea Peoples – the Aegean Basin, and take a look at the Mycenaean era. Excavations at many sites yielded some fine examples of bronze armor and bronze helmets. A few of the findings are paintings that need interpretation. The most famous example is the 1200 B.C.E. Warrior Vase uncovered by Schliemann in Mycenae. The painting shows several soldiers fully prepared for battle. They wear horned bronze helmets, armor, leg guards and carry thrusting javelins; all of which reminds us of the description of Goliath.37 Although a few scholars interpret the helmet as a non-metallic material, probably skin,38 the helmet size which provides wide protection coverage, the topped disk, the attached horn, and the chin strap prove that the base must be very solid, i.e. made of bronze. Further excavations yielded more findings. Special attention should be paid to a wall painting depicting a battle scene in which Mycenaeans are involved. The part depicting the spoils of war includes 11 helmets, whose shape is designed to provide rather

35

Cf. Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare, I, p. 86; II, pp. 248–253. Cf. H. H. Nelson and U. Hoelscher, Medinet Habu Reports: 1928–1931, I–II (OIC 10; Chicago, IL, 1931), p. 2. He identifies the Foreigners in the Egyptian army as Sherdens, “Men with horned helmets surmounted by a ball or a disk”. On p. 5, Fig. 4, he writes: “The Sherden . . . their helmets are gold with copper (green) horns”. 37 Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare, II, pp. 354–355; T. and M. Dothan, The People of the Sea, pp. 46–47. 38 Cf. Snodgrass, Arms and Armor of the Greeks, pp. 30–31, 40–41. 36

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comprehensive head protection.39 It was probably made of bronze. These findings may explain some similarities between Homer’s epics and the duel between David and Goliath. Both writings go back to the Mycenaean armor legacy. On the one hand, Homer tells his epics on the background of the Mycenaean era, while the biblical narrator describes their descendents – the Philistines. Indeed, there is a wide consensus that Homer was detached from the early times of which he recounts. But in terms of arms, there are some surprises: A tomb “dated about 1400 B.C. yielded a full set of Mycenaean armor that fits surprisingly well the descriptions of armor in the Homeric poems”.40 Or as another scholar puts it: “. . . objects are described which are almost certainly relics of the Bronze Age, and were not to be found in the 8th century B.C.E. Such things as the silver riveted sword (Iliad 2.45 etc.), boars’ tusk helmet41 (Iliad 10.261–5), and ‘shield like a tower’ (Iliad 7.219; 11.485; 17.128 . . .), all seem to go back to the Mycenaean world . . .”42 Homer’s epics seem to swing like a pendulum between one pole of some archaic recollections of the Mycenaean era and another pole of anachronistic late information close to Homer’s time. This situation energizes many debates among scholars, one of which even related to it as a “headache”.43 The similarities of Homer’s epics and the biblical story at issue are not an outcome of direct borrowings. But they are a result of separate descriptions referring to two different ancient nations (the Mycenaeans and the Philistines) that were rather close in terms of identity and material culture. Elsewhere, in Israel and neighboring countries, we rely on Y. Yadin’s survey that the appearance of metallic helmets should be dated as early as the beginning of the 3rd millennium B.C.E.44 And we have evidences for the existence of scale armor as early as the Late Bronze

39

See Warren, “The Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Thera”, p. 127, Fig. 5. 40 N. Demand, A History of Ancient Greece (Boston, 1996), p. 60. 41 On this kind of helmet, see Snodgrass, Arms and Armor of the Greeks, pp. 18–19, and Fig. 8 between pp. 24–25. 42 R. Osborne, Greece in the Making, 1200–479 BC (London – New York, 1996), p. 139. 43 See K. A. Raaflaub, “A Historian’s Headache: How to read ‘Homeric Society’?” in N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds.), Archaic Greece: New Approaches and New Evidence (London, 1998). 44 See Y. Yadin “Armor, Arms”, Encyclopaedia Biblica, 5 (Jerusalem, 1968), pp. 961–962 (Hebrew).

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Age.45 The bottom line is that there is no archaeological evidence to contradict the 11th century Goliath’s weaponry description. Yet, such weapons were rather rare, expensive, and supplied only to elite units in different regions, and Goliath had the best of it. Being aware of all this, Israel Finkelstein admits that “it is true that every single item in the description of Goliath’s armament can be compared to Aegean weapon and armor from the Mycenaean period to Classical times . . . In all periods within this time-frame one can find metal helmets, metal armor and metal greaves. Yet, at any given period until the 7th B.C.E., each of these items was not the most common of its kind. More important, as an assemblage, the description perfectly fits the armament of Greek hoplite of the 7th to the 5th centuries B.C.E.”.46 However, Finkelstein was unaware of the fact that his argument runs against his own thesis about the late compilation date of the story of David and Goliath. The narrator depicts Goliath not as a “common” fighter, but as an extraordinary giant with extraordinary weaponry. All Israelites, including the tall king and David’s tall brother, were “dismayed and terror-stricken” when they saw him march in the ravine and heard him pressing his challenge. When Finkelstein makes an “archeological” examination of the text, instead of literary reading, he misses the whole message of the story. Goliath is not just a “common Greek hoplite”, a type well known to the Judeans of the 7th century B.C.E. The contrary is attested in the text: Goliath is a formidable foe and his assemblage of weapons is unheard of in that they were either long or heavy or condensed or made of bronze or iron. Only a few had rather similar weapons in the Philistine army (probably the guild of Giants that were dubbed as the Rafa sons). Transferring the story to the late 7th B.C.E., when many armed mercenaries were serving in different armies (including the Judean army), means losing the whole message! We will further discuss the story’s message later, in our literary reading. Furthermore, the Philistines cannot serve as a symbol representing the Egyptians in the Book of Samuel, since this book depicts the Philistines as Israel’s foe untill David (accompanied by followers and families) fled to Gath. Then David and Achish became

45 46

See ibid., pp. 962–963. Finkelstein, “The Philistines”, p. 143.

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allies. When David became a king over all Israel, after he defeating the Philistines, he recruited a whole division of Cherethites and Pelethites (i.e. foreigners, most of whose descendants were immigrants from the Aegean Basin), reinforced by a battalion from Gath (Goliath’s home town). We might recall that when virtually all Israel turned against King David during the rebellion led by his son, Absalom, these foreign troops earned David’s gratitude because of their fierce loyalty to him. David even entrusted Ittai the Gittite (i.e. from the city of Gath) to command one third of his troops that were marching to put down the rebellion (2 Sam 18:2). To sum up, the Book of Samuel is well aware of the ups and downs that characterized the relations between the Israelites and the Philistines in King David’s time. Anyway, it does not make sense that the Philistines turned to be a symbol representing the hated Egyptians in the Book of Samuel and reflecting the times of King Josiah. Speaking about archaeology, we should add that all late dates suggested by the above mentioned scholars do not fit the archaeological evidence of Tell Gath. The extensive archaeological excavations carried out at the site revealed that Gath was a flourishing city during the 11th century B.C.E. But it was destroyed by the Aramean king, Hazael, at the end of the 9th century B.C.E., and never regained its former position.47 The archaeological evidence from the site goes along with biblical texts. The city of Gath is mentioned in the Book of Samuel and the first two chapters of the Book of Kings a lot more times than the rest of the whole Bible, it does not make sense to take the compilation of the Book of Samuel a couple of centuries (or even more, according to Azzan Yadin and Rofé) after the destruction of Gath. Indeed, the Deuteronomistic Historian School that edited the historical books of the Bible operated close to the end of the Judean kingdom (or after the exile). But the Book of Samuel escaped any heavy editing by this school.48 To sum up, Gat was a flourishing city in the times of David and Solomon and the Book of Samuel reflects it properly. Any other period suggested by scholars for heavy editing of this book later than the 9th century B.C.E. does not fit the text as well as the archeology of the site.

47

See Maier, “Ten Years of Excavations at Biblical Gat Plishtim”, pp. 15–24. On this matter, I agree with the assessment of J. A. Soggin, Introduction to the Old Testament (OTL; London, 1976), p. 189. 48

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IV. Goliath’s Challenge and the Israelites’ Response Goliath called to Saul’s troops asking why they came out to launch a war. He proposed instead that they select a warrior for a duel. He added: “If he can fight with me and smite me, we shall become your slaves. However, if I prevail over him and smite him, you will become our slaves and work for us”. Goliath prodded the Israelites by taunting the Lord of the Ranks of Israel. Saul and all the Israelites were deeply horrified (vv. 8–11, 24). The challenge as well as the extreme reaction raised many questions among early and late commentators: (a) Why were Saul and his troops in such a panic of Goliath’s challenge? Certainly, he was a giant and heavily armed. But the Israelites could have sent dozens or even hundreds of brave soldiers that would surround him, attacking him from all sides, tiring him, injuring him, until he collapsed. Surely, he would smite many of his attackers. But at the end of the day, he would be exhausted and overpowered. Indeed, Goliath stipulated that he expected just one combatant for a duel. But the Israelites were in a state of war with the Philistine, so why would they be obliged to comply with Goliath’s stipulation? They could ignore him and stick to their own tactics. (b) If Goliath’s challenge was against the Israelites’ best interests, why would not the King and his troops ignore Goliath, and meet the Philistine army head-on in an all-out war? The text implies that Goliath’s proposal caused a long stalemate of 40 days (v. 16), which infers that the challenge could not be ignored. (c) Is there any significance to Goliath’s taunting of the Lord of the Ranks of Israel other than a psychological warfare or an attempt to prod the Israelite to meet his challenge? Addressing part of these questions, Yigal Yadin suggested a sophisticated explanation to Goliath’s challenge. Goliath based his offer upon a custom common among the Greeks: in order to avoid intolerable bloodshed, both warring armies would agree to send a representative champion to fight against the other side’s representative on a oneon-one basis; and it would be agreed upon that the winner in this combat would grant the final victory to his own army. That’s why the Israelites were so dismayed and depressed. This single combat might draw them back to serve as vassals (corvée) to the Philistines. Yadin refers to biblical examples that might be interpreted as such representative combats: The combat between Abner’s and Joab’s young men (2 Sam 2:12–32); the combat between the squires of the commanders

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of the provinces and their adversaries, where each of the former struck down his antagonist (1 Kgs 20:17–21). Yadin suggests that some of the exploits of David’s heroes are connected with such representative combats (2 Sam 21:15–22; 23:20–21; 1 Chron 11:22–23; 20:4–8). From extra biblical sources, Yadin refers to the combat between the 20th century B.C.E. Egyptian emissary, Sinuhe, ,who fought against a Canaanite (Retenu) hero and defeated him. A wall painting from Benihasan in Egypt, and a remarkable orthostatic relief from Tell Halaf (Gozan) in Mesopotamia concludes Yadin’s list of evidences and parallels.49 R. de Vaux50 and H. A. Hoffner51 added some more extra biblical instances; and the former pointed also to several parallels from Homer’s epics. At first sight, Yadin’s suggestion seems to mitigate some of the problems raised about the scene of Goliath’s challenge. But a closer look reveals that it evokes others:52 (a) If the Israelites could not find a courageous and skilled candidate to fight Goliath, and the only one who had shown interest was an adolescent herdsman, why did Saul even consider Goliath’s proposal – he should have rejected it immediately, and stuck to the original plan of a total war against the Philistines. To be sure, Goliath made a suggestion that was common enough in his own army. But the Israelites could have rejected it, since it “was still strange to the Israel forces . . .” as Yadin himself admitted.53 (b) The total sum of the parallels presented by Yadin and his followers to prove an existence of a rather widespread custom of representative combat does not hold water. Against any parallel which seems to be a representative combat, one could provide hundreds of reports of ancient all-out wars which were not resolved by “representative combats”. Saul must have had so many precedents at his disposal for ignoring Goliath’s challenge. So why was every body in the Israelite camp so afraid of Goliath’s offer? (c) At the end of the day, the so-called “representative combat” took place. But after the Philistines saw their champion

49 See Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare, II, pp. 265–267; idem, “Let the Young men Play before us”, pp. 110–116. 50 R. de Vaux, “Single Combat in the Old Testament”, in R. de Vaux, The Bible and the Ancient Near East (London 1971), pp. 122–135. 51 H. A. Hoffner, “A Hittite Analogue to the David and Goliath Contest of Champions?” CBQ 30 (1939), pp. 220–225. 52 On the problematic elements in Yadin’s suggestion, cf. also Rofé, “David and Goliath”, pp. 132–134. 53 See Yadin, The Art of Warfare, p. 265.

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overwhelmed and beheaded, they did not live up to the “agreement”; they did not surrender to Saul and did not offer themselves as “slaves” (vassals) to Saul as was explicitly stated in Goliath’s offer. Instead, they were trying to escape westward to their fortified cities, and they were chased by the Israelites. (d) Yadin did not pay sufficient attention to the taunting element in Goliath’s proposal. It seems to me that this element may serve as a key to our understanding of Goliath’s offer and the Israelites’ frightened reaction. (e) Most of the biblical and extra-biblical instances that were interpreted by Yadin and his followers as “representative combats” are open to different interpretations. They may be regarded as preliminary duels between heroes of both sides or as psychological warfare. But they are not part of an agreement to enforce the outcome of the preliminary combat to become the final result of the whole war. The only exception is the Homeric epic recounting the duel between Paris and Menelaus.54 Even the episode of the battle between the 12 young Bejaminites and the 12 young Judeans in 2 Sam chapter 2 should not be regarded as a “representative combat”, since the rival armies met each other accidentally near the pool of Gibeon (v. 13). They were not looking for a war in the first place. Actually, they were “sitting” on both sides of the pool. A commander who leads his troops into war won’t let his troops “sit” and just look at the adversaries on the other side of the pool. In order to break the awkward situation, Abner had proposed a dangerous contest that turned into a bloody war. Had he remained silent, both parties would have parted earlier (in the morning) peacefully, as Joab responded to Abner’s recriminations: “As God lives, if you had not spoken, surely, since the morning the people would have gone up every one from following his brother”. (v. 27). Several years ago, I suggested a different interpretation to Goliath’s challenge.55 My point of departure is the strong belief of many of the ancient peoples in the involvement of their gods in the conflict. Kings and leaders consulted their gods whether or not to launch a war against the enemy or whether they should agree to a certain treaty with the enemy. And many other critical issues or even every day affairs were presented before the gods through miscellaneous “channels”: priests, 54

See R. P. Gordon, “The Ideological Foe: The Philistines in the Old Testament”, in C. McCarthy and J. F. Healey (eds.), Biblical and Near Eastern Essays: Studies in Honour of Kevin J. Cathcart (New York, 2004), p. 29. 55 Garsiel, “David and Goliath”, pp. 297–303.

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prophets, sorcerers, divinations, dreams etc.;56 those means were also used by kings, leaders and peoples for anticipating the outcome of battles. The victorious people regarded a triumph as a manifest to the supremacy of their national god. And in some instances, they carried the idols of the defeated party and displayed them in the victorious god’s shrine (1 Sam 5: 1–2) or carried them as a trophy of war (2 Sam 5:21) or destroyed them (2 Kgs 19:18). The victorious leader and his people would praise their gods and ceremoniously thank them for granting them victory over their adversaries and their gods. The defeated people, however, did not concede easily to the victorious party’s interpretation. They might present an apologetic explanation that their god was angry with his people and “sold” them into the hands of their enemies (see, e.g., Jud 3:12–14; 4:1–2). Similarly, in the Mesha stele, the king complains that Kemosh, Moab’s god, got angry at his people and temporarily surrendered them into the hands of the Israelite king. A critical battle is exactly the case where kings and people took pains to receive all kinds of prophecies,57 oracles, omens, dreams, and signs that foretell or even hint at what would be the outcome of the imminent war. A preliminary war or skirmish might serve as an ordeal, which refers to the activities of the gods and the outcome of the all-out war. Such is the case in the preliminary skirmish where the Israelites were defeated in the time of Eli. They interpreted it as an omen, and concluded that the Lord would surrender them into the Philistines’ hands. In order to prevent such an outcome and prod the Lord to save them, they ordered the Ark of the Covenant to be brought to the battlefield; but this action failed, and the Israelites suffered a severe defeat (1 Sam 4:1–22). Similarly, the first defeat against the city of Ai was interpreted that the Lord had changed His plans, and He was going to surrender His people into the hands of the Canaanites (Josh 7:7–9). Goliath based his challenge exactly on this notion. He called towards the Israelite army to avoid the all-out war and to test its outcome according to the outcome of a duel ordeal, which would reflect the

56 For a comprehensive study, see Sa-Moon Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin – New York, 1989). 57 Cf. the episode of the nocturnal trip of Saul to the she-sorcerer of Ein dor, in order to get Samuel’s prophecy foretelling him the outcome of his last war against the Philistines (1 Sam 28).

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power or final decision of the gods (of both rivals).58 Goliath was sure that his god (Dagon) would be on his side and help him to defeat his adversary. His challenge was not aimed at getting an official agreement between the leaders of both armies. Nor could his challenge be ignored: Goliath put into effect the test in his second unit of speech when he taunted the (Lord of the) ranks of Israel (v. 10).59 Now Saul and the Israelites were severely trapped in an unwanted ordeal: If they send a brave man and Goliath killed him, it would mean a horrid omen, that the Lord removes his protection from the People of Israel. However, if they ignore the Philistine challenge, it would mean the same! That is why Saul has no alternative but to send the young herdsman, David, who, though seemed so courageous, was still an inexperienced warrior.

V. The Victory and its Aftermath When Goliath saw the handsome boy approaching, the narrator recounts that the opponents exchanged insults and abuses. The Philistine taunted David cursing him by his gods (i.e. Dagon).60 And David declared that he is representing the Lord of hosts of Israel (or the God of the ranks of Israel). We will discuss the exchange later in the next section. When the verbal duel ended, and time for actions came, Goliath moved toward David slowly, while David was running. He was probably still beyond the range of Goliath’s heavy throwing spear, when he took a stone and put it in the sling patch and slung at his opponent, hitting him on the forehead. The heavy Philistine fell forward, face down. Since he moved forward, and his heavy spear and javelin were protruding forward, it seems that he was just stunned or unconscious. David took advantage of the situation, hurrying toward the Philistine, drawing his sword, killing him, and cutting off his head. The Philistines were shocked and demoralized. From a military point of view there was no reason to be so devastated. They just lost 58

Cf. Gordon, “The Philistines in the Old Testament”, pp. 30–32. The name of the Lord was omitted by a late scribe, similar to what the Jewish Sages dubbed “tikun sofrim” meaning: scribes’ emendation. Cf. vv. 25–26, 36. Only in verse 45 it is clear from David’s reference that Goliath aimed his words as a challenge towards the Lord. Compare Segal, The Books of Samuel, pp. 138–139. 60 So most of the ancient translations; Cf. Segal, ibid., p. 145, commentary to verse 43. 59

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one extraordinary hero. But the defeat in the ordeal duel served as an ominous sign: their god (probably Dagon) is going to surrender them into the hands of the Israelites. They ran away westward, towards the western entrance of the ravine ( gay’ ), being pursued by the Israelites who were killing many of them along the way until they approached the ramps leading to the city’s gates61 of both Gath and Ekron (vv. 51–52). Saul’s army stopped here; they were not ready for an assault on fortified cities, nor could they linger there in a long and tiring siege. So they turned back to the deserted Philistine camps and plundered it. As at the end of the battle of Michmas, Saul once again did not take advantage of the opportunity to deal his enemies that one final blow. The battle description ends with two problematic statements: the first one is that David took the Philistine’s head and brought it to Jerusalem; and the second one, that he put his arms apparatus in “his tent”. As for the first point, I have suggested above that in order to secure his capital city and his rear logistic disposition, King Saul had to make a deal and gain support from the Jebusite enclave of Jerusalem. Both sides had mutual interest in keeping the Philistines from regaining their dominance in the central mountain ridge. I repeat my suggestion that Goliath’s head was granted to the Jebusites of Jerusalem as a trophy of war and token of gratitude for their cooperation. Later on, after Saul’s last war against the Philistines, it would happen the other way around: the Philistines granted Saul’s and his son’s bodies to the Canaanites of Beth-shan as a token of gratitude for their participation in defeating King Saul’s troops in Jezreel Valey/Mt. Gilboa battle (1 Sam 31:8–13). As for the arms apparatus that was put in David’s tent, the problem arises from the information that at least the sword was kept in the shrine of the priests’ city of Nob (21:10; 22:10). It seems to me that the late narrator, from his later perspective, delivers a message that eventually, on King David’s request, this sword was returned to another tent – the Lord’s shrine tent that David had pitched in Jerusalem (2 Sam 6:17; 7:2; 2 Kgs 1:39; 2:28–30).

61 MT reads: be-derech ša‘arayim, i.e. a city’s name located in the Judean Lowland (cf. Jos 15:36; and see n. 12 above) which gave its name to the road leading from the city of Shaarayim to Gath. This road was filled with slain Philistines. (One may find in this text a pun on the city’s name by mentioning also the gates of Eqron.) But LXX reads: ha-še‘arym, i.e. (the road that leads to) the gates (of the cities of Gath and Eqron).

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VI. Structure, Literary Devices and the Message of the Story The Book of Samuel deals with the transitional period of ancient Israel from tribal community to institutionalized monarchy. The book lingers rather shortly upon the two last judges, Eli and Samuel, who failed in designating their sons to follow in their footsteps. Ironically, even Samuel the “Seer”, who strongly opposed the establishment of monarchy in Israel (1 Sam 8), was “blind” when he had to deal with his sons, and he could not comprehend that their appointments to serve as judges were tantamount to establishing a dynasty, which is considered as a major step towards dynastical monarchy. Then the book moves to concentrate upon the first two kings, Saul and David. The author painstakingly delineates the two as excellent candidates for kingship. But each one failed, providing disappointing leadership in different ways. Saul sinned rather early during the battle of Michmas (chapters 13–14) and David stumbled disgracefully in his affair with Bathsheba, Uriah’s wife, and its entangled consequences (2 Sam chapters 11 ff.). Our author’s thesis is that monarchy corrupts even its best candidates. I have dealt with this thesis elsewhere.62 Throughout the book, the author follows his agenda that the kingship of God is preferable to a flesh and blood kingship. In order to deliver this message to his audience, the author needs to employ rhetoric and a variety of literary devices. Thus a fascinating book emerged, which is a combination of artistic and theological historiography. In some other studies I have tried to examine the main literary structure that prevails throughout the First Book of Samuel (and probably continues to the second half of this book, namely 2 Samuel) – the building up of comparisons based upon substructures of analogies, associations and parallels.63 The battle of Michmas (chapters 13–14) is an example of how the narrator uses this technique to intensify and invigorate his message. This story concentrates upon a war between the more numerous and better equipped Philistine army and the outnumbered, ill-equipped Israelites under the leadership of Saul and Jonathan. Only the two leaders possessed an iron sword and an iron spear. Saul was afraid to attack the enemy. He was waiting and “sitting” in Geva, while the Philistines were very active to the north

62 See M. Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel: A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Ramat-Gan, 1985), pp. 49, 58–72, 138–140. 63 See mainly Garsiel, ibid.

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of him in Michmas. Jonathan and his arms bearer went out furtively for a scouting expedition, which resulted in an attack on a frontal Philistine garrison. This led to a sever confusion throughout the entire Philistine contingent, causing it to crumble. Only later did King Saul join the battle, along with his meager army, taking part in pursuit of the retreating Philistines, but not in a successful way. The author shapes a sharp contrast between the mighty Philistine army and the dwindling Israelite one. But the most important contrast is build between father and son: the King, unlike Gideon the Judge, was hesitant (due to realistic considerations) in leading his troops into battle; yet, Jonathan the heir, who operates in an analogous way to Gideon, believes that “nothing prevents the Lord from winning a victory by many or by few” (14:6), courageously initiates an attack on the garrison.64 This comparison makes it clear that the Israelite request from Samuel to appoint a king who would “go out at our head and fight our battles” (8:20) has not materialized. To be sure, Saul went out to war, but he did not fight in a proper way. The episode of the Elah Valley battle also forms analogies and comparisons. Here, in contrast with some of Saul’s other battle scenes there is no mention of Jonathan during the battle. He is only mentioned when David was brought before the king with Goliath’s head in his hand (18:1). Now David is going to be the savior in this similar war. In this story, we observe a great change in the description of the Israelite troops. There is nothing in the text to imply that the Israelites were outnumbered by the Philistines, nor that they were ill-equipped; nor that the Philistine’s had chariots. Nevertheless, the king as well as the troops reacted very nervously and cowardly when Goliath appeared heavily armed, and persistent in his challenge to set up an ordeal combat on one-on-one basis. According to the text sequence, there were at least two very tall potential candidates to meet Goliath’s challenge: King Saul, who “was a head taller than any of the people” (9:2 cf. 10:23); and David’s big brother, whom Samuel the Seer regarded as his first choice to replace the current king, since he had a tall stature (16:6–7). But both were afraid to go out and meet Goliath in combat. Instead, they preferred to argue with David, who was the only one who showed interest in cop-

64 For an elaborate discussion on this story and its comparison structures, see Garsiel, ibid., pp. 84–93.

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ing with the problem. The king and the tall big brother, who had been discarded as a potential king, did not live up to the expectation of the people of Israel for a king who would go out in front of the Israelite army and fight their wars. The dramatic exchanges between David and his brother, and later on between David and the king, pinpoint the message that no enemy, no matter how strong and armed he might be, should be allowed to defy the ranks of the living God and get away with it (vv. 26, 36). Since David was the only one who was interested in the duel, Saul summoned David for an interview, which immediately developed into a disagreement: David put forward his trust in courage, only to be dismissed by the king who believed in military experience (vv. 32–33). David who has no such experience, resorted to describe repeatedly (3 times over) how he had coped with a lion and a bear, when he was grazing his father’s sheep. There was no verbal answer from the king. Probably, the king in his body language dismissed the events as irrelevant to prove David’s skills in a duel with an experienced, gigantic warrior and armed to the teeth (vv. 34–36). Now David has to change his argument. He did not take the events of killing the lion and the bear as a demonstration of his courage and skills, but as a sign that God is supporting him: “The Lord who saved me from lion and bear will also save me from that Philistine”. “Then go”, Saul said to David, “and may the Lord be with you!” (v. 37).65 The realistic King was cornered: he did not like the argument. But he has no alternative but to agree and give his blessing to David and even to bring God into the equation. But immediately the realistic side got the better of him as he personally helped David to put on his armor apparatus. In doing so, his confusion showed when he erred in the order of dressing: the bronze helmet should have come last. Yet in helping David put on his armor, Saul put the bronze helmet on David’s head right after the outfit, and before he helped him with the armor. It is very interesting that at the last stage, David took the initiative and girded the sword all by himself. Gary Rendsburg observed that Saul’s error attests of the confusion that overcame the king.66

65

For a more elaborate analysis of this scene see my book: Garsiel, ibid., pp. 116–117. See G. Rendsburg, “Confused Language as a Dliberate Literary Device in Biblical Hebrew Narrative”, an on-line article in Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, at http://www .arts.ualberta.ca/JHS/. Vol. 2 (1998–99), section 7: “1 Sam 17:38: Saul dresses David with his armor”. 66

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The Saul-David dialogue in this story creates an analogy with the Saul-Jonathan dialogue in the battle of Michmas story. In both stories a young man teaches (directly or indirectly) the realistic king that in the battlefield, the one who decides the outcome of the war is God. In the interview scene, David replaces Jonathan, which serves as a latent omen for future developments. Once we note the expectations of the people of Israel for a king who would lead them to war and go out before them (8:20), we realize that in the last two battles against the Philistines, King Saul has failed to serve as the chief commander of the troops, while two young men have risen to the military challenge, saving the Israelites and granting them a victory while consciously serving as empowered by God. The climax comes when the two opponents walk in the ravine towards the confrontation. In a subtle way, the narrator had earlier depicted Goliath carrying five parts of armor, each of which was described as a unique. Now the narrator develops the description of David’s equipments around the number five: “And he took his stuff in his hand, and chose five smooth stones for himself out of the brook and put them in a shepherd’s bag which he had, and in his knapsack; and his sling was in his hand . . .” (v. 40). As against the five armor parts of Goliath, David picked up five smooth stones on his way, and he also carried five accessories noted by the narrator. Three of which are clearly those of a shepherd (a stick, a shepherd’s bag, and a knapsack) and two more items, the sling and the smooth stones are regarded as shepherd’s utensils as well, even though they were used by many armies, as discussed above. The author intentionally gives the impression that David did not come with better equipment. The opposite is true. He declined Saul’s offer for the best armor found in the Israelite camp – the king’s own armor. It would be a mistake to conclude that this is a story of a courageous young shepherd who defeated a giant well equipped professional warrior with his shepherd’s sling. This is not a story of a contest between warriors in which the weak, the underdog, defeats the stronger. This is a story that delivers a theological message that the outcome of the war is in the hands of God, no matter what weapons are used by the warring parties. This was exactly what David stated in his final argument before Saul, and it was said loud and clear by David prior to the duel: “Then said David to the Philistine, you are coming to me with a sword, and with a spear and with a javelin; but I come to you in the name

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of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have taunted. This day will the Lord deliver you into my hand . . . so that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saves not with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give you into our hands!” (vv. 45–47). Indeed, a similar message about the omnipotent God of Israel was conveyed by Jonathan as well, prior to his attack on the Philistine garrison near the Michmas pass (14:6–12). In our story, however, it is a much stronger message; while Jonathan shared his belief just with his arms bearer, David did so in front of both armies who were watching the encounter from the opposite slopes of the two ridges. Furthermore, despite the analogy between Jonathan and David, when David says: “And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saves not with sword and spear . . .”, the alert reader remembers that prior to the battle of Michmas, Saul as well as Jonathan were the only ones in the camp of Israel who were equipped with a sword and a spear (13:22). David is depicted here more favorably than Jonathan. But is this a story of total praise for the young shepherd and his heroic exploit that brought him close to the king and later on to replace the latter? We will discuss this a while later. In a joint article, A. G. Auld and C. Y. S. Ho turned our attention to another analogy between two commission episodes: Saul’s father sent his young lad away on a minor mission, to search for his lost sheasses. Eventually, Saul happened to come to Samuel’s hometown and was anointed as a king of Israel, eventually replacing the old leader (chapter 9). A rather similar case occurs with David: his father sent him away on a petty mission to supply food to his three elder brothers and their commander in the battlefield. His exploit brought him later on to marry the king’s daughter and much later to become the king of Israel. Upon the substructure of similarities between the two episodes, a superstructure of contrast is built in order to point at the differences between the two young men. Whereas Saul is depicted unfavorably, with his companion lad leading him in the futile search for the lost she-asses, and virtually solving some problems for him; David is depicted as a young boy in full control, very convincing in his talk and actions. The above two scholars point out that this contrast is valid only in the MT longer version, which gives the whole episode of David’s mission to his brothers. These scholars came to the conclusion that a later redactor would not miss the contrast and make cuts of vital

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text elements like the mission episode. The outcome of this assessment is that the shorter version represented by LXXB is the original one; while the MT longer version is an outcome of a later redactor’s insertion which reflects the skilled redactor’s attempt to improve the text.67 I tend to disagree with these scholars’ last conclusion. As I have comprehensively demonstrated in my book, the Book of Samuel is distinguished by its rich network of analogies and comparative structures.68 This is, in a manner of speaking, the author’s trademark. If we take a look at the additional text in the MT version, we should notice immediately this “trademark” in the analogy between the tall “big brother” Eliab and the tall king, and the contrast between these two and the young boy, David. If we add to it the commission motif as shown by Auld and Ho and others, we have to attribute the additional text as another example of this author’s skills in building substructures of analogies, similarities, associations, upon which a superstructure of dynamic comparisons or contrasts, etc. are built. My second reservation is directed at the commission motif which serves, according to Auld and Ho, to build a contrast between Saul and David. For instance, while Saul failed to fulfill his father’s errand, David did it in a proper way. In my reading, I came to a different assessment. Both sons are depicted in a favorable manner, but the narrator points at their shortcomings as well. The narrator neglects his customary restraint by introducing Saul as “A good and choice young man and there were not among the children of Israel a goodlier person than he . . .” (9:2). I interpret his long trip, covering one region after another as a praise for a young man who stayed the course, attempting to adhere to his father mission until it would finally be fulfilled. He was ready to return only when he became concerned that his father would be worried about their disappearance. Everyone admired this tall lad. No wonder that the young women, who came out of the city to draw water, were engaging Saul with a relatively long and redundant conversation. On the other hand, I agree with Auld and Ho and others who have also found in this episode some reservations about Saul’s conduct. His companion seems to be cleverer and more practical than he is.

67

See Auld and Ho, “The Making of David and Goliath”. This phenomenon has been analyzed throughout my book. See Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel. 68

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But I think that the storyteller of the duel between David and Goliath is doing the same in the latter episode. Needless to say that he praises David for his courage and trust in God, etc. I claim, however, that the narrator is very subtly bringing out David’s shortcomings as well. David inquires time and again what would be the rewards given to the killer of Goliath (17:24–30). David’s approach seems to be a mixture of belief and ambition; he was fascinated with the promised three awards. In his interview with Saul, David begins by praising the significance of courage and moves to recount his courage and efficiency when he tackled a lion and a bear; only at the end does he remember to mention God. In the second unit of speech, however, he returns to the same event with a different approach: now God is the main force who had saved David from the lion and the bear, and he will also deliver David from the hand of the Philistine (17:32–37). The author of the Book of Samuel has reservations about all of his heroes. Nobody is excluded. The last of the judges, Eli and Samuel, failed in their dealing with their sons. Even Samuel the “Seer” could not “see” properly when he was ready to anoint Eliab to replace Saul (16:6–7). Needless to repeat, that King Saul and King David failed as well. The failures of the last two judges as well as the first two kings demonstrate that there is only one real leader for Israel and other nations, and that is the Lord! The combat between David and Goliath does not deliver a political message from the time of King Joshiah, as suggested by Israel Finkelstein,69 nor is it a product of court scribes who praised the royal dynasty of the House of David. This is a story of how God handles the people of Israel. He is the true leader behind the scenes. It seems to me that the author belongs to a prophetical circle that operated in Solomon’s reign. And at a later stage, the book underwent a very little and insignificant editing when it was included in the Deuteronomistic history of Israel.70

69 70

Finkelstein, “The Philistines”. Cf. Soggin, Introduction to the Old Testament, p. 189.

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R. Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (New York, 1999). A. G. Auld and C. Y. S. Ho, “The Making of David and Goliath”, JSOT 52 (1992), pp. 19–39. D. Barthélemy, D. W. Gooding, J. Lust and E. Tov, The Story of David and Goliath: Textual and Literary Criticism: Papers of a Joint Research Venture (OBO 73; Friburg, 1986). J. A. Beck, “David and Goliath, A Story of Place: The Narrative-Geographical Shaping of 1 Samuel 17”, WTJ 68 (2006), pp. 321–330. H. H. Ben-Sason (ed.), A History of the Jewish People (London, 1976). N. Bierling, Giving Goliath his Due: New Archaeological Light on the Philistines (Grand Rapids, Michigan 1992). J. Bright, A History of Israel (Louisville, 2000). A. F. Campbell, 1 Samuel: The Forms of the Old Testament Literature (FOTL VII; Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2003). M. Dayan, “Spirit of the fighters”, Courageous Actions – Twenty Years of Independence, vol. 11 (Tel Aviv, 1968), pp. 50–63 (Hebrew). N. Demand, A History of Ancient Greece (Boston, 1996). T. and M. Dothan, People of the Sea: The Search for the Philistines (New York, 1992). T. Dothan and S. Gitin, “Miqne, Tel (Ekron)”, in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, III (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 1051–1059. C. S. Ehrlich, “Goliath”, The Anchor Bible Dictionary, II (New York, 1992). I. Finkelstein, “The Philistines in the Bible: A Late-Monarchic Perspective”, JSOT 27 (2002), pp. 131–167. I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, David and Solomon: In search of the Bible’s Sacred Kings and the Roots of the Western Tradition (New York, 2006). J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, I–IV (Assen, 1981, 1986, 1990, 1993). R. A. Gabriel, The Military History of Ancient Israel (Westport, CT, 2003). K. Galling, “Goliath und sine Rüstung”, VTSup 15 (1966), pp. 150–169. Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Sha‘arayim”, The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8 (2008), Article 22. M. Garsiel, The Kingdom of David: Studies in History and Inquiries in Historiography (Tel Aviv, 1975, Hebrew). ——, “The Battle of Michmas: a Historical Literary Study (1 Sam 13–14)”, in U. Simon and M. Goshen-Gottstein (eds.), Studies in Bible and Exegesis, I Arie Toeg in Memoriam (Ramat-Gan, 1980), pp. 15–50 (Hebrew). ——, The First Book of Samuel: A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Ramat-Gan, 1985). ——, “Elements of History and Reality in the Description of the Elah Valley Warfare and the Combat Between David and Goliath (1 Sam 17)”, Beit Mikra 41 (1997), pp. 293–316 (Hebrew). ——, “Word Play and Puns as a Rhetorical Device in the Book of Samuel”, in S. B. Noegel (ed.), Puns and Pundits: Word Play in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Literature (Bethesda, MD, 2000), pp. 181–204. ——, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel: Studies in the Book of Samuel, I–IV (A written course for The Open University of Israel; Raanana, 2008). R. P. Gordon, “The Ideological Foe: The Philistines in the Old Testament”, in C. McCarthy and J. F. Healey (eds.), Biblical and Near Eastern Essays: Studies in Honour of Kevin J. Cathcart (New York, 2004), pp. 22–36. S. Herrmann, A History of Israel in Old Testament Times (Revised and Enlarged edition; London, 1981).

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Ch. Herzog and M. Gichon, Battles of the Bible (London, 1978). T. R. Hobbs, A Time for War: A Study of Warfare in the Old Testament (Wilmington, 1989). H. A. Hoffner, “A Hittite Analogue to the David and Goliath Contest of Champions?” CBQ 30 (1939), pp. 220–225. A. M. Honeyman, “The Evidence for Regnal Names among the Hebrews”, JBL 67 (1948), pp. 13–25. H. Jason, “The Story of David and Goliath: A Folk Epic?” Biblica 60 (1979), pp. 36–70. Z. Kallai, “The Wars of Saul”, in J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel-Aviv, 1964), pp. 132–145 (Hebrew). Sa-Moon Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin – New York, 1989). R. W. Klein, 1 Samuel (WBC 10; Waco, Texas, 1983). J. Liver, “Goliath”, Encyclopaedia Biblica, 2, pp. 508–509 (Jerusalem, 1954, Hebrew). —— (ed.), The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel Aviv, 1964, Hebrew). A. M. Maeir, “Ten Years of Excavations at Biblical Gat Plishtim”, Qadmoniot 40 (2007), pp. 15–24 (Hebrew). A. Malamat, History of Biblical Israel: Major Problems and Minor Issues (Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2001). B. Mazar, Biblical Israel: State and People (edited by S. Ahituv; Jerusalem, 1992). P. K. McCarter Jr., I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB; Garden City, 1980). N. Na’aman, “In Search of the Ancient Name of Khirbet Qeiyafa”, The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8 (2008), article 21. H. H. Nelson and U. Hoelscher, Medinet Habu Reports: 1928–1931, I–II (OIC 10; Chicago, IL, 1931). B. Oded, The History of Israel during the First Temple Period, I–IV (2nd revised and augmented ed.; Raanana, 2007–2008, Hebrew). R. Osborne, Greece in the Making, 1200–479 BC (London – New York, 1996). R. Polzin, Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part Two: 1 Samuel (Bloomington, 1989). K. A. Raaflaub, “A Historian’s Headache: How to read ‘Homeric Society’?” in N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds.), Archaic Greece: New Approaches and New Evidence (London, 1998). G. Rendsburg, “Confused Language as a Deliberate Literary Device in Biblical Hebrew Narrative”, an on-line article in Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, at http://www.arts .ualberta.ca/JHS/. Vol. 2 (1998–1999), section 7: “1 Sam 17:38: Saul dresses David with his armor”. H. Reviv, From Clan to Monarchy: Israel in the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 1979, Hebrew). A. Rofé, “The Battle of David and Goliath: Folklore, Theology, Eschatology”, in J. Neusner, B. A. Levine and E. Frerichs (eds.), Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (Philadelphia 1978), pp. 117–151. L. Rost, The Succession to the Throne of David (Trans. by M. D. Rutter and D. M. Gun; Sheffield, 1982). M. Z. Segal, The Books of Samuel: Edited and Interpreted with a Detailed Introduction (Jerusalem, 1964, Hebrew). I. Singer, “The Philistines in the Bible: A Reflection of the Late-Monarchic Period?” Zmanim: A Historical Quarterly, 94 (2006), pp. 74–82 (Hebrew). A. M. Snodgrass, Early Greek Armor and Weapons (Edinburgh, 1964). ——, Arms and Armor of the Greeks (London, 1967). J. A. Soggin, Introduction to the Old Testament (OTL; London, 1976).

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F. Stolz, Das erste und zweite Buch Samuel (ZBK AT 9; Zürich, 1981). D. T. Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel (NICOT; Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2007). R. de Vaux, “Single Combat in the Old Testament”, in R. de Vaux, The Bible and the Ancient Near East (London, 1971), pp. 122–135. P. Warren, “The Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Thera, and the Aegean Setting”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 99 (1979), pp. 115–129. J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin, 1905). A. Yadin, “Goliath’s Armor and Israelite Collective Memory”, VT 54 (2004), pp. 373–395. Y. Yadin (Sukenik), “Let the Young men, I Pray Thee, Arise and Play before us”, JPOS 21 (1948), pp. 110–116. ——, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands: In the Light of Archaeological Study, I–II (New York – Toronto – London, 1963). ——, “Armor, Arms”, Encyclopaedia Biblica, 5 (Jerusalem, 1968), col. 931–970 (Hebrew). ——, “Goliath’s Javelin and the menor oregim”, PEQ 87 (1995), pp. 58–69.

DAVID AND ABISHAG: THE PURPOSE OF 1 KINGS 1:1–4

Richard S. Hess Denver Seminary

The first four verses of 1 Kings create a problem in terms of their position and purpose. The story begins with king David’s illness, described in terms of the inability of the sovereign to become warm. There follows the search for and identification of a beautiful young virgin, Abishag, to attend him. She takes care of the needs of David, but without sexual relations. The subsequent narrative seems to have no obvious relationship to these four verses. The struggle with Adonijah for the succession takes the story in a completely different direction. Neither the death of David nor the “establishment”, of Solomon’s kingdom appear to have a direct connection to these opening verses. A survey of some of the major interpreters demonstrates a dominant view that the text is concerned with David’s sexual impotence. Certainly, this theme appears in the story of Abishag. However, is this the major concern of the 1 Kgs 1:1–4? An examination of some key expressions and literary devices will be made in order to determine whether there is something more involved. The study will attempt to demonstrate that it is not sexual impotence that precipitates the royal crisis. Rather, the impotence is one sign of a greater issue that the author/editor introduces at the beginning of these books in order to anticipate the chief concern of the threat to the Davidic dynasty in Jerusalem; a threat that remains a major theme throughout 1 and 2 Kings. Indeed, the survival of the Davidic dynasty, as anticipated in the covenant of 2 Samuel 7 and as suggested in the law of the king in Deuteronomy 17, forms a key concern of the entire Deuteronomistic History.

I. Previous Research What role do the first four verses of 1 Kings play in the theme and purpose of the book? Before turning to the commentaries it is of value

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to consider the larger discussion of this material as discussed by recent studies on the Deuteronomistic History and the characters presented here. Recent research has pursued the question of the overall evaluation of the Davidic dynasty in 1 Kings. Thus Timo Vejola concludes that the narrative has an implicitly negative evaluation of the Davidic dynasty at the end of David’s life.1 François Langlamet finds both positive and negative elements in the evaluation of Solomon’s succession.2 Stefan Seiler studies the text as a literary unity and finds no explicit evaluation of David or Solomon.3 John Van Seters identifies different levels of tradition reflecting different views. Thus the basic Deuteronomistic edition holds a pro-Monarchy position while the throne succession account as we have it forms a late product that is entirely critical of the Monarchy.4 To this may be compared Jean Koulagna’s argument that 1 Kings 1–2 was written by an exilic writer to argue that Solomon was not qualified to be David’s royal successor.5 This is a completely different view than that of many earlier critics such as R. Norman Whybray who argued that, however much the author of 1 Kings 1–2 may have lacked enthusiasm for Solomon, he certainly believed that this son of David was the divinely appointed successor in the dynasty of David.6 Others argue that the multiple editorial levels themselves contain contradictory evaluations of David and Solomon. For example, Thilo Alexander Rudning identifies an early stratum that was pro-dynastic but understood Solomon’s succession as a usurpation.7

1 T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie, David und die Enstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (AASF.B 193; Helsinki, 1975). 2 François Langlamet, “Pour ou contre Solomon? La redaction prosalomoniene de I Rois, I–II”, RB 83 (1976), pp. 340–344. 3 S. Seiler, Die Geschichte von der Thronfolge Davids (2 Sam 9–20; 1 Kön 1–2), Untersuchungen zur Literarkritik und Tendenz (BZAW 267; Berlin, 1998), pp. 54–55. 4 J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven, 1983), pp. 278–286; idem, “The Court History and the DtrH, Conflicting Perspectives on the House of David”, in T. Römer and A. de Pury (eds.), Die sogenante Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, Neue Einsichten und Anfragen (OBO 176; Freiburg – Göttingen, 2000), pp. 71–76. 5 J. Koulagna, “L’image de Salomon dans l’historiographie deutéronomiste. A propos de la place de 1 Rois 1–2”, Revue d’Historie et de Philosophie Religieuses 87 (2007), pp. 289–300. 6 R. N. Whybray, The Succession Narrative: A Study of II Samuel 9–20; I Kings 1 and 2 (SBT Second Series 9; Naperville, 1968), p. 52. 7 T. A. Rudning, Davids Thron. Redaktionskritische Studien zur Geschichte von der Thronnachfolge Davids (BZAW 358; Berlin, 2006).

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Another perspective looks away from the kings themselves and towards those who had previously been thought of as minor characters. Maria Häusl’s provocative study suggests that the concern of 1 Kgs 1:1–4 is not with David but with Abishag and that we have here the rump of a longer account regarding Abishag.8 She finds the following section (vv. 5–10 and 32–49) pro-Solomonic.9 Wolfgang Oswald argues that 1 Kings 1 provides a sympathetic portrait of David and of Solomon as a legitimate successor.10 In terms of recent critical studies on the Deuteronomistic History, the various literary critical approaches have been unable to arrive at a consensus regarding the nature of the opening texts of 1 Kings, either in terms of their origin or in terms of their purpose. When we turn to the commentaries themselves, some, such as Volkmar Fritz, see this text as little more than an addition intended “to clarify the situation at the court”.11 David’s declining health renders him unable to make the important political decisions regarding his succession. Gwilym H. Jones describes David’s health problem as senility and sees it, along with the appearance of Adonijah, as a means of preparation for the rise and fall of Adonijah’s claim to the throne.12 For Iain Provan, as for Fritz, the real issue for David is one of impotence.13 Because he does not have sexual relations with Abishag this demonstrates the absence of his own physical powers and thus signals to the nation and to rivals such as Adonijah that another can take his place. Martin J. Mulder also holds this position.14 In addition, he observes that Abishag was intended as a substitute for the older queen Bathsheba, as a means to demonstrate the vitality of the king. Simon J. DeVries finds in the text the problem of the king’s impotence

8 M. H. Häusl, Abischag und Batscheba, frauen am Königshof und die Thronfolge davids im Zeugnis der Texte 1 Kön 1 und 2 (ATSAT 41; St. Ottilien, 1993), p. 288. For a similar emphasis on the role of Abishag and also that of Bathsheba, see A. Kunz, Die Frauen und der König David, Studien zur Figuration von Frauen in den Daviderzählungen (Leipzig, 2004), pp. 218–229. 9 Idem, pp. 248–265. 10 W. Oswald, Nathan der Prophet. Eine Untersuchung zu 2 Samuel 7, 2 Samuel 12 und 1 Könige 1 (ATANT 94; Zürich, 2008). 11 V. Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings (Trans. A. Hagedorn; CC; Minneapolis, 2003), p. 12. 12 G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, Volume I. 1 Kings 1–16:34 (NCB; London, 1984), p. 88. 13 I. W. Provan, 1 and 2 Kings (NIBC; Peabody, 1995), p. 24; Fritz, p. 14. 14 M. J. Mulder, 1 Kings. Volume 1 / I Kings 1–11 (HCOT; Leuven, 1998), pp. 34–37.

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as indicated by the statement that David “did not know her” in contrast to the assertion that Abishag was a sōkenet, “a helper”.15 Walter Brueggemann relates Abishag and even the references to the king’s warmth to the king’s lack of virility that creates “a functional vacancy on the throne”.16 Marvin Sweeney also finds the absence of sexual relations with Abishag as the basis for Adonijah’s immediate claim to the throne.17 Mordechai Cogan stands out from this group in that he finds the impotence of David as a confirming sign of his old age, rather than the primary problem by which the narrative defines David.18 This then is the essential issue of the opening verses: Is David incompetent to be king because he is sexually impotent, or is his impotence in this area a sign of something else that creates the royal crisis? This paper will consider four statements in vv. 1–4 that suggest that much more occurs in this short section than a description of sexual impotence or senility.

II. Old and Advancing in Years First, we will consider the note that David was ‫“( זָ ֵקן ָבּא ַבּיָּ ִמים‬old and advancing in years”). We should consider this expression in the light of 2 Sam 23:1–7. In this text David sings what are said to be ‫ִדּ ְב ֵרי ָדוִ ד‬ ‫“( ָה ַא ֲחר ֹנִ ים‬David’s final words”). Thus the text had already signaled to us that the end of David’s life had come. Even so, the final chapters of Samuel emphasize the king’s military exploits and Yahweh’s deliverance from the hand of all his enemies (2 Sam 22:1). 1 Kings replaces this picture of David with that of a figure who no longer is able to make war.19 Instead, we find his final battles within his own family. Several texts in 2 Sam (5:4) and in 1 Kings (2:11) suggest that David’s age by this time was understood to be close to seventy years.20

15

S. J. DeVries, 1 Kings (WBC; Waco, 1985), pp. 12–13. W. Brueggemann, 1 and 2 Kings (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, 2000), p. 12. 17 M. A. Sweeney, I and II Kings (OTL; Louisville, 2007), p. 53. 18 M. Cogan, I Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; New York, 2000), p. 156. 19 W. Oswald, §3.2.1, observes the distinctive appearance of David in the first chapter as old and feeble. He is not so identified in the books of Samuel whereas 1 Kgs 2:1 begins with another note that he is ready to die. 20 Cogan, 1 Kings, p. 155; Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings, p. 13. 16

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David is the latest person in the Bible designated by the term “old and advancing in years”. Earlier in the canonical text, this description applied to Abraham and Sarah (Gen 18:1), then to Abraham alone (Gen 24:1), and finally to Joshua (13:1; 23:1, 2). The term, “old and advancing in years” precedes a final and important act in every case, and these are all the occurrences of the phrase in the Hebrew Bible.21 Important activities that follow the note include the stories about giving birth to Isaac, arranging for a wife for Isaac, distributing the land to the Israelite tribes, and reaffirming the covenant in a ceremony of renewal. Some part of the covenant is key in each usage of this term. For Abraham and Sarah, God’s promise comes true. Sarah becomes pregnant and Isaac is born. Isaac is the child of promise. Through Isaac a great nation will come forth (Gen 17:19–20). Of course, it is not Isaac alone; but Rebekah who realizes this promise with him. In the story of Joshua, Yahweh’s covenant becomes realized by the nation of Israel. Before and after they acquire the land, they celebrate the covenant. They must honor it by renewing the covenant; an act in which Joshua leads Israel at the end of his life just as Moses did at the end of his (Deuteronomy; Josh 1:1–9). Now it happens that David, in his old age, reflects on the covenant of 2 Sam 7 and seeks to fulfill it. Solomon, his son, will succeed him. He will become king over the kingdom that David ruled. This forms the theme and the purpose of the story of 1 Kings 1. Abraham, Sarah, Joshua, and David – here the fulfillment of each covenant is realized by people who years earlier had been present and involved in the first making of that covenant. In every usage, “old and advanced in years” applies to such people who, as they approach death, participate in the ongoing role of the covenant in a significant way as it moves to the next generation. Not only is there a connection with the covenant, but in each of the occurrences of the phrase, “old and advancing in years”, a problem arises that must be solved before the covenant can move forward into future generations. In the case of Abraham and Sarah, Sarah could no longer bear children (Gen 18:11). In the story of Abraham and his servant who goes in search of a wife for Isaac, Yahweh’s blessing in the

21 Of the commentaries, only Cogan, ibid., p. 155, and Mulder, 1 Kings, pp. 32–33 note the appearance of this phrase in the other texts discussed here. However, none observe the contextual significance common to all its appearances.

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land of promise created the temptation to look for a wife among the Canaanites (Gen 24:1). In the case of Joshua, there was still much land for Israel to occupy (Josh 13:1). In addition, Israel tended to abandon its promise of exclusive loyalty to God and to the divine covenant (Josh 23:1–16). David also had a major challenge, the designation of his chosen successor, or at least one in sympathy with himself and his friends. This successor, Solomon, faced the critical challenge to his rule even before he became king. The challenge came from his brother, Adonijah. David’s achievement in appointing his chosen successor has little if anything to do with a problem of sexual impotency. It has everything to do with the remainder of the books of Kings.

III. Keeping Warm A second area for the identification of the key concern of the first four verses may lie in the verb, “to keep warm” (Heb. root ‫)חמם‬. It occurs both in v. 1 and again in v. 2. This repetition marks it as a potentially important word. Indeed, the verb reveals something of the key to this story. “To keep warm” here refers to David’s old age and the problems that it brings.22 Elsewhere, a survey of all uses of the verb provide a wide ranging picture. The verb often expresses solar heat. With reference to people it may describe how they keep warm. A fire may give warmth (Isa 44:15, 16; 47:14).23 Garments may provide insulation from the cold (Hag 1:6). The text of Eccl 4:11 could function as a commentary on David’s experience: Although two may lie down and warm themselves, one alone will not keep warm. However, the verbal root may also describe emotions. In the Bible ‫ חמם‬identifies people who are angry (Deut 19:6), full of lust (Isa 57:5; cf. Hos 7:7), in high spirits (Jer 51:39), and, for the psalmist of Psalm 39, possessing 22 Generally the commentators understand this term as a reference to physical warmth of the body (e.g., Mulder, ibid., p. 33, DeVries, 1 Kings, p. 12 [who describes it as “advanced arteriosclerosis”]; Cogan, ibid., p. 156, and R. L. Hubbard, Jr., First and Second Kings [Everyman’s Bible Commentary; Chicago, 1991], p. 20). Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings, p. 14, and Sweeney, I and II Kings, p. 53, relate it directly to the sexual virility that Abishag is supposed to restore. Brueggemann, 1 and 2 Kings, p. 12, goes further and argues, solely on the basis of the reference of lack of sexual relations with Abishag (v. 4), that “ ‘not get warm’ means not to have an erection”. None of the commentators examine the usage of the term elsewhere and especially in the books of Kings. 23 K.-M. Beyse, “‫”חמם‬, TDOT 4, pp. 473–477. Beyse also considers proper names containing this root.

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troubles and concerns (Ps 39:4). There is only one other occurrence of this verbal root in the books of Kings. It is found in the miraculous story of how the prophet Elisha brings a boy back to life after he has been dead for some time. In 2 Kgs 4:34 it says that ‫וַ יָּ ָחם ְבּ ַשׂר ַהיָּ ֶלד‬ (“the boy’s body grew warm”) as he returned to life according to the work of the prophet. Of course, David finds himself in the opposite situation. David does not become warm.24 He cannot keep warm. The absence of warmth brings about the beginning of his death. Thus the reader learns that the king has come to the end of his life. There is no explicit mention of David’s approaching death. His loyal servants find a way to slow the process of mortality through the services of Abishag. However, David no longer has that vitality that he once enjoyed. He cannot leave his rooms to confront Adonijah and personally fight for his will to be done. Anger, lust, fear, and passionate desire for God have vanished; although their presence manifested itself clearly in his earlier life. David’s story begins the books of Kings because he plays the role of the main character at the close of the previous books, 1 and 2 Samuel. However, this role passes from him as he lies on his deathbed and expresses his will through the actions of his followers.

IV. A Young Virgin

ָ ‫ )נַ ֲﬠ ָרה ְב‬occurs a total of six times The term “young virgin” (Heb. ‫תוּלה‬ in the Hebrew Bible. Even so, the five other times appear in only three different contexts. Thus there is the case of a woman who is a virgin and who then proceeds to have sexual relations. This is found in the legal collection of Deuteronomy (22:23, 28). A second context refers to the virgins of Jabesh Gilead. Israel decides that they will allow the small remnant of the tribe of Benjamin to take these women as wives for themselves after their own women and children have been slaughtered (Judg 21:12). The third context comes from the book of Esther. The text describes how a search is made for beautiful young virgins who will enter the Persian king’s harem (Estr 2:2, 3). It is true that the example from Deuteronomy does not envision marriage. Nevertheless, 24

Oswald, §3.2.1, observes how this is the first of frequent negations in the text regarding David: he does not know Abishag (v. 4), he does not reprimand Adonijah (v. 6), and he does not know that Adonijah proclaimed himself as king (vv. 11 and 18).

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all these examples describe women who are mature sexually and in the prime of their physical development. The text of 1 Kings describes how this woman will have as her occupation one of “standing before” the king. This implies that she would be present to deal with his personal needs. In like manner, Esther’s attendant, Hathach (Esth 4:5), stood before her when she was queen. Hathach functioned as her messenger. None of this requires sexual activity and that is explicit in 1 Kgs 1:4. Why then do David’s attendants seek out a “young virgin?” The last two phrases of this verse describe her function: to lie beside the king and to keep him warm. The warmth of the body of the young woman will provide warmth for David. The term for warmth (Heb. root ‫)חמם‬, occurred in v. 1 where it was applied to David. As noted, it identifies the presence of life in 1 and 2 Kings. Thus a “young virgin” may be the prime candidate to function as a metaphor for life in all its potency, the power to give new life. Her presence may assist in slowing or even reversing the king’s loss of warmth and his consequent loss of life.25 At least this is the hope of the attendants. Despite the acquisition of Abishag and despite the warmth of her physical presence, the text never indicates that David’s own warmth returned. Unlike 2 Kgs 4, where the text explicitly states that the boy’s warmth returned, no such observation occurs for David. As 2 Kgs 4 also involves a Shunamite woman, there may be an intentional contrast between these two accounts. David remains alive long enough to ensure that his successor, Solomon, is secure on his throne. However, David never experiences a return of warmth to his body. He is never again vital as he once was. Despites the care of Abishag the Shunamite,

25 This explanation is ignored by a number of commentators who prefer the young virgin as a means to rekindle the sexual virility of the king, upon which the strength of the kingdom was believed to depend. Not only is this explanation absent in the Hebrew Bible, no attempt is made to provide a single specific example elsewhere in the ancient world. See, e.g., Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings, p. 14, Mulder, 1 Kings, p. 35, and Provan, 1 and 2 Kings, p. 24. Only Sweeney, I and II Kings, p. 53, cites a specific example from the ancient Near East, that of the Sumerian and Babylonian akitu festival, where the king had sexual relations with the high priestess. However, there is nothing here to indicate that lack of sexual potency implied the failure to rule. Nor is there clear evidence for this in any texts related to that event. John Gray, I and II Kings (3rd ed.; OTL; Louisville, 1977), p. 77, cites an example of a king’s illness at Ugarit disqualifying him from rule. However, it is not clear that the “illness” was sexual impotency. Thus a variety of possible interpretations remain and the example fails to demonstrate the argument.

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David’s health does not return to one of warmth and wellbeing. On the contrary, Nathan the prophet intervenes and provides for David’s successor and the continuation of his line. Contrast this with Abishag’s counterpart in 2 Kgs 4, Elisha. Elisha brings the dead boy fully back to life. The boy’s mother, the Shunamite woman, cares for him. In 1 Kgs 1:1–4 the reader learns of the background necessary to the following events. King David remains important yet unable to carry out his own desires. Other associates must act on his behalf. They do so and their activity anticipates the guarantee of the ongoing line of David’s successors throughout 1 and 2 Kings.

V. He Did Not Know A fourth argument considers the statement that David did not know Abishag. Indeed, the strongest argument for the view that David’s sexual impotence renders him unable to be king is probably found here in the concluding phrase to vv. 1–4, ‫וְ ַה ֶמּ ֶלְך ל ֹא יְ ָד ָﬠהּ‬. David’s lack of “knowledge” of Abishag clearly describes sexual intimacy. And just as clearly it forms a wordplay on David’s subsequent absence of knowledge of Adonijah’s kingship in vv. 11 and 18.26 Thus the concluding phrase of what is without dispute the end of the first short section of the book forms a summary statement of its overall purpose; a literary style not unknown in many other Hebrew narratives. However, this phrase may be understood in another context that is just as important. That is found in the concluding phrase of the next section, the one that describes Adonijah’s plans for his proclamation of kingship in vv. 5–10. Verse 10 concludes the section and the verse with ‫ל ֹא ָק ָרא‬, which follows the list of those Adonijah did not invite to his feast. While it is true that a similar phrase (negative ‫ ל ֹא‬followed by a perfect verb) occurs at the end of v. 8 to describe those who did not join Adonijah’s revolt; the closest parallel, with a singular subject and no subsequent prepositional phrase, remains the end of v. 4. Thus David’s impotence contrasts Adonijah’s failure to invite various members of the palace. However, even more can be said. The last on the list of 26

Mulder, 1 Kings, p. 37 (see also Cogan, 1 Kings, p. 156), recognizes in a general way that this introduces what follows. Contrast DeVries, 1 Kings, p. 13, who claims to translate this phrase “literally” as “did not sleep with her”. Whether that is the intention of the phrase or not, it is certainly not a literal translation of the Hebrew.

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v. 10, and thus the person whose name immediately precedes the absence of invitation, is Solomon. This indeed introduces for the first time the major character of the first eleven chapters of 1 Kings. However, it also juxtaposes Adonijah’s nemesis at the conclusion of his apparently successful bid for kingship. On the other hand, the object of David’s “ignorance” in v. 4 is Abishag. She may not succeed completely in her role before the king, but in the end that is not what is important. There is an intentional contrast between David and his lack of knowledge, and Adonijah and his lack of invitations. The contrast creates expectations that will be reversed. On the one hand, the reader of vv. 1–4 comes away with a sense that David will not recover and that his death his immanent. He appears weak and unable to control the events that follow. Yet by the end of the chapter David will demonstrate the ability to make the necessary decisions and to implement them with his words alone. In dramatic contrast, Adonijah appears strong at the end of the section that introduces him. In v. 10 he is able to choose not to invite enemies and rivals and thus seems stronger than any of them. Adonijah’s own loyal friends are sufficient for him to overcome a weak and dying king. He appears to be in control of all that is happening. However, in the account that follows, his decision to break off relations with those mentioned in v. 10, and most of all with Solomon, will prove his undoing. Thus David’s weakness will be revealed as strength, whereas Adonijah’s apparent strength will be shown to be little more than weakness. This theme will remain throughout the books of Kings. The apparently weak and insignificant, whether they are prophets such as Elijah, kings such as Jeroboam I, Joash, or Jehoiachin, or a kingdom such as Judah, will demonstrate unexpected strength. In contrast, the apparently strong and prominent such as the prophet Zedekiah son of Kenaanah, or the kings Rehoboam and Ahab, or a kingdom such as Ephraim-Israel, will fail more quickly and more completely than expected.

VI. Conclusion The narrative themes of the strong becoming weak and of the weak becoming strong are found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. However, their appearances in the books of Kings attest to the key manner in which David’s loss of strength, not just his lack of sexual virility, antic-

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ipates the way in which the weak are used for great purposes. Taken in both their canonical and immediate contexts, the phrases, “old and advancing in years”, “keeping warm”, “he did not know (her)”, and even “a young virgin” do not demonstrate a primary concern with David’s sexual impotence. Instead the correct interpretation of these terms suggests that Israel’s problem in vv. 1–4 is not David’s impotence or senility. Rather, this is a sign of a greater malaise, the ebbing away of the king’s life and the threat it poses to the continuation of the dynasty of David in Jerusalem.

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K.-M. Beyse, “‫”חמם‬, TDOT 4, pp. 473–477. W. Brueggemann, 1 and 2 Kings (Smyth and Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, 2000). M. Cogan, I Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; New York, 2000). V. Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings (Trans. A. Hagedorn; CC; Minneapolis, 2003). J. Gray, I and II Kings (3rd ed.; OTL; Louisville, 1977). M. H. Häusl, Abischag und Batscheba, frauen am Königshof und die Thronfolge davids im Zeugnis der Texte 1 Kön 1 und 2 (ATSAT 41; St. Ottilien, 1993). R. L. Hubbard, Jr., First and Second Kings (Everyman’s Bible Commentary; Chicago, 1991). G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, Volume I. 1 Kings 1–16:34 (NCB; London, 1984). J. Koulagna, “L’image de Salomon dans l’historiographie deutéronomiste. A propos de la place de 1 Rois 1–2”, Revue d’Historie et de Philosophie Religieuses 87 (2007), pp. 289–300. A. Kunz, Die Frauen und der König David, Studien zur Figuration von Frauen in den Daviderzählungen (Leipzig, 2004). F. Langlamet, “Pour ou contre Solomon? La redaction prosalomoniene de I Rois, I–II”, RB 83 (1976), pp. 340–344. M. J. Mulder, 1 Kings. Volume 1 / I Kings 1–11 (HCOT; Leuven, 1998). W. Oswald, Nathan der Prophet. Eine Untersuchung zu 2 Samuel 7, 2 Samuel 12 und 1 Könige 1 (ATANT 94; Zürich, 2008). I. W. Provan, 1 and 2 Kings (NIBC; Peabody, 1995). T. A. Rudning, Davids Thron. Redaktionskritische Studien zur Geschichte von der Thronnachfolge Davids (BZAW 358; Berlin, 2006). S. Seiler, Die Geschichte von der Thronfolge Davids (2 Sam 9–20; 1 Kön 1–2), Untersuchungen zur Literarkritik und Tendenz (BZAW 267; Berlin, 1998). M. A. Sweeney, I and II Kings (OTL; Louisville, 2007). J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven, 1983). ——, “The Court History and the DtrH, Conflicting Perspectives on the House of David”, in T. Römer and A. de Pury (eds.), Die sogenante Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, Neue Einsichten und Anfragen (OBO 176; Freiburg – Göttingen, 2000), pp. 71–76. T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie, David und die Enstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (AASF.B 193; Helsinki, 1975). S. J. De Vries, 1 Kings (WBC; Waco, 1985). R. N. Whybray, The Succession Narrative: A Study of II Samuel 9–20; I Kings 1 and 2 (SBT Second Series 9; Naperville, 1968).

THE HISTORICAL SETTING OF ZEPHANIAH’S ORACLES AGAINST THE NATIONS (ZEPH 2:4–15)

Dan’el Kahn University of Haifa

It is a great pleasure to dedicate this article to Prof. Bustenay Oded. During the many years we shared ideas, articles and the computer at our University office. I wish to use this as an opportunity to elaborate on our mutual interest in the History of the Jewish people and its neighbors during Biblical times and add to this my interest in Kingdom of Kush. The introductory sentence of Zephaniah dates his prophecies to the reign of Josiah, King of Judah, who reigned between 640–609 B.C.E. However, since introductory sentences may have been a later clarification or addition, their chronological value should not be taken for granted.1 Most scholars accept the date in Zeph 1:1 and date the prophecies to the reign of Josiah, prior to his religious reform (before 621 B.C.E.)2 or during it.3 Attempts have also been made to date them on historical grounds to the reign of Jehoiakim or Zedekiah.4 Other attempts have been made to date the composition of the Book of Zephaniah to “after the early post monarchic-period”, even allowing for further post-compositional stages from before the Hellenistic

1

Cf. Isa 20:1; Jer 27:1,3. Y. Hoffmann, The Oracles Against the Nations in the Bible (Tel Aviv, 1977), pp. 177–180 (Hebrew); H. Ryou, Zephaniah’s Oracles against the Nations: A Synchronic and Diachronic Study of Zephaniah 2:1–3:8 (Leiden – New York – Köln, 1995), p. 319. 3 M. Sweeney, “A Form-Critical Reassessment of the Book of Zephaniah”, CBQ 53 (1991), p. 406; D. L. Christensen, “Zephaniah 2:4–15: A Theological Basis for Josiah’s Program of Political Expansion”, CBQ 46 (1984), p. 671 (dating the oracles to 628 B.C.E.); J. Vlaardingerbroek, Zephaniah (HCOT; Leuven, 1999), pp. 13–17 with earlier literature there. 4 J. P. Hyatt, “The Date and Background of Zephaniah”, JNES 7 (1948), pp. 25–29; D. L. Williams, “The Date of Zephaniah”, JBL 82 (1963), p. 83. 2

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period.5 A minority of scholars date his prophecies to the Hellenistic period.6 In this article I intend to show that the Oracles against the Nations in the Book of Zephaniah indeed all fit the historical reality in the period of the reign of Josiah (640–609 B.C.E.). The oracles against the nations in Zeph 2:4–15 consist of oracles against Philistia, Ammon-and-Moab, Kush and Assyria. The order of the oracles seems to be both geographical and political: Judah’s neighbouring enemies in the West (Philistia), the East (Ammon and Moab), and Judah’s Imperial enemies in the South (Kush), and in the North (Assyria).7

I. The Oracle against Philistia (2:4–7) The oracle mentions four out of five cities of the Philistine Pentapolis, namely Gaza, Ashqelon, Ashdod and Eqron.8 Gath is missing as it is missing from all oracles from the 8th century onwards.9 The status of Gath declined after the siege of Haza’el at the close of the 9th century B.C.E. (2 Kgs 12:17) submitting to the control of its neighbours (cf. 2 Chron 26:6). The Assyrians conquered Gimtu (Gath) in the days of Sargon II, king of Assyria.10 Thus, the omission of Gath is based on a historical reality of the 8th–7th century B.C.E. However, during the period of the reigns of Esarhaddon and the first part of the reign of Assurbanipal (during the long reign of Manasseh, king of Judah) under the pax assyriaca, Judah and Philistia enjoyed

5 E. Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah (Berlin 1991), p. 356. 6 L. P. Smith and E. R. Lacheman, “The Authorship of the Book of Zephaniah”, JNES 9 (1950), pp. 137–142. 7 Ryou, Zephaniah’s Oracles against the Nations, pp. 323–325. There is no clear logical (geographical, according to importance or other) pattern in the inclusion and order of the nations in the oracles against the nations in the various prophetic books. 8 Cf. Jer 25:20. 9 Cf. Am 1:6–8. This oracle probably describes the campaign of Haza’el, King of Aram Damascus during the last third of the 9th century B.C.E. See A. M. Maeir, “The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2: An Archaeological Perspective from Tell Eṣ-Ṣâfī/Gath”, VT 54 (2004), pp. 319–331; N. Na’aman, “In Search of Reality Behind the Account of David’s Wars with Israel’s Neighbours”, IEJ 52 (2002), pp. 210–213. 10 A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 134, 220.

zephaniah’s oracles against the nations

441

(as far as we know) an economical revival as well as military and trade cooperation.11 The inclusion of all the remaining Philistine cities may also help dating the oracle. According to the Babylonian Chronicle Ashqelon was conquered in 604 B.C.E.12 Thus, the mention of Ashqelon would suggest that this oracle has a prior date.13 The remaining Philistine cities were conquered and destroyed in less then 40 years.14

II. The Oracle against Ammon and Moab (2:8–10) The Kingdom of Ammon had continuous territorial disputes with Israel from the period of the Judges through the existence of the Kingdom of Israel (cf. Judg 11:12–28; 1 Sam 11; 14:47; 2 Sam 10:2; 12; Amos 1:13–15; 2 Chron 26:8, 27:5). A territorial expansion (Zeph 2:8) was mainly conducted against the tribe of Gad and the mountainous areas of the Gilead (Amos 1:13–15;

11

M. Fales, “On Pax Assyriaca in the Eighth-Seventh Centuries B.C.E. and Its Implications”, in R. Cohen and R. Westbrook (eds.), Isaiah’s Vision of Peace in Biblical and Modern International Relations (New York, 2008), pp. 17–35; A. Faust and E. Weiss, “Judah, Philistia, and the Mediterranean World: Reconstructing the Economic System of the Seventh Century B.C.E.”, BASOR 338 (2005), pp. 71–92; D. M. Master, “Trade and Politics: Ashkelon’s Balancing Act in the Seventh Century B.C.E.”, BASOR 330 (2003), pp. 47–64; S. Gittin, “Neo-Assyrian and Egyptian Hegemony over Ekron in the Seventh Century B.C.E.: A Response to Lawrence E. Stager”, EI 27 (2003), pp. 54*–61*. See also N. Na’aman, “Ekron under the Assyrian and Egyptian Empires”, BASOR 332 (2003), pp. 81–91; S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “The Final Destruction of Beth Shemesh and the Pax Assyriaca in the Judean Shephelah”, TA 30 (2003), pp. 3–26; but cf. A. Fantalkin, “The Final Destruction of Beth Shemesh and the Pax Assyriaca in the Judahite Shephelah: An Alternative View”, TA 31 (2004), pp. 245–261. 12 L. E. Stager, “Ashkelon and the Archaeology of Destruction: Kislev 604 B.C.E.”, EI 25 (1996), pp. 61*–74*. 13 As for Ashqelon, see ABC, pp. 20, 102, Babylonian Chronicle BM 21946 rev. 11. Some scholars maintain that v. 7 mentioning Ashqelon is not part of the original oracle because of the mention of the remnant of Judah which will return from the exile and because of the discrepancy between v. 7 and the wished for destruction in v. 5. See Hoffmann, The Oracles Against the Nations in the Bible, pp. 178–179. See also discussion about verse 2:7 by Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah, pp. 34, 159–164. It may be that this verse was edited after the conquest of Ashqelon, but before the destruction of the other Philistine cities, since only Ashqelon is mentioned twice. 14 For Ashdod, see Jer 25:20. For dating he destruction of Eqron, see O. Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: the History of Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake 2005), p. 52, n. 55; For Gaza, see H. J. Katzenstein, “Gaza in the Neo-Babylonian Period (626–539 B.C.E.)”, Transeuphratène 7 (1994), pp. 43, 46.

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Jer 49:1) but may also have been against Moab, since Jeremiah mentions Heshbon as a city belonging to Ammon (Jer 49:3). In Jer 48: 8 and Isa 16:8 Heshbon belonged to Moab. Ammon still occupied these territories when the oracle was pronounced (Jer 49:1).15 As can be gleaned from the Mesha stela16 and the Bible, Moab as well had bitter disputes with Israel (and her Judean ally) over the Plain of Moab during the Omride dynasty in the 9th century B.C.E. Mention is also made of Moabite raids into Cis-Jordan (2 Kgs 13:20). During the days of Jeroboam II, Israelite rule is claimed to have been established over the Plain of Moab (2 Kgs 14:25; Amos 6:14). It is not clear when Moab regained control over this territory (See Isa 15–16; cf. Jer 48).17 From the reign of Tiglath-Pileser III (745–727 B.C.E.) onwards Ammon and Moab (as well as Judah) were most of the time loyal vassals of Assyria.18 Ammon and Moab were listed together with Judah as paying tribute to Assyria in 734 B.C.E.19 Some skirmishes between Moab and its neighbour (kurGi-di-ra-a-a) occurred at the beginning of the Assyrian sovereignty. Some scholars identify this entity with the Qedarite tribe, but this information may pertain to a territorial dispute between Moab and Israelite elements.20

15 See Ez 25:9–10; Cf. L. G. Herr, “Whatever Happened to the Ammonites?” BAR 19/6 (1993), pp. 26–35, 68. Is it possible that Ai mentioned in Jer 49:1–3 is the same as Ai in Josh 7:2? Does Jer 49:3 hint to Ammon’s expansion to the South and West across the Jordan as Jer 49:1 blaims Ammon of invading into Gad’s territories. 16 A. Lemaire, “House of David Restored in Moabite Inscription”, BAR 20 (1994), pp. 30–37. 17 It is not clear if the accusation of conquest of territories pertains to Moab as well. 18 See summary in E. Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age (Leuven 2006), pp. 308–317, 358–360. 19 H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III (Jerusalem 1994), pp. 170–171, summ. 7, rev. l. 10’. 20 ND 2773. Probably not to be identified with the Qedarites (but cf. Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan, p. 358). See H. W. F. Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952: Part II”, Iraq 17 (1955), p. 133; B. Oded, “Observations on Methods of Assyrian Rule in Transjordania after the Palestinian Campaign of Tiglath-Pileser III” JNES 29 (1970), pp. 180–181; I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent 9th–5th Centuries B.C. (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 92, n. 293; S. Yamada, “QurdiAssur-lamur: His Letters and Career”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn, (eds.), Treasures on Camels’ Humps: Historical and Literary Studies Presented to Israel Eph‘al (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 308.

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A letter from Marduk-rēmanni (in office from ca. 728–713 B.C.E. at the latest)21 was sent from Calah (Nimrud) to the King of Assur.22 The letter mentions the arrival of, among others, officials from Egypt, Gazah, Judah, Moab and the sons of Ammon in Calah. It seems that they brought horses as tribute or for participation in a campaign. The years of the reign of Shalmaneser V may be excluded because of the apparent hostility between Assyria and Egypt (cf. 2 Kgs 17:4). The first years of Sargon may be excluded as well.23 It thus seems that Judah, Ammon and Moab remained loyal to Assyria from the end of the reign of Tiglath-Pileser III till the first decade of Sargon’s reign, probably in the year 715 when the King of Egypt first sent tribute to Assyria.24 In ca. 712 B.C.E. Iamani, an usurper on the throne of Ashdod, incited Philistia, Judah, Moab, Edom and other kingdoms (Ammon is not mentioned) to join the rebellion against Sargon II.25 From the silence in the Assyrian sources one can deduce that the call for rebellion was left unanswered. During the third campaign of Sennacherib (701 B.C.E.), the King of Moab and Ammon submitted voluntarily. During the reigns of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal in the first half of the 7th century, the King of Moab, Ammon as well as Judah were drafted for building assignments by the first and military duties by the latter for a military campaign against Egypt in 667 B.C.E. It seems that during the years of the pax assyriaca, no hostility arose between these states, but there is scant evidence for this period.26

21 H. Baker, PNA, p. 721. In 713 Aššur-Bâni, governor of Kalhu, who followed Marduk-rēmanni in office, was the eponym. See K. Radner, PNA, p. 158. 22 Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952: Part II”, pp. 134–135. 23 Cf. the battle at Raphiah against the Egyptian commander Re‘. See Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons, p. 90. 24 Fuchs, ibid., p. 110. 25 A. Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr (SAAS VIII; Helsinki, 1998), pp. 73–74. See also G. Galil, “A New Look at the ‘Azekah Inscription’”, RB 102 (1995), p. 328. 26 See B. Oded, “Observations on Methods of Assyrian Rule”, pp. 177–186, 181; M. Weippert, “The Relations of the States East of the Jordan with the Mesopotamian Powers during the First Millennium BC”, in A. Hadidi (ed.), Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan III (London, 1987), pp. 97–105. The scarcity of Moabite names in Mesopotamia may hint to the lack of exiles from this kingdom to Assyria. See R. Zadok, “Phoenicians, Philistines, and Moabites in Mesopotamia”, BASOR 230 (1978), pp. 61–62. An ostracon from Nimrud may list the names of 15 Ammonite workmen in Assyria during the late 8th century B.C.E. See J. Naveh, “The Ostracon from Nimrud: An Ammonite Name-List”, Maarav 2/2 (1979–1980), pp. 163–171.

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Some scholars suggest that there was animosity between Judah and the Kingdom of Ammon during the expansion of the kingdom of Josiah, King of Judah, northwards into the territories of the former province of Samerina in the wake of the Assyrian Empire.27 In the written evidence,28 nor in the archaeological remains, no proof of Ammonite expansion northwards into Israelite territories of the Gilead can be detected for the time of Josiah.29 Furthermore, after the deportations of Israelite exiles by Tiglath-Pileser III in 733–732 B.C.E. (cf. 2 Kgs 15:29; 1 Chron 5:6, 26)30 the kingdom of Ammon hardly expanded much westwards into the plain east of the Jordan.31

27 H. L. Ginsberg, “Judah and the Transjordan States from 734 to 582 B.C.E.”, Alexander Marx Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (New York, 1950), pp. 355–363. 28 N. Na’aman, “The Kingdom of Judah under Josiah”, Tel Aviv 18 (1991), p. 42. The Deir ‘Alla Inscription language cannot necessarily be regarded as Ammonite. See J. C. Greenfield, “Philological Observations on the Deir ‘Alla Inscription’”, in J. Hoftijzer and G. Van der Kooij (ed.), The Balaam Text from Deir ‘Alla Re-evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Leiden 21–24 August 1989 (Leiden, 1991), p. 118, contra F. M. Cross, “Epigraphic Notes on the Amman Citadel Inscription”, BASOR 193 (1969), pp. 13–14. 29 R. Kletter, “The Rujm el Malfuf Buildings and the Assyrian Vassal State of Ammon”, BASOR 284 (1991), pp. 33–50. Alternatively, if the territorial expansion was short lived, the buildings may not have been erected until the Ammonites were expelled. Thus, the absence of these typical Ammonite buildings can not be used as negative evidence against a temporary expansion of the kingdom of Ammon to the north. A decrease in settlements from the Iron Age into the Persian and Hellenistic periods is clearly visible. According to G. Palumbo (ed.), Jordan Antiquities Database and Information System (Amman, 1994) sector 2, the number of Iron Age settlements in sector 2 (North-west of Amman including Jarash and Ajlun) was 211. Only 57 continued into the Persian Period. The number of settlements immediately to the Northwest of Amman with continued occupation does not exceed 10 (with nos. starting with 2016, 2116–2017, 2117. It must be remembered that further Ammonite expansion northward would have been on the expence of the (former) Assyrian province of Gal‘ada. There is no proof of Ammonite expansion that far north. 30 Ammonite expansion into the former territories of the Kingdom of Israel was postulated based on the borders of the Ammonite province in the Persian and Hellenistic periods (Oded, “Observations on Methods of Assyrian Rule”, p. 181); L. G. Herr, “The Ammonites in the Late Iron Age and Persian Period”, in B. MacDonald and R. W. Younker (eds.), Ancient Ammon, (Leiden, 1999), pp. 221–222; ibid. “The Iron Age II Period: Emerging Nations”, BA 60/3 (1997), p. 148; O. Lipschits, “Ammon in Transition from Vassal Kingdom to Babylonian Province”, BASOR 335 (2004), pp. 41–43. On the return of Israelite exiles to the Province of Moab in the Persian period, see Ez 2:6. J. A. Sauer, “Ammon, Moab and Edom”, in J. Amitai (ed.), Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology Jerusalem, April 1984 (Jerusalem, 1985), pp. 212–213. 31 Palumbo, Jordan Antiquities, 2.29, 4.24 with nos. starting with 2013–2015; see the scant sites on map of sector 4 Iron Age to Persian periods, period no. 33, Iron age IIC.

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The absence of accusations against Ammon and Moab for participating in the anti-Babylonian conference (Jer 27) or their (as well as Edom’s) incursions against Judah and Jerusalem in 599 B.C.E. (2 Kgs 24:1–2) nor the involvement of Ba‘alis, King of Ammon in the murder of Gedaliah, son of Ahiqam, the last Governor of Judah (Jer 40:14), exclude a date in the very last decades of the kingdom of Judah or a postexilic date for this oracle, and fit better the historical reality of the end of the 8th century B.C.E. and the reign of Josiah when old conflicts awoke with the retreat of Assyria from the Levant.32 While in the Book of Zephaniah there is an oracle against Ammon and Moab, the absence of an oracle against Edom is striking.33 Though it should be kept in mind that this is absence of evidence, Edom, the troublesome “Brother” of Israel did not receive an oracle of doom. Still it was active together with Moab and Ammon against Judah during the last decades of the Kingdom of Judah (2 Kgs 24:2 ‫ואת גדודי ארם‬ Bands of Arameans, possibly to be emended to ‫ ואת גדודי אדֺ ם‬Bands of Edomites). During the anti-Babylonian conference Edom participated together with Judah and the other Transjordanian Kingdoms (Jer 27:3). Edom sided with the Babylonians during the final Babylonian assault against Judah (Ez 25:12; 35:5; Lam 4:21–22; Ps 137:7; Obad 11–14). According to archaeological finds as well, Edomites infiltrated into the Negeb already from the last quarter of the 7th century B.C.E.34 It seems that Edom’s active role in the destruction of Judah started after the Oracles of Zephaniah. A similar attitude towards the Transjordanian kingdoms can be seen in Deut 23:3–7: No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord. Even to the tenth generation, none of their descendants shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord.

32 Cf. Ryou, Zephaniah’s Oracles against the Nations, pp. 315–316; Vlaardingerbroek, Zephaniah, p. 143. 33 In Amos 1:11–15; 2:1–3; Jer 48; 49:1–22; Ez 25 the oracles against the nations are directed against Ammon, Moab and Edom. In Isa 15–16 is Moab alone mentioned in Transjordan (Isa 34 and 63:1–6 seem to be of late origin). Obadiah prophesizes only about Edom. 34 The Edomite Ostraca in Hirbet Uzz‘a, the religious complex at Hurbat Qitmit and the mention of the Edomite threat in the ‘Arad Ostraca 24, 40. I. Eph‘al, “The Beginning of Idumea”, Qadmoniot 36 (2004), pp. 77–79 (Hebrew). I. Beit-Arieh and B. Cresson, “An Edomite Ostracon from Horvat ‘Uza”, TA 12 (1985), p. 100.

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While the Ammonites and Moabites are forever not admitted into the assembly of God, because allegedly they did not meet Israel with food and water on their journey out of Egypt, and because they hired against them Balaam son of Beor, from Pethor of Mesopotamia, to curse them, Edom was perceived as a brother and Israel should not abhor Egypt, because they were an alien residing in their land. Again, Ammon and Moab are treated harshly, while Edom and Egypt are treated better, even though Egypt was Israel’s oppressor.35 It may be that the Sitz im Leben of Zeph 2:4–15 and Deut 23:3–7 is the same – the last years of the reign of Josiah.36

III. The Oracle against Assyria (2:13–15) The oracle mentions the destruction of Nineveh. It is not clear if Assur ‫ אשור‬refers to the town of Assur or the country Assyria. If the town is meant, the conquest of Assur (614 B.C.E.) and Nineveh (612 B.C.E.) may be described as in the Babylonian chronicle37 and the prophecy would be then vaticinium ex eventum and dates after 612 B.C.E.

IV. The Oracle against Kush (2:12) The oracle has several problems; first, it is shorter than all the other oracles. Not much historical or other information can be gleaned. Secondly, in the prophecy the Kushites change from the 2nd masc. plu. ‫ אתם‬to the 3rd masc. plu. voice ‫המה‬: “Also you, O you Kushites, pierced of my sword are they”.38

35 M. Cogan, “The Other Egypt: A Welcome Asylum”, in M. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, temples, and traditions: a tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Ind., 1996), pp. 65–70. 36 For different historical settings of this episode see J. Tigay, Deuteronomy (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia – Jerusalem 1996), p. 21. One may add the attitude toward Ammon and Moab in the story of Lot (Gen 19). This episode is, however, beyond the scope of this paper. 37 ABC, pp. 93–94, Babylonian Chronicle 3, ll. 26–27; 41–45. 38 O. P. Robertson, The Books of Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah (Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1991), p. 309. The same is true also for the oracle against the Philistines.

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The third problem in research was the identification of Kush in the oracle.39 The kingdom of Kush (2 Kgs 19:9b) ruled Egypt between ca. 734–656 B.C.E. Scholars substituted the mentioning of Kush with Egypt (and related the oracle to either the Scythian invasion to Palestine, or Psammetichus I’s aid to the Assyrians against the Babylonians in 616 B.C.E., the campaign of Necho II against the Babylonians in 609 B.C.E., or the period of Jehoiakim’s reign.40 A further suggestion was that the Kushites were identified as auxiliary mercenaries in the Egyptian army.41 However, as for relating the oracle to the Scythian invasion – there is no proof of a Scythian invasion to Palestine, except for the mention of Herodotus Histories II 104 and 105.42 As for the other suggestions – Egypt was not defeated in 616 nor in 609; furthermore, the reign of Jehoiakim exceeds the period of Zephaniah’s prophecies. There is also no reason to identify the Kushites with an alleged Kushite auxiliary force in the army of Psammetichus I, which annihilation may have inspired the oracle against Kush. Kushites are nowhere mentioned as a significant force in Psammetichus’ army.43 If the oracle addressed the fate of auxiliaries, why not include the Carian and other

39 The identity of the nation is disputed among scholars. Some identify the ‫כושים‬ Kushites with the Kassite kingdom of Babylonia in the second millennium B.C.E. and regard it as a good counterpart of ‫ איי הגוים‬the isles of the nations, which may be the isles of the Mediterranean and an appropriate bridge to the oracle against Assyria which follows. See I. J. Ball, Zephaniah: A Rhetorical Study (Berkeley, 1988), pp. 141, 244–252; A. Berlin, Zephaniah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; NewYork, 1994), pp. 112–113; Contra R. D. Haak, “ ‘Cush’ in Zephaniah”, in S. W. Holloway and L. K. Handy, The Pitcher is Broken, Memorial Essays for Gösta W. Alström (JSOT supp. 190; Sheffield, 1995), p. 241. A second option was to identify the Kushites with the tribe of Kush attested in the Negeb/Edom (see Haak, ibid., pp. 242–251). Haak explains the mention of this tribe as one of the constituents of the Assyrian collapsing trade network in the Levant. For this tribe, see K. A. Kitchen, “The Egyptian Evidence on Ancient Jordan”, in P. Bienkowski (ed.), Early Edom and Moab: The Beginning of the Iron Age in Southern Jordan (Sheffield Archaeological Monographs 7; Sheffield, 1992), p. 21. However, the defeat of this insignificant tribe cannot counterpart the destruction of the Assyrian Empire. 40 Ryou, Zephaniah’s Oracles against the Nations, p. 317. 41 J. Vlaardingerbroek, Zephaniah, p. 152, with earlier literature. 42 J. Ph. Hyatt, “The Peril from the North in Jeremiah”, JBL 59 (1940), pp. 499–502; H. Tadmor, “Philistia under Assyrian Rule”, BA 29 (1966), pp. 101–102; A. Spalinger, “Psammetichus, King of Egypt: II”, JARCE 15 (1978), pp. 49–57; Na’aman, “The Kingdom of Judah under Josiah”, pp. 36–37. 43 Kushite auxiliaries are mentioned in Jer 46:9 in the days of Necho II.

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mercenaries from the far West which were a far more significant force in the armies of Psammetichus I?44 A clear distinction is made between Egypt and Kush in the Bible45 and in the Assyrian sources from the days of Esarhaddon, king of Assyria onwards.46 Kush, then, is not Egypt and cannot be substituted in a commentary with it, just to supply an alleged historical setting for an oracle. Thus, the identification of Egypt with Kush should be discarded. The straightforward identification of the Kushites ‫ כושים‬would thus be with the Nubian Kingdom that ruled Egypt between 734 and 656 B.C.E. The defeat of this Kingdom in the oracle was identified by scholars47 as the defeat of the Kushite kings Taharqa (690–664 B.C.E.) and Tanutamun (664–656 B.C.E. in Egypt) by Esarhaddon, king of Assyria (681–669 B.C.E.) in 671 and by his son, Assurbanipal (669–ca. 630 B.C.E.) in 667 and 664 B.C.E.48 The oracle is very brief, and no concrete chronological or historical information can be extracted from it. Since about half a century has elapsed between the expulsion of the Kushites from Egypt by Psammetichus I (664–610 B.C.E.), king of the 26th Libyan Dynasty of Egypt, the historical background and impetus for this oracle is not self-evident.49 Since there was no relevance to an oracle of doom about an event which happened half a century before and had no baring on Kush or any effect on Judah at the time of the prophecy, was there an event which involved the defeat of the Kushites in a pitched battle (e.g. the mention of death by the sword) in Josiah’s time? According to the Letter of Aristeas to Philokrates l. 13 (ca. 2nd century B.C.E.), Judean soldiers were sent to fight with Psammetichus’ armies against the king of Kush: Previously many (Jews) had come into the country (Egypt) along with the Persian, and even before this others had been sent out as auxiliaries

44

E.g. Herodotus, Histories, II, §§147, 151, 152, 154. Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah, p. 177. 46 J. A. Spalinger, “Esarhaddon and Egypt: An Analysis of the First Invasion of Egypt”, Orientalia 43 (1974), p. 322. 47 Christensen, “Zephaniah 2:4–15”, p. 681. 48 D. Kahn, “The Assyrian Invasions of Egypt (673–663 B.C.E.) and the Final Expulsion of the Kushites”, SAK 34 (2006), pp. 251–267; Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah, pp. 178–179, 304. 49 Haak, “ ‘Cush’ in Zephaniah”, pp. 239–240; J. J. M. Roberts, Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah: A Commentary (Louisville, Kentucky, 1991), p. 202. 45

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to fight in the army of Psammetichus against the king of the Ethiopians; but these were not so numerous a body as Ptolemy son of Lagus transported.50

As this information can relate theoretically to either Psammetichus I (664–610 B.C.E.), or II (595–589 B.C.E.), (in the reign of Psammetichus III [525 B.C.E.] the Kingdom of Judah did not exist anymore), scholarly opinion is divided regarding the identity of the relevant Egyptian pharaoh.51 In a recent article52 I have forwarded the thesis that the Letter of Aristeas cannot describe a campaign against Kush in the days of Psammetichus II53 nor does it describe a campaign during the reign of Manasseh king of Judah on chronological and historical grounds. I suggested that the information given by the letter of Aristeas pertains to a campaign late in the reign of Psammetichus I, identifying the Judean king who sent the auxiliaries with Josiah and not with Manasseh. The participation of vassal Judean forces against the Kingdom of Kush in the days of Josiah would explain the chronological and historical relevance of the oracle of doom against Kush in the days of Josiah and the attribution of the destruction of the Kushites to the sword of Yahweh. It is not clear when Judah became subjugated to Egypt, but the latest date for Assyria’s withdrawal from Palestine seems to be 623

50

M. Hadas, Aristeas to Philocrates (Letter of Aristeas), (New York, 1973), p. 101. Opting for Psammetichus I: S. Sauneron and J. Yoyotte, “Sur la politique palestinienne des rois saïtes” VT 2 (1952), pp. 131−136; H. de Meulenaere, “La statue du general Djed-ptah-iouf-ankh, Caire JE 36949”, BIFAO 63 (1965), pp. 19–32; S. M. Burstein, “Psamtek I and the End of Nubian Dominion in Egypt”, JSSEA 14 (1984), pp. 31–34; the rest of scholars opted for Psammetichus II: A. Alt, “Psammetich II. in Palästina und in Elephantine”, ZAW 30 (1910), pp. 288−297; F. K. Kienitz, Die Politische Geschichte Ägyptens vom 7. bis 4. Jahrhundert vor der Zeitwende (Berlin, 1953), pp. 39 ff.; M. Greenberg, “Ezekiel 17 and the Policy of Psammetichus II”, JBL 76 (1957), pp. 304−309; K. S. Freedy and D. B. Redford, “The Dates in Ezekiel in Relation to Biblical, Babylonian and Egyptian Sources”, JAOS 90 (1979), pp. 462−485; B.-U. Schipper, Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit: Die kulturellen Kontakte von Salomo bis zum Fall Jerusalem (OBO 170; Friburg, 1999), p. 242, n. 274. 52 D. Kahn, “Judean Auxiliaries in Egypt’s Wars against Kush”, JAOS 127 (2008), pp. 507–516. 53 According to Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah, pp. 304–305, n. 72, the events in Zephaniah 2:12 may relate to the campaign of Psammetichus II against Kush in 593, and thus according to Ben Zvi, could this oracle, as the other oracles relate to future events, but have been fulfilled when the oracle was edited. There is no reason to date this oracle or any of the oracles against the nations to the reign of Zedekiah. 51

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B.C.E.54 A gap in the Babylonian Chronicle between 622 and 616 does not allow reconstructing the ascension of the Egyptian hegemony in the Levant. It is clear, however, that in 616 B.C.E. the entire Levant was in Egyptian hands, when Psammetichus I’s army fought side by side with the Assyrians against the Babylonians near Qablini on the Middle Euphrates.55 No evidence of 26th Dyn. Egyptian hegemony over Palestine can be detected before 616 B.C.E. (theoretically, Egypt could have slipped into the power vacuum left by the Assyrians as early as 623 B.C.E. Evidence for this is still lacking). Strangely enough, Egypt is not mentioned in an oracle of doom in the book of Zephaniah. Can it be that Egypt received a positive attitude, because of a possible Egyptian positive attitude towards Judah in this period?56 In sum, the Oracles against the Nations in the Book of Zephaniah can be dated not earlier then the last third of the 8th century B.C.E. and not later then the beginning of the 6th century B.C.E. The oracles against Philistia and Ammon-and-Moab can only be explained against the historical reality and conflicts of the 7th century B.C.E. between Judah and her neighbors. The oracles against Assyria and Kush, on the other hand, can be dated more precisely. They reflect the last years of the reign of Josiah, and were delivered after Josiah’s participation in a pitched battle against Kush alongside Egypt (following Judah’s subjugation in ca. 623/616 B.C.E.) and the conquest of Nineveh (612 B.C.E.) and before Josiah’s death in 609 B.C.E.

54

N. Na’aman “Chronology and History in the Late Assyrian Empire (631–619 B.C.E.)”, ZA 81 (1991), pp. 263–264. 55 ABC, p. 303, Babylonian Chronicle 3, l. 10. 56 It is also possible that only the farthest enemies were mentioned in the merismus Kush and Assyria (the fact that Babylonia is not mentioned in this oracle suggests that it was written before the rise of the Babylonian threat in the Levant). Ben Zvi postulates that Edom and Egypt are not mentioned in Zephaniah because they were not conquered until 553 and 525 B.C.E. respectively and thus, if their destruction would have been prophesized, it would not have been fulfilled. See Ben Zvi, A HistoricalCritical Study of the Book of Zephaniah, p. 305. According to this logic, Ben Zvi should have dated the composition of the text (or even its post-compositional phase) to the early achaemenid period at the latest.

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Bibliography A. Alt, “Psammetich II. in Palästina und in Elephantine”, ZAW 30 (1910), pp. 288−297. I. J. Ball, Zephaniah: A Rhetorical Study (Berkeley, 1988). E. Ben Zvi, A Historical-Critical Study of the Book of Zephaniah (Berlin, 1991). I. Beit-Arieh and B. Cresson, “An Edomite Ostracon from Horvat ‘Uza”, TA 12 (1985), pp. 96–101. A. Berlin, Zephaniah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; New York, 1994). S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “The Final Destruction of Beth Shemesh and the Pax Assyriaca in the Judean Shephelah”, TA 30 (2003), pp. 3–26. S. M. Burstein, “Psamtek I and the End of Nubian Dominion in Egypt”, JSSEA 14 (1984), pp. 31–34. D. L. Christensen, “Zephaniah 2:4–15: A Theological Basis for Josiah’s Program of Political Expansion”, CBQ 46 (1984), pp. 669–682. M. Cogan, “The Other Egypt: A Welcome Asylum”, in M. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples, and traditions: a tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Ind., 1996), pp. 65–70. F. M. Cross, “Epigraphic Notes on the Amman Citadel Inscription”, BASOR 193 (1969), pp. 13–19. I. Eph‘al, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent 9th–5th Centuries B.C. (Jerusalem, 1982). ——, “The Beginning of Idumea”, Qadmoniot 36 (2004), pp. 77–79 (Hebrew). M. Fales, “On Pax Assyriaca in the Eighth-Seventh Centuries B.C.E. and Its Implications”, in R. Cohen and R. Westbrook (eds.), Isaiah’s Vision of Peace in Biblical and Modern International Relations, (New York, 2008), pp. 17–35. A. Fantalkin, “The Final Destruction of Beth Shemesh and the Pax Assyriaca in the Judahite Shephelah: An Alternative View”, TA 31 (2004), pp. 245–261. A. Faust and E. Weiss, “Judah, Philistia, and the Mediterranean World: Reconstructing the Economic System of the Seventh Century B.C.E.”, BASOR 338 (2005), pp. 71–92. K. S. Freedy and D. B. Redford, “The Dates in Ezekiel in Relation to Biblical, Babylonian and Egyptian Sources”, JAOS 90 (1979), pp. 462−485. A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1994). ——, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr (SAAS VIII; Helsinki, 1998). G. Galil, “A New Look at the ‘Azekah Inscription’”, RB 102 (1995), pp. 321–329. H. L. Ginsberg, “Judah and the Transjordan States from 734 to 582 B.C.E.”, Alexander Marx Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (New York, 1950), pp. 355–368. S. Gittin, “Neo-Assyrian and Egyptian Hegemony over Ekron in the Seventh Century B.C.E.: A Response to Lawrence E. Stager”, EI 27 (2003), pp. 54*–61*. M. Greenberg, “Ezekiel 17 and the Policy of Psammetichus II”, JBL 76 (1957), pp. 304−309. J. C. Greenfield, “Philological Observations on the Deir ‘Alla Inscription”, in J. Hoftijzer and G. Van der Kooij (eds.), The Balaam Text from Deir ‘Alla Re-evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Leiden 21–24 August 1989 (Leiden, 1991), pp. 109–120. R. D. Haak, “ ‘Cush’ in Zephaniah”, in S. W. Holloway and L. K. Handy (eds.), The Pitcher is Broken, Memorial Essays for Gösta W. Alström (JSOT supp. 190; Sheffield, 1995), pp. 238–251. M. Hadas, Aristeas to Philocrates (Letter of Aristeas), (New York, 1973).

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S. Sauneron and J. Yoyotte, “Sur la politique palestinienne des rois Saïtes”, VT 2 (1952), pp. 131−136. J. A. Sauer, “Ammon, Moab and Edom”, in J. Amitai (ed.) Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology Jerusalem, April 1984 (Jerusalem, 1985), pp. 204–214. B.-U. Schipper, Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit: Die kulturellen Kontakte von Salomo bis zum Fall Jerusalem (OBO 170; Friburg, 1999). L. P. Smith and E. R. Lacheman, “The Authorship of the Book of Zephaniah”, JNES 9 (1950), pp. 137–142. J. A. Spalinger, “Esarhaddon and Egypt: An Analysis of the First Invasion of Egypt”, Orientalia 43 (1974), pp. 295–326. ——, “Psammetichus, King of Egypt: II”, JARCE 15 (1978), pp. 49–57. L. E. Stager, “Ashkelon and the Archaeology of Destruction: Kislev 604 B.C.E.”, EI 25 (1996), pp. 61*–74*. M. Sweeney, “A Form-Critical Reassessment of the Book of Zephaniah”, CBQ 53 (1991), pp. 388–408. H. Tadmor, “Philistia under Assyrian Rule”, BA 29 (1966), pp. 86–102. ——, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III (Jerusalem, 1994). J. Tigay, Deuteronomy (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia – Jerusalem, 1996). M. Weippert, “The Relations of the States East of the Jordan with the Mesopotamian Powers during the First Millennium BC”, in A. Hadidi (ed.), Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan, III (London, 1987), pp. 97–106. J. Vlaardingerbroek, Zephaniah (HCOT; Leuven, 1999). D. L. Williams, “The Date of Zephaniah”, JBL 82 (1963), pp. 77–88. S. Yamada, “Qurdi-Assur-lamur: His Letters and Career”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camels’ Humps: Historical and Literary Studies Presented to Israel Eph’al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 296–311. R. Zadok, “Phoenicians, Philistines, and Moabites in Mesopotamia”, BASOR 230 (1978), pp. 58–65.

BIBLICAL NARRATIVE AND HISTORICAL METHOD*

Zecharia Kallai The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

I The most controversial aspect of historical research of the biblical period concerns the literary sources, i.e. the biblical narrative. In a recent study1 I have presented an interdisciplinary approach to this subject. The spheres involved are: (a) biblical texts; (b) archaeological evidence regarding demographic circumstances and material culture, and (c) related extra-biblical records and the general historical process. In the survey of the diverse scholarly methods I briefly referred to the extremely critical attitude to the biblical testimony that has been gaining ground.2 According to this school of thought, biblical narratives that are not corroborated by archaeological finds or extra-biblical records are discounted. They are generally branded as tendentious, ideological inventions or vague ancient traditions. These historical conjectures are based on the hypothetical motivation of the authors of these narratives due to their late composition or redaction. Countering this position I emphasized that it disregards the reasonable assumption that late composition or compilation and certainly redaction do not obviate the utilization of older materials. Furthermore, it leaves indicative data unaccounted for and cannot offer any reasonable explanation for them. The object of this review is to expand on some of the principles involved in judging these data that need to be considered in a historically oriented investigation. Observations in this respect have

* A shortened version of this paper was read at the Fifteenth World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, August 2009. 1 Z. Kallai, “Biblical Narrative and History. A Programmatic Review”, Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 96 (2006), pp. 133–157 with ample literature. 2 Idem, ibid., pp. 136–137.

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been made by me in diverse related studies. For methodical reasons it seems useful to reiterate in a concentrated manner the main considerations that had been raised and examine relevant literary representations according to these criteria. In dealing with problems of historical geography I maintained that any realistic feature, even if anachronistic, originates in a given situation. This principle is to be applied to the diverse historical data in biblical narratives. It is therefore a prerequisite for any historical analysis to probe the realistic background and feasibility of the literary data. This applies both to narratives formulated as historical descriptions and to legendary constructions. Some of the major elements questioned by the critical school pertain to the establishment of Israel in the country and to the very existence of the United Monarchy. These issues, including the appraisal of the archaeological circumstances and the historical considerations deriving therefrom, have been discussed in the study mentioned above. The literary aspect of this problem has also briefly been referred to, but will be expanded on in this review. The negative attitude questions the entire historical development prior to the divided kingdoms and postulates the primary existence of the separate entities of Judah and Israel. The features affected by this controversy are quite varied. These are topographical lists and descriptions, narratives of historical events and developments, genealogical records, tribal and clan traditions and diverse epical compositions. To counter this sweeping denial and to satisfy a critical examination, literary accounts that are not corroborated by external sources need to stand the test of realistic historical probability. Such scrutiny must consider the essential information conveyed and its historical function must be reasonable and integral in the synchronic and diachronic context. Literary and anachronistic embellishments, which elaborate on the basic components, may be encountered and should not disqualify the essence of the testimony. Any contention regarding anachronism as such must indicate the reality on which such features are modelled. Moreover, the negation of uncorroborated literary presentations must show the purported origin and purpose of the discounted sources. This has not been done in a well-founded manner.

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II To demonstrate the method suggested some selected issues will be reviewed in the following. As indicated above, the pivotal problem concerns the early monarchy, both as to this historical phenomenon and linked to that also the composition of the people in the twelve-tribe organization. Apart from the isolated reference to Israel in the Merneptah stele there are sporadic links to extra-biblical sources only as of the 10th century B.C.E. As far as the political and ethnic frameworks are concerned this period is marked by the two separate entities, Judah and Israel. The controversy thus pertains mainly to the earlier periods, beginning with the very establishment of the ethnic entity of Israel, whether it is comprehensive or related to the later separate Israel alone, distinct from Judah and, following on that, the question of the early, united monarchy. In earlier studies3 I have pointed out that the notions and traditions of the earlier phases are markedly fashioned according to the final formation of the people, but critically analyzed historical conclusions may be drawn from them. To probe these literary testimonies further, because of the said sceptical attitude, it is conducive to focus on the narratives related to the early monarchy and the phases leading up to that period, based on the methodical considerations outlined above. The critical approach referred to asserts that the notions of a unified people in the pre-state period and of the united monarchy, particularly the consolidated kingdom of David and Solomon, are the product of a later ideological construction, when the kingdom of Judah strove to absorb and incorporate the vestiges of its vanquished northern neighbour, Israel. This contention, however, disregards a wealth of data that make no sense if indeed that was but an invention of the Judahite establishment after the Assyrian conquest of Samaria.

3 Z. Kallai, “The United Monarchy of Israel – A Focal Point in Israelite Historiography”, IEJ 27 (1977), pp. 103–109 (= idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography [Frankfurt am Main, 1998], pp. 137–144). Further studies are listed in idem, “Biblical Narrative and History”; idem, “The Beginnings of Israel. A Methodological Working Hypothesis”, IEJ 59 (2009), in print.

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In reexamining the diverse literary testimonies there are, as intimated, two major criteria: (a) are the respective features reasonably complementary and reflect a historical process that leads up to the later, corroborated data, or (b) if the institution of the united monarchy was anachronistically created, due to a later ideological requirement, what purpose do the data that depict the early period of an undivided Israel serve within this construction. As the negating method questions the manner of Israel’s formation and contends that there was no united monarchy, this investigation will centre on the preceding stages in relation to that period. Based on the diverse literary data, stripped of schematic or redactional elements, the essential features of the early history of Israel may be summed up as follows:4 Families and clans of common non-autochthonous stock, also incorporating adjacent kindred clans, establish an ethnic entity organized in a tribal structure, that becomes formalized in a twelve-tribe league. This entity consolidates its hold in the country and prevails in time over the antecedent population, absorbing it too. Following on a period marked by regional local leadership, centralized rule is constituted in a form that may be defined as a people’s kingdom lacking territorial completeness. This is Saul’s kingdom that, judging by its activities, is an all-Israelite establishment involving both southern and northern parts. It is Philistine pressure and David’s setting up as ruler of the southern regions, headed by Judah, that brings about the division of Judah and Israel. This development, induced by external factors, undoubtedly was facilitated by regional separatist forces. This is followed by a reunification of all Israel under David. The United Monarchy of David and Solomon is marked by the strengthening of the regnal establishment and territorial consolidation of all-Israel. In addition to the narratives describing this process the diverse aspects mentioned are reflected in genealogical records and in political and territorial concepts. If indeed the united monarchy and the

4

Idem, “Biblical Narrative and History”, pp. 148–149.

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manner of formation of the unified Israel are but a late ideological creation, the respective origin and purpose of these representations require explanation. In the following these literary testimonies will be reviewed to see whether such contention will stand the test.

IV Considering the material under review it may be roughly divided in two. It is the formative stage of the people and the decentralized establishment in the country as against the early monarchy and its preparatory stage with Samuel and Saul, continued with the United Monarchy of David and Solomon. The problems in these two complexes vary, but in both there are indications that do not suit the negative contentions. If the later ideological purpose of a tendentiously represented early history was to show an initially comprehensive Israel, although according to this view it was not, the tribal history based on the twelve-tribe league may be explained as serving this intention. But a closer examination will show that this is not so. The matrilineal structure of the tribal league cannot be reconciled with the contention that, in fact, originally the northern and southern regions were separate. It is hard to see on what later reality the distribution of the Leah tribes is modelled. Presumably, due to the disruption of an earlier grouping they wound up occupying regions in the south and in the north of Cisjordan and in central Transjordan (Simeon and Judah, Issachar and Zebulun and Reuben). This can only reflect early stages of the tribal history due to circumstances of the process of settlement.5 Similarly, the ramified connections of the clans of Hezron and Carmi, to name only the most obvious instances, do not support the contention of originally distinct

5 This particular distribution of the Leah tribes may be linked to the pattern of settlement noted in the archaeological findings. Based on excavations and surface surveys it seems that in the Early Iron Age the central mountain area was settled more intensively and earlier than the southern and northern regions. This could reflect a process of primary settlement in the centre of the country and movements of clans and tribes from that area to other parts under pressure of further land seeking groups. See Kallai, “Biblical Narrative and History”, p. 140 and n. 6 there. As for the structure of the tribal system cf. idem, “The twelve-tribe systems of Israel”, VT 47 (1997), pp. 53–90; idem, “A note on the twelve-tribe systems of Israel”, VT 49 (1999), pp. 125–127.

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entities of Judah and Israel. Hezron6 is a major clan of Judah and figures also in Reuben and in Eastern Manasseh, in Gilead and Bashan (Gen 46:9, 12; 1 Chron 2:5, 9, 18, 21–23; 4:1; 5:3). Carmi, likewise, is listed in Judah and Reuben (Gen 46:9; 1 Chron 2:7; 4:1; 5:3). For all of these representations the background reflected indicates a process in early settlement times, reaching its fullest extent during the United Monarchy, as depicted in David’s census, with the eventual decline, losing some of these territories in the period of the divided kingdoms (cf. e.g. the stele of Mesha). Following on the cycle of Judges, marked by occasional regional leadership, the narratives of Samuel and Saul indicate the change towards centralized rule. After its disruption, due to David’s separate reign in Hebron, the reunited monarchy of David and Solomon continues this development and stabilizes the territorial-political entity of the comprehensive Israel. The contention that this representation is the result of an ideological motive of the later Judahite monarchy to create a historical precursor to an aspired comprehensive Israel in the configuration of a Davidic united monarchy also encounters intrinsic problems. If the United Monarchy of David and Solomon is deemed to be unhistorical, the previous period, also all-embracing, is to be questioned as well, not only regarding the comprehensive background that figures in these narratives, but also from the point of view of the purpose of its representation as such. The figure of Samuel that relates to both northern (Joseph tribes) and southern regions (Judah and kindred clans) may be regarded as a forerunner of the United Monarchy. In that capacity he would be an introductory element to the allegedly tendentious narrative, particularly as it would signify the support of the Davidic dynasty by a representative of the Joseph tribes. However, the role of Saul, preceding the ascent of David and with him the emergence of the dominant position of Judah, can hardly be reconciled with a tendentious representation of the origin of a united all-Israel monarchy under Judahite hegemony as the history portrayed includes the friction between the house of Saul and David, entailing the stage of David’s separate reign in Hebron. It

6 For the connection of Hezron to northern Transjordan see Z. Kallai, “Conquest and Settlement of Transjordan: A Historiographical Study”, ZDPV 99 (1983), pp. 115– 116 (= idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography, pp. 182–183).

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seems, therefore, that these phases of Samuel, Saul and David, must be regarded as reflecting actual stages in the transition towards centralist rule embracing all Israel. It is, however, conceivable that, as intimated above, among the clans and regions that have a common bond diverse centres of interests and leadership vied with each other, and within the comprehensive body the potential of division eventually prevailed. These divisive tendencies are manifested in narratives depicting the early monarchy. The respective data and other accordant testimonies need to be reviewed at this stage to verify whether, contrary to the narrative, they intimate the actual existence of separate entities of northern Israel and Judah. In the days of Solomon, a period which according to the narrative is part of the United Monarchy, the array of the administrative districts evinces a distinction between Greater Judah (Judah, Simeon and related clans), excluded from this system, and the rest of Israel. This is an obvious sequel to the old particularistic predisposition, intensified by the disruption of the kingdom by David’s separate rule in Hebron. The enumeration of the regions of Eshbaal’s truncated domain (2 Sam 2:9) reflects a similar scope of (northern) Israel alone. This same configuration is to be seen in the roster of tribes in the Song of Deborah (Judg 5:14–18), the formulation of which is in line with this pattern. This specific northern complex figures likewise in the enunciation of Ahijah the Shilonite (1 Kgs 11:13, 30–32, 35–36) and in the encounter between the people of Israel and Judah at David’s return after Absalom’s rebellion (1 Sam 19:41–44) based on a distinction between ten tribes and two. Although it would appear that these representations reflect the circumstances of the two separate kingdoms, thus supporting the denial of the United Monarchy, their main features obviate this conclusion. One consideration is that according to any criterion, whether counting the regions or listing them by name, the northern complex is regarded to be a segment of a whole. Furthermore, the composition of the two states, Israel and Judah, differs from the pattern observed, namely Benjamin, which is one of the ten tribes and is closely related the House of Joseph, is part of the kingdom of Judah. The division in the separate kingdoms is therefore between nine tribes and three.7 One

7 For this problem cf. Z. Kallai, “Solomon’s Districts Reconsidered”, in idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography, pp. 107–110; idem, “Judah and

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question, however, remains. It concerns the appellations of the two parts which figure mainly in the episodes of David’s return and Ahijah’s pronouncement, and by implication also in the terminology used in defining Solomon’s districts and Eshbaal’s realm. The combined differential names, Israel and Judah, to designate the whole people, may be an anachronistic application, induced by the later separate kingdoms (for instance in David’s census which is territorially comprehensive – 2 Sam 24:9). Alternatively it is also possible that the secession of Judah after Saul’s death induced this terminology. It is obvious, however, that the comprehensive term Israel, which is attested as of the 13th century B.C.E. (Merneptah stele), is diversely employed. Frequently it denotes the major part of the people as distinct from the break-away Judah, the home base of the House of David, and in other circumstances the inclusive term Israel, or at times all-Israel, is used for the entire people without subdivision. As previously noted this terminology is not consistently applied and the intended connotation can only be deduced from the context.8 All this seems to be the result of a complex literary history, influenced by the earlier and later developments noted. Thus this literary manifestation is a further argument against the contention that the early history of Israel, and particularly of the United Monarchy, is tendentiously designed. If the postulated lateJudahite all-Israel aspirations had been the guiding spirit, this mixed application of the diverse appellations would have been avoided or streamlined. Following on the investigation of the earlier periods the main bone of contention, the United Monarchy of David and Solomon, is due to be probed. The particular features are descriptions of territorial-political circumstances which directly and indirectly constitute a decisive stage in the history of Israel as depicted in the biblical narrative. The main source in this respect is the census of David, complemented by the system of Solomon’s districts. These two accounts are explicitly related to this period. The territorial image conveyed is furthermore

Israel – A Study in Israelite Historiography”, IEJ 28 (1978), pp. 256–257 (= idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography, pp. 150–152). Essentially the regional-tribal composition in the divided kingdoms goes further away from the canonical number. Greater Judah with Simeon and Greater Naphtali incorporating Dan must be taken into account. 8 As for the application of the term “Israel” cf. Kallai, “Judah and Israel”, pp. 254– 257 (= idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography, pp. 148–151); idem, “The Beginnings of Israel”.

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reflected in the tribal allotments in the account of the conquest of Joshua, supplemented by the conquest lacunae of Judg 1, as well as in the list of Levitic cities and the Cities of Refuge. These registers, however, have been shown to be anachronistic, based on the territorial circumstances in the period of the United Monarchy, which practically completed the settlement process.9 The census of David is constructed as an itinerary of stations listing mainly peripheral regions, thereby indicating the limits of the land of Israel proper. This is further defined by the itinerary also recounting the major centres at the confines of the land. These are Aroer with the river Arnon in Transjordan and Dan and Beer-sheba, all figuring as patterned indicators of the land. Solomon’s districts fit into this overall outline. Their main contribution to the territorial image obtained is by listing regions that fill this frame and in part were not held by Israel before that period. The anachronistic lists referred to above, though of different internal structure, reflect the same territorial circumstances. On close examination these anachronistic descriptions may prove to be composite, with some of the illustrating details possibly originating in a later redactional phase. The decisive factor, however, is the general outline or frame and the main configuration displayed. Therefore, as the essential elements of the anachronistic data accord with the basic features of this period, they are a legitimate component of this testimony. By evincing the same territorial background these descriptions complete the framework outlined by David’s census and Solomon’s districts, each with its particular aspect. It is this comprehensive territorial image that represents the United Monarchy and it is that which has to stand the test of historicity.

V The criteria to be applied in the quest of historicity of these features are of two interrelated categories, territorial and literary-conceptual. The territorial test views the data reflecting the United Monarchy, as described, in the perspective of the earlier and later periods. The conceptual indicators in this context are terms and literary patterns

9 Kallai, “The United Monarchy of Israel”, pp. 103–109 (= idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography, pp. 137–144).

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diversely applied, which seemingly reflect circumstances of the United Monarchy and whose historical origin must therefore be verified. The territorial image of the United Monarchy is distinguished by its extensive borders referred to in David’s census, with emphasis of the two centres marking the extreme regions of the land, Dan and Beer-sheba. In addition the internal division, though obviously formalized, is marked as well. These features are the administrative structure directly attributed to Solomon’s reign, and the tribal territories, anachronistically applied to the settlement process (above, section IV). Irrespective of the approach to the biblical sources there is no doubt that the narratives describing the earlier periods, concluding with the early monarchy, the rule of Saul, display different stages of much more reduced land holdings. When comparing that to the situation in the separate kingdoms of Judah and Israel, the territorial circumstances in these later periods, starting with Shishak’s campaign, cannot be considered as deriving from the pre-state and early-state conditions without the interim stage that is represented by the United Monarchy of David and Solomon. The territorial circumstances of this period are thus a prerequisite to the conditions prevailing later in the period of the separate kingdoms. As for the conceptual denotations that figure in diverse frameworks there are patterned formulae related to several focal features. These are the Patriarchal boundaries, the land and peoples of Canaan and the land and tribes of Israel.10 Of these the most relevant to this investigation are the patterned terms and stylized circumscriptions that refer to the land and people of Israel, and related to that the conception of Canaan, as seen from the Israelite perspective, which also serves to intimate the extended rule of Israel. The foremost characteristic of these patterned terms is the demarcation by defining the borders or

10

For the terms, their conceptual formulation and application see primarily Z. Kallai, “The Patriarchal Boundaries, Canaan and the Land of Israel: Patterns and Application in Biblical Historiography”, IEJ 47 (1997), pp. 69–82. See also idem, “Biblical historiography and literary history: a programmatic survey”, VT 49 (1999), pp. 345–349; idem, “From Motif to Composition. Biblical Historiography and Literary History”, in F. Hartenstein, J. Krispenz and A. Schart (eds.), Schriftprophetie: Festschrift für Jörg Jeremias zum 65. Geburstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2004), pp. 1–13; idem, “Political Doctrines and Ideology in Biblical Historiography. A Programmatic Review”, in M. Heltzer and M. Malul (eds.), Teshûrôt LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages. Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitzhak Avishur on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (Tel-Aviv – Jaffa, 2004), pp. 108*–109*, all with earlier literature.

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territorial composition or by recounting the inhabiting peoples, tribes or clans. These two modes of definition of the land are interchangeable. These conceptual circumscriptions, which figure in accordant and derivative formulations, need to stand the test of historicity based on the circumstances that moulded them. Similarly to the territorial test referred to above, the application of these terms and patterns that define the land and/or the people of Israel, is subject to the same scrutiny. The twelve-tribe league and the formula “from Dan to Beer-sheba” may of course accord with prestate and early-state circumstances, even with the more restricted land holdings in those periods. However, even so these concepts represent a comprehensive ethno-territorial entity and negate the assumption of separate groupings which developed into the two states, Judah and Israel. Moreover, these patterns do not only imply a single inclusive entity but also represent a territorial extent that has been referred to above as being modelled on the United Monarchy of David and Solomon. As these general concepts figure in later narratives, when these terms do not represent a political and at times territorial reality, the inevitable conclusion is that the United Monarchy is the only prototype that created this comprehensive conceptual terminology, which is used in a derivative fashion.

VI To conclude this discussion regarding the historicity of the contested, uncorroborated literary sources of the biblical narrative the main points should be summarized. To establish historicity historical method requires eliciting the reality which is at the root of literary sources. The quest for the underlying reality is based on the perception that any realistic description reflects actual circumstances. As a corollary narratives which appear to reflect reality must be examined accordingly and may not be disparaged as unfounded, tendentious or meaningless inventions, only because they stand by themselves and are not supported by external sources. Even an invented or anachronistic narrative has an origin and model. Related to that is the investigation of the historiographical purpose of these representations, which provides further insights into the nature of the composition. Altogether, however, the establishing of a factual background does not mean that embellishment or aggrandizement are to be ruled out. Therefore it is

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the essential element of a composition that determines its historical veracity. The detailed perusal of diverse indicative literary elements of the biblical narrative has shown that despite their complexity the narratives and related data in geographical lists, genealogical records and conceptual representations, which depict the early periods up to and including the United Monarchy, provide a testimony of a people that has a common denominator and has reached a degree of cohesion and a stage of central rule. Its representation may be glorified, as seen from the perspective of a later period, but considering the principle of relativity of Israel and its neighbours at a given time,11 the historical phenomenon is essentially substantiated.

11

Kallai, “Biblical Narrative and History”, pp. 143–148.

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Bibliography Z. Kallai, “The United Monarchy of Israel – A Focal Point in Israelite Historiography”, IEJ 27 (1977), pp. 103–109. ——, “Judah and Israel – A Study in Israelite Historiography”, IEJ 28 (1978), pp. 251–261. ——, “Conquest and Settlement of Transjordan: A Historiographical Study”, ZDPV 99 (1983), pp. 110–118. ——, “The Patriarchal Boundaries, Canaan and the Land of Israel: Patterns and Application in Biblical Historiography”, IEJ 47 (1997), pp. 69–82. ——, “The twelve-tribe systems of Israel”, VT 47 (1997), pp. 53–90. ——, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography (Frankfurt am Main, 1998). ——, “Solomon’s Districts Reconsidered”, in idem, Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography (Frankfurt am Main, 1998), pp. 92–110. ——, “A note on the twelve-tribe systems of Israel”, VT 49 (1999), pp. 125–127. ——, “Biblical historiography and literary history: a programmatic survey”, VT 49 (1999), pp. 338–350. ——, “From Motif to Composition. Biblical Historiography and Literary History”, in F. Hartenstein, J. Krispenz and A. Schart (eds.), Schriftprophetie: Festschrift für Jörg Jeremias zum 65. Geburstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2004), pp. 1–13. ——, “Political Doctrines and Ideology in Biblical Historiography. A Programmatic Review”, in M. Heltzer and M. Malul (eds.), Teshûrôt LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages. Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitzhak Avishur on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (Tel-Aviv – Jaffa, 2004), pp. 107*–115*. ——, “Biblical Narrative and History. A Programmatic Review”, Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 96 (2006), pp. 133–157. ——, “The Beginnings of Israel. A Methodological Working Hypothesis”, IEJ 59 (2009), in press.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN: WELLHAUSEN AND ASSYRIOLOGY

Peter Machinist Harvard University

I To study the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament1 historically, one customarily assumes, requires studying also the other cultures of the region from which the Bible emerged, that is, the region of the ancient Near East. But while the connections between these two studies are obviously close, they are not, or were not, automatic. Historical study of the Bible, after all, in the sense of understanding the development of its ideas, institutions, and literary forms, precedes any real effort to recover and study the data of the rest of the ancient Near East.2 And when that ancient Near Eastern world began to be recovered, starting from Europe in the late 18th century, the desire to correlate its data with the Bible and Biblical Israel was only one facet, and not always a large one at least initially, of the enterprise. The more general issue was the European fascination with the strange wonders of the East, ancient and later: the desire to find in it cultural origins for themselves that could predate those furnished by the civilizations of Greece and Rome. In turn, bringing tangible evidence of such origins back to Europe in the form of the ancient monuments became part of an effort to claim

1 In what follows, this text is referred to mostly as the Old Testament, because this was the term and the understanding of Julius Wellhausen and his intellectual community, on whom the present paper focuses. 2 See already, for example, the work of those in the 17th century engaged in the study of “Critica sacra” and “Isagoge” of the Bible, especially Richard Simon (1638– 1712), in his Histoire critique du Vieux Testament (Paris, 1678). Brief discussions may be found in H.-J. Kraus, Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments von der Reformation bis zur Gegenwart (Neukirchen, 1956), pp. 72–76; and F. H. Gorman, Jr., “Simon, Richard (1638–1712)”, in J. H. Hayes (ed.), Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation, vol. K–Z (Nashville, 1999), pp. 468–470.

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hegemony, political, cultural, and spiritual, over this Eastern world, and so to compete with one another for title to this hegemony.3 In this quest for European roots and, simultaneously, for evidence against which to assert European progress and achievement, the Bible, when it came to be involved, played a complicated role. For as much as it promoted recovery of the ancient Near East to fill out the background to Biblical history, it also retarded a sensitive appreciation of the non-Biblical cultures of the region. It did so by the apologetic interest it often encouraged among interpreters to construct invidious contrasts between this non-Biblical world and Biblical Israel – Israel thus viewed as the transition to the higher culture represented by the European, that is, the Western European, tradition. A full study of this problem is beyond the scope of the present paper. Rather, I shall focus on one part of it, the connection between the study of the Old Testament and the study of Mesopotamia, or, as the latter has been known since the middle of the 19th century, Assyriology. More specifically, I want to center my discussion on the German Biblical and Semitics scholar, Julius Wellhausen (1844–1918). It was he who offered the most important synthesis of his time of the literary-critical study of the Old Testament and, even more, of the implications of that study for ancient Israelite religion and history. He became, thereby, easily the best known Old Testament scholar of the latter 19th/early 20th century, and arguably the major benchmark in the field until the present. We can expect, therefore, that Wellhausen’s attitude toward Assyriology should provide a significant marker of and influence on the relations between the two fields, not simply for the period of his life, but beyond.

3 I am indebted here to the observations, oral and written, of M. T. Larsen. See his “The Appropriation of the Near Eastern Past: Contrasts and Contradictions”, in The East and the Meaning of History. International Conference (23–27 November 1992), (Rome, 1994), pp. 29–51. Also F. N. Bohrer, “Inventing Assyria: Exoticism and Reception in Nineteenth-Century England and France”, The Art Bulletin 80 (1998), pp. 336–356; his longer and more wide-ranging study, Orientalism and Visual Culture. Imagining Mesopotamia in 19th century Europe (Cambridge, 2003); and the essays in A. C. Gunter (ed.), The Construction of the Ancient Near East (Culture and History 11; Copenhagen, 1992).

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II In order to gauge this attitude of Wellhausen, we must begin with some elements of his scholarly biography.4 Trained at Göttingen in the 1860’s under the exacting hand of Heinrich Ewald, Wellhausen emulated his master in his focus on the literary-critical study of the Old Testament and the study of Semitic philology.5 The latter, for Ewald, entailed the classical trio of Biblical Hebrew, Aramaic (including Syriac), and classical Arabic. There were also something of classical Ethiopic (Geez) and the expected Greek and Latin, in the latter of which, as the custom of the period dictated, Wellhausen composed his dissertation.6 In a sense, the rest of his career was divided into

4 No full biography of Wellhausen has yet appeared, though Rudolf Smend is working toward one, as well as toward an edition of his letters. His published studies on Wellhausen are fundamental, making him clearly the leading Wellhausen scholar. See his recent overall assessment: Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher in drei Disziplinen (Carl Friedrich von Siemens Stiftung, Themen 84; Munich, 2006). At the end of this booklet is a list of Smend’s other articles on Wellhausen, among which are: “Julius Wellhausen and His Prolegomena to the History of Israel”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 1–20 (see also this entire issue of Semeia, edited by D. A. Knight, which is about Wellhausen); R. Smend, “Julius Wellhausen, 1844–1918”, reprinted in idem, Deutsche Alttestamentler in drei Jahrhunderten (Göttingen, 1989), pp. 99–113, 308–309, and translated into English in idem, From Astruc to Zimmerli. Old Testament in Three Centuries (Göttingen, 2007), pp. 91–102; idem, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 78 (1981), pp. 141–176, reprinted with some minor changes in his Bibel, Theologie, Universität (Göttingen, 1997), pp. 135–165, 253–256 (the reprinted version is cited below); and “Wellhausen in Göttingen”, in B. Moeller (ed.), Theologie in Göttingen. Eine Vorlesungsreihe (Göttingern Universitatsschriften Serie A/Band 1; Göttingen, 1987), pp. 306–324. Other important studies of Wellhausen are R. G. Kratz, “Wellhausen, Julius (1844–1918)”, Theologische Realenzyklopadie 35 (2003), pp. 527–536, with good bibliography; also with good bibliography, M. Frenschkowski, “Wellhausen, Julius”, Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexikon, Band XIII (Nordhausen, 1998), pp. 716–727 (revised, 2008 as on-line at www.bautz.de/ bbkl); E. Schwarz, “Julius Wellhausen”, in his Gesammelte Schriften, Bd. I. Vergangene Gegenwärtigkeiten (Berlin, 1938), pp. 326–361, reprinted with the omission of the Beilage, from the Nachrichten von der Kgl. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Geschäftliche Mitteilungen 1918, pp. 43–70; F. P. Boschwitz, Julius Wellhausen. Motive und Massstäbe seiner Geschichtsschreibung (Diss. Marburg 1938; reprinted Darmstadt, 1968); and A. Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald. Ein Beitrag zur Biographie Julius Wellhausens”, reprinted in idem, Der Herr ist Gott. Aufsätze zur Wissenschaft vom Alten Testament (Berlin, 1978), pp. 254–270. Additional studies, on particular issues, will be cited below. 5 On Wellhausen’s own appreciation of his teacher, see “Heinrich Ewald” (1901), reprinted in J. Wellhausen, Grundrisse zum Alten Testament (ed. R. Smend; Theologische Bücherei 27; Munich, 1965), pp. 120–138. 6 The dissertation was technically that for a Licentiate, not a doctorate; it discussed the genealogies in 1 Chronicles and was concluded in 1870: De gentibus et familiis

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phases that followed out this philological curriculum. The first phase centered on the study and teaching of the Old Testament and Hebrew, with Greek and Aramaic used for textual comparisons. It included his years as a junior faculty member (Repetent and then Privatdozent) at Göttingen (1868–1872) and then as a Professor of Old Testament Theology at the provincial University of Greifswald (1872–1882). In his second phase, Wellhausen shifted his scholarly research to Arabic and pre-Islamic and Islamic history, pursuing this no longer as an Old Testament theology professor, but as a Professor of Semitic Languages

Judaeis quae 1.Chr. 2.4 enumerantur (Göttingen, 1870). (There is a reprint with a modern Hebrew translation by L. Ullmann and a preface and very helpful notes, also in modern Hebrew, by G. Galil, published as J. Wellhausen, Mishpeḥot Yehudah, she-nimnu be-Sefer Divre-Hay-Yamim I 2,4 [“Kuntresim” – Texts and Studies 63; Jerusalem: Hebrew University, Ben-Zion Dinur Center, 1985].) As for Wellhausen’s attitude toward Latin for scholarly writing at the university level, one may refer to his report on his teaching at Greifswald in 1873 (Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 264–265: Anlage 2). There he notes the difficulties of Latin composition on the part of his students, as exemplified by one of them who submitted an essay in German, not in the expected Latin, for a prize competition. He goes on to argue that given the generally mediocre preparation in Latin that students bring from their pre-university education, the Latin requirement for such seminar compositions should be abandoned, which would allow the students to focus more effectively on the intellectual challenges of their work. The issue of Wellhausen’s licentiate opens up the issue of his other degrees from Göttingen. In the same year as the licentiate, 1870, Wellhausen took his habilitation (Kratz, “Wellhausen, Julius”, p. 527). But I have found no mention of his earning a doctorate in theology at Göttingen; rather we learn that, on his leaving his post as Privatdozent at Göttingen in 1872, to take up his professorship at Greifswald, the Göttingen Protestant (= evangelische) faculty awarded him an honorary doctorate in theology (Jepsen, ibid., pp. 255–256, 267: Anlage 6a). This is striking, as one would not have expected that a well-known theological faculty, as Göttingen was and is, would have made such an award to a recent student and Privatdozent. A closer look at the matter and its chronology suggests the explanation. The honorary degree came in October, 1872, in the same month that Wellhausen left Göttingen for Greifswald, where he began teaching in the following winter semester of 1872–1873 (see a letter of Wellhausen to August Dillmann, of 16 October 1872, in E. Barnikol, “Wellhausens Briefe aus seiner Greifswalder Zeit [1872–1879] an den anderen Ewald-Schüler Dillmann”, in A. Lehmann [ed.], Gottes ist der Orient. Festchrift für Prof. D. Dr. Otto Eissfeldt DD zu seinem 70. Geburtstag [Berlin, 1959], p. 31: No. III; also Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 255–256, and Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 137). Yet in the preceding spring, of 1872, Wellhausen wrote to August Dillmann that his appointment at Greifswald, then under consideration, was in some trouble, one of the problems being that Greifswald’s theological faculty required a doctorate in theology, something, the letter implies, he did not have (this other letter to Dillmann, of 17 April 1872, is also published by Barnikol, ibid., p. 30: No. II). It appears, therefore, that the Göttingen faculty stepped in to solve the problem, based on Wellhausen’s superior work at that university, by awarding him an honorary doctorate, and presenting him the degree as a going-away gift. And Greifswald, obviously, accepted this.

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successively at the universities of Halle (1882–1885), Marburg (1885– 1892), and, back again, at Göttingen (1892–about 1902). Finally, still in his chair of Semitic languages at Göttingen, Wellhausen turned to the New Testament and its literary history, publishing commentaries on all of the canonical Gospels, as well as studies of Revelation and Acts (about 1902–1914). Increasingly infirm, he was after 1914 virtually incapacitated – his last publication appeared in 1914 – and remained so until his death in Göttingen in 1918. If the phases just sketched reflected successive changes in scholarly focus, these occurred without a disregard of his other interests. So, for example, already in his Old Testament phase, Wellhausen published (1874) an important monograph on a topic of significance to Second Temple and New Testament studies, namely, the Pharisees and Sadducees, as well as an article on a passage from the Gospel of Matthew (1878).7 During his Arabic/Islamic phase, he continued also with some of his Old Testament work, producing, inter alia, what constituted essentially the second volume of his history of Israelite religion, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte (1894), a book that in its coverage also looked forward to his New Testament phase.8 And in this last phase, we find, similarly, reviews and an article, although brief, on classical Islamic sources and issues, as well as studies of aspects of Old Testament law and a short survey of Israelite and Jewish religion.9 Nonetheless, the fact is that the changes in Wellhausen’s scholarly career were decisive ones, comprising real shifts in what were the objects of his primary, his most intensive and creative, research.

7

The main Wellhausen bibliography, although not complete, is A. Rahlfs, “Verzeichnis der Schriften Julius Wellhausens”, in K. Marti (ed.), Studien zur semitischen Philologie und Religionsgeschichte. Julius Wellhausen zum siebzigsten Geburtstag am 17. Mai 1914 (BZAW 27; Giessen, 1914), pp. 353–368. The particular publications referred to are: Die Pharisäer und die Sadducäer. Eine Untersuchung zur inneren jüdischen Geschichte (Greifswald, 1874. English translation by M. E. Biddle as The Pharisees and the Sadducees. An Examination of Internal Jewish History [Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, GA, 2001]); “Zu Matthai 27, 3–10”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 23 (1878), pp. 471–472. 8 Berlin, 1894. The book went through seven editions in his lifetime, the last of them in 1914: see Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, p. 60. 9 E.g., a review of W. Popper, Abu lMahasin Ibn Taghri Birdi’s Annals, in Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 173 (1911), pp. 469–471; “Zum Koran”, ZDMG 67 (1913), pp. 630– 634; “Zwei Rechtsriten bei den Hebraern”, Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 7 (1904), pp. 33–41; and “Israelitisch-jüdische Religion”, in P. Hinneberg (ed.), Geschichte der christlichen Religion (Die Kultur der Gegenwart. I/IV, 1; Berlin – Leipzig, 1905; 2nd ed., 1909), pp. 1–40 (1st ed.), pp. 1–41 (2nd ed.).

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Nowhere was this more emphatic and tension-filled than in the shift from Old Testament to Arabic and Islam. Indeed, Wellhausen’s primary concern for the Old Testament, his first phase, was relatively short, as we have seen, lasting, after his student years, but a decade from 1872 to 1882. Actually, the beginning of the end of this span must be pushed back to 1879, when Wellhausen wrote at least two letters to Justus Olshausen, retired senior councillor to the Prussian ministry of religion and education, whose responsibility included theological instruction in the German universities.10 In these letters Wellhausen describes his need to change scholarly focus and academic position – changes that, as he indicates, he had begun thinking about even earlier. What the letters make explicit is reflected also in his research and publications, for after 1879/1880 he began to turn more and more to Arabic and Islam.11 To be sure, there are post-1880 publications on the Old Testament, as we have noted – the Israelitische und judische Geschichte of 1894 and subsequent editions are the principal example; but most of his new, major creative writing in this field seems to have been worked out in design by the beginning of the 1880’s. What occasioned the change in focus here is still not entirely clear, but the Olshausen and other letters, reported and discussed by Rudolf Smend, and sources published earlier, by Alfred Jepsen and Ernst Barnikol, help us to understand at least in part what was at stake.12 Olshausen himself was a sympathetic listener, since he was one of the major Near Eastern and Biblical scholars of the day, distinguished among other achievements for his Semitic philological work, including on Biblical Hebrew and the Old Testament text. Moreover, by 1879 he and Wellhausen had known each other for some time, Olshausen having been involved in Wellhausen’s original appointment at Greifswald in 1872.13 In the first of his 1879 Olshausen letters, Wellhausen lays out his problem directly: 10 The letters are dated 9 February and 18 February 1879, the second in reply to Olshausen’s answer (not apparently preserved) to the first. They are briefly discussed by Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 157, who will publish all the surviving Wellhausen letters. Prof. Smend has very kindly made available to me copies and his transcriptions of these two letters and of some other pieces of Wellhausen’s correspondence, not yet or not yet fully published, and given me permission to use them in this paper. 11 Smend, ibid., p. 163; Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 256, 270, n. 25. 12 See Smend, ibid.; Jepsen, ibid.; and Barnikol, “Wellhausens Briefe”, pp. 28–39. 13 For a brief biography, see E. Carstens, “Olshausen, Justus”, Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 24 (Munich, 1887), pp. 328–330; and C. T. Begg, “Olshausen, Justus (1800–

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. . . . My position in the Theological Faculty becomes more pressing on me day by day. (It is) not because I cannot in some way personally get along with my colleagues; I am without exception on a good and loyal footing with all of them. (It is rather) out of professional reasons: I feel as though I am living a lie in training servants of the Lutheran Church to which at heart I do not belong. I cannot see it otherwise, despite everything that well-wishing friends say to the contrary. It would thus be my duty to lay down my post . . .14

The issue here is elucidated, as Lou Silberman has perceptively noted,15 in the first edition of Wellhausen’s history, that is, the Geschichte Israels I (1878), which had appeared the year before the letters to Olshausen. There Wellhausen briefly and yet unmistakably gave vent to his dislike for the Lutheran establishment in Germany and what he perceived as its indifference, even aversion, to the fostering of genuine religious experience. Central to his dislike, it appears, was not so much an unhappiness with the negative, even hostile reaction by religious conservatives to his source-critical, developmental approach to Biblical literature and religion. He was, after all, hardly the first to put forward such an approach, even if his presentation turned out to be the most logically forceful, subtle, and far-reaching, and it does not seem to have caused any rift with his Greifswald colleagues, as his Olshausen letter suggests.16 Rather, the critical reaction to his scholarship was only part

1882)”, in J. H. Hayes (ed.), Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (Nashville, 1999), vol. K–Z, pp. 223–224. Olshausen’s involvement with Wellhausen’s original appointment at Greifswald is attested in two letters sent by Wellhausen to Olshausen: the first on 24 May 1872, noted in Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 136–137, 253, n. 4; the second on 16 October 1872, reproduced in Barnikol, ibid., p. 31. 14 “. . . . Meine Stellung in der Theologischen Fakultät wird mir von Tage zu Tage drückender. Nicht deshalb, weil ich etwa personlich mit meinen Spezialcollegen nicht auskommen konnte; ich stehe mit allen ohne Ausnahme auf gutem und loyalem Fusse. Sondern aus sachlichen Gründen. Es kommt mir wie eine Lüge vor, dass ich Diener der evangelischen Kirche bilden soll, der ich im Herzen nicht angehöre. Ich kann es nicht anders ansehen, trotz allem was wolwollende Freunde dagegen sagen. Es wäre also meine Pflicht, mein Amt niederzulegen. . . .” From: Letter of 9 February 1879, CLXXXVII#U1, in part reproduced in Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 157. The same sentiment is expressed in Wellhausen’s formal request, of 5 April 1882, to the Prussian Ministry for a transfer of position; see Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 261, 266–267 (Anlage 5). 15 L. H. Silberman, “Wellhausen and Judaism”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 75–82, especially pp. 78–79. 16 On the other hand, Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, who, as we will see, was Wellhausen’s Classicist colleague in this period at Greifswald and then later at Göttingen, suggests vaguely that there was some unease in the faculty over the matter of Wellhausen’s scholarly work, and that Wellhausen came to see he would be

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of a broader issue, which it may have helped Wellhausen to define: the opposition as he saw it – something he found already in ancient Israel and Judaism, as we will see – between a formalistic, heavy-handed, institutional cultus, which for him dominated the German Protestant churches of his day, and the depth and spontaneity of individual piety, which he understood to be the essence of Christianity, indeed of religion in general, following out a tradition, beginning already in the later 17th century, of which Friedrich Schleiermacher, in the early 19th century,

regarded as a heretic: “In the Protestant Church there was a strong rumor (viz., about Wellhausen); even in (his) own faculty peace existed only on the outside. Wellhausen realized that he would be persecuted as a heretic, and forestalled this by resigning his position (viz., his Professorship in Old Testament Theology) and going to Halle . . .” (“In der protestantischen Kirche rumorte es gewältig, auch in der eigenen Fakultat hielt der Friede nur äusserlich. Wellhausen sah ein, dass er als Ketzer verfolgt würde und kam dem zuvor, legte die Stelle nieder und ging nach Halle. . . . .”), (Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Erinnerungen, 1848–1914, 2. Aufl. [Leipzig, 1928], p. 190). Yet possible tensions with his Greifswald colleagues over his work and approach are not mentioned by Wellhausen’s most recent and comprehensive biographer, Rudolf Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 157–161, and earlier, they were denied by Eduard Schwartz, in his 1918 eulogy/study of Wellhausen: “he departed from his own faculty in the best accord, and the philosophical (faculty) gave him the honorary doctorate” (“von seiner eigenen Fakultät schied er in bestem Einvernehmen, die philosophische gab ihm den Ehrendoktor”), (Schwartz, “Julius Wellhausen”, pp. 345–346 and for the text of the honorary doctorate, Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 267: Anlage 6b). Of course, one could argue that there were limits to the “Einvernehmen” that Schwartz says Wellhausen enjoyed in the theological faculty, since it was not this faculty, but the philosophical at Greifswald that gave him the honorary doctorate. And yet Wilamowitz’s more negative view of the matter may well have been, at least in part, colored by his own impatience with traditional theological outlooks, see n. 17. None of this, of course, means that Wellhausen’s work was received everywhere favorably. This point has been well documented, and I would note here just two examples. The first is from Wellhausen’s first letter to Justus Olshausen, 9 February 1879, where he remarks about his own teacher, Heinrich Ewald: “I know that Ewald has judged me in this regard (= philology) very favorably – so long as he did not know that in the historical arena I was a disgusting heretic” (“Ich weiss, dass Ewald mich in dieser Hinsicht sehr günstig beurteilt hat – so lange er nicht wusste dass ich auf historischem Gebiete eine abscheulicher Ketzer war”), (Letter CLXXXVII–200, with the kind permission of Prof. Rudolf Smend). The second example is from the minutes of the faculty of the University of Tübingen, which in 1879 considered Wellhausen for a position, and after the first two candidates declined, moved to recommend him only to encounter opposition by the government ministry that had final authority in the matter. In their response to the ministry, the faculty tried to dispute the charge that Wellhausen had voiced “his anti-theological views in books and from his chair (= as a teaching professor)”, (“seine antitheologische Gesinnung in Büchern und auch auf dem Catheder”) and would continue to do so. Their effort, however, was not accepted, and Wellhausen’s appointment was not approved by the ministry: see Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 262, 268–269: Anlage 7.

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became a pre-eminent intellectual exponent.17 This opposition, in turn, was joined to what Wellhausen increasingly discerned as a yawning gulf between professional Biblical scholarship and the individual freedom it needed to explore its issues, approaches, and perspectives, and what the practical ministry of the Lutheran Church required.18 With this understanding, it came to make no sense to Wellhausen to remain as a professor of Old Testament theology in a Lutheran faculty of theology, since such a position, especially as he experienced it in a provincial university like Greifswald, required attention primarily to the training of future Lutheran ministers. This tension over scholarship

17 On the general issue of Wellhausen and the German (Lutheran) Church, see R. Smend, “Wellhausen und die Kirche”, in K. Aland and S. Meurer (eds.), Wissenschaft und Kirche. Festschrift für Eduard Lohse (Bielefeld, 1989), pp. 225–231.Wellhausen’s negative, even playfully derisive attitude toward institutionalized Protestantism in Germany may be reflected in the rumor about him, well circulated though unsubstantiated, from his days in Göttingen. As Smend reports it (“Julius Wellhausen and his Prolegomena”, p. 4), Wellhausen liked bathing in the Leine River of Göttingen, and his “preference was to swim on Sunday morning and so to arrange matters that, bathing dress over his shoulder, he met on his return the pious people of Göttingen on their way to church”. Smend, it should be noted, though not conceding the authenticity of such encounters, yet remarks, appropriately, that “this rumor still shows how Wellhausen’s relationship to the church was thought of and how also to a fair extent it was”. And yet the personal piety of the man also comes through in this recollection by his colleague, Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Erinnerungen, p. 189: “Wellhausen has remained a Christian, and has not ceased at every noon meal to invite the Lord Jesus as a guest” (“Wellhausen ist immer Christ geblieben, hat nicht aufgehört, bei jedem Mittagsmahle den Herrn Jesus zu Gaste zu bitten”). On Friedrich Schleiermacher, the scholarly literature is immense, befitting his immense productivity and influence in modern Christian, and more generally, Western intellectual history. A good chrestomathy of his writing and orientation to his work may be found in K. W. Clements (ed.), Friedrich Schleiermacher. Pioneer of Modern Theology (The Making of Modern Theology; London, 1987). 18 On Wellhausen’s understanding of the gulf between scholarship and the practical demands of the Church, see his illuminating comments in his letter to August Dillmann, of 18 December 1875 (in Barnikol, “Wellhausens Briefe”, p. 32: No. V; referred to also by Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 161): “I believe as well that scholarship can do something for the renewal of the Church, but I hate the direct application of so-called scholarship to life in the way that, for example, Pfleiderer or Holtzmann does it. In order for scholarship to have an effect on life, it must above all things be scholarship and be in accord with its own concepts . . . . Scholarship is above all things self-denial. You (= Dillmann) understand it as such, but there are few like you in this respect.” (“Dass die Wissenschaft etwas für die Erneuerung der Kirche thun kann, glaube auch ich; aber ich hasse die directe Anwendung der s.g. [= sogenannten] Wissenschaft aufs Leben in der Weise, wie es z.B. Pfleiderer oder Holtzmann thun. Damit die Wissenschaft aufs Leben wirke, muss sie doch vor allen Dingen Wissenschaft sein und ihrem eigenen Begriffe entsprechen. . . . Die Wissenschaft ist vor allen Dingen Selbstverleugnung; Sie verstehen sie so, aber es sind Wenige, die Ihnen darin gleichen”).

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and the Church may have been exacerbated further by the quality of the academic life Wellhausen had in Greifswald: already before 1879 there is evidence of his dissatisfaction with the intellectual curiosity and competence of the bulk of his students, and their rather limited cultural horizons.19 In sum, Wellhausen’s crisis at Greifswald, even if not fully explained, seems to have been at the core a personal one of vocation, and it is clear that by the time of his 1879 letters to Olshausen he had crossed the Rubicon. Accordingly, he sought, on the suggestion apparently of Olshausen, to transfer from the theological to the philosophical faculty at Greifswald, where he hoped to continue his work in the fields of Semitic languages and religions but without the requirement of training ministers. At first, the transfer was not successful, because Greifswald would not make a new place for him, even though the university awarded him an honorary doctorate of philosophy for his scholarly achievements, on his departure. Success finally came in 1882 at the University of Halle, with Wellhausen taking a demotion from his position as Ordinarius (Ordentlicher Professor) in Theology to Extraordinarius (Ausserordentlicher Professor) in Semitic languages.20 There is more to this momentous change that we need to examine. But we can only appreciate it if we go back to the period that preceded it and look there at the nature of Wellhausen’s Old Testament scholarship. The foundation of this was the analysis of the sources – understood pre-eminently as the written sources – of the Biblical text. Impelled, though as we will see not exclusively, by the state of evidence, the analysis was largely internal. That is, it was an effort to “deconstruct” the Biblical text in its present Tiberian Masoretic version, the so-called textus receptus, into its underlying sources, to describe those sources in terms of their major themes, language, and historical set-

19

See the letter of Wellhausen to August Dillmann, written from Greifswald on 16 February 1875, reprinted in Barnikol, “Wellhausens Briefe”, pp. 31–32: No. IV. Further, Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 138–139. 20 The details, including relevant documents, are to be found in Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 261–262, 266–269: Anlage 5–7; and Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 157–158. The position in Halle as Extraordinarius turned out to be much better than Wellhausen first assumed, for in his letter of 5 April 1882 to the Prussian ministry (Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 266: Anlage 5), he writes hoping for that possibility, but only after first discussing what evidently appeared to him the more likely case that he would move to Göttingen or Halle to pursue an habilitation in Semitic philology at the much lower and more uncertain rank of Privatdozent. For details about the honorary doctorate of philosophy; see above, n. 16.

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tings, and then to reconstruct the process by which they were brought together to make the present Old Testament. Wellhausen’s contributions to this critical enterprise took at first three forms: a study of the problems of the textual history of the Old Testament, through the example of the difficult books of Samuel;21 then a source analysis, gathering up and refining the work of his predecessors, of the legal and narrative core of the Old Testament in the Hexateuch (1876–1877 and later republications), followed by an analysis of the historical books, specifically Judges, Samuel, and Kings, and also Ruth (1878 and later republications).22 The other historical books, Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah, presumably because they were of late date and so not primary sources on classical Israel, were not systematically treated – a partial exception being Wellhausen’s brief theological licentiate dissertation on Judaean tribal genealogies in Chronicles (1870).23 Nor did Wellhausen offer anything systematic and synthetic on the prophets; only much later did he publish a slim, if pithy volume of exegetical observations on and translations of the Minor Prophets (1892).24 Marginal also to Wellhausen’s work in his Old Testament period were the Five Scrolls – apart from Ruth already mentioned – and the Psalms, although, again later, he did produce a Psalms translation together with short notes and a critical Hebrew text and short notes (1895, 1898).25 21

Der Text der Bücher Samuelis untersucht (Göttingen, 1871). The Hexateuch was analyzed in “Die Composition des Hexateuchs”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 21 (1876), pp. 392–450, 531–602; 22 (1877), pp. 407–479, later reissued, unchanged, as a volume: Skizzen und Vorarbeiten. 2. Heft. Die Composition des Hexateuchs (Berlin, 1885). Judges, Samuel, Kings, and Ruth appeared first in Wellhausen’s revision of F. Bleek, Einleitung in die Heilige Schrift. 1. Theil. Einleitung in das Alte Testament, 4. Auflage (ed. J. Wellhausen; Berlin, 1878). In two later editions of Bleek, the 5th (1886) and 6th (1893), Wellhausen removed his section on Judges, Samuel, Kings, and Ruth itself. This section he then attached to a new edition of his volume on the Hexateuch composition, all with additions, as Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (Berlin, 1889), which appeared, then, in yet another edition, the 3. Auflage, in 1899. 23 See note 6. 24 Skizzen und Vorabeiten. 5. Heft. Die kleinen Propheten übersetzt, mit Noten (Berlin, 1892, reissued in a 2. Auflage (1893), and then a 3. Ausgabe, somewhat revised, as Die kleinen Propheten übersetzt und erklärt (1898). 25 This was in the series that became known, popularly, as the Polychrome Bible, because the putative sources were printed in different colors. See first J. Wellhausen, The Book of Psalms . . . Part 14 of The Sacred Books of the Old Testament. A Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text printed in colors, with notes (ed. P. Haupt; Leipzig – Baltimore – London, 1895). This was reissued as a translation and notes, enlarged, as: J. Wellhausen, The Book of Psalms. A New Translation. With explanatory notes and an 22

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The analytical work just described occupied the first phase of Wellhausen’s teaching career in Old Testament, to about 1876– 1877, and resulted in several long articles on “Die Composition des Hexateuch” (1876–1877) and “Die geschichtlichen Bücher [Richter, Ruth, Samuelis, Könige]” (1878).26 With this work completed or well in hand, he could turn to his main interest and task, the writing of history. Here Wellhausen drew out the implications of his literary-critical studies of the Old Testament for the historical understanding of the ancient Israelite community. He was not yet ready, however, to write a straight chronological narrative of events, although he gave a sign of that with an article on the chronological problems of the Divided Monarchy, published in 1875−1876.27 Rather, he focused first on the religious institutions of ancient Israel, or what he called “the field of antiquities relating to worship and the dominant religious ideas” (“das Gebiet der gottesdienstlichen Antiquitäten und der herrschenden Religionsideen”), and worked out their historical development through “a literary-historical investigation” (“eine literaturgeschichtliche Untersuchung”) based on the Old Testament sources, especially those of the Hexateuch. The investigation served as a test of, even as it elaborated on and deepened, the compositional analysis and development of these Old Testament sources that he had presented in his earlier literary-critical studies. And it was published in 1878 as volume one of a Geschichte Israels.28 The second volume was, apparently, to contain the narrative history of events. But when that second, at least as a full volume, did not follow in the expected short order, connected certainly in some way to the crisis in his life at the end of the 1870’s that led to the reorientation of his career,29 Wellhausen republished appendix on the music of the ancient Hebrews. Part 14 of The Sacred Books of the Old and New Testaments. A New English Translation with explanatory notes and pictorial illustrations (ed. P. Haupt with the assistance of H. H. Furness; London – New York, 1898). 26 See n. 22. 27 “Die Zeitrechnung des Buchs der Könige seit der Theilung des Reichs”, Jahrbucher fur Deutsche Theologie 20 (1875), pp. 607–640; “Berechtigung”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 21 (1876), p. 151. 28 Geschichte Israels. in zwei Bänden. Erster Band (Berlin, 1878), pp. 1–14 (“Einleitung”); the quoted phrases appear on pp. 12–13. The “Introduction” to the revised version of 1883, published as the Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (see below, n. 30), is, with a few small modifications, essentially the same. 29 See briefly, Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 164, and idem, “Wellhausen und das Judentum”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 79 (1982), pp. 253–257. Smend gives a fuller and more focused appreciation in “Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte.

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the first volume in 1883, but now revised and retitled as Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels.30 It is important to recall here that the emphasis of Geschichte Israels I/Prolegomena lay on the religion of Israel in the pre-Exilic period and then, over against it, that of the Judaism that began, as Wellhausen emphasized, in the Babylonian Exile and especially the immediate post-Exile. Wellhausen’s point of departure, in fact, was what he perceived as the end of Israelite religion and its break in Judaism and the latter’s emphasis on the Law (legalism), showing that the break was already marked in the Bible by the “law of Moses”. From that break he worked backward to the pre-Jewish religion of Israel in the pre-Exile, which was understood as a more spontaneous, individually oriented piety. He did not, thus, work forward from the ancient Near East, as it was becoming known in his day through archaeological exploration, to (pre-Exilic) Israel, which this Near East both preceded and overlapped in time. As he put the matter in the first of his 1879 letters Zur Entstehung von Julius Wellhausens Buch”, in H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger and P. Schäfer (eds.), Geschichte-Tradition-Reflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, I (Tübingen, 1996), pp. 35–42. As Smend makes clear, Wellhausen’s initial intent was to complete this second volume before he turned to what by the late 1870’s he had decided would be a new scholarly career in classical Arabic studies: see the second of his letters to J. Olshausen, dated 18 February 1879 (the letter is in part quoted below). But the slowness of his work on the volume in this period is noted in two later letters to William Robertson Smith. The first, 6 June 1879, reports: “The second volume goes forward quite sluggishly” (“Mit dem 2. Bande geht es recht schleppend vorwärts”). The second, a year later, on 3 June 1880, is somewhat more positive, but still inconclusive: “I am still waiting for the (end of the) second part of my History: much is already written, thus the entire first third, Moses, the Judges, the first three kings, even the sixth chapter (on) the fall of Samaria and prophecy”. (“Mit dem. 2. Theile meiner Geschichte warte ich noch: vieles ist schon geschrieben, so das ganze erste Drittel, Mose, die Richter, die drei ersten Könige; ebenso das 6. Kap: der Untergang Samariens und die Prophetie”), (Smend, “Israelitische und jüdische”, pp. 36–37). Nonetheless, Wellhausen was able to draw out of this work, upon the initiative and encouragement of Robertson Smith as Smend points out, a briefer sketch of Israelite and Judaean history, which he published in successively expanded versions: the first, “Geschichte Israels”, privately printed in 1880; the last, Abriss der Geschichte Israels und Juda’s, published as volume 1:1 of his Skizzen und Vorarbeiten in 1884 (see the list in J. H. Hayes, “Wellhausen as a Historian of Israel”, Semeia 25 [1983], p. 59, and earlier and more fully described, in Rahlfs, “Verzeichnis”, pp. 355–357). 30 Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels. Zweite Ausgabe der Geschichte Israels, Band I (Berlin, 1883). It went through four more editions in Wellhausen’s lifetime, the last published in 1905, and enjoyed also a popular English translation, Prolegomena to the History of Israel with a reprint of the article Israel from the “Encyclopaedia Britannica”, translated by J. S. Black and A. Menzies, with preface by W. Robertson Smith (Edinburgh, 1885). For further details, see Rahlfs, “Verzeichnis”, pp. 356, 357– 358, 361, 363, 365.

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to Ministerial Councillor Olshausen: “For ten years historical studies have exclusively claimed me, of Judaism and ancient Israel in their opposition”.31 One can argue that this Israelite-Jewish opposition was a natural starting point for Wellhausen. For if he gave that opposition arguably the sharpest and most penetrating analysis up to his time, it was yet something that had strong and deep roots in Christian belief and scholarship, to which he knew he was heir and which he saw reflected, as noted above, in the opposition between individual piety and the institutional state Lutheranism of his day. The whole issue here has received much attention in the subsequent writing about Wellhausen and his work.32 But one may also question whether the issue was simply ideological or theological: whether starting at the Jewish end, rather than at the ancient Near Eastern beginning, did not make more sense as a scholarly procedure for Wellhausen in the 1870’s, since at that period Judaism, and its relationship to the Old Testament, were much more fully studied, if not more clearly attested, through Second Temple, New Testament and early Christian, and rabbinic texts, than the earlier Near Eastern beginning, in Egyptian, Mesopotamian, and other sources, which were still in an early stage of decipherment, publication, and analysis.

III The question, then, is: did Wellhausen react at all to these new, and rapidly developing, discoveries of the ancient Near East, as he pursued his Old Testament work in the 1870’s? What place, if any, did they have in his scholarly agenda? The usual answer has been negative: Wellhausen had no serious knowledge of nor interest in the discoveries and their

31 “Seit zehn Jahren haben mich geschichtliche Studien ausschliesslich in Anspruch genommen, Judentum und altes Israel in ihrem Gegensatze”. Quoted in Smend, “Wellhausen und das Judentum”, p. 252. 32 See, with reference to earlier discussions, ibid., pp. 249–282; also J. Barton, “Wellhausen’s Prolegomena to the History of Israel: Influences and Effects”, in D. SmithChristopher (ed.), Text and Experience. Towards a Cultural Exegesis of the Bible (The Biblical Seminar 35; Sheffield, 1995), pp. 318–319, 322–329; and U. Becker, “Julius Wellhausens Sicht des Judentums”, in M. Kessler and M. Wallraff (eds.), Biblische Theologie und historisches Denken. Wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Studien aus Anlass der 50. Wiederkehr der Basler Promotion von Rudolf Smend (Basel, 2008), pp. 279–302.

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possible relevance to the understanding of the Old Testament and the history of ancient Israel. William Foxwell Albright, a life-long critic of Wellhausen in this regard, summed up the matter as follows toward the end of his career: “I have among my reprints one of a paper published by Wellhausen in 1876 . . . In it Wellhausen insisted that almost the entire decipherment of Babylonian cuneiform was wrong. All through his life he scarcely ever used cuneiform or Egyptian sources, and he downgraded their significance at every opportunity. Instead he drew all his parallels from pre-Islamic Arabic . . . He tried to reconstruct early Israelite life on the basis of pre-Islamic Arabic poetry.”33 Much earlier, similar views had been expressed by some of Wellhausen’s own colleagues and successors, among them the eminent classicist, Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff. In his autobiography, published in 1928, he wrote of his great admiration of Wellhausen’s gifts and the close and warm relations between them – they had been colleagues both at Greifswald and at Göttingen – but nonetheless opined: “He remained just a theologian; this explains the entire orientation of his Geschichte [= the Geschichte Israels I/Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels and perhaps also the Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte]. He resisted, as he should not have done, working his way into Assyrian and Babylonian.”34 Yet this negative judgment on Wellhausen is not the only one. The historian of religion, Kurt Rudolph, in a 1978 review 33 W. F. Albright, “The Impact of Archaeology on Biblical Research – 1966”, in D. N. Freedman and J. C. Greenfield (eds.), New Directions in Biblical Archaeology (New York, 1968), p. 14. 34 “Er ist auch Theologe geblieben; daraus erklärt sich die ganze Haltung seiner Geschichte. Es widerstrebte ihm, wie er doch hätte tun mussen, in das Assyrische und Babylonische hineinzuarbeiten”, from: Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Erinnerungen, pp. 189–190. See also the letter of Wilamowitz to his colleague and erstwhile student, Eduard Schwartz, written to give Schwartz information about Wellhausen that he could and did use in his eulogy at Wellhausen’s funeral in 1918. Here Wilamowitz understands Wellhausen’s refusal to engage with “Assyrisch” as a mark of the theological, not historical orientation of his book, Geschichte Israels I of 1878 (in W. M. Calder III and R. L. Fowler (eds.), The Preserved Letters of Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff to Eduard Schwartz [Sitzungsberichte, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse 1986/1; Munich, 1986], p. 32, Letter 31). For the eulogy/study of Wellhausen by Schwartz, see “Julius Wellhausen”. A similarly negative opinion about Wellhausen’s stand toward Assyriology, and also Egyptology, was voiced by the Swiss Old Testament scholar W. Baumgartner, who also had a deep knowledge of matters ancient Near Eastern, in a paper of 1930 reviewing the state of Old Testament studies between the World Wars and proposing something that would move out from Wellhausen’s work: “Wellhausen und der heutige Stand der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft”, Theologische Rundschau NF 2 (1930), pp. 287–307, especially p. 292.

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of Wellhausen’s work on Arabic and Islamic studies, had occasion also to remark that he “early recognized that the cuneiform literature, which had begun to appear in his lifetime, also had to be taken into consideration”.35 So what, then, was the relationship of Wellhausen to ancient Near Eastern scholarship? We should begin by re-emphasizing that if there was anything, it was with Assyriology. Beginning in the latter half of the 19th century, this was the ancient Near Eastern field in which the most intense, most sustained, and most comprehensive relationships with the Bible were sought out and fought over. Egyptology, the other main focus of ancient Near Eastern studies in the period, took longer to develop Biblical connections, and never did so to the same degree as Assyriology, perhaps because the overall history and culture of Egypt had less obvious ties to Biblical culture, and its language, unlike the Semitic Akkadian of Mesopotamia, was less directly related to Biblical Hebrew and Aramaic. Certainly, Wellhausen reflects this distance from Egypt, his bibliography recording hardly any mention of Egyptological matters.36 But what concerns he had with Assyriology are best evaluated once we have considered the state of that field before and during the years 1860–1880, when Wellhausen was pursuing his university

35 Kurt Rudolph, “Wellhausen as an Arabist”, Semeia 25 (1983), p. 114. See also Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 162; idem, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, pp. 26–27. It is thanks to these two scholars that I became aware of Wellhausen’s work on Mesopotamia. Later I discovered that Wellhausen’s work here had already been noted by Eduard Schwartz, in 1918, in his eulogy/study of Wellhausen, “Julius Wellhausen”, p. 347, and that more recently, it has been recognized by Reinhard Gregor Kratz, Reste hebräischen Heidentums am Beispiel der Psalmen (Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. I. Philologisch-historische Klasse 2004/2; Göttingen, 2004), pp. 3–4. Both Smend and Schwartz propose, however, that Wellhausen was never really tempted to focus on things Mesopotamian, while Kratz asserts that Wellhausen acknowledged only the limits involved in comparative studies like those between Mesopotamia and the Old Testament. More on all of this below. 36 The very few real uses of Egyptian material I could find among Wellhausen’s publications include: “Ueber den bisherigen Gang und den gegenwärtigen Stand der Keilentzifferung”, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 31 (1876), pp. 168–169 on a comparison of Egyptian hieroglyphic writing with cuneiform; “Die Zeitrechnung”, p. 639, where he recognizes the value of Egyptian synchronisms from the Egyptian Dynasty 25 for the chronology of the Biblical Divided Monarchy, but where he adds, tellingly: “Ich . . . bin aber zu wenig auf diesem Gebiete (= Egyptology) orientirt, um mir ein Urtheil anzumessen”; and “Zwei Rechtsriten”, p. 39, where he refers, rather vaguely, to Egyptology for the possible elucidation of the rite of anointment by oil.

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education and then as professor was most actively working in Old Testament studies.37 Two achievements marked the period before 1860. The first was the series of excavations by Europeans, primarily British and French, of sites in Iraq (= ancient Mesopotamia). While some southern, i.e., Babylonian, sites were explored, the pre-eminent focus was Assyria in the north, where large-scale excavations were undertaken at the major Assyrian centers of Calah, Nineveh, Dur-Sharrukin, and, to a lesser extent, Assur. Of this work, the main phase was carried out in the 1840’s, and a second occurred in the mid-1850’s, by which time the substantial discoveries of monuments and tablets were finding their way into European and even American museums, and substantial volumes on this work, most to be accessible to the wider public and not simply scholars, were being published.38 The second achievement had to do with the decipherment of the cuneiform script in which these and other Mesopotamian tablets were written and of one of the two main Mesopotamian languages this script represented, namely, the Semitic tongue at first labeled as Assyrian and only later, from the beginning of the 20th century, as Akkadian. Several decades of work on this twin decipherment, going back, in fact, to the beginning of the 19th century,

37 For the following discussion of the 19th century history of Assyriology, there are many works to consult. Perhaps the basic one is E. A. W. Budge, The Rise and Progress of Assyriology (London, 1925), although, as a number of critics have noted, it does not always give sufficient and balanced attention to scholarship outside of England. In addition, S. A. Pallis, The Antiquity of Iraq. A Handbook of Assyriology (Copenhagen, 1956), pp. 45–192; shorter, but still useful, H. W. F. Saggs, The Might That Was Assyria (New York, 1984), chapter 18. On archaeological excavation: H. V. Hilprecht et al., Explorations in Bible Lands during the 19th Century (Philadelphia, 1903), pp. 1–577. For particular aspects of the story and so in more detail: M. T. Larsen, The Conquest of Assyria. Excavations in an Antique Land, 1840–1860 (London, 1996); J. Renger, “Die Geschichte der Altorientalistik und der vorderasiatischen Archäologie in Berlin von 1875 bis 1945”, in W. Arenhovel and C. Schreiber (eds.), Berlin und die Antike: Aufsätze (Berlin, 1979), pp. 151–192; and M. W. Chavalas, “Assyriology and Biblical Studies: A Century of Tension”, in M. W. Chavalas and K. L. Younger, Jr. (eds.), Mesopotamia and the Bible. Comparative Explorations (JSOTS 341; Sheffield, 2003), pp. 21–67. For the history of the decipherment and understanding of the cuneiform script and languages, M. Pope, The Story of Decipherment: From Egyptian Hieroglyphs to Maya Script (revised ed.; New York, 1999); J. Friedrich, Entzifferung verschollener Schriften und Sprachen, 2. Aufl. (Berlin – New York, 1966); and E. Doblhofer, Die Entzifferung alter Schriften und Sprachen (Leipzig, 2000). 38 Pre-eminent here were the works of Austen Henry Layard, one of the principal excavators of the period: see, e.g., his Nineveh and Its Remains, I–II (London, 1849), and Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon (London, 1853), with reprints and re-editions.

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culminated in 1857 with a dramatic experiment initiated by the Royal Asiatic Society in London. In a fashion not unlike what some of the ancient testimonies tell us about the origin of the Septuagint,39 the Society invited four of the principal scholars of Mesopotamian cuneiform of the period, Edward Hincks, Jules Oppert, Henry Creswicke Rawlinson, and William Henry Fox Talbot, independently to analyze and translate a large Assyrian text that had recently been found and acquired by the British Museum, namely, a prism of the annals of Tiglath-pileser I (reigned 1114–1076 B.C.E.). The essential agreement in their results, as evaluated by a panel appointed to scrutinize them, was enough to convince many, if not the majority, in the scholarly world (for the case of Germany, see below) that the decipherment had achieved a solid basis, which while not complete gave confidence that it was developing along the right track.40 By 1860, thus, impressive gains had been registered in Mesopotamian archaeology and decipherment, and the following years, from about 1860 to 1880, may be understood as a time to make sense of and build on them. In the first place, more and more Mesopotamian cuneiform texts came to be published, not only from holdings already in European museums, but from some new, though limited excavation in Assyria. Among these were a series of volumes from the British Museum, inaugurating the systematic publication of the major European tablet collections; there were also editions of specific texts, particularly scribal syllabic lists and the chronicles and annals of various Neo-Assyrian kings, but also some mythic and other literary compositions.41

39 Similarly, P. W. Coxon, “Review of K. J. Cathcart (ed.), The Edward Hincks Bicentenary Lectures”, Journal of Semitic Studies 42 (1997), p. 131: “an episode with a Septuagintal ring to it”. For a recent edition of these ancient testimonies, including the major one, the Letter of Aristeas – which, unlike some of the later testimonies, does not tell of the miraculous agreement of seventy-two independently made translations of the Jewish law – see K. Brodersen, Aristeas. Der König und die Bibel. Griechisch/Deutsch (Reclams Universal-Bibliothek 18576; Stuttgart, 2008). There is also the important study by A. Wasserstein and D. J. Wasserstein, The Legend of the Septuagint. From Classical Antiquity to Today (Cambridge, 2006). 40 The work of Hincks, Oppert, Rawlinson, and Fox Talbot was published originally as: Inscription of Tiglath Pileser I, King of Assyria, B.C. 1150 as translated by Sir Henry Rawlinson, Fox Talbot Esq., Dr. Hincks, and Dr. Oppert (London, 1857), and republished in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 18 (1861), pp. 150–219. 41 For a list, see Pallis, Antiquity, pp. 64–93 (before 1850), pp. 166–170 (after 1850). Among the examples: H. C. Rawlinson, E. Norris, G. Smith, and Th. Pinches, The Cuneiform Inscriptions from Western Asia, I–V (London, 1861–1884); J. Oppert and J. Menant, Grande inscription du palais de Khorsabad, publiée et commentée (Paris,

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Research also continued on lingering difficulties with the cuneiform script, especially its apparently high polyvalence, and with the Akkadian language; and the first grammars and lexicographical collections appeared.42 It should be noted here, as Johannes Renger has emphasized,43 that the decipherment of script and language, despite the pioneering contribution of the German Georg Grotefend at the beginning of the 19th century, found a much readier acceptance in Britain and France later in that century than in Germany. The latter was the scene of controversy and doubt even into the 1870’s, and a key factor in finally winning over the German academic community were the magisterial reviews and clarifications by Eberhard Schrader, published from 1869 through 1878.44 There was another side to the

1863); idem, Documents juridiques de l’Assyrie et de la Chaldée (Paris, 1877); G. Smith, History of Assurbanipal, translated from the cuneiform inscriptions (London, 1871); idem, History of Sennacherib, translated from the cuneiform inscriptions (edited by A. H. Sayce; London, 1878); E. Schrader, Die Hollenfahrt der Ištar. Ein altbabylonisches Epos, nebst Proben assyrischer Lyrik (Giessen, 1874); F. Delitzsch, Assyrische Lesestücke (Leipzig, 1876; this subsequently went through four more editions, the last, the fifth, in 1912). 42 Again, see Pallis, Antiquity, pp. 170–175, for a list. Examples include J. Oppert, Éléments de la grammaire assyrienne (Paris, 1860) which was an extract from Journal Asiatique 1 (1860); revised and enlarged editions appeared in 1868, one of them in Paris; E. Hincks, “Specimen Chapters of an Assyrian Grammar”, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society NS 2 (1866), pp. 480–519; J. Menant, Exposé des éléments de la grammaire assyrienne (Paris, 1868); A. H. Sayce, An Assyrian Grammar for comparative purposes (London, 1872); idem, An Elementary Grammar, with full syllabary and progressive reading book, of the Assyrian Language in the cuneiform type (2nd ed.; London, 1875; several more editions through 1904). 43 Renger, “Geschichte”, pp. 151–152, citing particularly the German historian of antiquity, E. Meyer; see the latter’s Geschichte des Altertums, I/2 (1913; reprint: Darmstadt, 1965), pp. 332–333. Cf. also the opening sentence of Wellhausen’s article, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, p. 153: “Presently it is no longer necessary even in Germany to arouse participation in cuneiform research. . . .” (“Die Theilnahme für die Keilforschung zu wecken, ist gegenwärtig auch in Deutschland nicht mehr nöthig. . . .”) – this implying that German participation was problematic not long before 1876, when Wellhausen’s article was published. The problems here are illuminated by the experience of Friedrich Delitzsch, Schrader’s first student of Assyriology and later, the leader of German scholarship in the field. Delitzsch writes to his former teacher, August Dillmann, about how difficult it was in 1874, when he habilitated in Leipzig, to find examiners who knew enough and were sympathetic enough to read his work. The letter, dated 6 November 1874, is reproduced in K. Johanning, Der Bibel-Babel Streit. Eine forschungsgeschichtliche Studie (Europäische Hochschulschriften XXIII/343; Frankfurt am Main, 1988), pp. 348–349. 44 As pointed out by Renger, “Geschichte”, pp. 151–156, who reiterates the point in his “Ernst Herzfeld in Context: Gleanings from His Personnel File and Other Sources”, in A. C. Gunter and S. R. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the Development of Near Eastern Studies, 1900–1950 (Leiden – Boston, 2005), p. 561. The relevant publications

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linguistic debate as well, which involved not just Germany, but the general scholarly community. This concerned the identification and description of a second Mesopotamian cuneiform language alongside the Semitic Akkadian. First recognized in rough and partial form by Rawlinson and others in the 1850’s, it was labeled Babylonian Scythic and then Akkadian, at the time that the true Semitic Akkadian was known as Assyrian. In 1869 Oppert identified it by its correct name, Sumerian, but that was not finally established and accepted until the end of the 1880’s. The discussion of Sumerian in the 1870’s was enlivened by the acrimonious debate over Joseph Halevy’s attempt to see it not as a separate language, but as a secret writing system of the Babylonian priesthood – a debate that quickly turned against Halevy, but continued to resound through the 1880’s and even later.45 One last feature of the years 1860–1880 in Assyriology needs to be mentioned. This was the appearance, specifically in the decade of the 1870’s, of the first major efforts to use the cuneiform texts now deciphered and the monuments and architecture unearthed to write something coherent and systematic about Mesopotamian culture. An increasingly prominent aspect of these efforts was the comparison with the Old Testament, sparked particularly by George Smith’s electrifying lecture on 3 December 1872 of his discovery and decipherment of an Akkadian precursor to the primeval Flood story in the Biblical book of Genesis. Smith himself incorporated his finding into a popular volume of translations and discussions of Mesopotamian myths, all of which he presumed were related to the stories in Genesis,

by Eberhard Schrader are “Die Basis der Entzifferung der assyrisch-babylonischen Keilinschriften”, ZDMG 23 (1869), pp. 337–374; idem, “Die assyrisch-babylonischen Keilinschriften: kritische Untersuchung der Grundlagen ihrer Entzifferung”, ZDMG 26 (1872), pp. 1–392 + 1 Tafel; idem, Keilinschriften und Geschichtsforschung. Ein Beitrag zur monumentalen Geographie, Geschichte und Chronologie der Assyrer (Giessen, 1878). The first two of these massive studies by Schrader would have been published when Wellhausen wrote his own study of the decipherment of cuneiform, published in 1876, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”. And he does refer to the second of these studies, that published in 1872, which built on and so essentially superceded the first, as one of the “Hauptwerke” for the present status of the understanding of cuneiform (ibid., p. 175). 45 On the early discussion of Sumerian, see Pallis, Antiquity, pp. 175–183. On the debates involving Joseph Halevy, which carried with them an ugly racist and antiSemitic tone, see J. S. Cooper, “Posing the Sumerian Question: Race and Scholarship in the Early History of Assyriology”, Aula Orientalis 9 (1991), pp. 47–66; idem, “Sumerian and Aryan. Racial Theory, Academic Politics and Parisian Assyriology”, Revue de l’Histoire des Religions 210 (1993), pp. 169–205.

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The Chaldean Account of Genesis (1876).46 At the same time, Eberhard Schrader published the first of what came to be three editions of a synthesis of Mesopotamian-Biblical comparisons for the understanding of Mesopotamian and Biblical civilizations overall – his Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament (1872, 1883, 1903).47 And he followed it with a wide-ranging discussion of what could be known of Assyrian history, sources, geography, and the decipherment of cuneiform in his Keilinschriften und Geschichtsforschung (1878).48 Wellhausen, it turns out, was far from unaware of the Assyriological developments just outlined. And, as Rudolph and Smend have signaled,49 he expressed himself about them in writing on several occasions in the 1870’s. The most elaborate was an article, “Ueber den bisherigen Gang und den gegenwärtigen Stand der Keilentzifferung”, in a journal generally known for Classical scholarship, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie (31 [1876], pp. 153–175). The article is a survey, particularly for scholars who are not Assyriologists, of the state of the decipherment of cuneiform up to the time of its publication, and is evidently the study to which Albright referred disparagingly, as noted earlier. Strangely, it was not included in the putatively comprehensive bibliography of Wellhausen’s work in the Festschrift for him published in 1914.50 In addition, Wellhausen was concerned with various Neo-Assyrian texts published in the first half of the 1870’s and earlier and their bearing on Biblical history. These texts figured in his study on “Die Zeitrechnung des Buchs der Könige seit der Theilung des Reichs” appearing in the Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 20 (1875), pp. 607–640; 21 (1876),

46 For the original report of his discovery and decipherment, see G. Smith, “The Chaldean Account of the Deluge”, Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 2 (1873), pp. 213–234, followed by his “The Eleventh Tablet of the Izdubar Legends. The Chaldean Account of the Deluge”, Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 3 (1874), pp. 530–596. The volume then incorporating these and other texts was entitled in full, The Chaldean Account of Genesis. Containing the Description of the Creation, the Fall of Man, the Deluge, the Tower of Babel, the Times of the Patriarchs, and Nimrod; Babylonian Fables, and Legends of the Gods, from the Cuneiform Inscriptions (London, 1876). 47 E. Schrader, Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament (Giessen, 1872; 2. Auflage, mit einem Beitrag von P. Haupt, Giessen, 1883; 3. Auflage, mit H. Winckler und H. Zimmern, Berlin, 1903). An English translation was made from the second edition by O. C. Whitehouse, as The Cuneiform Inscriptions and the Old Testament, I–II (London, 1885–1888). 48 See Schrader, Keilinschriften und Geschichtsforschung. 49 See n. 35. 50 See n. 7.

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p. 151, and in two reviews that were published in the following year.51 Neo-Assyrian historical texts also received mention, though much more briefly, in Wellhausen’s Geschichte I/Prolegomena (1878, 1883), as well as in his outline of Israelite and Judaean history prepared for the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1881).52 Two other reviews of the late 1870’s refer briefly to the value of cuneiform texts for the future study of ancient Semitic culture and religion (Wellhausen used here the phrase, not unusual in his day, “[altes] semitisches Heidentum”, “[ancient] Semitic paganism”).53 Finally, there are several personal letters and notes of Wellhausen, some partly published or referred to in print especially by Rudolf Smend, which talk about Wellhausen’s career and other scholars and the relevance of cuneiform studies to them.54 The total number of publications and references to Assyriology in Wellhausen’s work, thus, is not large, but a closer analysis reveals that it is not trivial either. Most substantial and impressive is the paper on the decipherment of cuneiform, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, for it demonstrates that Wellhausen was in virtually complete command of the state of the field through the mid-1870’s when his paper appeared. All the key players and stages in the history of decipherment up to that point, as summarily discussed above, were familiar to him, not only for Mesopotamian cuneiform, but for the other two cuneiform languages and scripts then recognized, Old Persian and Elamite. Indeed, his paper makes clear that he saw, as a number of his contemporaries and

51 J. Wellhausen, “Review of G. Smith, The Assyrian Eponym Canon”, Theologische Literaturzeitung 1 (1876), pp. 539–541; idem, “Review of Alfred von Gutschmid, Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte des alten Orients. Die Assyriologie in Deutschland”, Theologische Literaturzeitung 1 (1876), pp. 534–538. 52 Using the English edition, Prolegomena to the History of Israel, p. 47, n. 1 (Prolegomena), pp. 112–113, n. 2 (Prolegomena), pp. 483–484 (Israel). In all of these citations Wellhausen refers to The Assyrian Eponym Canon, published by George Smith, which book, as we have seen, Wellhausen reviewed (see above, n. 51). 53 J. Wellhausen, “Review of W. W. Graf Baudissin, Studien zur semitischen Religionsgeschichte, Heft I”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 139 (1877), pp. 185–192; idem, “Review of W. W. Graf Baudissin, Studien zur semitischen Religionsgeschichte, Heft II”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 141 (1879), pp. 106–111. 54 Two of the most important pieces are Wellhausen’s letters to Justus Olshausen in 1879, already referred to; they, and a much later letter to the Assyriologist and Semitist Carl Bezold in 1903, are partially discussed and cited by Smend in his “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 162. Smend has also, as I have mentioned, very kindly made available to me the full texts of these letters and other correspondence, all not yet published by him, and I will refer to them as required below.

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even later commentators did not, the special genius and contributions of the Irish scholar, Edward Hincks, to the overall success of the decipherment.55 For Mesopotamian cuneiform, in particular, Wellhausen understood the ideographic – or, using the more appropriate term, logographic56 – and syllabic functions of the signs, and the fact that as logograms and syllables, an individual sign could have multiple values. Further, Wellhausen showed his awareness, in his article, that these sign values were often based on words from the two Mesopotamian languages which the script represented: the Semitic Akkadian, which he labeled, in the fashion of the day that we have discussed, Assyrian or Babylonian, and the non-Semitic Sumerian, which he called, again with his contemporaries, Akkadian.57 The multiple values of the signs – their polyvalence – did remain troubling to Wellhausen, however; and he expressed the view that this polyvalence, at the present stage of analysis, could and did create a measure of uncertainty in reading Mesopotamian texts: which values to read in the signs of a given text, and whether to read the signs logographically or syllabically.58 Yet even with this uncertainty, Wellhausen was clear in his article that the understanding of cuneiform, while not yet complete, had by the 1870’s been given a solid, established footing, and that progress in eliminating the ambiguity

55 Wellhausen, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, pp. 161, 165–167, 175. See now K. J. Cathcart (ed.), The Edward Hincks Bicentenary Lectures (Dublin, 1994), especially the essay by P. T. Daniels, “Edward Hincks’s Decipherment of Mesopotamian Cuneiform”, pp. 30–57. Also K. J. Cathcart, “Writing and Writing Materials in the Ancient Near East”, Manuscripts of the Middle East 5 (1990–1991), pp. 6–8. 56 See especially I. J. Gelb, A Study of Writing. The Foundations of Grammatology (Chicago, 1952; 2nd ed., 1963), pp. 65–66; also p. 279, n. 10, where he refers to the earlier observations of Adam Falkenstein and Johannes Friedrich. Wellhausen’s term for “logogram” was “Monogramm”, though he could use “Ideogramm”; his term for the syllabic value of a cuneiform sign was “Phonogramm”: “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, pp. 161, 165, 169, and passim. 57 Wellhausen, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, pp. 172–174. Note that he is aware of bilingual texts, in which the “Akkadian” lines are found “mit interlinear assyrischer Uebersetzung” (p. 173). Yet Wellhausen does not see the whole system clearly, because he is not able fully to determine how the logographic values of a given cuneiform sign relate to its syllabic values. Nonetheless, as stated above, he looks in the right direction by connecting the sources of the logographic and syllabic values with the two languages that lie behind the Mesopotamian cuneiform system: his “Assyrian” or “Babylonian” and his “Akkadian”. And he offers an appropriate analogy to the use of Sumerian logograms for the representation of Akkadian words in his appeal to the writing system in Sassanian Iran, whereby Aramaic signs were used as logograms for Middle Persian Pahlavi. 58 Ibid., especially p. 174.

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of specific polyvalences would eventually straighten everything out. Indeed, Wellhausen pointed exactly to where the help was then coming and would continue to come, namely, from passages in duplicate cuneiform texts, in which each was written in a different combination of syllables and logograms, allowing, thus, the reading of one to serve as a check on the reading of the other.59 Beyond the analysis of the cuneiform script, Wellhausen was concerned with the relevance of Assyrian texts to Biblical history. His three most direct writings on this topic appeared in 1875–1876, the same years as his “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, suggesting that roughly 1874–1876 constituted the critical period of his work on matters Mesopotamian. The three publications, already alluded to, were the article on the chronology of the Biblical Divided Monarchy of 1875– 1876 (“Die Zeitrechnung”) and two reviews, both in the same issue of the Theologische Literaturzeitung, 1876/21, on George Smith’s The Assyrian Eponym Canon and Alfred von Gutschmid’s Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte des alten Orients, respectively.60 The Assyriological focus of these three was Neo-Assyrian texts that dealt with the political and military actions of the Neo-Assyrian kings and their chronological ordering, namely, the Assyrian Eponym Canon and various Assyrian royal inscriptions. Wellhausen’s interest here was in how these Assyrian texts could help to clarify, indeed to reconstruct, the correct dating and correlation of the reigns of the kings of Israel and Judah, especially those from the middle of the 9th through the end of the 8th centuries B.C.E., on which period the bulk of the then available Assyrian texts were concentrated. The actual discussions of the Assyrian texts that Wellhausen offered were quite modest: he did not examine any of the texts in detail, in German translation, let alone in Akkadian. There were, rather, brief notes on a few personal and geographical names, which he chose to exemplify the difficulties of reading the polyvalent cuneiform signs; a short description of the nature of the Assyrian eponym canon and the calendrical system that it supposed; citations of dates of various kings and mentions of events that could be found in or inferred from the eponym canon and the royal inscriptions, which he used as a frame of

59

Wellhausen, “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, pp. 171–172. See Wellhausen, “Die Zeitrechnung”; “Review of Smith”; and “Review of von Gutschmid”. 60

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reference and control on the Biblical data for the reigns of the Israelite and Judaean kings; and finally more general comments on the relevance of the Assyrian data to the Biblical for the chronology of Israelite and Judaean history.61 Wellhausen made it clear in these discussions that he was speaking as a Biblical scholar, not as an Assyriologist. His point of departure and return was the Hebrew Bible and its data on the problems at hand, to which the Assyrian – and, in the few cases where he did so, the Egyptian – data were brought in as correlative. For him the Assyriologists – and the Egyptologists – were groups of scholars (“die Assyriologen”, “die Keilforscher”, “die Ägyptologen”),62 to which by the very act of so labelling them he revealed that he did not belong. This labelling, in the case of the Assyriologists, could convey some real caution, even question, for Wellhausen did voice the opinion that they – and occasionally here he would name individuals, like Eberhard Schrader and his Keilinschriften und das alte Testament (1st ed., 1872)63 – could not be mindful enough of the difficulties of the polyvalent cuneiform script. The result was that they could be too certain about the reading and interpretation of the Assyrian texts, about how to combine the data from the eponym canon and eponym lists with the Assyrian royal inscriptions, and so about the conclusions that they would draw from them for matters of Biblical chronology and history.64

61 For examples of the names, see Wellhausen, “Review of von Gutschmid”, pp. 535– 536; “Review of Smith”, p. 539; examples of the eponym canon and calendar, “Review of Smith”, pp. 539–540; examples of Assyrian dates and events, “Die Zeitrechnung”, pp. 626–629; and “Review of von Gutschmid”, pp. 537–538; examples of more general comments, “Die Zeitrechnung”, pp. 624–625; “Review of von Gutschmid”, p. 538. 62 E.g., Wellhausen, “Die Zeitrechung”, pp. 624–625, 629; “Review of von Gutschmid”, p. 538. 63 E.g., Wellhausen, “Die Zeitrechnung”, p. 625. For the bibliography on Schrader, see above, n. 47. 64 See, e.g., Wellhausen, “Die Zeitrechung”, p. 625. On p. 629: n. 1 of this article, he refers to August Hildebrand as “dieser Fanatiker der Assyriologie” evidently for his lack of a critical, sober appreciation of the Biblical book of 2 Kings. The matter is explored more extensively in the “Review of von Gutschmid”, pp. 535–538. Here Wellhausen agrees in large part with von Gutschmid’s attack on the Assyriologists of the day, both English and German (the latter especially Eberhard Schrader), for being too ready to use a still uncertain ability to read cuneiform texts – uncertain because of the polyvalence problem of the script – in order to reach historical conclusions that were also uncertain and even erroneous (see above, n. 61). In this agreement with von Gutschmid, Wellhausen seems more negative about the reading of cuneiform texts than in his article, appearing in the very same year (1876), on “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, pp. 174–175. Yet even in the von Gutschmid review (ibid., p. 538), Wellhausen is not all negative: noting that von Gutschmid himself, quite properly, accepted the basic decipherment of at least the cuneiform syllabary, and was at points willing to use

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Nonetheless, Wellhausen made it clear that neither he nor anyone else could now avoid the Assyrian texts in discussing such Biblical matters. As he put it, the confusion and contradictions of the Bible on the chronology of the kings, and on other figures, were such that they could not be resolved from internal analysis of the Biblical text alone: “The confusion of Hebrew chronology . . . cannot be lifted (by) all manner of illusory assumptions of interregnums, adjacent rulerships, changes in number signs”. Resolution could come “only through the comparison of foreign synchronisms, which are usable (when subject to) control and correction”.65 And while these “foreign synchronisms” had been sought in the past from Phoenician and Egyptian chronology, Wellhausen stated that the latter had far fewer points of contact with the Biblical data than did the then newly reconstructed and published Assyrian.66 Overall, therefore, Wellhausen was quite clear: one must use these Assyrian data, but one must be careful and cautious about doing so – not calling readings, interpretations, and conclusions certain when they are in reality “hypothetical”.67 More broadly, Wellhausen made clear in several reviews that the future of Old Testament scholarship had to take account of the abundant new material bearing on the rest of Semitic and rabbinic literature and deriving from discoveries made by Western travelers and archaeologists in the Near East. Specifically, Wellhausen could advise a slightly younger colleague, W. W. Graf Baudissin, in an 1877 review of the latter’s Studien zur semitischen Religionsgeschichte I, that for the reconstruction of “Semitic paganism the most important types celebrate their resurrection from the ruins of Nineveh and Babylon”.68 And he could criticize Baudissin, in another review two years later, the results of cuneiform research in historical analysis, and then going on to indicate places where von Gutschmid was too critical and could have made more use of cuneiform. In the end, therefore, these two articles of Wellhausen, on “Keilentzifferung” and von Gutschmid, are not so far apart, whatever their differences in tone and construction. For both testify that Wellhausen saw the decipherment of cuneiform in the mid-1870’s, though not yet fully accomplished, as moving forward positively and as something that could certainly not be ignored in historical study. 65 “Die Verwirrung der hebraischen Chronologie . . . kann nicht allerlei illusorische Annahmen von Interregnen, Nebenregierungen, Zahlbuchstabenverwechselungen gehoben werden . . . . . nur durch die Vergleichung fremder Synchronismen, die zur Controle und Correctur brauchbar sind”. From Wellhausen, “Die Zeitrechnung”, p. 624. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid., p. 625. 68 “auf dem Gebiete des semitischen Heidenthums. . . . Denn da jetzt die bedeutendsten Typen desselben aus den Ruinen von Ninive und Babylon ihre Auferstehung feiern. . . .” From Wellhausen, “Review of Graf Baudissin Heft I”, p. 192.

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for having “avoided Assyriology, in a caution commendable in itself, which however needs not to become so exaggerated. Truly illustrative material for ancient Semitic paganism is certainly to be fetched only from cuneiform writings: the other [viz., Baudissin’s use of later sources, like those in Hellenistic Greek – P.M.] is and remains only loose chaff and has something most clearly unsatisfactory about it”.69 If we try now to sum up Wellhausen’s concern with Assyriology, it is clear, against Albright’s contention, that in no way did he want to downgrade, let alone dismiss the significance of that field for the Bible, nor to argue that “almost the entire decipherment of Babylonian cuneiform was wrong”.70 Wellhausen was, to be sure, too cautious about the state of the decipherment in the 1870’s, too inclined to stress the polyvalence problems in it – which, to be sure, did certainly exist at the time – and so too sparing in his use of the cuneiform texts to reconstruct Mesopotamian history and illuminate Biblical literature and culture. In this regard, he reflected the suspicion still to be found within parts of contemporary German scholarship of the 1870’s that the level of knowledge of cuneiform was vastly overstated by the “Assyriologists”, and that Assyriology as such was far from ready to be a full partner in historical research. One of the most outspoken critics of Assyriology here was Alfred von Gutschmid, whose book on the matter Wellhausen reviewed. Yet, as we have noted, if Wellhausen’s review was favorable, still he made it clear that at points von Gutschmid had gone too far, and that even von Gutschmid himself, despite his attack, could be found referring to Mesopotamian sources which he judged accessible.71 Wellhausen, in other words, was hardly a pessimist

69 “Auf das Assyrische hat er dabei verzichtet, in einer an sich lobenswerthen Vorsicht, die aber nicht so übertrieben zu werden brauchte. Wirklich anschauliches Material über das alte semitische Heidenthum ist gewiss nur aus den Keilschriften zu lösen: das andere ist und bleibt doch nur lose Spreu und hat etwas äusserst Unbefriedigendes.” From Wellhausen, “Review of Graf Baudissin Heft II”, p. 110. 70 Albright, “Impact of Archaeology”, p. 14. 71 See above, n. 64. A survey of the issues in von Gutschmid’s attack on Assyriology and particularly on Eberhard Schrader, its main German exponent, may be found in Eduard Meyer’s necrology and positive appreciation of Schrader, in Biographisches Jahrbuch und deutscher Nekrolog 13 (1908), pp. 158 ff., as cited from Renger, “Geschichte”, pp. 154, 156. Renger also refers to Schrader’s comprehensive and decisive response to von Gutschmid, in his Keilinschriften und Geschichtsforschung of 1878. It should be noted that while Wellhausen evinces some definite questions about the conclusions Schrader could draw from Assyrian texts to the history of Israel, thus in line with von Gutschmid (see above, n. 64), he was also appreciative of Schrader’s massive work on the decipherment of cuneiform (see n. 44).

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about the work and importance of Assyriology. He understood and accepted, as I have tried to show, the essential system both of the cuneiform script and of the languages, especially the Semitic Akkadian (his “Assyrian”), that had emerged from the decipherment work. And even if limited, he was indeed willing to use cuneiform texts in his Biblical work where he felt able, and to affirm a much broader use for them in future scholarship.

IV The fact remains, however, and in this Albright was correct, that Wellhausen never followed out his own advice to continue the study of cuneiform and the exploration of its relevance to Biblical studies. Indeed, in the total output of his scholarship, his Assyriological forays were not simply quantitatively modest, but also not of the greatest originality, even if they were laced, like everything he touched, with insights and provocative formulations. So the question is: why not more? The answer is complicated and not finally certain, but what is apparent is important for the broader character of Wellhausen’s scholarship, indeed for the modern study of the Hebrew Bible overall. In the first place, it must be re-emphasized that the active, major creative period of Wellhausen’s Old Testament research – from 1862, when he began his university studies, until about 1879, when at Greifswald he began to turn away to Arabic and Arab history – was the period when the study of Mesopotamian cuneiform was still being established – and then not incontrovertibly – especially in Germany. In fact, instruction in Assyriology was not, during this period, easily available in German universities, and Wellhausen had had none, as we have seen, during his university years in Göttingen. The first regular Assyriological chair in Germany was inaugurated only in 1875, at the University of Berlin, with Eberhard Schrader as its first incumbent.72 In such an atmosphere, then, and given the fact that his Göttingen education of the 1860’s reflected the pre-cuneiform era in Germany, Wellhausen’s interest in,

72 See Renger, “Geschichte”, pp. 153–157. As a witness to the difficult climate in these early years of Assyriology in Germany, see the letter of Friedrich Delitzsch, above, n. 43.

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knowledge of, and writing about Mesopotamia, however modest, are noteworthy, even remarkable.73 There is also a second factor in understanding Wellhausen’s personal caution about Assyriological work. It has to do with his approach to Old Testament study. As we have seen, this centered on the critique of sources and reconstruction of their historical settings, an enterprise that was first and foremost an internally focused examination of the 73 It is worth noting that Wellhausen’s main teacher in Göttingen, Heinrich Ewald, had himself written something about cuneiform studies before Wellhausen began his studies with him in 1862. This came in the form of a review of three books about Mesopotamia and related areas, which Ewald published in 1858, thus just after the fourmember translation experiment involving the Tiglath-pileser I prism commissioned by the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain (see above and n. 40). The review is of “Travels and Researches in Chaldaea and Susiana, by W. K. Loftus; Études Assyriennes. Inscription de Borsippa etc., par J. Oppert; The Prophecies relating to Nineveh and the Assyrians etc., by G. V. Smith”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 1 (1858), pp. 185–200. In this review, the portion of immediate concern is pp. 190–199, which discusses the book of Oppert, a publication of an inscription of Nebuchadnezzar II, with a philological analysis of the text that includes an appreciation of the “Assyrian” (= Akkadian) language in which it is written. Ewald makes clear that although he has carefully studied Oppert’s book, he is going to evaluate it only on a limited basis, since important aids (“Hülfsmittel”) for the decipherment of cuneiform have not yet been published and made accessible to those outside the immediate circle of the decipherers (“da nicht Jedermann Zeit und Musse hat, sie [= these aids] da zu benutzen, wo sie jetzt aufbewahrt werden!” – “since not everyone has the time and leisure to use them where they are now kept!”). The comments that follow concern examples of Oppert’s philological analysis of the inscription, and Ewald has no difficulty picking holes in various of the meanings and etymologies Oppert assigns to the words in the text and in various of the grammatical forms he proposes on the basis of comparative Semitic philology. At points, Ewald indulges in overkill, and is not averse to a certain disparaging tone. But the tone, as he says, is not directed against the decipherment of cuneiform itself and the content of the texts thus revealed, which he is ready to grant if good proofs for them can be produced. The disparagement, rather, is against Oppert, who, in Ewald’s judgment, has not brought these proofs, because he has begun the task of understanding the Nebuchadnezzar inscription not by an internal analysis of its forms and grammatical structures, as he should have done, but by going immediately to comparisons with other Semitic languages, which, Ewald shows, are based on a faulty knowledge of these languages (cf. Wellhausen’s later criticisms of Gunkel and Meyer, ahead on pp. 513–519). Overall, it is plain that Ewald has no desire to take on the task of reviewing the decipherment of cuneiform and “Assyrian” at large, as Wellhausen would later do in his “Ueber . . . Keilentzifferung”, or of contributing to it. Ewald, instead, is interested in making comments on one prominent example of Assyriological work of the late 1850’s from the standpoint of an older and established Semitic philology, and demonstrating how difficult good work in the new field can be. One has the impression, therefore, that Ewald was not about to turn any serious attention to cuneiform, and indeed, there is no evidence, of which I am aware, that he ever really followed up on this 1858 review, though he could very well have mentioned his views to his students like Wellhausen. It would appear, accordingly, that Wellhausen’s knowledge of cuneiform was something he acquired himself, and in fact, he implies as much in a letter written later in his life (see n. 94).

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Old Testament alone (including its ancient versions). This kind of internal historical-critical analysis was not unique to Wellhausen, of course. As he understood his work, it was the culmination of virtually a century of Old Testament scholarship beginning in the latter 1700’s and radiating out from the German-speaking lands. Indeed, source analysis, or in the German context Quellenkritik or Quellenforschung, was not confined to the study of the Old Testament; it became by the mid-19th century the standard scholarly tool for the investigation of all fields of human history and culture.74 The foundation of this source criticism reaches back even further than the 18th century, at least to the recovery of Classical sources in the Renaissance, and in the case of Biblical studies, it is such 17th century figures as Baruch Spinoza and Richard Simon that are the important pioneers. But it was not until the latter 18th century that the sourcecritical approach began to become institutionalized and formally defined – though this, too, had forebears – as philology: the study of cultures through the close analysis of their major textual creations.

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In Germany, two of the great 19th century figures, neither of them Biblical scholars, were Barthold Georg Niebuhr, who laid out the possibilities of the critique of sources for the reconstruction of Roman history in his Römische Geschichte, I–II (1st ed., Berlin, 1811–1812; 2nd ed., Berlin, 1827, 1830), III (Berlin, 1832), and Leopold von Ranke, who, building among others on Niebuhr, pursued the analysis of sources, particularly archival resources over against the official pronouncements of ruling elites, in his numerous studies of early modern Europe. For brief expositions, see G. P. Gooch, History and Historians in the Ninteenth century (reprint of the 2nd ed. of 1952 with a new preface, Boston, 1959), chapters II, VI–VII, and, on Niebuhr in particular, K. Christ, Von Gibbon bis Rostovtzeff. Leben und Werk führender Althistoriker der Neuzeit (Darmstadt, 1972), pp. 26–49, 357–359 (bibliography), especially pp. 40–46 on Niebuhr’s Römische Geschichte. Also, for a broad review, which as the title indicates includes the Middle East, see J. van Ess, “From Wellhausen to Becker: The Emergence of Kulturgeschichte in Islamic Studies”, in M. H. Kerr (ed.), Islamic Studies: A Tradition and Its Problems. Seventh Giorgio Levi della Vida Biennial Conference April 27–29, 1979 (Malibu, 1980), pp. 27–51; on p. 36, he notes the primacy of Niebuhr in the professionalization of Quellenforschung. As for the emergence and development of critical source analysis in Biblical scholarship, see such studies as Kraus, Geschichte; H. F. Hahn, The Old Testament in Modern Research (2nd ed. with H. D. Hummel; Philadelphia, 1966); R. E. Clements, A Century of Old Testament Study; and John Rogerson, Old Testament Criticism in the Nineteenth Century: England and Germany (Philadelphia, 1985). A particular angle on this history of source analysis, in both the Classical and the Biblical fields, is offered by J. Van Seters in his recent book, The Edited Bible. The Curious History of the “Editor” in Biblical Criticism (Winona Lake, 2008). As his title suggests, his aim is to refute the broad scholarly effort to look for ancient editors who combined individual sources together to create larger works. The refutation will not win everyone’s approval, but no one, I dare say, will deny the provocative and acute learning Van Seters brings to the task.

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Centered in the German universities, especially Halle, Jena, and above all Göttingen, where it was promoted by such savants as Johann David Michaelis and Christian Gottlob Heyne,75 philology acquired a new and eventually commanding locus in the University of Berlin, established in 1810 when the Napoleonic empire was at its height. Much of this work involved, as has been well documented, the study of Greek and Roman antiquity and its sources, especially those that were written. And within Classical philological study an early milestone was Friedrich August Wolf ’s Prolegomena ad Homerum, published in 1795, which magisterially reviewed and reconfigured the understanding of the so-called Homeric Question – the question of whether and what sources went into the making of the Iliad and Odyssey, and how to detect them.76 Significantly, as Anthony Grafton, Glenn Most, and James Zetzel have discussed in their English translation of the Prolegomena, an important influence on Wolf – they even call it a model – was the source-critical work on the Bible, especially that of Johann Gottfried Eichhorn in his Einleitung ins Alte Testament (1st edition: Leipzig, 1780–1783).77 The connections at issue, which went back before Eichhorn and Wolf,

75 A brief discussion is by U. Schindel, “C. G. Heyne”, in W. W. Briggs and W. M. Calder III (eds.), Classical Scholarship. A Biographical Encyclopedia (New York, 1990), pp. 176–182. For Michaelis, see recently, J. Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible. Tradition, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton, 2005), pp. 184–221, and with particular emphasis on his Biblical scholarship, M. Legaspi, “Reviving the Dead Letter: Johann David Michaelis and the Quest for Hebrew Antiquity” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 2006), and Smend, From Astruc to Zimmerli, pp. 30–42. 76 On the history of classical philology especially in Europe since the Renaissance, there are many studies A short, but incisive and authoritative one is that by Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, A History of Classical Scholarship (translated by A. Harris and with introduction and notes by H. Lloyd-Jones; London, 1982). LloydJones’ work brings up to date and extends something of the coverage of the original German volume, which was entitled simply and revealingly, Geschichte der Philologie (1921, 1927). Friedrich August Wolf ’s work, in Latin, was translated into English as Prolegomena to Homer [1795], with introduction and notes by A. Grafton, G. W. Most and J. E. G. Zetzel (Princeton, 1985). 77 Wolf, Prolegomena, pp. 18–26, 227–231. The influence of Biblical source-critical work on Wolf does not mean, however, that Wolf himself sought active connections between the study of Greece and Rome and that of the Old Testament. In fact, he was distinctly disdainful of the Old Testament and the community that had created it as a literary and cultural monument, and made invidious contrasts between them and the civilizational status of the Classical world, especially Greece, thus helping to initiate a tradition in German scholarship – to be sure, not the only tradition! – that continued into the 20th century. See succinctly Sheehan, Enlightenment Bible, pp. 237–238, with further references.

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continued to reverberate in the following 19th century, reinforced by the fact that secondary and university education in Europe, regardless of the particular specialty, retained its strong Classical core.78 This core was certainly to be found in Wellhausen’s education, as we have seen, and his continuing interest in it came to expression in several revealing ways. One is the very re-titling he gave his Geschichte Israels I, in its second, 1883, edition, as Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels. As F. M. Cross acutely observed,79 this suggests a conscious knowledge of Wolf ’s Homeric volume, still famous in Wellhausen’s day.80 For as Wolf sought by the reconstruction of the source history of the Homeric poems to lay the groundwork for, the prolegomena to, the writing of a history of Greek culture, so Wellhausen by the ordering of the history of the basic religious institutions of Israel, through the history of the Biblical sources for them, intended to lay the groundwork, as we have seen, for the writing of an Israelite political history. In this regard, Wellhausen’s close association at Greifswald and then Göttingen with the Classicist, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, must be recalled. It clearly involved a serious dialogue on the cultures of antiquity and source-critical method. The proof is that when Wilamowitz published his Homerische Untersuchungen in 1884, the year after Wellhausen’s Prolegomena, he dedicated it to his Biblical colleague. Wellhausen returned the favor in 1894 – an antidoron, as Wilamowitz called it81 – in publishing his long awaited Israelite political

78

On these connections, see, e.g., the brief remarks by M. D. (Umberto) Cassuto, The Documentary Hypothesis and the Composition of the Pentateuch: Eight Lectures, trans. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem, 1961), Lecture 1; for the 17th–18th centuries, G. G. Stroumsa, “Homeros Hebraios: Homère et la Bible aux origines de la culture européenne (17e–18e siecles)”, in M. A. Amir-Moezzi and J. Scheid (eds.), L’Orient dans l’histoire religieuse de l’Europe (Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Sciences religieuses 110; Turnhout, 2000), pp. 87–100; and for the 19th century especially, A. Momigliano, New Paths of Classicism in the Ninteenth century (History and Theory, Beiheft 21; Middleton, CT, 1982), pp. 49–55. 79 F. M. Cross, From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel (Baltimore, 1998), pp. 34–35. 80 See the references in Wolf, Prolegomena, p. 37 to a second edition of the book, edited by Immanuel Becker (Berlin, 1876), and a third, edited by Rudolf Peppmueller (Halle, 1884). Thus, if not the first edition, in 1795, then at least the second of 1876 could easily have been known to Wellhausen by the time he published his Prolegomena in 1883. 81 Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Homerische Untersuchungen (Berlin, 1884); Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, Berlin, 1894. These connections between Wilamowitz and Wellhausen, and their significance, have been noted by several scholars, see Schwartz, “Julius Wellhausen”, p. 351; Cross, From Epic to Canon,

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history, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte. And it was one of Wilamowitz’s early students, Eduard Schwartz, who gave the principal eulogy at Wellhausen’s funeral in 1918, using a number of notes that Wilamowitz had sent him; Wilamowitz himself later used these for his own reflections in his autobiography.82 What was at stake, in all of this, was above all the internal analysis of master texts – the texts that the ancients themselves, at least in the judgment of 18th and 19th European scholarship, considered the major windows on their histories and cultures. In this approach, one had first to get in order the understanding – which meant especially the source-critical history – of these master texts, before any comparison with other materials could be essayed. For it was in these master texts more than anywhere else, the assumption was, that the particular distinctiveness, the special genius, could be seen of the cultures from which the texts came. Putting the matter this way, of course, makes it clear how much this approach was bound up with the romantic impulses of the latter 18th and 19th century; and the work of such foundational German romantics as Johann Gottfried Herder, and his studies of early Hebrew poetry, and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, with his interest in Biblical criticism and Near Eastern literature, was well known to Wellhausen.83 It should be no surprise, therefore, that in his Geschichte Israels I/Prolegomena and other Old Testament publications of the 1870’s, the period of his primary Old Testament scholarship, Wellhausen made generally very little reference to sources outside of the Bible. This includes, by the way, material from classical

p. 35, n. 33; R. Smend, “Der Alttestamentler Julius Wellhausen und Wilamowitz”, in W. M. Calder III, M. C. Dubischar, M. Hose, and G. Vogt-Spira (eds.), Wilamowitz in Greifswald (Spudasmata 81; Hildesheim – Zurich – New York, 2000), pp. 207–211; and Momigliano, New Paths of Classicism, p. 49. The last sums up the matter well, saying about Wilamowitz’s 1884 dedication to Wellhausen, that it “was a declaration of intent with explicit reference to Herder, Wolf, and Goethe about the common purpose of Homeric and Biblical criticism. If Wellhausen was analyzing the Pentateuch, or rather the Hexateuch, in order to write the history of the Hebrews, Homeric criticism was the first step in the writing of the history of the Greeks.” 82 See n. 34. 83 See the remark of Momigliano, above, n. 81; also, briefly, Barton, “Wellhausen’s Prolegomena”, pp. 326–327; L. Perlitt, Vatke und Wellhausen. Geschichtsphilosophische Voraussetzungen und historiographische Motive für die Darstellung der Religion und Geschichte Israels durch Wilhelm Vatke und Julius Wellhausen (BZAW 94; Berlin, 1965), pp. 211–212; and B. Levinson, “Goethe’s Analysis of Exodus 34 and Its Influence on Wellhausen: The Pfropfung of the Documentary Hypothesis”, ZAW 114 (2002), pp. 212–223.

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Arab, especially pre-Islamic Arab, history, contrary to the not infrequent assertion that he regularly resorted to Arab parallels in his Old Testament writing.84 Wellhausen, as he makes clear in a later book, on Arabic literature,85 was indeed interested in such connections, but the parsimonious use of them in his 1870’s Old Testament work, I would argue, was a deliberate methodological decision: the first and main task was to get the master texts right. And getting the master text of the Old Testament right, as Wellhausen brilliantly argued, especially in his Geschichte I/Prolegomena, yielded a history of its compositional development that would then provide the framework for the larger history of development of the institutions of the ancient Israel and Judah from which this master Old Testament came. The point about master texts, however, needs an important qualification, and this brings us back to the Classicists. Already in the 18th century, as promoted, for example, by Michaelis and Heyne, and then increasingly in the 19th century, it came to be recognized that the study of the master texts had to be accompanied by the study of other sources, principally the artistic monuments and the inscriptions covering all manner of daily life, for a proper appreciation of Greek and Roman society and culture. This effort at a comprehensive accounting, or what the Germans called Altertumswissenschaft,86

84 For one example of this assertion, see Albright”, Impact of Archaeology”, p. 14. The few and fleeting references to Arab antiquity in Geschichte Israels I/ Prolegomena may be found on p. 93, n. 1; p. 333, n. 2; and p. 351, n. 2. See similarly in his De gentibus et familiis Judaeis, pp. 5, 7, 8, 11, 39 and n. 2; and in “Die Zeitrechnung”, p. 62. The one exception to such brief references in Wellhausen’s 1870’s work is his De gentibus et familiis Judaeis, pp. 24–25, as pointed out by J. Rogerson, “Wellhausen and Robertson Smith as Sociologists of Early Arabia and Ancient Israel”, Journal of Scottish Thought 1,2 (2008), pp. 54–55. Here Wellhausen offers a substantial quotation from the work of W. G. Palgrave, which describes traditional Arab social organization into clans, still current in the 19th century, and uses this quotation as an analogy to clarify the organization of the clans of Judah enumerated in 1 Chronicles 2. A further collection of Wellhausen’s discussions of connections between the Old Testament/ ancient Israel and Arab history, most of them brief and all of them written and published well after his primary Old Testament period of the 1870’s, is given by Rudolph, “Wellhausen as Arabist”, pp. 114, 128, 130–131, 147: nn. 6–7, to which may be added Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte (4. Auflage, 1904), p. 23: nn. 1–2; p. 85: n. 4. These later discussions, it should be noted, are not only about similarities between the Old Testament and the Arabs; they also point out differences. 85 See J. Wellhausen, Muhammed in Medina. Das ist Vakidi’s Kitab alMaghazi in verkürzter deutscher Wiedergabe herausgegeben (Berlin, 1882), p. 5, to be discussed ahead. 86 See H. Lloyd-Jones, in his introduction to Wilamowitz, History, pp. vii–viii, x–xii; also A. Grafton, Defenders of the Text. The Traditions of Scholarship in an Age of

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enlisted a number of major 19th-century scholars, such as Barthold Georg Niebuhr, August Boeckh, Theodor Mommsen, and Wilamowitz himself, although, it is fair to say, that for many, if not most it was the master literary texts and their Quellenkritik that continued to provide a benchmark, whether to be supported or contested.87 Why, then, if he was familiar with the Classical field and Wilamowitz in particular, did not Wellhausen take a cue from this Altertumswissenschaft and look more fully to the ancient Near Eastern materials as they became available? Once more, there is no certain answer, but it may be suggested that a great deal had to do with the overwhelming presence, in the case of Biblical scholarship certainly Science, 1450–1800 (Cambridge, 1991), chapter 9, and, more briefly, idem, Bring Out Your Dead. The Past as Revelation (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 291–294, who notes that Altertumswissenschaft had earlier precedents, particularly in the work of Joseph Scaliger (1540–1609). Wilamowitz himself, to whose broad vision the term Totalitätsideal was applied, expressed this vision in various places. One was his criticism of the work of the Swiss historian, Jacob Burckhardt’s Griechische Kulturgeschichte, for its virtually exclusive focus on the literary sources instead of on a wider range of materials, including modern scholarship as well (see the discussion of Oswyn Murray, in his introduction to an abridged English translation of Burckhardt: Jacob Burckhardt, The Greeks and Greek Civilization [New York, 1998], pp. xxxiv–xxxv, xli–xliv). A second example appears in a letter of Wilamowitz to his Berlin colleague, the Egyptologist Adolf Erman. Writing on 2 October 1929, Wilamowitz addressed specifically the difficulties, yet necessity of keeping archaeology and philology together: “Perfect harmony of archaeology with philology in the narrow sense can only with difficulty reside in one person, but to a separation such as (now exists) ineradicably in so-called Classical philology – that can never come”. (“Die schöne Vereinigung von Archäologie und Philologie im engen Sinne in einer Person wird schwerlich bleiben können, aber zu einer solchen Trennung wie sie bei der s.g. (= sogenannten) klassischen Philologie unausrottbar, kann es niemals kommen”), (W. M. Calder III, “Adolf Erman und Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff Reconsidered”, in B. U. Schipper (ed.), Ägyptologie als Wissenschaft. Adolf Erman [1854–1937] in seiner Zeit [Berlin, 2006], p. 335). 87 See n. 74 and the essay cited there of van Ess, “From Wellhausen to Becker”. Of course, the focus on master texts varied with the individual scholar and his particular aims. But while a Wilamowitz could react critically to what he perceived to be the over-reliance of a Burckhardt on master texts, certainly Wilamowitz himself, as a perusal of even a selection of his voluminous bibliography will show, remained at heart an interpreter of master texts: see, e.g., the comprehensive entry on him in the German Wikipedia, http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ulrich von-Wilamowitz-Moellendorff; and Robert L. Fowler, “Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff ”, in Briggs and Calder III, Classical, pp. 489–522. Even his father-in-law, the Roman historian Theodor Mommsen, who was known for the broad range of evidence, epigraphic, numismatic, etc., that he sought out in his studies and encouraged others to pursue, first came to wide recognition for his Römische Geschichte, especially the first three volumes (1854–1856), and here, as in the Römische Geschichte of Niebuhr before him, the literary sources were the major – and, to be sure, necessary – underpinning. On Mommsen, see, e.g., Christ, Von Gibbon, pp. 84–118, 363–365 (bibliography), especially pp. 93–118 on his historical work.

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through the 1870’s when Wellhausen was primarily active in it, of the Hebrew Bible as the master text, to which other available information, especially from archaeological discoveries, supplied only a limited and often circumstantial connection. This orientation, of course, was reinforced, especially in Protestant academic circles to which Wellhausen belonged, by the old Reformation view of sola scriptura – the focus on getting back to the text of the Bible itself as the basis for its theological authority, over against a concern for subsequent church tradition as the parallel, fully congruent partner with the Bible and so interpretative channel to it for theological authority.88 This did not mean that any and all comparison should be avoided. Indeed, it was precisely, in the mid-1870’s, when, as we have seen, Wellhausen was gathering up his critical analysis of the central Old Testament sources and publishing this as “Die Composition des Hexateuch” and as “Die geschichtlichen Bücher”, that he did look seriously beyond the Old Testament, to Assyriology, as he turned toward the writing of Israelite history in the Geschichte Israels. The rationale for comparison may be found in an appreciation that Wellhausen later published about his doctoral master, Heinrich Ewald, and what he had learned from him: “It also made an impression on me as a young theologian how he [= Ewald – P.M.] argued that one should not withhold the (use of ) analogy from the Bible, should not hold it to any other standard than what one would use for other books. Otherwise, he said, one would make the Koran out to be the same as the Gospel; only a hermeneutic that could most stringently be applied universally would bring out the true values and the difference in values”.89 It is plain from this statement that the kind of comparison that would be most useful and telling would involve a concern for differences as well as similarities, and deal with basic

88 I thank my colleague, Jon D. Levenson, for reminding me of this. For discussions of sola scriptura, see, e.g., R. H. Bainton, “The Bible in the Reformation”, in S. L. Greenslade (ed.), The Cambridge History of the Bible, III: The West from the Reformation to the Present Day (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 1–37, especially pp. 1–6; R. A. Muller, “Scripture”, in H. J. Hillebrand (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, IV (New York – Oxford, 1996), pp. 36–39; and D. W. Lotz, “Sola Scriptura: Luther on Biblical Authority”, Interpretation 35 (1981), pp. 258–273. 89 “Auch hat es mir als jugendlichem Theologen Eindruck gemacht, wie er motivierte, dass man die Bibel nicht der Analogie entziehen und kein anderes Mass an sie legen dürfe wie an andere Bücher. Denn sonst, sagte er, lasse sich aus dem Koran dasselbe machen wie aus dem Evangelium; nur eine Hermenuse von strengster Allgemeingueltigkeit könne die wahren Werte und den Unterschied der Werte herausstellen”. From Wellhausen, “Heinrich Ewald”, in idem, Grundrisse, p. 121.

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cultural, better, religious~theological values. Yet for Wellhausen, it will be recalled, the cuneiform texts whose interpretation he felt most confident about in the 1870’s were not religious or philosophical, but historical, especially the Assyrian eponym lists. There is, for example, no recorded comment from him about George Smith’s 1872–1875 decipherment of the Mesopotamian Akkadian flood account, and its theological implications for understanding the Genesis flood story. The real work on Mesopotamian religious texts and their understanding, engaging a broad segment of scholarship, would not get underway until the 1880’s and 1890’s, and by that point, as we have seen, Wellhausen’s primary research had moved to Arabic and Islam and then to the New Testament. But we are not finished with the matter. For if Wellhausen could see the importance of Assyriology in itself and for Biblical studies, however modest his use of it in his publications of the 1870’s, why did he not turn to it as his primary field at the end of the 1870’s, when the crisis about his professional life broke out? In that crisis, one will remember, Wellhausen finally decided he had to give up his Old Testament position in the theology faculty of Greifswald and look for a transfer to a university philosophical faculty where he could function in a non-theological role, yet teach in the contiguous fields of the classical Semitic languages and cultures, that is, philology in the European tradition we have discussed. Wellhausen sought this transfer, it should be noted, in the full awareness that a professorship of Old Testament as such was not generally available in the German system of his day – and the system has continued to the present – within a philosophical faculty. He would have to think about other options under the rubric of Semitics.90 Here we are in luck, for the course of Wellhausen’s ruminations is decisively illuminated for us by the second of two letters, referred to above, which he wrote on 18 February 90 The major, and perhaps only, exception to this German system in Wellhausen’s day was the University of Göttingen, where, as Schwartz explains (“Julius Wellhausen”, p. 351), the Professorship of Old Testament was in the philosophical faculty, thanks to the labors of J. D. Michaelis in the preceding, 18th century. When Wellhausen was called to Göttingen in 1892, the Old Testament chair, notes Schwartz, was held by an old friend of his, Rudolf Smend (grandfather of the Rudolf Smend, the current biographer of Wellhausen). It would appear, therefore, that the curricular arrangement at Göttingen and the friendly flexibility of Smend allowed Wellhausen, even though he came to the philosophical faculty as Professor of Semitic Languages focusing first on Arabic and Islam, to feel free to offer courses occasionally on Old Testament and then eventually to take up New Testament.

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1879 to Justus Olshausen. In this letter, Wellhausen talks about three Semitics options, Aramaic, Arabic, and, significantly in the present context, Assyriology; and he fully understands that whichever of the three he chooses as his new professional focus, he will have to prove himself by a substantial publication in that field based on primary research if he were to qualify for a university Semitics position. To grasp more fully what he saw at issue, let me quote a portion of the letter: As soon as I have written the second volume of my Geschichte Israels, I will dedicate myself, following your advice and my inclination, only to Semitic philology. You would certainly wish that I turn to cuneiform. Against that I have a couple of thoughts. First, in Greifswald I lack the materials. Second, it would easily be ten years before I could publish anything in this field worth the effort. Under other circumstances, to be sure, this would not be unacceptable/unpleasant to me, rather only welcome. For I can directly confirm that I don’t have the least concern to gain any general literary fame/reputation. But for practical reasons that you know, it is, rather, desirable, as things look, to come forward sooner with some kind of specimen by which I could legitimate myself as a Semitic philologist. Otherwise what still interests me is the Aramaic in Jewish literature. For this it would be necessary to edit texts. I have for a long time considered collecting and editing the remains of the Jerusalem targum. But (in that instance), I believe, I would also be regarded as doing something theological. Otherwise I would have to work (in Aramaic) on the basis of rather unpromising texts, and so I would think that this would still always be looked at as theology. In the final analysis (therefore,) the most obvious is if I simply follow my favorite, earlier inclination and turn to the Kitab al-Aghani, with a focus on (its) grammar, syntax, and metrics; the content I enjoy, then, privately for myself, as much as a man has the audacity to do; for I have an outspoken sympathy for these men [= the authors and subjects of the Kitab – P.M.], their fearlessness, and their . . . [= word unclear in manuscript of the letter – P.M.], while the post-Exilic Jews and the Syriac or Ethiopian Christians do not lie (close) to my heart, and the Muslims just as little.91 91 “Sobald ich den zweiten Band meiner Geschichte Israels geschrieben haben werde, werde ich mich, Ihrem Rathe und meiner Neigung folgend, lediglich der semitischen Philologie widmen. Sie wurden gewiss wünschen, dass ich mich den Keilen zuwendete. Dagegen habe ich zweierlei Bedenken. Erstens fehlen mir in Greifswald die Materialien. Zweitens wurden leicht zehn Jahre vergehen, ehe ich auf diesem Gebiet irgend etwas der Muhe Wertes veröffentlichen könnte. Unter anderen Umständen wäre mir das allerdings nicht unangenehm, sondern lediglich willkommen. Denn ich kann aufrichtig versichern, dass mir an dem gemeinen literarischen Ruhme nicht das Geringste liegt. Aber aus den Ihnen bewussten praktischen Gründen ist es mir allerd-

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As this 1879 letter makes clear, all three fields that Wellhausen considered as possible specialties in Semitic philology held their attractions for him. Aramaic, however, he judged would not be professionally helpful; and the main reason he gives for this, that the most obvious research projects92 would probably look too “theological” to a philosophical faculty, furnishes an important testimony to the sharpness of the university division between theology and philosophy noted above. As for Assyriology, the letter shows that Wellhausen considered it in response to Olshausen’s evident preference for it, presumably as a new field, unlike Aramaic or Arabic, with new challenges and great promise for philology.93 Indeed, Olshausen’s pressure on Wellhausen here is underscored by the fact that Wellhausen felt the need in his letter to deal first with Assyriology before moving on to Aramaic and Arabic. And yet the way that Wellhausen rejects Assyriology is not simply a matter of diplomatic deference to Olshausen’s eminent position; it reflects also, I would suggest, a definite interest in the field. As with Aramaic, there is no sense of dislike here, rather a set of practical

ings, wie die Sachen liegen, wünschenswerth, balder mit irgend einem Specimen hervorzutreten wodurch ich mich als semitischer Philologe beglaubigen konnte. Sonst lage mir noch nahe das Aramäische in der jüdischen Literatur. Da wäre das Nothwendige, Texte zu ediren. Ich habe mich eine Zeit lang mit dem Gedanken getragen, die Reste des jerusalemischen Thargum zu sammeln und zu ediren. Aber ich glaube, das würde mir auch auf das theologische Conto geschrieben werden. Sonst müsste ich auf Grund ziemlich unzureichender Texte arbeiten; und auch dann hätte ich noch das Bedenken, dass dies noch immer als Theologie angesehen werden wuerde. Am Ende ist es das Gescheuteste, wenn ich einfach meiner Lieblingsneigung – von ehemals – folge und mich dem Kitab al Aghani zuwende, mit Absicht auf Grammatik Syntax Metrik: den Inhalt, homo tantum et audacia, genosse ich dann still für mich; denn ich habe eine ausgesprochene Sympathie für diese Menschen, ihre Rucksichtlosigkeit und ihren . . . [= word unclear in manuscript], während mir die nachexilischen Juden und die Syrer oder Äthiopen gar nicht am Herzen liegen, ebenso wenig wie die Moslimen”. From letter CLXXXVIII–202, graciously made available to me by Prof. Rudolf Smend; the excerpt I have cited is summarized by Smend himself in his article, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 162. 92 This Aramaic project, a scholarly edition of the Fragment Jerusalem Targum(s), would not appear until 1899, at the hands of M. Ginsburger, Das Fragmententhargum (Thargum jerushalmi zum Pentateuch; Berlin, 1899). The most recent edition is by M. L. Klein, The Fragment-Targums to the Pentateuch: according to their extant sources, I–II (Analecta Biblica 76; Rome, 1980). 93 Olshausen’s interest in Assyriology may be confirmed by the fact that already in the early 1860’s, when skepticism about the decipherment of cuneiform and Akkadian was prevalent in Germany, he first lectured on and then published a study in which he argued to the contrary: see Renger, “Geschichte”, p. 151 and n. 2, with citation, on p. 154, of Eduard Meyer’s remarks.

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reasons for rejection: Greifswald had no resources for Assyriology, meaning a serious library and teaching staff,94 which was all the more important given that Wellhausen had had, as we have seen, no formal instruction in Assyriology, especially Akkadian, unlike his years in Aramaic and Arabic. There was also the excessively long period he estimated for retraining in Assyriology; and the “practical reasons” he refers to in this regard concerned, it appears, not only his age at the end of his retraining (he was then 35), but his anxiety over providing for his wife and her continuing ill health, especially mental.95 So in the end, Wellhausen chooses Arabic and its work, which, as he tells Olshausen, do represent his “favorite, earlier inclination”.96

94 See Wellhausen’s letter to the Assyriologist and Semitist, Carl Bezold, on 22 October 1903, in which, reflecting on his years in Greifswald, he wrote the following: “I tried thirty years ago to immerse myself in cuneiform, but soon gave it up since it could not be pursued alongside (i.e., my other work in Greifswald). I have thus remained only superficially in contact with Assyriology”. (“Ich habe vor 30 Jahren versucht mich in die Keile zu vertiefen, die Sache aber bald aufgegeben, da sie nicht nebenher betrieben werden konnte. Ich bin also nur oberflächlich in Fühlung mit der Assyriologie geblieben”.) If the phrase “thirty years” is meant literally, then this letter indicates that Wellhausen began his own studies of cuneiform about 1873, thus not long after he arrived in Greifswald in the fall of 1872 (for the latter, see above, n. 6). The copy of this letter, UB Heidelberg, Heid. Hs. 1501, I again owe to the generosity of Prof. Rudolf Smend, who cites part of the above lines in his “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 162. 95 On the condition of Wellhausen’s wife, see Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 157. 96 It is significant in this correspondence with Olshausen about moving from a professorship in Old Testament theology to one in Semitic languages that Wellhausen does not mention the possibility of pursuing Hebrew as a specialty in Semitic languages instead of Assyriology, Aramaic, or Arabic. The reason is certainly that by the latter 19th century in the German universities, with the exception of Göttingen (see n. 90), Hebrew was no longer represented in the philosophical or other nontheological faculties, as it had been in earlier times; it was only a theological subject. Wellhausen, in his letter of 5 April 1882 to the Prussian ministry (Jepsen, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 266: Anlage 5; see nn. 14, 20), in fact expresses himself quite directly on the matter, arguing that while Hebrew should be in theology, it should also “be here and there represented in the philosophical faculty” (‘hie und da an der philosophischen Fakultät vertreten ist”), and thus that the bond between Semitic philology and Old Testament should not have been cut, as it has been. Wellhausen makes clear, however, that by the time of this letter, Hebrew as his main scholarly focus was no longer an option: “As for me, I have for years been (occupied) almost entirely with Arab antiquity. . . .” (“Was mich anbetrifft, so habe ich mich seit Jahren fast nur mit dem arabischen Alterthume. . . .”) For a view of this problem of Hebrew in 19th century Europe, see H. J. Polotsky, “Semitics”, in E. A. Speiser (ed.), At the Dawn of Civilization. A Background of Biblical History (The World History of the Jewish People 1; Tel Aviv, 1964), pp. 100, 357: n. 6.

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The Arabic in question, of course, was the classical language – this had been what Wellhausen had learned from Ewald and what constituted the focus of European Arabic scholarship.97 And the research project he sought out for it, just as he indicated for Aramaic, was a philological study of a text. The text that Wellhausen mentions in the Olshausen letter is the Kitab al-Aghani, “The Book of Songs”, a celebrated collection by the 10th century C.E. Abbasid author, Abu al-Faraj, of poetry set to music from pre-Islamic Arab times to the author’s own period, together with biographies of the composers and other historical and legendary narratives.98 In fact, however, when Wellhausen began his Arabic work, the text he turned to was not the al-Aghani, but another work about classical culture and history, the Kitab al-Maghazi, “Book of the Wars”, by the 8th–9th century Umayyad historian, al-Waqidi.99 The shift to this text may be explained by the fact that, on the one hand, it was one that Wellhausen had studied at Göttingen under Ewald,100 and so could now investigate with a head start on his research. But the choice of this text was also felicitous because it was an historical account, arranged as a continuous quotation of sources, of the Prophet Muhammad’s military campaigns culminating in his establishment of his rule in Medina. The Kitab al-Maghazi was thus a text that could be compared with Old Testament narratives like those in Kings, on which Wellhausen had worked; and his treatment of it, published in 1882 in the form of a critical, annotated, though abridged German translation based on a collation of the manuscripts then available in Europe, obviously bore a relationship to the exacting philological, source-critical work he had given to the Old Testament.101 But there is yet more. The Kitab al-Maghazi, like the Kitab alAghani, was a text about the heroic traditions, especially the heroic early days of Islam – days still embodying something of the “desert”

97 The most comprehensive assessment of Wellhausen as an Arabist is by Rudolph, “Wellhausen as an Arabist”, pp. 111–155. See also Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, pp. 29–34, 40–41; van Ess, “From Wellhausen to Becker”, pp. 41–43; and T. Seidensticker, “Julius Wellhausen und das ‘arabische Heidentum’ ”, in M. Kessler and M. Wallraff (eds.), Biblische Theologie, pp. 303–313. 98 For a brief characterization of this composition, see R. A. Nicholson, A Literary History of the Arabs (2nd ed.; Cambridge, 1930/1962), pp. 30–32, 270, 347–348, 419. 99 Ibid., p. 144. 100 See Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, p. 162. 101 See n. 85.

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spirit of the pre-Islamic Arabs. Here, in Wellhausen’s view as he intimates in his letter to Olshausen, faith was simpler, more direct, more honest, more individual, that is, not under the heavy, even dead weight of bureaucratic institutions, than what he found in later Islam, postExilic Judaism, and the Syriac and Ethiopian theologians of patristic Christianity. Wellhausen had, indeed, a fascination, in Arnaldo Momigliano’s words, for “the conflict between the austerity of the Bedouins and the lust of the city dwellers, and within the Bedouins the mysterious coexistence of the prophet and the warrior . . . [for] the combination of religious and political forces, both in their collaboration and in their conflicts”.102 It was this same spirit, this same combination of religious and political forces, that Wellhausen found at the core of pre-Exilic Israelite culture, before the priests got to it and desiccated and destroyed it. So much, in fact, he says near the beginning of his preface to his translation of the Kitab al-Maghazi, in a much quoted passage in which he talks about his own shift from Old Testament to Arabic studies: The change from Old Testament to the Arabs I made with the intention of becoming acquainted with the wild stock on which the shoot of the Torah of Yahweh had been grafted by priests and prophets. For I do not doubt that we can best come to understand the original form in which the Hebrews stepped into history, through comparison with Arab antiquity. The latter, to be sure, is pre-eminently the unfalsified Arab culture of the pre-Islamic period. But we know the Arabs only through Islam; through it they were brought into the world, (and) without it they would lie buried in night and fog.103

102 Momigliano, New Paths of Classicism, p. 53. Cf. Boschwitz, Julius Wellhausen, p. 11; and Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, pp. 51–53. 103 “Den Übergang vom Alten Testament zu den Arabern habe ich gemacht in der Absicht, den Wildling kennen zu lernen, auf den von Priestern und Propheten das Reis der Thora Jahve’s gepfroft ist. Denn ich zweifle nicht daran, dass von der ursprünglichen Ausstattung, mit der die Hebräer in die Geschichte getreten sind, sich durch die Vergleichung des arabischen Altertums am ehesten eine Vorstellung gewinnen lässt. Nun versteht es sich freilich, dass dabei vorzugsweise das unverfälschte Arabertum der vorislamischen Zeit in Betracht kommt. Aber wir kennen die Araber nur durch den Islam; durch ihn sind sie in die Welt eingeführt, ohne ihn lagen die in Nacht und Nebel begraben”. From: Wellhausen, Muhammed in Medina, p. 5. One of those who cite this passage is Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, pp. 162–163. Wellhausen expressed similar sentiments in similar language in a letter written toward the end of his life, 24 January 1914, to the Semitist, Theodor Nöldeke: see the excerpt quoted by Smend, “Israelitische und jüdische”, p. 41 and idem, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, p. 42. Indeed, already in his second letter to Justus Olshausen, of 18 February 1879, Wellhausen had voiced his fondness for the culture of the

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Wellhausen’s attachments, thus, to the study of Arabic and particularly to pre- and early Islamic history had a strong, even emotional base. But having recognized this, we must recall that the comparison with Arab antiquity is hardly in evidence in his major Old Testament studies. He remains there still the internal source critic, first and foremost dedicated to unraveling and making sense of the master text of the Bible. Did Wellhausen have any regrets about rejecting Assyriology and so the study of the broader ancient Near Eastern world out of which the Old Testament emerged? There is no surviving indication that he did. Certainly, when he decided to change his focus a second time, toward the end of the 1890’s, he did not go back to a reconsideration of Assyriology or Aramaic, but on to New Testament, in which, again, he could draw on earlier, solid training.104 Indeed, the evidence we have of Wellhausen’s attitude toward the Old Testament and the broader ancient Near East after he shifted to Arabic and then to New Testament is a somewhat ambiguous one. On the one hand, he could write, in 1893: “People are inclined to deal with the old questions over and over again and run the danger of landing finally in tendentiousness and boredom. It would do Old Testament scholarship good to enlarge its range somewhat, to attack new tasks, for example in the field of the lexicon, linguistics, and antiquities, and not become barren through isolation”.105 The “antiquities” referred to here are specified in a later statement, from his survey article on “Israelitisch-jüdische pre-Islamic Arabs as over against that of Islam (see above and n. 91). In the present passage, that differentiated feeling returns, but this time with the recognition that the study of Islam is a necessity, if only because its sources provide the principal avenue back to the pre-Islamic world. 104 Wellhausen’s commentaries/studies of various New Testament books began to appear in 1903, although he had earlier published short articles (e.g., above n. 7) or sections in other works that dealt with New Testament topics (especially, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, 1. Auflage, 1894, chapter 23). For a discussion of Wellhausen in the New Testament arena, see N. A. Dahl, “Wellhausen on the New Testament”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 89–110; more briefly, Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, pp. 34–40. 105 “Man ist zu geneigt, immer wieder die alten Fragen zu behandeln, und kommt dadurch in Gefahr, schliesslich in Tendenz und Langeweile hinein zu geraten. Es thäte der Alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft gut, wenn sie ihren Gesichtskreis etwas erweiterte, um neue Aufgaben, z.B. auf dem Gebiete des Lexikons, der Sprachgeschichte, der Antiquitäten, in Angriff zu nehmen, und um nicht durch Isolierung unfruchtbar zu werden”. From Wellhausen, in Friedrich Bleek, Einleitung in die Heilige Schrift. 6. Auflage (1893), p. 627; the English translation given here is that in Smend, “Julius Wellhausen and his Prolegomena”, p. 16.

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Religion”, published in 1905: “While formerly the Old Testament had to illuminate the rest of the ancient Orient, now it is the one to receive light from the newly discovered and deciphered Egyptian and Babylonian-Assyrian monuments. Israelite antiquity can no longer be isolated; it is too clear how closely it intersects on all sides with its nearer and farther surroundings”.106 Yet against such positive appreciations of the new information and fresh perspectives that the extra-Biblical sources from the ancient Near East could provide, there are cautionary, qualifying sentiments. That Wellhausen felt himself, in his Arabic years, removed from active concern with Assyriological scholarship is made clear in an evaluation he had to write (30 January 1894) of an Habilitation thesis concerned especially with several Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions, which was done at his University of Göttingen.107 In his evaluation he offers some minor comments about the presentation of the inscriptions and their ancient contexts, stating that “in this field (= Assyriology) I am not competent” (“da ich auf diesem Gebiet nicht kompetent bin”).108 He speaks with confidence, however, about Semitic philology, in which he finds the Habilitation writer woefully deficient, and goes on to make the general comment that Assyriology pursued without a firm grounding in Semitic philology would be “unscientific, unfruitful, and

106

“Während ehedem das Alte Testament den übrigen alten Orient beleuchten musste, empfängt es nunmehr auch selber Licht von den neu entdeckten und entzifferten ägyptischen und babylonisch-assyrischen Denkmälern. Das israelitische Altertum kann nicht mehr isoliert werden; man sieht zu deutlich, wie eng es auf allen Seiten mit der naheren und enfernteren Umgebung zusammenhängt”. From Wellhausen, “Israelitisch-jüdische Religion”, reprinted in idem, Grundrisse, p. 65. 107 The Habilitationsschrift was by Paul Rost, and the copy of Wellhausen’s evaluation, now in the University of Göttingen archives, I again owe to the kindness of Prof. Rudolf Smend. Prof. Smend also gave me a copy of a letter, presently in the possession of the Bewer family in Berlin, that Wellhausen wrote to his mother-in-law at the end of the same year in which he submitted his Rost evaluation, namely, 16 December 1894. In it, Wellhausen refers to Rost and his scholarly work in a similarly critical way, saying “that he knew nothing but cuneiform” (“dass er nichts als Keile kannte”) and even so, “I have declared myself, on the investigation of several competent Assyriologists, against his accreditation (i.e., approval of Rost’s Habilitationsschrift and so the Venia legendi, that is, permission to teach at a university level in his field)” (“grade auf Erkundigung bei einigen tüchtigen Assyriologen habe ich mich gegen seine Zulassung erklärt”). 108 See also Wellhausen’s comments about himself and Assyriology later, in his 22 October 1903 letter to Carl Bezold, above, n. 94.

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of Philistine/low-brow quality” (“unwissenschaftlich, unfruchtbar und banaus”).109 In this same period of the 1890’s, we also confront Wellhausen’s caution about comparisons between the Bible and other ancient Near Eastern cultures. Two episodes are highly instructive here, both involving Wellhausen’s reactions to the work of other German scholars. The first is his reaction to the publication of Hermann Gunkel’s 1895 volume, Schöpfung und Chaos in Urzeit und Endzeit, eine religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung über Gen 1 und Ap. Joh. 12.110 Gunkel’s volume, which devoted considerable attention to the relationship of the Babylonian creation myth, Enūma eliš, to the Biblical traditions, Old and New Testament, was destined, of course, to become a landmark in Biblical-Near Eastern comparative studies. But as soon as, if not before, its official publication, there is a letter (21 December 1894) from Wellhausen to the Church historian, Adolf (von) Harnack, in which he gives it a clear disapproval: “ ‘Schöpfung und Chaos’ is a telling title for the writing of its newcomer (to scholarship); chaos, however, prevails. The ability (here) to muster evidence is the weak side; in its place appears enthusiasm: the accidents (= the minor, less 109 Wellhausen makes this comment on the importance of Semitic philology to Assyriology, as he indicates, on the intervention of the Assyriologist, Friedrich Delitzsch, to whom he had turned for advice about Paul Rost’s work. As Wellhausen says in the preceding two sentences of his Rost evaluation, he had originally intended to award Rost the Venia legendi in Assyriology, but not in Semitic languages. But, he goes on, “But Delitzsch warned me urgently against doing so, and I must agree with him” (“Aber davon warnt mich Delitzsch dringend und ich muss ihm Recht geben”). That warning we can read in Delitzsch’s letter replying to Wellhausen’s request about Rost, dated 21 January 1894, thus nine days before Wellhausen dated his own evaluation of Rost. (Once more I thank Prof. Smend for sending me a copy of the letter.) In his letter, Delitzsch goes on at some length about the necessity of training in Semitic linguistics/philology and also ancient history in general (“allgemeine semitische sprach- und Altertumswissenschaft”) for all Assyriologists, which is unfortunately not emphasized, he says, in the current generation of Assyriological students unlike in his “older” generation. If Wellhausen, thus, was impelled by Delitzsch to take up this position about Semitic philology in his statement on Rost, clearly it would have been a statement he easily approved of. For his background and constant involvement lay with Semitic philology, even though at points he would state to others that he was not primarily a Semitist, but an historian, and that philology for him was “absolutely the obedient daughter to history” (“schlechterdings der Historia gehorsame Tochter”): Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, p. 47, quoting from a letter of Wellhausen to Theodor Noldeke, 11 July 1901; see further ahead n. 132. 110 Published in Göttingen, 1895. Recently, an English translation has appeared, carried out with an introduction, by K. W. Whitney Jr., Creation and Chaos in the Primeval Era and the Eschaton: A Religio-Historical Study of Genesis 1 and Revelation 12 (Grand Rapids, 2006).

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fundamental features of the ancient literature Gunkel investigates – P.M.) are sharply overvalued”.111 The severity of this judgment, as Werner Klatt observed,112 was explicitly moderated by Wellhausen a few years later (1899), in an essay he published on apocalyptic literature – but moderated, one must add, only partially. In that essay Wellhausen says: “From earlier knowledge, I had the impression that one could only object to (Schöpfung und Chaos). In a renewed reading . . . I find, to be sure, that he (= Gunkel) has made also good observations. All in all, however, (I) must remain with the objection . . . That also Babylonian material has been imported (into Biblical apocalyptic texts) must indeed be recognized . . . But why it is necessary and what purpose it serves to construct a formal Babylonian assembly room (= place or institution where Babylonian traditions were imported and used for the Biblical traditions – P.M.) can only be conceived of with difficulty. Gunkel claims everything that is possible and impossible as having originated from Babylon”.113 It will be noted from these comments about Gunkel’s Schöpfung that Wellhausen does not disavow comparative ancient Near Eastern work per se. Yet at the same time, he is clearly ambivalent, worried

111 “ ‘Schöpfung und Chaos’ ist ein bezeichnender Titel für die Schrift Ihres Novissimus; das Chaos aber überwiegt. Die Beweisführung is die schwache Seite; an ihre Stelle tritt der Enthusiasmus: Die Accidentien werden stark überschätzt . . .”. Cited in C. Hoffmann, Juden und Judentum im Werk deutscher Althistoriker des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts (Studies in Judaism in Modern Times 9; Leiden, 1988), pp. 160–161: n. 40, who apparently discovered the letter in the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek in Berlin. 112 W. Klatt, Hermann Gunkel. Zur seiner Theologie der Religionsgeschichte und zur Entstehung der formgeschichtlichen Methode (Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 100; Göttingen, 1969), p. 70, with pp. 70–74 on the whole Wellhausen-Gunkel encounter. 113 “Von fruherer Kenntnisnahme her hatte ich den Eindruck, dass dagegen nur zu protestiren sei. Bei erneutem Lesen, nachdem ich die Niederschrift meiner eigenen Auffassung von Apoc.12 bereits vollendet hatte, finde ich freilich, dass er doch auch gute Beobachtungen gemacht hat. Im Ganzen und Grossen muss es jedoch beim Proteste verbleiben. . . . Dass auch babylonisches Material importirt ist, muss ebenfalls anerkannt werden. . . . Wozu es aber nötig ist und wozu es dienen soll, eine formliche babylonische Reunionskammer einzurichten, lässt sich schwer begreifen. Gunkel reklamirt alles Mögliche und Unmögliche als aus Babylon entsprungen”. From Julius Wellhausen, “Zur apokalyptischen Literatur”, in idem, Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, VI. Heft (Berlin, 1899), pp. 225, 234; reprinted in part in K. Koch and J. M. Schmidt (eds.), Apokalyptik (Wege der Forschung 365; Darmstadt, 1982), pp. 58, 65. One should also note Gunkel’s extensive reply, “Aus Wellhausen’s neuesten apokalyptischen Forschungen. Einige principielle Erörterungen”, Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie NF 7 (1899), pp. 581–681, especially “III. Die ‘traditionsgeschichtliche’ Erklärung”, reprinted also in Koch and Schmidt, ibid., pp. 67–90.

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even, about how far to go with it in understanding Biblical texts. We are reminded of his warnings two decades earlier, when he was actively focused on Old Testament studies and looking seriously at Mesopotamia, about the over-eager Assyriologists. Yet unlike those earlier warnings, Wellhausen here seems unconcerned with the difficulties, especially in polyvalent sign values, impeding decipherment of the non-Biblical, that is, Babylonian sources; these difficulties, Wellhausen appears to be presuming and in this he would have been quite correct, were no longer the serious obstacle they once were. Rather, Wellhausen is now more focused on the interpretive question that he had earlier, but perhaps in a more limited way, expressed: how these Babylonian sources should figure into the understanding of the Biblical texts, which are, after all, the primary focus of the Biblical scholar. Gunkel, he argues, is too ready to look for Babylonian sources for the Biblical apocalyptic texts, both Old and especially New Testament, when the first order of business should be to examine the native Biblical textual tradition and to see if earlier Biblical texts make sense as the matrix for later ones. There is, to be sure, a Babylonian component in the Biblical apocalyptic tradition, but Gunkel, in Wellhausen’s view, has overplayed its importance. Even more than this, Gunkel has a misplaced focus on origins as the key to understanding – the problem, as Wellhausen puts it, of the Proton Pseudos. For Wellhausen, where material comes from in a given Biblical apocalyptic text and what the original meaning of that material was are not important, or at least are of secondary importance. What is primary is understanding what the present Biblical author of the apocalyptic text has done with the material he has inherited: what meaning he has created with the text.114 It is easy to see in these strictures against Schöpfung und Chaos a continuation of Wellhausen’s focus on the master written text as the central object of scholarly study, with cross-cultural comparisons being of secondary concern. The same orientation, but extended historically, may be found, during the same 1890’s period, in his reaction to the work of Eduard Meyer, a leading historian of Classical and Near Eastern antiquity; and it is significant that even before he had this controversy with Meyer, Wellhausen had put him and Gunkel together as pursuing an unbalanced emphasis on external cultural influences in

114 See Klatt, Hermann Gunkel, pp. 70–71; and Rudolph, “Wellhausen as Arabist”, pp. 120–121.

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their approach to Old Testament scholarship.115 The specific case with Meyer involved his 1896 book, Die Entstehung des Judenthums, which discussed the return of the Jewish exiles from Babylonia and their resettlement in Judah.116 Meyer had two main goals: to subject the Old Testament evidence to a close source-critical analysis that would establish, against some earlier critics, their historical worth at their core, especially for the Aramaic documents in the book of Ezra 4–7 relating to the Achaemenid Persian authorities; and to demonstrate from this analysis the fundamental role played by the ruling Achaemenid empire in the post-Exilic history of Judah and the Judaism that characterized it. Or as Meyer summarized: “thus the origins of Judaism are only to be understood as the product of the Persian empire” (“so ist die Entstehung des Judenthums nur zu begreifen als Product des

115 Wellhausen’s connection of the two scholars appears in his letter to Harnack of 21 December 1894, on pp. 513–514 above. His statement there that Gunkel “sharply overvalues” the “accidents” in discussing the Biblical traditions on creation is followed immediately by the note that Gunkel’s overvaluation is not as bad as that of Meyer, who, he observes, reviewed Gunkel’s book (favorably – P.M.) in the Allgemeine Zeitung (a newspaper from Munich – P.M.). Meyer, Wellhausen goes on, considers Egyptian, Babylonian, Assyrian, and Indian (i.e., classical Vedic India) religions more important in explaining the Biblical traditions than the Jewish, by which Wellhausen means the Biblical and Biblically connected literature from Old through New Testament. He concludes his comments by characterizing Meyer quite nastily: “he is a learned oaf and pedant, and despite his common sense is in no way original; he has slogans (collected) always from someone else”. (“E. Meyer hält uberhaupt die ägyptische, babylon., assyr., und indische Religion für viel wichtiger als die jüdische; er ist ein gelehrter Kaffer und Kulturpauker und trotz seinem gesunden Menschenverstande niemals original; er hat die Parole immer von jemand anders”.). An interesting point in Wellhausen’s connection of Meyer to Gunkel may be illuminated with the help of Werner Klatt’s study of the Wellhausen-Gunkel encounter (Klatt, Hermann Gunkel, p. 70 and n. 1). Klatt points out that Meyer’s review was indeed favorable to Gunkel’s Schöpfung book, Meyer calling it “a creation out of a chaos” (“aus einem Chaos eine Schöpfung”). Klatt also knows of Wellhausen’s opposite opinion of the book, that it was “chaos more than creation”, but he knows of this opinion only as an oral tradition, since he published his book on Gunkel before the discovery of Wellhausen’s letter to Harnack made by C. Hoffmann where, as we have seen, this opinion is stated. Now that we have the Harnack letter, we can view the whole situation more clearly. Wellhausen’s letter to Harnack being dated on 21 December 1894, it was written merely a week later than the appearance of Meyer’s review of Gunkel, which as Klatt notes was in the issue of the Allgemeine Zeitung for 13 December 1894. Thus, in telling Harnack that in Gunkel’s book chaos triumphed over creation, Wellhausen must have been punning negatively not only on the title of the book, but on the positive pun of Meyer on the book. Here too, therefore, we have a sign of the critical review Wellhausen would eventually write of Meyer himself. 116 E. Meyer, Die Entstehung des Judenthums. Eine historische Untersuchung (Halle, a.S., 1896).

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Perserreichs”).117 Wellhausen reacted to this book in a review that appeared a year later, in 1897.118 While he allowed that the documents in Ezra 4–7 rested on a certain historical base, he laid out a variety of particular complaints: about Meyer’s failure to treat, or treat adequately, inconsistencies and literary features of the Old Testament texts that made them not easy to use as historical data; about philological points that he argued Meyer had not handled correctly or well; about views Meyer put forward that he did not (sufficiently) explain had already been held by others, including Wellhausen. Underlying these particular criticisms was a broader and different view, which emerged at the end of his review, of how to treat the history of ancient Israel and Judaism. The review, all the more because it was written in a sharp, indeed, in places aggressive and hostile tone, hit Meyer hard, and he replied immediately with a long rebuttal, printed as a separate pamphlet because, as he noted, he could not persuade the journal in which Wellhausen’s review had appeared to publish his response.119 In his rebuttal, Meyer took on the particular points Wellhausen had raised, conceding the correctness or possibility of a few, but asserting that the others were incorrect or implausible or based on a misreading of his book. And he affirmed, also as a conclusion, but in a fuller and clearer way than Wellhausen, the differences in their broader views of the historical situation of ancient Israel/Judaism and how to approach it. Here is not the occasion to discuss the particular points over which Meyer and Wellhausen skirmished, nor to assess who was right and wrong about them or about their broader views. These have been considered in several reviews of the controversy that have appeared over the last several decades.120 But it is important to describe the clash 117

Ibid., p. 71. J. Wellhausen, “Review of E. Meyer, Die Entstehung des Judenthums. Eine historische Untersuchung”, Göttingische Geleherte Anzeigen 159 (1897), pp. 89–97. 119 E. Meyer, Julius Wellhausen und meine Schrift, Die Entstehung des Judenthums. Eine Erwiderung (Halle a.S., 1897). One example of Wellhausen’s sharp and aggressive tone in his review, is his characterization of a statement of Meyer as “silly” (“eine törichte Behauptung”): see n. 118, p. 96. For an even more hostile expression from another communication of Wellhausen, see above, n. 115. 120 A brief notice may be found in Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, p. 26. More extensive discussions appear in H. Liebeschutz, Das Judentum im deutschen Geschichtsbild von Hegel bis Max Weber (Schriftenreihe Wissenschaftlicher Abhandlungen des Leo Baeck Instituts 17; Tübingen, 1967), pp. 249, 276–280; Hoffmann, Juden und Judentum, pp. 159–165; F. Parente, “Die Entstehung des Judenthums: Persien, die Achämeniden und das Judentum in der Interpretation von Eduard Meyer”, in W. M. Calder III and A. Demandt (eds.), Eduard Meyer. Leben 118

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of broader views, because this relates directly to Wellhausen’s attitude toward the Bible and the ancient Near East. In the fashion made famous by Niebuhr and von Ranke, both Meyer and Wellhausen were agreed – though they were not so clear in acknowledging this agreement – that historical study requires as a first step close analysis of the relevant sources and determination of the facts they present without being guided by pre-existent theories.121 But for Meyer, an individual historical episode or the history of a particular people or culture can be understood only within the larger framework of history, ultimately universal history, in which it occurs. In the particular case of post-Exilic Judaism, as he put it, the Old Testament sources, on close analysis, show unequivocally the strong connection to the Achaemenid empire, and this requires that we study post-Exilic Judaism as part of the history of that empire, within which it originated, and not as an isolated, autonomous development within Israelite/Jewish tradition. Wellhausen, he argued, moved in the latter direction, with the Achaemenid-wide context in the background instead of the foreground. For Meyer, this was analogous to the school textbooks of the day on German and Prussian history, which discussed the wider European setting only when they had no choice and so offered no real historical understanding of the German or Prussian case.122 For Wellhausen, Meyer looked at matters backwards. It was not that he, Wellhausen, or others like him, ignored the wider contexts in which Israelite and Judaean/Jewish history took place; he said emphatically that he had not, recognizing, for example, the fundamental impact of the Assyrian empire on the individual national history of Israel and the origins of prophecy within it.123 But, averred Wellhausen, und Leistung eines Universalhistorikers (Mnemosyne Supplements 112; Leiden, 1990), pp. 329–343; and R. G. Kratz, “Die Entstehung des Judenthums. Zur Kontroverse zwischen E. Meyer und J. Wellhausen”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 95 (1998), pp. 167–184; reprinted in idem, Das Judentum im Zeitalter des Zweiten Tempels (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 42; Tübingen, 2004), pp. 6–22 (the Zeitschrift version is cited below). 121 See Parente, “Die Entstehung”, pp. 335–336. 122 Meyer, Die Entstehung, pp. 4–5; idem, Julius Wellhausen, p. 25. 123 The same point and similar language appeared several years earlier than the Meyer review, in a letter Wellhausen wrote to his mother-in-law on 16 December 1894 (see above, n. 107). The letter responded, it appears, to his mother-in-law’s query about the Assyriologist, Hugo Winckler, and to Winckler’s critical review of Wellhausen, which she and Wellhausen’s colleague, Rudolf Smend (senior), had brought to his attention. Winckler’s review was published in Die Zukunft 9 (1894), pp. 462–470, as Prof. Rudolf Smend (junior) kindly informs me, but unfortunately, it remains at the

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the understanding of Israelite and Judaean/Jewish history must move from within to without (“von innen heraus”), and Meyer was incorrect to reject that “exclusivity”, because present advances in historical understanding, including Meyer’s own work, were in fact dependent on it.124 What Wellhausen appears to mean here – and Kratz in particular has done an excellent job of teasing out the rather abbreviated, even elliptical formulation of Wellhausen’s critique of Meyer125 – is that one must look first to the inner dynamics of the development of Israelite/Judaean history, as revealed by the analysis of its internal sources, before one can go to the external historical contexts and the sources for them: the external, however important, are in a sense supplementary to the inner dynamics in historical understanding.126 Only in this way, Wellhausen implies, can the distinctiveness of Israelite/ Judaean history – and by extension, that of any other group – be grasped. Meyer’s approach, for Wellhausen, runs the very real risk of flattening out the particularities of human history in the quest for “universal” patterns. In sum, Wellhausen’s argument against Eduard Meyer reveals again his focus on the master text of the Old Testament and the need to understand its compositional development, but makes evident as well that that focus goes hand-in-hand with a focus first on the internal analysis of the culture, ancient Israel and Judah, from which this master text comes.

moment inaccessible to me. Yet a fair guess from Wellhausen’s response in his letter is that Winckler attacked Wellhausen’s recently published (1894) Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, arguing – as Eduard Meyer would later do – that Wellhausen had neglected in his book to consider adequately the wider ancient Near Eastern, especially Mesopotamian including Assyrian, context for Israelite history. Hence, Wellhausen’s rebuttal in the present letter, where he emphasizes his recognition of the importance of the Assyrian conquest of Israel “as the spiritual/intellectual turning point of Israelite history and therein the cause of the emergence of the major prophets” (“als den geistigen Wendepunkt der isr. Geschichte . . . und darin den Anlass des Auftretens der grossen Propheten . . .”.). It is this point and language that anticipate Wellhausen’s later critique and reaction to Meyer’s Die Entstehung des Judenthums, and echo also his reaction to Meyer’s too positive review of Gunkel’s Schöpfung book, in his letter to Harnack, written just shortly after the mother-in-law letter, on 21 December 1894. 124 Wellhausen, “Review of Meyer”, p. 96. 125 Kratz, “Die Entstehung”, pp. 177–181. See more briefly Liebeschutz, Das Judentum, p. 277, and recall Wellhausen’s remarks about Meyer’s pursuit of Egyptian, Babylonian, and other external influences as dominant factors on Israelite/Judaean history (above n. 115). 126 Recall also Wellhausen’s remarks about Meyer in his 1894 letter to Harnack, above, n. 115.

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The issues posed by Wellhausen’s encounters with Meyer and Gunkel are illuminated by one additional work, published in the same period, but a little before these encounters. This is Wellhausen’s Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, his last major volume on the Old Testament and ancient Israel, whose initial appearance in 1894 constituted, as we have noted, the long delayed sequel to his Geschichte Israels I/Prolegomena, providing the narrative history, especially political, of ancient Israel to virtually the end of the Second Temple period. What is immediately obvious about it is that for the period of ancient Israel it is a narrative written essentially out of the Old Testament, and follows therewith the internal dynamics of Israelite history as Wellhausen understood this to develop into post-Exilic Judaism. Once more, therefore, we are in the presence of the Old Testament as master text and of the focus on writing the history of Israel “from the inside out”. Indeed, the Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte was criticized by Eduard Meyer himself for this “inside out” approach, in his rebuttal of Wellhausen’s critique of his own book.127 Even so, it still comes as a shock that Wellhausen’s Israelitische . . . Geschichte has hardly any reference to the, by the 1890’s, burgeoning discoveries from the ancient Near East and the scholarship on them.128 One could have expected that having completed his study of the source-critical foundations of the Old Testament master text, in such earlier works as “Die Composition des Hexateuchs” and especially the Geschichte Israels I/Prolegomena, Wellhausen would now have allowed himself in his Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte at least some treatment of extra-Biblical sources to accompany his focus on the Bible as the master source and Israelite history “from the inside out”. After all, it was these extra-Biblical sources and the wider history they reflected whose relevance to the Bible, as we have seen, Wellhausen never denied, indeed affirmed, even in the midst of his critiques of Meyer and Gunkel. The barest of nods, therefore, to the ancient Near East in Wellhausen’s new Israelitische . . . Geschichte is not easy to explain. Perhaps the task of integrating the new discoveries

127

Meyer, Julius Wellhausen, p. 26. One can find, to be sure, very occasional and very brief notes, thus in the 4. Auflage of 1901, p. 29: n. 1, where the Akkadian word, tērtu, is mentioned in the course of a discussion of Biblical Hebrew words for seer and the like. Wellhausen can also refer to sources putatively preserved by the Second Temple Jewish historian, Josephus, so on pp. 82–83, n. 3, to Josephus’ citation of the annals of the Phoenician city of Tyre. But such notes Wellhausen does not really develop into substantive treatments. 128

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was too great, requiring a level of effort that he could not make and resources in fields that he had not really kept up with after he turned to Arabic and then New Testament. So while he obviously wanted to make good on his long delayed promise of something like a Geschichte Israels II, in the end he remained with his established focus on master text and inside-out history, producing a volume that was in essence an elaboration of the sketches of Israelite history he had worked out toward the end of his Old Testament period, in the late 1870’s/beginning of the 1880’s.129 And yet having done so, he was clearly not finished with the matter, for the appearance of his critical reviews of Gunkel and Meyer, not long after his Israelitische . . . Geschichte, suggests that he continued to think about and felt the need even to defend his work and the approach therein in the face of new studies of the impact of the ancient Near East on the Israelite world.130

129

See n. 29, especially Smend’s essay mentioned there, “Israelitische und jüdische”. I would mention one further indication that the latter 1890’s were for Wellhausen a time of some reflection on the Old Testament and the ancient Near East. This is a review that Wellhausen published in the Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 159 (1897), pp. 608–616, thus in the same year and in the very same journal as his review of Meyer’s Entstehung. The additional review addresses a book by the ancient Near Eastern scholar, Fritz Hommel, Die altisraelitische Ueberlieferung in inschriftlicher Beleuchtung. Hommel’s book attempts to marshal a variety of ancient Near Eastern evidence to demonstrate that the historical-source-critical analysis of the Pentateuch is fundamentally flawed, and that the texts of the Pentateuch, really the Hexateuch, are largely early in date and so reliable sources for the understanding of Israelite, especially early Israelite history. Wellhausen presents a very long summary of the book, whose neutral reporting of Hommel’s many and varied points gives an ironical preparation for the shorter, but often withering critique that follows. In the latter, Wellhausen remarks on the often naive, confused, and even caricatured way in which, as he argues, Hommel brings the extra-Biblical ancient Near Eastern sources and the Biblical texts together to reconstruct, in particular, the early religion of Israel. But for all that, Wellhausen by no means dismisses the importance of these ancient Near Eastern texts. As he remarks at one point, “Beyond doubt is the widespread influence of Babylonian culture already from high antiquity” (“Der schon im hohen Alterthum weit verbreitete Einfluss der babylonischen Cultur steht ausser Zweifel” – Review of Hommel, ibid., pp. 615–616). What he is concerned about, rather, is a method of historical analysis that, as in Hommel’s hands, neglects or rides roughshod over a careful, systematic internal critique of the sources, in this instance the Old Testament and, given Hommel’s focus, first and foremost the Pentateuch/Hexateuch. We are thus here in familiar Wellhausian territory. 130

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Wellhausen and Assyriology, in sum, make up a complicated story and relationship. At minimum, it should now be clear, Assyriology and the rest of the ancient Near Eastern world beyond the Old Testament were not a matter of ignorance or indifference to Wellhausen. Indeed, he had read enough into Assyriological scholarship in its formative years through the 1870’s to understand remarkably well what its gains had been, what its present problems and challenges, and what its future could hold, including its connections to the study of Israelite history and culture. That he only very partially followed out these connections in his Old Testament scholarship appears to have been essentially a matter of deliberate choice – a case, to use the language of the American poet, Robert Frost, of “the road not taken . . . . And that has made all the difference”.131 Wellhausen’s choice, as we have explored it, was based on his convictions about the primary place of a trio of interrelated concerns: the master written texts in reconstructing a community’s history, the work he felt still had to be done on these texts, and the internal dynamics of a community’s development to which these texts pointed. Not to be forgotten, either, in his choice were the practical considerations he confronted in training, experience, and personal situation. And when in his later career, he might have had a chance to do more in matters Assyriological and, generally, ancient Near Eastern, these earlier convictions and considerations continued to hold him back, aggravated, probably, by the fact that by then he had long invested his energies in other fields of research. The story just related, of course, has significance well beyond the understanding of Wellhausen’s own scholarly career and contributions. For it points to the fundamental issue of how to read the Old Testament, and other texts like it that have had a long and complicated history of composition and come to assume an important, if not dominant status in the cultures in which they originated and were received. Specifically, should we focus on these texts themselves, paying attention to their structure, rhetoric, themes, and world-views, and, where possible, the changes in these features over the course of the texts’

131 From his well-known poem, “The Road Not Taken”. The poem, first published in 1916, has often been reprinted, and is available on line, e.g., at http://en.wikisource .org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken.

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compositional histories? Or should we read them against the wider contexts in which they originated and were received, paying attention to other sources, textual and non-textual and from contiguous and even non-contiguous cultures, that could help to clarify levels and kinds of meaning and impact that an internal reading could not do? Wellhausen confronted these alternatives, it needs to be emphasized, pre-eminently as an historian, and a historian of written sources – a perspective that he carried as well into the rest of his scholarship outside of the Old Testament.132 To be sure, his published studies extend to literary, theological, and text-critical matters, but all of these were for the ultimate purpose of getting the Old Testament into shape, so to speak, so that it could be used as the master source for the reconstruction of Israelite history and culture. Now the debate over internal and external analysis runs through many other fields besides historical research; and it is a measure of Wellhausen’s achievement that his work has contributed, often in a major way, to energizing and shaping this debate and surrounding issues in subsequent generations of Old Testament and related scholarship, whether the scholars have understood themselves as historians, literary critics, theologians, or the like. The particularities of this later debate cannot be examined here.133

132 See, e.g., Kratz, “Die Entstehung”, pp. 181–184; and more generally on Wellhausen as historian, Boschwitz, Julius Wellhausen; Liebeschutz, Das Judentum, pp. 245–268; Smend, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher, pp. 45–53; and Rudolph, “Wellhausen as Arabist”, pp. 116–117. Of course, historical study, as we have seen, involved for Wellhausen, as it did for many of his contemporaries, a strong connection with philology and the understanding of religion (see n. 109). But the historical impression he made is perhaps most acutely captured in the remark of the great Roman historian, Theodor Mommsen, on reading Wellhausen’s Geschichte Israels, I, which he had received shortly after its publication from his son-in-law, Ulrich von WilamowitzMoellendorff, who was, one will recall, Wellhausen’s colleague and friend: “I forgot yesterday to tell you with what great pleasure I am reading Wellhausen’s book. This really (offers) an historical conception, and even one who is far from the things (treated in it) gains an insight into a process that stands in ancient and modern times probably without parallel, and (in terms of ) its product, this puzzling Judaism, is yet made to some degree understandable” (“Ich vergass Dir gestern zu sagen, mit welcher grosser Freude ich Wellhausens Buch lese; das ist wirklich geschichtliche Auffassung, und auch wer den Dingen fern steht, gewinnt Einblick in einen Prozess, der in alten und in neuen Zeiten wohl ohne Beispiel dasteht und als dessen Produkt dieses rätselhafte Judentum doch einigermassen begreiflich wird”), (cited in Smend, ibid., p. 8, who in turn refers to the publication of the letter in W. M. Calder III and R. Kirstein [eds.], “Aus dem Freund ein Sohn”. Briefwechsel 1872–1903. Theodor Mommsen und Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, I [Hildesheim, 2003], pp. 82–83). 133 The following is a highly selective and idiosyncratic sampling from a larger literature, some explicitly acknowledging, others implicitly related to Wellhausen’s work:

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But one implication of it is reasonably clear and may stand as the conclusion to the present study: we should not have to choose between the alternatives that Wellhausen and various of his contemporaries and successors faced. Both internal analysis of the source on its own terms and external, comparative examination, putting the source in its wider contexts, are essential, played off constantly one with the other. The reason is simple: only in this combined way do we really have a chance at mining the range of significance the Old Testament offers both as an artifact of Israelite and Jewish antiquity and as an enduring witness to the human struggle to make sense of the world and the divine.134

the controversy and publications surrounding the “Babel-Bibel” lectures and publications of Friedrich Delitzsch on the influence of Mesopotamia on the Old Testament and ancient Israel (1902–1905), which have been reviewed especially by Johanning, Der Bibel-Babel-Streit, and R. Lehmann, Friedrich Delitzsch und der Babel-BibelStreit (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 113; Freiburg – Göttingen, 1994); B. Landsberger, “Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt”, Islamica 2 (1926), pp. 355–372, reprinted in book form with an essay by Wolfram von Soden (Darmstadt, 1965), pp. 1–19 and translated into English by Thorkild Jacobsen, Benjamin R. Foster, and H von Siebenthal as The Conceptual Autonomy of the Babylonian World (Monographs on the Ancient Near East 1/4; Malibu, 1976); Baumgartner, “Wellhausen und der heutige Stand”; E. W. Nicholson, “Covenant in a Century of Study Since Wellhausen”, in J. C. de Moor et al., Crises and Perspectives. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Polytheism, Biblical Theology, Palestinian Archaeology, and Intertestamental Literature. Papers Read at the Joint British-Dutch Old Testament Conference, held at Cambridge, 1985 (Oudtestamentische Studien 24; Leiden, 1986), pp. 54–69; and idem, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford – New York, 1998). 134 Cf. Kratz, “Die Entstehung”, pp. 182–183.

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(London, 1857; republished in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 18 [1861], pp. 150–219). H. C. Rawlinson, E. Norris, G. Smith and Th. Pinches, The Cuneiform Inscriptions from Western Asia, I–V (London, 1861–1884). J. Renger, “Die Geschichte der Altorientalistik und der vorderasiatischen Archäologie in Berlin von 1875 bis 1945”, in W. Arenhovel and C. Schreiber (eds.), Berlin und die Antike: Aufsätze (Berlin, 1979), pp. 151–192. ——, “Ernst Herzfeld in Context: Gleanings from His Personnel File and Other Sources”, in A. C. Gunter and S. R. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the Development of Near Eastern Studies, 1900–1950 (Leiden – Boston, 2005), pp. 561–582. J. Rogerson, Old Testament Criticism in the Nineteenth Century: England and Germany (Philadelphia, 1985). ——, “Wellhausen and Robertson Smith as Sociologists of Early Arabia and Ancient Israel”, Journal of Scottish Thought 1,2 (2008), pp. 53–61. K. Rudolph, “Wellhausen as an Arabist”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 111–155. H. W. F. Saggs, The Might That Was Assyria (New York, 1984). A. H. Sayce, An Assyrian Grammar for comparative purposes (London, 1872). ——, An Elementary Grammar, with full syllabary and progressive reading book, of the Assyrian Language in the cuneiform type (2nd ed.; London, 1875). U. Schindel, “C. G. Heyne”, in W. W. Briggs and W. M. Calder III (eds.), Classical Scholarship. A Biographical Encyclopedia (New York, 1990), pp. 176–182. E. Schrader, “Die Basis der Entzifferung der assyrisch-babylonischen Keilinschriften”, ZDMG 23 (1869), pp. 337–374. ——, “Die assyrisch-babylonischen Keilinschriften: kritische Untersuchung der Grundlagen ihrer Entzifferung”, ZDMG 26 (1872), pp. 1–392. ——, Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament (Giessen, 1872; 2. Auflage, mit einem Beitrag von P. Haupt, Giessen, 1883; 3. Auflage, mit H. Winckler und H. Zimmern, Berlin, 1903. English translation of the 2nd ed. by O. C. Whitehouse, The Cuneiform Inscriptions and the Old Testament, I–II [London, 1885–1888]). ——, Die Hollenfahrt der Ištar. Ein altbabylonisches Epos, nebst Proben assyrischer Lyrik (Giessen, 1874). ——, Keilinschriften und Geschichtsforschung. Ein Beitrag zur monumentalen Geographie, Geschichte und Chronologie der Assyrer (Giessen, 1878). E. Schwarz, “Julius Wellhausen”, in his Gesammelte Schriften, Bd. I. Vergangene Gegenwärtigkeiten (Berlin, 1938), pp. 326–361, reprinted with the omission of the Beilage, from the Nachrichten von der Kgl. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Geschäftliche Mitteilungen 1918, pp. 43–70. T. Seidensticker, “Julius Wellhausen und das ‘arabische Heidentum’ ”, in M. Kessler and M. Wallraff (eds.), Biblische Theologie, pp. 303–313. J. Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible. Tradition, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton, 2005). L. H. Silberman, “Wellhausen and Judaism”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 75–82. R. Simon, Histoire critique du Vieux Testament (Paris, 1678). R. Smend, “Wellhausen in Greifswald”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 78 (1981), pp. 141–176; reprinted with some minor changes from the original publication in idem, Bibel, Theologie, Universität (Göttingen, 1997), pp. 135–165, 253–256. ——, “Julius Wellhausen and His Prolegomena to the History of Israel”, Semeia 25 (1983), pp. 1–20. ——, “Wellhausen und das Judentum”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 79 (1982), pp. 253–257. ——, “Wellhausen in Göttingen”, in B. Moeller (ed.), Theologie in Göttingen. Eine Vorlesungsreihe (Göttingern Universitätsschriften Serie A/Band 1; Göttingen, 1987), pp. 306–324. ——, “Julius Wellhausen, 1844–1918”, reprinted in idem, Deutsche Alttestamentler in drei Jahrhunderten (Göttingen, 1989), pp. 99–113, 308–309, and translated

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into English in idem, From Astruc to Zimmerli. Old Testament in Three Centuries (Göttingen, 2007), pp. 91–102. ——, “Wellhausen und die Kirche”, in K. Aland and S. Meurer (eds.), Wissenschaft und Kirche. Festschrift für Eduard Lohse (Bielefeld, 1989), pp. 225–231. ——, “Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte. Zur Entstehung von Julius Wellhausens Buch”, in H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger and P. Schäfer (eds.), Geschichte-TraditionReflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, I (Tübingen, 1996), pp. 35–42. ——, “Der Alttestamentler Julius Wellhausen und Wilamowitz”, in W. M. Calder III, M. C. Dubischar, M. Hose and G. Vogt-Spira (eds.), Wilamowitz in Greifswald (Spudasmata 81; Hildesheim – Zurich – New York, 2000), pp. 207–211. ——, Julius Wellhausen. Ein Bahnbrecher in drei Disziplinen (Carl Friedrich von Siemens Stiftung, Themen 84; Munich, 2006). G. Smith, History of Assurbanipal, translated from the cuneiform inscriptions (London, 1871). ——, “The Chaldean Account of the Deluge”, Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 2 (1873), pp. 213–234. ——, “The Eleventh Tablet of the Izdubar Legends. The Chaldean Account of the Deluge”, Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 3 (1874), pp. 530–596. ——, The Chaldean Account of Genesis. Containing the Description of the Creation, the Fall of Man, the Deluge, the Tower of Babel, the Times of the Patriarchs, and Nimrod; Babylonian Fables, and Legends of the Gods, from the Cuneiform Inscriptions (London, 1876). ——, History of Sennacherib, translated from the cuneiform inscriptions (edited by A. H. Sayce; London, 1878). G. G. Stroumsa, “Homeros Hebraios: Homère et la Bible aux origines de la culture européenne (17e–18 siecles)”, in M. A. Amir-Moezzi and J. Scheid (eds.), L’Orient dans l’histoire religieuse de l’Europe (Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Sciences religieuses 110; Turnhout, 2000), pp. 87–100. J. van Ess, “From Wellhausen to Becker: The Emergence of Kulturgeschichte in Islamic Studies”, in M. H. Kerr (ed.), Islamic Studies: A Tradition and Its Problems. Seventh Giorgio Levi della Vida Biennial Conference April 27–29, 1979 (Malibu, 1980), pp. 27–51. J. Van Seters, The Edited Bible. The Curious History of the “Editor” in Biblical Criticism (Winona Lake, 2008). A. Wasserstein and D. J. Wasserstein, The Legend of the Septuagint. From Classical Antiquity to Today (Cambridge, 2006). J. Wellhausen, De gentibus et familiis Judaeis quae 1.Chr. 2.4 enumerantur (Göttingen, 1870). Hebrew translation by L. Ullmann with preface and notes by G. Galil, Mishpeḥ ot Yehudah, she-nimnu be-Sefer Divre-Hay-Yamim I, 2, 4 (“Kuntresim” – Texts and Studies 63; Jerusalem, 1985). ——, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis untersucht (Göttingen, 1871). ——, Die Pharisäer und die Sadducäer. Eine Untersuchung zur inneren jüdischen Geschichte (Greifswald, 1874). English translation by M. E. Biddle as The Pharisees and the Sadducees. An Examination of Internal Jewish History (Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, GA, 2001). ——, “Die Zeitrechnung des Buchs der Könige seit der Theilung des Reichs”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 20 (1875), pp. 607–640; “Berechtigung”, 21 (1876), p. 151. ——, “Ueber den bisherigen Gang und den gegenwärtigen Stand der Keilentzifferung”, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 31 (1876), pp. 153–175. ——, “Review of Alfred von Gutschmid, Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte des alten Orients. Die Assyriologie in Deutschland”, Theologische Literaturzeitung 1 (1876), pp. 534–538.

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——, “Review of G. Smith, The Assyrian Eponym Canon”, Theologische Literaturzeitung 1 (1876), pp. 539–541. ——, “Die Composition des Hexateuchs”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 21 (1876), pp. 392–450, 531–602; 22 (1877), pp. 407–479, later reissued, unchanged, as a volume: Skizzen und Vorarbeiten. 2. Heft. Die Composition des Hexateuchs (Berlin, 1885), and then with additions as Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (Berlin, 1889). ——, “Review of W. W. Graf Baudissin, Studien zur semitischen Religionsgeschichte, Heft I”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 139 (1877), pp. 185–192. ——, Geschichte Israels, in zwei Bänden. Erster Band (Berlin, 1878). ——, “Zu Matthai 27, 3–10”, Jahrbücher für Deutsche Theologie 23 (1878), pp. 471–472. ——, “Review of W. W. Graf Baudissin, Studien zur semitischen Religionsgeschichte, Heft II”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 141 (1879), pp. 106–111. ——, Muhammed in Medina. Das ist Vakidi’s Kitab alMaghazi in verkürzter deutscher Wiedergabe herausgegeben (Berlin, 1882). ——, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels. 2. Ausgabe (Berlin, 1883). English translation by J. S. Black and A. Menzies, with preface by W. Robertson Smith, Prolegomena to the History of Israel with a reprint of the article Israel from the “Encyclopaedia Britannica” (Edinburgh, 1885). ——, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (Berlin, 1889). ——, Skizzen und Vorabeiten. 5. Heft. Die kleinen Propheten übersetzt, mit Noten (Berlin, 1892; 2. Auflage, 1893; 3. Ausgabe, Die kleinen Propheten übersetzt und erklärt, 1898). ——, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte (Berlin, 1894). ——, The Book of Psalms . . . Part 14 of The Sacred Books of the Old Testament. A Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text printed in colors, with notes (ed. P. Haupt; Leipzig – Baltimore – London, 1895); revised and enlarged ed. (London – New York, 1898). ——, “Review of E. Meyer, Die Entstehung des Judenthums. Eine historische Untersuchung”, Göttingische Geleherte Anzeigen 159 (1897), pp. 89–97. ——, “Review of F. Hommel, Die altisraelitische Ueberlieferung in inschriftlicher Beleuchtung”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 159 (1897), pp. 608–616. ——, “Zur apokalyptischen Literatur”, in idem, Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, VI. Heft (Berlin, 1899), pp. 215–249. ——, “Zwei Rechtsriten bei den Hebräern”, Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 7 (1904), pp. 33–41. ——, “Israelitisch-jüdische Religion”, in P. Hinneberg (ed.), Geschichte der christlichen Religion (Die Kultur der Gegenwart, I/IV, 1; Berlin – Leipzig, 1905; 2nd ed., 1909), pp. 1–40 (1st ed.), pp. 1–41 (2nd ed.). ——, “Review of W. Popper, Abu lMahasin Ibn Taghri Birdi’s Annals”, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 173 (1911), pp. 469–471. ——, “Zum Koran”, ZDMG 67 (1913), pp. 630–634. ——, Grundrisse zum Alten Testament (ed. R. Smend; Theologische Bücherei 27; Munich, 1965). U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Homerische Untersuchungen (Berlin, 1884). ——, Erinnerungen, 1848–1914 (2nd ed.; Leipzig, 1928). ——, A History of Classical Scholarship (translated by A. Harris, with introduction and notes by H. Lloyd-Jones; London, 1982). ——, “Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff ”, in the German Wikipedia, http://de .wikipedia.org/Ulrich von-Wilamowitz-Moellendorff. F. A. Wolf, Prolegomena to Homer (translated with introduction and notes by A. Grafton, G. W. Most and J. E. G. Zetzel; Princeton, 1985).

RAMESES II AND THE EXODUS: A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

Eugene H. Merrill Dallas Theological Seminary, Dallas, Texas

I. Introduction Perhaps no issue pertaining to the Bible has undergone more scholarly and popular scrutiny than the historicity, date, and significance of the Exodus. This is because the Exodus, like no other event in ancient Israel’s history, marks off the nation’s uniqueness as the people of the Lord and is therefore foundational to Israel’s very raison d’être.1 The Church also sees in the Exodus the prototype of redemption from sin and death afforded in the coming of Jesus Christ and therefore it too has a stake in the historical reality of what transpired at the Reed Sea.2 Notwithstanding the importance of the Exodus to these faith communities, the enormous volume of literature on the subject that continues to pour off the presses will still inevitably prompt the question, What more can be said on any aspect of the topic? Has not a consensus emerged over the years among those who accept its fundamental historicity that the biblical tradition3 points squarely to a 13th century B.C.E. setting and to Rameses II as the pharaoh of the oppression,4

1 J. D. Levenson, The Hebrew Bible, the Old Testament, and Historical Criticism (Louisville, 1993), p. 159. 2 B. K. Waltke, A Theology of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 2007), pp. 392–393. 3 The term “tradition” is chosen carefully to reflect the reading and interpretation of biblical narratives as they stand in their final Second Temple canonical form. The term is neutral as to whether or not the events they record are in fact to be accorded historical reliability although this writer takes them very seriously as such. This study in particular is an attempt to discern whether or not the exodus tradition – apart from extra-biblical considerations – accommodates the consensus of a Rameses II oppression and/or Exodus pharaoh. 4 M. Noth, The History of Israel (New York, 1960), p. 118.

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of the Exodus,5 or both?6 If ever a datum of Israel’s past has been confirmed once and for all, this one certainly seems beyond the need of further proof. The purpose of this paper is not to engage in matters such as the identity of the various pharaohs of the early chapters of Exodus, the date of the Exodus, or even the historical factuality of the recorded events. This I have done elsewhere.7 Rather, the focus is on reading a familiar narrative in a fresh way, with no preconceived ideas as to how it should be read in terms of commonly accepted interpretive traditions, extra-biblical clarification or corroboration (or lack thereof ), or assumptions about the fundamental nature of the text itself. This is subsidiary to a larger intention, namely, to urge readers of biblical narrative texts in general to do so skillfully, allowing these texts to speak for themselves. Whether they reflect actual historical reality or not is not the issue here. What is important is that texts be allowed to tell their own stories and that readers who engage them interact with those stories with artfulness and sensitivity as to what the putative authors or editors are attempting to communicate. With respect to the topic at hand, I propose at the outset that the kind of reading of the exodus account I have just advocated disallows Rameses II from being either the pharaoh of the oppression(s) or the pharaoh of the Exodus. A case for this time-honored identity will have to be made on grounds other than the biblical record.8 Our approach will be (1) to locate the canonical setting and the Bible’s own historical background of the three major parts of the larger narrative (namely, the oppression, the Moses birth narrative, and the Exodus); (2) to address traditional understandings based on the interpretation of extra-biblical sources; and (3) to demonstrate that the biblical portrayal is at odds with the consensus model. To offer alternative proposals as to the identities of the various pharaohs and the chronology that supports those identities lies outside the intention of this paper.

5

W. F. Albright, From the Stone Age to Christianity (Garden City, NY, 1957), p. 13. J. Bright, A History of Israel (3rd ed.; Philadelphia, 1981), pp. 114, 124. 7 E. H. Merrill, Kingdom of Priests: A History of Old Testament Israel (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids, 2008), pp. 73–92. 8 Since the Bible only occasionally provides chronological benchmarks against which dates may be set, especially for the pre-monarchic period (though see for the Exodus Judg 11:26 and 1 Kgs 6:1), it follows that the biblical account must otherwise be checked against Egyptian and other inscriptional and artifactual data that illuminate the 13th century framework within which the consensus view operates. 6

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II. Rereading Biblical Texts: The Exodus Narrative as a Case in Point Before looking at the Exodus narratives themselves, it will be useful to comment briefly on the subject of text-reading as a whole, particularly in biblical literature. Modern literary and rhetorical strategies of reading biblical texts have made clear by contrast the fact that past generations of readers of these texts generally and habitually read past or around or through them without having carefully employed what may be called “close reading” techniques, including among others such features as characterization, type-scenes, convention, repetition, plotting, structure, inter-textuality, and the like.9 The benefits of these new approaches have become clear from their application to all varieties of biblical literature but most especially to narrative. The account of central interest to us here, that of the Exodus, exists in both narrative (Ex 13:17–14:31) and poetic (Ex 15:1–21) forms, whereas the stories leading up to it – the oppression of Israel (1:1–14), Moses’ birth and deliverance (1:15–2:10), Moses’ exile (2:11–4:31), the signs and plagues (5:1–12:42), and instructions for the Passover (12:43–13:16) – constitute a single unbroken narrative that provides the setting and rationale for the momentous and mighty act of God’s redemption.10 It is this narrative that recounts the cruel enslavement of Israel by a tyrannical king who, it seems, confronts Moses in a contest of wills, and who reluctantly releases the Hebrew people only to have a change of heart and decide to bring them back. As we have already noted, scholarly consensus by and large proposes three possible scenarios for the background of the biblical events: (1) that Rameses II (1279–1213 B.C.E.) was the sole king of the

9 See inter alia R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York, 1981); Y. Amit, Reading Biblical Narratives. Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, 2001); S. Bar-Ephrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (London, 2004); A. Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield, 1983); J. P. Fokkelman, Reading Biblical Narrative: an Introductory Guide (Louisville, 1999); N. Frye, The Great Code: The Bible and Literature (New York, 1982); D. M. Gunn and D. N. Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford, 1993); E. Kenneth and R. R. Gros Louis, Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives, II (Nashville, 1982); H. Y. Lee, From History to Narrative Hermeneutics (New York, 2004); S. L. McKenzie and S. R. Haynes (eds.), To Each Its Own Meaning (Louisville, 1999); M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington, IN, 1985); J. T. Walsh, Style and Structure in Biblical Narrative (Collegeville, MN, 2001). 10 For a literary and form critical analysis of this section of Exodus, see G. W. Coats, Exodus 1–18 (FOTL, II/A; Grand Rapids, 1999).

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oppression story or (2) that he was the pharaoh of the Exodus, or (3) that he was both the oppressor and the Exodus pharaoh.11 A fourth view is that Merneptah, son of Rameses, was pharaoh of the Exodus.12 As to (1), it must be he “who did not know Joseph” (Ex 1:8); he who set about pressing the Hebrews into slave labor, including the building of a city named for himself (1:11); he who issued the infamous decree of infanticide that nearly cost baby Moses his life (1:16); he from whom Moses fled (2:15); and he whose death allowed Moses to return safely to Egypt (2:23; 4:19).13 As for (2), if Rameses is the pharaoh of the Exodus (as is commonly held), he suffered the plagues (8:1–10:29), including the death of his first-born son in the tenth plague (12:29); and he pursued Israel into the Reed Sea (14:8). As we shall demonstrate, the text as it exists (the only one we have) can accommodate Rameses (or any other single ruler) as the Egyptian protagonist in either the oppression or Exodus phase (or both) only by choosing one or more of the following options: 1. The pharaoh of the oppressions and the pharaoh of the Exodus are one and the same. 2. The pharaoh of the original oppression (Ex 1:8–11) built the cities of Pithom and Raamses and was furthermore responsible for the next two phases of oppression, namely, the burden of increased slave labor (vv. 2–14) and the edict of infanticide (vv. 15–22). 3. The pharaoh of the Exodus and the pharaoh of the signs and plagues are one and the same.

11 De Vaux, strangely enough, argues that Rameses was the king referred to in both episodes. R. de Vaux, The Early History of Israel (Philadelphia, 1978). He maintains that the biblical tradition “enables us to name the pharaoh who oppressed the Israelites as Rameses II” (p. 325) and yet proposes that “The exodus took place later than the accession of Rameses II to the throne in 1290 B.C.” (p. 389). Such a view ignores completely the events preceding the birth of Moses to say nothing of Moses being 40 years old by the time the king died. De Vaux does try to circumvent the problem by maintaining that the Moses birth narrative is from a separate, earlier source (pp. 324–325), but this clearly smacks of begging the question. 12 H. H. Rowley, From Joseph to Joshua (London, 1950), pp. 137–138. 13 This latter point is so vexatious that de Vaux dates the Exodus to the time of Rameses’ successor, Mernepthah (pp. 390–391). As we shall see, this only compounds the problem.

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III. The Oppression Narrative 1. The Canonical Historical Setting of the Oppression Narrative The Hebrew name of the book of Exodus (‫ וְ ֵא ֶלּה ְשׁמוֹת‬,‫ )שמות‬ties it immediately to the patriarchal narratives of Genesis and the fulfillment of the blessing of burgeoning population in a foreign land (Gen 15:12–16; cf. Ex 1:7). This increase in numbers and influence prompted a crisis of insecurity on the part of the Egyptian government (that is, the king) resulting in the oppression of the Hebrews long after Joseph had been forgotten (or at least was no longer viewed favorably), (Ex 1:8). This heavy-handed policy included the reduction of the Hebrews to compulsory hard labor on building projects such as the construction of the garrison cities Pithom and Raamses (v. 11). However, the more the affliction the more the Hebrew population increased until it was determined that the only “final solution” was the extermination of baby boys, a fate Moses escaped thanks to the intervention of Pharaoh’s daughter (Ex 1:22–2:10). 2. A Close Reading of the Oppression Narrative in Light of Ancient Egyptian History At the outset it is apparent that the “new king” who did not “know” Joseph is the same king who instigated the oppression of the Hebrew people.14 The wa-yiqtol that introduces v. 9 grammatically and syntactically demands the same subject. As Childs observes, “The writer describes the king simply as “new”, and he is immediately seen addressing ‘his people’ ”.15 Verse 10 goes on to note that the pharaoh, concerned about the increasing numbers of what he perceived to be a restive element in the land, worried that they might ally themselves

14 Opinions as to his identity have ranged from an unknown Hyksos king to Amosis of Dynasty 18 to Rameses II himself. See, respectively, W. C. Kaiser, Jr., A History of Israel (Nashville, 1998), pp. 79–80; T. H. Robinson, A History of Israel, I (Oxford, 1932), p. 64; thus implicitly de Vaux, The Early History of Israel, pp. 324–325. The description “new” king, if it implies a new dynasty, eliminates Rameses II, the third ruler of Dynasty 19, from consideration. Thus J. I. Durham, Exodus (WBC 3; Waco, TX, 1987), p. 7. 15 B. S. Childs, The Book of Exodus (OTL; Philadelphia, 1974), p. 15.

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with like-minded enemies of Egypt and “go up from the land”.16 Despised as they were, the economic benefit the Hebrews could bring to Egypt outweighed their potential threat. The king “who did not know Joseph” (as the narrative compels us to believe) thus set them to the onerous task of conscripted labor on behalf of the state, hoping thereby to quell their militancy and at the same time make good use of their service. Often overlooked is the passing of time reflected in the observation that “the more [the Hebrews] were oppressed, the more they increased and spread out” (v. 12).17 Quite clearly, there is an implied succession of generations, a period of time so long that it is almost certain that the king who first set the oppression in motion (v. 10) was no longer alive to witness the failure of his program. Even if the reference in v. 11 is not to the king of vv. 8–10 but to another, later king, perhaps Rameses II, the regent almost always identified as the builder of the cities, it seems he must have expired or was very aged before the need was seen for still harsher measures (vv. 13–14).18 To solve the problem, some scholars suggest that the toponym Raamses of v. 11 is a gloss on the name of a pre-existing city (re)built by Rameses II, perhaps the old Hyksos capital Avaris-Qantir.19 That is, Ex 1:11 speaks of cities con-

16 The JPS translation renders ‫ ָה ָא ֶרץ‬-‫וְ ָﬠ ָלה ִמן‬, “rise from the ground,” i.e., overcome their wretched condition, or “gain ascendancy over the country.” See D. K. Stuart, Exodus (NAC 2; Nashville, 2006), pp. 65–66. More likely, the concern is that they will depart from Egypt, thus depriving it of human resources. 17 Hebrew: ‫וְ ַכ ֲא ֶשׁר יְ ַﬠנּוּ‬, lit. “just as they oppressed”, suggests that the persecution lasted as long as did the population explosion and subsequent spreading out of the people. Cf. B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, 1990), p. 641. 18 As argued previously, the grammar virtually mandates that the “new king” of v. 8 be the subject of vv. 9–11 as well. Thus, the king of the first oppression is also the builder of Pithom and Raamses. As for the passing of time, admittedly the reasoning here is subjective since it is impossible to determine the length of time implied in v. 12. However, even though scholars are in general agreement that Rameses II commenced his building program early in his long reign of 66 years, it is difficult to believe that he could have survived through the span of time presupposed by vv. 13–14 (the second oppression) to say nothing of the third phase of oppression, that of infanticide (vv. 15–22). The problem is put in bold relief by Bright who holds to Rameses as both the builder of Raamses and the pharaoh of the Exodus. This mandates the squeezing of both the last two phases of the oppression plus the Exodus into Rameses’ reign, a manifest impossibility despite its 66 years. Bright, A History of Israel, pp. 123–124. See note 8 above. 19 Thus Bright, idem, p. 121. This identification has received highly nuanced support by a number of recent scholars. See M. Bietak, Avaris and Piramesse: Archaeological Exploration in the Eastern Nile Delta (London, 1986). Bietak identifies Piramesse

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structed in the era of the king who “did not know Joseph,” places later rebuilt by Rameses II. The pharaoh of the original oppression would therefore have been someone other then Rameses, perhaps Amosis, the founder of Dynasty 18, or one of the Thutmosides.20 The king of Egypt of verse 15 (Rameses II by the consensus view) carried the program of oppression further by commanding the extermination of newborn male children. Despite these orders, the Hebrew midwives feared God more than men and permitted the babies to live (v. 17). Meanwhile, enough time has passed that the narrator can say, “God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and increased greatly” (v. 20). Quite obviously this presupposes a considerable lapse of time between the issuing of the infanticide edict and the next decree – the throwing of all male babies into the Nile (v. 22). It is possible but seems unlikely that the pharaohs who resorted to such gruesome measures as the forced labor of the Hebrews and the destruction of their babies were one and the same person.

IV. The Moses Birth Narrative 1. The Canonical Historical Setting of the Moses Birth Narrative The oppression narrative ends with the birth of Moses and his miraculous deliverance from the river. This seems to have occurred in connection with the casting of Hebrew babies into the Nile and thus was hard on the heels of the second edict. This is clear from the fact that Aaron, three years older than Moses (cf. Ex 7:7), was apparently unaffected by the death warrant. Moses was therefore born shortly after its promulgation.

with Tell el-Dab‘a-Qantir, the site also of Avaris (pp. 282–283). Hoffmeier similarly locates Piramesse in the environs of Qantir-Avaris. J. K. Hoffmeier, Israel in Egypt: The Evidence for the Authenticity of the Exodus Traditions (New York, 1997), p. 179; see also Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament, pp. 255–256. 20 Such a resort is necessary to avoid the chronological problem inherent in the naming of the city by Rameses after himself, namely, the impossibility of his being the pharaoh of the initial oppression and of the Exodus at the same time. However, besides the methodological fallacy of supposing an anachronism where one is not explicit in the text and is needed only to shore up a preconceived hypothesis, Rameses II, as we shall see, fails on other grounds to qualify as the Exodus pharaoh. Cf. Rowley, From Joseph to Joshua, pp. 31–32.

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2. A Close Reading of the Moses Birth Narrative in Light of Ancient Egyptian History Discussion of the birth of Moses within an Egyptian historical context must begin with the recognition that Moses – to say nothing of his birth – is nowhere mentioned in extant Egyptian texts.21 This by no means proves that Moses was not an historical person or that the Exodus event as a whole lacks historical reality. For one thing, only a small part of ancient Egyptian literature is likely to have survived, but more important is the likelihood that reference to such a negative episode in Egyptian records would not have been recorded and preserved in the first place.22 On those accounts alone a case cannot be made that the biblical tradition has no historical grounding.23 Further support for the historicity of Moses and the Exodus is, of course, beyond the scope of this paper. The relevance of the Moses birth narrative to the connection between Rameses II and the pre-Exodus history of Israel relates again (but from the perspective now of the Exodus) to the matter of his alleged naming of the garrison city after himself. The conservative scholar John Bright suggests that “The latter part of Rameses’ long reign brought to Egypt both peace and one of the greatest periods of building activity in her history. Most interesting to us is the rebuilding of Avaris, now once more the capital, begun by Sethos I and continued by Rameses. The latter called Avaris ‘The House of Rameses’.”24 Rameses’ reign of 66 years was remarkable indeed, but hardly sufficient to embrace the length of time demanded by a careful reading of the narrative as it stands. Bright again (and typical of the Albright school) proposes for the Exodus that “a date rather well on in the 13th century, perhaps late in the reign of Rameses II, seems plausible”.25

21 The closest one can come to this is the obvious linkage between the Hebrew name ‫ מ ֶֹשׁה‬and Egyptian theophoric names such as Ka-mose, Ah-mose, Thut-mose, and the like. U Cassuto, Commentary on Exodus (Jerusalem, 1967), pp. 20–21. For a rebuttal of this connection, see Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament, pp. 296–297, who, on the basis of phonetic incongruity, denies that the name Moses is Egyptian at all though it may have been pronounced by Moses’ “Egyptian companions” as Masu, a pun on the Hebrew verb mashu, “one drawn out.” 22 Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament, pp. 310–312. 23 Albright, From the Stone Age to Christianity, pp. 254–257. 24 Bright, A History of Israel, p. 114; cf. note 17 above. 25 Idem, ibid., p. 124.

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The problem with viewing Rameses as the pharaoh of the oppression, of the building of Pithom and Raamses, of the edicts of intensified labor and infanticide, of the exposure of Moses, and of the Exodus (when Moses was 80 years old)26 is obviously insurmountable. Rameses was either the builder of the city named for him or the pharaoh of the Exodus but not both (or perhaps neither). Bright himself surfaces the problem and perhaps unwittingly exacerbates it by referring to both the building of the cities and the Exodus as occurring in the “latter part” of or “late” in the reign of Rameses respectively. “Late” must, of course, be qualified by the so-called “Merneptah Stela” (ca. 1207 B.C.E.) which describes Israel as an established people in Canaan shortly after Rameses’ death.27 The Exodus must be dated at least some decades earlier than that (ca. 1250 B.C.E.?) if the wandering and conquest traditions have any historical substance at all. To compound the problem, even (say) if Moses were only 40 at the time of the Exodus (which the narrative does not allow), Bright’s interpretation of the various events requires Moses to have been born at the beginning of Rameses’ reign thus allowing no time for the long period of oppression attributed to Rameses and preceding Moses’ birth.

V. The Exodus Narrative 1. The Canonical Historical Setting of the Exodus Narrative We have already observed that the prevailing view among scholars who consider the Exodus traditions to be historically grounded in at least their broad outlines is that it occurred sometime in the New Kingdom period, probably under Rameses II (1279–1213 B.C.E.). Having pressed the ‘apiru (Hebrews or Israelites) into bondage, he forced them to undertake public works projects of various kinds (including construction of the city Raamses) until finally he foolishly permitted them to escape under the leadership of Moses and (so it was supposed) the 26 One may object, of course, that this figure is inflated or otherwise not to be taken at face value, but the fact remains that it is in the narrative and must be accounted for in the larger context of the story. 27 For a translation and brief notes, see M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, II (Berkeley, 1975), pp. 73–78. A discussion of the grammar and syntax can be found in G. W. Ahlström and D. Edelman, “Merneptah’s Israel”, JNES 44 (1985), pp. 59–61; and M. G. Hasel, “Israel in the Merneptah Stela”, BASOR 296 (1994), pp. 45–61.

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miraculous intervention of Yahweh their God. As noted above, the building enterprises as well as the Exodus appear to have taken place late in Rameses’ reign but not so late as to raise problems regarding reference to Israel in the Mernepthah Stela as early as 1207 B.C.E., just four years after Rameses’ death. This setting of the Exodus allegedly comports well with Canaanite archaeological evidence of enormous social and political upheaval in the early Iron Age, especially in the highlands, an upheaval to be explained primarily by indigenous peasant unrest but also by the arrival of outsiders including the Philistines and (perhaps) Israelites who had come from Egypt and elsewhere.28 2. A Close Reading of the Exodus Narrative in Light of Ancient Egyptian History This part of the story commences with an incident that took place “when Moses had grown up” (Ex 2:11).29 Having seen an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, Moses, acting out of a sense of kinship with his people, killed the Egyptian and was thus forced to flee for his life to Midian, safely out of Egyptian jurisdiction. There he became a shepherd, driving his father-in-law’s flocks as far as Sinai for pasturage. Upon encountering Yahweh in the burning bush at Sinai and receiving from Him the command to return to Egypt to lead his people to freedom, Moses did so and thus set the stage for encounter with Pharaoh and subsequent deliverance by means of the Exodus. Integral to the story is the fact that Moses was in effect in exile, unable to return to Egypt until those seeking his life were dead and gone. Ex 2:23 records that “a long time after that [that is, Moses’ tenure in Midian], the king of Egypt died.” This prompts Yahweh to remember His covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (v. 24) and to take notice of His people (v. 25). The word that the king of Egypt had died 28 These observations have to do with the current debate between the so-called “Minimalists” and “Maximalists” as to the date and circumstances of the emergence of Israel in Canaan, a debate that cannot be reviewed here. For excellent summaries and critiques see W. G. Dever, What Did the Biblical Writers Know & When Did They Know It? (Grand Rapids, 2001), pp. 23–52; I. Provan, V. Philips Long and T. Longman III, A Biblical History of Israel (Philadelphia, 2003), pp. 138–149. 29 The New Testament states that Moses was then 40 years old (Acts 7:23), an age that is deduced also from the Hebrew Bible (Deut 2:7; cf. Ex 7:7; cf. Genesis Rabbah 100,10: “Moses spent forty years in Pharaoh’s palace, forty years in Midian, and served Israel forty years”). One is free, of course, to dispute these testimonies but only at the expense of prejudging the veracity of the only written traditions at hand.

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is amplified by the Lord’s command to “Go back to Egypt, for all the men who sought to kill you are dead” (Ex 4:19). Not only had the pharaoh died but all his henchmen who had collaborated to take vengeance on Moses had also died. It follows that the pharaoh who had died could not be the pharaoh of the Exodus.30 Likewise, if Rameses II is the pharaoh of the Exodus, his predecessor must have been the king from whom Moses had fled and whose death made it now possible for Moses to return to Egypt. That king was Sety I (1294–1279 B.C.E.), successor to Rameses I (1295–1294 B.C.E.), founder of Dynasty 19. Neither one alone nor the two combined lived close to 40 years, thus disqualifying them from being Moses’ nemesis and, at the same time, disqualifying Rameses II from being the pharaoh of the plagues and Exodus. On the other hand, only Rameses II of all the rulers of Dynasty 19 lived 40 years or more, so if the consensus date of the Exodus – the Ramesside period – is to be sustained, Rameses’ successor to the throne must be the pharaoh of the Exodus since he necessarily was in power after Moses returned from his 40 years of exile.31 However, the problem this raises is insuperable because that pharaoh was Merneptah (1213–1203 B.C.E.), the king whose inscription composed early in his reign documents the existence of Israel already deeply entrenched in the land of Canaan. One can reasonably conclude either that (1) the Israel of the stela is different from the Israel of the Exodus,32 (2) Israelite tribes or clans existed in Canaan prior to the Exodus of other Israelite entities,33 or (3) the Exodus occurred much earlier, enough so as to accommodate the biblical tradition with its very evident suggestion of a long pre-Exodus oppression as well as an adequate time for a wilderness sojourn and conquest of the kind recorded in the canonical text.34

30 J. Day, “The Pharaoh of the Exodus, Josephus and Jubilees”, VT 45 (1995), pp. 377–378. 31 Thus, in fact, deVaux, The Early History of Israel, pp. 389–390. 32 J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller, Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977), p. 267. 33 T. J. Meek, Hebrew Origins (New York, 1960), pp. 46–48. 34 Merrill, Kingdom of Priests, p. 85.

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1. Proper reading of biblical narrative texts demands careful attention to such matters as literary and rhetorical strategies and devices; authorial intention; historical, sociological, and theological settings; and implied hearers/readers. The texts must be given the benefit of the doubt if they purport to be recounting historical reality even if the world of their reality differs from our own. 2. Texts as such must have priority over every other consideration. They exist as discrete phenomena and first of all speak to us and not we to them. Simply because they resort to figures of speech such as hyperbole or exaggeration or may be interlaced with poetic imagery should not and must not in and of itself disqualify them as possessing genuine historical integrity and factuality if it is their purpose to do so. 3. In the case of historical narrative, extra-biblical data may enhance, clarify, and even force reinterpretation of biblical texts but they should never a priori run roughshod over the tradition if the tradition makes sense in itself and in its literary and historical context. Only if these data contradict the tradition by indisputable evidence should they be accorded preeminence. 4. As for the subject of this inquiry – the pharaoh of the Exodus – at least two considerations should be brought to bear: (1) no Exodus account exists outside the biblical tradition nor is there even undeniable extra-biblical witness to it; and (2) the Exodus narrative neither contradicts nor corroborates anything about the times and circumstances of the reign of Rameses II. In fact, the king is not named and, moreover, if our interpretation of the narrative is correct he is never referred to in the account even obliquely since, as we have argued, he cannot in any case be the pharaoh of the Exodus or even the pharaoh of the preceding oppression. Who these various figures might be is a matter that lies outside the scope of this paper.

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Bibliography G. W. Ahlström and D. Edelman, “Merneptah’s Israel”, JNES 44 (1985), pp. 59–61. W. F. Albright, From the Stone Age to Christianity (Garden City, NY, 1957). R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York, 1981). Y. Amit, Reading Biblical Narratives. Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, 2001). S. Bar-Ephrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (London, 2004). A. Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield, 1983). M. Bietak, Avaris and Piramesse: Archaeological Exploration in the Eastern Nile Delta (London, 1986). J. Bright, A History of Israel (3rd ed.; Philadelphia, 1981). U Cassuto, Commentary on Exodus (Jerusalem, 1967). B. S. Childs, The Book of Exodus (OTL; Philadelphia, 1974). G. W. Coats, Exodus 1–18 (FOTL, II/A; Grand Rapids, 1999). J. Day, “The Pharaoh of the Exodus, Josephus and Jubilees”, VT 45 (1995), pp. 377– 378. W. G. Dever, What Did the Biblical Writers Know & When Did They Know It? (Grand Rapids, 2001). J. I. Durham, Exodus (WBC; Waco, TX, 1987). J. P. Fokkelman, Reading Biblical Narrative: an Introductory Guide (Louisville, 1999). N. Frye, The Great Code: The Bible and Literature (New York, 1982). D. M. Gunn and D. N. Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford, 1993). M. G. Hasel, “Israel in the Merneptah Stela”, BASOR 296 (1994), pp. 45–61. J. K. Hoffmeier, Israel in Egypt: The Evidence for the Authenticity of the Exodus Traditions (New York, 1997). J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller, Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977). W. C. Kaiser, Jr., A History of Israel (Nashville, 1998). E. Kenneth and R. R. Gros Louis, Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives, II (Nashville, 1982). H. Y. Lee, From History to Narrative Hermeneutics (New York, 2004). J. D. Levenson, The Hebrew Bible, the Old Testament, and Historical Criticism (Louisville, 1993). M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, II (Berkeley, 1975). S. L. McKenzie and S. R. Haynes (eds.), To Each Its Own Meaning (Louisville, 1999). T. J. Meek, Hebrew Origins (New York, 1960). E. H. Merrill, Kingdom of Priests: A History of Old Testament Israel (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids, 2008). M. Noth, The History of Israel (New York, 1960). I. Provan, V. Philips Long and T. Longman III, A Biblical History of Israel (Philadelphia, 2003). T. H. Robinson, A History of Israel, I (Oxford, 1932). H. H. Rowley, From Joseph to Joshua (London, 1950). M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington, IN, 1985). D. K. Stuart, Exodus (NAC 2; Nashville, 2006). R. de Vaux, The Early History of Israel (Philadelphia, 1978). J. T. Walsh, Style and Structure in Biblical Narrative (Collegeville, MN, 2001). B. K. Waltke, A Theology of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 2007). B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, 1990).

ANTIACHAEMENID PROPAGANDA IN DEUTERONOMY

Eckart Otto München University

Deuteronomy was, from its origin in the late Assyrian epoch on, a book that served the aim to define Judah’s identity as intensively as no other book in the Hebrew Bible. In the Neo-Assyrian period of the 7th century B.C.E. the authors of Deuteronomy pursued this aim by stressing the differences between Judah and its God and the Assyrian imperial power and its royal ideology, subversively taking over texts of the Assyrian legitimation of Sargonid rule like the loyalty oath for Esarhaddon in Deut 13* and Deut 28*.1 The exilic-deuteronomistic Deuteronomy was formed by the Moses-idea, and here again antiBabylonian attitudes were woven into Deut 1–11 and 29–30, when the deuteronomistic authors attributed functions of a law-giver and military leader of his people to Moses, functions that were typical royal functions and that recalled the Old Babylonian Hammurapi, on the one hand, and the late Babylonian Nabonidus, on the other.

1 Cf. E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium. Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien (BZAW 284; Berlin – New York, 1999), pp. 15–90. For the reception of Assurbanipals’s coronation hymn in Psalm 72 cf. M. Arneth, “Sonne der Gerechtigkeit”. Studien zur Solarisierung der Jahwe-Religion im Lichte von Psalm 72 (Wiesbaden, 2000), pp. 54–108. For some theologians it is even today a problem that non-Judean texts were used in the Hebrew Bible, which means that they look at this use with the eyes of the so-called “Religionsgeschichtliche Schule” of the early 20th century. But these processes of subversive receptions were entirely different from that which the exegetes of the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule thought receptions to be. In their eyes receptions happened because Judah did not have the corresponding ideas in her own traditions, so that they had to borrow from Mesopotamia and Egypt. But the texts of the Assyrian royal ideology like the Sargon-legend in Ex 2 or Esarhaddon’s loyalty oath in Deut were subversively used in order to subvert their meaning of legitimation for the Assyrian king and so that YHWH or Moses took over his functions. Nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible can we observe the feeling of Judean authors for their otherness compared to the Assyrian superpower than here in the preexilic Deuteronomy; cf. E. Otto, “Political Theology in Judah and Assyria. The Beginning of the Hebrew Bible as Literature”, SEÅ 65 (2000), pp. 59–76.

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This does not mean that the messages of the preexilic-deuteronomic and exilic-deuteronomistic Deuteronomy were overshadowed by the anti-Assyrian and anti-Babylonian motives – not at all. The preexilic Deuteronomy delivered a program of brotherly and sisterly ethics for an ideal “Israel”, a program that was even during the exile thought to be valid for a postexilic period. The deuteronomistic framework in Deut 1–11 and 29–30 also tried to answer important questions: if the exile would be the end of Israel’s history, if the covenant of YHWH with His people would be still valid, if a new history after the exile could fail as the preexilic history (Deut 4; 9–10; 26), and if there would be any justice for the second generation in exile, who were not responsible for the catastrophe of 587/86 B.C.E. (Deut 1–3; 29–30).2 The literary history of Deuteronomy did not end with its deuteronomistic redaction during the exile. In the postexilic-Achaemenid era Deuteronomy was incorporated in a post-priestly Hexateuch, which was formed out of the deuteronomistic-exilic Deuteronomy, connected with the deuteronomistic book of Joshua from Deut 1 to Josh 23. The authors of the Hexateuch combined this deuteronomistic Deuteronomy, which started the narrative at the mountain of Horeb (Deut 1) and ended with Joshua’s valedictory address (Josh 23), with the priestly source starting with the creation of the world (Gen 1) and ending at Mount Sinai (Ex 29; [Lev 16]).3 For the authors of the postexilic Hexateuch, who were writing in the period of Nehemiah in the middle of the 5th century B.C.E., it was rather easy to connect P and D, so that they formed a corpus from the creation in Gen 1 to Joshua’s covenant in Josh 24. For these authors the possession of the land was the most decisive gift YHWH had given to His people. This motif forms a framework around the Hexateuch (Gen 15:18; Josh 24:13). The authors of the Hexateuch pursued the ideal of a greater “Israel” including Samaria of the “ten tribes” and thereby took an anti-Nehemianic position. It was not only the inner-Judean debates that were guiding these authors, but also the refutation of imperial ideology of the Persian hegemonial power ruling

2 Cf. E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch. Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumrahmens (FAT 30; Tübingen, 2000), pp. 110–155; idem, “The Pivotal Meaning of Pentateuch Research for a History of Israelite and Jewish Religion and Society”, in J. Le Roux and E. Otto (eds.), South African Perspectives on the Pentateuch between Synchrony and Diachrony (OTS 463; New York – Leiden, 2007), pp. 38–47. 3 Cf. E. Otto, “Das Buch Levitikus zwischen Priesterschrift und Pentateuch”, ZAR 14 (2008), pp. 366–407.

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over the province of Yehud. It was a central aspect of the Achaemenid ideology that the Persian imperial god Ahuramazda, the creator of the world, had given to all the nations their land with Persepolis as centre of the world.4 The authors of the Hexateuch refuted this idea, claiming that the world was not created by Ahuramazda but by YHWH, the god of “Israel”, and so God’s people in their opinion did not receive their land from the Persian imperial god but from YHWH.5 The authors of the Hexateuch demonstrated that for them it was the aim of creation and world-history (Gen 1–11) that “Israel” could live safely in her Promised Land.6 Comparable ideas we find in the framework of Deuteronomy. In Deut 1–3 we can differentiate between a deuteronomistic-exilic narrative and post-deuteronomistic supplements, which had the function of integrating Deuteronomy into the Hexateuch and Pentateuch.7 In the Edom-episode in Deut 2:1–9, v. 5aβb is part of the post-deuteronomistic redaction. YHWH will not give the territory of Edom to Israel, “for I (sc. YHWH) have given Mount Seir to Esau”. The same is said about the Moabites and Ammonites in Deut 2:9 and Deut 2:19: And YHWH said to me (sc. Moses): Do not trouble or assault Moab, for I will not give you any of their territory for a possession, because I have given Er to the sons of Lot for a possession (Deut 2:9).

This is repeated for the Ammonites in Deut 2:19:

4

Cf. G. Ahn, Religiöse Herrschaftslegtimation im achämenidischen Iran. Voraussetzungen und Struktur ihrer Argumentation (Acta Iranica 31; Leiden, 1992), pp. 255–285. 5 Cf. E. Otto, “Die Rechtshermeneutik des Pentateuch und die achämenidische Rechtsideologie in ihren altorientalischen Kontexten”, in M. Witte and M. Th. Fögen (eds.), Kodifizierung des Rechts in der Antike und im Alten Orient (Wiesbaden, 2005), pp. 85–106 (reprint in idem, Altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte. Gesammelte Studien [Wiesbaden, 2008], pp. 154–184). 6 The authors of the Pentateuch, who cut off the book of Joshua from the Pentateuch had an entirely different approach. For them, who were writing in the period of Ezra at the end of the 5th or early 4th century B.C.E., not the land but the torah was the most important gift of YHWH to His people, so that these authors supplemented and reformulated the Sinai-pericope especially by incorporating the so called Holiness Code in Lev 17–26; cf. E. Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26”, in H.-J. Fabry and H.-W. Jüngling (eds.), Levitikus als Buch (BBB 119; Berlin, 1999), pp. 125–196; idem, “The Holiness Code in the Legal Hermeneutics in Diachrony and Synchrony of the Pentateuch”, in S. Shectman and J. S. Baden (eds.), The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future Directions (AThANT; Zürich [forthcoming]). 7 Cf. E. Otto, “Deuteronomiumstudien I. Die Literaturgeschichte von Deuteronomium 1–3”, ZAR 14 (2008), pp. 86–236.

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e. otto But when you come near the territory of the Ammonites, do not trouble or assault them, for I will not give you any of the territory of the Ammonites for a possession, because I have given it to the sons of Lot for a possession.

The postdeuteronomistic authors argued from the stories of the Jacob-Esau-cycle in Gen 25:19–33:20 in the Edom-episode and on the grounds of the Abraham-Lot-story in the Moab- and Ammon-episode in order to prove that it was YHWH, who gave them their territories in Transjordan. Not only Israel but also the kindred peoples of the Edomites, Moabites and Ammonites received their territory from YHWH. The postdeuteronomistic authors used the root yrš (Deut 1:18, 21, 39; 2:5, 9, 19) as a cantus firmus of their interpretation of the basic deuteronomistic narrative in Deut 1–3. The same God, who gives Israel her inheritance, can likewise grant other peoples their land.8 The authors of the postdeuteronomistic Deuteronomy were of the opinion that ultimately the land belonged to YHWH. The basis of this opinion on the part of these authors was the creation theology in Genesis. Also the so called “antiquarian notices” in Deut 2:10–12, 20–23 belong to this context, which interrupts Moses’ address to the Moabcommunity of Israel. Instead of Moses an implied author as “narrator of the book” begins to speak. But this alone does not define very much, because the question remains, which “book” it should be. It is not only Deuteronomy, but the Hexateuch and Pentateuch. There is no doubt that Deut 2:10–12, 20–23 is not older than the postdeuteronomistic redaction in Deut 1:28; 2:9, 13–15, 18–19, because the “antiquarian notices” are related to the text into which they are incorporated:9 (v. 10) The Emim dwelt there in times past, a people great and many, and tall as the Anakim. (v. 11) These also are known as Rephaim as the Anakim, but the Moabites call them Emim.10 (v. 12) The Horites also formerly lived in Seir, but the Edomites dispossessed them and destroyed them from before them, and dwelt in their stead, as Israel did to the territory of their possession, which YHWH gave to them. (v. 20) That (sc.

8 Cf. D. A. Glatt-Gilead, “The Re-Interpretation of the Edomite-Israelite Encounter in Deuteronomy II”, VT 47 (1997), p. 442. 9 Deut 2:11 and 2:12 are connected with Deut 2:9, Deut 2:12 with Deut 2:5aβb. 10 Cf. Gen 15:20 and Josh 12:4; 13:12. For the postdeuteronomistic literary horizon of Gen 15 and Josh 24 see above. The same is valid for Josh 12:4 and 13:12. For the motif of Rephaim and Anakim cf. L. Perlitt, “Riesen im Alten Testament. Ein literarisches Motiv im Wirkungsfeld des Deuteronomiums”, in idem, DeuteronomiumStudien (FAT 8; Tübingen, 1994), pp. 205–246.

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the territory of the Ammonites) also is known as a land of the Rephaim; Rephaim dwelt there before the Ammonites, but the Ammonites called them Zamzummim, (v. 21) a people great and many, and tall as the Anakim; but YHWH destroyed them before them (sc. Ammonites); and they dispossessed them and settled in their stead, (v. 22) as He did for the Edomites, who dwell in Seir, where He destroyed the Horites from before them, and they dispossessed them and settled in their stead until this day.

Both the “antiquarian notices” are closely connected, as the characterisation of the Emim in Deut 2:10 and Zamzummim in Deut 2:21 as Rephaim in Deut 2:11, 20 demonstrates, which can be compared with the Anakim in Deut 2:10, 21. The authors claim to have linguistic and ethnological knowledge of a past time long ago. And they claim to know that the former inhabitants were dispossessed of their territory by the Edomites, Moabites and Ammonites in the same way that Israel dispossessed the Amorites and Canaanites. These authors in Deut 2:10–12, 20–23 are looking back at Israel’s taking of her land, already living in her territory as the Edomites, Moabites and Ammonites, are living in theirs: “And they (sc. the Edomites) dispossessed them (sc. the Horites) before them and settled in their stead until this day” (Deut 2:22).11 Moses’ address to the Israelites has the same kerygma as the “antiquarian notices” to demonstrate that YHWH is the owner of the land not only of Israel but of all the other peoples too including not only the Edomites, Moabites and Ammonites but also the Amorites and Canaanites. God has the right to dispossess peoples of their territory and to give it to new owners. Deut 2:23 is misunderstood, if it is only interpreted as an unfitting literary addition.12 Following the kerygma of Deut 1–3 that YHWH is the owner of the territories of the peoples, Deut 2:23 demonstrates that even the territory of the Caphtorim is in 11 For the hermeneutical meaning of these “antiquarian notices” connecting narrated time of Moses with the time of narration of the postexilic authors cf. Otto, “Deuteronomiumstudien”, pp. 190, 195–196. Cf. also R. Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist. A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part One: Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges (New York, 1980), p. 32: “These frame-breaks force the Deuteronomic audience to shift from a subsidiary awareness that they are descendents of these earlier Israelites, and therefore distant hearers of Moses’ teaching, to a momentary focal awareness of this situation, and then back again to the continuing focal awareness of the earlier context of the story”. For different and less convincing interpretations, see also below, notes 23–27. 12 Cf. L. Perlitt, Deuteronomium (BK V/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1991), p. 178, who is of the opinion, that the “antiquarian notices” explain “unknown matters by unknown facts” and are not integral part of the narrative of Deut 1–3.

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the hand of YHWH: “The same happened to the Avvim, who dwelt in villages as far as Gaza, the Caphtorim, who came from Caphtor, destroyed them and dwelt in their stead”. Even such an area as that of Gaza, which flourished in the Achaemenid period,13 which flourished in the Achaemenid period, is in the hands of YHWH, who gave it to the Caphtorim. In Deut 3:9, 11 the implied “author of the book”, who is the redactor of the Hexateuch, begins to speak again: The Sidonians call Hermon Sirion, and the Amorites call it Senir. For only Og, king of Bashan, remained of the remnant of the Rephaim; behold, his bedstead was of iron; is it in Rabbah of the Ammonites? Nine cubits was its length, and four cubits its breadth, using the cubit of a man.

The term Sidonians functions in Deut 3:9 as a self-designation of the Phoenicians, since it was the leading Phoenician city in the Achaemenid period, just as Gaza was mentioned as a leading city in the Achaemenid period in Deut 2:23.14 In Deut 1:7–8 the authors of the postdeuteronomistic Hexateuch supplemented the deuteronomistic narrative in Deut 1:7aα.8abα15 (“turn and take up your journey and go to the hill country of the Amorites. Behold, I have set the land before you; go in and take possession of the land”) by presenting an idealistic view of the land in v. 7aβb: “and to all their neighbours in the Arabah, in the hill country, in the lowland, in the Negev, and on the coast, the land of the Canaanites, and Lebanon, as far as the great river, the Euphrates”. Reading this together with Gen 15:18, clearly indicates that the authors of the Hexateuch had the borders of the Persian satrapy eber nāri in mind. Not only Judea and Samaria were given to the Israelites by YHWH, but all of the Persian satrapy. Here it becomes obvious that the imperial ideology is in the focus of the postexilic authors. Darius I called himself “King of the territories /

13 Cf. H. J. Katzenstein, “Gaza in the Persian Period”, Transeuphratene 1 (1989), pp. 67–86. 14 Cf. J. Elayi, “The Phoenician Cities in the Persian Period”, JANES 12 (1980), p. 14, n. 6. For the hermeneutical function of Deut 3:11 cf. Otto, “Deuteronomiumstudien”, pp. 195–196. The territory of the Ammonites in the Persian period was a subprovince of Samaria; cf. U. Hübner, Die Ammoniter. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte, Kultur und Religion eines transjordanischen Volkes im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Wiesbaden, 1992), pp. 213–215, and E. A. Knauf, “The Persian Administration in Arabia”, Transeuphratene 2 (1990), pp. 209–210, n. 38. For the land-ideal of a greater “Israel” of the authors of the Hexateuch including Samaria in the Persian period see above. 15 See also Josh 1:4; cf. Otto, ibid., pp. 175–181.

anti-achaemenid propaganda in deuteronomy

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peoples” (xšāyathiya dahyūnām) and could change his self-predication into “King of the territories inhabited by all the tribes” (xšāyathiya dahyūnām vispazanānām) and Xerxes’ into “King of the territories inhabited by many tribes” (xšāyathiya dahyūnām paruzanānām). In the royal inscriptions of the Achaemenids the terms for “dominion” (xšaça-) could take on the meaning of “Territory” (dahyu-), so that xšaça stands also for the territory of the Achaemenid Empire including the territories of the different countries, which were part of the empire.16 Five inscriptions of Darius17 and the Daiva-inscriptions of Xerxes contain elaborate lists of peoples under the rule of the Achaemenid king, which were so arranged that the pārsa, the Achaemenid homeland, was standing in the centre of all the other nations. The Persian king did not regard himself only as “ruler of the four areas of the world” (šar kibrati[m] arba’i[m]) or “ruler of all the world” (šar kiššati), as the Babylonian kings did, but as ruler of mankind, which was differentiated into nations with Persepolis as their centre: within the Achaemenid empire it was supposed to be the Persian king, who gave each nation its homeland to settle (gathu-), which is demonstrated in the Behistun-inscription of Darius I: “I am placing the people (kāra-) at its place (gathu-), as I did earlier with Persia, Media and the other countries (dahyāva-)”.18 It is part of the creation of the world and its universal world-order (arta-), that every nation got its specific place to live (gathu-) by the king. As part of this world-order the nations were looked upon as subjects of the legal order of the king (dāta-).19 The postdeuteronomistic redaction of the Hexateuch insists on the point, that “Israel” did not get its legal order from the Persian king but from YHWH, the God and only God of “Israel”. They also insist on their opinion that YHWH and not Ahuramazda was the creator of the world (Gen 1). And the authors of the Hexateuch insist on their opinion as a consequence of the fact that YHWH is the creator of the world and that He also is the

16

Cf. Ahn, Herrschaftslegitimation, pp. 255–258. Cf. the list of inscriptions, which are relevant for this topic in Ahn, ibid., p. 267 n. 103. 18 Cf. R. Borger and W. Hinz, “Die Behistun-Inschrift Darius’ des Großen”, TUAT I/4 (Gütersloh, 1984), p. 427. For the interpretation of the Behistun-inscription cf. E. Otto, Krieg und Frieden in der Hebräischen Bibel und im Alten Testament (Stuttgart, 1999), pp. 11–12, 147–148. 19 For the interpretation of the terms arta- and dāta- cf. Otto, “Herrscherlegitimation”, pp. 85–90. 17

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owner of the land. It is He, who gave Israel her land as it is described in Deut 1–3 and in the book of Joshua.20 The target of direct criticism is the Persian gathu-ideology: It is not the Persian Ahuramazda who determined the world-order of the peoples under Persian rule in the empire of the Achaemenids but YHWH.21 This was one of the reasons why the postdeuteronomistic authors supplemented the Edomepisode and integrated the Moab- and Ammon-episodes, which were not part of the deuteronomistic frame of the exilic Deuteronomy, which did not yet argue against the Achaemenid imperial ideology, so that the postexilic and postdeuteronomistic Deuteronomy received a new emphasis in Deut 1–3. Not only in the Edom-, Moab- and Ammon-episodes one can detect the anti-Achaemenid attitude in Deuteronomy, but also in the “antiquarian notices” in Deut 2:10–12, 20–23 and Deut 3:9, 11. These notices, even more than the narrative of Moses’ address, demonstrate the anti-Achaemenid attitude of the authors of the postdeuteronomistic Deuteronomy. Not only Israel, as Moses said, but also the Moabites, Edomites and Ammonites received their territory from YHWH, who protected them in their territory, but even peoples like the Caphtorim, who destroyed the Avvim, who had been living in their territory before them, received their land from YHWH. Deut 2:12 establishes an analogy between the settling of the Edomites and Israelites, and according to Deut 2:20–23 it was YHWH who gave to the Edomites and Ammonites their territory. Deut 2:23, after all, establishes an analogy between the settling of the Ammonites and the Caphtorim. Because of this anti-Achaemenid kerygma, Deut 2:23, together with Deut 2:20–22, was added to the deuteronomistic Deuteronomy by the postdeuteronomistic authors, who correlated Deut 2:23 with Josh 11:16–20, 23 and 13:2–6. Commentators saw in the “antiquarian notices” literary additions by authors, who were

20

This is especially true in Josh 13–21 as a postdeuteronomistic supplement to the deuteronomistic book of Joshua; cf. e.g. E. Cortese, Josua 13–21. Ein priesterschriftlicher Abschnitt im Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (OBO 94; Friburg – Göttingen, 1990). 21 It does not make any sense to derive the Pentateuch from an effort by the Persian imperial government to “authorize” Jewish law; pace P. Frei, “Die persische Reichsautorisation. Ein Überblick”, ZAR 1 (1995), pp. 1–35; idem, “Zentralgewalt und Lokalautonomie im Achämenidenreich”, in P. Frei and K. Koch (eds.), Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich (2nd ed.; OBO 55; Friburg – Göttingen, 1996), pp. 5–131. Cf. also the critical discussion of this hypothesis in J. W. Watts (ed.), Persiah and Torah. The Theory of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (SBLSS 17; Atlanta, 2001).

anti-achaemenid propaganda in deuteronomy

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driven by an “educational instinct” (Bildungstrieb), thus L. Perlitt,22 or who had an antiquarian interest, whose “teachings” (Belehrungen) were “practically meaningless”, thus C. Steuernagel.23 Also the idea of N. Lohfink that the antiquarian notice received from the implied author of Deuteronomy the function to allow extra time, which Israel needed for her march from the valley of Zered to the valley of the Arnon,24 does not solve the problem of these verses, because the “antiquarian notices” do not allow time for Israel’s march, but, if it really should be the function of these verses to allow for extra time, this happened only for Moses’ speech.25 Also a second explanation of the function of the “antiquarian notices” by N. Lohfink is questionable.26 He is now of the opinion, that the implied author of the book of Deuteronomy inserted these notices in order to inform the reader of further details, so that he can understand the fact that Moses addresses his people not in an objective manner but with certain interests in mind. That the implied author had the intention to keep his distance from Moses’ address to his people and to dissociate the addressees of Deuteronomy from Moses is a rather improbable idea that does not fit with the legal hermeneutics of Deuteronomy. It is not the function of the “antiquarian notices” to dissociate Moses from the addressees of Deuteronomy but to connect the narrated mosaic time with the time of narration of the postexilic authors of the postdeuteronomistic Deuteronomy and their addressees.27 None of these interpretations of the “antiquarian notices” in Deut 2–3, produced by commentators, can sufficiently explain their function, which is determined by the authors’ kerygma in the postexilic narrative of Moses’ address to his people that the

22

Cf. Perlitt, Deuteronomium, p. 146. Cf. C. Steuernagel, Das Deuteronomium (HK I.3.1; Göttingen, 1923), p. 57. 24 Cf. N. Lohfink, “Die Stimmen im Deuteronomium 2”, in idem, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur IV (SBA 31; Stuttgart, 2000), p. 67. 25 Cf. J.-P. Sonnet, The Book within the Book. Writing in Deuteronomy (BIS 14; Leiden – New York, 1997), p. 241. 26 Cf. N. Lohfink, “Narrative Analyse von Dtn 1,6–3,29”, in idem, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur V (SBAB 38; Stuttgart, 2005), pp. 60–61. 27 Cf. Otto, “Deuteronomiumstudien”, pp. 175–178. For the differentiation between narrated time and time of narration cf. E. Otto, “The Pentateuch in Synchronical and Diachronical Perspectives: Protorabbinic Scribal Erudition Mediating Between Deuteronomy and Priestly Code”, in E. Otto and R. Achenbach (eds.), Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk (FRLANT 206; Göttingen, 2004), pp. 14–23. 23

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owner of the land of “Israel” is YHWH, the God of “Israel”, who gave it to His people. The postexilic authors incorporated the “antiquarian notices” in Deut 2–3 not only as a hermeneutical bridge between the narrated time of Moses and the time of narration, but also as part of the anti-Achaemenid propaganda, which extended Moses’ perspective and which concentrated on Israel’s Promised Land, by including nonIsraelite nations, those, who were considered to be related to “Israel”, and even those, who were without any relationship with “Israel”. So the authors of the postexilic Deuteronomy created a universal horizon for their narrative in Deut 2–3, which could resist the imperial ideology of the Achaemenids that the different peoples of the Persian empire received their territory (gathu-) from the Achaemenid king according to Ahuramazda’s order (arta-).

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Bibliography G. Ahn, Religiöse Herrschaftslegtimation im achämenidischen Iran. Voraussetzungen und Struktur ihrer Argumentation (Acta Iranica 31; Leiden, 1992). M. Arneth, Sonne der Gerechtigkeit. Studien zur Solarisierung der Jahwe-Religion im Lichte von Psalm 72 (Wiesbaden, 2000). R. Borger and W. Hinz, “Die Behistun-Inschrift Darius’ des Großen”, TUAT I/4 (Gütersloh, 1984). E. Cortese, Josua 13–21. Ein priesterschriftlicher Abschnitt im Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (OBO 94; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1990). P. Frei, “Die persische Reichsautorisation. Ein Überblick”, ZAR 1 (1995), pp. 1–35. ——, “Zentralgewalt und Lokalautonomie im Achämenidenreich”, in P. Frei and K. Koch (eds.), Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich (2nd ed.; OBO 55; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1996), pp. 5–131. J. Elayi, “The Phoenician Cities in the Persian Period”, JANES 12 (1980), pp. 13–28. D. A. Glatt-Gilead, “The Re-Interpretation of the Edomite-Israelite Encounter in Deuteronomy II”, VT 47 (1997), pp. 441–455. U. Hübner, Die Ammoniter. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte, Kultur und Religion eines transjordanischen Volkes im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Wiesbaden, 1992). H. J. Katzenstein, “Gaza in the Persian Period”, Transeuphratene 1 (1989), pp. 67–86. E. A. Knauf, The Persian Administration in Arabia, Transeuphratene 2 (1990), pp. 201–217. N. Lohfink, “Die Stimmen im Deuteronomium 2”, in idem, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur IV (SBAB 31; Stuttgart, 2000), pp. 47–74. ——, “Narrative Analyse von Dtn 1,6–3,29”, in idem, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur V (SBAB 38; Stuttgart, 2005), pp. 57–110. E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium. Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien (BZAW 284; Berlin New York, 1999). ——, Krieg und Frieden in der Hebräischen Bibel und im Alten Testament (Stuttgart, 1999). ——, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26”, in H.-J. Fabry and H.-W. Jüngling (eds.), Levitikus als Buch (BBB 119; Berlin, 1999), pp. 125–196. ——, Political Theology in Judah and Assyria. The Beginning of the Hebrew Bible as Literature, SEÅ 65 (2000), pp. 59–76. ——, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch. Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumrahmens (FAT 30; Tübingen, 2000). ——, “The Pentateuch in Synchronical and Diachronical Perspectives: Protorabbinic Scribal Erudition Mediating Between Deuteronomy and Priestly Code”, in E. Otto and R. Achenbach (eds.), Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk (FRLANT 206; Göttingen, 2004), pp. 14–35. ——, “The Pivotal Meaning of Pentateuch Research for a History of Israelite and Jewish Religion and Society”, in J. Le Roux and E. Otto (eds.), South African Perspectives on the Pentateuch between Synchrony and Diachrony (LHB / OTS 463; New York – Leiden, 2007), pp. 29–53. ——, “Das Buch Levitikus zwischen Priesterschrift und Pentateuch”, ZAR 14 (2008), pp. 366–407. ——, “Die Rechtshermeneutik des Pentateuch und die achämenidische Rechtsideologie in ihren altorientalischen Kontexten”, in M. Witte and M. Th. Fögen (eds.), Kodifizierung des Rechts in der Antike und im Alten Orient (Wiesbaden, 2005), pp. 71–115 (reprint in idem, Altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte. Gesammelte Studien [Wiesbaden, 2008], pp. 154–184).

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——, “The Holiness Code in the Legal Hermeneutics in Diachrony and Synchrony of the Pentateuch”, in S. Shectman and J. S. Baden (eds.), The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future Directions (AThANT; Zürich [forthcoming]). ——, “Deuteronomiumstudien I. Die Literaturgeschichte von Deuteronomium 1–3, ZAR 14 (2008), pp. 86–236. L. Perlitt, Deuteronomium (BK V/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1991). ——, “Riesen im Alten Testament. Ein literarisches Motiv im Wirkungsfeld des Deuteronomiums”, in idem, Deuteronomium-Studien (FAT 8; Tübingen, 1994), pp. 205–246. R. Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist. A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part One: Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges (New York, 1980). J.-P. Sonnet, The Book within the Book. Writing in Deuteronomy (BIS 14; Leiden – New York, 1997). C. Steuernagel, Das Deuteronomium (HK I.3.1; Göttingen, 1923). J. W. Watts (ed.), Persiah and Torah. The Theory of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (SBLSS 17; Atlanta, 2001).

THE BOOK OF JOSHUA AND THE EXISTENCE OF A HEXATEUCH

Hartmut N. Rösel University of Haifa

The book of Joshua in its present form is seamlessly connected to the Pentateuch: the first words of Josh 1:1 ‫ ויהי אחרי מות משה‬relate to the death of Moses, which is reported just before in Deut 34 after being prepared for in Num 27. The end of the book of Joshua is also connected to the Pentateuch: in Josh 24:32 the motif of the burial of the Joseph’s bones is related to the last verse of Genesis (50:26) and to Ex 13:19, which reports that on their departure the Israelites took the bones with them. After Joshua, the continuation is in the similar: Judg 1:1 ‫ויהי אחרי מות יהושע‬. In respect of this literary level scholars speak of a Hexateuch, and even of an Enneateuch. But our question is different. It is not whether the book of Joshua at its final stage belonged to a large literary work, starting with the creation and ending with the exile, but whether the book of Joshua at the time of its emergence was part of a larger literary work, possibly the Hexateuch. We leave aside the question of the so-called Deuteronomistic History, although the result of our examination has some implications for this issue. We mention only that we concur with scholars1 who believe that such a uniform literary creation starting with Deuteronomy or with

1 C. Westermann, Die Geschichtsbücher des Alten Testaments. Gab es ein deuteronomistisches Geschichtswerk? (ThB 87; Gütersloh, 1994); E. A. Knauf, “Does ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography’ (DtrH) Exist?”, in A. de Pury, T. Römer and J.-D. Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs its History (JSOTS 306; Sheffield, 2000), pp. 388–398; R. G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (London – New York, 2005), p. 216; cf. E. Würthwein, Studien zum Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (BZAW 227; Berlin – New York, 1994), pp. 1–11; among earlier scholars: Y. Kaufmann, History of the Religion of Israel. Volume IV. From the Babylonian Captivity to the End of the Prophecy (New York – Jerusalem – Dallas, 1977), pp. 491–493.

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Joshua and ending with Kings never existed.2 The recent development of this view is thus significant, as it reinforces the relevance of the question of a Hexateuch’s existence.3 A scholar who wants to prove such existence must seek and analyze connections between the book of Numbers and the book of Joshua.4 For such an investigation it is important to note that the book of Joshua consists of two very different main parts: on one hand chapters 1–12 together with chapters 23–24 and the final verses of chapter 21, on the other hand chapters (13) 14–22. Should it turn out that the connections of these two parts to Numbers differ in nature, this would have grave consequences for our question of the possible existence of a Hexateuch. Josh 14 starts with a motif absent from the first half of the book: not Joshua alone is responsible for the distribution of the land, but a commission of three, in which Joshua appears only in second place indicating that the priest Eleazar was chairman. This motif is characteristic for Josh 14–19 except for several clearly recognizable “Fremdkörper” (foreign bodies);5 it constitutes a clear connection to the book of Numbers, where this commission is introduced. The reader is also informed of its early history; he or she reads of Eleazar alone, of Moses and Eleazar

2 H. N. Rösel, Von Josua bis Jojachin. Untersuchungen zu den deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbüchern des Alten Testaments (VTSup 75; Leiden – Boston – Köln, 1999). 3 If we ask whether it is possible that the Hexateuch existed, the other question of when Deuteronomy was added to this literary work becomes secondary: the fact that Deuteronomy was inserted is a matter of fact. The question is only whether this happened at an early or at a late stage of the literary development; cf. on this issue E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Licht des Deuteronomiumrahmens (FAT 30; Tübingen, 2000), as well as the comments of R. G. Kratz, “Der vor- und nachpriesterliche Hexateuch”, in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), pp. 295–323. 4 Important works in this respect include the investigations of Auld, Cortese and Wüst; the latter two have not enjoyed the attention they merit: A. G. Auld, Joshua, Moses and the Land. Tetrateuch – Pentateuch – Hexateuch in a Generation since 1938 (Edinburgh, 1980); E. Cortese, Josua 13–21. Ein priesterschriftlicher Abschnitt im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (OBO 94; Friburg – Göttingen, 1990); M. Wüst, Untersuchungen zu den siedlungsgeographischen Texten des Alten Testaments I. Ostjordanland (Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients B 9; Wiesbaden, 1975). 5 Cortese, Josua, pp. 86–87. These are primarily the stories related to Caleb in chapters 14 and 15. But these “foreign bodies” cannot prove that the book of Joshua was composed as part of the Hexateuch; they are of deuteronomistic provenance; the respective traditions in Numbers are phrased differently.

the book of joshua and the existence of a hexateuch 561 in second place, and finally of Eleazar as member of an early commission, Moses being the chairman: Num 27:2; 31:12, 26; 32:2. But the later commission too, that of the time of Joshua, already appears in Num 32:28; 34:17–18; cf. 27:19ff.; yet the reader who restricts himself or herself to the book of Joshua is completely unprepared when in chapter 14 he or she suddenly encounters this commission and its role. This introduction of Josh 14 is the original introduction to the second part of the book, which deals with the distribution of the land to the tribes: verses 1–5 lead to the conclusion of this part, which is in 19:49–51. These two passages were composed to frame chapters 14–19 and prove that these chapters constitute a homogeneous unit. The passages use the same terminology: 14:1a uses ‫( נחל‬Qal) and ‫בני‬ ‫ ישראל‬is the subject, 19:49 corresponds. 14:1b uses ‫( נחל‬Piel) with the commission of three as subject, exactly as in 19:51. The other verb that expresses the distribution of land ‫( חלק‬Piel) always appears at the end – in 14:5 and in 19:51. In particular the use of the verb ‫ נחל‬in Qal connects Josh 14ff. to the book of Numbers, where this verb appears eight times, more than in any other biblical book.6 The investigation of the frame of Josh 14–19 shows that this part of the book must be attributed to an author-editor, who wrote in the style of the priestly source P; by no means can it be attributed to a deuteronomistic author. The frame, but also the content of these chapters attest to this fact, as shown by Enzo Cortese.7 After the priestly character of Josh 14–19 is established the question arises as to the stage of P to which these chapters belong. Cortese ascribes the book of Numbers wholly to PG, namely to the work of the original priestly author. He assigns Josh 14–19, precisely 13:15–21:42*, to PS, a later literary level added to the original work. We prefer the view of Wüst, Auld8 and earlier scholars, that already the last chapters of Numbers were later additions9 to this book. Accordingly Josh

6 By contrast this verb is used in Hifil in deuteronomic and deuteronomistic literature: Deut 1:38; 3:28; 12:10; 19:3; 21:16; 31:7; 32:8; Josh 1:6. For completeness we add that the use of ‫ נחל‬in Piel is more characteristic for the book of Joshua than for Numbers, where it only appears in 34:29 and is used differently. 7 Cortese, Josua, pp. 23–31, 42, 67–85, 112–113. 8 Wöst, Untersuchungen, pp. 209–221; Auld, Joshua, pp. 72–80. 9 To this corresponds the currently widespread view that the priestly source ended before the last chapters of Numbers and perhaps even before the book of Numbers; cf., for example, T. Römer, “Hauptprobleme der gegenwärtigen Pentateuchforschung”, ThZ 60 (2004), pp. 292–295.

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14–19 must be even later. Leaving this aside, the frame of Josh 14–19, discussed above, shows signs of a later development; these are the different uses of ‫ נחל‬in Qal and in Piel, and the use of ‫ חלק‬in addition to ‫נחל‬. All these point to a process of later “Fortschreibung”, usually in the style of P. But whether Josh 14–19 belong to a late level of P or are even later is a question of secondary importance: they are very late in any case. Clearly, a late author or several late authors picked up the thread from the end of Numbers and continued it.10 This view affords the insight that Josh 14, not Josh 13, is the original introduction of this part of the book, dealing with the distribution of the land.11 Chapter 13, which is connected to the deuteronomistic chapter 23, was added later. A smoother transition was thereby created from chapters 1–12, according to which Joshua was the only leader during this period and it was his task to distribute the land; cf. 11:23. So far we have restricted ourselves to chapters (13)14–1912 and established that these are connected to Numbers. The same applies to the succeeding chapters. They are generally and rightly regarded as additions to chapters 14–19; that is, they are very late from a literary point of view. Josh 20 dealing with the topic of cities of refuge is a late blend of Dtr and P; its author takes up the theme of Num 35. In Josh 20 the priestly tradition served as the literary base and the deuteronomistic material was worked into it. This can still be recognized in the Septuagint, where the deuteronomistic material is missing by and large.13 As in Josh 13, Joshua – again Joshua should be stressed, and not the tripartite commission – is mentioned in the introduction. This is an indication that this chapter belongs to the last stage of development, when the different traditions were adapted to one another. In chapter 21, however, the commission appears again in the introduction as responsible for the distribution of the land. Because of this

10

Like many scholars we believe that the traditions of Joshua are later than the traditions of Numbers to which they are related; for a different view see Auld, Joshua, pp. 83–85. 11 This is the view of M. Wüst and E. Cortese; A. G. Auld differs. 12 We shall deal with 18:1–20 after chapters 20–22. 13 Cf. R. D. Nelson, Joshua. A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, 1997), p. 228; E. Cortese, Josua, pp. 77–78; E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Bible (2nd ed.; Minneapolis – Assen, 2001), pp. 329–330; A. Rofé, “Joshua 20: Historico-Literary Criticism Illustrated”, in J. H. Tigay (ed.), Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia, 1985), pp. 131– 147. For different opinions: M. Noth, Das Buch Josua (2nd ed.; HAT I, 7; Tübingen 1953), pp. 125–127; L. Schmidt, “Leviten- und Asylstädte in Num. xxxv und Jos. xx; xxi 1–42”, VT 52 (2002), pp. 103–121.

the book of joshua and the existence of a hexateuch 563 difference chapter 21 should not be put too close to chapter 20 from the literary point of view. But here too a theme of Numbers is taken up: the theme of the Levitical cities, which belongs to the priestly literature. Josh 22:1–8, which deals with the dismissal of the eastern tribes, sounds very deuteronomistic. This holds mainly, but not exclusively, for v. 5, which speaks in nomistic phrasing of keeping the ordinances and “the torah” that Moses “servant of Yahweh” has ordered. Here again Joshua, not the commission, appears. This suits the deuteronomistic flavor of this section, but does not exclude very late provenance. It is suspicious that the term for “tribes” used here is not the deuteronomistic ‫שבט‬, but the priestly ‫מטה‬. The impression gained is that one of the two following explanations should be accepted: this is a deuteronomistic text, which was later reworked by a priestly author; or this text belongs to a late author, who was acquainted with and used both styles. As for the content, a theme started in Num 32 is brought to an end here. Beginning in Josh 22:9 a story is added about the building of an altar near the Jordan river; this is a very late tradition with clearly priestly flavor. By now Pinehas, the son of Eleazar, leads the Israelites, although Joshua and Eleazar still live according to the context of the book of Joshua. Regarding the development of the book of Joshua, Josh 18:1–10 can be addressed together with Josh 20–22: like them, this passage appears to be a late creation combining different features. On one hand the priestly flavor is evident – already in v. 1: the verbal form ‫ויקהלו‬ (Nifal) is priestly (P); it is most common in Numbers and also appears in priestly texts of Exodus and Leviticus. The following ‫ﬠדת בני ישראל‬ is priestly too. This is inferred from the the large number of references in Numbers – 1:2, 53; 8:9, 20; 13:26; 14:5; 15:25, 26; 17:6; 19:9; 25:6; 26:2; 27:20; 31:12 – in addition to references in Exodus and Leviticus. The place of Shilo appears in the book of Joshua only in its second half. The nearest parallels to the sentence at the end of 18:1 ‫ והארץ נכבשה לפניהם‬are to be found in Num 32:22, 29 and 1 Chron 22:18, indicating late provenance. On the other hand motifs can be detected that are non-priestly but resemble Dtr, or they are of peculiar nature but clearly late: the tripartite commission of P does not appear here, and Joshua alone is responsible for the distribution of the land. The motif of the seven tribes, which until now have not received their territories, is unique; it presupposes chapter 13 as well as

564

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chapters 14–17 and is later than both. The characteristic verb for the distribution of the land is ‫ ;חלק‬P would use ‫נחל‬. ‫ חלק‬is more important in Joshua than in Numbers, and in no other chapter in Joshua is it so frequent. Still, ‫ חלק‬represents the latest literary stage: it appears in 19:51 at the very end, and it appears in chapter 14 as well as in chapter 13. The conclusion is that Josh 18:1–10 belongs to the final stage of the emergence of the book as it combines elements that characterize the book’s different parts. By now it has become clear that the connections between the second part of the book of Joshua and the Tetrateuch can in part be explained as late continuations of the priestly source P: they could be denoted PS or better PSS; and in part they can be attributed to the late phase of editing sometimes called RDtrP.14 The situation is different regarding the first part of the book of Joshua: here no extensive “Fortschreibungen” (continuations) exist, in a style reminiscent of P, that are connected to the end of Numbers; in Josh 1–12 only a few, sparse entries suggestive of P are to be found. One such instance (Josh 9:18–21) is approximately four verses and several related expressions in the story on the making of a covenant with the Gibeonites. These verses indeed prove the existence of such a tradition, but they cannot prove the existence of a Hexateuch.15 More important are the connections between Josh 5 and the Pentateuch, with which Erhard Blum has dealt in recent years.16 The stories in Josh 5 concern the circumcision in Gilgal, the celebration of the first Passover in the land, and the appearance of the commander of the army of Yahweh. Here the author undoubtedly treats themes of the Pentateuch and uses corresponding material. But our argument applies here too: use and

14 Cf., for example, T. C. Römer, “Das Buch Numeri und das Ende des Jahwisten. Anfragen zur ‘Quellenscheidung’ im vierten Buch des Pentateuch” in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), p. 216: “Die sogenannten P – Stellen im Buch Josua sind eher als dtr-priesterliche Mischtexte zu bezeichnen”. 15 Also the fact that according to biblical tradition the prostitute Rahab had vast theological knowledge of the Israelite salvation history as told in the Pentateuch does not allow such a conclusion: knowledge of biblical traditions, in this case by the author of the book of Joshua, is one thing; the question of the extent of a biblical book is another. Cf. the accurate remarks of E. Blum, “Beschneidung und Passa in Kanaan. Beobachtungen und Mutmaßungen zu Jos 5”, in C. Hardmeier, R. Kessler and A. Ruwe (eds.), Freiheit und Recht. Festschrift für Frank Crüsemann (Gütersloh, 2003), pp. 314–316. 16 Blum, ibid., pp. 292–322.

the book of joshua and the existence of a hexateuch 565 knowledge of Pentateuchal traditions does not necessitate the conclusion that a Hexateuch existed.17 Besides, like Blum and others we believe that these sections in Joshua are of late origin; therefore they cannot prove the existence of an early Hexateuch. One may go even farther than Blum, who, like Rainer Albertz,18 reckons on a temporary existence of the Hexateuch: neither at the beginning nor at the end of the literary development. We believe that these scholars’ observations, acute as they are, do not predicate the existence of a Hexateuch at all.19 Concerning the existence of a Hexateuch we also have to consider a different kind of connection from the book of Numbers to Josh 2:1; 3:1. This is the place-name Shittim. This is the last place named in Transjordan where the Israelites erected their camp; it appears in the book of Joshua as the starting point for the conquest of Cisjordan. The name of Shittim appears in Num 33:49, albeit not in the form of Josh 2:1; 3:1 but as “Abel-shittim”. Another difference is that in Num 33:49 two additional toponyms are mentioned: Beth-jeshimoth and Arbot Moab. To this is related a difference in the exact localization of the camp: according to Num 33:49 a large area between the two places Bethjeshimoth and Abel-shittim was used for the camp; according to Josh 2:1; 3:1 the camp was situated directly at the place of Shittim. These differences lead to the conclusion that no direct connection exists between Num 33:49 and the book of Joshua; the author of Josh 2 did not continue the thread of Num 33:49. This corresponds to the fact that in Num 33, v. 49 is clearly an addition: v. 50 connects to v. 48; both verses contain the same phrase ‫בערבות מואב על ירדן יריחו‬.20 17 All the more because Josh 5 is not representative of Josh 1–12; it is a foreign body in the extent and content of its stories. 18 E. Blum, “Beschneidung und Passa in Kanaan”, p. 320; R. Albertz, “The Canonical Alignment of the Book of Joshua”, in O. Lipschitz, G. N. Knoppers and R. Albertz (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. (Winona Lake, 2007), pp. 301. For completeness we note that Albertz also deals with three short and rather insignificant passages in Josh 4 (vv. 12–13, 15–17, 19*). We fully subcribe to his conclusion (p. 300) that the priestly texts in Joshua represent a later development than P in the Pentateuch. 19 In respect of the connecting lines, which Blum, ibid., p. 298, detects between Joshua and the Pentateuch, we consider them much weaker than Blum thinks; this especially holds for Josh 3:5. 20 These are the statements of place that dominate at the end of Numbers: 22:1; 26:3, 63; 31:12; 35:1; 36:13. At the beginning of the book of Joshua they are not referred to. This tradition has to be attributed to the priestly school. “Shittim” or “Abel-shittim” represents a different tradition. This fact is overlooked by Kratz, whose understanding is different according to the German version of his book (only!): R. G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments (UTB 2157; Göttingen,

566

h. n. rösel But “Shittim” is also mentioned in Num 25:1. In respect of this verse the contradictory comments of Noth are remarkable. In his commentary on Numbers21 he writes that “this indication of locality can be regarded as a basic part of J”. In his History of Pentateuchal Traditions,22 however, he prefers the opposite view: “It is at least questionable whether 25:1a with the indication of place is not a later addition in consideration of Josh 2:1; 3:1, since the following story does not take place in the valley of Jordan in Shittim . . . but still on the highlands at the sanctuary of Baal Peor”.

We conclude that a connection between Numbers and Joshua exists at this point, but it is tenuous.23 Interestingly, according to Erhard Blum the mention of Shittim in Joshua together with the whole Rahab story should be regarded as a late addition to the book.24 In any event, the assumption that at the time of its emergence the book of Joshua was part of a Hexateuch rests on two conditions: (1) The sources of the Pentateuch must continue in the book of Joshua;25 (2) the character of the connections to the Pentateuch must be alike in the main parts of the book of Joshua. But this condition is not met, as we have tried to demonstrate: the book of Joshua consists of two different main parts, which are related in different ways to Numbers. These two parts of Joshua were put together at a late stage, so in its present form the book is a late creation. This is the main reason why we cannot assume the early existence of a Hexateuch, which contained our book of Joshua. Now the question remains: should we assume the existence of a late Hexateuch? For several reasons this theory appears very unlikely:

2000), p. 291. In our view the thread from Numbers to Josh 1–12 is even flimsier than Kratz maintains. 21 M. Noth, Numbers (OTL; London, 1968), p. 196. 22 M. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (Englewood Cliffs, 1972), p. 32 note 125. 23 In this respect R. G. Kratz (Composition, 216) agrees, although this connection is important for his position. It is remarkable that the two elements of this connection, namely the names of Shittim and Gilgal, appear together in Mic 6:5, but the origin of this verse is disputed. 24 E. Blum, “Pentateuch – Hexateuch – Enneateuch? oder: Woran erkennt man ein literarisches Werk in der hebräischen Bibel?” in T. Römer and K. Schmid (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (BEThL 203; Leuven, 2007), pp. 79–82. 25 They do not, as was demonstrated by Martin Noth. Showing this remains to his merit, even though the composition of the Pentateuch and the character of its sources are very much disputed nowadays.

the book of joshua and the existence of a hexateuch 567 1. Such a theory is very hypothetical, but even the temporary existence of a Hexateuch is of little heuristic value. 2. This solution also seems superfluous as well as awkward: if the Pentateuch existed at the beginning and also at the final (present) stage, the theory of a Hexateuch seems to be an unnecessary detour. 3. The present existence of the Pentateuch is a fact, not a theory. This fact must be taken very seriously in any attempt to reconstruct the development of the Bible. 4. The assumption of the existence of a late Hexateuch requires the detection of the same late editor in the Pentateuch as well as in the book of Joshua, probably also including the end of Deuteronomy. But this is not the case. Rainer Albertz26 has stressed that in Joshua a very late priestly author wrote with the intention of adjusting Joshua to the Pentateuch, which was already regarded as canonical. This contradicts the Hexateuch-theory and supports the view that Joshua emerged as independent book, which was certainly adjusted to the Pentateuch, but not integrated into it.27 Now we can summarize: 1. The book of Joshua contains two main parts, which differ in respect of their connection to the Pentateuch. 2. Josh (1)2–12 shows little connection to the book of Numbers. These connections cannot prove the existence of a Hexateuch. 3. Josh 14–22 is very much connected to the Pentateuch. But these connections are all late; they presuppose additions to P at the end of Numbers.28 Early connections do not exist; therefore no Hexateuch 26

Cf. note 18. Cf. E. A. Knauf, “Towards an Archaeology of the Hexateuch”, in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), pp. 279–280: Although Knauf uses the term “Hexateuch” he defines it as “Torah” with Joshua as a later “supplement”, which is understood “as the first deuterocanonical book attached to the canon of scripture which . . . comprised only the Torah”. But for an adequate evaluation of Knauf’s opinion a more recent essay must also be taken into consideration: E. A. Knauf, “Buchschlüsse in Josua”, in T. Römer and K. Schmid (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (BEThL 203; Leuven, 2007), pp. 217–224. 28 According to Enzo Cortese the relevant parts of Joshua can be understood as “a kind of appendix” to the end of Numbers. He even thinks that these sections once appeared at the end of Numbers before they were transferred to Joshua: E. Cortese, Deuteronomistic Work (Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 47; Jerusalem, 1999), p. 45. 27

568

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existed during the stage of the literary emergence of Joshua. And the late connections must be understood against the background of the existence of a canonical Pentateuch. 4. It appears that Joshua has to be understood as an independent book, which belongs to the large collection of the books sometimes called the Enneateuch.29

29 It is one of the deuteronomistic historical books. As indicated above we do not believe in the existence of a unified deuteronomistic history.

the book of joshua and the existence of a hexateuch 569 Bibliography R. Albertz, “The Canonical Alignment of the Book of Joshua”, in O. Lipschitz, G. N. Knoppers and R. Albertz (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. (Winona Lake, 2007), pp. 287–303. A. G. Auld, Joshua, Moses and the Land. Tetrateuch – Pentateuch – Hexateuch in a Generation since 1938 (Edinburgh, 1980). E. Blum, “Beschneidung und Passa in Kanaan. Beobachtungen und Mutmaßungen zu Jos 5” in C. Hardmeier, R. Kessler and A. Ruwe (eds.), Freiheit und Recht. Festschrift für Frank Crüsemann (Gütersloh, 2003), pp. 292–322. ——, “Pentateuch – Hexateuch – Enneateuch? oder: Woran erkennt man ein literarisches Werk in der hebräischen Bibel?” in T. Römer and K. Schmid (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (BEThL 203; Leuven, 2007), pp. 67–97. E. Cortese, Josua 13–21. Ein priesterschriftlicher Abschnitt im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (OBO 94; Friburg – Göttingen, 1990). ——, Deuteronomistic Work (Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 47; Jerusalem, 1999). Y. Kaufmann, History of the Religion of Israel. Volume IV. From the Babylonian Captivity to the End of the Prophecy (New York – Jerusalem – Dallas, 1977), pp. 491–493. E. A. Knauf, “Does ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography’ (DtrH) Exist?”, in A. de Pury, T. Römer and J.-D. Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs its History (JSOTS 306; Sheffield, 2000), pp. 388–398. ——, “Towards an Archaeology of the Hexateuch”, in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), pp. 275–294. ——, “Buchschlüsse in Josua”, in T. Römer and K. Schmid (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (BEThL 203; Leuven, 2007), pp. 217–224. R. G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments (UTB 2157; Göttingen, 2000). ——, “Der vor- und nachpriesterliche Hexateuch”, in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), pp. 295–323. ——, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (London – New York, 2005). R. D. Nelson, Joshua. A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, 1997). M. Noth, Numbers (OTL; London, 1968). ——, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (Englewood Cliffs, 1972). ——, Das Buch Josua (2nd ed.; HAT I, 7; Tübingen 1953). E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Licht des Deuteronomiumrahmens (FAT 30; Tübingen, 2000). A. Rofé, “Joshua 20: Historico-Literary Criticism Illustrated”, in J. H. Tigay (ed.), Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia, 1985), pp. 131–147. T. C. Römer, “Das Buch Numeri und das Ende des Jahwisten. Anfragen zur ‘Quellenscheidung’ im vierten Buch des Pentateuch” in J. C. Gertz et al. (eds.), Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (BZAW 315; Berlin – New York, 2002), pp. 215–231. ——, “Hauptprobleme der gegenwärtigen Pentateuchforschung”, ThZ 60 (2004), pp. 289–307.

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H. N. Rösel, Von Josua bis Jojachin. Untersuchungen zu den deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbüchern des Alten Testaments (VTSup 75; Leiden – Boston – Köln, 1999). E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Bible (2nd ed.; Minneapolis – Assen, 2001). L. Schmidt, “Leviten- und Asylstädte in Num. xxxv und Jos. xx; xxi 1–42”, VT 52 (2002), pp. 103–121. C. Westermann, Die Geschichtsbücher des Alten Testaments. Gab es ein deuteronomistisches Geschichtswerk? (ThB 87; Gütersloh, 1994). E. Würthwein, Studien zum Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (BZAW 227; Berlin – New York, 1994), pp. 1–11. M. Wüst, Untersuchungen zu den siedlungsgeographischen Texten des Alten Testaments I. Ostjordanland (Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients B 9; Wiesbaden, 1975).

ETHICALLY CULTURED INTERPRETATIONS: THE CASE OF EGLON’S MURDER (JUDGES 3)

Jack M. Sasson Vanderbilt University

I. Reading Ehud Until recently the story of Ehud was read as a yet another account of God motivating his elect to complete his will.1 The Greek versions (“LXX” for convenience) largely adopt the Hebrew story line with minor expansions, as when at 3:30, they explicitly cite Ehud as a Judge when the Hebrew does not. The Targum likewise does not expand much on the story. Facing the many hapax legomena in the text, both the LXX and the Targum naturally translate interpretively, without serious deflection of contents. In his paraphrase of Jewish Scripture, however, Josephus turns Ehud into a model for Jewish heroic opposition to tyranny.2 He is a trusted courtier who had real cause to turn against Eglon and when he resolutely strikes at his heart (never at his belly!), the confrontation lacks any touches that might cheapen Ehud’s act.3 In Rabbinic lore Ehud is deemed a “great scholar” (Midrash Genesis Rabbah, 99.3), but hardly any more attention is paid to him. Still, there was only sympathy for the role circumstances forced on Ehud so that when around the 8th century an “Antiochus Scroll” was composed for Hanukkah celebrations, Ehud’s deed was duplicated by 1 A good review of opinions on Ehud over the centuries is in D. M. Gunn, Judges (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Blackwell, 2005), pp. 38–49. 2 “[Ehud] became familiar with Eglon, and that by means of presents, with which he obtained his favor, and insinuated himself into his good opinion; whereby he was also beloved of those that were about the king. Now, when on a time he was bringing presents to the king . . . Ehud smote him to the heart, and leaving his dagger in his body, he went out and shut the door after him . . . On this account Ehud was dignified with the government over all the multitude, and . . . was a man worthy of commendation” (Josephus, JAnt, V/4). 3 An excellent review of Josephus’s portrayal is in L. H. Feldman, Studies in Josephus’ Rewritten Bible (JSJ Supplement 58; Leiden, 1998), pp. 137–152.

572

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the Hasmonean Johanan.4 Ironically, the rabbis gave Eglon more visibility. A tool of God for punishing recalcitrant Israel, Eglon is said to father Ruth and judged as one of David’s ancestors.5 Christian fathers generally read the story mystically (especially in the use of right and left hand) or typologically (Christ conquering evil). For most Christian readers since the Renaissance, however, the issue was not how Ehud accomplished his feat, but the morality of assassinating an elect of God. And while such reticence could be swept aside during revolutionary times,6 any qualm about the deceit with which Ehud carried his mission was attributed to “oriental” zealotry.7 The tendency to blame the times for Ehud’s ungallant behavior remained constant even when modern biblical scholarship has raised issues about the origins and reliability of the received text. The consensus was that folk material from the Gilgal region (possibly based on some historical kernel) had been reshaped by the Deuteronomist to promote a theology of divine control and of holy wars.8 Argued was the historicity of Moabite control of Israel at such an early period of their nationhood when there is precious little archaeological concordance. Armed with better knowledge of the languages (grammar 4 Johanan, son of Mattathias, hid a sword “two spans long and 1 span wide” under his cloak. With it, he assassinated Nicanor, a governor King Antiochus had sent to force the Jews into impure worship of false gods, after tricking him into dismissing his staff. For a discussion on the “historical background” for this unhistorical narrative, see A. Kasher, “The Historical Background of ‘Megillath Antiochus’ ”, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 48 (1981), pp. 207–230. 5 “R. Jose b. Huna said: Ruth was the daughter of Eglon, the grandson of Balak, king of Moab” (TSotah 47a; TSanhedrin 105b); “R. Jose son of R. Hanina said: Ruth was the daughter of the son of Eglon who was the son of the son of Balak the King of Moab” (THorayot 10b). 6 Edward Sexby (1616–1658), in advocating the assassination of Cromwell (admittedly not a king), writes, “. . . and here the Scripture shows us what the Lord thought a fit message to send a tyrant from himself: a dagger of a cubit in his belly. And every worthy man that desires to be an Ehud, a deliverer of his country, will strive to be the messenger” (Killing Noe Murder, 1657; cited from , 14). 7 Voltaire is scathing, “. . . these malignant devotees have incessantly before their eyes the example of Ehud, who assassinated the king Eglon; of Judith, who cut off the head of Holofernes while in bed with him; of Samuel, hewing in pieces King Agag; of Jehoiada the priest, who murdered his queen at the horse-gate. They do not perceive that these instances, which are respectable in antiquity, are in the present day abominable. They derive their fury from religion, decidedly as religion condemns it” (A Philosophical Dictionary, 1764, V/I/ii “Fanaticism”; see . 8 G. F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges (ICC; Edinburgh, 1895), pp. 89–91.

the case of eglon’s murder (judges 3)

573

as well as lexicography) of the Ancient Near East, modern commentators tackled the story’s many obscure words; but it cannot be said that they improved markedly on the suggestions of medieval Jewish commentators. In recent days the most striking differences from the traditional interpretations of the story have been in deciding the genre to which the story belongs, and new suggestions begin to crop up mostly in the past half-century, when literary rather than historical evaluations of the Ehud story begin to multiply. Why and how is the focus of a paper I gladly dedicate to Bustenay Oded, a colleague since our days in Jerusalem’s Institute for Advanced Studies and a fellow Mizrahi. But as judgments on such matters must be based on a faithful attachment to a narrative thread, I give as background an exposition of what transpired by lightly annotating a translation that is more fully justified in an Anchor Bible Judges commentary now in progress.

II. The account 1. The adversaries 311bWhen Othniel, son of Kenaz, died, 12the people of Israel resumed offending the Lord. The Lord emboldened Eglon, king of Moab, against Israel because its people did what was offensive to the Lord. 13He brought Ammon and Amalek to his side, intent to defeat Israel; together, they occupied the City of Palms. 14For eighteen years, the people of Israel served Eglon, king of Moab. 15When the people of Israel pleaded with the Lord, the Lord did provide them a rescuer: Ehud son of Gera, of Benjamin, a man with a hindered right arm. Through him, the people of Israel sent tribute to Eglon king of Moab.

The narrative opens on a theme familiar in Judges: Israel loses its attachment to God, who selects Moab as an instrument for teaching it a lesson. Its king’s name, Eglon, “calf ”, is totemic; but it is no more (or less) portentous than many other names given to proper Hebrews.9

9 Eglah, one of David’s wives (2 Sam 3:5), holds a female equivalent of the name; but there are many more such formations, some of them decidedly unflattering, such as Achbor (mouse), Huldah (weasel) and Shaphan (badger); see J. J. Stamm, “Hebräische Frauennamen”, in Hebräische Wortforschung. Festschrift zum 80. Geburtstag von Walter Baumgartner (VT Supplement 16; Leiden, 1967), pp. 329–330, with bibliography. Many of the kings of Kish in the Sumerian King List have animal

574

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Eglon, we shall soon learn, is eager to listen to the God of Israel who had commissioned him; but like many leaders in Israel’s history, he felt the need to assemble allies, among them Amalek, a tribe that God had fated for extermination (Ex 17:14). This lack of trust, perhaps no less than the tears Israel sheds under his yoke, may have lost Eglon God’s support.10 Ehud enters the stage, previously unannounced. While he never gets ַ ‫וַ ְתּ ִהי ָﬠ ָליו‬, or the to be “endowed with zeal for the lord”, (‫יְ הוָ ה‬-‫רוּח‬ ַ ‫מוֹשׁ‬ ִ ). There like) as is said of some other leaders, he is a “rescuer” (‫יע‬ are hints that he is a leader in Israel, since he is trusted to deliver its tribute and later (3:27) he needed only to blow his shofar for Israel, presumably in wait for a signal, to rally around him. Above all, he ַ ‫ ) ֶבּ‬tribal affiliawas ‫יְ ִמינוֹ‬-‫ ִא ֵטּר יַ ד‬. Undoubtedly his Benjamin (‫היְ ִמינִ י‬-‫ן‬ tion permitted the writer to pun on this particular characteristic since they both allude to the word for “right”, ‫ ;יְ ִמין‬but rather than making him ambidextrous (LXX), shrivel-armed (Targum), left- handed (most modern translations), or in any other way handicapped, this notice highlights his special training. Judg 20:16 relates that of the 26,000 Benjaminites that mustered for its fight against Israel, 700 were marked as ‫יְ ִמינוֹ‬-‫ ִא ֵטּר יַ ד‬such that each “could sling a stone at a hair and not miss”. So, Ehud had skills that will serve him well for the task at hand.11 It is debatable whether or not the vocabulary attached to his mission (‫ ) ְל ַה ְק ִריב ֶאת ַה ִמּנְ ָחה‬has cultic implications.

names such as Kalibum (“dog”), Kalumum (“lamb”), Zuqaqip (“scorpion”), and Arwium (“lion”), cited from . Examples from the Mari archives include Ayyalum, “deer”, a Benjaminite leader, and Šēlebum, “fox”, a prophet. 10 The theme is picked up from the opening chapter of Judges. When God assigns Judah first responsibility in capturing the Promised Land, Judah promptly invites Simeon to share the burden. 11 See the good pages on this topic in B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (New York, 1988), pp. 40–42, who nonetheless keeps referring to the left-handedness of Ehud. J. A. Soggin (Le livre des Juges [Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament, 5b; Geneva, 1987], p. 49) thinks Ehud’s condition must have made him less threatening. Most recent translations (TNK among them) have him “left-handed”, leading to exceedingly slippery observations on Ehud’s (ab)normalcy and deviance: “Ehud is a left-handed man in a symbolic world in which the ‘normal’ preferred side is the right . . .” (Susan Niditch, “The Challenge of Israelite Epic”, in J. M. Foley [ed.], A Companion to Ancient Epic [Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World; Oxford, 2005], p. 282). An almost parodic misuse of this lore is in G. P. Miller, “Verbal Feud in the Hebrew Bible: Judges 3:12–30 and 19–21”, JNES 55 (1996), pp. 113–117. Out of Ehud’s “defect”, he constructs an incredible setting for scatology and sexual deviance; see below. Unfortunately, he is not alone to do so; for recent examples, albeit with lesser reliance on casual misreading of the text, see R. Alter, The Art of Biblical

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2. The Confrontation 3 16Ehud made for himself a two-edged dagger, a forearm in length, girding it on his right thigh under his tunic. 17Then he presented the tribute to Eglon king of Moab. (Eglon himself was quite an imposing man.) 18 Once he completed presenting the tribute, he dismissed the people carrying it. 19Having just come back from the hewn images near Gilgal, he said, “I have a secret message for you, O King”. Eglon said, “Hush!” All those serving him left his presence. 20As Ehud was approaching him, he was sitting on the raised chamber of the reception hall that was his, all by himself. So as Ehud said, “I have a divine message for you”, he rose from his throne.

The narrative begins to hiccup here, with asides bracketing needed tidbits, arriving to the murder through stagger. The tribute Ehud is to deliver Eglon (15, 17) sandwiches details about the dagger (‫ ֶח ֶרב‬, generic in Hebrew for a cutting tool, from knife to sword, excluding ָ and ‫) ַת ַﬠר‬. It has two-edges, hence perfect for piercing razors, ‫מוֹרא‬ then ripping, with a proverbial capacity to injure (Ps 149:6; Prov 5:4). The blade is a ‫ גּ ֶֹמד‬long, a measurement that escapes exact calibration but short enough not to injure the thigh on which it rested while long enough to penetrate deeply.12 The next comment is about Eglon: He is ‫ ִאישׁ ָבּ ִריא ְמא ֹד‬of 3:17, not “exceedingly obese”, as some would have it, but imposing (Josephus has him as handsome) – a notice that explains why he would lack guards, a crucial element in the unfolding plot.13

Narrative (Basic Books, 1981), pp. 38–41, and M. Z. Brettler, “Never the Twain Shall Meet? The Ehud Story as History and Literature”, Hebrew Union College Annual 62 (1991), pp. 294–299. D. Jobling (“Right-Brained Story of Left-Handed Man: An Antiphon to Yairah Amit”, in Cheryl Exum [ed.] Signs and Wonders: Biblical Text in Literary Focus [Semeia Studies; Atlanta, 1989], pp. 125–131) waxes exuberant on the theme of left-handedness, allegedly in response to Amit’s restrained essay on Ehud (Y. Amit, “The Story of Ehud [Judges 3:12–30]: The Form and the Message”, in C. Exum [ed.], Signs and Wonders: Biblical Text in Literary Focus [Semeia Studies; Atlanta, 1989], pp. 97–112). 12 For the repertoire of Late Bronze daggers, see S. Shalev, Swords and Daggers in Late Bronze Age Canaan (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, 4/13; Stuttgart, 2004). I would fancy the dagger bought on the open market that was published long ago by S. E. Freeman (“A Copper dagger of the Middle Bronze Age in Baltimore”, BASOR 90 [1943], pp. 28–30), even if it was centuries too early to have survived until Ehud’s time and was made of copper rather than the bronze or iron dagger of Eglon’s time. But it was 32 cm long, had a very fine grip, a 21 cm blade and no cross-piece to separate them. 13 Human corpulence is normally conveyed by the root ‫שמן‬, as in Deut 32:16, Jer 5:28, Neh 9:25, and Ez 34:16 (figurative). In fact, at 3:29 we read about the slaughter or every “stout and prominent man” (‫) ָכּל ָשׁ ֵמן וְ ָכל ִאישׁ ָחיִ ל‬. The Hebrew ‫ ָבּ ִריא‬most

576

j. m. sasson

The context of their meeting is difficult to ascertain. Certainly Ehud is bringing to Eglon Israel’s tribute; but the subject of the two clauses that follows is not easy to establish. It makes sense that Ehud would dismiss those transporting the gifts in order to isolate the king; but as Eglon must certainly be credited with dismissing his court when Ehud offered to share a word from God (v. 19), protocol suggests that with tribute in hand he likewise terminated the audience (v. 18). If so, then the two discharges of servants in fact are the same act, with the narrative sharpening focus on the isolation of the king, as required by the plot. Similarly, it is useful (albeit not crucial) to realize that the Ehud statements of 3:19 and 3:20 are the same. They use approximate ֵ ‫ ְדּ ַב‬, “a secret phasing, but different vocabulary, with the earlier ‫ס ֶתר‬-‫ר‬ ִ ‫א‬-‫ר‬ ֱ ‫ ְדּ ַב‬of a verse later, for while message”, more precise than the ‫ֹלהים‬ ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ ֱא‬can mean “God, god, or gods”, it can also help create a superlative, so the phrase could mean “the gravest message” or the like.14 Who is coming back from “the hewn images of Gilgal” is also subִ ‫ ְפּ ִס‬are monoliths hewn or carved from ject to interpretation. The ‫ילים‬ stones or metal (silver, Isa 30:22) rather than shaped from clay or wood; they could be dressed stones or represent figures, divine, human, or animal. We now know much about their function, but especially from Mari documents, we have also learned much about their production and layout.15 Given the meaning of Gilgal—something round or in a often applies to animals (Gen 41:2, 1 Kgs 5:3) or to plants (Gen 41:5) that are nice and healthy, so also to a good cut of meat (Ez 34:3). Ps 73:4 bemoans the bodily fitness of wicked people and in Dan 1:15 young men who avoid the forbidden ration offered by ֵ ‫וּב ִר‬ ְ ‫טוֹב‬, “nice with healthy flesh tone”. While the kings nonetheless appear ‫יאי ָבּ ָשׂר‬ Targum here has ‫ ַפ ִטים‬, “fleshy” (applied to animals), the LXX gives άστείος σφόδρα “very handsome”, using the same noun that describes baby Moses, said to be “‫”טוֹב‬, “beautiful”, in Ex 2:2. Josephus simply omits any descriptions of Eglon. 14 The phrase ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫א‬-‫ר‬ ֱ ‫ ְדּ ַב‬itself gives ambiguous meaning. In 1 Kgs 12:22 and 1 Chron 17:3, it does refer to divine messages; but in 1 Chron 26:32 it simply means “divine matters”. 1 Sam 9:27 somewhat parallels our situation. Samuel draws Saul aside, isolating him from all, to let him hear God’s ‫ ָדּ ָבר‬, which turns out to be anointing him as king and proposing confirmation of his election rather than communicating to him a divine message. A good number of commentators have found irony and multiple meanings in the use of ‫ ָדּ ָבר‬, because it can stand for word (hence message) or act (assassination or the like). Lenzi (Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel [SAAS 19; Helsinki, 2008], pp. 224–227) reviews the formulation in light of his study of hidden knowledge and the gods, concluding that “divine oracles were considered secret even as they were being revealed” (p. 227). 15 See the dictionaries, under such words as ‫ ַמ ֵצּ ָבה‬or “pillar”. In older literature, there was a tendency to declare all such set stones as “cultic”, if not also “phallic” (hence “Canaanite”), likely because of statements in Deut 6:21–22; but recent research has shown how ubiquitous they were in Hebraic lore, functioning as boundary mark-

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577

circle – we may be dealing with an established cultic or ceremonial center (see Josh 4:20–23). Here we have alternatives: rather than a side trip he took after he delivered the tribute, Ehud may be returning from Gilgal, one leg of a trip that had him offer Israel’s tribute to Eglon.16 I opt, however, for bringing Eglon from Gilgal (‫ ָשׁב‬could be a participle as well as a perfect), a fine place to solicit oracles; but having failed to receive any, he was eager to hear what Ehud was bringing.17 That he wished to be alone is understandable, for Mari documents substantiate the desire of kings both to receive divine messages and to curb the dissemination of secrets.18

ers (Gen 31:44–49), memorials (Gen 35:19–20), votive statements (2 Sam 18:18; see J. C. de Moor, “Standing Stones and Ancestor Worship”, UF 27 [1995], pp. 1–20), or avatars (Judg 17:5). Recent studies include C. F. Graesser, “Standing Stones in Ancient Palestine”, The Biblical Archaeologist 35 (1972), pp. 33–63; T. N. D. Mettinger, No Graven Image? Israelite Aniconism in its Ancient Near Eastern Context (Coniectanea Biblica, OT Series 42; Stockholm, 1995); E. C. LaRocca-Pitts, “Of Wood and Stone”: The Significance of Israelite Cultic Items in the Bible and Its Early Interpreters (HSM 61; Winona Lake, 2001); U. Avner, “Sacred Stones in the Desert”, BAR 27 (2001), pp. 31–35; and almost any work that deals with Ashera, since they treat pillars as side issues. For the Mari material, see J.-M. Durand, Le Culte d’Addu d’Alep et l’affaire d’Alahtum (Florilegium marianum 7; Mémoires de NABU, 8; Paris, 2002). 16 Commentators have had difficulty explaining the moves Ehud took in this passage. For him to deliver tribute to Eglon then travel to and from Gilgal is just too awkward and flaccid recreation of events. 17 The verbal form controlling Ehud’s tribute, ‫( ִה ְק ִריב‬3:17) normally conveys a cultic function. In Mari documents, kings frequently summoned vassals to meet them at specific shrines where they received tributes as well as renew allegiances. Perhaps Eglon and Ehud traveled together from the hewn images area? 18 One of King Zimri-Lim’s administrators writes, “When my lord was about to set out on a campaign, he charged me, ‘You are living in the city of God; report to me whatever oracle that you hear occurring in God’s temple’ . . .” (ARM 26 196; see M. Nissinen (ed.), Prophecy in its Ancient Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian perspectives (SBL Symposium Series 13; Atlanta, 2001), pp. 26–27). Those same archives make it also clear that the gods of other lands could interfere (for the better they hoped) in political matters. Mesopotamian omen literature is full of warnings against state secrets ( pirištum, puzrum) being traded and it was the practice of kings to force their officers into periodic oath-taking. Samsi-Addu writes his son in Mari (A. 2724 = LAPO 16:49), “Submit to an oath all available administrators: governors, majordomos – administrators at your personal service –, those grouped by sections, palace representatives, lieutenants, and all administrators that remain. Along with scribal officials, Mašiya, Ursamana, Nahiš-re’ušu, Tab-ummanišu, and Rišiya should administer the oath-taking. They themselves should afterwards take an oath”. Diviners, who had access to the king’s deepest secrets, received a libretto of oaths to prevent them from compromising confidentiality (ARM 26 1). Nonetheless, we have this sad lament of Zimri-Lim, as quoted by one of his officers, “Why is it that confidential information takes to the wind as soon as I tell all of you?” (LAPO 16:55, pp. 178–179).

578

j. m. sasson

Where was the king when he was left alone with Ehud? The issue has received much attention. What is certain is that he was in a chamber with a throne, for while ‫ ִכּ ֵסּא‬, “chair” may occasionally have mundane meanings (2 Kgs 4:10), whether concretely or figuratively the term is always about a seat of rule when set in a palace or a temple. The term was never taken comically or scatologically, as in the English slang for a “toilet”. It is important to make this observation now, for what will soon ensue. The king sat ‫ ְל ַבדּוֹ‬, “by himself ”, in a ‫ ְמ ֵק ָרה‬in which there was a ‫ ֲﬠ ִליַּ ה‬. The phrase ‫לוֹ‬-‫ ֲא ֶשׁר‬, “just his”, is applicable to either unit, the whole emphasizing his isolation. The versions do not help much because ‫ ְמ ֵק ָרה‬occurs only here and below at 3:24: The LXX gives “he himself was sitting in his own upper summer chamber”, while the Targum has something similar, “in the upper room of his summer house”. Most translations (TNK and RSV) give “cool upper/roof chamber” (or the like), deriving ‫ ְמ ֵק ָרה‬from a root ‫ קרר‬that in fact has more to do with flowing (as in water, Jer 3:20) than cooling. Realistically, upper rooms are no place for cooling off, except at night-time, and from the construction of ice-houses in Mesopotamia we know that avoiding direct sunlight is the first step to good insulation. So we are left to our own devices to recapture the setting for the audience. ‫ ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:20 is obviously paralleled by ‫ ַבּ ֲח ַדר ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:24. From 2 Sam 19:1, we learn that on learning of Absalom’s death, David took his hurt to a loft above the city-gate (‫) ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת ַה ַשּׁ ַﬠר‬.19 Relying on Ps 104:3 (God “sets the rafters of his lofts in the waters”) Halpern emends ‫*ה ְמּ ָק ֶרה‬ ַ ‫ ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת‬, to a “room over the beams”, the king’s private audience hall, in which are crowded his throne, plus, incongruously enough, an “inner toilet room” (‫) ֲח ַדר ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬.20 This is one step removed from Jull who thinks ‫ ַבּ ֲח ַדר ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:24 is a privy while ‫ ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:20 is referring to the same as part of a throne room.21 All this specu-

19 See also Neh 3:31–32. The virtuous Shunamite asks her husband to build for ִ ַ‫ ֲﬠ ִליּ‬, something like a “walled-loft” (that is, one made of packed earth, Elisha a ‫קיר‬-‫ת‬ for permanence) and Josiah destroys the altars on the terrace, a grouping known as “Ahaz’s loft” (‫ – ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת ָא ָחז‬2 Kgs 23:12). From Jer 22:13, we might presume that many luxury houses included such a structure. 20 Halpern, The First Historians, pp. 43–58. For his architectural reconstruction, see p. 37. The inspiration for a beamed room seems to come from L. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel”, BASOR 260 (1985), pp. 16, 29, n. 7. 21 T. A. Jull, “MQRH in Judges 3: A Scatological Reading”, JSOT 81 (1998), pp. 63–75.

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lation goes beyond anything archaeology has taught us about Syrian palaces, and our crudest imagination should still not have oriental despots receiving guests by toilets. Their foul smell no less than their potential as conduit for vermins would advise against placing them there. Moreover, individuals sought privacy when needing to relieve themselves (Deut 23:13; Saul goes inside a cave when needing to do so, 1 Sam 24:4). I take ‫ ֲﬠ ִליַּ ת ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:20 as equivalent to ‫ ֲח ַדר ַה ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬of 3:24. The former tells us that it was raised higher than the ground floor, so likely needing steps; the latter suggests that we are dealing with a chamber (‫ )חדר‬with door panels that lock (see below). This chamber is built within the ‫( ְמּ ֵק ָרה‬however the term is to be vocalized), simply identifying an audience room, where things “happen” (verb: ‫)קרה‬.22 So we have the following scene: Ehud comes before Eglon in an audience chamber where sits Eglon on a platform and on his throne, ‫ ִכּ ֵסּא‬. Admittedly, it is difficult to decipher why Ehud rises from this throne, since we have no information that messages (secret or divine) were heard as a Hallelujah Chorus.23 Whatever his reason for doing so, this act earned Eglon Rabbinic approbation, “Because he rose for God, he became the father of Ruth” (Midrash Ruth Rabbah, 2:9; similarly TSanh 60a and Midrash Numbers Rabbah, 16:27). As a matter of staging, however, Eglon needed to rise for the slaying to fully succeed 3. Murder, most foul 321Reaching with his left hand, Ehud drew the dagger from his right thigh and stuck it in his belly. 22Even the hilt sunk with the blade, the fat closing over the blade such that he could not yank the dagger out of his belly and the bowels spilled out.24 23Slipping out toward the vestibule, Ehud shut and bolted the doors of the raised chamber behind him.

The HB has some fine lore about assassinations: Sisera’s head is bashed (4:17–21 and 5:24–27); Joash is cut down with a sword (2 Kgs 12:21–22); the snoozing Ishboshet is pierced in the abdomen (‫ח ֶֹמשׁ‬

Perhaps, ‫מקרה‬, a “maqtel” formative from which are constructed such a noun as ‫ ַמ ֵצּ ָבה‬, “pillar”. 23 Halpern, The First Historians, p. 75, n. 66. 24 Or: he slipped out toward the vestibule. 22

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j. m. sasson

2 Sam 4:5–6); likewise Abner, but while awake (2 Sam 3:27);25 and Amnon is bludgeoned (2 Sam 13:28–29). Most instructive for our purpose is the following account of Joab’s murder of Amasa (2 Sam 20:8–12): As they neared the Great Stone (obviously a ‫ ) ַמ ֵצּ ָבה‬in Gibeon, Amasa came toward them. Joab was in military dress, over which there was a sheathed sword (‫ ) ֶח ֶרב‬tied to a belt on his waist; but as he stepped forward, it fell out. Joab greeted Amasa, “Brother, are you well?” and his right hand grasped Amasa’s beard, to greet him with a kiss. Amasa was simply not on his guard against the dagger (‫ ) ֶח ֶרב‬in Joab’s left hand, so with it he struck him to the abdomen (‫)ח ֶֹמשׁ‬, shedding his bowels to the ground (‫)וַ יִּ ְשׁפּ ְֹך ֵמ ָﬠיו ַא ְר ָצה‬. He died without [Joab] having to strike again.

The literature is full of comments on this passage, with several expla– nations of how Joab tricked Amasa into letting down his guard. Most often we read that Joab lets his sword slip out of its sheath and then snatches it with his left before plunging it into Amasa’s body. More likely to me is that Joab, an experienced officer, purposely drops the girt sword to the ground, leaving it there to keep Amasa off his guard. As he comes close enough for his right arm to pull Amasa by the beard as if to kiss him, Joab completely cuts off his vision. He is now in perfect position to have his left hand to reach another weapon, this time a dagger, with which to stab him. It should be kept in mind that daggers (and the like) were not held with the blade next to the little finger, but with it pointing forward, so maximizing the power of an upward thrust.26 Through the Renaissance, artists almost exclusively displayed the hold in this way. In Hebrew literature reference to the direction of a hand is normally not stated unless there is reason to do so, as in our Ehud narrative. In the stylized images of lion hunts, Assyrian kings are shown holding a leaping lion by the throat while thrusting a dagger upwards into its belly (see Figure 1). So when Joab drove his left fist upwards, not only was the movement hidden from Amasa, but the blow had enough force to rip open Amasa’s belly to

25 It is obvious, however, that the spot is given as such because earlier (2 Sam 2:17–23), Abner had killed Asahel, Joab’s brother. Hotly pursuing Abner, Asahel would not desist, so “Abner struck him in the ‫ ח ֶֹמשׁ‬with a backward thrust of his spear and the spear protruded from his back. He fell there and died on the spot”. 26 H. Maryon et al., “Early Near Eastern Steel Swords”, AJA 65 (1961), pp. 175– 176.

the case of eglon’s murder (judges 3)

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Figure 1: Assurbanipal, king of Assyria, thrusting a dagger into a lion’s belly.

the abdomen (‫)ח ֶֹמשׁ‬, spilling his guts to the ground and leaving him hemorrhaging to death.27 What happens to Eglon could not have differed much except that, either because as an “imposing man” he towered over Ehud or because he stood on a podium, Ehud’s blow struck the ‫ ֶבּ ֶטן‬region, so below the ‫ח ֶֹמשׁ‬, and the weapon remained fixed there, to the delight of the narrator describing it.28 Ehud’s target was a choice, not only because there are no bones to stop the weapon, but also because any cut, even when not as deep, will soon fester. Before antibiotics, such wounds invariably led to death, from hemorrhage and resulting complications (blood clots, increase blood acidity, drop in body temperature) as well as eventually from internal poisoning and infections. Still, it is difficult to imagine that such wounds would instantaneously induce shock or lead to death, so we must give credit to the narrator for moving our focus from the scene of the crime to what happened outside Eglon’s chamber. All we read is that, in consequence to the blow, either Ehud or the ‫( ַפּ ְר ְשׁדוֹן‬but hardly the dagger, since it is feminine) being the subject of ‫וַ יֵּ ֵצא‬, “it/he went out”.

27 Something similar may have taken place in 2 Sam 2:16, when two sets of champions grasped each other by the head and plunged their knives into their opponents. 28 It is a totally perverse reading of the text for Halpern (The First Historians, p. 59) to have Eglon sitting on a “throne” (the double quotes are his, p. 60) when Ehud struck: “The king struggled to stand in bewildered horror, but the Israelite’s right hand restrained him, half-bent”.

582

j. m. sasson

There are several proposed solutions to dealing with this phrase, none inspiring thorough confidence.29 The least inventive is to find equivalence with what is said in consequence of Amasa’s murder (see above): his guts spilled earthward, so that ‫ ַפּ ְר ְשׁדוֹן‬is equivalent to ‫ֵמ ָﬠיו‬ of 2 Sam 20:10. But other suggestions abound. We may follow the Targum and treat ‫ ַפּ ְר ְשׁדוֹן‬as related to discharge, from the wound or from the anus; if from the latter, the consequence of violence.30 By lopping off the last three consonants of ‫ ַה ַפּ ְר ְשׁד ֹנָ ה‬, some arrive at ‫ ֶפּ ֶרשׁ‬, ָ ).31 More adventurous are allegedly “feces” (in Hebrew, normally ‫צוֹאה‬ suggestions that tie unknown ‫ ַפּ ְר ְשׁדוֹן‬to Akkadian paraštinnu, a word once thought to mean “hole”. (Its real meaning still eludes us.) On this basis, some suggest that Ehud is escaping through a conduit that ends in Eglon’s commode32 while others emend the verbal form into a hifil ִ ַ‫ )*ו‬so that Eglon is forcing his dagger though the anus.33 (‫יּוֹציא‬ But there is good reason to believe that already in antiquity ‫וַ יֵּ ֵצא‬ ‫ ַה ַפּ ְר ְשׁד ֹנָ ה‬, with an ambiguous subject, was glossed ‫וַ יֵּ ֵצא ֵאהוּד ַה ִמּ ְס ְדּרוֹנָ ה‬ 3:24)), taking Ehud out toward/through some architectural features of the palace (see ‫ ְשׂ ֵדר ֹת‬, “pillared porches” of 1 Kgs 6:9) likely the vestibule or veranda.34 Still, scholars are not easily intimidated that the word occurs nowhere else, and some still thinking of privies, emend into ‫( * ַה ִמּ ְסגְ רוֹנָ ה‬from ‫ ָסגַ ר‬, “to lock”).35 Halpern calls on Arabic sadira, allegedly meaning “to be blinded, puzzled”, and invents a “hidden” and hollow structure, a drop under the toilet through which Ehud makes his escape.36

29 For sampling, see B. Lindars, Judges 1–5. A New Translation and Commentary (ICC; Edinburgh, 1995), pp. 146–147. 30 Moore, Judges, p. 97, n. 5. 31 Halpern (The First Historians, p. 40) has a choice description, “Eglon expires, and his anal sphincter explodes”. 32 Llastly P. Harlé and T. Roqueplo, Les Juges (La Bible d’Alexandrie LXX, 7; Paris, 1999), p. 98. 33 T. J. Meek, “Some Emendations in the Old Testament”, JBL 48 (1929), pp. 163–164. M. L. Barré (“The Meaning of pršdn in Judges III 22”, VT 41 [1991], pp. 1–11) promotes another Akkadian connection, this time the verb naparšudu, “to flee or escape”, allegedly with reference to excrement this time spilling out of the guts. He does not explain how this very East Semitic word got to Hebrew or how were attached to it “the common –ôn . . . termination” (according to him, p. 4), not to say also a directional suffix. 34 One of the Greek versions simply omits ‫ וַ יֵּ ֵצא ַה ַפּ ְר ְשׁד ֹנָ ה‬it while another version duplicates it. 35 E. G. Kraeling, “Difficulties in the Story of Ehud”, JBL 54 (1935), p. 208. 36 Halpern, The First Historians, p. 58.

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In making his escape, Ehud shuts the doors of the raised chamber (‫ ) ֲﬠ ִליָּ ה‬behind him; then, once outside, he sets the locks in. Much has been written on how Ehud achieved it, with lack of knowledge of the relevant lock system(s) contributing heavily to the reconstruction of hidden latrines, sewer shafts, or the like. In fact, there were a number of methods to seal and lock diverse rooms. In biblical language, when ַ ‫ ְבּ ִר‬, of timber doors (or door panels) are closed (verb: ‫) ָסגַ ר‬, a bar (‫יח‬ or metal) or a bolt (‫ ִמנְ ָﬠל‬,‫ ) ַמנְ עוּל‬is set in place to lock (verb: ‫)נָ ָﬠל‬ them. To open (verb: ‫ ָפּ ַתח‬, a key (‫ ) ַמּ ְפ ֵתּ ַח‬is needed. Those keys can be large and are carried on the shoulder (Isa 22:22). King and Stager suggest that Ehud cleverly manipulated a tumbler lock to keep his victim shut.37 In use widely and deeply in antiquity, such locks are placed on the inside of a chamber, but can be operated from the outside through a hole in the door (Cant 5:5; and see Figure 2). When a cleverly hollowed bar or bolt is moved into position, tumblers or nails drop by gravity into their notches, setting doors into locked positions. Unless one was experienced in manipulating blindly a key created for a specific lock, to unlock a door (let alone find the required key) must have been relatively cumbersome and time consuming. It is not surprising therefore that Ehud would have had ample time to go a distance before the murder is uncovered. 4. The Escape 324No sooner did he leave than his servants came in. When they saw that the doors of the platform were bolted, they said, “He must be relieving himself in the chamber of the reception hall”. 25They got embarrassed waiting, but he was not opening the doors of the raised chamber. So they took the key and when they unlocked it there was their lord fallen dead on the floor! 26Throughout their hemming and hawing, Ehud was escaping. He moved beyond the hewn images and was escaping toward Seirah. . . .

37 See their comments in P. J. King and L. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Louisville, 2001), pp. 31–33 and more fully L. Stager, “Key Passages”, in A. Ben-Tor et al. (eds.), Eretz-Israel 27: The Hayim and Miriam Tadmor Volume (Jerusalem, 2003), pp. 240*– 244*. A fine review of how locks worked according to neo-Assyrian texts is in A. Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr. nach Prismenfragmenten aus Ninive und Assur (SAAS 8; Helsinki, 1998), pp. 97–107(reference courtesy M. Stol). For other mechanisms, see V. J. M. Eras, Locks and Keys throughout the Ages (Amsterdam, 1957); H. E. Wulff, “Door Locks in Persia”, Technology and Culture 7 (1966), pp. 497–503.

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Figure 2: ‫וַ יִּ ְסגּ ֹר ַדּ ְלתוֹת ָה ֲﬠ ִליָּ ה ַבּ ֲﬠדוֹ וְ נָ ָﬠל‬38

For our purposes, we need not follow Ehud as he scampered to rally his kinsmen, but only to review what happened outside the doors of the murder chamber. Hebrew narratives favor razor sharp conjunction of events; in this case Ehud decamps just as Eglon’s servants reach the locked chamber. A euphemism describes what the servants imagined was happening: Their king was seeking privacy to answer a call of nature.39 This statement has done much to encourage latrine-

38

From http://www.locks.ru/images/informat/History05.jpg. The image is from Europe; nevertheless it conveys the idea well. 39 Eglon was ‫ ֵמ ִסיְך הוּא ֶאת ַרגְ ָליו‬. The phrase relies on a verbal root (‫סכך‬, hiphil) that has to do with placing a cover over something, in this case “the legs”. It is difficult to give a precise exposition of what is at stake, the usual suggestion is that squatters are shielding themselves with their robes (see Josephus, JW 2, 147–149). It is obviously

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driven expositions of events. Jull is not alone in seating Eglon on a latrine rather than a throne when he met his death40 and others have even reconstructed whole structures to accommodate a privy in the throne room, allegedly in an upper level of the palace.41 I have had little success ferreting out information on the latrines or privies of pre-Hellenistic Levant.42 Occasionally I have come across reference to installations that are termed “toilets”, without discriminating between latrines and bath areas (the last requiring impermeable floorings or the like).43 The meager evidence allows us to imagine that built-in

used this way in 1 Sam 2:44, as Saul enters a cave to do the same. Rabbinic tradition is that the courtiers were encouraged to think so because of the stink created by the spilled ‫ ַפּ ְר ְשׁדוֹן‬, understood as “excrement”. 40 Jull, “MQRH in Judges 3: A Scatological Reading”, p. 70. 41 U. Hübner, “Mord auf dem Abort? Überlegungen zu Humor, Gewaltdarstellung und Realienkunde in Richter 3,12–30”, Biblische Notizen 40 (1987), pp. 130–140; F. Deist, “Murder in the Toilet (Judges 3:12–30): Translation and Transformation”, Scriptura 58 (1996), pp. 263–272. Many ribald readings of the assassination scene are premised on ‫ ִכּ ֵסּא‬being a“seat” rather than a “throne”, thence a “commode” or “toilet”. (The verb ‫יָ ַשׁב‬, is used both for sitting or squatting, see Deut 23:14.) Only in Talmudic time, when Roman communal toilets were introduced, do privies acquire the euphemism ‫“ ֵבּית ִכּ ֵסּא‬the place of the seat” (TBer. 25a). 42 See Jull, ibid., p. 70, who cites Iron II stones with centered holes in areas E3 and G (“house of Ahiel”). Worth noting is the Talmudic injunction against the construction of privies too close to human habitation, because of its sanitary and olfactory challenges (T. J. Eruvin 5:1) and the notice (cited in Fink) defining the wealthy by their ownership of toilet seats (T. B. Shabbat 25:2). 43 See O. Aurenche, La Maison orientale: l’architecture du Proche Orient ancien des origines au milieu du quatrième millénaire (BAH 109; Paris, 1981); P. M. M. Daviau, Houses and their Furnishings in Bronze Age Palestine: Domestic Activity Areas and Artefact Distribution in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages (JSOT/ASOR monograph series 8; Sheffield, 1993); A. Kempinski, and R. Reich (eds.), The Architecture of Ancient Israel: from the Prehistoric to the Persian periods – in Memory of Immanuel (Munya) Dunayevsky (Jerusalem,1992); Stager, “Key Passages”, pp. 242*–244* and notes 18, as well as standard reference sets, under such headings as “Sewers”, “Latrines”, “(Personal) Hygiene”, and “Abort” (sub RlA). A. R. George (review of Marc van de Mieroop’s The Ancient Mesopotamian City [Oxford, Clarendon Press], Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 62 [1999], p. 551) challenges the opinion that latrines and public toilets were lacking in Mesopotamia and suggests there is evidence to the contrary. At Alalah there seems to be some evidence for privies; see A. Fink, “Levantine Standardized Luxury in the Late Bronze Age: Waste Management at Tell Atchana (Alalakh)”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein (CHANE 31; Leiden – Boston, 2008), pp. 165–195. The evidence from Mesopotamia is more uneven, beginning with the third Millennium on (for example from Ešnunna, Tello, and Old Babylonian Ur). Vertical shafts are also found that suggests urban cesspits rather than sewage systems, with the accumulation periodically dug up (M. Krafeld-Daugherty, Wohnen im Alten Orient: eine Untersuchung zur Verwendung von Räumen in altorientalischen Wohnhäusern

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“toilets” were holes over cesspits (rather than commodes over sewer lines), and if anything under staircases rather than over them, as Halpern would reconstruct. If so, it makes no sense to locate such fixtures, of all places, near a throne. Ancient folks knew that you cannot leave fecal matter within a structure, as it invited horrid pests, let alone stenches. The amount of water required to maintain sanitation would not make sense in an arid climate. I suggest that what Eglon was thought to be using was not a fixed toilet, but a chamber pot.44 We know about their use broadly, from ancient to modern times (they were good enough for Versailles kings). They were likely made of metal and so their true function is not easily recognized archaeologically; but there are anecdotes that play on their generic shape. A vassal of Zimri-Lim of Mari constructs a very crude image of contempt when a cup of friendship is used as a chamber pot (A. 221 = FM 2 122)45 and Herodotus (Book 2 172) tells about Amasis teaching his courtiers a lesson by watching them worship a statue made from the gold of a melted chamber pot.

[Altertumskunde des vorderenOrients 3; Münster, 1994], p. 96, n. 453). M. Lebeau (“Eau et sanitaires à l’étage”, Subartu 16 [2005], pp. 99–105) makes a case for a seated latrine on the 2nd floor of a temple in mid-third millennium Tell Beydar, with drainage cut into the outside wall, a highly unlikely solution. Some interesting Hittite material on the topic is gathered in A. Ünal, “Ritual Purity versus Physical Impurity in Hittite Anatolia: Public Health and Structures for Sanitation According to Cuneiform Texts and Archaeological Remains”, in T. Mikasa (ed.), Essays on Anatolian Archaeology (Wiesbaden, 1993), pp. 119–139. In particular, he cites a text (pp. 126–128) in which soldiers on duty are not permitted to leave the area of the watch to fulfill their needs; presumably because it was at a distance from their guard spot. Another text (pp. 128–129) directs the king and queen to where they may stop at areas called šinapši to defecate. (On the above subjects, I have benefited from consulting with Sara Tricoli, David Gimbel, and Benjamin Sass.) Under-reported is the role that pigs and dogs played in ancient hygiene. Even into our own days, they keep latrines and cesspits from becoming major health hazards. For their service, however, they were broadly considered (then as now) as ritually unclean. 44 Hittite: dúgkalti- (see Ünal, ibid., pp. 126–128); Sumerian: KISI; Akkadian: karpat šīnātim. Greek lore on chamber pots is collected in B. A. Sparkes, “Illustrating Aristophanes”, Journal of Hellenic Studies 95 (1975), pp. 128. 45 See M. Guichard, “Au pays de la Dame de Nagar”, in D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand (eds.), Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot (Florilegium marianum, 2; Mémoires de NABU, 3; Paris, 1994), pp. 237–240. Lines 34–44 read: “On another matter; why does my lord not write to Kahat about Akin-amar. Is this man, Akin-amar, just my enemy but not also my lord’s enemy? Why does he remain in good terms with my lord? Once, this man sat by my lord and drank a cup (of friendship). Having elevated him, my lord reckoned him among worthy men, clothing him in garment, and supplying him with a wig. Yet, turning around, [Akin-amar] defecated into the cup he used, becoming hostile to my lord!”

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How long did they wait is not necessary to know, but it was enough for them to feel anxious and embarrassed. Having to retrieve a key must have taken time and so did the manipulation necessary to lift the tumblers up, the processes giving Ehud more time to find his way to safety. (Josephus, always striving for realism, gives them until evening.) What they saw on opening the door is an Eglon long dead; but the narrator crafts a description that moves beyond a mere chronology of events. This is achieved by coordinating two participial clauses with Eglon as subject, each headed by ‫ ִהנֵּ ה‬. The effect is to resurrect Eglon, so to speak, and have him refuse to open his own door; but when the doors are forced open, seemingly he falls dead at their feet.46 By then, ִ ‫ ְפּ ִס‬that might have played a role Ehud was beyond the very same ‫ילים‬ in sharpening Eglon’s enthusiasm for a message from God. Israel’s triumph against its tormentors was about to unfold.

III. Ehud as satire With a review of the narrative behind us, we pick up on the interpretive trends of recent years. Especially during a period of waning interest in historical reconstruction of early Israel and of rising appreciation of Hebraic narrative arts, Ehud’s story began to be read as satire, parody, slapsticks, or even farce, with Moab (via Eglon) as its target and scatology (or coarse humor) as its catalyst. Although there were precursors,47 Alter’s reading was the most influential, nudging the story away from being just a report on a political assassination, edited to suit Deuteronomistic sensibilities. That reading is what one finds in most recent Biblical dictionaries and encyclopedias. Through skilful manipulation of prose narrative, Alter’s account acquires a vision of a tyrant’s destruction, “at once shrewd and jubilant”: [Eglon] turns out to be a fatted calf readied for slaughter. . . . [his] fat is both token of his physical ponderousness, his vulnerability to Ehud’s

46 The achievement is operatic; much more so here than when a similar spectacle is replayed at 4:22, with Baraq finding Sisera sprawled dead in Jael’s tent. 47 L. Alonso-Schökel, “Erzählkunst im Buche der Richter”, Biblica 42 (1961), pp. 148–158; E. M. Good, Irony in the Old Testament (Westminster, 1965), pp. 33–34; K. Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition: The Form-Critical Method (New York, 1969), pp. 138–140.

588

j. m. sasson sudden blade, and the emblem of his regal stupidity. Perhaps it may also hint at a kind of grotesque feminization of the Moabite: Ehud “comes to” the king, an idiom also used for sexual entry, and there is something hideously sexual about the description of the dagger thrust. There may also be deliberate sexual nuance in the “secret thing” Ehud brings to Eglon, in the way the two are locked together alone in a chamber, and in the sudden opening of locked entries at the conclusion of the story.48

A good number of studies has followed Alter’s cue.49 Their authors too find humor in coarse contexts, shaping a burlesque out of a murder in the privy, occasionally with de Sade perversions. Handy considers the story a fine “ethnic joke”,50 Miles alludes to the “colonialist” dimension of the anti-Moabite satire,51 and Deist thinks it aimed at “publicly shaming [Eglon] out of his socks”.52 Even mention of the dagger with “two mouths” is said to bolster the farce because Ehud used it to deliver a ‫ ָדּ ָבר‬, “word, matter” to Eglon. None, however, has achieved as crude an interpretation as has Miller:53 Why is Ehud, an Israelite hero, portrayed as suffering from the physical defect of being left-handed? . . . [A] dysfunctional right hand in those days was almost certainly taken as a . . . token of improper hygiene and of sexual deviance. . . . By sending on the men carrying the tribute, Ehud is telling Eglon that he wants to see him in private, i.e. he is offering a homosexual liaison. The storyteller would have demonstrated graphically how Ehud reached between his legs with his left hand and began to remove his clothes; and how he pulled out a pointed sword, which he then proceeded to thrust into Eglon’s obese belly so deep that not only

48

Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative, p. 39. For representative opinions, see Y. Amit, “The Story of Ehud (Judges 3:12–30): The Form and the Message”, in C. Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders: Biblical Text in Literary Focus (Semeia Studies; Atlanta, 1989), pp. 97–112; Barré, “The Meaning of pršdn in Judges III 22”, pp. 1–11; M. Z. Brettler, “Never the Twain Shall Meet? The Ehud Story as History and Literature”, Hebrew Union College Annual 62 (1991), pp. 285–304; more nuanced in idem, The Book of Judges (Old Testament Readings; London, 2002); E. S. Christianson, “A Fistful of Shekels: Scrutinizing Ehud’s Entertaining Violence (Judges 3:12–30)”, Biblical Interpretation 11 (2003), pp. 53–78; Halpern, The First Historians; Jull, “MQRH in Judges 3”; G. P. Miller, “Verbal Feudin the Hebrew Bible”, pp. 105–117; S. Niditch, Judges (OTL; Louisville, 2008), pp. 57–58. 50 L. K. Handy, “Uneasy Laughter: Ehud and Eglon as Ethnic Humor”, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 6 (1992), pp. 233–246. 51 J. Miles, “Who are you calling ‘stupid’?” The Bible and Critical Theory 4 (2008), pp. 1–16. 52 Deist, “Murder in the Toilet (Judges 3:12–30)”, p. 269. 53 Miller, “Verbal Feud in the Hebrew Bible”, pp. 114–115. 49

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the sword but also the hilt (i.e. testicles) disappeared and could not be removed.

Without denying that the Ehud episode does contain humorous elements – the scene with the courtiers dallying outside the king’s upper chamber must certainly be placed among them – I have reservations about treating it as a satire, parody, or farce.54 Authors adopt satire when critiquing institutions, activities or personalities, normally of their own place and time, but also those of their neighbors. Satires are by definition intentional and they require a conspiracy of shared assumptions before they can unravel successfully. True, some satires may be too sophisticated for easy reception and authors may strive for an audience by displaying wit, irony, and a humor that might even turn coarse; but by themselves these devices do not define the genre and simply to catalogue absurdist manifestations in a narrative is not enough to define it as a satire. Rather, authors must own a stance from which to launch their barbs, targets must to some degree be transparent and focused, and audiences must be savvy enough to appreciate when details have moved away from the descriptive to the imaginative. To my mind, none of the interpretations of the Ehud story has given convincing reason that the narrative was created as a satire. Moreover, the audience that recent interpreters have in mind for an alleged satire is more likely modern than ancient. 1. The Ehud satirist As far as authorship is concerned, we may ask: Who are these alleged satirists and why are they poking fun of God’s own choice of Eglon and Moab to punish Israel? Are they in fact also launching diatribes against God for such a choice? Who are the Moabites of Judges 3? Are they the same folks that were born out of incest (as per Gen 19) or are they those who sheltered David’s parents when his fortunes were bleak (1 Sam 22:3–4)? Eglon: Is he lampooned for being “fat”? (The Hebrew, as we saw above does not define him so categorically.)

54 E. L. Greenstein considers the Ehud narrative to contain “one of the Bible’s few extended comical scenes”, Anchor Bible Dictionary 3 (1992), p. 331. I note here that the Ehud episode is not mentioned in Z. Weisman’s book on political satire in the Bible (Political Satire in the Bible [Atlanta, 1998]). Is not easy to say whether he left it out because he dismisses it as satire, is not willing to evaluate the opinions of others about it being a satire, or is simply disciplined about what he is willing to consider.

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Is he derided for expecting to live long after occupying God’s land, or for having the chutzpah to expect a message from God? Is his name (“Calf-y”) enough to provoke sarcasm when Israel was just led by a “Dog” (Caleb) and will soon be saved by a “Bee” (Deborah) and an “Ibex” (Jael)?55 Or could it be that the evidence for satire can be harvested from the manner in which he met his death? If so, the premises of scatology and sexual innuendos we read about in recent literature are themselves flimsy. Setting aside the issues of sexuality – which can be proposed whenever one body is said to penetrate the other,56 – and of feminization – which can be intimated whenever one character (especially one considered corpulent) is said to be dominated by another–, the scatology that has marred recent readings of the episode is itself based on a surprisingly unliterary appreciation of 3:24. As the text has it there, facing a locked door, the courtiers dally outside imagining their leader to be defecating. They do not share with us their image of how he was doing it in his chamber; but it is far more credible to presume they pictured him sitting on a chamber pot (as was likely in antiquity) than to turn his throne into a toilet. The incredibly developed literature (especially by Halpern, Jull) on the architecture of toilets in throne rooms is hardly reliable and often fanciful. ‫( וַ יֵּ ֵצא ַה ַפּ ְר ְשׁד ֹנָ ה‬3:23) is the other phrase that has encouraged a “murder in the toilet” scenario; but as we have seen there are severe difficulties in deciding what it meant, let alone in ascertaining whether or not it belonged to the earliest versions of the story (see comments above). 2. The two audiences for the Ehud story By definition, satires (and their congeners) are highly inventive undertakings, and their readers or audience need not invest much in their realism, social or historical; but they do need to recognize them as such to fully appreciate them. Not long ago, I enjoyed the staging of a Jacobean play, The Revenger’s Tragedy, whose authorship is still dis55 Many Biblical names are potentially comic, for example Cushan-Rishatayim (“Doubly-wicked Cushan” Judge 3:8–11); but writers can make certain that their point is well-taken, as when Abigail tells David “My lord ought not to bother with this worthless man, this Nabal: for as is his name is, so is he; Nabal is his name, and folly is with him . . .” (1 Sam 25:25). 56 Even the closing and opening of Eglon’s doors are read sexually by citing Songs 5:26 (Brettler, “The Ehud Story as History and Literature”, p. 293).

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puted.57 A wicked major character gets his just desert through poisoning, tongue slashing, eye gouging, and throat slitting. Blood and gore flowed freely; yet from the spectators, instead of revulsion there was glee and laughter. Recognizing its genre, we were all ready for far-fetched schemes, hyperbolic sentiments, and fully accommodating stock characters. Everyone knew (now, as when it was first staged) that the only historical lesson being imparted was about the joy of retribution. Given the long and complicated textual history of the Hebrew Bible, it is difficult to know at what stage of the Ehud story the satire might have surfaced: Was it when it was first crafted orally or when first put to writing? When it was finalized as a statement against Moab or when edited into a collection about judges? And what is the audience that appreciated the literate jousting? The folks who witnessed Ehud’s spunk? Or were they editors who massaged the story into yet another example of heroics, by Hebrew ancestors but above all by the Hebrew God? Once the narrative was inserted into the cycle of miseries and triumphs that characterize the book of Judges, however, it is difficult to imagine that Hebrews would doubt the historicity of this particular event without compromising the integrity of other narratives about God’s control of Israel’s fortune. It is not surprising therefore that until recently hardly anyone questioned the realistic way ancient Israel accepted the unfolding of events; and while many may have chortled over Eglon’s demise, I do not doubt that some were disturbed by its details. The distancing from Ehud the rabbis established in their lore is itself a sign of taking the events realistically, increasing the prospect that the audiences of antiquity continued to miss reading it as satire. It might also be telling that until modern Israel was about to be reborn as a state Ehud was hardly assigned as a name to a Jewish child, as much in reaction to the grim historicity he evoked as to avoid seeming to extol a regicide when living under Christian and Muslim rulers. It is wholly otherwise for the most recent audiences to reflect on the story. By treating Ehud as a satire rather than, say, a narrative with potential humorous touches, recent commentators have in effect created a new perception of the story, one that conflates ancient Israel’s reaction to it with that of their own. For Alter it is “fictionalized

57 The earliest printing of the play is from 1607; see .

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history”;58 and although he does not claim that it was so for ancient Israel, he certainly implies that it was intentional and ancient. Jull treats it similarly, but seems to know how to harvest from it historical kernels, not at all the genre’s likeliest products.59 Brettler cautions us against using the Ehud story to recreate historical events during the Judges period;60 it was not at all meant to be taken so. By crediting Israel with knowingly shaping a farce with pronounced scatology, recent commentators not only assign it a very modern sensibility but also rescue it from glorying in such morally questionable activities as regicide, exacerbated in this case by the murder of God’s tool for punishing Israel. I have strong doubt that this is necessary. In its other traditions, from Genesis to the Maccabees, Israel has shown a healthy interest in taking revenge against its enemies and its tormentors without ever needing to apologize or to weaken historical traditions. If we yield to the temptation to force satire into a potentially unpalatable Ehud narrative through deliberate skewering of its language, contents, or design, it should not be too difficult to do the same for Jael’s murder of Sisera. We might then also find many other traditions that could benefit from ethical refinement. From Plato to Jefferson, revisionism on hallowed texts has had noble practitioners; but let it be done by theologians, homilists, moralists, or ethicists rather than by biblical scholars.

58

Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative, p. 41. Jull, “MQRH in Judges 3”, p. 73. 60 M. Z. Brettler, The Book of Judges (Old Testament Readings; London, 2002), pp. 37–38. 59

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Bibliography L. Alonso-Schökel, “Erzählkunst im Buche der Richter”, Biblica 42 (1961), pp. 143–172. R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, 1981). Y. Amit, “The Story of Ehud (Judges 3:12–30): The Form and the Message”, in C. Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders: Biblical Text in Literary Focus (Semeia Studies; Atlanta, 1989), pp. 97–112. ——, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Leiden, 1991). O. Aurenche, La Maison orientale: l’architecture du Proche Orient ancien des origines au milieu du quatrième millénaire (BAH 109; Paris, 1981). U. Avner, “Sacred Stones in the Desert”, BAR 27 (2001), pp. 31–35. M. L. Barré, “The Meaning of pršdn in Judges III 22”, VT 41 (1991), pp. 1–11. M. Z. Brettler, “Never the Twain Shall Meet? The Ehud Story as History and Literature”, Hebrew Union College Annual 62 (1991), pp. 285–304. ——, The Book of Judges (Old Testament Readings; London, 2002). E. S. Christianson, “A Fistful of Shekels: Scrutinizing Ehud’s Entertaining Violence (Judges 3:12–30)”, Biblical Interpretation 11 (2003), pp. 53–78. P. M. M. Daviau, Houses and their Furnishings in Bronze Age Palestine: Domestic Activity Areas and Artefact Distribution in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages (JSOT/ ASOR monograph series 8; Sheffield, 1993). F. Deist, “Murder in the Toilet (Judges 3:12–30): Translation and Transformation”, Scriptura 58 (1996), pp. 263–272. J.-M. Durand, Le Culte d’Addu d’Alep et l’affaire d’Alahtum (Florilegium marianum 7; Mémoires de NABU, 8; Paris, 2002). ——. “La vengeance à l’époque amorrite”, Florilegium Marianum 6 (2002), pp. 39–50. V. J. M. Eras, Locks and Keys throughout the Ages (Amsterdam, 1957). L. H. Feldman, Studies in Josephus’ Rewritten Bible (JSJ Supplement 58; Leiden, 1998). A. Fink, “Levantine Standardized Luxury in the Late Bronze Age: Waste Management at Tell Atchana (Alalakh)”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein (CHANE 31; Leiden – Boston, 2008), pp. 165–195. S. E. Freeman, “A Copper dagger of the Middle Bronze Age in Baltimore”, BASOR 90 (1943), pp. 28–30. A. Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr. nach Prismenfragmenten aus Ninive und Assur (SAAS 8; Helsinki, 1998). A. R. George, Review of Marc van de Mieroop’s The Ancient Mesopotamian City (Oxford, Clarendon Press), Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 62 (1999), pp. 550–552. E. M. Good, Irony in the Old Testament (Westminster, 1965). C. F. Graesser, “Standing Stones in Ancient Palestine”, The Biblical Archaeologist 35 (1972), pp. 33–63. M. Guichard, “Au pays de la Dame de Nagar”, in D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand (eds.), Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot (Florilegium marianum, 2; Mémoires de NABU, 3; Paris, 1994), pp. 235–275. D. M. Gunn, Judges (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Blackwell, 2005). B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (New York, 1988). L. K. Handy, “Uneasy Laughter: Ehud and Eglon as Ethnic Humor”, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 6 (1992), pp. 233–246. P. Harlé and T. Roqueplo, Les Juges (La Bible d’Alexandrie LXX, 7; Paris, 1999). U. Hübner, “Mord auf dem Abort? Überlegungen zu Humor, Gewaltdarstellung und Realienkunde in Richter 3,12–30”, Biblische Notizen 40 (1987), pp. 130–140.

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D. Jobling, “Right-Brained Story of Left-Handed Man: An Antiphon to Yairah Amit”, in Cheryl Exum (ed.) Signs and Wonders: Biblical Text in Literary Focus (Semeia Studies; Atlanta, 1989), pp. 125–131. T. A. Jull, “MQRH in Judges 3: A Scatological Reading”, JSOT 81 (1998), pp. 63–75. A. Kasher, “The Historical Background of ‘Megillath Antiochus’ ”, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 48 (1981), pp. 207–230. A. Kempinski and R. Reich (eds.), The Architecture of Ancient Israel: from the Prehistoric to the Persian periods – in Memory of Immanuel (Munya) Dunayevsky (Jerusalem, 1992). P. J. King and L. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Louisville, 2001). K. Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition: The Form-Critical Method (New York, 1969). E. G. Kraeling, “Difficulties in the Story of Ehud”, JBL 54 (1935), pp. 205–210. M. Krafeld-Daugherty, Wohnen im Alten Orient: eine Untersuchung zur Verwendung von Räumen in altorientalischen Wohnhäusern (Altertumskunde des vorderen Orients 3; Münster, 1994). E. C. LaRocca-Pitts, “Of Wood and Stone”: The Significance of Israelite Cultic Items in the Bible and Its Early Interpreters (HSM 61; Winona Lake, 2001). M. Lebeau, “Eau et sanitaires à l’étage”, Subartu 16 (2005), pp. 99–105. A. Lenzi, Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel (SAAS 19; Helsinki, 2008). B. Lindars, Judges 1–5. A New Translation and Commentary (ICC; Edinburgh, 1995). H. Maryon et al., “Early Near Eastern Steel Swords”, AJA 65 (1961), pp. 173–184. T. J. Meek, “Some Emendations in the Old Testament”, JBL 48 (1929), pp. 162–168. T. N. D. Mettinger, No Graven Image? Israelite Aniconism in its Ancient Near Eastern Context. (Coniectanea Biblica, OT Series 42; Stockholm, 1995). J. Miles, “Who are you calling ‘stupid’?” The Bible and Critical Theory 4 (2008), pp. 1–16. G. P. Miller, “Verbal Feud in the Hebrew Bible: Judges 3:12–30 and 19–21”, JNES 55 (1996), pp. 105–117. J. C. de Moor, “Standing Stones and Ancestor Worship”, UF 27 (1995), pp. 1–20. G. F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges (ICC; Edinburgh, 1895). S. Niditch, “The Challenge of Israelite Epic”, in J. M. Foley (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Epic (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World; Oxford, 2005), pp. 276–287. ——, Judges (OTL; Louisville, 2008). M. Nissinen (ed.), Prophecy in its Ancient Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian perspectives (SBL Symposium Series 13; Atlanta, 2001). S. Shalev, Swords and Daggers in Late Bronze Age Canaan (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, 4/13; Stuttgart, 2004). J. A. Soggin, Le livre des Juges (Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament, 5b; Geneva, 1987). B. A. Sparkes, “Illustrating Aristophanes”, Journal of Hellenic Studies 95 (1975), pp. 122–135. L. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel”, BASOR 260 (1985), pp. 1–35. ——. “Key Passages”, in A. Ben-Tor et al. (eds.), Eretz-Israel 27: The Hayim and Miriam Tadmor Volume (Jerusalem, 2003), pp. 240*–245*. J. J. Stamm, “Hebräische Frauennamen”, in Hebräische Wortforschung. Festschrift zum 80. Geburtstag von Walter Baumgartner (VT Supplement 16; Leiden, 1967), pp. 301–339.

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A. Ünal, “Ritual Purity versus Physical Impurity in Hittite Anatolia: Public Health and Structures for Sanitation According to Cuneiform Texts and Archaeological Remains”, in T. Mikasa (ed.), Essays on Anatolian Archaeology (Wiesbaden, 1993), pp. 119–139. Z. Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible (Atlanta, 1998). H. E. Wulff, “Door Locks in Persia”, Technology and Culture 7 (1966), pp. 497–503.

THE PRAYER FOR THE RESTORATION OF THE ISRAELITE KINGDOM IN THE BOOK OF MICAH – LITERARY ANALYSIS AND HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Shmuel Vargon Bar-Ilan University

A considerable portion of the book of Micah speaks of chastisement and the threat of calamities to befall Israel. It concludes, however, with words of consolation, prayer, and the hope for better days in the future. Hermann Gunkel’s 1924 study of the end of Micah (7:7–20) found that this section consists of four units of a different literary genre, and that it is arranged in two pairs (7–10, 11–13; 14–17, 18–20) which form a single liturgical unit.1 Most scholars and interpreters continue to accept his conclusions. Some have also attempt to identify the historical background for which this liturgy might be appropriate.2 In a previous study, I observed that this collection actually contains four quite distinct passages that lack any organic literary connection, and that each of them ought therefore to be discussed separately.3 In this article I will concentrate on an analysis of vv. 14–17, first discussing its literary genre, then its components and structure, and finally, its overall meaning in the light of our historical knowledge.

1 H. Gunkel, “The Close of Micah: A Prophetical Liturgy – A Study in Literary History”, in H. Gunkel, What Remains of the Old Testament (New York, 1928), pp. 115–149. 2 See, e.g., L. C. Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah (Grand Rapids, 1976), pp. 390–404; J. L. Mays, Micah (OTL; London, 1976), pp. 152–169. 3 See S. Vargon, “Micah 7:8–10: Message of Encouragement”, in U. Simon (ed.), Studies in Bible and Exegesis, II, Tribute to Yehuda Elitzur (Ramat Gan, 1986), pp. 135–136.

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s. vargon I. The Question of the Literary Genre and Structure

Scholars of the Form Criticism school usually ascribe this passage to the “national dirge” or “lament of the people” genre.4 The proponents of this view isolate the elements and motifs characteristic of this genre and examine its literary structure. Westermann summarized these components and motifs in a table relating to several psalms that he believes belong to the “national dirges” genre. He included the following “national dirge” in this table: Ps 74, 79, 80. I will present the table set forth by Westermann, and attempt to examine the extent to which our passage corresponds to his model.

The model

Mic 7:14–17

introduction: call for God’s help

O, shepherd Your people with Your staff (14)

mentioning God’s past salvations

as in the days when You sallied forth from the land of Egypt (15)

lament – description of the distress, with three main personas: the enemy, we, and You expression of security (in contrast with the lament) languages of request (supplication): Hear! Rescue! Judge! motifs meant to bring about divine “Your people”, “Your very own intervention flock” (14) double request

(1) [May your people] graze Bashan and Gilead as in olden days (14) (2) Let nations behold and be ashamed despite all their might (16–17)

vow, to utter praises

4

Thus, e.g., Gunkel, “The Close of Micah”, pp. 134–135; see also Vargon, ibid. A dirge or lament is usually a poetical eulogy for a personal – family or national disaster,

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After presenting the elements and motifs of this literary genre, Westermann emphasizes that the most frequent component is the “request”. An examination of the table shows, however, that this passage does not contain any requests or entreaties, as are present in the examples of the “national dirges” provided by Westermann. There are no emotional appeals such as “Do not deliver”, “do not ignore” (Ps 74:19); “Rise” (Ps 74:22); “let your compassion come swiftly toward us” (Ps 79:8); “Help us” (Ps 79:9), and so forth. Another common element, the “lament” that portrays the people’s distress, is not present in this passage. Several scholars have attempted to find the “lament” in one of the passage’s verses (v. 14), but, as we shall see, their interpretation of this verse is to be rejected. To the contrary, it seems that prayer is a more dominant feature of the passage, since it contains a petition and hope for a better future for the people, and is replete with the language of request: “shepherd Your people”; “[let Your people] graze Bashan”; “Let nations behold and be ashamed”; “let them put hand to mouth”; “let them lick dust like snakes”; “to the Lord our God; let them fear and dread You”. We will now turn to a discussion of the structure of the passage, and its components.

(14) O, shepherd Your people with Your staff

Your very own flock

may they who dwell badad

in a woodland surrounded by farmland

Graze Bashan and Gilead

as in olden days

(15) as in the days when You sallied forth from the land of Egypt

I will show him wondrous deeds

(16) Let nations behold and be ashamed despite all their might let them put hand to mouth

let their ears be deafened

(17) let them lick dust like snakes

let them come trembling out of their strongholds

to the Lord our God, let them fear

and dread You

with a dominant chord of annihilation and hopelessness. These terms should therefore be understood with the meaning of “national dirge” or “lament of the people”, that also include elements of request, prayer, and the hope of divine intervention. See J. H. Tigay, “Lament”, Encyclopedia Biblica, 7 (Jerusalem, 1976), cols. 125–126 (Hebrew).

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The passage opens with an appeal to the Lord to shepherd His people with His staff. The picture of the Lord who shepherds, provides food and livelihood, leads on the way, and cares for His flock frequently appears in the Bible,5 and is also present in Egyptian, Mesopotamian, and Ugaritic texts.6 The imagery of the shepherd in our text is joined by the “staff” held by the shepherd (Ps 23:4). One use of the shepherd’s staff is to guide the flock to the desired location; the shepherd also uses it to drive predators away from the flock. The hemistich that concludes the first stanza, “Your very own flock”, also contains the reason for the special treatment the worshiper hopes to receive. The prophet prays for the Lord to protect His people from those who would oppress it,7 and to shepherd it – to ensure that His flock is herded, give it water to drink, and lead it.8 This motif, that emphasizes the fact of Israel’s being the Lord’s people and His portion as the rationale for His intervention to save His people, returns in various prayers genres, including that of the “lament of the people”.9 The meaning of the second line: “May they who dwell isolated in a woodland surrounded by farmland [karmel] . . .” is the subject of disagreement. Modern commentators tend to regard this line as one of the main components of the “lament of the people” genre, as one that describes the distress of the lamenting people. According to this interpretation, the people of Israel dwells apart and alone, abandoned and desolate (cf. Lam 1:1), in a barren land in which a forest of uncultivated trees grows, in the midst of fertile farmland. That is, the passage describes the sorry situation of the Lord’s flock, that dwells in a deserted land, in which wild trees spring up, surrounded by the fruitful “karmel”.10 5 See, e.g., Gen 49:24; Isa 40:11; Jer 31:9, Ez 34:11–19; Ps 28:9; 74:1; 77:21; 79:13; 80:2–3; 95:7; 100:3, and many more. On the metaphor of God bowing, see P. J. van Hecke, “Pastoral Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible and its Ancient Near Eastern Context”, in R. P. Gordon (ed.), The Old Testament in Its World: Papers Read at the Winter Meeting, January 2003, the Society for Old Testament Study (Leiden, 2005), pp. 200–217. 6 See the short summation of the sources by Polak, pp. 234–237 and nn. 25–34. A similar metaphor is used in Mic 2:12; 4:6–7. 7 Cf. 1 Sam 17:34–36; Isa 31:4; Amos 3:12. 8 Cf. Gen 29:3, 7–10; 31:40; Ex 3:1; Isa 49:9–10; Ps 31:1–3; 28:9; 80:2–4. 9 See, e.g., Deut 9:26, 29; 1 Kgs 8:51; Isa 63:17; Joel 2:17; Ps 28:9; 74:1–4; 79:1; 94:5, and more. Isaiah complains, in the name of the people (26:13): “O Lord our God! Lords other than You possessed us”. See also above, n. 1. 10 Thus, e.g., Gunkel, “The Close of Micah”, pp. 136–137; Mays, Micah, p. 162; Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, pp. 398–399. O. Eissfeldt, “Ein

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This interpretation seems open to question, for two reasons: (a) the phrase “šokniy lebadad”11 does not have the meaning “to live in isolation”, that is, an undesirable situation.12 To the contrary, the adverb “badad” has a positive meaning here; namely, to live in peace and security with power and independence. This is voluntary seclusion, without compulsion and interference by anyone.13 (b) The metaphoric depiction of a people that dwells alone in an area whose desolation

Psalm Nord Israel, Micha, 7: 7–20”, ZDMG 102 (1965), pp. 259–268, maintains that the subject of the verb “to live” is God, who dwells in a temple in isolation, in the forest in the Carmel hill country. Eissfeldt (Der Gott Karmel [Berlin, 1953]) developed a theory of the existence of a divinity dwelling in Carmel, the dwelling place of God’s grace. Cf. Deut 33:16; Isa 8:18; Joel 4:17; Amos 9:3; Ps 135 21. This is not the place to relate to the theory as a whole, but it seems that the verse in Micah does not support it, since, in grammatical terms, the verb related to “Your very own flock” – the people of Israel, and not God. 11 Various scholars read “šokěnê”, following LXX (kataskenountas), the Vulgate, and Pseudo-Jonathan (‫)ישרון בלחודיהון‬. Thus, e.g., D. E. Sellin, Das Zwölfprophetenbuch, Hosea – Micha (KAT; Leipzig, 1929), p. 348; T. H. Robinson und F. Horst, Die Zwölf kleinen Propheten (HAT; Tübingen, 1964), p. 150. It would seem, however, that the principle of lectio difficilior supports the MT version. The final vowel i as an addition to the present tense is an ancient case marker, that is preserved in MT, and at times indicates the construct state, such as “beniy ’atono [his ass’s foal]” (Gen 49:11); “šokniy sneh [the Presence in the Bush]” (Deut 33:16); in other instances, it is merely a poetical stylistic embellishment, such as “ha-yošbiy ba-šamayim [enthroned in heaven]” (Ps 123:1), and more, which is in poetical style. See Gesenius and Kautzsch, Hebrew Grammar, para. 90m, who regards this as a phenomenon of a hiriq that is added without morphological significance. For a comprehensive discussion of the uses and vague source of the ‫ – י‬addition, see D. Robertson, “The Morphemes – Y (Ī) and – W (– Ō) in Biblical Hebrew”, VT 19 (1969), pp. 211–223. The form in the collective singular (šokniy) apparently relates to “flock” (thus, e.g., J. M. P. Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Micah , Zephaniah, Nahum,Habakkuk, Obadiah and Joel [ICC; Edinburgh, 1911], p. 155). Cf. B. K. Waltke, A Commentary on Micah (Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2007), pp. 440–441. 12 Scripture uses the wording “yašav badad” (Lev 13:46; Jer 15:17; Lam 1:1; 3:28) with this meaning. 13 As, e.g., “There is a people that dwells in safety, not reckoned among the nations” (Num 23:9); “Thus Israel dwells in safety, alone is Jacob’s abode [. . .] O happy Israel” (Deut 33:28–29). See also Isa 27:10; Jer 49:31; Ps 4:9. Cf. D. Silber, “Badad in the Bible”, Ba-Shitin: Topics in the Bible and Its Language (Tel Aviv, 1977, Hebrew), pp. 96–97, who argues for semantic development in the meaning of the adverb badad. While it once had a positive meaning before the destruction of the First Temple, once the Temple fell, it received the meaning of imposed loneliness and solitude. It seems to us, however, that the two meanings were current in the same period, in accordance with the verb it modified (cf. Rashi, R. Joseph Kara, R. Eliezer of Beaugency, and M. L. Margolis, The Holy Scriptures, with Commentary, Micah [Philadelphia, 1908], p. 77). Isa 27:10 is to be interpreted as a chiastic contrasting parallelism: “Thus fortified cities lie desolate, homesteads deserted, forsaken like a wilderness” (Silber, ibid., p. 97).

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leads to its forest cover, while surrounded by farmland, is strange and unknown to us in the Bible.14 The difficulties we raised seem to indicate a different interpretation for “ya‘ar be-tok karmel”: in various scriptural passages “ya‘ar” denotes a place in which numerous trees grow naturally and wild;15 along with this basic meaning, various aspects of the forest are emphasized. It symbolizes, inter alia, the desolation that results from the absence of humans. When a land is abandoned, the forest and its thickets expand, and wild beasts increase and prowl in it. Isaiah prophesied that when the land is desolate, one would have to be equipped with bows and arrows in order to go about there (Isa 7:24). Hosea (2:14) expresses the danger to be found in the forest: “I will lay waste her vines and her fig trees [. . .] I will turn them into brushwood, and beasts of the field shall devour them”. In these depictions, the forest is a dangerous place inhabited by beasts of prey.16 “Karmel”, in some verses, is the specific name of a mountain (Carmel) on the boundary of the Zebulun and Jezreel valleys,17 but is also a general term for a fertile and tilled area, with the richest of vegetation.18 14 The difficulty in this imagery led Eissfeldt to assume that the subject of the verb “ṣokniy” is God, who dwells in an isolated temple; see Eissfeldt, “Ein Psalm Nord Israel, Micha, 7: 7–20”, pp. 259–268. On the rite in Carmel, see B. Mazar, “They Shall Call People to Their Mountain”, Eretz-Israel 14 (1978), pp. 39–41, and the literature cited. 15 Thus, e.g., Isa 7:2; 44:14, 23; Eccl 2:6, and more. 16 The forest is dangerous for humans, because of the wild beasts that roam about within it (see, e.g., 2 Sam 18:8). When the land is desolate, the forest thicket becomes more dense, and wild animals increase and are hidden in it (see, e.g., Isa 7:24; Hos 2:14). Many researches have been written on the forest, including Y. Aharoni and S. E. Loewenstamm, “Geographical Terms in the Bible”, Encyclopedia Biblica, IV (Jerusalem, 1962), col. 750 (Hebrew). N. H. Tur Sinai, “Ya‘ar”, Encyclopedia Biblica, III (Jerusalem, 1958), cols. 722–723 (Hebrew); B. Z. Luria, “Go up to the Forest, and Clear Ground There for Yourselves (Josh. 17:15)”, Sepher Seidel (Jerusalem, 1962), pp. 56–60 (Hebrew); and M. Zohary, Plants of the Bible (Cambridge, 1982). It should be noted that if a fertile and rainy land is not cared for, it is liable to become a thicket of wild vegetation – a forest, as a consequence of its plentiful rains and the quality of its soil. Accordingly, farmland could easily become a forest. 17 See Z. Kallai, “Carmel, Mount Carmel”, Encyclopedia Biblica, IV (Jerusalem, 1962), cols. 324–329 (Hebrew). 18 See idem, ibid. Thus, e.g., Isa 16:10; 29:17. The name “Carmel” is derived from “kerem” (vineyard) with the addition of the suffix lamed, with the meaning “land of fruit orchards” (see, e.g., BDB, p. 502; KBL [1958], p. 474; M. Z. Kaddari, Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew [Ramat Gan, 2006], pp. 533–534). In terms of its nature and fertility, the Carmel is compared to Bashan or the Sharon (Isa 33:9; 35:2; Nah 1:4, and more; Jer 2:7; 4:26; 48:33). Various scriptural passages connect the Carmel-karmel with a

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In light of the above, the second line in the passage should be understood as the continuation of the supplication: “Let Your flock [= Your people], that You shepherd, dwell securely in the forest as in farmland” – with the same trust in Your Providence as if they were dwelling in a settled agricultural area, where no danger lurks.19 A similar notion is expressed in Ez 34:25: “And I will grant them a covenant of friendship. I will banish vicious beasts from their land, and they shall live secure in the wasteland, they shall even sleep in the woodland [beya‘arim, without fear of the wild beasts]”. In any event, the prophet does not portray a given situation, but voices a request for the future. A petition of this sort – and especially the motif that contrasts the forest with farmland – is exceptional in the national dirges. Micah continues the tableau of the flock, and utters an additional wish: “May (they . . .) graze20 Bashan and Gilead as in olden days”. The word “karmel”, that, in this passage, represents fertile and tilled land, is also the name of the mountain; the prophet accordingly further mentions two hilly regions, Bashan and Gilead, that, too, are known for their fertility, and for the choice pastures they offer.21 Micah might allude to the initial Israelite settlement in the Gilead and Bashan areas (Num 21:25; Deut 3:2–19). Since these areas were regarded as prime

forest. At times these terms appear in tandem: “And the mass of its scrub [ya‘aro] and its farm land [karmillo]” (Isa 10:18); in a construct state: “its farmland forest [ya‘ar karmillo]” (2 Kgs 19:23 = Isa 37:24); or as opposites: “Lebanon will be transformed into farm land [la-karmel], and farm land accounted as mere brush [la-ya‘ar]” (Isa 29:17); “and wilderness is transformed into farm land [la-karmel], while farm land rates as mere bush [la-ya‘ar] ” (32:15). On the different meanings of the name Carmelkarmel in Scripture, see J. Mulder, “Carmel”, TDOT, VII (Grand Rapids, 1995), pp. 325–336. 19 See Rashi, R. Abraham Ibn Ezra, and R. David Kimhi. Seidel (The Book of Micah, p. 62) asserts that these lines contain two different requests: allow Your flock to remain in security; and shepherd Your flock in the woodland within the Carmel. Mount Carmel was afforested and provided good pasture (cf. Amos 1:2). 20 The word “graze” is used here in a jussive mode, as are the following verbs: “let [nations] behold”, “let them put”, “let them lick”, “let them come trembling”, “let them fear”, “let them dread”. On the jussive, see Gesenius and Kautzsch, Hebrew Grammar, paras. 48h; 109a–k; G. Bergsträsser, Hebräische Grammatik (Leipzig, 1929), pp. 381–397. 21 The request for grazing “as in older days” recurs in other passages in Prophets, such as “I will build it as in the day of old” (Amos 9:11); “as in olden days and as in former years” (Mal 3:4), and more.

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grazing land,22 it is not surprising that the prophet prays that they will once again be pasture land for Israel.23 The three requests and supplications are followed by the wording “I will show him wondrous deeds as in the days when You came out from the land of Egypt”, in which scholars find the element of mentioning God’s past salvation, which is a dominant “lament of the people” component.24 This formulation of the previous divine salvation raises several difficulties: (a) its inconsistency regarding the person of the speakers: “You came out” (second person) – “I will show him” (first person); (b) in v. 14 the prophet speaks of Israel in the third person plural (yir‘u), which would lead us to also expect the wording: “Show them [har’em] wondrous deeds as in the days when they came out from the land of Egypt” or: “Show it wondrous deeds as in the days when it [the people] came out from the land of Egypt”; (c) it was the Israelites who came out Egypt and were saved; why, then, does Scripture have the Lord coming forth from this land? The change of person has led some scholars to understand the verse as the Lord’s response to the prophet’s prayer: the Lord tells Micah to say to Israel that He has accepted his prayer (in the preceding verse), and He promises: as the day of your (Israel’s) coming out from slavery to freedom in the Egyptian redemption, so, too, will be the future redemption. “I will show it – Israel – wondrous deeds”; here we have a transition from the second person (“You came out”) to the first-person speaker with a third-person reference (“’ar’enu”).25 22 See Num 32:1–4; Deut 32:14; Ez 39:18; Amos 4:1; Ps 22:13. On the settlement in Bashan and Gilead and the region’s agricultural and economic riches, see B. Oded, “The Political Status of Israelite Transjordan during the Period of the Monarchy to the Fall of Samaria”, (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1968, Hebrew), pp. 73–76; idem, “Darb al-Hawarneh: An Ancient Route”, Eretz-Israel 10 (1971), pp. 192–193 (Hebrew). 23 “Lament of the people” contains requests to act beneficently on behalf of the people. See, e.g., Ps. 74:3, 22; 79:6, 8, 9; 80:15, 19. In these, however, the request is only a short component of the prayer as a whole, while in the prayer of Micah, as we shall see the request is its main component. 24 This motif usually appears in “laments of the people” as part of a request, as, e.g.: “Deal with them as You did with Midian, with Sisera, with Jabin, at the brook Kishon” (Ps 83:10), and is one of the reasons for requesting God’s intervention in the difficult situation that has come into being (as in, e.g., Ps 44:2–5; 74:2–3, 12–18; 80:8–12; 85:2–5, and more). 25 Perhaps this should be read as “’ar’enu”. The suffix “-nu” in the MT version “’ar’enu” might have resulted from a final mem that was broken into the two letters nun-vav. Pseudo-Jonathan reads: “I will show them [’ar’em] wondrous deeds as in the days when you sallied forth [ṣe’tkem, plural] from the land of Egypt”. According to

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This interpretation introduces an element that is not present in the passage: a dialogue between the prophet and God. The passage sounds one-directional: the prophet speaks to His God. The verse therefore should be understood as the continuation of the prophet voicing his requests, that changes the address from third person plural to direct (second person) address to the Lord,26 just as he addresses Him in the beginning of the prayer (“shepherd Your people”). The prophet petitions God to once again show His wonders to His people, as He did when He came out before His people, to bring it out from Egypt.27 The word “’ar’enu” is interpreted here as “har’enu” (show us), and v. 15 thereby naturally continues the prayer in v. 14. The commentators resolved the change in speakers in two ways: (1) many28 stated that the verse was distorted, and that it should read “har’enu” (with the ’alef vocalized with a segol) or “har’enu” (with a ṣere), that is: show us, allow us to see. This emendation, however, is not supported by the early Targumim or manuscripts; (2) others assert that although this spelling (with an ’alef ) is irregular (in the hif ‘il imperative), the exchange of he with ’alef in the hif‘il is to be found elsewhere in the Bible, and therefore this emendation is superfluous.29 Both interpretations impart the same meaning to the verse. As regards the identity of

this, the pronoun in the singular has its origins in the paleography of the mem (the reverse phenomenon, dittography, apparently is to be found in Deut 25:17: “after you left [be-ṣe’tkem] Egypt”, instead of “be-ṣe’tka [after You left]”, since the entire passage is in singular number). 26 The mention of God’s past salvation is formulated in many “laments of the people” in the second person. Thus, e.g., “It was You who crushed the heads of the monsters in the waters; who smashed the heads of Leviathan” (Ps 74:13 ff.); “You are the God who works wonders; You have manifested Your strength among the peoples” (Ps 77:15); “You plucked up a vine from Egypt; You expelled nations and planted it; You cleared a place for it; it took deep root and filled the land” (Ps 80:9–12). 27 This is an ellipsis, with the meaning: when You sallied forth before Your people. 28 J. Wellhausen, Die Kleinen Propheten (Berlin, 1898), p. 150; Smith, Micah, Zephaniah, p. 152; Sellin, Das Zwölfprophetenbuch, p. 50; Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, p. 392; Mays, Micah, p. 165; D. R. Hillers, Micah (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, 1984), p. 88, and others. 29 Thus, e.g., A. B. Ehrlich, Mikrâ Ki-Pheshutô: The Bible According to Its Literal Meaning, III (Berlin, 1901, Hebrew), p. 442; Seidel, The Book of Micah, p. 62. Cf.: “and all My clothing was stained [’eg’altiy]” (Isa 63:3); “I have spoken [va-’adaber] to you, speaking often [’aṣkim]” (Jer 25:3). Ehrlich comments: “This is the way of the [Hebrew] language in the time of this prophecy that it began to change under the influence of its sister [language] Aramaic” (loc. cit.). Gesenius and Kautzsch, Hebrew Grammar, para. 53k, in contrast, attributes the ʾalef to a copyist’s mistake, and not to the influence of the Aramaic.

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who it was who came out from Egypt, this verse is not exceptional, for other scriptural passages, as well, state that the Lord came out, instead of saying that the Israelites did so. Thus, for example (Ps 68:8): “O God, when You went at the head of Your army, when You marched through the desert, Selah”. This picture, of the Lord going forth before His people to save them – “The Lord went before them in a pillar of cloud by day, to guide them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, that they might travel day and night” (Ex 13:21) – occurs in additional places in the Bible.30 This component of the prayer evinces the conception that the memories from the time of the Exodus from Egypt are a fundamental element of Israelite faith and expectation of divine succor at any time.31 The prophet prays that, just as the Lord went forth from Egypt at the head of His people and brought them to their land by means of His wonders, so, too, will the Lord show them His miraculous deeds now and fulfill their requests.

II. The Requests (vv. 16–17) In the continuation of the prayer (vv. 16–17), Micah requests divine intervention on behalf of His people. All his petitions are related to the nations’ response to the wonders of the Lord. The passage begins with the verb “see [‫”]ראה‬, and ends with “fear [‫”]ירא‬: the consequence of the nations seeing the hand of the Lord saving His people is “let

30 Cf. Jud 5:4; 2 Sam 5:24; Ps 60:12; 68:8. See Smith, Micah, Zephaniah, p. 154. This might bear a trace of the notion, that is reflected in the rabbinic literature, that God Himself was redeemed from Egypt (see, e.g., Mekhilta, Bo, 14; BT Megillah 29b), and in the piyyut by Kallir for the Hoshana of “Ani Vaho, bring, please, salvation”: “As You saved with the utterance ‘And I shall bring you [ve-hoṣe’tiy ’etkem] forth’, which may be interpreted ‘And I shall be brought forth with you [ve-huṣa’tiy ’itkem]’, so, please, save”. See M. M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah (Complete Torah): TalmudicMidrashic Encyclopedia of the Pentateuch, Exodus, VIII (New York, 1944, Hebrew), p. 159, n. 222. 31 The idea that the future redemption will be comparable to the past redemption (or even exceed it) recurs in the words of Isaiah (e.g.: 11:16; 19:20–22; 43:1–3; 50:2). On the development of this idea in the Bible and in the rabbinic dicta, see M. L. Margolis, The Holy Scriptures, with Commentary, Micah (Philadelphia, 1908), pp. 93–94; S. E. Loewenstamm, The Tradition of the Exodus in its Development, (Jerusalem, 1965, Hebrew), pp. 17–24.

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them fear and dread You”.32 The requests that refer to the nations or to Israel’s enemies are one element of the “laments of the people”, although it is not as developed in them as in this passage. We will now examine these requests in detail. (1) Micah asks that the nations be disappointed by the power and strength in which they trust.33 (2) “Let them put hand to mouth; let their ears be deafened” – that is, let them block their mouths and be silent. The literal meaning of “’ozneyhem teḥerašnah” is: let their ears cease to hear. This is a picturesque portrayal of a report so astounding and of such powerful import that, upon hearing it, their ears will cease to function. The prophet thereby expresses the force of the confusion and surprise felt by the nations when they hear of the Lord’s wonders.34 The second request not only asks for dismay caused by physical might, it also desires the positive act of silencing oneself and acceptance of the kingship of Heaven. The opposite of this action is opening one’s mouth wide, as: “My mouth is wide over my enemies” (1 Sam 2:1); “They open wide their mouths at me, saying, ‘Aha, aha, we have seen it!’” (Ps 35:21); “They open wide their mouths at me; reviling me, they strike my cheeks; they gather themselves together against me” (Job 16:10); “All our enemies loudly rail [paṣu pihem, lit., opened wide their mouth] against us” (Lam 3:46).

32 This was also the response by Israel after the Lord revealed His wondrous acts at the Red Sea: “And when Israel saw [‫ ]וירא‬the wondrous power which the Lord had yielded against the Egyptians, the people feared [‫ ]וייראו‬the Lord: they had faith in the Lord and in His servant Moses” (Ex 14:31).The ra’ah-yir’a wordplay is a common motif in the Bible, especially in biblical poetry. See, e.g., Deut 28:10; Isa 41:5; Ps 40:4; 52:8; 112, and more. The “wonders” lead to seeing and fear: “He said: I hereby make a covenant. Before all your people I will work such wonders as have not been wrought on all the earth or in any nation; and all the people who are with you shall see how awesome are the Lord’s deeds which I will perform for you” (Ex 34:10); “And all the peoples of the earth shall see that the Lord’s name is proclaimed over you, and they shall stand in fear of you” (Deut 28:10). 33 Bosh miy-, meaning: disappointed by, appears in, e.g., Isa 20:5; Jer 2:36; 48:13; Hos 4:19. See Kaddari, Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew, p. 92. Geburah (might, v. 16) includes all the traits of the mighty individual: physical strength and bravery (see 2 Kgs 18:20; Isa 30:15; Jer 49:35; 51:30; Ez 32:30, and more). See Kaddari, ibid., pp. 137–38. 34 Seidel, The Book of Micah. The motif that hearing a report can influence the ears appears in the Bible. Thus, when Samuel is dedicated to be a prophet, he is told that the future disaster that will occur will be such “that both ears of anyone who hears about it will tingle” (1 Sam 3:11); cf. 2 Kgs 21:12; Jer 19:3. Based on Jud 18:19: “Be quiet; put your hand on your mouth”, it seems that there is a hidden wordplay in this request – the mouth will be silent (yaḥariṣ), and the ears will be deafened (teḥeraṣnah).

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Opening wide one’s mouth expresses self-aggrandizement, and deprecation and mockery of the other; consequently, the closing of the mouth or placing a hand over it both mean the silencing of the enemy and his refraining from boastfulness, as “the mouth of all wrongdoers is stopped” (Ps 107:42); “Nobles held back their words; they clapped their hands to their mouths” (Job 29:9).35 Thus, the prophet asks that the nations, that, until then, had opened their mouths – that is, they had boasted of their superiority, on the one hand, and, on the other, mocked the inferiority of their foes (Israel) – would now fall silent, when faced with the miraculous deeds of the God of Israel. (3) The third request: “Let them lick [yelaḥaku] dust like snakes, like crawling things on the ground,36 let them come trembling out of their strongholds”37 (v. 17) contains a prayer for the subjugation of the nations before the Lord. Yelaḥaku, that comes from the root ‫לחך‬, 35

Cf. Isa 52:15; Job 21:5. The serpent that crawls on the earth is depicted as licking the dust. “Like crawling things on the ground [’ereṣ]” is a poetical appellation for serpents, that functions here as a substitute for the “snakes” in the first hemistich. Deut 32:24 refers to serpents as “creepers in dust [‘afar]”, but since Micah said “’afar” in the first hemistich, he used the word “’ereṣ” in the parallel hemistich. The pair of words “’afar”/“’ereṣ” is common in biblical parallelism (Isa 29:4; Ps 7:6; 44:26, and more) and in the Ugaritic literature (see Y. Avishur, The Construct State of Synonyms in Biblical Rhetoric [Jerusalem, 1977], pp. 39–40). Since the second section of the verse (“like crawling things on the ground”) is in the plural, the word naḥaṣ in the first section, too, should be interpreted as a collective noun. 37 “Yirgezu mi-misgeroteyhem” (“Let them come trembling out of their strongholds”) is difficult to interpret in its context. The basic meaning of the root ‫ רגז‬in the Bible, in the kal and hif`il conjugations, is tremble, shake, fear, as: “The peoples hear, they tremble [yirgazun]; agony grips the dwellers in Philistia. Now are the clans of Edom dismayed; the tribes of Moab – trembling grips them [. . .] Terror and dread descend upon them” (Ex 15:14–16; and similarly, 1 Sam 14:15; 2 Sam 7:10; 22:8; Job 9:6, and more). “Mi-misgeroteyhem” – the usual meaning of the noun misgeret (a wood or metal band that encompasses something, as in Ex 25:25; 37:12) is not suitable here. Accordingly, it might be understood, following the noun masger, in its fundamental sense: a closed place that is parallel in the Bible to “bet kele’ ” (“dungeon” – Isa 42:7). The combination “yirgezu mi-misgeroteyhem” refers to the crawling things on the ground (the serpents) in the metaphor, which will be forced to leave the holes and lairs that provide them with shelter most of their lives. This phrase might, however, refer to the vehicle of the metaphor, that is, to the nations who will be disappointed by their might, and who will come forth from their strongholds in fear and trembling. The causal mem preceding “misgeroteyhem” can be interpreted in two ways: (a) yirgezu (they will move, come forth in trembling) from the places where they found protection (“misgeroteyhem”), and this is the locational mem or the mem of origin (cf. 2 Sam 22:46 = Ps 18:46); thus Pseudo-Jonathan, Ibn Ezra; Seidel, The Book of Micah, p. 63; J. B. Weinkopf, The Book of Micah: The Hebrew Text with a Critical Commentary (Tel Aviv, 1930, Hebrew), p. 49; cf. Mays, Micah, pp. 163, 166; Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, p. 392, and others. This approach suits the explanations 36

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frequently appears in the Bible with the meaning of eating (Num 22:4; 1 Kgs 18:38), but it may also have the limited meaning of licking (Isa 49:23; Ps 72:9).38 This request should not be viewed as the expectation of gaining revenge. It returns to the language of the curse of the serpent: “on your belly shall you crawl, and dirt shall you eat all the days of your life” (Gen 3:15).39 The entreating prophet does not desire the destruction of the nations; he rather seeks their subservience before the Lord. Their bowing down to the earth, as if licking the dust, will be a sign of their utter submission to the Lord’s majesty and recognition of His greatness.40 (4) The fourth request, which concludes the prayer, “to the Lord our God;41 let them fear and dread You,” does not contain the element of retribution against the nations, but rather the great hope that, in consequence of the wonders that the Lord will demonstrate in the salvation of His people, the nations will undergo the profound religious experience called “fear of the Lord,” and thereby His name will be exalted and sanctified in His world. In the prayer’s requests, the prophet does not ask, as does the Psalmist, that the nations will be brought down to the nethermost pit (55:24), nor does he seek, as does Jeremiah (10:25), “Pour out Your wrath on the nations who have not heeded You”. He prays, and hopes, for a change in their consciousness, by ceasing to trust in their prowess and instead acknowledging the Lord; he does not seek their death, but their repentance. Although some of the requests in the end of the

brought above. (b) Yirgezu (they will fear) because of the dungeon in which they will be imprisoned, and this is a causal mem (thus Ibn Janah, p. 130, s.v. “‫)”זחל‬. 38 Of the six occurrences in the Bible, one is in the qal conjugation (Num 22:4), and the other five in pi‘el. In Num 22:4 its construct source (q-lḥok ha-ṣor [as an ox licks up]) is in the qal conjugation, alongside the verb that is declined as pi‘el (yelaḥaku), without any difference in meaning. 39 According to Tur Sinai 1934–35, p. 13, “dirt shall you eat” is a hyperbolic expression of “on your belly shall you crawl”, for the crawling creature seems as if it wants to eat dirt. Cf. Weinkopf, The Book of Micah, p. 49. 40 Cf. Isa 49:23; Ps 72:9. According to one view, the object of the submission is Israel, that is, the nations will bow down to Israel (thus, e.g., Ibn Ezra; Weinkopf, The Book of Micah, pp. 48–49). The context, however, seems to indicate that the object is God. 41 The preposition ’el is to be understood here (and in Hos 3:5) with the meaning of “from,” i.e., they will fear the Lord. ’El has this meaning in several biblical passages, such as: “that he should carry him ’el [= from] the house” (Jer 39:14); “’el [= from] the land of Canaan” (Ez 16:29).

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prayer have counterparts in the “national dirges”, they are also to be found in prophecies and psalms outside this category. Our discussion of the prayer’s components shows that while Micah’s prayer follows the style of the “national dirge” for the restoration of Israel it does not contain most of the components present in the literary model set forth in the scholarly literature. The prayer has two central components, with two requests: (a) that the Lord restore Israel to its former standing and renew its days as of old; (b) that the Lord will cause the nations to arrive at an awareness of His majesty. These two components are accompanied by a short flashback that recalls the Lord’s wonders in the past as a reason and catalyst for the requested action in the near future, and as an allusion to God’s commitment to “His very own flock”. The prayer is composed of two stanzas of equal length (vv. 14–15, 16–17). The first stanza, of four lines, that is mainly written in lament meter (3:2), is linked to the picture of the shepherd, the pasture, and the flock, that also contains a reference to the Exodus from Egypt, that, too (in other scriptural passages) is connected to the tableau of the shepherd and his flock. This stanza includes requests for God’s miraculous intervention in human history to restore Israel to its lost land. In the second stanza, also of four lines, the supplicant wishes that the nations will be disappointed in their strength when faced with the Lord’s wonders on behalf of His people that are mentioned in the first stanza. There is a certain symmetry between the two parts of the prayer, that are linked, not only by their content, but also in their literary motifs and similar sounds: the first stanza opens with the root ‫רעה‬: “‫( ”רעה עמך‬shepherd Your people), and concludes with a verb from the root ‫ראה‬: “‫( ”אראנו נפלאות‬Show us wondrous deeds); and the second stanza, that speaks of the nations, opens with “‫”יראו‬ (from ‫ראה‬: Let [the nations] behold), and closes with “‫( ”ויראו‬from ‫ירא‬: Let them fear): seeing the wondrous acts of the Lord, who saves His people, will bring the nations to fear Him.

III. The Background and Meaning of the Prayer Scholars who discuss the historical reality reflected in this passage do so within a much more extensive context, namely, 7:7(8)–20. Many reject Micah’s authorship, and view it as reflective of the period fol-

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lowing the exile to Babylonia.42 Several of the arguments for the late dating of the unit relate to this specific passage. (1) Close literary affinity between the passage and late texts:

Mic 7:14

Jer 50:19

O, shepherd Your people with Your staff, Your very own flock

And I will lead Israel back to its pasture

[. . .] in a woodland surrounded by farmland

and he shall graze in Carmel and Bashan

Graze Bashan and Gilead

and eat his fill in the hill country of Ephraim and in Gilead

Both passages mention the locations: karmel (farmland) – Carmel, Bashan, and Gilead; both contain the metaphor of pasture that probably results from the association with the rich pasture in these regions. In Micah, the metaphor of the flock probably led to his mentioning the fertile lands of Transjordan: “This close affinity [. . .] invites us to date the texts to the same period”.43 Since the verse in Jeremiah is clearly dated to the period in which a diaspora already existed in Babylon (50:17), this passage from Micah, as well, belongs to the same period.44 This passage also has a literary connection with Isa 63:7–64:11. Both passages speak of the deliverance in “the days of old” (Isa 63:9, 11; Mic 7:14) related to the Exodus from Egypt (Isa 63:9–14; Mic 7:15). Each 42 This view became entrenched in scholarly research following the study in 1903 by B. Stade, “Micha 7, 7–20 ein Psalm”, ZAW 23 (1903), p. 164, who attributed the unit (Mic 7:7–20) to the time of the Maccabees. This view is no longer accepted by scholars. The current prevaling opinion is that this unit dates to the time of the exile to Babylonia or the Return to Zion, between 586 B.C.E. (the burning of the wall of Jerusalem by the Babylonians) and its rebuilding by Nehemiah in 445 B.C.E. See, e.g., Wellhausen Die Kleinen Propheten, p. 149; Smith, Micah, Zephaniah, pp. 15, 148, 149; Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, pp. 252, 393; Mays, Micah, pp. 163–164; S. L. Cook, “Micah’s Deuteronomistic Redaction and the Deuteronomists’ Identity”, in L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (Sheffield, 1999), pp. 216–223. 43 See, e.g., B. Renaud, La formation du livre de Michée (Paris, 1977), p. 374 (translated here from the French). 44 Renaud, ibid., p. 374. On Jer 50, see Y. Hoffman, Jeremiah: Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisrael; Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, 2001, Hebrew), pp. 826–845, with additional literature.

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uses the shepherd metaphor (Isa 63:9, 11, 14; Mic 7:14). Additionally, the terminology of the request: “Relent for the sake of Your servants, the tribes that are Your very own [šibṭey naḥalatka]” (Isa 63:17) is connected with the parallel verse in our passage: “O, shepherd Your people with your staff [bi-šibṭeka], Your very own [naḥalateka] flock”. This proximity between the two passages that led to their being dated to the same period also strengthened the argument for the late dating of the passage in Micah to the exile period.45 (2) It is argued that the metaphoric depiction that attests to a narrow and limited Israelite territory (v. 14) and the hint of subjugation to the nations (vv. 16–17) attest to the Israelite settlement after the return to Zion, perhaps in the first half of the 5th century B.C.E. The circumstances of the request seem close to what is reflected, in similar language, in Isa 63:17 and in Joel 2:17. A people and its land are subject to an enemy who looted the Lord’s very own; the flock is isolated on its pasture land, in which thorny bushes grow, and cannot enjoy the good grazing to be had in a fertile land. According to this view, the imagery reflects a historical situation in which the territory of the Israelite settlement was limited to hill country while the good pasture and agricultural lands were held by others.46 These arguments do not sufficient to assign a late dating to the prayer of Micah, since the literary ties indicated by the scholars may not reflect their belonging to the same period, but rather to the same literary conventions. More plausibly, later prophets used expressions and imagery drawn from an early prophetic tradition. In contrast to the opinion of the scholars cited above, others have maintained that the presumptive authorship of each passage is to be accepted, so long as it is not proven that it could not have been uttered by the prophet in whose book it appears.47 I will indicate a number of approaches that seek an appropriate background for the prayer in the 8th century B.C.E.48 Thus, for example,

45

Renaud, ibid., p. 376. On the dirge in Isa 63–64, see recently O. Singer, “Studies in the Communal Lament in Isaiah 63, 7–64, 11”, in Y. Hoffmann and F. Polak (eds.), A Light for Jacob: Studies in the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Jacob Shalom Licht (Jerusalem – Tel Aviv, 1997), pp. 118–140 (Hebrew). 46 See Mays, Micah, pp. 163–164; Renaud, ibid., p. 374. 47 See, e.g., Y. Kaufmann, History of Israelite Religion, vols. 6–7 (1960, Jerusalem, Hebrew), pp. 24, 273, 275. 48 The scholars who seek a suitable background for the prayer in the 8th century generally deny Micah the Morashtite’s authorship of the passage. They consider it to be part of chapters 6–7, which they attribute to a northern prophet, since the Northern

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Ginsberg understands the wording “‫ ”יער בתוך כרמל‬as rocky soil surrounded by farmland. According to him, the metaphor depicts a situation in which Israel regained lands in the western Land of Israel, possibly under the rule of Joash (2 Kgs 13:24–25), but this territory is not qualitatively comparable with Gilead and Bashan. This passage, therefore, is from the first period of the reign of Jeroboam son of Joash, before he regained the Israelite territory from Lebo-hamath to the sea of Arabah (2 Kgs 14:25).49 Others suggest setting the prayer in Micah on the background of two cardinal events that occurred in the second half of the 8th century B.C.E., the time of Micah’s activity: (a) the Assyrian invasion against Rezin of Aram and Pekah son of Remaliah in 734–732 B.C.E.; (b) the Assyrian invasions that led to the destruction of Samaria in the time of Hoshea son of Elah, after 722 B.C.E. Eissfeldt maintained, while preferring the second possibility, that each of these two disasters that befell Israel could have served as an appropriate setting for this prayer.50 Willis, in contrast, finds v. 14 indicating that the territory of the kingdom of Israel had been reduced to the area around Carmel, so that Israel had been reduced to a territory around Carmel, and that the author is praying that Yahweh would restore the territory of Bashan and Gilead which had been lost (apparently recently) to an enemy. This seems to reflect the circumstances surrounding the aftermath of the Syro-Ephraimitic War, after the Assyrians had conquered Israel’s

Kingdom was the suitable context for the content of the prophecies. Thus, e.g., F. C. Burkitt, “Micah 6 and 7, A Northern Prophecy”, JBL 45 (1926), pp. 159–161; Eissfeldt, “Ein Psalm Nord Israel, Micha, 7: 7–20”; F. C. Burkitt, “Micah 6 and 7, A Northern Prophecy”, JBL 45 (1926), pp. 159–161; A. S. van der Woude, “Deutro Micha: Ein Prophet aus Nort-Israel?”, Nederlands Thologisch Tijdschrift 25 (1971), pp. 365–378; J. T. Willis, “A Reapplied Prophetic Hope Oracle”, in G. W. Anderson et al. (eds.), Studies on Prophecy (VTSup. 26; Leiden, 1974), p. 70. The proofs brought by these scholars, however, for refuting the Judean authorship of chaps. 6–7 seem unconvincing. See the discussion of this issue in S. Vargon, “The Reproach Prophecies in the Book of Micah in the Light of the Circumstances and Events of the Period” (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 1978, Hebrew), pp. 223–235. 49 In a personal letter sent by Ginsberg to Willis on July 20, 1972 (cited in Willis, “A Reapplied Prophetic Hope Oracle”, p. 71). 50 Eissfeldt, “Ein Psalm Nord Israel, Micha, 7: 7–20”, pp. 264–265; idem, The Old Testament – An Introduction (Oxford, 1966), p. 412. Some scholars believe that this prayer and Ps 80 share a common historical background, namely, the period between the revolt by Hoshea son of Elah and his imprisonment by the Assyrians (727–724 B.C.E.). Thus, e.g., A. S. Van der Woude, Micha (Nijkerk, 1976), p. 261; Eissfeldt, “Psalm 80”, Kleine Schriften, III (Tübingen, 1966), pp. 221–232.

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territory in the North (Galilee) and to the East of Jordan (Gilead) [. . .] shortly after 732 B.C.E.51 This period seems to constitute a suitable background for the prayer, but the historical picture painted by Willis should be somewhat corrected. The kingdom of Israel contracted after 732 B.C.E., as TiglathPileser III writes: [The land of Bit-Humria (Israel),] all [of whose] cities I had [devastated] in my former campaigns, [. . .] its livestock I had despoiled and had spared Samaria alone.52

The conquests of Tiglath-Pileser III led to a decline in the political standing of the kingdom of Israel, due to the serious damage inflicted on a considerable number of its settlements and population, and as a result of the tax imposed on the kingdom. Although the city of Samaria remained under Israelite sovereignty, Tiglath-Pileser III exerted much influence over its inhabitants, to the extent that he could claim that, following the death of Pekah, he installed Hoshea son of Elah as king over “the land of Bit-Humria” (the land of the House of Omri), and received tribute from its inhabitants – ten talents of gold and a quantity of talents of silver – that he brought to his land.53 The geopolitical location of the Northern Kingdom within the framework of the Assyrian empire required aggressive supervision of its political conduct by the Assyrians.54 51 Willis, “A Reapplied Prophetic Hope Oracle”, p. 72; see 2 Kgs 15:29; Isa 8:21–23; and possibly also Hos 5:11, 13–14. 52 H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III, King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 202–203, summ. 13, ll. 17’–18’; see also ARAB, II, § 779; ANET, p. 283. 53 The document of Tiglath-Pileser states: Peqah, their king [I/they killed] and I installed Hoshea [as king] over them. 10 talents of gold, x talents of silver, [with] their [property] I received from them and [to Assyria I car]ried them (Tadmor, ibid., pp. 140–141, summ. 4, ll. 17’–19’. Cf. this passage with another document from the time of Tiglath-Pileser III that speaks of bringing the offering to the city of Sarabanu: see Tadmor, ibid., pp. 188–189, summ. 9, ll. 9–11. Many scholars discuss this document; see, e.g., ARAB, II, § 816; ANET, p. 284a; B. Oded, “The Historical Background of the War between Rezin and Pekah against Ahaz”, Tarbiz 38 (1969), pp. 205–224 (Hebrew); M. Cogan, Historical Texts from Assyria and Babylon 9th–6th Centuries B.C.E. (Jerusalem, 2004, Hebrew), pp. 44–45, 47–48, 51. 54 The extant sources do not explicitly confirm the assessment that was current following the study by Fohrer, that Tiglath-Pileser III took territories from the Northern Kingdom, annexed them to Assyria, and reorganized them as Assyrian provinces, as he did to the entire kingdom of the Arameans of Damascus See E. O. Forrer, Die Provinzeinteilung des assyrischen Reiches (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 49–63; A. Alt, “Das System der Assyrischen Provinzen auf dem Boden des Reiches Israel”, in A. Alt, Kleine Schriften, II (Munich, 1953), pp. 188–205; A. Malamat, “The Wars of Israel

the israelite kingdom in the book of micah

615

The conquest and the consequent Assyrian pressure led the prophet to express the longings contained in his prayer. The prayer of Micah, that centers around the request to restore the Kingdom of Israel, therefore seems to have been influenced by the annexation by TiglathPileser III, before the revolt by Hoshea son of Elah against Pekah (2 Kgs 15:30). In sum, our literary and historical analysis of the prayer of Micah shows that, on the background of the depletion of the Israelite kingdom at the end of the reign of Pekah son of Remaliah and during the reign of Hoshea son of Elah, the prophet asks his God for the restoration of prosperity and security to the Northern Kingdom and the rightful acknowledgement of the Lord by the nations. This recognition would result in a change of the values in their conceptual world: they would “be ashamed despite all their might”, and they would come to fear the Lord. It is noteworthy that, despite his being a Judean, Micah is quite concerned over the fate of the Northern Kingdom, and he prays for its reconstruction. His interest in the Northern Kingdom is expressed in additional prophecies in the book: he indicates the sin of Samaria and its fate in a prophecy in the beginning of the book (1:5–9). He mentions “the laws of Omri, and all the practices of the House of Ahab” (6:16), and prays for the reconstruction of the Northern Kingdom, as he mentions its fertile regions: Carmel, Bashan, and Gilead. This interest apparently can be explained by the events that overtook the kingdom of Israel beginning in 733–732 B.C.E., when the exile by Tiglath-Pileser III of the inhabitants of the Northern Kingdom began, and concluding with the harsh damage inflicted on Samaria in 722 by Shalmaneser V and in 720 by Sargon II. These occurrences left a deep impression on the residents of the Southern Kingdom; especially significant is the fact that many northerners came to Judah. These undoubtedly influenced the mood in the Judean capital, and intensified the affinity with their brethren remaining in the north.

and Assyria”, in J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel Aviv, 1964), p. 255 (Hebrew); Y. Aharoni, The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography (Philadelphia, 1979), pp. 304–308, and others. The changes in this assessment ensue from new discoveries in the inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III. See I. Eph‘al, “Israel: Fall and Exile”, in A. Malamat (ed.), The Age of the Monarchies: Political History, The World History of the Jewish People, IV/1 (Tel Aviv, 1982), p. 187; idem, “The Final Period of the Kingdom of Israel”, in Malamat, ibid., p. 125; G. Galil, Israel and Assyria (Haifa and Tel Aviv, 2001, Hebrew), pp. 51–65.

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Y. Aharoni, The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography (Philadelphia, 1979). Y. Aharoni and S. E. Loewenstamm, “Geographical Terms in the Bible”, Encyclopedia Biblica, IV (Jerusalem, 1962), col. 750 (Hebrew). L. C. Allen, The Book of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah (Grand Rapids, 1976). A. Alt, “Das System der Assyrischen Provinzen auf dem Boden des Reiches Israel”, in A. Alt, Kleine Schriften, II (Munich, 1953), pp. 188–205. Y. Avishur, The Construct State of Synonyms in Biblical Rhetoric (Jerusalem, 1977). G. Bergsträsser, Hebräische Grammatik (Leipzig, 1929). J. Bright, A History of Israel (3rd ed.; Philadelphia, 1981). F. C. Burkitt, “Micah 6 and 7, A Northern Prophecy”, JBL 45 (1926), pp. 159–161. M. Cogan, Historical Texts from Assyria and Babylon 9th–6th Centuries B.C.E. (Jerusalem, 2004, Hebrew). S. L. Cook, “Micah’s Deuteronomistic Redaction and the Deuteronomists’ Identity”, in L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (Sheffield, 1999), pp. 216–223. A. B. Ehrlich, Mikrâ Ki-Pheshutô: The Bible According to Its Literal Meaning, III (Berlin, 1901, Hebrew). O. Eissfeldt, Der Gott Karmel (Berlin, 1953). ——, “Ein Psalm Nord Israel, Micha, 7: 7–20”, ZDMG 102 (1965), pp. 259–268. ——, “Psalm 80”, Kleine Schriften, III (Tübingen, 1966), pp. 221–232. ——, The Old Testament – An Introduction (Oxford, 1966). I. Eph‘al, “Israel: Fall and Exile”, in A. Malamat (ed.), The Age of the Monarchies: Political History, The World History of the Jewish People, IV,1 (Tel Aviv, 1982), pp. 180–192. ——, “The Final Period of the Kingdom of Israel”, in A. Malamat (ed.), The Age of the Monarchies: Political History, The World History of the Jewish People, IV/1 (Tel Aviv, 1982), pp. 121–129. ——, “Assyrian Dominion in Palestine”, in A. Malamat (ed.), The Age of the Monarchies: Political History, The World History of the Jewish People, IV/1 (Tel Aviv, 1982), pp. 276–289. E. O. Forrer, Die Provinzeinteilung des assyrischen Reiches (Leipzig, 1920). G. Galil, Israel and Assyria (Haifa and Tel Aviv, 2001, Hebrew). W. Gesenius and E. Kautzsch, Hebrew Grammar (trans. by A. C. Cowley; Oxford, 1910). J. Gray, I and II Kings (2nd ed.; OTL; Philadelphia, 1970). H. Gunkel, “The Close of Micah: A Prophetical Liturgy – A Study in Literary History”, in H. Gunkel, What Remains of the Old Testament (New York, 1928), pp. 115– 149. P. J. van Hecke, “Living Alone in the Shrubs: Positive Pastoral Metaphors in Micah 7,14”, ZAW 115 (2003), pp. 362–375. ——, “Pastoral Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible and its Ancient Near Eastern Context”, in R. P. Gordon (ed.), The Old Testament in Its World: Papers Read at the Winter Meeting, January 2003, the Society for Old Testament Study (Leiden, 2005), pp. 200–217. D. R. Hillers, Micah (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, 1984). Y. Hoffman, Jeremiah: Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisrael; Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, 2001, Hebrew). Ibn Jana, Sefer ha-Shorashim (ed. W. Bacher; Berlin, 1896). M. Z. Kaddari, Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew (Ramat Gan, 2006). Z. Kallai, “Carmel, Mount Carmel”, Encyclopedia Biblica, IV (Jerusalem, 1962), cols. 324–329 (Hebrew).

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M. M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah (Complete Torah): Talmudic-Midrashic Encyclopedia of the Pentateuch, Exodus, VIII (New York, 1944, Hebrew). Y. Kaufmann, History of Israelite Religion, VI–VII (1960, Jerusalem, Hebrew). C. J. Lindblom, Micha, Literarisch Untersucht (Åbo, 1929). S. E. Loewenstamm, The Tradition of the Exodus in its Development (Jerusalem, 1965, Hebrew). D. D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia (Chicago, 1925-1927). B. Z. Luria, “Go up to the Forest, and Clear Ground There for Yourselves (Josh. 17:15)”, Sepher Seidel (Jerusalem, 1962), pp. 56–60 (Hebrew). A. Malamat, “The Wars of Israel and Assyria”, in J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel Aviv, 1964), pp. 241–260 (Hebrew). M. L. Margolis, The Holy Scriptures, with Commentary, Micah (Philadelphia, 1908). J. L. Mays, Micah (OTL; London, 1976). B. Mazar, “They Shall Call People to Their Mountain”, Eretz-Israel 14 (1978), pp. 39–41 (Hebrew). J. Mulder, “Carmel”, TDOT, VII (Grand Rapids, 1995), pp. 325–336. N. Na’aman, “Rezin of Damascus and the Land of Gilead”, ZDPV 111 (1995), pp. 105–117. B. Oded, “The Political Status of Israelite Transjordan during the Period of the Monarchy to the Fall of Samaria”, (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1968, Hebrew). ——, “The Historical Background of the War between Rezin and Pekah against Ahaz”, Tarbiz 38 (1969), pp. 205–224 (Hebrew). ——, “Darb al-Hawarneh: An Ancient Route”, Eretz-Israel 10 (1971), pp. 191–197 (Hebrew). F. H. Polak, “ ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd; I Shall Not Want (Ps. xxiii:1)’: On Interpretation and Poetics in the Bible”, in B. Uffenheimer (ed.), Te‘uda II: Bible Studies, Y. M. Grintz in Memoriam (Tel Aviv, 1982), pp. 231–249 (Hebrew). B. Renaud, La formation du livre de Michée (Paris, 1977). D. Robertson, “The Morphemes – Y (Ī) and – W (– Ō) in Biblical Hebrew”, VT 19 (1969), pp. 211–223. T. H. Robinson and F. Horst, Die Zwölf kleinen Propheten (HAT; Tübingen, 1964). M. Seidel, The Book of Micah (Da‘at Mikra; The Twelve Prophets, vol. II; Jerusalem, 1976, Hebrew). D. E. Sellin, Das Zwölfprophetenbuch, Hosea – Micha (KAT; Leipzig, 1929). D. Silber, “Badad in the Bible”, Ba-Shitin: Topics in the Bible and Its Language (Tel Aviv, 1977, Hebrew). O. Singer, “Studies in the Communal Lament in Isaiah 63, 7– 64, 11”, in Y. Hoffmann and F. Polak (eds.), A Light for Jacob: Studies in the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Jacob Shalom Licht (Jerusalem – Tel Aviv, 1997), pp. 118–140 (Hebrew). J. M. P. Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Micah , Zephaniah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Obadiah and Joel (ICC; Edinburgh, 1911). B. Stade, “Micha 7, 7–20 ein Psalm”, ZAW 23 (1903), pp. 164–171. H. Tadmor, “Tiglath-pileser III in Ancient Palestine”, Shnaton 10 (1990), pp. 179–187 (Hebrew). ——, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III, King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994). ——, Assyria, Babylonia and Judah: Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem, 2006, Hebrew). J. H. Tigay, “Lament”, Encyclopedia Biblica, 7 (Jerusalem, 1976), cols. 125–126 (Hebrew). N. H. Tur Sinai, “Peshatei Mikra”, Leshonenu 6 (1934–1935), p. 13 (Hebrew). ——, “Ya’ar”, Encyclopedia Biblica, III (Jerusalem, 1958), cols. pp. 722–723 (Hebrew). ——, Peshuto shel Mikra, III/2 (Jerusalem, 1967, Hebrew).

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INDEX OF AUTHORS

‘Abd-al-latị f, A. A. 288, 293 Achenbach, R. 274, 293, 555, 557 Adamthwaite, M. 375, 389 Aharoni, Y. 352, 358, 602, 615–616 Ahituv, S. 3–6, 11, 168, 176, 391, 425 Ahlström, G. W. 173, 176, 541, 545 Ahn, G. 549, 553, 557 Aland, K. 477, 530 Albertz, R. 8, 12, 271–273, 277, 287–293, 361, 370, 372–373, 375–376, 389, 565, 569 Albright, W. F. 483, 489, 495–496, 502, 525, 534, 540, 545 Allen, L. C. 597, 600, 605, 611, 616 Alonso-Schökel, L. 369, 390, 587, 593 Alt, A. 285, 293, 449, 451, 614, 616 Altaweel, M. 180, 188–189, 199 Alter, R. 336, 345, 393, 424, 535, 545, 575, 583, 591–593 Amir-Moezzi, M. A. 500, 530 Amit, Y. 122, 163, 297–299, 302–307, 311–313, 315–319, 321, 535, 545, 575, 588, 593–594 Andersen, F. I. 7, 11 Ariel, D. T. 349, 352, 358 Arnaud, D. 47, 49, 56 Arneth, M. 547, 557 Ashleigh, T. R. 336, 345 Auld, A. G. 308, 321, 392, 421–422, 424, 560–562, 569 Aurenche, O. 585, 593 Avigad, N. 208, 213, 364, 389 Avishur, Y. 464, 467, 608, 616 Avner, U. 577, 593 Azize, J. 186, 201 Bagg, A. M. 189, 193, 199 Bainton, R. H. 504, 525 Baker, H. D. 64, 119, 443 Bakry, H. S. K. 286, 293 Ball, I. J. 447, 451 Bar-Asher, M. 170, 176, 289 Bar-Ephrat, S. 535, 545 Barnikol, E. 472, 474–475, 477–478, 525 Barré, M. L. 582, 588, 593 Barthélemy, D. 168, 176, 392, 424

Barton, J. 305, 321, 325, 333, 482, 501, 525 Batten, L. W. 366–367, 371–372, 374–376, 380, 382–386, 389 Battini, L. 190, 192, 199 Bauckham, R. 348, 351, 358 Bauer, Th. 132, 235, 242 Baumgartner, W. 56, 483, 524–525, 573, 594 Beaulieu, P.-A. 29–30, 34, 180, 199, 263, 268 Beck, J. A. 395, 424 Becker, U. 482, 498, 500, 503, 509, 525, 530 Becking, B. 3, 8, 11–12, 331, 333 Begg, C. T. 474, 525 Beit-Arieh, I. 445, 451 Ben-Barak, Z. 139, 163 Ben-Sason, H. H. 391, 424 Benzinger, I. 175–176 Ben Zvi, E. 21, 26, 122, 163, 440–441, 448–551 Bergsträsser, G. 603, 616 Berlin, A. 329, 333, 352, 358, 447, 451, 535, 545 Bernand, A. 288, 293 Bernbeck, R. 188, 199 Bertholet, A. 289, 293 Beyse, K.-M. 432, 438 Bierling, N. 394, 404, 424 Bietak, M. 538, 545 Black, J. 220, 222, 234, 242, 481, 531 Bleek, F. 479, 511, 525 Blenkinsopp, J. 324, 328, 333, 361–364, 366–372, 374–376, 378–382, 384–386, 389 Blum, E. 564–566, 569 Blum, H. 51, 56 Boardman, J. 206, 213, 285, 294–295 Böhl, F. M. Th. de Liagre 216, 242 Bohrer, F. N. 470, 525 Bongenaar, A. C. V. M. 30–31, 34 Borger, R. 15, 23–24, 26, 46, 48, 56, 69, 121–122, 128–129, 139, 143–144, 155, 163, 219–224, 226, 232–234, 242, 553, 557 Borghouts, J. P. 252–253, 256, 260

620

index of authors

Boschwitz, F. P. 471, 510, 523, 525 Bottero, J. 179, 199 Bowden, J. 361, 389 Braulik, G. 273–275, 293, 296 Bredin, M. 347–348, 358–359 Brettler, M. Z. 304, 319, 321, 575, 588, 590, 592–593 Briant, P. 79, 94, 362, 364, 370, 379, 389 Briggs, W. W. 499, 503, 529 Bright, J. 74, 176, 391, 424, 534, 538, 540–541, 545, 616 Brinkman, J. A. 20, 26, 121, 163 Brockington, L. H. 365–368, 380, 382–386, 389 Brodersen, K. 486, 525 Brueggemann, W. 301, 321, 430, 432, 438 Budge, E. A. W. 485, 525 Buis, P. 173, 176 Bultmann, C. 274, 279, 293 Bunimovitz, S. 441, 451 Burckhardt, J. 503, 525 Burkitt, F. C. 612–613, 616 Burney, C. F. 308, 321 Burstein, S. M. 285, 293, 449, 451 Calder III, W. M. 483, 499, 501, 503, 517, 523, 525–530 Campbell, A. F. 392, 398, 424 Cancik, H. 37, 41, 51, 56–57, 481, 530 Cantrell, D. O. 281, 293 Caquot, A. 277, 283, 293 Carneiro, R. L. 181, 199 Carrez, M. 349, 358 Carroll, R. P. 71, 363, 369, 383, 389 Carstens, E. 474, 525 Casaburi, M. C. 130, 163 Cassin, E. 179, 199 Cassuto, U. (M. D.) 336, 345, 500, 525, 540, 545 Cataldo, J. 369, 378, 389 Cathcart, K. J. 413, 424, 486, 491, 525–526 Charpin, D. 100, 118, 170, 176, 586, 593 Chavalas, M. W. 127, 164, 485, 526 Chavel, S. 369, 374, 389 Childs, B. S. 537, 545 Chirichigno, G. C. 372, 389 Christ, K. 477, 498, 503, 526, 533, 572 Christensen, D. L. 273, 295, 439, 448, 451 Christianson, E. S. 588, 593

Clausewitz, C. von 185, 199 Clements, K. W. 477, 526 Clements, R. E. 9, 11, 498 Clines, D. J. A. 367–368, 371–372, 376, 380–383, 385–387, 389 Coats, G. W. 335, 345, 535, 545 Coffey, H. 210, 213 Cogan, M. 13, 15, 19, 26, 89, 94, 122, 124, 126, 154, 163–165, 169–170, 176–177, 350, 354, 358, 430–432, 435, 438, 442, 446, 451, 453, 614, 616 Cohen, M. 14, 27, 63, 69, 118, 130, 150, 163, 391, 441, 451 Cole, S. W. 118 Collon, D. 180, 189–191, 199–200, 211–213 Contenau, G. 34 Cook, S. L. 611, 616 Cooper, J. S. 488, 526 Cortese, E. 554, 557, 560–562, 567, 569 Cowgill, G. L. 180, 201 Coxon, P. W. 486, 526 Cresson, B. 445, 451 Cross, F. M. 38, 41, 57, 292, 293, 299, 321, 444–445, 500, 526 Crüsemann, F. 277, 282, 293, 564, 569 Curtis, J. 211, 213 Dahl, N. A. 511, 526 Dalley, S. M. 8, 11, 134, 242 Daniels, P. T. 491, 526 Daviau, P. M. M. 585, 593 Davidson, R. 336, 345 Davies, E. W. 339, 345 Davies, P. R. 272–273, 293, 303, 321, 339, 345, 363, 389 Davis, D. R. 302, 321 Day, J. 335, 338, 345, 504, 525, 543, 545 Dayan, M. 400, 402, 424 Dearman, A. 3, 10–12 Deist, F. 585, 588, 593 Delessert, C. S. 9, 11 Delitzsch, F. 487, 496, 513, 524, 526–527 Deller, K. 60, 69, 96, 100, 107, 118 Del Olmo Lete, G. see Olmo Lete, G. Del Demand, N. 408, 424 Demandt, A. 517, 528 Demsky, A. 389 Deszö, T. 76, 91, 94 Deutsch, R. 209, 213, 486, 525 Dever, W. G. 324, 333, 342, 345

index of authors Dietrich, M. 35, 39, 45–46, 48, 51, 56, 109, 118 Dimant, D. 347, 353, 358 Doblhofer, E. 485, 526 Dobos, K. D. 353, 358 Donbaz, V. 69, 118, 216, 242 Dothan, M. 394, 404, 407, 424 Dothan, T. 394, 404, 407, 424 Dougherty, R. P. 34, 268 Dové, J. 349, 358 Doxey, D. M. 249, 260 Drews, R. 183, 199 Drinkard, J. F. 3, 11 Driver, G. R. 99, 118 Driver, S. R. 282, 293, 335, 345 Dubischar, M. C. 501, 530 Dubovský, P. 170, 176 Durand, J.-M. 577, 586, 593 Durham, J. I. 537, 545 Ebach, J. 343, 345 Ebeling, E. 111, 118, 268 Edelman, D. 337, 341, 345 Edenburg, C. 307, 321 Edzard, D. O. 65, 69 Ego, B. 347, 353, 358 Ehrlich, A. B. 605, 616 Ehrlich, C. S. 398, 424 Eichhorn, J. G. 499, 526 Eissfeldt, O. 472, 525, 600–602, 612–613, 616 Elayi, J. 552, 557 Emerton, J. A. 5, 7, 11 Englund, G. 245, 260 Engnell, I. 299, 321 Eph‘al, I. 8, 11, 122, 124–127, 144, 151, 154, 163–164, 170, 177, 337, 345, 354, 442, 445, 451, 615–616 Eras, V. J. M. 583, 593 Eshel, H. 366–369, 389 Esler, P. F. 369, 389 Ewald, H. 335, 345, 471–472, 476, 497, 504, 509, 525–526 Fabry, H.-J. 549, 557 Faist, B. 59, 62–63, 69 Fales, F. M. 19, 26, 69, 71, 74, 76, 78–79, 83, 94, 101, 103, 109–112, 118, 121, 165, 206, 208, 211, 213, 221, 242, 441, 451 Falkner, M. 216, 218, 220, 242 Fantalkin, A. 441, 451, 585, 593 Faust, A. 441, 451 Favaro, S. 189, 199

621

Fecht, G. 255, 260 Feldman, L. H. 571, 593 Fensham, F. C. 363–368, 371–372, 376, 378, 380–384, 386–387, 389 Fewell, D. N. 535, 545 Fichtner, J. 168, 175–176 Fink, A. 585, 593 Finkelstein, I. 122, 163, 172–173, 176, 188, 199, 272, 281, 293, 308, 321, 404–406, 409, 423–424, 485, 493 Fischer-Elfert, H. W. 251–256, 260 Fisher, N. 408, 425 Fitzmyer, J. A. 208, 253, 347, 353, 358 Fleishman, J. 99, 118, 361, 364, 389 Fögen, M. Th. 549, 557 Fokkelman, J. P. 392, 424, 535, 545 Forrer, E. O. 614, 616 Foresti, F. 280, 293 Foster, B. 125, 134, 139, 141, 163, 186, 189, 191, 524, 527 Fowler, R. L. 483, 503, 525–526 Frahm, E. 155–156, 163 Frame, G. 65, 69, 96, 102, 107, 109, 112, 118–119, 121–122, 163, 165, 215 Frankfort, H. 139, 163, 190, 199 Freedman, D. N. 483, 525 Freedy, K. S. 285, 288, 294, 449, 451 Freeman, S. E. 575, 593 Frei, P. 554, 557 Freier, N. 183, 199 Frenschkowski, M. 471, 526 Freydank, H. 34 Friedrich, J. 471, 476–477, 485, 487, 491, 496, 499, 511, 513, 524, 526–527, 530 Frisk, H. 52–53, 56 Fritz, V. 173, 176, 281, 294, 429–430, 432, 434, 438, 521 Frost, R. 522, 526 Fuchs, A. 97, 118, 185, 192, 199, 440, 443, 451, 583, 593 Fuks, A. 352, 359 Gabriel, R. A. 391, 424 Galil, G. 60, 67–69, 95, 98, 105, 112–113, 118, 350, 354–356, 358–359, 443, 451, 472, 530, 615–616 Galling, K. 404, 424 Ganor, S. 395, 424 García López, F. 278, 280, 294 Garelli, P. 100, 118, 170, 176, 355, 358 Garfinkel, Y. 395, 424 Garsiel, M. 391–394, 397–398, 404, 413, 417–419, 422, 424

622

index of authors

Gehlken, E. 30–31, 34 Gehman, H. S. 172–173, 177 Gelb, I. J. 7, 11, 491, 526 George, A. R. 155, 163, 180, 189–191, 199–200, 488, 490, 492, 505, 585, 593 Gerardi, P. D. 17, 21–22, 26–27, 29, 163 Gertz, J. C. 274, 294, 560, 564, 567, 569 Gesenius, W. 601, 603, 605, 616 Geus, K. 287, 294 Gibson, J. C. L. 335, 345 Gichon, M. 391, 425 Ginsberg, H. L. 444, 451, 613 Ginsburger, M. 507, 526 Gitin, S. 324, 333, 394, 424 Glassner, J. J. 133, 163, 186, 195, 199 Glatt-Gilead, D. A. 550, 557 Glay, M. Le 38, 56 Goedicke, H. 286, 294, 354, 359 Gooch, G. P. 498, 526 Good, E. M. 84, 272, 293–294, 311, 587, 593 Gooding, D. W. 392, 424 Gordon, C. H. 56, 390 Gordon, R. P. 413, 415, 424, 600, 616 Gorman, Jr., F. H. 469, 526 Goshen-Gottstein, M. 393, 424 Gosse, B. 274, 294 Gottwald, N. K. 363, 368–369, 373–374, 380, 389 Gozzoli, R. B. 287, 294 Grabbe, L. L. 8, 11, 272, 293–294 Graesser, C. F. 577, 593 Grafton, A. 499, 502, 526, 531 Gray, J. 172, 174, 176, 434, 438, 616 Grayson, A. K. 96, 102, 118–119, 121–122, 139, 163, 165, 185–186, 199, 205–206, 213, 218–221, 233, 242 Green, A. 211, 213 Green, A. R. W. 124, 163 Greenberg, M. 289, 294, 323, 333, 449, 451 Greenfield, J. C. 349, 358, 444, 451, 483, 525 Greenslade, S. L. 504, 525 Greenspahn, F. E. 308, 321 Greenstein, E. L. 150, 163, 589 Grelot, P. 349, 358 Gros Louis, R. R. 535, 545 Gross, W. 272, 294 Gruber, M. 132, 163

Guichard, M. 586, 593 Gunkel, H. 335–336, 345, 497, 514–516, 520–521, 526–527, 597–598, 600, 616 Gunn, D. M. 535, 545, 571, 593 Gunter, A. C. 470, 487, 527, 529 Gurewicz, S. B. 308, 321 Haak, R. D. 447–448, 451 Haas, V. 49, 56 Hadas, M. 449, 451 Hagedorn, A. C. 275, 278–279, 294 Hagelia, H. 5, 11 Hahn, H. F. 287, 293, 498, 527 Hakham, A. 331, 333 Halbertal, M. 325, 333 Hallo, W. W. 38, 56, 169, 177, 261, 264 Halpern, B. 281, 293, 574, 578–579, 581–582, 586, 588, 590, 593 Hamilton, V. P. 335, 345 Handy, L. K. 172, 177, 447, 451, 588, 593 Hanhart, R. 347, 358 Harlé, P. 582, 593 Harper, P. O. 126, 164 Harper, R. F. 118 Harran, M. 106, 112, 128, 266, 268 Hartenstein, F. 464, 467 Hasel, M. G. 541, 545 Hauben, H. 287–288, 294 Häusl, M. H. 429, 438 Hawkins, J. D. 103–104, 118, 124, 163, 207, 213 Hayes, J. H. 289, 295, 469, 475, 481, 525–527, 543, 545 Haynes, S. R. 535, 545 Healey, J. F. 413, 424 Hecke, P. J. van 600, 616 Heidel, A. 122, 125–126, 129, 144, 153–154, 158–159, 161–163 Heidorn, L. A. 281, 294 Heltzer, M. 207, 213, 367, 375, 381, 389, 464, 467 Hempel, J. 289, 294 Herbert, S. C. 352, 358 Herbordt, S. 209, 213 Herr, L. G. 442, 444, 452 Herrmann, G. 210, 213 Herrmann, S. 174, 176, 398, 425 Herzoff, B. 54, 56 Herzog, Ch. 391, 425 Heyde, H. 335, 345

index of authors Hillebrand, H. J. 504, 528 Hillers, D. R. 605, 616 Hilprecht, H. V. 485, 527 Hincks, E. 486–487, 491, 525–528 Hinneberg, P. 473, 531 Hinz, W. 473, 531 Hirschberg, M. Z. 350, 359 Ho, C. Y. S. 392, 421–422, 424 Höffken, P. 171, 176 Hoffmann, C. 514, 516–517 Hoffmann, Y. 324, 439, 441, 452, 617 Hoffner, H. A. 98, 118, 412, 425 Hoftijzer, J. 9, 11, 444, 451 Holloway, S. W. 20, 26, 261, 447, 451 Holm, T. 369, 360 Holman, J. 331, 333 Hölscher, G. 272–273, 294 Hommel, F. 521, 527, 531 Honeyman, A. M. 398–399, 425 Horst, F. 601, 617 Hose, M. 501, 530 Hubbard, Jr., R. L. 432, 438 Hübner, U. 85, 94, 552, 557, 585, 593 Hummel, H. D. 498, 527 Hünemörder, C. 37, 56 Hunger, H. 23, 26, 118 Hurowitz, V. A. 89, 94, 126, 137, 144, 154, 163 Ishida, T. 127, 164 Israeli, S. 254, 260, 302 Jackson, K. P. 10, 11 Jakob-Rost, L. 69, 118, 216–217, 242 James, T. G. H. 285, 287–289, 294, 330, 391, 499 Jamieson-Drake, D. W. 297, 321 Janssen, J. 248, 260 Janzen, D. 389 Japhet, S. 13, 26, 308, 321, 350, 358, 366, 389–390 Jason, H. 392, 425 Jepsen, A. 471–472, 474–476, 478, 508, 527 Joànnes, F. 8, 11 Jobling, D. 575, 594 Johanning, K. 487, 524, 527 Jones, G. H. 429, 438 Jongeling, K. 9, 11 Jull, T. A. 578, 585, 588, 590, 592, 594 Jüngling, H.-W. 549, 557 Jursa, M. 261, 266, 268

623

Kaddari, M. Z. 602, 607, 616 Kaegi, A. 52–54, 56 Kahn, D. 89, 94, 124, 126, 164, 284, 286–287, 289, 294, 439–453 Kaiser, O. 39, 56, 272–274, 294, 296 Kaiser, Jr., W. C. 537, 545 Kalimi, I. 14, 26 Kallai, Z. 5, 11, 354, 359, 404, 425, 455, 457, 459–464, 466–467, 602, 616 Kasher, A. 572, 594 Kasher, M. M. 606, 616 Kataja L. 118 Katzenstein, H. J. 441, 452, 457 Kaufman, D. 209, 213 Kaufman, S. A. 208, 213 Kaufmann, Y. 321, 323, 333, 559, 569, 612, 617 Kautzsch, E. 601, 603, 605, 616 Keegan, J. 181, 199 Kempinski, A. 585, 594 Kenneth, E. 535, 545 Kessler, M. 482, 509, 525, 529 Kessler, R. 564, 569 Kienitz, F. K. 449, 452 King, L. W. 218, 220, 242 King, P. J. 583, 594 Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 262, 268 Kitchen, K. A. 174, 176, 447, 452, 539–540 Kittel, R. 172, 176 Klatt, W. 514–516, 527 Klein, J. 118, 134 Klein, M. L. 507, 527 Klein, R. W. 392, 425 Klengel-Brandt, E. 60, 69 Kletter, R. 444, 452 Kloekhorst, A. 49, 56 Knauf, E. A. 85, 94, 174, 176, 340, 345, 552, 557, 559, 567, 569 Knight, D. A. 471, 527 Knights, C. H. 338, 345 Knoppers, G. N. 277, 282, 291–292, 294, 366, 377, 389, 565, 569 Knudsen, E. E. 234, 242 Koch, K. 514, 527, 554, 557, 587, 594 Kochman, M. 367, 375, 389 Köckert, M. 274, 294 Koenig, Y. 339, 345 Kollmann, B. 281, 295 Köszoghy, M. 353, 358 Kottsieper, I. 274, 296 Koulagna, J. 428, 438 Kraeling, E. G. 582, 594

624

index of authors

Krafeld-Daugherty, M. 585, 594 Kratz, R. G. 274, 294, 353, 358, 471–472, 484, 518–519, 523–524, 527, 559–560, 565–566, 569 Kraus, H.-J. 469, 498, 527 Krispenz, J. 464, 467 Kühne, C. 48, 56 Kühne, H. 189, 199 Kuhrt, A. 179, 183, 189, 199 Kunz, A. 429, 438 Kupper, J. R. 339, 345 Kurth, D. 247, 260 Kvanvig, H. S. 341, 345 Kwasman, T. 118 Kyle McCarter, P. 301, 321 Labat, R. 179, 199 Lacheman, E. J. 440, 453 Lackenbacher, S. 45–47, 56, 59, 69 Laidlaw, S. 210, 213 Lambert, W. G. 23, 26, 131, 164 Lamprichs, R. 6, 11 Lanczkowski, G. 250, 260 Landsberger, B. 46, 50, 132, 524, 527 Lanfranchi, G. B. 8, 11, 83, 94, 118, 121, 165 Langlamet, F. 428, 438 Langdon, S. 262, 264, 268 LaRocca-Pitts, E. C. 577, 594 Larsen, M. T. 470, 485, 527 Lawson Younger, Jr. K. 261, 526 Layard, A. H. 485, 527 Lazaridis, N. 245, 260 Lebeau, M. 96, 119, 586, 594 Lederman, Z. 441, 451 Lee, H. Y. 535, 545 Legaspi, M. 499, 528 Lehmann, R. 472, 524–525, 528 Leichty, E. 121, 124, 128, 164 Lemaire, A. 5–6, 8, 11, 167–170, 173, 176, 206–207, 210–211, 213, 442, 452 Lenzi, A. 576, 594 Levenson, J. D. 504, 533, 545 Levin, C. 370, 389 Levine, B. A. 168, 176, 340–341, 345, 392, 425 Levine, L. 126, 164, 190, 199 Levinson, B. M. 277–278, 291–292, 295, 323, 501, 528 Lichtenberger, H. 274, 280–281, 283, 296, 481, 530 Lichtheim, M. 246, 250, 253, 255, 258, 260, 541, 545 Liebeschutz, H. 517, 519, 523, 528

Lindars, B. 582, 594 Lindblom, C. J. 617 Lipinski, E. 7, 11, 154, 164, 172, 174, 176, 354–355, 358–359, 442, 452 Lipschits, O. 122, 163, 289, 295, 366, 389–390, 441, 444, 452 Liver, J. 391, 394, 404, 425, 615, 617 Liverani, M. 103, 118, 180–181, 183, 196, 199 Livingstone, A. 142, 164 Loewenstamm, S. E. 602, 606, 616–617 Lohfink, N. 273–275, 278, 281, 291, 293–296 Longman III, T. 542, 545 Loretz, O. 39, 45–46, 48, 51, 56 Lotz, D. W. 504, 528 Luckenbill, D. D. 155, 220, 242, 355, 358, 617 Lumsden, S. 180, 190, 193, 199, 200 Luria, B. Z. 390, 602, 617 Lust, J. 392, 424 Luttwak, E. 194, 200 Lutz, H. F. 34 Luukko, M. 105, 118–119, 153, 164, 215 Le Glay, M. See Glay, M. Le Lloyd-Jones, H. 499, 502, 531 MacDonald, B. 444, 452 MacDonald, N. 325, 333 MacGinnis, J. 123, 165 Machinist, P. 118, 142, 164, 180, 193, 200, 324, 333, 469 Mahmud, M. 220, 222, 234, 242 Maier, A. M. 394, 410 Maier, J. 281–282, 295 Malamat, A. 168, 176, 355, 358, 391, 425, 614–617 Malbran-Labat, F. 50, 56 Mallowan, M. E. L. 191–192, 200, 235, 242 Malul, M. 464, 467 Manuelin, P. der 287, 295 Marcus, D. 135, 149, 164 Margalit, A. 325, 333 Margolis, M. L. 601, 606, 617 Marti, K. 473, 528 Maryon, H. 580, 594 Marzahn, J. 126, 164, 217, 242 Masson, O. 288, 293 Master, D. M. 441, 452 Mattila, R. 63, 76, 79, 94, 96, 99, 101–102, 108, 112, 119 Mattingly, G. L. 10, 12

index of authors Mayer, W. R. 139, 164 Mayes, A. D. H. 279, 282, 295 Mays, J. L. 330, 333, 597, 600, 605, 608, 611–612, 617 Mazar, A. 366, 389 Mazar, B. 172–173, 176, 367, 385, 389–391, 425, 602, 617 Mazzoni, S. 189, 199 McCarter Jr., P. K. 301, 321, 392, 397–399, 425 McCarthy, C. 413, 424 McKenzie, S. L. 535, 545, 611, 616 McKeown, J. 336, 345 Medvedskaya, I. 124, 164 Meek, T. J. 543, 545, 582, 594 Meisner, N. 285, 295 Melville, S. C. 110, 119, 179 Menant, J. 486–487, 528 Mendelsohn, I. 7, 12 Menzel, B. 67, 69, 111, 119, 235, 242 Merendino, R. P. 279–280, 283, 295 Merrill, E. H. 533–534, 543, 545 Messerschmidt, L. 217, 242 Mettinger, T. N. D. 577, 594 Meulenaere, M. H. de 285, 295, 449, 452 Meurer, S. 477, 530 Meyer, E. 127, 165, 335, 341–342, 345, 487, 497, 515–521, 527–528, 531 Miglus, P. 121, 165, 191, 200 Miles, J. 588, 594 Miles, J. C. 99, 118 Milgrom, J. 336, 339, 345 Milik, J. T. 349, 358 Millard, A. 96–97, 100, 104, 109, 119, 186, 200, 203, 207–208, 211–213, 216, 219–220, 223, 242–243 Miller, G. P. 574, 588, 594 Miller, J. M. 285, 295, 329, 543, 545 Miller, P. D. 329, 333 Miroschedji, P. de 366, 389 Mitchell, T. C. 285, 295 Mittmann, S. 364, 389 Modrezejewski, J. M. 287, 295 Moeller, B. 471, 529 Moers, G. 172, 174, 177 Moldenke, A. B. 356, 358 Momigliano, A. 500–501, 510, 528 Mommer, P. 275, 296 Moor, J. C. De 42–43, 56, 524, 528, 577, 594 Moore, C. A. 353–354, 358, 372 Moore, G. F. 298, 300, 321, 347, 351, 358, 582, 594

625

Montgomery, J. A. 172–173, 177 Mowinckel, S. 335, 345 Mulder, M. J. 429, 431–432, 434–435, 438, 603, 617 Müller, K. F. 139, 164 Müller, R. 279, 281, 283, 295 Muller, R. A. 504, 528 Myers, J. M. 234, 242, 362, 364–369, 376, 378–380, 382–384, 387, 390 Na’aman, N. 122, 163, 271, 282, 286, 308, 321, 350, 450 Naveh, J. 349, 352, 358, 364, 390, 443, 452 Nelson, H. H. 407, 425 Nelson, R. D. 279, 282–284, 295, 299, 321, 562, 569 Neu, E. 48, 57 Nicholson, E. W. 279, 295, 524, 528 Nicholson, R. A. 509, 528 Niditch, S. 588, 594 Niebuhr, B. G. 498, 503, 518, 528 Nielsen, E. 173, 176, 276–280, 282–283, 295 Nissinen, M. 17, 21–22, 26, 109, 119, 127, 129, 132, 164, 577, 594 Nöldeke, T. 341, 345, 510, 513 Noort, E. 167, 177 Nordh, K. 245, 260 Norris, E. 486, 529 Noth, M. 174–175, 177, 281, 292, 295, 298–300, 321, 533, 545, 562, 566, 569 Nougayrol, J. 47, 49, 56 Novák, M. 189–192, 200 Novotny, J. 215, 224, 234, 242 Nunn, A. 41, 51–52, 56 Oates, D. 192, 196, 200, 235, 242–243 Oates, J. 179, 192, 195–197, 200, 235, 243 Oded, B. 3, 7–8, 12–13, 59, 65–67, 69, 71, 96, 179, 185, 188, 200, 203, 207, 213, 245, 261, 271, 314, 321, 323, 332–333, 337, 345, 347, 354–356, 358, 426, 439, 442–444, 452, 473, 604, 614, 617 Oeming, M. 366, 389–390 Olmo Lete, G. Del 56 Olmstead, T. A. 364–365, 390 Oorschot, J. van 274, 296 Oppenheim, A. L. 16, 20, 22–24, 26, 126–127, 133, 265, 268 Oppert, J. 486–488, 297, 526, 528 Oren, E. 183, 200

626

index of authors

Osborne, R. 408, 425 Oswald, W. 429–430, 433, 438 Otto, E. 548, 550, 552, 554, 556, 558 Pallis, S. A. 485–488, 528 Palumbo, G. 444, 452 Panaino, A. 128, 165 Pardee, D. 38, 45, 56 Parente, F. 517–518, 528 Park, H. D. 9, 12 Parker, B. J. 188, 194, 200 Parker, S. B. 169, 177 Parpola, S. 8, 11, 17, 23, 26, 56, 60, 63, 69, 78, 85, 94, 100, 104–109, 118–119, 124, 127, 129, 150, 164–165, 180, 189–190, 199–200, 212–213 Paul, S. M. 14, 27, 150, 163, 264, 266, 268, 328, 333, 385, 387, 390, 512 Pedersén, O. 62, 69, 216–217, 243 Penchansky, D. 9, 11 Pentiuc, E. J. 49, 56 Perlitt, L. 274, 294–295, 301, 321, 501, 528, 550–551, 555, 558 Perowne, J. J. S. 329, 333 Pestman, P. W. 352, 359 Pettinato, G. 128, 165 Philips Long, V. 542, 545 Piasetzky, E. 173, 176 Pickworth, D. 180, 200 Pinches, Th. 486, 529 Pinker, A. 193–194, 200 Pohl, P. A. 67, 69, 96, 111, 119, 132, 163, 235, 242, 268 Polak, F. H. 600, 617 Pollock, S. 188, 199 Polotsky, H. J. 508, 528 Polzin, R. 392, 425, 551, 558 Ponchia, S. 143, 165 Pongratz-Leisten, B. 128, 165 Pope, M. 485, 528 Porter, B. N. 105, 119, 121, 127, 153, 165 Porter, M. 104, 106, 119 Posener, G. 339, 346 Postgate, J. M. 8, 11, 66–67, 69, 73–74, 76–80, 82, 84, 88–91, 94, 96, 97, 99, 101–102, 104, 111–112, 118–119, 180, 187, 200, 235, 242–243 Preuss, H. D. 274, 276, 296 Propp, W. H. C. 370, 390 Provan, I. W. 429, 434, 438, 542, 545 Raaflaub, K. A. 408, 425 Rad, G. von 279, 282, 296, 305, 321, 323, 333, 335, 339, 342, 346

Radner, K. 60, 63–65, 67, 69, 80, 94, 111, 119, 121, 165, 207, 209, 213, 443 Rahlfs, A. 473, 481, 528 Rainey, A. F. 124, 137, 164–165 Rawlinson, H. C. 486, 488, 529 Reade, J. E. 63, 69, 189, 200, 219, 235, 243 Redditt, P. L. 9, 11 Redford, D. B. 172–173, 177, 218, 242, 285, 288, 294, 449, 451 Reese, D. S. 39–40, 57 Reich, R. 585, 594 Reimer, D. J. 280–281, 283, 287, 296 Renaud, B. 611–612, 617 Rendsburg, G. 390, 419, 425 Renfrew, J. M. 263–264, 268 Renger, J. 60, 485, 487, 495–496, 507, 529 Reviv, H. 191, 200, 391, 425 Richardson, M. E. J. 56, 98–99, 119 Richter, W. 299–300, 321 Rivaroli, M. 190, 200 Roberts, J. J. M. 354, 359, 448, 452 Robertson, D. 601, 617 Robertson, O. P. 446, 452 Robertson Smith, W. 481, 502, 529, 531 Robinson, T. H. 537, 545, 601, 617 Rofé, A. 14, 26, 305, 308, 322, 392, 404, 406, 410, 412, 425, 562, 569 Rogerson, J. 498, 502, 529 Röllig, W. 80, 94, 209, 217 Rom-Shiloni, D. 330, 333 Römer, T. C. 298, 304, 322, 428, 438, 559, 561, 564, 566–567, 569 Römheld, D. 254, 260, 274, 296 Roqueplo, T. 582, 593 Rose, M. 280–281, 283, 296 Rösel, H. N. 559–560, 570 Rost, L. 392, 425 Rost, P. 512–513 Roth, M. 98–99, 119, 128, 164, 234, 242 Roux, J. Le 548, 557 Rowley, H. H. 536, 539, 545 Rudning, T. A. 428, 438 Rudolph, K. 483–484, 489, 502, 509, 515, 523, 529 Rudolph, W. 362, 365, 378, 390 Rüster, Chr. 48, 57 Rüterswörden, U. 275, 279–280, 291, 296 Ryou, H. 439–440, 445, 447, 452 Saggs, H. W. F. 96–97, 99–100, 119, 442–443, 452, 485, 529

index of authors Sanmartín, J. 56 San Nicolò, M. 266, 268 Sarna, N. M. 336, 346 Sass, B. 208, 213, 586 Sauer, J. A. 444, 453 Sauneron, S. 285–286, 288, 296, 449, 453 Sayce, A. H. 339, 346, 487, 529–530 Schaeffer, C. F. A. 47, 56 Schäfer, P. 481, 530 Schäfer-Lichtenberger, C. 274, 280–281, 283, 296 Schart, A. 464, 467 Scheid, J. 500, 530 Scheil, V. 216, 243 Schindel, U. 499, 529 Schipper, B. U. 177, 281, 296, 449, 453, 503, 525 Schmidt, L. 514, 527, 562, 570 Schneider, H. 37, 41, 51, 56–57 Schoors, A. 354–355, 358–359 Schrader, E. 487–489, 493, 495–496, 528–529 Schramm, W. 219, 243 Schröder, O. 216–217, 243 Schulte, H. 308, 322 Schüngel-Straumann, H. 347, 359 Schwarz, E. 471, 529 Scott, M. L. 123, 165, 193, 200 Scullion, J. J. 335, 346 Scurlock, J.-A. 20, 26, 193, 200, 261, 266 Seidel, M. 602–603, 605, 607–608, 617 Seidensticker, T. 509, 529 Seiler, S. 428, 438 Seitz, G. 279, 296 Sellin, D. E. 601, 605, 617 Segal, M. Z. 308, 332, 398, 415, 425 Sethe, K. 260, 339, 346 Shalev, S. 575, 594 Sheehan, J. 499, 529 Shepherd, D. 382, 390 Shupak, N. 245–247, 250–251, 257–260 Sigrist, M. 216, 243 Silber, D. 601, 617 Silberman, L. H. 475, 529 Silberman, N. A. 272, 293, 404, 405, 424 Silverman, M. H. 9, 12 Simon, R. 526, 529, 469, 498 Simon, U. 393, 424, 597, 618 Singer, I. 41, 44, 46, 48, 51–52, 57, 406, 425 Singer, O. 612, 617 Sivaramamurti, C. 37, 57

627

Skinner, J. 336, 346 Smelik, K. A. D. 4, 12 Smend, R. 471–478, 480–482, 484, 489–490, 499, 501, 505, 507–513, 517–518, 523, 525, 529, 531 Smith, G. 486–490, 492–493, 529–531 Smith, J. M. P. 601, 605–606, 611, 617 Smith, L. P. 440, 453 Smith, M. S. 325, 332–333 Smith-Christopher, D. 482, 525 Sneed, M. R. 363, 389 Snodgrass, A. M. 405, 407–408, 425 Soggin, J. A. 174, 177, 335, 337, 346, 410, 423, 426, 574, 594 Spalinger, J. A. 447–448, 453 Sparkes, B. A. 586, 594 Speiser, E. A. 134, 335, 346, 508, 528 Spieckermann, H. 274, 294 Stade, B. 335, 346, 611, 617 Stager, L. E. 441, 451, 453, 578, 583, 585, 594 Stamm, J. J. 573, 594 Starr, I. 23, 26 Steigerwald, G. 51, 57 Stephens, F. J. 215, 243 Stern, E. 352, 358–359, 394, 424, 525 Sternberg, M. 535, 545 Steuernagel, C. 284, 296, 555, 558 Stolz, F. 398, 426 Streck, M. 220, 222–223, 234, 243 Stronach, D. 180, 192–193, 200 Stroumsa, G. G. 500, 530 Stuart, D. K. 538, 545 Svensson, J. 391, 538, 545 Sweeney, M. A. 430, 432, 434, 438–439, 453 Šiletić, T. 36, 57 Tadmor, H. 6, 12, 19–22, 26, 121–123, 125, 127, 140–141, 143–144, 148–151, 154, 163–165, 168–171, 176–177, 350, 354–355, 358–359, 364, 390–391, 442, 447, 453, 583, 594, 614, 617 Tadmor, M. 352, 358, 583, 594 Tainter, J. A. 200 Tallqvist, K. L. 106, 119 Talon, Ph. 96, 119, 127, 134, 165 Tcherikover, V. A. 352, 359 Tekoğlu, R. 206, 213 Thompson, R. 121, 165 Tigay, J. H. 13, 26, 281–282, 296, 327, 333, 446, 453, 562, 569, 599, 617 Timm, S. 6, 12 Tischler, J. 48–50, 53, 57 Tov, E. 13–14, 26, 392, 424, 562, 570

628

index of authors

Tremayne, A. 34, 268 Tsumura, D. T. 392, 394, 397, 426 Turner, G. 123, 153, 165 Tur Sinai, N. H. 602, 609, 617 Ullmann, L. 472, 533 Ulrich, E. 363, 389 Ünal, A. 49, 57, 586, 595 Ur, J. 188–189, 200–201 Ussishkin, D. 173, 177, 281–282, 293, 296 Van Buylaere, G. 119, 153, 164, 215, 222 Vanderhooft, D. S. 8, 12 VanderKam, J. C. 14, 26, 341, 346 van der Toorn, K. 9, 12 van Driel, G. 73, 94 van Ess, J. 498, 503, 509, 530 van Lerberghe, K. 354–355, 358–359 Van Seters, J. 373–374, 390, 428, 438, 498, 530 van Soldt, W. H. 41–42, 45, 47–48, 50–51, 57, 94 van Wees, H. 408, 425 Vargon, S. 597–598, 613, 618 Vaulx, J. de 336, 339, 346 Vaux, R. de 412, 426, 536–537, 545 Veijola, T. 428, 438 Velikovsky, I. 346 Vera Chamaza, G. W. 6, 12 Vercoutter, J. 179, 199 Vernus, P. 246, 260 Vischer, W. 335, 346 Vlaardingerbroek, J. 439, 445, 447, 453 Vogt-Spira, G. 501, 530 von Clausewitz, C. see Clausewitz, C. von Vries, S. J. De 438 Wahl, H. M. 274, 296 Wahrig, G. 54, 57 Walker, C. B. F. 217, 243 Wallraff, M. 482, 509, 525, 529 Walsh, J. T. 535, 545 Waltke, B. K. 533, 538, 545, 601, 618 Warner, S. 209, 214 Warren, P. 401, 408, 426 Wasserstein, A. 486, 530 Wasserstein, D. J. 486, 530 Watanabe, K. 105, 119, 210, 214 Waters, M. W 65, 69, 189, 200 Watson, W. G. E. 35, 37, 57 Watts, W. J. 554, 558

Weeks, N. E. 186, 201 Weeks, S. 347, 359 Wegner, I. 49, 57 Weinfeld, M. 21, 26, 121, 165, 297, 299, 301–302, 322, 354, 358, 369, 390 Weinkopf, J. B. 608–609, 618 Weippert, M. 85, 94, 443, 453 Weisberg, D. B. 261, 268 Weisman, Z. 261, 268 Weissert, E. 127, 134–135, 165, 219–220, 222, 243 Weiss, E. 441, 451 Wellhausen, J. 298, 300, 335, 346, 392, 426, 469–484, 488–498, 500–530, 605, 611, 618 Wenham, G. J. 335–336, 339, 346 Westermann, C. 336, 343, 346, 559, 570, 598–599, 618 Whiting, R. M. 60, 69, 118, 124, 164, 180, 189–190, 199–200, 212–213, 219 Whybray, R. N. 428, 438 Widengren, G. 365, 390 Wifall, W. 337, 346 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von 476, 483, 499–500, 503, 523, 525–526, 531 Wilcke, C. 98, 119 Wilkinson, E. B. 188, 201 Wilkinson, T. J. 188, 201 Williams, D. L. 439, 453 Williams, G. R. 369, 390 Williams, M. J. 13, 26 Williamson, H. G. M. 25, 27, 361–363, 366–368, 370, 372–373, 375–376, 379–386, 390 Willis, J. T. 613–614, 618 Wilson, K. A. 172–175, 177 Winter, U. 9, 12 Wiseman, D. J. 154, 165, 220, 222–224, 226, 243 Witte, M. 549, 557 Wöhrle, J. 292, 296 Wolf, F. A. 499–501, 531 Woude, A. S. van der 613, 618 Wright, J. W. 363, 389 Wulff, H. E. 583, 595 Würthwein, E. 170–171, 174–175, 177, 559, 570 Wüst, M. 560–562, 570 Xeravits, G. G. 347, 359 Yadin, A. 406, 410, 426 Yadin (Sukenik), Y. 391, 403–404, 407–408, 411–413, 426

index of authors Yamada, S. 102, 119, 442, 453 Yamauchi, E. M. 362, 364, 379, 390 Yaron, R. 99, 119 Yasur-Landau, A. 585, 593 Younger Jr., K. L. 169, 177, 261, 485, 526 Younker, R. W. 444, 452 Yoyotte, J. 285–286, 281, 296, 449, 453 Zadok, R. 354–356, 359, 443, 453 Zawadzki, S. 31, 34

Zehnpfund, R. 264, 268 Zeidel, M. 135, 165 Zer-Kavod, M. 384, 386, 390 Zeynder, H. 335, 346 Ziegler, K. 52, 57 Zissu, B. 366–369, 389 Zimmermann, F. 353, 359 Zimmermann, K. 287, 294 Zohary, M. 602, 618 Zsengellér, J. 347, 359

629

INDEX OF CUNEIFORM SOURCES

ABL 124 ABL 168 ABL 177 ABL 190 ABL 228 ABL 307 ABL 353 ABL 415 ABL 416

ABL 1120 ABL 1237 ABL 1259 ABL 1273 ABL 1301

116 102, 116 111, 117 103 106, 116 104 107, 117 107, 116 see SAA VIII 309 108, 117 107 106 105, 116 see SAA X 174 see SAA XVIII 100 110 83, 94 107 100–101 110

AnOr 8 67

266

ARAB II, § 170 ARAB II, § 779 ARAB II, § 816 ARAB II, § 923 ARAB II, §§ 1136–1165 ARAB II, §§ 1137–1141 ARAB II, §§ 1142–1147 ARAB II, §§ 1148–1149 ARAB II, § 1151 ARAB II, §§ 1152–1155 ARAB II, §§ 1156–1164 ARAB II, § 1165

22 614 614 24 220 222 218 223 219 216 216 216

ARM 26 1 ARM 26 196

577 577

Ass 948 (VA 7501) Ass 2043 (VA Ass 3285) Ass 3253 Ass 3334 Ass 3518 (+) Ass 3830 (VA 7506 [+] VA 7518)

216 217 216 216 216

ABL 421 ABL 716 ABL 852 ABL 916 ABL 923 ABL 1091

Ass 4203 Ass 6626 (A 3448) Ass 6655 (VA Ass 3284a) Ass 10625 (VA Ass 2128) Ass 12548 (A 3547) Ass 12726 (A 3549) Ass 12727 (VA 8416) Ass 12729 (A 3550) Ass 12946 (A 3554) Ass 12951 (A 3555) Ass 13014 (A 3557) Ass 13105 (A 3558) Ass 13123 Ass 13158 (+) Ass 13158a (VA Ass 2316) Ass 13165 (A 3560) Ass 13188 Ass 13189 (VA Ass 3284b) Ass 13223 (A 3561) Ass 13266 + Ass 13594 (VA 8419 + VA 5059) Ass 13331(A 3563) Ass 13352 (VA Ass 3284c) Ass 13374 (VA 8418) Ass 13444 Ass 13445 Ass 13446 Ass 13447 Ass 13448 Ass 13449 Ass 13450 Ass 13458 (A 3565) Ass 13462 Ass 13463 Ass 13465 Ass 13466 Ass 13467 Ass 13591 (A 3567) Ass 13595 (VA 5060) Ass 13606 Ass 13607 (VA Ass 3284f) Ass 13799 (VA Ass 3284g) Ass 13946a (VA Ass 3284h) Ass 18738 (A 3620) Ass 19423 (A 3634)

216 216 217 216 216 216 216 216 216 216 216 216 217 216

216 217 216 217 217 217 217 217 217 217 216 217 217 217 217 217 216 216 217 217 217 217 216 216

AUWE 5, 133 AUWE 11, 173

31–33 30, 32

216 217 217 216 216

index of cuneiform sources BM 21946 BM 22467 BM 122613 BM 122616 + BM 123414

441 235 219, 231–232 219 219–221, 223

Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals. A iii 4–10 21 A iii 29–35 18 A iii 118–127 20 A iv 9–10 18 A v 95–103 19 A vi 107–124 20 B iii 82–85 21 B v 1–81 17 B vii 52–53 18 C iv 91–94 21 C viii 42–43 18 F ii 38–40 21 F ii 55–60 17 F iii 17–18 18 F iv 46–47 19 F v 72−vi 11 20

Hammurabi’s laws 30 136

631 98 99

The Heidel Prism

125–126, 129, 144, 153–154, 161–162

IM 3209 + IM 3249

218

K 1662 K 1663 K 1664 K 2631+ K 8540+ K 8541

218, 220, 222 222–223 222–223 24 219 218

KAH 1, 56

232

KAH 2, 129 KAH 2, 130 KAH 2, 132 KAH 2, 133

216 216, 231 216 216

KAR 216+135+137 KAR 146

139 262

KAV 171 KAV 197

218, 231 110, 117

Ki 1904–10–9,352+ Ki 1904–10–9,353 Ki 1904–10–9,357

218 218 218

LAPO 16:49 LAPO 16:55

577 577

LB 1323

216

Lipit-Ishtar’s laws 18

98

MAH 16154

67

CT 54 37 CT 54 463 CT 54 510

110 117 117

CTN II, 141 CTN II, 185 CTN II, 194 CTN II, 196

78 78 66 99

CTN III, 21–22

79

CTN V, pp. 130–132 CTN V, pp. 132–134 CTN V, pp. 196–197 CTN V, pp. 197–199 CTN V, pp. 208–211 CTN V, pp. 319–320

99 97, 99, 112, 116 104 97 96, 112, 116 100, 116

DT 64 + 82–5–22, 7

218

Enuma Eliš

134, 165

MAL A, nos. 36, 45

99

Eshnunna’s laws 30

99

MVAG 43/1 8 MVAG 43/1 10 MVAG 43/1 14

139 139 139

FM 2 122 (A. 221)

586

GCCI 1, 238 GCCI 2, 91 GCCI 2, 120

263 30, 32 266

ND 1123 ND 2307 ND 2314 ND 2431

222 111 111 78

632

index of cuneiform sources

ND 2443+ ND 2449 ND 2462 ND 2486 ND 2635 ND 2646 ND 2648 ND 2734+ ND 2773 ND 2800 ND 4312 ND 4313 ND 4314 ND 4315 ND 4323 ND 6209 ND 6221 ND 6222

355, 358 104 97 99 99, 116 90 97, 99 96 442 100, 116 224 224 224 223, 232 218, 224–225 221, 223, 232 221, 226 221, 226

OIP 2, 33

83

RIMA 2, p. 102, A.0.89.7 RIMA 2, pp. 149–151, A.0.99.2 RIMA 2, p. 172, A.0.100.5 RIMA 2, pp. 203–204, A.0.101.1 RIMA 2, p. 207 RIMA 2, pp. 211ff, A.0.101.1 RIMA 2, pp. 216–217 RIMA 2, p. 291, A.0.101.30

205

RIMA 3, pp. 29–30, A.0.102.5 RIMA 3, pp. 208–209, A.0.104.6 RIMA 3, pp. 226–227, A.0.104.2002 SAA I 11 SAA I 18 SAA I 24 SAA I 91 SAA I 99 SAA I 106 SAA I 124 SAA I 147 SAA I 149 SAA I 172 SAA I 205 SAA I 233 SAA I 240

SAA II 8

86

SAA III 11

139–141

SAA IV 142

86, 90

204

SAA V 21 SAA V 34 SAA V 52 SAA V 78 SAA V 133 SAA V 134 SAA V 135 SAA V 136 SAA V 140 SAA V 141 SAA V 143 SAA V 148 SAA V 149 SAA V 150 SAA V 152 SAA V 193 SAA V 199 SAA V 201 SAA V 210 SAA V 211 SAA V 213 SAA V 214 SAA V 215 SAA V 218 SAA V 224 SAA V 226 SAA V 227 SAA V 228 SAA V 232 SAA V 251 SAA V 277

79 87 78 78 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 100, 116 101 80 101 86, 99 97 99 99 99 99 79, 89 99 97 99 97 97 97 80 90, 97

207

SAA VI 90

105–106

233

SAA VIII 80–83 SAA VIII 85–94 SAA VIII 96–99 SAA VIII 244–287 SAA VIII 309 SAA VIII 416–436

108 108 108 106 106–107, 116 110

SAA X 39–66 SAA X 58 SAA X 96 SAA X 107 SAA X 111 SAA X 162 SAA X 163 SAA X 164 SAA X 165

108 107–108, 116 112 112 83–84 110, 117 109–110, 117 109–110, 117 106, 116

204 204 204 89 205 82 233

83, 88 77 116 78 78 112 103 90 78 84 85, 88 112, 114 112

index of cuneiform sources SAA X 167 SAA X 173 SAA X 174 SAA X 178 SAA X 353 SAA X 364 SAA X 369

108 108–109, 112, 116 24 107 112 112 112

SAA XI 126 SAA XI 219

90 112

SAA XII 1–3 SAA XII 25–26 SAA XII 29 SAA XII 31 SAA XII 48

112 109 109 109 78

SAA XIII 18–20 SAA XIII 25–26 SAA XIII 33 SAA XIII 92–95 SAA XIII 94 SAA XIII 124–125 SAA XIII 126 SAA XIII 128 SAA XIII 138 SAA XIII 154 SAA XIII 157 SAA XIII 172

112 112 112 111 112 111 111, 117 112 112 112 112 112

SAA XV 24 SAA XV 27 SAA XV 60 SAA XV 136 SAA XV 164 SAA XV 179

102, 112, 116 102 80 85 108 99

SAA XVI 29 SAA XVI 42 SAA XVI 90 SAA XVI 120

105, 116 107, 112, 116 90 84

SAA XVIII 100

132

SAAB 5 42

63

SAAB 9 73 SAAB 9 131

110 63

StAT 1 22 StAT 1 33 StAT 1 51

64 64 64

StAT 2 44

64

StAT 3 2 StAT 3 5 StAT 3 10 StAT 3 12 StAT 3 15 Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III pp. 140–141, summ. 4, ll. 17’–19’ pp. 170–171, summ. 7, rev. l. 10’ pp. 188–189, summ. 9, ll. 9–11 pp. 202–203, summ. 13, ll. 17’–18’

633 63–64 64 64 63 64, 66

614 6, 442 614 614

TCL 3, 18–22 TCL 3, 25–26 TCL 3, 317–319 TCL 3, 426 TCL 12, 80 TCL 13, 130

82 89 22 89 31 33

Thompson prism of Esarhaddon (Ninveh A)

121–162

UCP, vol. 9/II, no. 35 UCP, vol. 9/II, no. 54

30 31–32

Ur-Nammu’s laws 18

98

VA Ass 3284i

217

VAT 4923 VAT 9755 VAT 9948 VAT 19537

112 59–60, 62–67 218 63

YOS 6, 35 YOS 6, 69 YOS 6, 93

31–32 29, 32 30

YOS 7, 52 YOS 7, 10 YOS 7, 123

31–32 31 266

YOS 17, 358

266

YOS 19, 52

29, 32

81–7–27,8 + 82–5–22,26

218

89–4–26,154

225

INDEX OF OLD TESTAMENT REFERENCES

Genesis 1–11 1 2:14 3:15 4 4:1–16 4:1 4:7 4:13–16 4:14–15 4:14 4:17–24 4:20–22 4:20 4:22 4:25 5 5:4 5:24 5:29 9:20ff. 10 10:11 10:22 11:9 14:7 15 15:12–16 15:18 15:20 17:19–20 18:1 18:11 19 19:30–38 24:1 25:3 25:4 25:19–33:20 29:3 29:7–10 29:34 29:35 31:40 31:44–49 35:19–20

549 548, 553 336 609 335, 338–341, 343 336 337 340 336 342 337 342–343 343 338 337 337 340, 343 342 340–342 337, 344 344 343 336 336 337 342 550 537 548, 552 550 431 431 431 446, 589 336 431–432 336 340 550 600 600 337 337 600 577 577

36 36:12 41:2 41:5 46:9 46:12 49:11 49:24

343 342 576 576 340, 460 460 600 600

Exodus 1:7 1:8–11 1:8 1:22–2:10 2 2:11 2:23 3:1 4:19 6:6 6:14 7:7 13:17 – 14:31 15:1–21 15:16 17:8–16 18:1 22:24 29

537, 542 536 536–537 537 547 542 542 340 543 336 340 539 535 535 336 341 340 372 548

Leviticus 13:46 16 17–26 24:8 24:9 24:24 25:35–38 26:1

601 548 549 266 266 266 374 325

Numbers 1:2 1:53 8:9 8:20 10:29 13:26

563 563 563 563 340 563

index of old testament references 13:32 14:5 15:25 15:26 17:6 19:9 21:25 22:4 23:9 24 24:17 24:20 24:22 24:24 25:1 25:6 26:2 26:5 27 27:2 27:19ff. 27:20 31:12 31:26 32 32:1–4 32:2 32:22 32:28 32:29 33:49 34:17–18 35

338 563 563 563 563 563 603 609 601 339 337, 339–340 341 338 337 566 563 563 340 559 561 561 563 561, 563 561 563 604 561 563 561 563 565 561 562

Deuteronomy 1–11 1–3 1 1:7–8 1:18 1:21 1:23 1:28 1:38 1:39 3–3 2:1–9 2:5 2:7 2:9 2:10–12 2:10 2:11 2:12

547–548 548–551, 554 548 552 550 550 307, 550 550 561 550 555–556 549 550 542 326, 549–550 550, 554 551 550, 551 550, 554

2:13–15 2:18–19 2:19 2:20–23 2:20–22 2:20 2:21 2:22 2:23 3:2–19 3:9 3:11 3:28 4:25–31 4:25–28 4:28 4:29–31 5:8–9 6:10 6:12–14 6:14 6:21–22 7:1 7:25–26 8:7 9–10 9:26 9:28 11:12 11:28 11:29 11:31 12–26 12:1−16:17 12:10 12:20 12:29–31 12:29 13 13:25 16:1–7 16:18−18:22 16:18 16:19 16:20 16:21–22 16:21 17 17:1 17:3 17:8–13 17:8–10 17:11 17:12

635 550 550 326, 549–550 550–551, 554 554 551 551 551 551–552, 554 603 552, 554 552 561 326 326 323 332 326 274 325 326 576 274 326 274 548 600 600 342 325 274 274 272, 276, 290 275 561 274, 276 326 274, 276 547 326 275 273–274 275 275 275 275 275 282 275 325 277 275 275 275

636

index of old testament references

17:14–20 17:14–15 17:14 17:15 17:16 17:17 17:18–19 18:9 18:16–20 18:18 19 19:1 19:3 19:6 19:8 20:1–2 20:9 21:16 23:3–7 23:10–13 23:13 23:14 23:20–21 25:17 26 26:1 27:12–13 28 28:9 28:10 28:14 28:32 28:36 28:64 28:68 29–30 29:25 30:17 31:7 31:9 31:18 32:14 32:16 32:24 33:28–29 34 34:5 34:10

273, 277–278 275–276 274, 276 276 280–290, 292 280 275, 290 276 275 305 274 276 561 432 276 282 282 561 445–446 372 576, 585 579 374 605 548 276 307 547 331 607 325 372, 373 323, 327 323, 327 281 547, 548 325 325 561 273 325 604 326, 575, 601 608 601 559 305 305

Joshua 1–12 1:1 1:1–9 1:4

564–567 559 431 552

1:6 1:11 1:15 2 2:1 3:1 3:5 3:20 4:12–13 4:15–17 4:19 4:20–23 5 6 7:2 7:7–9 9:18–21 10 11:16–20 11:23 12:4 13–21 13 13:1 13:2–6 13:12 14–22 14–19 14 15:18 15:57 17:15 18:1–10 19:5 22–22 20 21:43 22:1–8 22:9 23 23:1–16 24 24:13 24:29 24:32

56 276 276 565 565–566 565–566 565 565 565 565 565 577 564–565 561 442 414 564 350 554 554 550 554 562 432 554 550 567 560–562 560–561 314 340 602, 617 563–564 338 563 562 276 563 563 548 432 548, 550 548 305 559

Judges 2:6–16:31 1:1–2:5 1 1:1 1:12–13 1:16 1:17

298 307–308 307, 463 307 312 340–341 308

index of old testament references 1:19 1:21–36 1:32 2:6–3:6 2:1 2:4 2:7 2:11 2:14 2:16–19 3:7–11 3:7 3:12–15 3:12–13 3:19 3:20 4–5 4:1 4:4–5 4:4 4:6–7 4:6 4:9 4:10 4:11 4:14–15 5:14–18 5:18 5:20 5:24 6:1 6:2–13 6:8 6:11–24 6:11 6:12 6:14–16 6:21–22 6:23 6:35 7:23 8:27 8:33 10:6 10:11–16 11:12–28 11:26 13–16 13:1 13:3 13:5 13:6 13:8–11 13:9

314 314 337 304 306 306 318 301 302 318 314 301 316 316 576 576 351 301 306 306 306 351 300 351 336, 340 306 461 351 306 338, 343 301 306 306 306 306 306 306 306 306 351 351 304 302 301 306 441 534 316 301, 317 306 317 306 306 306

637

13:13 13:15–21 15:9–17 16:23–31 17–18 17:15 18:30–31 19:29 20:16 20:28 21:12

306 306 313 317 305 577 310 307 574 311 433

1 Samuel 2:1 2:44 3:11 4:1–22 5:1–2 8 8:5 8:8 8:20 9:7 9:27 11 14:15 14:47 14:52 15 15:6 15:19 16–18 17 17:3 17:13–14 17:34–36 17:38 17:52 19:41–44 21:1–7 22:3–4 24:4 25:25 26:19 28 28:19 30:29 31:8–13

607 585 607 414 414 417 276, 278 325 276 381 576 441 608 394, 441 394 341 337, 341 301 14 391, 399 399 395 600 419, 425 399 461 267 589 579 590 302, 324–325 414 300 340 416

2 Samuel 2:9 2:12–32 2:16 2:17–23

336, 461 441 581 580

638

index of old testament references

3:3 3:5 3:27 5:4 5:6–9 5:21 5:24 6–7 6:17 7 7:2 7:10 7:11 9–20 10:2 10:10 12:9 12:18 13:28–29 14 15:14ff. 18:2 18:8 18:18 19:1 20:8–12 20:10 21:15–22 21:16 21:19 21:22 22:1 22:8 22:46 23:1–7 23:20–21 24:9

337 573 580 430 305 414 606 277 416 431 416 608 318 428 441 282 301 331 580 277 175 410 577, 602 577 578 580 582 394, 397, 412 337 392 399 430 608 608 430 412 462

1 Kings 1:1–4 1:4 2:1 3 3:2ff. 5:3 6–8 6:1 6:9 8:51 10:16 10:28 11:3 11:13 11:31–32

427, 429, 435 434 430 277 304 576 277 534 582 600 401 281 280 461 307

11:30–32 11:30 11:31 11:40 12:22 12:29 14:25–26 14:26 15:17 15:18 16 16:16 16:18 16:21–22 16:31–32 18:38 20:1–9 20:6 20:17–21 21:25 22:4

461 307 319 173 576 349 172, 174 175 169 169 5 282 5 282 280 609 167 168 412 280 282

2 Kings 1:39 2:28–30 3:7 4 4:10 4:34 5:17 8:21 10:15 10:23 12:1–17 12:17 12:18b–19 12:18a 13:1–9 13:7 13:20 13:24–25 14:8 14:13 14:14 14:25 15 15:19 15:20 15:29 15:30 16:5–9 16:5 16:8 17:3

416 416 282 434–435 578 433 325 282 338 338 277 440 170 170 302 282 442 613 170 170 170 442, 613 5 168 169 349–350, 614 615 207 170 171 169

index of old testament references 17:4 17:5–6 17:6 17:24 17:28 17:36 18:12 18:14–15 18:20 18:21 19:9 19:18 19:23 19:32 20:17 21:12 21:14 22–23 22:8 22:10 22:11 22:13 22:16 23:2 23:3 23:15 23:21 23:22 23:24 23:29–30 23:35 24:1–2 24:2 24:10 24:12 24:12–16 25:1–4 25:8–9 25:8 25:13–17 25:14–15

169, 443 349 169 350 315 336 305 171 607 289 447 414 603 171 171 607 171 272, 277, 279 273 273 273 273 273 273 273 315 273 318 273 25 282 445 445 171 287 348 172 172 287–288 172 172

Isaiah 5:26–29 7 7:2 7:24 8:4 8:18 9:1–2 10:4 10:5–19 10:5 10:12

95 170 602 602 336 601 351 7 316 336 336

639

10:18 15–16 16:8 16:10 20:1 20:5 22:22 24:22 26:7 27:10 29:4 29:17 30:1–5 30:15–17 30:15 30:16 30:22 31:1–3 31:1 31:4 33:2 33:9 34 35:2 37:24 40:11 41:5 42:7 43:7 43:12 43:22–24 44:14 44:15 44:16 44:23 45:1–4 46:10 47:14 49:9–10 49:23 52:15 57:5 63:3 63:7–64 63:9–14 63:9 63:11 63:14 63:17

603 442, 445 442 602 439 607 583 7 258 601 608 603 289 289 607 280 576 289 280 600 336 602 445 602 603 600 607 7, 608 329 326, 328, 331 324 602 432 432 602 279 342 432 600 609 608 432 605 611 611 611–612 612 612 600, 612

Jeremiah 2:7 2:25 2:36

602 326 607

640 3:13 3:20 4:26 5:4–5 5:8 5:19 8:8–9 8:8 15:17 16:13 19:13 21:5 22:13–16 22:13 25:3 25:20 26:24 27–28 27 27:1 27:3 28:1 30:8–9 31:9 32:1 34 35:1–19 35:7–8 35:6 35:8 35:14 35:16 35:18 35:19 36 37–38 37:5 38:17 39:14 40:6 40:14 46:9 46:16 46:21 48 48:8 48:33 48:45 49:1–22 49:1–3 49:1 49:3 49:30

index of old testament references 326 578 602 290 575 323, 326 290 279 601 323, 326–327 607 336 282 578 605 440–441 291 287 445 439 439, 445 287 326 600 287 374 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 290–291 288 289 172 609 291 445 447 289 289 442, 445 442 602 339 445 442 442 442 607

49:31 49:35 50 50:19 51:39 51:59 52:12 52:28–29

601 607 611 611 432 288 287–288 287

Ezekiel 2:6 16:29 25 25:9–10 25:12 32:30 34:3 34:11–19 34:16 34:25 35:5 39:18

444 609 445 442 445 607 576 600 575 603 445 604

Hosea 1:2 2:7 2:14 3:5 4:15 4:19 5:11 5:13–14 5:13 7:7 7:11 7:14 8:2 8:9 9:1 10:14

302 302 602 609 302 607 614 614 336 432 336 300 300 336 302 6

Joel 2:17 4:17

600, 612 601

Amos 1:2 1:11–15 1:13–15 2:1–3 2:11 3:12 4:1

603 445 441 445 300 600 604

index of old testament references 6:14 9:3 9:11

442 601 603

Obadiah 11–14

445

Jonah 1:8–9

332

Micah 2:12 4:6–7 6:5 7:7–20 7:14–17 7:14 7:15

600 600 566 611 598 611–612 611

Nahum 1:4 3:18

602 366

Zephaniah 1:1 2:4–15 2:8

439 440 441

Haggai 1:13 1:4 1:6

306 348 432

Malachi 3:4

603

Psalms 4:9 5:13 7:6 18:46 22:13 23:4 28:9 31:1–3 35:21 39:4 40:4 44:2–5 44:18–22 44:18 44:26 52:8

601 401 608 608 604 600 600 600 607 433 607 604 328 330–331 608 607

641

52:112 60:12 68:8 68:22 72:9 73:4 74 74:1–4 74:1 74:2–3 74:3 74:12–18 74:13 74:19 74:22 77:15 77:21 79 79:1 79:8 79:9 79:13 80 80:2–4 80:2–3 80:9 80:8–12 80:9–12 83:9 83:10 85:2–5 91:4 94:5 95:7 100:3 104:3 107:42 123:1 135:21 137:4 149:6

607 606 605–606 339 609 576 598 600 600 604 604 604 605 599 599, 604 605 600 598 600 599 599 600 598 600 600 600 604 605 336 604 604 401 600 600 600 578 608 601 601 325 575

Proverbs 5:4 13:22 25:1

575 258 312

Job 8:7 9:6 16:10 21:5 21:36

342 608 607 608 608

642

index of old testament references

22:8 29:9 42:12

336 608 342

Ruth 1:1 1:16–17 1:16 4:17

318 325, 333 325 319

Canticles 5:5

583

Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) 2:6 4:11

602 432

Lamentations 1:1 3:28 3:42 3:46 4:17 4:21–22

600–601 601 330 607 289 445

Esther 2:2 2:3 7:8

433 433 372

Daniel 1:8 1:15 1:16 9:11 11:6

353 576 353 305 336

Ezra 1:5 2:5 3:2 3:7–16 3:8 4–7 4:7–23 4:7–21 4:8–23 4:12 4:23 5:2 5:3 5:13 7:1–4 8:1

348 385 348 365 348 516–517 378 364 367–368 364 378 378 378 378 348 348

Nehemiah 1–13 1:1 1:2–3 1:2 1:4 1:11 2:1–9 2:17–18 2:1 3:4 3:30 3:31–32 3:33–4:17 3:5 4:1–17 4:5–6 5:1–13 5:1–5 5:1 5:5 5:7–8 5:8 6–13 6:10–14 6:15 6:17–19 9:25 13:4–9

369–370 362 362 362 363 362 364, 389 366 362 385 385 578 374 379, 387 361 380, 387 374, 376, 379, 387 361, 369, 375–378, 387–388 377 371 373 374 369 381 374 383 575 387

1 Chronicles 1–9 1:33 2:5 2:7 2:9 2:18 2:21–23 2:55 3:18–19 3:17 4:1 4:31 5:3 5:6 5:26 11:22–23 17:6 17:9 17:13 20:4–8 20:4–5 20:5

307 340 460 460 460 460 460 338 348 7 460 338 340, 460 350, 444 350, 444 412 318 318 576 412 398 397

index of old testament references 22:18 26:32

563 576

2 Chronicles 11:15 26:6

349 440

26:8 27:5 33 33:11

643 441 441 340 286

SUPPLEMENTS TO VETUS TESTAMENTUM 55. SMITH, M.S. The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume 1. Introduction with text, translation and commentary of KTU 1.1-1.2. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09995 6 56. DUGUID, I.M. Ezekiel and the Leaders of Israel. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10074 1 57. MARX, A. Les offrandes végétales dans l’Ancien Testament. Du tribut d’hommage au repas eschatologique. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10136 5 58. SCHÄFER-LICHTENBERGER, C. Josua und Salomo. Eine Studie zu Autorität und Legitimität des Nachfolgers im Alten Testament. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10064 4 59. LASSERRE, G. Synopse des lois du Pentateuque. 1994. ISBN 90 04 10202 7 60. DOGNIEZ, C. Bibliography of the Septuagint – Bibliographie de la Septante (19701993). Avec une préface de PIERRE-MAURICE BOGAERT. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10192 6 61. EMERTON, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Paris 1992. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10259 0 62. SMITH, P.A. Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah. The Structure, Growth and Authorship of Isaiah 56-66. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10306 6 63. O’CONNELL, R.H. The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10104 7 64. HARLAND, P. J. The Value of Human Life. A Study of the Story of the Flood (Genesis 6-9). 1996. ISBN 90 04 10534 4 65. ROLAND PAGE JR., H. The Myth of Cosmic Rebellion. A Study of its Reflexes in Ugaritic and Biblical Literature. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10563 8 66. EMERTON, J.A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Cambridge 1995. 1997. ISBN 90 04 106871 67. JOOSTEN, J. People and Land in the Holiness Code. An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10557 3 68. BEENTJES, P.C. The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew. A Text Edition of all Extant Hebrew Manuscripts and a Synopsis of all Parallel Hebrew Ben Sira Texts. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10767 3 69. COOK, J. The Septuagint of Proverbs – Jewish and/or Hellenistic Proverbs? Concerning the Hellenistic Colouring of LXX Proverbs. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10879 3 70,1 BROYLES, G. and C. EVANS (eds.). Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition, I. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10936 6 (Vol. I); ISBN 90 04 11027 5 (Set ) 70,2 BROYLES, G. and C. EVANS (eds.). Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition, II. 1997. ISBN 90 04 11026 7 (Vol. II); ISBN 90 04 11027 5 (Set ) 71. KOOIJ, A. VAN DER. The Oracle of Tyre. The Septuagint of Isaiah 23 as Version and Vision. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11152 2 72. TOV, E. The Greek and Hebrew Bible. Collected Essays on the Septuagint. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11309 6 73. GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ, F. and NOORT, E. (eds.). Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism. A Symposium in honour of Adam S. van der Woude on the occasion of his 70th birthday. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11322 3 74. KASSIS, R.A. The Book of Proverbs and Arabic Proverbial Works. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11305 3 75. RÖSEL, H.N. Von Josua bis Jojachin. Untersuchungen zu den deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbüchern des Alten Testaments. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11355 5 76. RENZ, Th. The Rhetorical Function of the Book of Ezekiel. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11362 2 77. HARLAND, P.J. and HAYWARD, C.T.R. (eds.). New Heaven and New Earth Prophecy and the Millenium. Essays in Honour of Anthony Gelston. 1999. ISBN 90 04 10841 6 78. KRAŠOVEC, J. Reward, Punishment, and Forgiveness. The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in the Light of Greek and Modern Views. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11443 2.

79. KOSSMANN, R. Die Esthernovelle – Vom Erzählten zur Erzählung. Studien zur Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte des Estherbuches. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11556 0. 80. LEMAIRE, A. and M. SÆBØ (eds.). Congress Volume, Oslo 1998. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11598 6. 81. GALIL, G. and M. WEINFELD (eds.). Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography. Presented to Zecharia Kallai. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11608 7 82. COLLINS, N.L. The library in Alexandria and the Bible in Greek. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11866 7 83,1 COLLINS, J.J. and P.W. FLINT (eds.). The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception, I. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11675 3 (Vol. I); ISBN 90 04 12202 8 (Set ). 83,2 COLLINS, J.J. and P.W. FLINT (eds.). The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception, II. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12200 1 (Vol. II); ISBN 90 04 12202 8 (Set ). 84. COHEN, C.H.R. Contextual Priority in Biblical Hebrew Philology. An Application of the Held Method for Comparative Semitic Philology. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11670 2 (In preparation). 85. WAGENAAR, J.A. Judgement and Salvation. The Composition and Redaction of Micah 2-5. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11936 1 86. MCLAUGHLIN, J.L. The MarzēahY in the Prophetic Literature. References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12006 8 87. WONG, K.L. The Idea of Retribution in the Book of Ezekiel 2001. ISBN 90 04 12256 7 88. BARRICK, W. Boyd. The King and the Cemeteries. Toward a New Understanding of Josiah’s Reform. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12171 4 89. FRANKEL, D. The Murmuring Stories of the Priestly School. A Retrieval of Ancient Sacerdotal Lore. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12368 7 90. FRYDRYCH, T. Living under the Sun. Examination of Proverbs and Qoheleth. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12315 6 91. KESSEL, J. The Book of Haggai. Prophecy and Society in Early Persian Yehud. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12368 7 92. LEMAIRE, A. (ed.). Congress Volume, Basel 2001. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12680 5 93. RENDTORFF, R. and R.A. KUGLER (eds.). The Book of Leviticus. Composition and Reception. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12634 1 94. PAUL, S.M., R.A. KRAFT, L.H. SCHIFFMAN and W.W. FIELDS (eds.). Emanuel. Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13007 1 95. VOS, J.C. DE. Das Los Judas. Über Entstehung und Ziele der Landbeschreibung in Josua 15. ISBN 90 04 12953 7 96. LEHNART, B. Prophet und König im Nordreich Israel. Studien zur sogenannten vorklassischen Prophetie im Nordreich Israel anhand der Samuel-, Elija- und ElischaÜberlieferungen. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13237 6 97. LO, A. Job 28 as Rhetoric. An Analysis of Job 28 in the Context of Job 22-31. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13320 8 98. TRUDINGER, P.L. The Psalms of the Tamid Service. A Liturgical Text from the Second Temple. 2004. ISBN 90 04 12968 5 99. FLINT, P.W. and P.D. MILLER, JR. (eds.) with the assistance of A. Brunell. The Book of Psalms. Composition and Reception. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13842 8 100. WEINFELD, M. The Place of the Law in the Religion of Ancient Israel. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13749 1 101. FLINT, P.W., J.C. VANDERKAM and E. TOV. (eds.) Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint. Essays Presented to Eugene Ulrich on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13738 6 102. MEER, M.N. VAN DER. Formation and Reformulation. The Redaction of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Oldest Textual Witnesses. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13125 6

103. BERMAN, J.A. Narrative Analogy in the Hebrew Bible. Battle Stories and Their Equivalent Non-battle Narratives. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13119 1 104. KEULEN, P.S.F. VAN. Two Versions of the Solomon Narrative. An Inquiry into the Relationship between MT 1 Kgs. 2-11 and LXX 3 Reg. 2-11. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13895 1 105. MARX, A. Les systèmes sacrificiels de l’Ancien Testament. Forms et fonctions du culte sacrificiel à Yhwh. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14286 X 106. ASSIS, E. Self-Interest or Communal Interest. An Ideology of Leadership in the Gideon, Abimelech and Jephthah Narritives ( Judg 6-12). 2005. ISBN 90 04 14354 8 107. WEISS, A.L. Figurative Language in Biblical Prose Narrative. Metaphor in the Book of Samuel. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14837 X 108. WAGNER, T. Gottes Herrschaft. Eine Analyse der Denkschrift (Jes 6, 1-9,6). 2006. ISBN 90 04 14912 0 109. LEMAIRE, A. (ed.). Congress Volume Leiden 2004. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14913 9 110. GOLDMAN, Y.A.P., A. VAN DER KOOIJ and R.D. WEIS (eds.). Sôfer Mahîr. Essays in Honour of Adrian Schenker Offered by Editors of Biblia Hebraica Quinta. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15016 1 111. WONG, G.T.K. Compositional Strategy of the Book of Judges. An Inductive, Rhetorical Study. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15086 2 112. HØYLAND LAVIK, M. A People Tall and Smooth-Skinned. The Rhetoric of Isaiah 18. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15434 5 113. REZETKO, R., T.H. LIM and W.B. AUCKER (eds.). Reflection and Refraction. Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14512 5 114. SMITH, M.S. and W.T. PITARD. The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume II. Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 15348 6 115. BERGSMA, J.S. The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran. A History of Interpretation. 2006. ISBN-13 978 90 04 15299 1. ISBN-10 90 04 15299 7 116. GOFF, M.J. Discerning Wisdom. The Sapiential Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls. 2006. ISBN-13 978 90 04 14749 2. ISBN-10 90 04 14749 7 117. DE JONG, M.J. Isaiah among the Ancient Near Eastern Prophets. A Comparative Study of the Earliest Stages of the Isaiah Tradition and the Neo-Assyrian Prophecies. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16161 0 118. FORTI, T.L. Animal Imagery in the Book of Proverbs. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16287 7 119. PINÇON, B. L’énigme du bonheur. Étude sur le sujet du bien dans le livre de Qohélet. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16717 9 120. ZIEGLER, Y. Promises to Keep. The Oath in Biblical Narrative. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16843 5 121. VILLANUEVA, F.G. The ‘Uncertainty of a Hearing’. A Study of the Sudden Change of Mood in the Psalms of Lament. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16847 3 122. CRANE, A.S. Israel’s Restoration. A Textual-Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16962 3 123. MIRGUET, F. La représentation du divin dans les récits du Pentateuque. Médiations syntaxiques et narratives. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17051 3 124. RUITEN, J. VAN and J.C. DE VOS (eds.). The Land of Israel in Bible, History, and Theology. Studies in Honour of Ed Noort. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17515 0 125. EVANS, P.S. The Invasion of Sennacherib in the Book of Kings. A Source-Critical and Rhetorical Study of 2 Kings 18-19. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17596 9 126. GLENNY, W.E. Finding Meaning in the Text. Translation Technique and Theology in the Septuagint of Amos. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17638 6 127. COOK, J. (ed.). Septuagint and Reception. Essays prepared for the Association for the Study of the Septuagint in South Africa. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17725 3

128. KARTVEIT, M. The Origin of the Samaritans. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17819 9 129. LEMAIRE, A., B. HALPERN and M.J. ADAMS (eds.). The Books of Kings. Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception. 2010. ISBN 978 90 04 17729 1 130. GALIL, G., M. GELLER and A. MILLARD (eds.). Homeland and Exile. Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17889 2 131. ANTHONIOZ, S. L’eau, enjeux politiques et théologiques, de Sumer à la Bible. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17898 4