New Perspectives on Old Testament Prophecy and History

Supplements
to
Vetus Testamentum

Editor in Chief

Christl M. Maier

Editorial Board

H.M. Barstad - N. Calduch-Benages - D.M. Carr - R.P. Gordon - L.C. Jonker

J. Joosten - G.N. Knoppers - A. van der Kooij - S.L. McKenzie - C.A. Newsom
M. Nissinen - H. Spieckermann - N. Wazana - S.D. Weeks - H.G.M. Williamson

Volume 168

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/vts

 New Perspectives on Old
Testament Prophecy and History
Essays in Honour of Hans M. Barstad

Edited by

Rannfrid I. Thelle, Terje Stordalen and

Mervyn E.J. Richardson

LEIDEN | BOSTON
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

New perspectives on Old Testament prophecy and history : essays in honour of Hans M. Barstad / edited by
Rannfrid I. Thelle, Terje Stordalen, and Mervyn E.J. Richardson.
  pages cm. — (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum, ISSN 0083-5889 ; Volume 168)
 Includes bibliographical references and index.
 ISBN 978-90-04-29326-7 (hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-90-04-29327-4 (e-book)
1. Bible. Old Testament—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Barstad, Hans M., honouree. II. Thelle, Rannfrid I.,
1966– editor.

 BS1171.3.N49 2015
 221.6—dc23
2015008866

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For more information, please see www.brill.com/brill-typeface.

issn 0083-5889
isbn 978-90-04-29326-7 (hardback)
isbn 978-90-04-29327-4 (e-book)

Copyright 2015 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands.

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Contents

Abbreviations ix
List of Contributors xiii

Introduction 1

PART 1
Prophecy

Elijah and the Prophets of Baal and of Asherah: Towards a

Discussion of “No Prophets?” 7
A. Graeme Auld

Idols in Isaiah in the Light of Isaiah 10:10–11 17

H.G.M. Williamson

Abraham and Cyrus in Isaiah 40–48 29

Joseph Blenkinsopp

Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 42

Kristin Joachimsen

Hope and Disappointment: The Judahite Critique of the Exilic

Leadership in Isaiah 56–66 57
Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer

Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 74

Bob Becking

“We Do not See our Signs” (Psalm 74:9): Signs, Prophets, Oracles,
and the Asaphite Psalter 90
Robert P. Gordon

Self as Other: Israel’s Self-Designation as Adulterous Wife,

a Self-Reflective Perspective on a Prophetic Metaphor 104
Rannfrid I. Thelle
vi contents

Prophetic Pornography Revisited 121

J. Cheryl Exum

PART 2
History

Isaiah and the Siege of Jerusalem 143

Reinhard G. Kratz

Some Aspects of the Monarchy in Ancient Israel 161

John Day

The Ritual of Reading Scripture (Nehemiah 8:1–12) 175

Sara Japhet

Queen or Delegation of Saba to Solomon? 191

André Lemaire

Judah and Edom in the Book of Kings and in Historical Reality 197

Nadav Na’aman

On Floods and the Fall of Nineveh: A Note on the Origins of a

Spurious Tradition 212
C.L. Crouch

Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 217

Niels Peter Lemche

King David and El Cid: Two ‘Apiru in Myth and History 230

Lester L. Grabbe

Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 246

Terje Stordalen

Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History? 264

Kåre Berge
Contents vii

PART 3
Explorations

Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14: Solomon, the Master, the Beggar 281

Martin Ravndal Hauge

The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 293

David J.A. Clines

Being Like the Cushites: Some Western and African Interpretations

of Amos 9:7 306
Knut Holter

Bibliography of Hans M. Barstad’s Publications 319

Index of Modern Authors 326
Abbreviations

AB Anchor Bible
ABD  Anchor Bible Dictionary (ed. David Noel Freedman; New York:
Doubleday, 1992).
ADPV Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästinavereins
ANET  Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited
by James B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton: Princeton University
Press 1969.
Ant.  Jewish Antiquities
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
ARM Archives royales de Mari
As. Mos. 
Assumption of Moses
ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch
AThDan Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments
BASOR  Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge
BCAT Biblischer Commentar über das Alte Testament
BDB  Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by
F. Brown, S.R. Driver, and C.A. Briggs. Oxford: Clarendon, 1907.
BET Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie
BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium
BEvTh Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie
Bib  Biblica
BibInt  Biblical Interpretation
BZ NF  Biblische Zeitschrift Neue Folge
BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament
BTH Book of Two Houses
BThSt Biblisch-Theologische Studien
BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
CBQ  Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CCM Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis
CHANE Culture & History of the Ancient Near East
ConBOT Coniectanea Biblica, Old Testament
COP Cambridge Oriental Publications
DCH  The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by David J.A. Clines.
Sheffield Academic Press, 1993–.
EBib Études bibliques
x abbreviations

En.el. Enuma elish

ErIs  Eretz Israel
ESHM European Seminar in Historical Methodology
ET English Translation
EThL Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses
ETS Evangelica Theological Society Studies
FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen
Testaments
FzB Forschung zur Bibel
GAT Grundrisse zum alten Testament
GK  Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar as edited and enlarged by the late
E. Kautzsch Translated by A.E. Cowley. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon,
1910 = 28th German ed. 1909.
HALOT  The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by
Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, and Johann Jakob Stamm.
Translated and edited by M.E.J. Richardson. 5 vols. Leiden: Brill:
1994–2000.
HBS Herders biblische Studien
HCOT Historical Commentary on the Old Testament
HdO Handbuch der Orientalistik
HKAT Handkommentar zum Alten Testament
HSAO Heidelberger Studien zum alten Orient
HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs
HThKAT Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament
HTR  Harvard Theological Review
HTS  Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies
ICC International Critical Commentary
IDB  Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by George Arthur
Buttrick. 6 vols. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1962.
Int  Interpretation
IntB  The Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by George A. Buttrick. New York/
Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1953.
JAOS  Journal of the American Oriental Society
JB Jerusalem Bible
JBL  Journal of Biblical Literature
JCS  Journal of Cuneiform Studies
JHS  Journal of Hebrew Scriptures
JNES  Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JPS Jewish Publication Society Version
Abbreviations xi

JSOT  Journal for the Study of the Old Testament

JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series
JSPSup Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplements
JSS  Journal of Semitic Studies
JSSMS Journal of Semitic Studies, Monograph Series
KAI  Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften. Edited by H. Donner
and W. Röllig. 3 vols. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1962–64.
KeHAT Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament
KTU  The Cuneiform Alphabetic texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and
Other Places (KTU: Second Enlarged Edition) Edited by M. Dietrich,
O. Loretz, J. Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995. 2nd edition
of Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by M. Dietrich,
O. Loretz, J. Sanmartín. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag,
1976.
LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies
LSTS The Library of Second Temple Studies
MDOG  Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft zu Berlin
MT Masoretic text
MthA Marburger theologische Abhandlungen
NAB New American Bible
NCB New Century Bible
NCBC New Century Bible Commentary
NEB New English Bible
NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament
NIV New International Version
NJB New Jerusalem Bible
NJPS New Jewish Publication Society Version
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
ns new series
OBO OrbisBiblicus et Orientalis
OTL Old Testament Library
OTS Oudtestamentische Studiën
PEQ  Palestine Exploration Quarterly
POT Pretoria Oriental Series
REB Revised English Bible
RevBib  Revue Biblique
RINAP Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period
RSF  Rivista di Studi Fenici
RSV Revised Standard Version
SAACT State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts
xii abbreviations

SBLDS  S BL Dissertation Series

SBLSS Society of Biblical Literature Semeia Studies
SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien
SBT Studies in Biblical Theology
SJOT  Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament
SOTSMS Society for Old Testament Study Monograph Series
SS NS Studi semitici New Series
STAR Studies in Theology and Religion
STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah
TDOT  Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. Johannes
Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren and Heinz-Josef Fabry. Translated
by John T. Willis, David E. Green and Douglas W. Stott. Grand
Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006.
ThGl  Theologie und Glaube
ThW TheologischeWissenschaft
TLOT  Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by Ernst Jenni
and Claus Westermann. Translated by Mark E. Biddle. Peabody,
MA. Hendrickson Publishers, 1997.
VT  Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
WMANT  Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen
Testament
ZAW  Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZDPV  Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins
ZThK  Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche
List of Contributors

A. Graeme Auld
University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom

Bob Becking
Utrecht University, The Netherlands

Kåre Berge
NLA University College, Bergen, Norway

Joseph Blenkinsopp
University of Notre Dame, Indiana, USA

David J.A. Clines

University of Sheffield, United Kingdom

C.L. Crouch
University of Nottingham, United Kingdom

John Day
University of Oxford, United Kingdom

J. Cheryl Exum
University of Sheffield, United Kingdom

Robert P. Gordon
University of Cambridge, United Kingdom

Lester L. Grabbe
University of Hull, United Kingdom

Martin Ravndal Hauge

Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo, Norway

Knut Holter
MHS School of Mission and Theology, Stavanger, Norway
xiv list of contributors

Sara Japhet
The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

Kristin Joachimsen
UiT The Arctic University of Norway, Norway

Reinhard G. Kratz
University of Göttingen, Germany

André Lemaire
Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, Paris, France

Niels Peter Lemche

University of Copenhagen, Denmark

Nadav Na’aman
Tel Aviv University, Israel

Terje Stordalen
Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo, Norway

Rannfrid I. Thelle
Wichita State University, Kansas, USA

Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer
University of Aberdeen, United Kingdom

H.G.M. Williamson
University of Oxford, United Kingdom
Introduction

From the start in the mid-1970s to the present time at the height of his career
as a biblical scholar, Hans M. Barstad has challenged traditional positions and
constructs of research, proposing radical solutions which have engaged and
convinced many readers by way of his persistent and sound arguments. Already
before becoming a professor at the Faculty of Theology at the University of
Oslo in 1986, Hans Barstad had published over a dozen articles covering spe-
cific biblical texts, ancient Near Eastern and Israelite religion, and archaeology.
His first monograph, The Religious Polemics of Amos, published by Brill just
over 30 years ago, combined what would turn out to be a sustained focus on
the prophetic literature, with an approach including attention to comparative
methodology and the study of ancient religions. In 1993, Hans Barstad pub-
lished his perhaps most widely cited article, “No prophets?”, which decisively
placed him as a player in the cutting edge debate within prophetic studies of
that decade, namely the debate about the historical prophet. Barstad’s focus
on the prophetic literature is embodied in the Edinburgh Prophecy Network,
which he established in 2006, and which so far has produced four conferences
and as many edited volumes.
While continuing to publish on topics of ancient Israelite religion and pro-
ducing several monographs on Isaiah, Barstad also embarked on an explora-
tion of more principled considerations of the challenges of the relationship
between biblical texts and ancient Israelite historical phenomena. The debate
over how to properly write a history of ancient Israel was likely one of the most
heated and exhilarating areas of biblical scholarship of the last part of the 20th
century, and pointed into the future. Beginning early, with critical reviews of
recent publications, and more definitely with the symposium at Granavolden
outside Oslo in 1993, this area of Barstad’s scholarship has been expressed in
print consistently over the last 25 years. Several articles and edited volumes are
devoted to discussions of history and historiography, as witnessed by the bib-
liography of Barstad’s publications assembled for this volume by Svein Helge
Birkeflet.
Corresponding to these two fields within which Hans Barstad has been most
prolific, the Festschrift has two main sections: “Prophecy” and “History.” A third
section entitled “Explorations,” contains three essays that tie in with Barstad’s
scholarship in other ways.

The present volume honouring Hans M. Barstad’s career begins with a main
section on “Prophecy,” and opens with an essay by his colleague in Edinburgh,

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_002

2 Introduction

A. Graeme Auld. This contribution engages a question that has been a topic
of interaction between Auld and the honouree for over 20 years, namely the
nature of the relationship between Israelite prophecy as a historical phe-
nomenon and the biblical prophetic literature. This article, “Samuel and ‘His
Servants the Prophets,’ ” is followed by four contributions concerned with the
book of Isaiah, a book that Hans Barstad has published widely on. In “Idols in
Isaiah in the Light of Isaiah 10:10–11,” Hugh G.M. Williamson takes up the topic
of idols, usually associated with Second Isaiah. He argues that a series of texts
from Isaiah 1–39 should be added to the list of Isaianic passages concerned
with idols. He then presents a discussion comparing these two groups of texts.
In the article “Abraham and Cyrus in Deutero-Isaiah,” Joseph Blenkinsopp
applies ideas of C.C. Torrey, often cited by Barstad, to an analysis of Abraham
traditions in Second Isaiah. Blenkinsopp highlights the author of Isaiah’s
implementation of this tradition in his interpretation of current events. In
the third essay on Second Isaiah, Kristin Joachimsen employs memory studies
to approach specific motifs. In “Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44
and 46,” she argues that this approach more adequately accounts for gaps and
inconsistencies in the text than traditional methods have been able to do. In
the last article on Isaiah in this section, Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer takes the idea,
championed by Hans Barstad, that Second Isaiah was located in Judah, not
Babylon, and applies it to the last chapters of the book. In her contribution,
“Hope and Disappointment: The Judahite Critique of the Exilic Leadership in
Isaiah 56–66,” Tiemeyer finds a continuity with the “exilic” generation in spe-
cific, later, communities mirrored in these final Isaianic chapters.
The title of Bob Becking’s article, “Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah,”
plays on Hans Barstad’s first book on Amos, from 1984. Reading against a
specific historical and economic background, Becking contends that Micah,
in contrast to Amos, was not polemicizing against other deities, but against
a different form of devotion to YHWH. Following this, Robert Gordon applies
comparative material from Mari (an approach utilized by Barstad on several
occasions) in “ ‘We do not see our Signs’ (Psalm 74:9): Signs, Prophets, Oracles,
and the Asaphite Psalter.” Gordon reads Psalm 74 in conjunction with Psalm 75
to explore the idea that “signs” in Psalm 74:9 could be referring to prophecy.
Next, taking as her point of departure Hans Barstad’s careful insistence
on the significance of imagery and metaphor in the prophetic literature,
Rannfrid I. Thelle engages with the basic metaphor of YHWH as faithful hus-
band and Israel as disobedient wife. Thelle approaches the subject through
the idea of Israel’s self-understanding and self-identification, in “Self as Other:
Israel’s Self-Designation as Adulterous Wife, a Self-Reflective Perspective on a
Prophetic Metaphor.” Dovetailing with this metaphorical field, Cheryl Exum
Introduction 3

presents a survey of samples of commentaries from the last 20–25 years, ask-
ing whether or not the debate about prophetic “pornography” has led to any
changes in the basic gender biased mainstream readings of prophetic litera-
ture, in “Prophetic Pornography Revisited.”
The first article in the second major division of the Festschrift, “History,”
highlights the fact that the two categories of “Prophecy” and “History” are inter-
twined, as also contributions in the previous category demonstrate. Where
A. Graeme Auld’s opening essay thematized the question of the prophets as
historical figures, or what can be known about prophecy from the prophetic
books, Reinhard Kratz takes on the question of the prophetic figures within
the historical traditions of Israel. Kratz’s “Prophecy in History: Isaiah and the
Siege of Jerusalem” investigates how those portrayals might relate to the collec-
tions of prophetic oracles.
The next two contributions focus on specific historical institutions, the
monarchy and the practice of reading Torah. John Day presents an essay on the
institution of the monarchy in ancient Israel, using a wide array of texts from
Deuteronomy and 1 Kings to Psalms and Song of Songs; in “Some Aspects of the
Monarchy in Ancient Israel,” Day considers the ritual of anointing, the ideal of
kingship as reflected in the Psalms, the law of the king, and the king’s marriage
and burial. Sara Japhet’s “The Ritual of Reading Scripture (Nehemiah 8:1–12),”
explores the historical practice of reading Torah out loud at public occasions,
using the book of Nehemiah as her point of departure.
Specific historical questions form the concern of the next three contribu-
tions. André Lemaire, in “Queen or Delegation of Saba to Solomon?” employs
archaeological and epigraphic material to argue that mlkt is an orthographic
variant of ml’kt (trade delegation). Lemaire posits the likelihood of a trade
delegation from Saba to Solomon, rather than one headed by a queen, thus
rendering the tradition about the Queen of Sheba legendary. Nadav Na’aman
uses biblical texts and archaeological data to account for the way in which the
relationship between Judah and Edom is portrayed in the Bible, compared to
what might have been historical “reality,” in “Judah and Edom in the Book of
Kings and in Historical Reality.” Then, taking the book of Nahum as a point of
departure, C.L. Crouch’s article “On Floods and the Fall of Nineveh: A Note on
the Origins of a Spurious Tradition,” offers arguments in support of the posi-
tion that the city of Nineveh may have been destroyed by flooding. Crouch
concludes that the existence of flooding imagery in battle accounts might have
its origins in an actual flood.
The final group of four essays incorporate issues of historiography. Niels Peter
Lemche takes Barstad’s work on the “Myth of the Empty Land” as his point of
departure. In “Locating the Story of Biblical Israel” Lemche presents renewed
4 Introduction

arguments in favour of his previously stated view that the location of the for-
mation of the “story of biblical Israel” is to be found in the Hellenistic period.
Next, Lester L. Grabbe compares the King David of 1 Samuel—1 Kings with
the legendary texts concerning the Medieval Spanish warrior-leader Rodrigo
Diaz. Through this comparison, Grabbe’s “King David and El Cid: Two ‘Apiru in
Myth and History” highlights questions of myth/legend and history that have
followed in the wake of King David. In his study “Heshbon—The History of a
Biblical Memory,” Terje Stordalen combines archaeology and memory studies
to discuss ways in which the Heshbon of the Bible came to be constructed
and remembered—and what this may entail for the historiographic use of that
biblical material. In the last essay of this section, Kåre Berge discusses schol-
ars’ views of “hope” in the Deuteronomistic History. In “Is There Hope In the
Deuteronomistic History?” Berge offers a new analysis of what might be seen
as a historiographic “rationale” of the Deuteronomistic History, by analyzing
its understanding of “future” from the point of view of overcoming trauma and
creating a new identity.
In a final section of entitled “Explorations,” we present three contributions.
Throughout his career, Hans Barstad has insisted on the integrity of biblical
texts as texts. This remains so even as he has consistently chosen to use those
texts as reflections of realities outside of the texts, in order to reconstruct his-
torical phenomena, and has spent much effort in arguing for methodologically
sound ways of doing that. The next two essays celebrate explorations of the
biblical textual world, with surprisingly original results. In ways that coun-
terpoint nicely with John Day’s readings of Song of Songs (above), Martin
R. Hauge explores the inversions of roles in a reading of Song of Songs as
story. His “Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14: Solomon, Master and Beggar,” focuses
on the roles of the figures of the Lover, the Maiden, and teacher of Wisdom,
and how the figure of Solomon fits into this. Following this, in a reading of
the Decalogue, David Clines posits the thesis that all of the commandments
deal—at the fundamental level—with the prohibition, or avoidance, of theft.
In “The Decalogue as the Avoidance of Theft,” Clines thus provides an intri­
guing, comprehensive perspective on the collection, which emerges from
within the text itself.
Finally, Knut Holter takes a text from a book that Hans Barstad has devoted
a monograph and several articles on (The book of Amos), and provides a new
take on it from the perspective of African biblical hermeneutics. In “Reading
Amos 9:7 from an African Perspective,” Holter thus pays tribute to Barstad’s long
record of deconstructing and critiquing received interpretative paradigms.
 Part 1
Prophecy

∵
Elijah and the Prophets of Baal and of Asherah:
Towards a Discussion of “No Prophets?”

A. Graeme Auld

Hans Barstad and I met properly in person in Jerusalem, at the Second

International Congress on Biblical Archaeology in 1990. Both of us have a long-
term interest in the rootedness of the biblical materials in space and time, in
soil and its periods. When completing a short monograph on Amos,1 I had been
able to react briefly to his very different and more substantial study of The
Religious Polemics of Amos.2 In turn, his “No Prophets?”3 included a response
to some essays I had published in the 1980’s. From his arrival as Professor at
the beginning of 2006 till my retirement at the end of 2007, we spent two very
congenial years as colleagues in the University of Edinburgh. It was soon after
he came to the University that I promised him some interaction with his “No
Prophets?” It is a great pleasure now to offer within a volume in his honour this
tardy set of reactions.

Barstad was generous in most of his comments on Auld’s and (Robert) Carroll’s
prophetic studies, and was probably correct that Carroll radicalised my views.4
He was right to remind me that I had not paid proper attention to the mes-
senger formula.5 And yet, recognizing the ubiquity of ‫ כה אמר יהוה‬does not
in itself lessen the likelihood that many instances of (nominal) ‫ דבר יהוה‬are
editorial additions or alterations. However, at one key point I think he actu-
ally obscured my fundamental agreement with him by only partial quotation.
Accepting that “statistical use of terminology . . . may establish whether or not

1  A. Graeme Auld, Amos (Old Testament Guides; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1986).
2  Hans M. Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos (VTSup 34; Leiden: Brill, 1984).
3  Hans M. Barstad, “No Prophets? Recent Developments in Biblical Prophecy Research and
Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” JSOT 57 (1993): 39–60.
4  “No Prophets?” 42.
5  “No Prophets?” 42, n. 14.

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8 Auld

the later editors regarded these books as ‘prophetic,’ ” he insisted that “it does
not necessarily follow from this that the materials found in these books were
not ‘prophetic’ in the first place.”6 However, what I had written as I began to
sum up my “Prophets through the Looking Glass” paper was the following:

The discussion in the earlier part of this paper encourages the view that both
parts of the ‘prophetic’ canon of the Hebrew Bible received much of their dis-
tinctive and positively intended ‘prophetic’ vocabulary over a briefer and in a
later period of the biblical tradition than is regularly supposed. The process
which has been sketched appears to imply recognition that these ‘prophetic’
writings were different from the other ‘­writings’: it was on to these books and not
others that ‘prophetic’ and ‘visionary’ language was grafted.7

Citing only the final clause of the above, Hans Barstad replied that “the contents
of these books are to be regarded as prophetic when viewed within the broader
context of (biblical and) ancient Near Eastern prophecy in general.”8 Precisely
so—but that only says more explicitly what I had already intended in “imply
recognition that these . . . were different.” My main concern had not been the
phenomenon of intermediation, but simply the development of (terminology
in) some biblical books. I am not yet persuaded of the case that (the historical)
Jeremiah was the first of the biblical “prophets” to be recognised in his own
time as a ‫נביא‬.9 At the first meeting (in May 2007) of the Edinburgh Prophecy
Network, inaugurated by Barstad, he characteristically insisted that “to stress
the factor that the prophetic corpus . . . represents late literary ­creations . . . is
not only an unnecessary, but also an erroneous development.”10 I had greater
sympathy with Martti Nissinen’s response, that it “is simply true for the pro-
phetic books as a literary genre” that they represent “late literary creations of
the Persian, or even Hellenistic, eras.”11

6  “No Prophets?” 52.

7  A. Graeme Auld, “Prophets through the Looking Glass: Between Writings and Moses,”
JSOT 27 (1983): 16.
8  “No Prophets?” 52.
9  Jonathan Stökl, Prophecy in the Ancient Near East: A Philological and Sociological
Comparison (CHANE; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 185 (n. 197), 201.
10  Hans M. Barstad, “What Prophets Do: Reflections on Past Reality in the Book of Jeremiah,”
in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah, ed. H.M. Barstad and R.G. Kratz (BZAW 388; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2009), 31.
11  Nissinen, Martti, “The Historical Dilemma of Biblical Prophetic Studies,” in Prophecy in
the Book of Jeremiah, ed. H.M. Barstad and R.G. Kratz, 115.
Elijah And The Prophets Of Baal And Of Asherah 9

The struggle with Baal that Hans Barstad detected in the book of Amos, though
the god is never explicitly mentioned in these pages, he set within a traditional
understanding of Kings.12 I suspect now, with the benefit of hindsight, that
I already doubted that understanding in the 1980s. However, that in no way
lessens the suggestiveness of his analyses. Explicit conflict between Yahweh
and Baal bulks large in some biblical books, not least the book of Kings—yet
probably bulks still larger in the later reception of these texts. Here the rather
minimalist contribution of the synoptic text13 is instructive. I would not write
Kings without Privilege14 now the way I wrote it in the early 1990s. And yet,
twenty years further on, I am much more firmly persuaded that its basic thrust
was justified.15 The text shared but quite differently developed by the authors
of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles provides our earliest connected account
of the house of David in Jerusalem over some four centuries: of its relations
with the kings of Israel after the split at the death of Solomon (and with
other nations), and of its religious behaviour. Kings without Privilege sketched
some of the terms in which religious critique was stated in the shared text,
and ways in which this proliferated and agglomerated—and was occasionally
suppressed—in the successor texts.16 The shared narrative, or “Book of Two
Houses” (henceforth BTH), had presumably been written close to the transi-
tion from monarchy in Judah to Yehud as small province in large empires; and
it offers a vantage point for looking in both directions. On the one hand, it
preserves one unique glimpse of how the past centuries were assessed at a
time of momentous change. On the other, the relative ease with which we may
describe this Grundschrift of both Samuel–Kings and Chronicles permits more
precise assessment of how some further portions of each of these successor
books were written.

12  Religious Polemics, 2–6.

13  Already glimpsed in “Prophets through the Looking Glass.”
14  A. Graeme Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings
(Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994).
15  Further evidence is presented in “The Text of Chronicles and the beginnings of Samuel,” in
Rereading the relecture? The Question of (Post)chronistic Influence in the Latest Redactions
of the Books of Samuel, ed. Uwe Becker and Hannes Bezzel, (FAT II 66; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 2014), 31–40; “The Shaping of Israelite History in Samuel and Kings,” RevBib 121
(2014), 195–216; and “Isaiah and the Oldest ‘Biblical’ Prophetic Narrative,” in Prophets and
Prophecy in Stories: Papers Read at the Fifth Meeting of the Edinburgh Prophecy Network,
Utrecht October 2013, ed. Bob Becking and Hans M. Barstad (OTS 65; Leiden: Brill, 2015),
45–63.
16  See particularly pages 73–103.
10 Auld

Baal becomes problematic in BTH only in 2 Kings 11||2 Chronicles 23. At the
beginning of the royal story, one of David’s sons is named ‫( בעלידע‬2 Sam
5:16[LXXL]||1 Chr 14:7)—in 2 Sam 5:16 (MT/LXXB) this has been altered to
‫אלידע‬. Similarly, the site of divine victory over Philistines on David’s behalf is
unapologetically called ‫בעל־פרצים‬, because Yahweh (in Samuel)/the deity (in
Chronicles) had burst through like water. Only as the list of David’s sons was
being transcribed in proto-MT Samuel (and the text underlying LXXB) did any
sign emerge of embarrassment over the name Baal.
The revolt against Athaliah (2 Kgs 11) begins in ‫בית יהוה‬, where young Joash
(sole survivor of his grandmother’s purge) has been hidden (v. 3), where the
priest puts some of the guards under oath (v. 4), and where necessary weap-
ons were to be found (vv. 10–11). It was held inappropriate to kill Athaliah in
the precincts of Yahweh’s house (vv. 13–16). After the covenant with Yahweh
was extended from guards (v. 4) and new king (v. 12) to people as a whole
(v. 17), “the people of the land” thoroughly destroyed ‫ בית הבעל‬and killed
Mattan ‫( כהן הבעל‬v. 18). Jehoiada then posted guards over ‫בית יהוה‬. The shared
text in 2 Kgs 8:26–27||2 Chr 22:2–3 had already made clear the linkage between
Ahaziah of Judah (Joash’s father) and the house of Omri and Ahab, through
Ahaziah’s mother Athaliah.
The putsch that led to the elimination of Athaliah was instigated by Jehoiada,
priest of Yahweh (12:7, 9), and resulted also in killing Mattan, priest of Baal, and
destroying “the house of Baal” and smashing his altars and statues/images (‫צלם‬
is very rare elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, and reappears in the narrative books
only in 1 Sam 6:5, 11). While the synoptic narrative in 2 Kgs 11||2 Chr 23 implic-
itly testifies to the close link between the house of Omri and Ahab and worship
of Baal, it makes no mention of any “prophets.” Prophets have played a very
important role in much of 1 Kgs 17–2 Kgs 10. In the shared text too, such inter-
mediaries play a role at many major turning points in the story of Jerusalem. In
fact, their absence from 2 Kgs 11–12 is a silence which is quite loud. It is equally
true that the other substantial synoptic report relating to Ahab (1 Kgs 22||
2 Chr 18) makes no mention of Baal; and the prophetic groups criticized there
are prophets of Yahweh. The false prophets are not Baal-prophets; and the sup-
pression of Baal-worship is initiated by a priest, not a prophet.
Renewed service to Baal (and Asherah) is part of the comprehensive list
of wicked deeds attributed to Manasseh. The charge-sheet drawn up in BTH
against this king opens with a quadruple complaint; and Baal and Asherah fea-
ture in the second and third elements. Here there are small but significant dif-
ferences between 2 Kgs 21:3 and 2 Chr 33:3. In Kings, Manasseh “raised altars to
Elijah And The Prophets Of Baal And Of Asherah 11

the Baal and made an Asherah as Ahab king of Israel had made and prostrated
to all the host of heaven and served them.” In Chronicles, he “raised altars to the
Baals and made Asherahs and prostrated to all the host of heaven and served
them”: Baals and Asherahs are plural here, and there is no cross-reference to
the behaviour of Ahab. Singular Baal and Asherah are almost certainly the
more original text. And there was no need, given what the Chronicler too had
reported about Athaliah daughter of Omri and Mattan priest of Baal, for him
to delete from his source a reference to Ahab. We may restore as original the
shorter text shared between 2 Kgs 21:3||2 Chr 33:3: “raised altars to the Baal and
made an Asherah and prostrated to all the host of heaven and served them.”
Asherah is found in only one other synoptic passage (1 Kgs 15:13||2 Chr 15:16),
again in the singular, where it is said of Maacah, mother to King Asa, that “she
made a horrid thing for Asherah” (‫)עשתה מפלצת לאשרה‬. Asa himself was given
credit for burning the horrible object. Whether as goddess or wooden cult-
object,17 Asherah reappears in 1 Kgs 16:33; 18:19; 2 Kgs 13:6; 17:16; 18:4; 23:6, 15
(all sg); and 1 Kgs 14:15, 23; 2 Kgs 17:10; 23:14 (all pl.); and in 2 Chr 14:2; 17:6; 19:3;
24:18; 31:1; 33:19; 34:3, 4, 7 (all pl.). If the brief synoptic testimony is to be trusted,
Asherah was remembered as associated first with the southern kingdom soon
after the division. Additions in 1 Kings push the story still further back to the
original rival kings, blaming both Jeroboam in the north (14:15) and Rehoboam
in the south (14:23) for devotion to Asherah.
In BTH and Chronicles, the “host of heaven” is found only once in advance
of 2 Kgs 21:3, 5||2 Chr 33:3, 5—in 1 Kgs 22:19||2 Chr 18:18. This divine assem-
bly makes its first appearance in the vision which Micaiah ben Imlah reports;
and there they are Yahweh’s attendants in the heavenly court. The “wind” or
“spirit” (‫ )הרוח‬who volunteers to entice Ahab (22:21) may be one of them. So
much for the older synoptic text. According to 2 Kgs 17:16, worship of this
host is part of what led northern Israel to disaster. Then, in 23:4, Manasseh’s
actions are reported as undone by Josiah, piece by piece; and this theme is
further developed in 23:5–6, where Baal and Asherah are part of a much fuller
list for extirpation, but remain singular. However, they do not feature in the
Chronicler’s account of Josiah’s reformation. The host of heaven are also known
in Deut 4:19; 17:3; Isa 14:13; Jer 8:2; 19:13 [33:22]; Dan 8:10; Neh 9:6 (where they
worship you!).
The first set of complaints about Manasseh brings together his cultic pro-
motion of Baal, Asherah, and the host of heaven. Each has appeared only once

17  The different Masoretic pointing has led to the suggestion that Asherah was understood
as an object in 1 Kgs 15:13, but as a goddess in 2 Chr 15:16 (Steve A. Wiggans, A Reassessment
of Asherah, [Gorgias Ugaritic Studies, 2: Piscataway NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007], 124–25).
12 Auld

before in the synoptic narrative; and none of them has been linked earlier with
either of the others. Indeed at their sole previous mention, the host of heaven
was part of Yahweh’s retinue. And of course there is extra-biblical evidence in
support of the view that Asherah had been Yahweh’s consort. In the critique
of Manasseh, the three are not only brought together for the first time but
problematized—only Baal had certainly been a problem before, at the restora-
tion of Joash; but, as we have seen, still earlier in the royal story even Baal had
been an acceptable part of place names and personal names associated with
David. At the first mention of Asherah within the critique of Manasseh (21:3),
she is rendered guilty by association with Baal: as with the host of heaven,
the problem may have been veneration of Yahweh’s close associates instead of
simply himself.18 Altars in the plural (21:4–5) and the image of Asherah (21:7)
are here held to infringe the rights of Yahweh whose name had been set in the
temple (21:4, 7).
In his Brief Guide, Hans Barstad offers “a glimpse of the goddess Asherah
behind the curtain of pre-Deuteronomistic religion” based on inscriptional
evidence.19 Moving back from Kings and Chronicles to BTH enables a further
glimpse behind this same curtain from another angle. After their first asso-
ciation in the synoptic critique of Manasseh, Asherah together with Baal was
twice retrojected into earlier history in the developed book of Kings. Northern
Israel at its demise is already charged in 2 Kgs 17:16–18 with all aspects of the
blame which the synoptic history had heaped on Manasseh.20 Then large
purges of prophets of Baal are reported in 1 Kgs 18:40 under Elijah and 2 Kgs
10:18–27 under Jehu. However, only the opening of the report of the spectacu-
lar contest involving Elijah mentions Asherah as well (18:19): Ahab is asked to
gather at Mt Carmel “the 450 prophets of Baal and the 400 prophets of Asherah
who eat at Jezebel’s table.” In the remainder of that story (1 Kgs 18:22, 25, 40),
only prophets of Baal are mentioned. Similarly, the report of the Jehu purge
talks only of “prophets of Baal” (2 Kgs 10:19) and “those who serve Baal” (10:19,
21, 22, 23), without any mention of Asherah. It has already been noted above

18  Wiggans notes (Asherah, 219–20) that, wherever she is mentioned across the ancient Near
East, “[h]er relationship to the chief deity appears to be a constant character trait.”
19  Hans M. Barstad, A Brief Guide to the Hebrew Bible (Louisville KY: WJK Press, 2010), 74–78.
20  There, as in Deuteronomy, the people are blamed. 2 Kgs 21 represents the earlier view,
according to which the king had been responsible, see E. Ben Zvi, “The Account of the
Reign of Manasseh in II Reg 21,1–18 and the Redactional History of the Book of Kings,”
ZAW 103 (1991): 362–63. The language in which the critique of Manasseh is expressed in
2 Kgs 21:2–9 is usefully discussed in Percy S.F. van Keulen, Manasseh through the Eyes of
the Deuteronomists (OTS XXXVIII; Brill: Leiden, 1996), 89–122.
Elijah And The Prophets Of Baal And Of Asherah 13

that mention of Ahab in 2 Kgs 21:3 (but not the parallel 2 Chr 33:3) was an
addition to the older synoptic report which had first linked Baal and Asherah.
Adding prophets of Asherah to prophets of Baal, in a verse that includes men-
tion of Jezebel (1 Kgs 18:19), produced a reciprocal cross-reference. The unique
linking of “prophets” and “Asherah” will have been simply a literary invention.
From this same vantage point in the older synoptic narrative, it may be pos-
sible to glimpse still more behind the curtain of the book of Kings. BTH had
included two accounts relevant to the house of Omri and Ahab. In the first
(1 Kgs 22||2 Chr 18), King Ahab of Israel had enjoyed support (even though it
proved fatal to him) from a large number of prophets. In the second (2 Kgs
11||2 Chr 23), Judah was saved at the initiative of the priest of Yahweh’s temple
from the intrigues of a queen descended from Omri; and the aftermath of this
restoration of the line of David included sacking the temple of Baal and killing
the priest of Baal. The famous new story crafted in 1 Kgs 18 has blended ele-
ments from each of these accounts. 1. The wicked woman has become Ahab’s
wife Jezebel rather than his daughter or niece Athaliah. 2. Yahweh’s champion,
Elijah, who bears a name honouring Yahweh and presides at a sacrifice, shares
characteristics of Jehoiada, priest of Yahweh in 2 Kgs 11 and of Micaiah, lone
faithful prophet of Yahweh from 1 Kgs 22. 3. The band of prophets opposing
Micaiah have become prophets of Baal opposing Elijah, and in their mass
slaughter they anticipate the fate of Mattan, priest of Baal, in the other older
story. Not only “prophets of Asherah” but “prophets of Baal” too seem to have
been a literary invention. The latter reappear in the Jehu story, where Jezebel
also meets her fate (2 Kgs 9–10), but nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible. And,
as further evidence that this second literary-historical glimpse is not mistaken,
the Jehu story also has links with 1 Kgs 22. As the newly-anointed king and his
officers discuss the significance of a lone prophetic “madman,” the word ‫שקר‬
(lie, falsehood) has its only other outing in the book of Kings (1 Kgs 22:22, 23; 2
Kgs 9:12). Whatever the truth about Mt Carmel as long-standing natural fron-
tier between the heartland of Israel and coastal Phoenicia, too many impor-
tant features of the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal (and of Asherah)
have their origins in two (or three) other stories, all of them in BTH. When writ-
ing on the book of Samuel, I discussed several narratives which in similar fash-
ion appear to have drawn for their inspiration on two quite separate portions
of the earlier synoptic narrative.21 That the account of Jerusalem’s kings in
BTH provided the Grundschrift with whose pages the story of northern Israel’s

21  One of the most extended examples—and certainly the most famous one—is 2 Sam
11:2–12:25. Using 2 Sam 10:1–11:1 and 12:26–31 as a frame, it draws on key elements of 2 Sam
7 and 2 Sam 24, all of them constituent parts of the older synoptic account of David.
14 Auld

kings and prophets was interleaved may be uncontroversial. But it should also
be recognized as the source and inspiration for the writing of many of these
interleaved pages. Ehud Ben Zvi has offered a sensitive reading of the Book of
Chronicles on the house of Omri/Ahab; but he mis-states the situation when
he writes of the Chronicler’s “explicit exclusion of reference to the worship of
Baal (or Ashera) in northern Israel.”22

An important component of the shared “broader context of (biblical and)

ancient Near Eastern prophecy”23 was the ever-present reality of war in the
ancient near east, and the need for divine guidance in such perpetual peril.24
Hans Barstad leads with a set of five examples in a paragraph shared word-
for-word in “No Prophets?” and Brief Guide,25 which had been first published in
Norwegian in the same year26—the following paragraphs also contain similar
material. It seems to me that three of the five should be immediately set aside:
1. Judg 6:7–10 is not only absent from 4QJudga (our oldest text of Judges, even
if it is also very fragmentary), but its prophet has been sent by Yahweh and
is hardly speaking like an ANE intermediary. 2. A prophetic role in Judg 20 is
not made explicit. Israel as a whole consults God at Bethel three times during
the struggle with Benjamin (vv. 18, 23, 26–28). The final occasion is more fully
described, and records that Phinehas, grandson of Aaron, ministered before
the ark in these days. Barstad may be right to suppose that “the priest Phinehas
asks YHWH whether to go to war or not”; but equally the mention of the priest
may be simply a chronological note. In either case, we are not told how the
divine ruling is obtained, and certainly no prophet is mentioned at all. 3. As I
read 1 Sam 15, it does not report that “Samuel intervenes in the war against the
Amalekites”; he rather initiates (vv. 2–3) a campaign of annihilation in repay-
ment for a historic slight.27 The synoptic texts of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles

22  E. Ben Zvi, “The House of Omri/Ahab in Chronicles,” in Ahab Agonistes: The Rise and Fall
of the Omri Dynasty, ed. L.L. Grabbe, (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 6;
LHBOTS 421; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 50.
23  “No Prophets?” 52.
24  “No Prophets?” 53–54.
25  “No Prophets?” 53; Brief Guide, 114.
26  Det gamle testamente: En innføring (Oslo: Dynamis, 1993).
27  His other two examples are from 1 Sam 7 and 1 Kgs 20.
Elijah And The Prophets Of Baal And Of Asherah 15

offer a critical perspective here too. I should advocate proceeding instead from
three war situations in BTH: 2 Sam 5; 1 Kgs 12 and 22.
The text reporting David’s double “asking of” Yahweh (2 Sam 5:19, 23) before
engaging the Philistines in combat is probably in any case the progenitor of all
similarly stated reports in Judges and 1 Samuel, including Judg 20.28 However,
and especially as framed in its earlier synoptic context with Solomon “asking”
during his vision (1 Kgs 3:4–15), 2 Sam 5:19, 23 invite the question whether a
priestly or prophetic intermediary was involved at all in such asking, or whether
(at least these foundational) kings were depicted as having unmediated access
to the deity. In the third and most extended report in BTH about seeking the
divine will before battle (1 Kgs 22), the initiative comes again quite clearly from
the side of the kings involved. The intervening report in 1 Kgs 12:21–24 is so
brief as to be ambiguous. Given the poor view of Solomon’s son taken in the
text, we might reasonably suppose that “the man of God” intervened unasked,
and blocked a move to unnecessary civil war. But equally, set as this short story
is between David asking of the deity before confronting the Philistines and
the joint Israel/Judah venture against Ramoth-Gilead involving a series of
prophets, we might fairly assume that Rehoboam too had sought “the word of
Yahweh” which was pronounced by Shemaiah.

Thinking together the synoptic 1 Kgs 22 and 2 Kgs 11 might have proved suffi-
cient inspiration for the composition of 1 Kgs 18. And yet the book of Jeremiah
also includes relevant material, and may have played a mediating or midwife
role. Prophets “prophesying by Baal” are blamed in 2:8 and 23:13; and anony-
mous teachers have instructed “my people to swear by Baal” (18:16). Jeremiah’s
complaints are much closer in time to the charges levelled in BTH against
Manasseh. Authors of the book of Kings then retrojected the prophets-of-Baal
critique into a much more ancient period. Even although Baal had been the
great god of the ancient Near East over the whole period of the biblical writ-
ings, the most memorable critique of Baal-worship was crafted in later biblical
texts (1 Kgs 18 and 2 Kgs 9–10). Correspondingly, talk of a plurality of Baals
predominates in later texts,29 with only Hos (2:15, 19) 11:2 as possible earlier
exception(s). From these perspectives, it is not easy to share the confidence

28  Judg 1:1; 18:5; 20:18, 20, 23; 1 Sam 10:22; 12:10; 14:37; 22:13, 15; 23:2, 4; 28:6; 30:8; 2 Sam 2:1.
29  ‫ הבעלים‬in Judg 2:11; 3:7; 8:33; 10:6, 10; 1 Sam 7:4; 12:10; 1 Kgs 18:18; Jer 2:23; 9:13; 2 Chr 17:3;
24:7; 28:2; 33:3; 34:4.
16 Auld

Hans Barstad expressed when writing on Amos that “[d]espite the fact that
the story bears witness to Deuteronomistic encroachments, there can be little
doubt that basically [1 Kgs 18] is very old.”30 Jonathan Stökl has mentioned
other grounds for questioning the antiquity of the famous story.31 Aptly, in a
study of three Tyrian deities in 1 Kgs 18, Pierre Bordreuil notes how gashing vil-
lagers in springtime was still being practised in the 1970s in an Alawite village
near the site of ancient Ugarit.32 It would be clearly unwise to use a midrash-
like composition as evidence for a prophetic role in Yahwistic sacrifice in Israel
in the Omride (or any other) period.
The honorand of this volume has rightly recognised in a series of studies the
crucial role of Jeremiah in the history of biblical prophecy.33 It remains a mat-
ter for further study to determine more precisely and over a broader compass
the relationship between BTH, (the book of) Jeremiah, and Kings: whether lin-
ear or triangular.

30  Religious Polemics, 69.

31  Stökl, Prophecy, 173 (n. 92), 208, 220 (n. 78).
32  Pierre Bordreuil, “Trois divinités tyriennes dans le récit de 1 Rois 18,” Res Antiquae 9 (2012):
36, n. 13.
33  In recent years, from the Edinburgh symposium published in Prophecy in the Book of
Jeremiah (fn. 9 above) to “Jeremiah the Historian: The Book of Jeremiah as a Source for
the History of the Near East in the Time of Nebuchadnezzar,” in Studies on the Text and
Versions of the Hebrew Bible in Honour of Robert Gordon, ed. G. Khan and D. Lipton (VTSup
149; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 87–98.
Idols in Isaiah in the Light of Isaiah 10:10–11
H.G.M. Williamson

Isaiah 10:5–15 is an anti-Assyrian woe saying in which God first states that he
will use Assyria to punish a godless nation. He then goes on to draw attention
to Assyria’s overbearing hubris which has led it to exceed his commission so
that, as implied by the introductory woe, Assyria will herself become subject
to divine judgment. Assuming v. 15 is an integral part of the passage, it uses a
wisdom saying to round off the passage by reverting in a different style to the
implications of the initial woe.
Although there has been some dispute about the identity of the “godless
nation,” the majority of commentators rightly identifies it as Israel/Samaria,
for the following reasons. (1) The use of the same vocabulary in 9:16 and 18
indicates that the “godless nation” is Ephraim/Israel and that it is they who
have incurred God’s fury. (2) 10:6 continues with a clear reference back to 8:1–4,
where it is Samaria whose spoil will be carried away. (3) In 28:3 “the crown of
the drunkards of Ephraim will be trampled under foot.” Thus all four clauses
in 10:6 have close parallels elsewhere in the early material in Isaiah that refers
explicitly to Ephraim, Israel or Samaria. (4) Finally, the sequence of cities con-
quered by the Assyrian as listed in v. 9 reaches its climax with Samaria. Now,
it may well be that, rather as in the case of the sequence in 7:8–9a, the reader
is meant tacitly to conclude from this that the same could apply by extension
to Jerusalem, but that is not the same thing as saying that Jerusalem is directly
mentioned here. The whole structure of the passage leads up to, and should
therefore be referred to, Samaria.
Within the straightforward presentation of 10:5–15, there are some ele-
ments which do not fit very comfortably. The opinion of most scholars that
v. 12 is a later addition is to be accepted. It is clearly prose, and the suggestion
that a poetic fragment can be salvaged from the second half of the verse is
­unconvincing.1 It starts, at least, with reference to both God and the Assyrian

1  While it is possible to read the second half as a long line followed by a short one, with “I
will punish” governing two paralleled objects, this hardly makes it poetry: the rhythm is not
persuasive and the convoluted construct chain in the first half is most unpoetic. There does
not, therefore, seem to be any realistic chance of salvaging a line of original Isaianic mate-
rial here, contra B.S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT, 2nd series 3; London: SCM,
1967), 43; H. Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit: Israel und Assur als Thema einer produk-
tiven Neuinterpretation der Jesajaüberlieferung (WMANT 48; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_004

18 Williamson

king in the third person, which does not fit the prevailing context of direct
speech by them both. It also differs from the wider context by referring to the
Assyrian in this manner and by introducing Mount Zion. In fact, a reference
to Jerusalem is altogether out of place in a poem which is dealing primarily
with the Assyrian’s punishment of Samaria on God’s behalf, but that argument
would not hold if vv. 10–11 (or v. 11 alone) were original; I shall turn to that next.
But even without this last point it seems impossible to defend v. 12 as part of
the original poem. While there is room to discuss what v. 13 most naturally fol-
lows, it is certainly not v. 12.
Turning next, then, to vv. 10–11, opinions differ between those who think
that both are secondary and those who think that v. 11 could be original. The
syntax of the two verses is not clear, but in my opinion it seems best to treat
them as two parts of a single sentence.
As the text stands,2 v. 10 cannot sensibly be construed as a complete sentence
(“As I have struck . . . so their images . . .”); the second line must therefore be a
compressed circumstantial clause.3 Verse 11 must therefore be the apodosis of
v. 10, with the comparative element (‫ )כאשר‬repeated in order to add greater
specificity: “as my hand has struck out against the idol kingdoms—in fact, as
I have acted specifically against Samaria—so I will act against Jerusalem.” The
construction is complicated, however, by the fact that the apodosis adds ‫הלא‬
at the beginning, so that the resumptive element is not identical, as would nor-
mally be expected. In addition, v. 11 could be construed very well as an inde-
pendent sentence. The flow between the two verses is thus far from obviously
smooth. One solution4 is to resort to paraphrase by way of a slight expansion

Verlag, 1977), 24–25; Z. Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible (SBLSS 32; Atlanta: Scholars Press,
1998), 87–88.
2  See, for instance, F. Hitzig, Der Prophet Jesaja (Heidelberg: Winter, 1833), 127–28; J.A. Alexander,
Commentary on the Prophecies of Isaiah (repr. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1978; original publi-
cation in 2 vols: 1846–1847), 225–27; A. Knobel, Der Prophet Jesaia, 3rd ed. (KeHAT 5; Leipzig:
Hirzel, 1861), 83; F. Delitzsch, Commentar über das Buch Jesaia, 4th ed. (Leipzig: Dörffling &
Franke, 1889) = ET, Biblical Commentary on the Prophecies of Isaiah (Edinburgh, 1890), 262;
and A. Dillmann, Der Prophet Jesaia, 5th ed. (KeHAT; Leipzig: Hirzel, 1890), 107.
3  See GK §133e; B.K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax
(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 265; and J.C.L. Gibson, Davidson’s Introductory Hebrew
Grammar—Syntax (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 46, who supply other examples of the preg-
nant use of ‫מן‬, in which contextual common sense has to suggest what appropriate verb
or adjective should be supplied; hence here “more numerous” or “stronger” would each be
possible.
4  E.J. Young’s suggestion, The Book of Isaiah: The English Text, with Introduction, Exposition, and
Notes (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 363, that v. 11 is a second protasis with v. 10 and
that v. 12 is the apodosis, does not seem possible; the ‫ כן‬of v. 11b must be syntactically decisive.
Idols In Isaiah In The Light Of Isaiah 10:10–11 19

ad sensum to try to represent what the text implies and to allow that this syn-
tactical unevenness can be tolerated. As will be argued below, these verses look
like later additions of a sort which compare closely with some added anti-idol
elements elsewhere in the first part of Isaiah. These added elements also have
some awkwardly expressed elements, so that we might not be surprised to find
the same here. Better, perhaps, though at this stage of research more specula-
tive, is to adopt the solution suggested by Sivan and Schniedewind. They argue
on the basis of quite a wide range of evidence that ‫ הלא‬was an asseverative
particle in classical Hebrew. In the present case they claim that any attempt
to render it as introducing a rhetorical question (as is traditional) fails to deal
adequately with its combination here with the ‫ כן‬. . . ‫ כאשר‬series which it intro-
duces. In support they note further the parallel expressions ‫ כן‬. . . ‫אך כאשר‬
(Deut 12:22) and ‫ כן‬. . . ‫( הנה כאשר‬1 Sam 26:24). They thus render ‫ הלא‬as “indeed.”5
Working on the assumption, therefore, that the two verses must be taken
together, there are several reasons for concluding that they too have been
added subsequently (but prior to v. 12) to the original poem.6 (1) The series of
rhetorical questions in v. 9 leads up to Samaria as its climax, and this seems
to be the city which the passage as a whole has in view (see above). The refer-
ences in vv. 10–11 to Jerusalem, with Jerusalem mentioned first in v. 10, seem
both rhetorically and from the point of view of substance to be out of place,

5  D. Sivan and W. Schniedewind, “Letting Your ‘Yes’ Be ‘No’ in Ancient Israel: A Study of the
Asseverative ‫ לא‬and ‫הלא‬,” JSS 38 (1993): 209–26 (214–15). I have surveyed a number of the
conjectural emendations that have occasionally been proposed over the years, but none has
commanded any significant support and they all face separate difficulties of their own. For
the sake of space I have therefore not analysed them all in full here.
6  For some who argue the point in reasonable detail, see, for instance, B. Duhm, Das Buch
Jesaia, 4th ed. (HKAT 3/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922), 99; H. Donner, Israel
unter den Völkern (VTSup 11; Leiden: Brill, 1964), 142–43; P. Höffken, Untersuchungen zu den
Begründungselementen der Völkerorakel des Alten Testaments (Bonn dissertation, 1977),
247–48; W. Dietrich, Jesaja und die Politik (BEvTh 74; Munich: Chr. Kaiser, 1976), 116–18;
J. Høgenhaven, Gott und Volk bei Jesaja: eine Untersuchung zur biblischen Theologie (AThDan
24; Leiden: Brill, 1988), 116; S. Deck, Die Gerichtsbotschaft Jesajas: Charakter und Begründung
(FzB 67; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1991), 36; H. Liss, Die unerhörte Prophetie: Kommunikative
Strukturen prophetischer Rede im Buch Yesha‘yahu (Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte
14; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2003), 144–45; see also more briefly H. Wildberger,
Jesaja 1–12, 2nd ed. (BKAT 10/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980), 392 = ET, Isaiah
1–12: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 413–14; O. Kaiser, Das Buch des Propheten
Jesaja, Kapitel 1–12, 5th ed. (ATD 17; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), 226 = ET,
Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1983), 237; S. Mittmann, “ ‘Wehe! Assur, Stab
meines Zorns’ (Jes 10,5–9.13ab–15),” in Prophet und Prophetenbuch: Festschrift für Otto Kaiser
zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. V. Fritz, K.-F. Pohlmann and H.-C. Schmitt (BZAW 185; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 1989), 111–32 (112).
20 Williamson

therefore, giving the impression of being a later application to a second set

of circumstances. (2) The verses suggest that the judgment to fall is a punish-
ment for idolatry, but this differs from what has preceded. The previous two
verses report the bragging of the Assyrian king on his power and independence
of action, so that a switch to a discussion of the relative strength of different
nations’ gods seems out of place. (3) The general boasting of the Assyrian is
continued directly in v. 13, and this looks like the natural continuation from
v. 9. Along with v. 12, therefore, it would be easiest if vv. 10–11 could be brack-
eted out as well. (4) The expression ‫מצאה ידי ל‬, “my hand has found/struck
out against,” seems to be an echo of its more natural use in v. 14, and the use
of ‫ עשיתי‬and ‫אעשה‬, “I have acted/I will act,” in v. 11 looks like a similar echo
of ‫ עשיתי‬in v. 13. This suggests that our verses are dependent upon the earlier
poem. (5) The convoluted syntax of these two verses (however construed) is
quite out of keeping with the surrounding material, and in addition they do
not seem so convincing as elevated poetry; line lengths are awkward, and the
repeated use of ‫( כאשר‬plus ‫ )כן‬looks prosaic. (6) Later on I shall argue that
these two verses join a wider group which show similar interest; this makes the
addition less random in nature than is usually supposed.
Before developing this last point, however, we need to note that there has
been a relatively influential proposal not only that the two verses should be
treated separately but in addition that the two words meaning “and for her
idols” (‫ ולאליליה‬and ‫ )ולעצביה‬should be regarded as later additions, the remain-
der then being a suitable part of the original oracle.7 It seems to me extremely
questionable, however, whether one should just pick out odd separate words
from a passage for deletion in order to make the remainder fit a presupposed
notion of what the passage should be about. There is no evidence in the pres-
ent case to support this move, the resulting text, though roughly balanced in
terms of line length, remains prosaic in its construction, and the proposal does
not come up with any plausible motivation for the later addition of these two
words. As they stand, they link the verse closely in purpose with v. 10, which is

7  This was first suggested by Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis, 42–43, and he has been fol-
lowed by, for instance, Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit, 23; J. Vermeylen, Du prophète
Isaïe à l’apocalyptique: Isaïe, I–XXXV, miroir d’un demi-millénaire d’expérience religieuse en
Israël (EBib, 2 vols; Paris: Gabalda, 1977–1978), 255; F.J. Gonçalves, L’Expédition de Sennachérib
en Palestine dans la littérature hébraïque ancienne (EBib ns 7; Paris: Gabalda, 1986), 260;
E. Blum, “Jesajas prophetisches Testament: Beobachtungen zu Jes 1–11,” ZAW 108 (1996):
547–68 (560); U. Becker, Jesaja—von der Botschaft zum Buch (FRLANT 178; Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 202; and O. Bäckersten, Isaiah’s Political Message: An
Appraisal of His Alleged Social Critique (FAT II/29; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 153–54.
Idols In Isaiah In The Light Of Isaiah 10:10–11 21

acknowledged as secondary, so that it seems altogether more plausible to take

v. 11 along with v. 10, with which it is syntactically joined, as part of the same
addition. Childs’s clear desire to retain at least some reference to Jerusalem in
the passage has already been shown to be unnecessary.
In other studies I have argued that Isa 2:20–21 was added by a later glossa-
tor in order to explain an early textual error in v. 19 and that this related to the
fate of idols. In this connection Isa 30:22 and 31:7 seem to be additions from
the same hand. They are also clear prose additions to their present context
and they overlap considerably in their language, not least in relation to idols.8
Subsequently I have suggested that the same may be said of 30:1b, though this
case is admittedly not quite so clear.9 All these passages deal with idol wor-
ship, all are in prose, all interrupt their surrounding context, and some of them
share similar language.
There is therefore every likelihood that the two verses here under consider-
ation come from this same editor, who was clearly concerned to warn against
the dangers of idol worship in a much later day on the basis that it was a sig-
nificant factor in causing the original defeat of Jerusalem: the repeated use
of ‫ אליל‬/ ‫ אלילים‬is characteristic (2 references in each of 2:20 and 31:7), while
‫ פסילים‬occurs also at 30:22. Only the approximate synonym ‫( עצבים‬end of v. 11)
is peculiar to our passage (it occurs nowhere else in chs 1–39; note also that
‫ מסכה‬occurs only in 30:1 and 22 and ‫ אפדה‬only in 30:22).
Five short anti-idol additions within the text of Isaiah 1–39 is certainly note-
worthy, and so far as I am aware previous commentators have never thought of
considering them together as a whole. Noting the similarities between them,
however, inevitably leads us on with fresh urgency to ask what their signifi-
cance might be.
It is a well-known feature of Isaiah 40–48 that those chapters too contain
some anti-idol satires and, equally, many commentators think that they too
are probably later additions to their current contexts; see Isa 40:19–20; 41:6–7;
44:9–20; and 46:5–7.10 There are also a few short clauses which some have

8  See “A Productive Textual Error in Isaiah 2:18–19,” in Essays on Ancient Israel in Its
Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman, ed. Y. Amit et al. (Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns, 2006), 377–88, and A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27, 1:
Isaiah 1–5 (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 201–3 and 228–29.
9  See “Isaiah 30:1,” in Isaiah in Context: Studies in Honour of Arie van der Kooij on the Occasion
of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. M.N. van der Meer et al. (VTSup 138; Leiden: Brill, 2010),
185–96.
10  For valuable surveys of opinion with introductory discussion, see J. Werlitz, Redaktion und
Komposition: Zur Rückfrage hinter die Endgestalt von Jesaja 40–55 (BBB 122; Berlin: Philo,
1999), 40–53, and U. Berges, Jesaja 40–48 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2008), 54–60. For
22 Williamson

wanted to add to this list, such as 41:24b or 41:29b, but clearly this is far from
certain. Because of links between these passages and their near contexts as
well as the fact that there are some other passages in these chapters where
there is a more sustained polemic against the Babylonian gods, such as in
ch. 46 (to say nothing of several of the “trial speeches”), there has always been
a minority who have denied that any of these passages should be regarded as
secondary,11 but on the whole the literary evidence in favour of the majority
opinion looks stronger. My argument in what follows is by no means depen-
dent upon this, however.
In a monograph devoted entirely to these passages, Holter has stressed with
some justification that, despite the usual terminology, these passages are really
all concerned with mocking the manufacturers of idols more than the idols
themselves. In what follows I shall therefore follow him in calling them the
“idol-fabrication passages.”12
In previous work I have devoted a good deal of effort to trying to show that
significant elements in the redaction of Isaiah 1–39 reflect the world, if not
the persona, of Deutero-Isaiah. It will therefore be readily understood that I
might want to seize on this evidence of another similarity between the two
parts of the book to bolster my argument. More careful consideration of the
way each set of passages is phrased indicates, however, that this is not a sus-
tainable solution.

d­ iscussion of other related matters, see A. Berlejung, Die Theologie der Bilder: Herstellung
und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik
(OBO 162; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998),
esp. 367–91.
11  See prominently H.D. Preuß, Verspottung fremder Religionen im Alten Testament (BWANT
92; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971), 192–237; H.C. Spykerboer, The Structure and Composition
of Deutero-Isaiah with Special Reference to the Polemics against Idolatry (Groningen doc-
toral dissertation, 1976); R.J. Clifford, “The Function of Idol Passages in Second Isaiah,”
CBQ 42 (1980): 450–64; F. Matheus, “Jesaja xliv 9–20: Das Spottgedicht gegen die Götzen
und seine Stellung im Kontext,” VT 37 (1987): 312–26.
12  K. Holter, Second Isaiah’s Idol-Fabrication Passages (BET 28; Frankfurt am Main: Peter
Lang, 1995). Holter seeks also to move the discussion away from narrowly diachronic
concerns in the direction of a more consciously contextual exegesis. Some aspects of
Holter’s analysis are developed in ways helpful for the present essay by N. MacDonald,
“Monotheism and Isaiah,” in Interpreting Isaiah: Issues and Approaches, ed. D.G. Firth and
H.G.M. Williamson (Nottingham: Apollos, 2009), 43–61.
Idols In Isaiah In The Light Of Isaiah 10:10–11 23

On the one hand, some distinctive features of the passages in Isaiah 40–48
find no parallel in the first half of the book.13 ‫פסל‬, “idol,” for instance, occurs
nine times in Isaiah 40–48 (40:19, 20; 42:17; 44:9, 10, 15, 17; 45:20; 48:5), the large
majority being in the idol-fabrication passages, but never once in Isaiah 1–39.
Instead we find there the related plural form ‫ פסילים‬in two of our passages
(10:10 and 30:22, as noted already above), as well as in 21:9, where interestingly
it refers to the fallen idols of Babylon. Again, although both sets of passages
attest considerable interest in the manufacture of idols, this is attributed a
number of times to a craftsman, ‫חרש‬, in Deutero-Isaiah (40:19, 20; 41:7; 44:11,
12, 13; 45:16)14 whereas in the first part of Isaiah this word occurs only once,
in 3:3, where is does not seem to have anything to do with idol manufacture.15
Another word for manufacture in several of the passages is ‫( צרף‬40:19 [twice];
41:7; 46:6; also in 48:10), but again its solitary use in 1–39 (1:25) is completely
unrelated to idol manufacture. Finally, idols are twice described in these chap-
ters as a ‫תועבה‬, “abomination” (41:24; 44:19), but again this is never used of idols
in chaps 1–39 but rather of incense (1:13). While of course allowance must be
made for an author’s stylistic variation, these rather rigid distinctions seem to
go further than that alone would allow.
This negative case is strengthened if we look also the other way. While some
elements, such as silver and gold, are common to both sets of passages, we
have seen that a characteristic descriptor of idols in the first half of the book is
(‫ ;אליל)ים‬in our particular set of passages, see 2:20 (twice); 10:10, 11; 31:7 (twice).
Now, it may well be that the use in these passages was triggered by the use of
the same word in earlier Isaianic material (see, for instance, how the uses in
2:20 were almost certainly triggered by the appearance just before in 2:18; the
word also occurs at 2:8; 19:1, 3), but it is striking that it does not occur even once
in the second half of the book.
If, as therefore seems probable, we have two sets of anti-idol passages which
differ from each other, several possible explanations obviously and imme-
diately suggest themselves for further consideration: the types of idol are

13  For some possible links specifically of these features with Deuteronomy, see my essay
“Deuteronomy and Isaiah,” in For Our Good Always: Studies on the Message and Influence
of Deuteronomy in Honor of Daniel I. Block, ed. J.S. DeRouchie, J. Gile and K.J. Turner
(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 251–68 (265–68).
14  Note that when the word occurs in 54:16 it is in relation to weapons, not idols.
15  In fact there is some doubt as to quite what it means there, but an expert in some form of
magic seems the most likely; see my Isaiah 1–5, 232–33 and 247.
24 Williamson

d­ ifferent; the dates of the two groups of passages differ; the geographical area
to which they apply is different.
It may be helpful if we start by considering dates. So far as the passages in
Isaiah 40–48 are concerned, a period close to the fall of the Neo-Babylonian
Empire seems probable. Traditionally, all of Deutero-Isaiah was thought to
have been written then, in close anticipation of the fall of Babylon to Cyrus.
Much recent research has suggested that the process of composition may have
been somewhat more extended and complex than that, and in any case those
who thought that the idol-fabrication passages were added later may also have
been open to a slightly later date for these passages. But in either case, the
time-scale is not large, so that we could settle for the early Persian period at
the latest.16 Most recently, however, the view has gained some ground that,
whenever these passages were added to the present form of the text, they look
as though they may have had an earlier origin as a separate composition of
some sort, Werlitz even suggesting that they may comprise the oldest parts of
Deutero-Isaiah as a whole.17 Whatever the truth of these suggestions, the gen-
eral time-frame is hardly in doubt.
The passages in the first part of the book are likely to come from a somewhat
later date, in my opinion. In the first place I have argued in detail elsewhere
(see above, n. 8) that the series was triggered by the felt need in 2:20–21 to
explain a textual error that had arisen in vv. 18–19 which suggested that the
idols will enter into the caves of the rocks (so MT as it stands). Although we
have no direct evidence to determine when this error arose and when, there-
fore, an editor felt the need to explain it, it is unlikely to have been very early in
the process of textual formation. Second, of the other passages, although 10:10–
11 and 30:1b are added directly into passages that in all probability were written
by Isaiah himself, the same is clearly not the case with 30:22. Isaiah 30:19–26
is nowadays widely agreed to be post-exilic, though the precise date remains
uncertain.18 Space precludes a full discussion here, but even without that it

16  The reign of Darius I, for instance, is favoured by R.G. Kratz, Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch:
Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55
(FAT 1; Tübingen: Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1991), 192–206.
17  Werlitz, Redaktion und Komposition, 221–37; cf. R. Albertz, Die Exilszeit: 6. Jahrhundert v.
Chr. (Biblische Enzyklopädie 7; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2001), 295; Berges, Jesaja 40–48, 56.
18  For discussion, see, for instance, R.E. Clements, Isaiah 1–39 (NCB; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, and London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1980), 249–50; H. Wildberger, Jesaja,
3: Jesaja 28–39: Das Buch, der Prophet und seine Botschaft (BKAT 10/3; Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 1193–95 = ET, Isaiah 28–39: A Continental Commentary
Idols In Isaiah In The Light Of Isaiah 10:10–11 25

follows that since 30:22 has been added subsequently it must be even later.
Finally, though the case is less certain, it is probable that 31:7 has been added as
an exegetical comment on v. 6. Some regard the two verses as an original unit,
in which case we could not argue further from this passage. Others, however,
take the view that v. 6 was already an addition to the passage, mainly on the
ground that the call for repentance is out of place directly after the promise
of deliverance in v. 5, and that v. 7 was then added later in order to explain the
nature of the required repentance,19 namely the abandonment of idol worship
(a point to which we will return as a particular theme of these various passages
here under consideration).
Such evidence as we have, therefore, combines in indicating that the pas-
sages in Isaiah 1–39 are considerably later in date than those in Isaiah 40–48.
In the light of this provisional conclusion, we may move to a consideration
of the nature of the idols concerned. So far as the passages in Isaiah 40–48
are concerned, an obvious starting point is to note that there is other mate-
rial about idols within these chapters that is more securely embedded in the
basic stratum of the text, regardless of precise date and setting. An obvious
example is the reference to the (strictly unhistorical) removal into captivity of
the images of the Babylonian deities Bel and Nebo in 46:1–220 with which is
then contrasted by way of word-play the manner in which Yahweh has always
and always will “carry” his people (46:3–4; the verbs ‫נשא‬, ‫עמס‬, and ‫ מלט‬are all
repeated). This element of word-play is then replicated in the idol-polemic pas-
sage which follows (vv. 6–7), where the three verbs referring to God in the last
line of v. 4 (‫עשה‬, ‫נשא‬, and ‫ )סבל‬are repeated in relation to the idol-­fabricators.21
In this passage, at least, we can therefore be sure that the idols being manufac-
tured are Babylonian deities, not representations of the God of Israel.
The probability that this is the case throughout Isaiah 40–48 is strengthened
by the observation that the main purpose of all this polemic is likely to have
been the concern of the prophet to retain his audience’s undivided loyalty

(Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 170–72; W.A.M. Beuken, Isaiah, 2: Isaiah Chapters 28–39
(HCOT; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 141–45 and 170.
19  See, for instance, Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit, 80–81 and 90–92; Wildberger, Jesaja
28–39, 1239 and 1244–45 = ET, Isaiah 28–39, 219–20 and 224–25; J. Barthel, Prophetenwort
und Geschichte: Die Jesajaüberlieferung in Jes 6–8 und 28–31 (FAT 19; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 1997), 436–37.
20  See the detailed discussion of the date, with reference to alternative views, by Berges,
Jesaja 40–48, 446–49.
21  See Holter, Idol-Fabrication Passages, 224–25.
26 Williamson

to their own national deity. This is a well-known feature that runs through-
out these chapters,22 so that a full exposition is not necessary here, and the
­historical reasons why it should have been necessary are equally obvious. To
reinforce the point, a key finding of Holter’s analysis is that all four of the idol-
fabrication passages follow closely on passages in which there is a rhetorical
“who?” (‫ )מי‬question relating to the incomparability of Yahweh (see 40:18; 41:2,
4; 44:7; 46:5);23 the folly of those who try to manufacture any form of rival is
thus highlighted. The suggestion that these idols might somehow be represen-
tations of Yahweh thus misses the point of the polemic altogether.
By contrast, the passages in Isaiah 1–39 are better understood as referring
to idol worship within the Yahwistic religion. This is very clear in the passage
from which the present study started out, for the whole rhetorical thrust of the
addition in question in that passage is to move from a straightforward boast by
the Assyrian king in the original text that no nation is a match for him (Isa 10:9)
to the more developed notion that no idol god of each nation could protect
them (vv. 10–11). This clearly means that the idols are in each case the represen-
tation of the separate nations’ deity.
In the other passages the identification may not be so explicit but it seems
always to be presupposed. In Isa 30:22, for instance, the verse has been added
in a context where, despite past hardship, God will direct his people’s way in
the future. Their response, according to the added material, will be that they
will dispense with their idols. I have previously suggested also that in some
of the wording here there is a clear echo of the narrative of the golden calf,
which would further support the case.24 Similarly, in 31:7 the disposal of idols
is explicitly stated to be the expression of necessary repentance by the people.
They are accused of having “made deep” their “turning aside” (‫)סרה‬, a word
used elsewhere in Isaiah 1–39 with obvious reference to a lack of loyalty in
the service of God (Isa 1:5). Similarly, the addition in 30:1b follows a woe pro-
nounced against the ‫בנים סוררים‬, using the related verb, which suggests both
that idol manufacture and service were considered to be a defection from the
pure worship of God and also that the glossator associated this with the cardi-
nal sin of relying on Egypt. Finally, while the trigger for the addition in 2:20–21
(and so perhaps for this whole series of additions) was the desire to clarify

22  In addition to the standard commentaries, see, for instance, C.J. Labuschagne, The
Incomparability of Yahweh in the Old Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1966); P.D. Brassey, Metaphor
and the Incomparable God in Isaiah 40–55 (Bibal Dissertation Series 9; North Richland
Hills: Bibal, 2001).
23  Holter, Idol-Fabrication Passages, 29 et passim.
24  “A Productive Textual Error,” 382–85.
Idols In Isaiah In The Light Of Isaiah 10:10–11 27

what we think of as a textual corruption, it is in the context of a long passage,

the whole force of which, from 2:5 on, is to urge the need for repentance.
Would such a message have been suitable or necessary in the relatively late
date to which I have assigned these passages? It is sometimes assumed that the
dangers of idol-worship decreased in the post-exilic period so that a warning
against them, or a need to repent in that regard, would be unnecessary.
There is a sense in which this whole series might be regarded more as a lit-
erary trope than an urgent practical issue, because, as already stressed, it was
triggered by a scribal concern to explain a textual oddity. Beyond that, however,
it would be a mistake to rely only on the late Biblical texts, which of course
will have been filtered through the emerging “orthodox” sieve. Although the
archaeological evidence is much more sparse than for the pre-exilic period,25
there are certainly enough literary references26 to indicate that forms of idola-
try remained a current danger.
I therefore conclude that there is a difference in the identity of the idols in
chapters 1–39 and 40–48.
If the two sets of passages we have been considering differ in date and in
conceptual framework, the final question that needs to be raised concerns their
geographical setting. In a volume that is conceived so fittingly to honour Hans
Barstad, friend and colleague of many years, and in particular my superior in
the editorial labours on the series Supplements to Vetus Testamentum, it is
inevitable that I should approach this topic with a good deal of hesitation. In
many publications and from several different perspectives, Hans has mounted
a powerful case for locating the composition of Deutero-Isaiah in Judah, not

25  For an emphatic statement, see E. Stern, “The Religious Revolution in Persian-Period
Judah,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming
(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 199–205, but for a modified interpretation of
Stern’s position see already R. Schmitt, “Gab es einen Bildersturm nach dem Exil? Einige
Bemerkungen zur Verwendung von Terrakottafigurinen im nachexilischen Israel,” in
Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era, ed. R. Albertz
and B. Becking (STAR 5; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 186–98.
26  This begins already with Trito-Isaiah (see J. Blenkinsopp, “The One in the Middle,” in
Reading from Right to Left: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J.A. Clines, ed.
J.C. Exum and H.G.M. Williamson [JSOTSup 373; London: Sheffield Academic Press,
2003], 63–75, with further references) and continues at least until the Maccabean period
(1 Macc. 5:68; 13:47; 2 Macc. 10:2); the extended anti-idol passages in Wis. 13–15 and in
Baruch 6 (= Letter of Jeremiah), though ostensibly against foreign idols, suggest that the
authors saw this as a continuing threat to their audiences as well; for other references, see
Berges, Jesaja 40–48, 56.
28 Williamson

Babylon,27 and in this he has gained at least one prominent ­disciple.28 “So let
my words be few.”
The close association between the idol-fabrication passages in Isaiah 40–48
and their surrounding context makes clear, as we have already seen, that it is
the Babylonian gods and their makers who the author has in view; chapter 46,
moreover, clarifies that these gods are depicted “at home” in Babylon, so that
they cannot refer to some Babylonian images which are being worshipped by
the imperial overlords in Judah. Furthermore, the rhetoric emphasizes that the
God of Israel is incomparable and should therefore command loyalty even if
the circumstances do not immediately seem to fit. I cannot therefore see that
kerygmatically this can have any other than an audience of Judeans resident
in Babylon in view. With increasing recognition that Isaiah 40–48 should be
distinguished in many ways from 49–55, I find it difficult, therefore, not to site
at least those nine chapters in Babylon.
The overwhelming probability, however, must be that the late addition of
some anti-idol passages in Isaiah 1–39 took place in Judah and that they serve
as a continuing warning against the misrepresentation of the invisible God of
Israel.
Hans will disagree, of course; but if I am not much mistaken, he will at least
enjoy another phase in a continuing conversation.

27  Let it suffice here to mention three monographs, where full bibliographical details of his
other publications on this topic can also be found: H.M. Barstad, A Way in the Wilderness:
The “Second Exodus” in the Message of Second Isaiah (JSS Monograph 12; Manchester: The
Victoria University of Manchester, 1989); The Babylonian Captivity of the Book of Isaiah:
“Exilic” Judah and the Provenance of Isaiah 40–55 (Oslo: Novus forlag, 1997); The Myth of
the Empty Land: A Study in the History and Archaeology of Judah during the “Exilic” Period
(Symbolae Osloenses Fasc. Suppl. 28; Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1996), repr.
in History and the Hebrew Bible: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern
Historiography (FAT 61; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 90–134.
28  L.-S. Tiemeyer, For the Comfort of Zion: The Geographical and Theological Location of
Isaiah 40–55 (VTSup 139; Leiden: Brill, 2011).
Abraham and Cyrus in Isaiah 40–48
Joseph Blenkinsopp

1 The Late Emergence of Abrahamic Ancestral Traditions

Abraham is a figure from the past known to us exclusively from the Hebrew
Bible, and even in the Hebrew Bible he has a relatively low profile apart from the
narrative cycle in Gen 11:27–25:10. The triadic formula (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob)
suggests that at least the name was known from a relatively early date, and
its evolution can be traced in the Genesis narrative subsequent to Abraham’s
death: Isaac prays to the God of Abraham (Gen 26:23–24), Jacob encounters
the God of Abraham and Isaac (Gen 28:13; 32:10), and Joseph assures his broth-
ers that the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will bring them out of Egypt
(Gen 50:23). Apart from the Abraham narrative cycle, the only passage in the
Pentateuch and Former Prophets (Joshua through Kings) in which Abraham
is more than a name is the historical survey introducing Joshua’s covenant
immediately prior to his death (Josh 24:2–13). Here, exceptionally, Israelite
origins are traced not to Jacob, or to Moses and Aaron in Egypt, but to an ear-
lier set of ancestors: Terah, Abraham, and Nahor. The critical consensus is that
this heilsgeschichtliche recital and the covenant to which it is prefaced form a
supplement to the book of late date, not far removed in time from the similar
recital in Neh. 9:6–15, in a prayer attributed in LXX to Ezra.1
The chronological priority of origins traditions beginning no further back
than Jacob’s entry into Egypt and centred on the exodus and wilderness expe-
rience, and the later extension of traditions about Abraham as the primeval
ancestor, are confirmed in a more direct and expressive way in the language
of liturgical song and prayer. Abraham is named in only two of the one hun-
dred and fifty psalms (Ps 47:10; 105:6, 9, 42). The God addressed in Ps 47:10 is
“the God of Abraham,” but the title “God of Jacob” is much more in evidence
throughout the collection.2 In Ps 105 Abraham is the servant of God (vv 6, 42),
and he is remembered for the covenant and promise made with him by God
in favour of his descendants (vv 9, 42). The remarkable emphasis in several of

1  According to Martin Noth, Das Buch Josua, 2nd ed. (HAT 7; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953),
135–39, Joshua 24 is a late Deuteronomistic creation indicated by the list of nations (v. 11) and
the inclusion of the Balaam cycle, as in Deut 23:5–6. Most critical commentators agree in
general terms.
2  Ps 20:1; 46:11; 76:6; 81:1, 4; 84:8; 146:5.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_005

30 Blenkinsopp

the psalms on the religious infidelity of the “out of Egypt” generation, leading
to its forfeiture of the territorial blessing,3 was no doubt a factor in the exten-
sion of the origins story backwards to Abraham who is never included in these
denunciations.4
A survey of prophetic texts confirms a relatively late date for the emergence
of narrative traditions about Abraham. In the prophetic compilations Jacob
is by far the dominant ancestral figure with which Israelites identify. Leaving
aside once again the triadic formula, Abraham is named four times in Isaiah
(29:22; 41:8; 51:2; 63:16), once in Ezekiel (33:24), and once in Micah (7:20).
Isa 29:22 introduces a saying addressed to “the house of Jacob” by Yahweh “who
redeemed Abraham.” This may be an early reference to Abraham’s rescue from
idolatry in Ur, a theme familiar from Jewish legend, for example in the The
Apocalypse of Abraham. In any case, it serves, in context, as an appendix to
the passage immediately preceding which foresees the restoration of the cre-
ated order, the reversal of ecological disorder, and the removal of disabilities
(Isa 29:17–21). It is therefore almost certainly late, perhaps as late as the
Hellenistic period.5 The finale of the Book of Micah (7:18–20), reminds the
reader of God’s faithfulness to Jacob and steadfast love to Abraham. Together
with the liturgical lament in the last chapter, this language has persuaded most
commentators to assign a date in the Second Temple period to the last section
and conclusion of the book.6
Abraham begins to emerge from the shadows during the traumatic period
from the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians to the fall of Babylon to the
Persians (586–539 BCE), to which we probably should add the terrible quarter-
century from the death of Josiah, the last significant Judean ruler, to the final
liquidation of the state. Six years after the first of three deportations, ­therefore

3  Ps 78:56–64; 79:8–10; 95:8–11; 106:6–33.

4  A rather cryptic text which recalls the sin of the first ancestor (Isa 43:27) refers to Jacob rather
than Abraham, since the saying ends with Jacob (meaning the people as a whole) delivered
up to ruin (v 28). There are other allusions to the moral shortcomings of Jacob in the “Song
of Moses” (Deut 32:15) and Hos 12:3–4. The transgressive ancestor cannot be Abraham, “the
friend of God” (Isa 41:8).
5  Otto Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974), 278; Hans
Wildberger, Jesaja 3: Teilband Jesaja 28–39 (BKAT X/3; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener,
1982), 1127, 1134; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and
Commentary (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 408–10.
6  Still important is Hermann Gunkel, “Der Micha-Schluss,” Zeitschrift für Semitistik 2 (1924):
148–78; ET “The Close of Micha: A Prophetic Liturgy,” in What Remains of the Old Testament
(London & New York: Griffin, 1928), 115–49; See also Delbert R. Hillers, Micah: A Commentary
on the Book of the Prophet Micah (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 83–91.
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 31

592–591 BCE, Ezekiel records an argument for exclusive possession of the

land advanced by those left behind in the conquered province (Ezek 11:14–21).
Abraham is not mentioned by name, but what is implied is the territorial
promise to Abraham on behalf of his descendants, contingent on his making
the journey to Canaan and remaining in it. That those deported had “gone far
from Yahweh” was taken to mean that they had been expelled from the Yahweh
cult community, thus forfeiting their right to the land and justifying the confis-
cation of their real estate.7 This line of argument is not particularly persuasive,
but even less so is the argument of those who remained behind after the fall of
Jerusalem and subsequent deportations reported by Ezekiel some years later:

The inhabitants of those ruins in the land of Israel are saying, “When Abraham
took possession of the land he was just one person; there are lots of us, so the
land has been handed over for us to possess” (Ezek 33:24)

The point was not just that if one man could do it, a fortiori they could. They
no doubt had in mind the “great nation” theme which, since they were the ones
actually in possession, was thought somehow to justify their title to the land.
This “scriptural” argument would certainly not have persuaded those among
the deportees involuntarily separated from their holdings.

2 The First Disputation (41:1–5)

This brief survey brings us to Deutero-Isaiah, active about three or four decades
after Ezekiel. From this point on, I propose to trace in outline what I take to be
the essence of Deutero-Isaiah’s theological politics, starting out from an inter-
pretation of the conquests of the Persian king Cyrus II, the providential role
that he was destined to play in the future restoration of the nation, and the
beneficial effects of his ultimate triumph on the prophet’s Judaean contem-
poraries in Judah and abroad. I believe it can be shown that Abrahamic tradi-
tions had a part to play in the attempt to persuade his readers or hearers about
the truth of his message. Abraham is named only twice in Deutero-Isaiah
(Isa 41:8; 51:2), but commentators ancient and modern have picked up
Abrahamic echoes in other parts of these sixteen chapters, especially in the

7  Compare the situation of those who failed to attend Ezra’s assembly to resolve the prob-
lem of intermarriage, and whose real estate holdings were therefore subject to confiscation
(Ezra 10:8).
32 Blenkinsopp

first section (chapters 40–48) in which Cyrus is the focal point.8 The essence
of the argument is that Cyrus, unknown to himself, is acting as the agent of
the God of Israel in a new initiative parallel to the commission confided to
Abraham in a comparable situation in the ancient world. Deutero-Isaiah
presses his argument and confronts opposition to it with censure and reproof
throughout chapters 40–48, but its essential features are laid out at the begin-
ning in the form of a debate or disputation. This will be our main concern in
what follows.
Deutero-Isaiah begins with words of comfort (40:1–11), followed by a barrage
of rhetorical questions designed to persuade the prophet’s public that there will
be a new beginning brought about by the power of the God of Israel, compro-
mised in the eyes of many by the disasters of the immediate past. The empha-
sis is on the God of Israel as creator and cosmic deity and, as such, in control of
the course of events, especially events in the political sphere (40:12–31). In this
way the ground is prepared for stating the essence of the prophet’s argument
set out in two disputations (41:1–5, 21–29).9 In each of these the God of Israel
claims to have not only predicted but sponsored the conquests of the Persian
ruler Cyrus II, already well advanced at the time of writing. The prophet main-
tains that these campaigns would usher in a new epoch for the survivors of the
catastrophe, including return to the Judean homeland of those deported by
the Babylonians. This reassuring outcome is affirmed in discourses attached to
each of the two disputations, addressed to the prophet’s fellow-Judeans under
the titles “Jacob/Israel” and “the Servant of Yahweh” (41:8–1610 and 42:1–9). As
is often the case in Isaiah 40–66, this recapitulation of the prophet’s message

8  The point was made forcibly by Karl Budde more than a century ago: “Cyrus stands at the
very centre of the prophet’s world view.” Karl Budde, Das Buch Jesaja Kap. 40–66 (HSAT;
Tübingen: Mohr, 1922), 672. See my David Remembered: Kingship and National Identity in
Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013), 64.
9  More often than not, Isa 41:1–5 and 21–29 are assigned to the genre of trial or pre-trial
speech (Gerichtsrede, Appellationsrede), but since failure to predict and control the course
of future events is not a criminal act, the category of disputation (Disputationsrede) seems
more appropriate. On the genre issue see Karl Elliger, Deuterojesaja 1: Teilband Jesaja 40,1–
45,7 (BKAT XI/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 108–12.
10  Isa 41:6–7, dealing with the manufacture of religious images (idols), is misplaced; these
two verses should follow 40:20, as in REB. Isa 41:17–20 deals with a quite different topic,
the provision of water and the ecological transformation of the wilderness (cf. 49:8–19;
55:10–13). It also has a different origins myth, i.e., the activities of Moses and Aaron in the
wilderness. Unlike the disputations, it contains no direct address and deals with future
scenarios not present realities. See Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–55: A Commentary (OTL;
Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 78–81.
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 33

concludes with a psalm appropriate to its subject matter (42:10–13). This sec-
tion of the prophecy can be set out as follows:

41:1–5 First disputation concerning Cyrus

41:8–16 Address to the Servant of Yahweh
41:21–29 Second disputation concerning Cyrus
42:1–9 Address to the Servant of Yahweh
42:10–12 Concluding psalm

The resulting alternation of address to foreign nations and their gods and to
the Servant of Yahweh, identified in the first disputation as Israel/Jacob and the
offspring of Abraham, in the second unidentified, encapsulates the core mes-
sage of chapters 40–48. In the first of the two (41:1–5), Yahweh states his claim
to have summoned an anonymous warrior from the east and to have inspired
and sponsored his rapid conquest of nations and their kings. Traditional
Jewish commentary identified this anonymous conqueror with Abraham sum-
moned by God from the east (Gen 12:1–3). The Targum paraphrases the rhe-
torical question as follows: “Who brought Abraham openly from the east, a
chosen one of righteousness in truth?”;11 Rashi in like manner: “Who aroused
Abraham to bring him from Aram which is in the east?”12 The identification
with Abraham, common down into the early modern period, for example with
Luther and Calvin, no doubt seemed to be supported by the reference to “the
one who summons the generations from the beginning” (v 4) and the obscure
expression ṣedeq yiqrā’ēhû lěraglô (v 2a), of uncertain interpretation but cal-
culated to bring to mind the righteousness (ṣědāqâ) of Abraham (Gen 15:6). In
his study of Second Isaiah (his preferred title) published in 1928, Charles Cutler
Torrey took a more drastic line by eliminating any reference in chapters 40–66
to Cyrus and his conquests. He dismissed lěkôrēš (“concerning Cyrus”) at 45:1
on prosodic grounds as a gloss, and also excised the previous verse (44:28) in
which Cyrus is named, since it repeats more or less what was said earlier (v 26).13

11  Translation by Bruce D. Chilton, The Isaiah Targum: Introduction, Transation, Apparatus
and Notes (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1987), 79. Cf. LXX “Who roused righ-
teousness from the east and summoned it to his feet?”
12  On later Jewish identification with Abraham see b. Shabb 156a–b; b. Sanh. 108b.
13  Charles Cutler Torrey, The Second Isaiah (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1928), 40–44,
357. “There is no more palpable gloss than this (lěkôrēš, 45:1) in all the Old Testament.” See
also his “Isaiah 41,” HTR 44 (1951): 121–36. Torrey’s prosodic argument does in fact merit
consideration, but since Cyrus is named in the previous verse (44:28), the absence of the
name in 45:1 does not exclude referring 45:1–7 to the victorious career of Cyrus II culmi-
nating in the conquest of Babylon. Only the second half of 44:28, not the entire verse,
34 Blenkinsopp

Torrey concluded that the anonymous conqueror of 41:1–5 must therefore be

Abraham whom God called from the east (i.e. Ur Kasdim) and, in 41:25, from
the north (i.e. Aram-naharaim, Harran). In furtherance of this reading, Torrey
emended ṣedek to ṣaddîq, with reference to Abraham as righteous on account
of his belief and trust in God and God’s word (Gen 15:6). He found further
support for this reading in the mention in the following section of Abraham
taken from the ends of the earth (41:8–9). He failed to note, however, that the
phrase “offspring of Abraham my friend” (41:8b) is in apposition to “Israel my
servant, Jacob whom I have chosen,” and it is therefore the latter, representing
the exiled Judeans, who are taken from the ends of the earth.14
With all respect to Torrey and his campaign for a Cyrus-free Deutero-Isaiah,
there can be no doubt that in 41:2–5 the prophet had in mind the Persian
Cyrus II whose progress was well advanced by the time the prophecies were in
circulation, about a decade before the conquest of Babylon. There is no other
candidate for the one said elsewhere in these chapters to be summoned from
the east—as a bird of prey (46:11)—and roused or inspired by Yahweh (41:25;
45:13, with the same verb hēʽîr).15 The description of warfare swiftly and ruth-
lessly conducted makes an exact fit with Cyrus’ conquest of Media, Sardis,
Lydia and Babylon between 550 and 539 BCE, whereas Abraham is represented
as a warrior more by accident than choice, and only in the one rather periph-
eral incident of the “War of the Nine Kings” (Genesis 14). No surprise, therefore,
that in the modern period practically all critical commentators find an allusion
to Cyrus in this first of the two disputations with which Isaiah 40–48 opens.16

reads like a revised version of 44:26, and has therefore been considered textually insecure.
There is therefore no justification for eliminating “Cyrus” from this verse as a gloss. See
Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia, 4th ed. (HAT III/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1922), 339–40; Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 152–53; Karl Elliger, Deuterojesaja 1.
Teilband, 455–56; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction
and Commentary (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2002), 244–45.
14  Torrey, The Second Isaiah, 313–16.
15  Chronicles ends and Ezra-Nehemiah begins with a reference to the rousing of the spirit
of Cyrus king of Persian by Yahweh (hēʽîr YHWH ʼet-rûah kôreš melek-pāras, 2 Chr 36:22;
Ezra 1:1), but as the fulfillment of a prophecy of Jeremiah rather than (Deutero-Isaiah).
Similar language occurs in a cylinder inscription of Nabonidus, last Babylonian ruler. It
states that “he (the god Marduk) aroused Cyrus, king of Anshan, his young servant, who
scattered the large armies of the Medes with his small army.” See Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The
Reign of Nabonidus King of Babylon (New Haven & London: Yale, 1989), 108; Blenkinsopp,
Isaiah 40–45, 206–7.
16  In a lengthy excursus, James D. Smart, History and Theology in Second Isaiah: A
Commentary on Isaiah 35, 40–66 (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1965), 115–18, while critical
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 35

Abraham’s presence in this and later allusions to Cyrus can be discerned, but
it is implicit, inspired by the conviction that the God who summons Cyrus and
sponsors his campaigns is the same God who summoned the generations from
the beginning—with Abraham as his agent (41:4a)—and is with those who
came later; Cyrus and his armies (41:4b). It is for this reason that the prophet’s
Judean contemporaries are reminded that they are descendants of Abraham,
friend of God (41:8).
The alternation of address to foreign peoples and to the Servant of Yahweh
in these two literary units encapsulates the core message of chapters 40–48:
Cyrus, agent of a fundamental redistribution of power in international affairs,
will bring about an equally fundamental change of fortune, involving repa-
triation and reconstruction, for Judean communities in Judah and abroad,
and will do so under the sponsorship and inspiration of the God of Israel. In
41:8–16, therefore, the seer addresses his fellow-Judeans as Jacob—Israel,
Servant of Yahweh, and offspring of Abraham, friend of God. Jacob, renamed
Israel, is the standard form of address in chapters 40–48 for the survivors of the
disaster of 586 BCE, one of several features which sets this section apart from
chapters 49–55. Another distinguishing feature is the designation “servant”
(ʽebed) which in 40–48 is applied, in every case where the context is reason-
ably clear, to the people of Israel, more specifically to the prophet’s Judean

of several aspects of Torrey’s thesis, questioned the authenticity of the two references to
Cyrus, and the central importance of Cyrus in Second Isaiah in general, as an unworthy
theme for an Israelite prophet. He argued instead for a radically eschatological and, at
least implicitly christological, orientation rather than a concentration on the theologi-
cal significance of contemporaneous world events. Christological interpretations could
have been suggested independently by St. Jerome’s translation of 41:2a, quis suscitavit ab
oriente iustum (“Who roused from the east a righteous one?”), with implicit allusion to
Jesus as “the righteous one” (ho díkaios, 1 Pet 3:18; 1 John 2:1). On a typological interpreta-
tion from a Christian perspective see Ulrich E. Simon, “König Cyrus und die Typologie,”
Judaica 11 (1955): 83–88 and Gwilym H. Jones, “Abraham and Cyrus: Type and Anti-Type?”
VT 22 (1972): 304–19; for a relatively rare defence of the traditional identification with
Abraham see Edward J. Kissane, The Book of Isaiah (Dublin: Browne & Nolan, 1943),
20–23. The “Kyros Ergänzungen” of Reinhard Gregor Kratz raise issues which cannot
be discussed here. Briefly stated: according to Kratz, certain key passages in Isa 40–48,
generally thought to allude to Cyrus II, actually date from the beginning of the reign of
Darius I where they refer to the suppression of the rebellion of the Babylonian Nidintu-
Bel (Nebuchadnezzar III). See his Kyros in Deuterojesaja-Buch: Redaktionsgeschichtliche
Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55 (FAT 1; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 1991), 175–91.
36 Blenkinsopp

­contemporaries.17 Often linked with this eponymous form of address is the ref-
erence to the election of the people after the manner of the election of Jacob.18
The novel element is the introduction of Abraham as the primordial ances-
tor, the forefather of Jacob/Israel and the people named for him; Abraham,
friend of God, a title cherished among Jews (2 Chr 20:7), Christians (James
2:23) and Muslims (Qur’an 4:124: al halil, halil ullahi). “Offspring of Abraham
my friend” is in apposition to “Israel my servant, Jacob whom I have chosen,”
and therefore it is the latter, with reference to Judaic communities scattered
far and wide, who are to be summoned to return. But the same summons
came to Abraham, thereby providing an occasion for bringing traditions
about Abraham the protoparent to bear on the situation which the prophet is
addressing.
There may be yet another layer of meaning below the textually explicit
level. We have seen that Cyrus has also been summoned from a far distant
land, whether from the east (41:2; 46:11) or the north (41:25). He, too, is called
by name (45:4), and his right hand is in the hand of God (41:13 cf. 45:1), a motif
which corresponds to an element in the Babylonian ceremony of royal installa-
tion in which the deity summons the king-designate by name and holds him by
the hand.19 These linguistic and thematic associations are perhaps more than
coincidental. Perhaps they were intended to locate Cyrus within a providen-
tial plan or project of the God of Israel, a new initiative for that age and that
generation, parallel with the call of Abraham in the damaged post-catastrophe
world of his time, under the shadow of the imperial pretensions symbolized by
Nimrod and Babylon (Gen 10:8–12; 11:1–9). Later in 40–48 something like this
will be stated quite explicitly:

Of Cyrus he says, ‘He is my shepherd,

he will fulfil all my good pleasure (hēpes).’ (44:28a)

17  Isa 41:8–9; 43:8, 10; 44:1, 21; 45:4; 48:20. In 49–55 the referent is, in contrast, always an
anonymous prophetic figure except at 54:17, referring to “Yahweh’s servants,” in a state-
ment concluding 40–54 and linking with 56–66 where these “Servants of Yahweh” form a
distinct conventicle within Judah.
18  Isa 41:8–9; 42:1; 43:10; 44:1–2; 45:4.
19  On these features of royal protocol in connection with Deutero-Isaiah see Rudolph
Kittel, “Cyrus und Deuterojesaja,” ZAW 18 (1898): 149–62; Morton Smith, “II Isaiah and
the Persians,” JAOS 83 (1963): 415–21. In the light of these parallels, the holding by the
right hand would apply more directly to Cyrus than to either Abraham, Jacob, or diaspora
Judeans.
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 37

‘My plan (ʽēsâ) will prevail,

I shall achieve all that I purpose.
I summon a bird of prey from the east,
from a far land the man to carry out my plan.
Yes, I have spoken, and yes, I will bring it about;
I have conceived it, and yes, I will do it.’ (46:10b–11)

3 The Second Disputation (41:21–29)

The second disputation (41:21–29) begins by inviting the devotees and proph-
ets of foreign countries, Babylon in particular, to demonstrate the ability of
their patron deities to predict future events and, by doing so, to control the
course of history (vv 21–24). The challenge is issued in the name of Yahweh,
now described as “King of Jacob,” elsewhere “king of Israel” (Isa 43:15; 44:6). The
association between divine kingship and creation suggests a kind of mirror-
imaging of Marduk, imperial Babylonian deity celebrated in the great akitu
festival as cosmic creator and supreme lord (“Marduk is king!” Enuma elish
IV 28). Once the claimants on behalf of other gods are, predictably, reduced
to silence and mocked, Yahweh states his own claim. As in the first disputa-
tion, Cyrus is not named but he is certainly the one, now active on the stage of
world events, who was roused from the north, as he was previously from the
east (41:2). Persia, homeland of Cyrus, is east, not north, of Judah—and also
of Babylon for those who place the prophet among the deported Judeans in
that country—a circumstance which persuaded Torrey to name Abraham as
the one who was called first from the east (Ur), then from the north (Harran).20
Taken by itself, out of context, this is obviously possible, but Torrey neglected
to note that the reference could be to Cyrus’s conquest of Media (550 BCE),
or Lydia and cities along the Ionian coast about three years later, all most
definitely to the north. Moreover, trampling down rulers as if they were mud
(v 25b) makes a poor fit with the profile of Abraham in Genesis, even in the
episode recorded in Genesis 14.
Cyrus is therefore certainly in view but, as in the first disputation, there are
ambiguities. A first instance is the claim (41:25a) that the one from the north
“was summoned by name” (NRSV) or “summoned in my name” (REB), or
“invokes my name” (JPS). The phrase yiqrāʼ bišmî can certainly be understood
as the invocation of the deity’s name in worship, as in other contexts (Isa 12:4;
64:6), and in that sense it is said of Abraham’s invoking the name of Yahweh

20  Torrey, Second Isaiah, 312.

38 Blenkinsopp

at the sanctuary of Bethel after his arrival in Canaan (Gen 12:8). How, then,
could Cyrus be said to invoke the name of Yahweh since, as we are reminded
later on (45:4b), he had no knowledge of the God of Israel?21 An alternative
approach would begin by pointing out that the consonantal text may also be
read as passive ( yiqqārē’), and is so read in LXX which understands it to say that
two individuals, one from the north, the other from the east, would be called
(klēthēsontai) by (or in) the name of Yahweh. A further complication arises
from the first person possessive pronominal suffix in bišmî (“in my name” or
“by my name”), which has been questioned on the basis of a fragment of 1QIsaa
which reads bišmô, “In his name” or “by his name.” Several of the more recent
commentators have accepted one or other of these alternative readings.22 In
the context of 40–48 as a whole, and the important passage 45:3–4 in particu-
lar, in which Yahweh summons Cyrus by name, or pronounces his name to sig-
nify recognition, it may be proposed that the original text read yiqqārēʼ bišmô,
“he will be summoned by (his) name.” This is not only in accord with what is
said elsewhere in 40–48 about Cyrus, but it also seems to correspond to an ele-
ment of divine recognition and acknowledgment in Babylonian rituals of royal
investiture and commissioning.23 The outcome is that, in both disputations,
Cyrus is the focal point of the prophet’s theological politics and, as such, is
viewed as an instrument of a new initiative of God in the world of the prophet
and his contemporaries in counterpoint to the same deity’s initiative in the
ancient world implemented through the agency of Abraham.
As in 41:1–16, this second disputation is followed by a discourse in which
the Servant of Yahweh is first presented to the public (42:1–4), then addressed
directly (42:5–9). Duhm’s identification of 42:1–4 as the first of his four ebed-
Jahwe Dichtungen, composed by a disciple of Second Isaiah in late Persian
period Judah, has had the effect, even on those who do not accept his inter-
polation theory, of isolating this brief passage from its literary context. Read
in the context proposed above, 42:1–7 or 42:1–9 would corresponds to 41:8–
16 as an address to Israel, Servant of Yahweh, following on the presentation

21  August Dillmann, Der Prophet Jesaia, 5th ed. (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1890), 383, defended the
MT reading on the grounds that, as a result of his great deeds, including the redemption
of Israel, Cyrus would make the name of Yahweh known and revered. To this Bernhard
Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia, 309, responded that qārāʼ běšēm can only mean to engage in wor-
ship of a deity either privately or in a collective act of cult.
22  Elliger, Deuterojesaja 1: Teilband, 173; Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 87; John D.W. Watts,
Isaiah 34–66 (WBC 25; Waco, Texas: Word Books, 1987), 110, 118.
23  The Cyrus cylinder records that “He (Marduk) scanned and looked through all the coun-
tries, searching for a righteous ruler willing to lead him (i.e. in the annual akitu proces-
sion). Then he pronounced the name of Cyrus king of Anshan” (ANET 315).
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 39

of Cyrus’ victorious campaigns immediately preceding. Isaiah 42:1–4 would

therefore refer to the Judean contemporaries of the prophet under the name
of the eponymous ancestor, and that is how the LXX translator, who added the
names Jacob and Israel to the first verse, read this account of the commission-
ing of the Servant of Yahweh. The descendants of Jacob/Israel are therefore
presented as Yahweh’s elect and his servant whom he will sustain (verb tmk,
cf. 41:10), in much the same way as in the first disputation.
It would be especially important at this point, however, to bear in mind that
the book of Isaiah has been the object of an incremental and cumulative pro-
cess of interpretation and reinterpretation over a period of centuries, and this
is nowhere more in evidence than in the passages in chapters 40–66 dealing
with the servant and the servants of Yahweh. Eschatological interpretations,
with reference to the ingathered Israel of the end time in Judaism, and Jesus
in Christianity, are well known, but the process goes back much further. In this
first of the four Duhmian poems, for example, LXX adds “Jacob” and “Israel” to
42:1, as we have just seen, and in the second of the four poems the servant is
explicitly identified with Israel in spite of the fact that it speaks of a mission
to Israel (49:3). To take another example, the language of 51:4–6 reads like an
interpretative expansion of 42:1–9.24 This instance is particularly interesting
for our theme since it comes almost immediately after the exhortation to look
to the example of Abraham and Sarah, one of the two passages in Deutero-
Isaiah in which Abraham is named: “Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah
who gave you birth” (51:1–2).
Having made this point, however, we must add that the language employed
in 42:1–9, the first servant passage and the comment on it, is strongly suggestive
of Cyrus. The servant is summoned běṣedeq (42:6, “in righteousness,” NRSV) as
in 45:13 Cyrus is roused běṣedeq, and his hand is grasped as Yahweh grasps the
hand of Cyrus in 45:1. The liberation of captives which the servant is to bring
about (42:7) reflects the expectation that Cyrus would set the deported Judeans
free and permit their repatriation (45:13). His gentle handling of broken reeds
and smouldering wicks (42:3), in other words, defeated enemies, reflects what
he asserts in his famous cylinder text about his lenient treatment of Babylon
after its conquest.25 More telling is the fact that the mission of the anonymous
servant, establishing a just order for the nations (mišpāt, three times in 42:1–4),
is the task of a ruler, a ruler like Cyrus king of Anshan, and the tôrâ to be
imposed would therefore be the law of the Persian monarchs (data ša šarri;
compare dāta dî malkāʼ, Ezra 7:26 dāt wādîn, Esth 1:13–14). Here too, therefore,

24  On this passage see my Isaiah 40–55, 323–28.

25  ANET 315–16.
40 Blenkinsopp

we find the activity of Cyrus juxtaposed with that of Jacob or, more often than
not implicitly, of Abraham.

4 Concluding Observations

Torrey’s attempt to restore Second Isaiah (which for him comprised chapters
34–35 + 40–66) to its former condition as one of the great literary master-
pieces of the Hebrew Bible, before modern critics had reduced it to “an incom-
prehensible scrap-heap” and its author to “a spineless and morally deficient
­sky-gazer,”26 involved the excision of all references in it to Cyrus, Babylon, the
Chaldeans, and the return from exile. Apart from his radical textual surgery,
which few commentators have accepted, his approach seems to have been
based on a fundamental misconception about the role of prophecy in ancient
Israel and early Judaism. The point may be made by citing Max Weber’s view
on the prophetic role, stated in typically apodictic fashion in the section on
Prophet and Lawgiver in his magisterial treatise Economy and Society:

It must not be forgotten that in the motivation of Israelite prophets social

reforms were only means to an end. The primary concern of prophets was with
foreign politics, chiefly because they constituted the theater of their god’s
activity.27

It will suffice to think of the prophetic careers of Amos and Hosea during the
mortal threat posed by the Assyrians, or of Jeremiah in the years leading up
to and following on the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians. Moreover Cyrus
was not the first foreign ruler to be referred to as “the servant of Yahweh”; the
same title is assigned to Nebuchadnezzar, destroyer of Jerusalem, by Jeremiah
(Jer 25:9; 27:6; 43:10). The interpretation of a series of shape-changing events
brought about by Cyrus II in the world which the survivors of the disaster of
586 BCE inhabited—beginning with the conquest of the Medes in 550 and
ending with the fall of Babylon in 539 BCE—does not exhaust the theologi-
cal meaning of Deutero-Isaiah, but the career of Cyrus is the central theme in
Deutero-Isaiah and in the theological politics of its author. Cyrus remains the
focal point throughout, even when opposition to the author’s sponsorship of

26  Torrey, Second Isaiah, 13, 18.

27  Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. G. Roth and
C. Wittich (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978), 443.
Abraham And Cyrus In Isaiah 40–48 41

his career in the name of Yahweh reached a high point, and it became apparent
that Cyrus was not about to discharge the tasks assigned to him by the prophet.
An important aspect of the author’s theological politics with its focus on
Cyrus is appeal to ancestral traditions and the forging of links between the
past and the present, between events in the primeval world of the ancestors
(riʼšōnôt, qadmōniyyôt) and the new and unforeseen event taking place in
the contemporary world (hădāšâ, (43:16–19a). Jacob/Israel is the eponymous
ancestor, and in view of his twenty-year exile in Mesopotamia could serve
as model and inspiration for those deported who wished to return. The dual
nomenclature Jacob/Israel occurs with notable frequency in chapters 40–48,
the deity in these chapters is the King of Jacob (41:21) and the Mighty One
of Jacob (49:26), and Jacob is his servant (48:20). It was probably the career
of Cyrus which brought Abraham out of the shadows. Both appeared, as it
seemed, out of nowhere, summoned by the God of Israel to act as agents of a
new initiative in equally unpromising situations where the forward movement
of history seemed to have stalled. What their God had brought about then, at
the beginnings of their history, he was now bringing about at the present time.
The hearers are therefore exhorted to activate their memory of ethnic origins:

Remember deeds done long ago,

for I am God, there is none other . . .
I declare the outcome from the beginning,
from of old, things yet to be.
I say, ‘My plan will prevail,
I will achieve all that I purpose’ (46:9–10)

What that plan entails, and how it is to come about, is made clear at once with
the summoning of a bird of prey from the east, the one who is to carry it out,
none other than Cyrus (46:11).

In spite of the immense amount of commentary already dedicated to this text,

there is still work to be done in interpreting Deutero-Isaiah as a political docu-
ment and, at the same time, one that is deeply theological. This essay takes a
preliminary look at one aspect, the bearing of the emerging narrative tradi-
tions about Abraham on this task, and is for the most part limited to one sec-
tion, the opening disputation passage (41:142:9) in which the central theme
of the work is presented. It is offered in appreciation to Professor Hans M.
Barstad, esteemed colleague and friend of long standing, who has contributed
much to the interpretation of Deutero-Isaiah.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44,
and 46

Kristin Joachimsen*

1 Remembering and Forgetting in the Book of Isaiah

Memory studies, which deal with how memory relates to identity, history, and
tradition, might offer fruitful tools for studying the topics of remembering
and forgetting the former and the new things in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46. When
describing the divine intervention in the Book of Isaiah, scholars have applied
terminology like drama,1 dreams and fantasies,2 exhortation,3 vision,4 and
eschatology.5 In the prophetic discourse of remembering and forgetting, tem-
poral processes and mnemonic selection are related by visions of the future
connected to the past. From a cultural historical perspective, Brockmeier
explicates how the process of cultural memory takes place within a narrative
discourse “that continuously combines and fuses the now and then, and the
here and there,” including “simultaneous scenarios of diverse time structures.”6
Brockmeier further describes remembering and forgetting as “two sides of
one process, a process in which we give shape to our experience, thought and

* This article is based on a paper presented at the 21st congress of International Organization
for the Study of the Old Testament (IOSOT) at Munich in August 2013. I wish to thank the
audience for useful responses.
1  Klaus Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 40–55 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis:
Fortress, 2001), and John D.W. Watts, Isaiah 34–66 (WBC 25; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2005),
read the texts as a performed drama, and Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, For the Comfort of Zion: The
Geographical and Theological Location of Isaiah 40–55 (VTS 139; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 47–51,
reads them as a “reading drama.”
2  Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Second Isaiah—Prophet of Universalism,” JSOT 41 (1988): 83–103 (99).
3  Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–4 and the Post-Exilic Understanding of the Isaianic Tradition
(BZAW 171; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1988), 96–98.
4  Peter D. Quinn-Miscall, Reading Isaiah: Poetry and Vision (Louisville, KY: Westminster John
Knox, 2001).
5  Hendrik Leene, “History and Eschatology in Deutero-Isaiah,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah:
Festschrift Willem A.M. Beuken, ed. J. van Ruiten and M. Vervenne (BETL 132; Leuven: Leuven
University Press, 1997), 223–249. On Isa 40–55 and eschatology, see also n. 30, below.
6  Jens Brockmeier, “Remembering and Forgetting: Narrative as Cultural Memory,” Culture and
Psychology 8 (2002): 15–43 (21–34, quotation from pages 21, 34). He relates the concept of
cultural memory to intertextuality; see more on this in n. 48, below.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_006

Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 43

imagination in terms of past, present and future.”7 Every remembering is a pro-

cess of selection from a store, where much else is omitted, as either obscured,
repressed, or forgotten.8
In the Book of Isaiah, the terminology of remembering and forgetting has
a wide range of meanings, related to stereotypes and idioms, parallels, syn-
onyms, and antonyms. ‫“ זָ ַכר‬remember” is parallel to expressions like ‫ל־לב‬ ֵ ‫ִשׂים ַע‬
“take to heart” (47:7, 57:11, 46:8 hiph.), ‫ל־לב‬
ֵ ‫“ ָע ָלה ַע‬come to mind” (65:17), and
‫“ ִה ְתבּוֹנָ ן‬consider” (43:18), and contrasted with ‫“ ָמ ָחה‬blot out” (43:25) and ‫ָשׁ ַכח‬
“forget” (17:10, 54:4). Both YHWH, Israel, and Babylon are subjects of remem-
bering and forgetting: God remembers (‫ )זָ ַכר‬Zion (49:15, and shall not forget
[‫ נשׂה‬niph.] Israel in 44:21), but also Israel’s sin (43:25, cf. 64:8). Israel shall not
remember “former” things (43:18, cf. 65:17 niph.), but also recall “these (things)”
(44:21), “this” and “former things of old” (46:8–9, cf. 63:11), as well as recount the
kind acts of YHWH (63:7 hiph.). The daughter of Babylon did not “take these
things to heart” and “gave no thought to (‫ )זָ ַכר‬the end of it” (47:7). Zion shall
forget (‫ ) ָשׁ ַכח‬the reproach of her youth and remember no more the shame of
her widowhood (54:4, cf. 49:14, where she says, “YHWH has forsaken [‫ ] ָעזַ ב‬me
and my lord has forgotten [‫ ] ָשׁ ַכח‬me”). Also, Israel neither remembers nor puts
YHWH upon her heart (57:11, cf. her act of forgetting [‫ ] ָשׁ ַכח‬YHWH in 51:13).
In this study, I will focus on “remembering” and “not recalling” with Israel
as subject.

2 Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46

2.1 Isa 43:18–19: Do not Remember the Former Things

43:18. Do not remember the former things and the things of old do not consider!
19. See, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth. Do you not perceive it?
Yes, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.

In Isa 43:18, YHWH addresses Israel in a chiastic parallelism, admonishing the

people to neither remember the former things nor consider the things of old.
These expressions concerning the past become contrasted with one about the
future, where YHWH himself is deeply involved: “See, I am doing a new thing!”,

7  Brockmeier, “Remembering,” 21.

8  A. Erll, “Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction,” in A Companion to Cultural Memory
Studies, ed. A. Erll and A. Nünning (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010), 8.
44 Joachimsen

expanded by the appositional “now it springs forth” (v. 19).9 The spectacular
thing to come might surpass what has been. A rhetorical question follows,
related to the present event: “Do you not perceive it?”10 This “new” thing that
is springing forth is supposed to be acknowledged by the people, and might be
illuminated by Isa 42:9:

The former things, see, they have come to pass, and new things I now declare;
before they sprout, I will make you hear.

as well as 48:6:

You have heard, now discern all of it! Will you not declare it?11
From now onwards I let you hear new things, hidden things you did not know.12

In these two last texts, the former and the new things are related, where both
continuity and rupture are at stake, not as a contrast, but rather as the past
reverberating in the future. Both instances concern a question of YHWH’s
ability to prophecy, embedded within polemics against other gods (cf. 42:8
and 48:5).
The new thing springing forth in 43:19 becomes materialized: YHWH will
make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert (v. 19), wild beasts shall
pay heed to the deity, who shall provide water in the desert so his chosen peo-
ple can drink (v. 20) and the people whom he formed can proclaim his praise
(v. 21). YHWH’s transformation of nature goes hand in hand with a changed

9  ‫צמח‬ַ “to sprout,” related to “new” things in Isa 42:9 and 43:19, offspring in 44:3–4 and righ-
teousness in 45:8 (hiph.), cf. 55:10 and 61:11 (hiph., word of God).
10  Cf. the contrast between the question “Do you not perceive it?” (‫ )יָ ַדע‬in v. 19 and the
imperative “Do not consider” (‫ בּין‬hitpol.) the past in v. 18. This rhetorical question might
play on the themes of knowing and not knowing in the Book of Isaiah. On this topic, see
Francis Landy, “Exile in the Book of Isaiah,” in The Concept of Exile in Ancient Israel and
its Historical Contexts, ed. E. Ben Zvi and C. Levin (BZAW 404; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010),
242–256, esp. 245–248, and Øystein Lund, Way Metaphors and Way Topics in Isaiah 40–55
(FAT II 28; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 191 n. 49.
11  Various emendations have been proposed concerning the shift from sg. to pl. in the mid-
dle of the verse. However, such changes in numerical form are common in the prophetic
literature and no emendation is required. LXX has plural throughout, while 1QIsaa is
equivalent to MT.
12  For MT ‫יְ ַד ְע ָתּם‬, 1QIsaa has ‫ידעתן‬, that is, fem. suffix, which is in accordance with the nouns
being modified. Such disagreements are common in MT, cf. GK §§ 144a; 145t.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 45

relationship between the deity and his people.13 The people are encouraged to
look forward: they shall neither remember (‫ )זָ ַכר‬nor consider (‫ בּין‬hitpol., v. 18),
but perceive (‫יָ ַדע‬, v. 19) and proclaim (‫ ספר‬piel, v. 21); cf. 42:9 and 48:6, where
YHWH shall make Israel hear (‫ שׁמע‬hiph.); in 48:6 they shall also discern (‫) ָחזָ ה‬
and declare (‫ נדג‬hiph.).
43:16–17 might work as a long introduction to the divine speech in vv.
18–19, where YHWH is identified by something he has done: he made a road
through the sea and destroyed and exterminated chariots, horses, and the
army. Ironically, while in v. 18 the people are admonished not to remember
the former things, the deity is here commemorated and legitimized by some-
thing he did in the past. Moreover, while in vv. 16–17 the deity made the sea
dry, in vv. 19–20 he will make rivers in the desert. While the deity controlled
the threatening forces of the water in v. 16, in v. 20 he shall provide water so
his people can drink. And while horses were pulled down in v. 16, in v. 20 wild
beasts shall participate in the praise of the deity. Also, in a trial scene in v.
26, YHWH admonishes the people in an opposite—and ironic—way: “Remind
me!” (‫ זכר‬hiph.), as if there should be anything favourable in their past which
the deity had forgotten.
Scholars have taken “former” and “new” things in 43:18–19—as well as the
depiction of the way and the water in the wilderness—to allude to the Exodus
from Egypt and a second Exodus from Babylon.14 Others have nuanced this
somewhat. Westermann, for instance, sees a correspondence between the old
and the new in the Egyptian Exodus and the Babylonian Exile, but takes the
utterance about not to remember as an exhortation to the people not to cling
to the past.15 Blenkinsopp interprets the “former” things as the deity’s guiding
of his people to Canaan and giving them water, commemorated in vv. 16–17,
which “is paradigmatic of what God does whenever he acts to save or redeem
his people.”16 Blenkinsopp hesitates to explain the “new” thing as referring spe-
cifically to the return from Babylon through the desert to the homeland, analo-
gous to the Exodus through the sea, since people return from all over the world,

13  On the theme of the transformation of nature, see H.M. Barstad, A Way in the Wilderness:
The ‘Second Exodus’ in the Message of Second Isaiah (JSSMS 12; Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 1989), and Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 202–203.
14  For overviews, see Lund, Way Metaphors, 4–9, and Tiemeyer, For the Comfort of Zion,
155–160.
15  Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 128–129.
16  Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 227–228.
46 Joachimsen

“not just from Mesopotamia (41:9; 43:5; 49:12 cf. 51:11; 55:12–13).”17 Blenkinsopp
does not dwell on the expression about not to remember the past in 43:18.
Koole considers the concept of Exodus to work as a model both for God’s
defeat of the Egyptians as well as applied to situations later in Israel’s history,
including Cyrus’s conquest and Babylon’s fall. While he takes the “first” things
to concern “the national-political liberation at the expense of its enemies”
(v. 18), the “new” thing (v. 19) is not confined to the return of the exiles, but
includes a spiritual renewal, comprising “not only a return to the land but also
to the God of the past.”18 Lund takes “former” things in 43:18 to refer to events
that lie far back in the people’s history.19 The addressees are not admonished to
forget what is narrated about events a long time ago in vv. 16–17. However, they
should not let God’s former mighty acts “be the last word in their story with
YHWH, cf. 46:9, which conveys an exhortation to remember YHWH’s actions
in the past.”20 According to Lund, the new events shall surpass the old ones;
like elsewhere in Isa 40–55, a new creation parallels the first. He interprets the
“new” thing in 43:19 figuratively, referring to “YHWH’s actions to create a new
situation for the people,” not excluding a literal journey home from Babylon.21
To summarize, in Isa 43:18–19, the people are encouraged not to turn to the
past for meaning, as the deity is inviting them to take part in the future. While
in v. 18 the people are admonished not to remember the past, in vv. 16–17 YHWH
is commemorated by how he made a road through the sea and destroyed the
army. This gives us a hint as to how mnemonic selection might create contra-
dictions, which scholars have tried to explain in various ways. “Former” and
“new” things in vv. 18–19 have been interpreted literally, that is, historically,
where the return from Babylon to Yehud is portrayed as a new Exodus, or figu-
ratively or spiritually–nuancing and refuting the role of the Exodus. By their
attempts to tame the occasionally hyperbolic poetry, scholars’ closer identi-
fications of certain theological traditions or historical events might lead to
reductionist readings of this poetry.

17  Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 228. For overviews of others who have nuanced the role of the
Exodus by emphasizing the figurative rather than the literal, see Lund, Way Metaphors,
9–21, and Tiemeyer, For the Comfort of Zion, 160–168.
18  Jan L. Koole, Isaiah Part III Volume 1: Isaiah 40–48 (HCOT; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1997),
330–332 (336).
19  Lund, Way Metaphors, 188.
20  Lund, Way Metaphors, 189, incl. n. 42.
21  Lund, Way Metaphors, 191. While a Babylonian setting is preferred in much scholarship
on Isa 40–55 (or at least for Isa 40–48), a growing minority goes for a Yehudite location of
these texts, e.g. Barstad, Lund, and Tiemeyer.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 47

The task or target of this poetry is not that of logic consistency. Further, the
former and new things should not be regarded as isolated, absolute, nor exclu-
sive motifs, but ones that have overlapping traits, where the new cannot dispel
the old. By “former” things as points of reference, both continuity and change
might be at stake; the “new” thing is not something completely unparalleled or
different from the preceding, as some version of the past would reverberate in
the future.

2.2 Isa 46:8–11: Remember This!

46:8. Remember this,22 ‫וְ ִה ְתא ָֹשׁשׁוּ‬,23 and take it to your heart, you rebels!
9. Remember the former things of old; for I am God, and there is no other;
I am God, and there is none like me.
10. Who proclaims the end from the beginning,
and from ancient time things not yet done, saying:
My plan shall stand and I will accomplish24 all my purpose.
11. I called from the east a bird of prey; from a distant land a man of my plan.25
Yes, I have spoken, yes, I will bring it to pass, I have formed it, yes, I will do it.

In Isa 46:8, YHWH addresses Israel in a threefold admonition: “remember,”26

‫ ִה ְתא ָֹשׁשׁוּ‬, and “take to heart,” with the object “this.” The addressees are further

22  ‫ זָ ַכר‬is often translated “remember,” but has also been interpreted as more generally “to
think,” e.g. in Isa 44:21; 46:8; 47:7, cf. Koole, Isaiah, 403, 510, John Goldingay and David
Payne, Isaiah 40–55: Volume I (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 363, and John Goldingay
and David Payne, Isaiah 40–55: Volume II (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 80. However,
due to the retrospection of “remember the former things of old” in 46:9 and of the cre-
ation in 44:21, I opt for the remembering aspect also in 46:8 and 44:21, which certainly does
not exclude an element of “keeping in mind,” cf. Hugh G.M. Williamson, “First and Last in
Isaiah,” in Of Prophets’ Visions and the Wisdom of Sages: Essays in Honour of R.N. Whybray
on his Seventieth Birthday, ed. H.A. McKay and D.J.A. Clines (JSOTSup 162; Sheffield: JSOT
Press, 1993), 101 (on 46:8), and Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 234, 237, and 270–271.
23  ‫ ִה ְתא ָֹשׁשׁוּ‬is a hapax legomenon; the statement by R. Norman Whybray, Isaiah 40–66
(NCBC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), 116, that “the meaning of this word has never been
satisfactorily elucidated” is still valid. For an overview of the discussion, see the standard
commentaries as well as Hendrik Leene, “Isaiah 46:8—Summons to be Human?” JSOT 30
(1984): 111–121.
24  1QIsaa has 3ms ‫“ יעשׂה‬he will accomplish” (which is possible, but not necessary), while
1QIsab and 4QIsac have 1sg ‫אעשׂה‬, supporting MT (cf. Vss).
25  Qere, 1QIsab, and 4QIsac have ‫“ עצתי‬my plan,” cf. LXX ὧν βεβούλευμαι and Vulg. voluntatis
meae, while 1QIsaa has ‫“ עצתו‬his plan,” supporting Ketiv.
26  ‫“ זָ ַכר‬to remember,” also “keep in mind,” cf. n. 22.
48 Joachimsen

identified as rebels, thus alluding to the people’s disregard of YHWH.27 The

appeal to remember is repeated, and the object of the remembrance is more
closely identified as “former things of old” (v. 9). After this, a self-predication of
YHWH follows, including a twofold argument concerning his uniqueness and
incomparability.
Then the deity gives his proofs for being God, in which past and future
are connected: YHWH is able to proclaim the future before it began to take
shape; he shall accomplish his plan (vv. 10–11).28 This plan has been identi-
fied as the calling of Cyrus to defeat Babylon, and scholars have discussed
whether the Persian king represents the former or the new things. Leene, for
instance, stresses what he regards as significant differences between Deutero-
Isaiah’s concepts of “latter,” “coming,” and “new,” and takes the appearance of
Cyrus to belong to “the end of the former and also partially as the coming, but
it definitely does not belong to the new.”29 Leene terms the “new” things of
Deutero-Isaiah as eschatology, which he relates to notions of the worldwide
acknowledgement of YHWH as the only God.30
In Isa 46:8–11, trial terminology is applied, where YHWH defends himself
against an accusation by appealing to his former acts as proofs for what he
will do also in the future. It is as if the rebels have called into question that
he is God and that Cyrus is his tool in making a change. YHWH sums up by
proclaiming that his decision will become effective: What he has said (‫ דּבר‬pi.)

27  On sin in Isa 40–55, see Blaženka Scheuer, The Return of YHWH: The Tension between
Deliverance and Repentance in Isaiah 40–55 (BZAW 377; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008), and
Kristin Joachimsen, Identities in Transition: The Pursuit of Isa 52:13–53:12 (VTS 142; Leiden:
Brill, 2011), 304–310.
28  In 46:10–11, Cyrus is presented as YHWH’s ‫“ ֵע ָצה‬plan” and ‫“ ֵח ֶפץ‬purpose”; in 44:26 YHWH
fulfills the ‫“ ֵע ָצה‬plan” of his messengers. Cf. God’s ‫“ ֵח ֶפץ‬purpose” (plan) for Cyrus in 44:28;
48:14, about the servant in 53:10 and related to the word of YHWH in 55:11 (vb.).
29  Leene, “History,” 225–226 (225).
30  Leene, “History,” 227. The new things are not history, but eschatology; as a response to
history “the new is the changing of the world” (231, his italics). Many scholars reject a con-
cept of eschatology as a proper characterization of what is taking place in Deutero-Isaiah.
Henning G. Reventlow, “The Eschatologization of the Prophetic Books: A Comparative
Study,” in Eschatology in the Bible and in Jewish and Christian Tradition, ed. H.G. Reventlow
(JSOTSup 243; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 174–175, argues that neither a
new period of salvation nor a finality is referred to, but rather what he terms a “recoining”
and an “actualization” of past prophetic discourse. John J. Collins, “Prophecy, Apocalypse
and Eschatology: Reflections on the Proposals of Lester Grabbe,” in Knowing the End from
the Beginning: The Prophetic, Apocalyptic, and Their Relationship, ed. L. Grabbe and R.D.
Haak (JSPSup 46; London: T&T Clark, 2003), 49, distinguishes between national restora-
tion and cosmic eschatology.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 49

and formed (‫)יָ ַצר‬, he will indeed bring to pass (‫ בּוֹא‬hiph.) and do (‫ ָע ָשׂה‬, v. 11).
The admonition to the rebellious people to remember their deity’s former acts
follows an expressive personification, where YHWH tells of how he has borne
the people from its birth, and how he will continue to carry it to its old age
(vv. 3–4). This is interwoven with polemic against other gods, framed in a con-
trast between their powerlessness and YHWH’s sovereignty (vv. 1–7). While
YHWH carries his people, the other gods cannot even carry themselves; they
are fabricated and inactive. The idols and their worshippers are the “others,”
but due to the recipients of this polemic, one might ask whether the target of it
is not first and foremost aliens who worship other gods, but those of Israel who
do not worship YHWH in a proper way: the rebels, who might be designated
“the other from within.”31 YHWH’s new words of restoration can be trusted
because he—and no other gods—has previously proclaimed and fulfilled “for-
mer” things.
Also, while the people are called rebels in v. 8, in v. 12 Israel is character-
ized as “stubborn of heart” (cf. 48:4) and as “far from righteousness.” This is
contrasted in v. 13, where YHWH’s righteousness is near and the deity gives
deliverance in Zion and his glory to Israel (cf. 45:21). The depiction of Cyrus as
YHWH’s tool to deliver Israel shows that the deity works through the “other.”
Simultaneously, YHWH cannot be without the rebellious and stubborn Israel,
who carries his righteousness, deliverance, and glory (v. 13).
In Isaiah 46, accusations and admonitions are interwoven, while remem-
brance and deliverance are closely connected in a dynamics of the acts of God
and Israel’s response. Past and future are intertwined: The rebellious people
are admonished to keep in mind that YHWH is the only God, who brings to pass
and does what he has said and formed (v. 11).

31  Cf. Jonathan Z. Smith, “What a Difference a Difference Makes,” in “To See Ourselves as
Others See Us”: Christians, Jews, “Others” in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Neusner and E.S. Frerichs
(Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), 15, who describes the term “otherness” as “a matter of
relative rather than absolute difference.”
Scheuer, The Return of YHWH, claims that the anti-idol polemics in Isa 40–55 are
indictments against the exiles (and not the foreign peoples), in which the accusations
of Israel’s sins are related to their idolatry. She further argues that in Isa 40–55, YHWH
returns to his people unconditionally, and the people repent after the deity’s comfort of
them. Israel’s “repentance does not condition their deliverance, but it conditions their
relationship with YHWH” (81), that is, the juxtaposition of comfort and call to repentance
stand side by side, conveying both a message of salvation and an accusation of sin.
50 Joachimsen

2.3 Isa 44:21–22: Remember these Things!

44:21. Remember32 these things, Jacob, and Israel, for you are my servant:
I formed you, you are my servant; Israel, you will never be forgotten by me.33
22. I have wiped away your transgressions like a cloud; your sins like mist.
Return to me, for I have redeemed you.

In Isa 44:21, Jacob/Israel the servant is encouraged to remember “these (things)”

and is reminded that he, who was formed by YHWH, will not be forgotten by
the deity. The people’s response is called for: they shall remember that they
are created by YHWH. Moreover, the deity will wipe out his servant’s transgres-
sions, again alluding to the people’s disregard of him (v. 22, cf. 40:2; 43:25; 46:8).
YHWH also calls his people to return to him, adding: “for I have redeemed you.”
In this, a renewal or reestablishment of a former relationship between YHWH
and Israel is alluded to. YHWH reminds his people that they belong to him.
They shall abandon their other ways and turn to him. This is followed by a
hymnic call to all creation to shout for joy (v. 23, cf. 42:10–12; 43:20; 49:13; 55:12).
A legitimation is attached: ‫“ ִכּי‬for” the deity has delivered Jacob and glorified
himself through Israel.34 Again, the identity of Israel and YHWH is relational:
not only does Israel belong to YHWH, but the deity cannot be without his peo-
ple, who carry his deliverance and glory.
The image of YHWH in vv. 21–22 might be contrasted with the polemic
against other gods in vv. 9–20: the other gods are not able to foretell (vv.
7–8), while YHWH shows himself to be trustful; they are formed by craftsmen
(vv. 9–10;12) as opposed to YHWH, who formed Israel (v. 21); they are not able to
save (‫ יצל‬hiph., v. 20), while YHWH redeems Israel (‫גָ אַל‬, v. 22), cf. 46:5–7. Again,
the text appeals to Israel’s remembrance of the deity’s acts, which encompass
both past and future (cf. 46:9–10).

32  See n. 22.

33  MT ‫“ לֹא ִתנָּ ֵשׁנִ י‬you are not forgotten by me” (‫ נשׁה‬niph. with suffix) is an unusual form, cf.
similarly in 4QIsab ‫לא תנשׁני‬. LXX and Targ. render active, while 1QIsaa has ‫ תשׁאני‬of ‫שׁאה‬
“to disappoint,” “fail.”
34  Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 102, 142–144, counts 44:23 among the “eschatological hymns of
praise,” together with (40:9ff); 42:10–13; 45:8; 48:20–21; 49:13; 52:7–10. Cf. Leene, “History,”
who reads Isa 40–55 in light of what he sees as an eschatological psalm of Enthronement
in Ps. 98.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 51

2.4 Summing Up: Mnemonic Selection in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46

Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 depict retrospective views of the past and images of a
future. The texts are woven of promises, disputations, admonitions, calls, and
accusations, where an intervention of the God of Israel will lead to a reversal
of his people. Various responses of Israel to YHWH’s acts are called for: she shall
not consider the past, but also remember, return, hear, see, perceive, proclaim,
and praise. The admonition not to remember “former” things in 43:21 might be
seen as a counter-narrative among all the memories of the past, even though
it does not convey a total break. In Isaiah 43, 44, and 46, a transition is forged
through references to creation, polemics against other gods, the Persian king
Cyrus, God’s incomprehensibility, and his transformation of nature going hand
in hand with a changed relationship between the deity and his people, who
are called both rebellious and servant. The prophetic discourse simultaneously
transmits, preserves, interprets, challenges, and undermines its own message,
and a mixture of continuity and change is at stake. The arguments progress
helter-shelter through a blend of imperatives, rhetorical questions, parallelisms,
and images, where alternating voices are also expressed. This characterization
corresponds to Ben Zvi’s general observation that within a prophetic book, we
might find multivocality, including multiple images of past and future, which
might also stand in tension with each other.35 Also Carr encourages ensuring
“the unresolved, rich plurality built into texts like Isaiah.”36 We are not dealing
with one, simple, and irreducible message, but a tension which Landy charac-
terizes as concerning to know YHWH and to not understand.37
The expressions “former” and “new” things occur in speech against Israel
and other peoples, in salvation oracles, disputations, and trial scenes—mainly
in chapters 40–48, conveying connotations of beginning and end, creation and
redemption, judgment and restoration, humiliation and vindication. From
a memory studies perspective, transmission of texts and traditions might
be regarded as a process of picking and choosing, or forgetting as much as
remembering. Mnemonic selection creates gaps, distortions, and contradictions;

35  Ehud Ben Zvi, “Reconstructing the Intellectual Discourse of Ancient Yehud,” Studies in
Religion 39 (2010): 7–23 (10). In this connection, Ben Zvi refers to Bakhtin; Erll does the
same in Astrid Erll, Memory in Culture (Palgrave Maxmillan Memory Studies; Hampshire,
UK: Palgrave Maxmillan, 2011), 150. Bakhtin has described what he regards as a dialogic-
ity of language, emphasising how all utterances are in dialogue by being responses to
previous utterances and addressed to specific addresses, cf. Pam Morris, ed., The Bakhtin
Reader: Selected Writings of Bakhtin, Medvedev, and Voloshinov (London: Edward Arnold,
1994).
36  David M. Carr, “Reaching for Unity in Isaiah,” JSOT 57 (1993): 61–80 (80).
37  Cf. n. 10.
52 Joachimsen

by closing or ignoring holes and omissions, new orders are shaped. The texts
play on condensation, exaggerations, and overstatements and I don’t think one
should try to smooth over greater or lesser tensions in the interest of presenting
fully logical consistency.38 The producer of the text fills the motifs of “former”
and “new” things with imagination and thus the receiver must do the same.

3 Visions of the Future in Relation to the Past

In the last decade or so, we have experienced both an explosion and the infla-
tion of concepts like social, collective, and cultural memory within biblical
scholarship. This is obviously connected to the comprehensive debates on
the historiography of ancient Israel. But it should certainly also be related
to the attention paid to the literary qualities of the biblical texts, in our instance,
the prophetic—and poetic—discourses. While a social historian like Ben Zvi
asks how memory contributes to identity formation,39 a literary critic like
Landy focuses on how memory is thematized, its aesthetics, and the “relations
between the social and individual in the construction of memory.”40 Landy
explains how both approaches are attentive to rhetorical strategies, tropes, as
well as the production and reception of the texts.41
Various views prevail concerning the relationship between history and
memory. While some stress that there is an opposition between history and
memory, I support those who nuance this relationship by rather talking about
different ways of remembering within the culture.42 Both when it comes to
history and memory, the past might be applied to legitimate interests in the

38  Brockmeier, “Remembering,” Erll, Memory, 8–9, 34–37, 145–146.

39  Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and its Historical Setting,” in The
Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud, ed. E. Ben Zvi and
D.V. Edelman (London: Equinox, 2009), 75, emphasises how a remembered past is recre-
ated past, related to the present readers’ self-identity as people of YHWH. For some more
nuances regarding the relationship of memory to identity, see Erll, Memory in Culture,
109–111.
40  Francis Landy, “Notes Towards a Poetics of Memory,” in Remembering and Forgetting in
Early Second Temple Judah, ed. E. Ben Zvi and C. Levin (FAT 85; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2012), 342.
41  Landy, “Notes towards a Poetics,” 337.
42  Erll, “Cultural Memory Studies,” 7, cf. Wolf Kansteiner, “Finding Meaning in Memory: A
Methodological Critique of Collective Memory Studies,” History and Theory 41 (2002):
179–197 (184, 195–197).
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 53

present.43 As projections of the present, they are both selective and creative,
conveying a blend of continuity and rupture. The Egyptologist Assmann has
introduced the concept of “mnemohistory.” He stresses how studies based on
such an approach are not opposed to historical studies, but should be regarded
rather as a branch, like intellectual history, social history, the history of men-
tality, and history of ideas.44 Such an approach is less concerned with the
(re-)construction of “real events” and more interested in exploring the iden-
tity which memory creates, and by extension, the role of memory in creating
history.
Assmann argues that every group continually transforms and shapes the
past by transmitting memory,45 while the cultural critic Sturken claims that it
is the instability of memory which opens for renewal.46 While some empha-
size how memory is used instrumentally—that is, the past is manipulated
according to certain purposes47—others stress how selective memory is an
inevitable consequence of the fact that we interpret the world—including the
past—based on our experiences and within our cultural framework.48 In our

43  Erll, Memory, 8, her italics.

44  Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism
(Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), 8–9.
45  Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in
frühen Hochkulturen (Munich: Beck, 1992), 293, and Jan Assmann, “Collective Memory
and Cultural Identity,” New German Critique 65 (1995): 125–133 (130).
46  Marita Sturken, Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, the AIDS Epidemic, and the Politics of
Remembering (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 17.
47  Cf. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1983). According to Marcel Sarot, “Counterfactuals and the
Invention of Religious Traditions,” in Religious Identity and the Invention of Tradition:
Papers Read at a NOSTER Conference in Soesterberg, January 4–6, 1999, ed. J.W. van Henten
and A. Houtepen (STAR, 3; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2001), 30, Hobsbawm’s studies might be
characterized as having an unclear understanding of tradition, but they have triggered a
further discussion of the formation and change of traditions, as well as the interaction of
identities and traditions.
When Assmann, “Collective Memory,” 130, distinguishes between functional and
stored memory, the concept of memory differs from that of tradition: while the concept
of tradition focuses on the actuality of memory culture only, cultural memory exists both
“in the mode of potentiality” and “in the mode of actuality.”
48  Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From Collective Memory to
the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998):
105–140 (128). Both Brockmeier, “Remembering,” 25, Erll, Memory, 70–74, and Paul
Mendes-Flohr, “The Secularisation of Jewish Cultural Memory: Epistemological and
Hermeneutical Reflections,” Naharaim 1 (2007): 15–22 (20), relate a concept of cultural
54 Joachimsen

instance, this might be applied to processes of Yehudite identity formations

during the Achaemenid period. These identity formations are characterized
by fluid boundaries and competing definitions, taking place in an interna-
tional context as well as contexts of inner-community tensions. It has been
common to read Deutero-Isaiah with references to an outside socio-historical
world imagined to be the setting of the construction of the texts. Certainly, it
seems fairly clear that the prophetic discourses are Jerusalem-centred within
Achaemenid Yehud, with the Exile as a significant ingredient in the formation
of “Israel’s various self-understandings.” The Exile has thus been described as a
cultural myth or symbol, created out of the specific socio-ideological interests
of certain groups in the Yehudite community. And as we have seen, the texts
might also be about imagination, drama, and vision.49 Because of the mention
of specific historical and geographical localizations scholars have long made
the return of the Babylonian exiles to be the main concern of Isaiah 40–55.
However, with a more critical view of the relationship between history and
text—including a more nuanced interpretation of “the way and the water in
the wilderness”—scholars have recently moved the focus from the exilic com-
munity in Babylon to the destiny of Jerusalem and the relationship between
the people and the deity.
Memory studies provide beneficial tools in analyzing the prophetic—and
poetic—discourse of remembering and forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46,
especially when it comes to explicate the texts’ different ways of handling time.
The selected texts treat how to deal with the past, understand the present, and
envision the future, interwoven of declarations of sin and judgment, hope and
redemption. Within the prophetic discourse of exile, certain events are remem-
bered as a watershed for a specific “mnemonic community,”50 through which
political, social, and religious structures have to be reconfigured. The trope of
exile functions both to actualize and displace dichotomies of a “before” and
an “after” (time), an “us” and a “them” (identity), a “here” and a “there” (place),
as well as some “former” and “new” things. Israel’s identity becomes redefined
in light of the past through the interaction between the deeds of YHWH and

memory to intertextuality, which is based on the observation that texts are a tapestry (in
Latin, textus) of quotations of other texts, either overt or covert. As texts always and end-
lessly refer to other literary works, this same situation applies to culture.
49  Carr, “Reaching for Unity,” 78–79, prefers “collection,” which ensures the thematic and
intertextual links in the book “without overall macrostructural integration,” which might
be implied in “drama” or “exhortation” (79).
50  Eviatar Zerubavel, Time Maps: Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past (Chicago:
Chicago University Press, 2003), 28–30.
Remembering and Forgetting in Isaiah 43, 44, and 46 55

the people’s response to them. In this identity formation, the people and the
deity stand in a mutually dependent relationship: the people shall remember
and not forget who they are; they belong to God—and no other—and he can-
not be without them. Through the exile of the past, the glory of YHWH will be
revealed in the future. “Return” and “restoration” are matters of bringing back
people and cult (e.g. 45:13; 49:14–19; 51:3), that is, to worship YHWH in a proper
way under altered circumstances, not exactly in the same way as before, and
as such, it is something “new,” or represents continuity of a certain kind. In
this process of remembering, interaction with significant “others” also takes
part. The saving Persian Cyrus, for instance, is YHWH’s tool in making the
transformative experience of the deity’s people. Memory also shapes identity
by counteracting idolatry, where the idols and their worshippers take part as
significant “others.” However, they do not necessarily embody the opposite of
Israel, as also Israel might be accused of not performing proper worship, in
which the “other” at issue is not the “distant other,” but “the other from within.”
The utterances about remembering and not considering the past in Isaiah
43, 44, and 46 are excellent illustrations of selective memory. What is at stake,
is the experience of exile and identity formation for a group whose members
become incorporated in a mnemonic community by being made to know the
group’s stories about the past—and to put other side of the past behind. The
admonitions to remember—or forget—show that what matters, is not neces-
sarily—or at least not only—what is remembered and forgotten (“the facts”)
as such, but how remembering and forgetting shape—and are shaped by—a
mnemonic community. This relates to the performative side, that is, what
remembering and forgetting do. The process of remembering does not involve
a re-production of the past, but something present, selected from some store
of the “former” things.51 Instead of trying to split the motifs of remembering
and forgetting former and new things into separate parts, that is, to try to iden-
tify specific events in a close or more distant past or future, I suggest to rather
safeguard the complexity of the texts. These texts about remembering and
forgetting are condensing as much as exaggerating within the broader frames
of “former” things as the past and “new” thing as images of the future. These
“things” cannot be bound to any fixed points. In Isaiah 43, 44, and 46, the peo-
ple of Israel are “in the meantime”—with their focus on the present, in which
the Exile works as a trope of displacement, while the poetry becomes a place
of de-familiarization, ambiguity, and openness. Simultaneously, the transmis-
sion of memory is significant for the survival of the community, where the past
nurtures the present and provides hope for the future. Also, as this brief study

51  Cf. nn. 47 and 48.

56 Joachimsen

has shown, as biblical scholars we are both recipients and producers of mem-
ory, by what we include in as well as by what we exclude from our readings. It
should finally be mentioned, as a reference to “myth-making,” that the honoree
of this Festschrift, Professor Hans Barstad, is known for not taking every for-
mer or new idea at face value!
Hope and Disappointment: The Judahite Critique
of the Exilic Leadership in Isaiah 56–66

Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer

1 Introduction

Hans Barstad’s arguments for a Judahite origin of Isaiah 40–55 convinced me

already as a doctoral student working on the book of Isaiah.1 It took more than
a decade, however, before I published a full-length treatment on the topic.2
In the present article, I wish to develop the consequences that a Judahite
origin of Isaiah 40–55 has for the interpretation of Isaiah 56–66. In short,
I propose that the authors responsible for chs 56–66 stand in direct continuity
with the ones who composed chapters 40–55. In chapters 40–55, the Judahite
authors expressed their hopes for the return of the exiles. In chapters 56–66,
the disciples of those same authors articulated their disappointment with
the now returned exilic leadership. In making my argument, I shall combine
my research on Isaiah 56–66, published in the monograph Priestly Rites and
Prophetic Rage,3 with my research on Isaiah 40–55, published in the mono-
graph For the Comfort of Zion.
I view Isaiah 40–66 as a composite text which reflects gradual growth. In
rough terms, I hold it for likely that the various textual strands which consti-
tute Isaiah 56–66 are later than those which are found in Isaiah 40–55, with the
possible exception of individual glosses. While I do not wish to postulate any
sharp division after Isa 55:13, I nevertheless detect a new beginning in Isa 56:1.
In this matter, I follow Sweeney who sees chapter 55 as the original conclusion
to the Isaiah 40–55 corpus. In the final form of the book of Isaiah, chapter 55
functions as a bridge between the earlier material in chapters 40–55 and the
later text in Isa 56:1–8.4 As to authorship and dating of the material, I maintain

1  It is a great honour to dedicate this article to Hans M. Barstad, fellow Scandinavian and now
also fellow colleague in Scotland.
2  Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, For the Comfort of Zion: The Geographical and Theological Location of
Isaiah 40–55 (VTSup 139; Leiden: Brill, 2011).
3  Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage: Post-Exilic Prophetic Critique of the
Priesthood (FAT II/19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006).
4  Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–4 and the Post-exilic Understanding of the Isaianic Tradition
(BZAW 171; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988), 87–88.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_007

58 Tiemeyer

that most of the material in Isaiah 40–55 was composed prior to 520 BCE. In
contrast, the texts pertinent for the present investigation (Isa 56:9–59:21; 65:1–
66:17) stem from an author active around 520 BCE.5

2 History of Research

Several passages in Isaiah 56–66 allude to a society divided between the

author(s) and their followers on the one hand, and “The Others” on the other
hand. In particular, the speakers in Isa 56:9–59:21 and 65:1–66:17 express their
animosity towards another group of people. They describe this group in
Isa 56:9–12; 57:3–13, 17–21; 58:1–14; 59:1–8; 65:1–7, 11–12; 66:3–6, and 17. In con-
trast, the lament in Isa 63:7–64:11 and possibly also the confession in Isa 59:9–15
may reflect their opponents’ perspective. The identity of these two rivalling
groups has long been debated.6 Most contemporary Isaiah scholars adhere to
one of two, in many ways contradictory, theories:

1. The individual texts in Isaiah 56–59, 65–66, as well as the final form of
Isaiah 56–66, reflect the perspective of the exiles who had returned from
Babylon. Their antagonists were the descendents of the people who
remained in the land after the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE.7
2. The protagonists are (possibly) indigenous Judahites, while their oppo-
nents can be identified with the exilic leadership.

Schramm is a key advocate of the first theory. The underlying assumptions of

his book, aptly named The Opponents of Third Isaiah, are twofold. First, “Isaiah
40–55 is literature of the Babylonian ‫גולה‬, by the Babylonian ‫גולה‬, and for the
Babylonian ‫גולה‬.” Second, the oracles in chapters 40–55 and 56–66 are inti-
mately connected. The latter are the product of the disciples of the author of
the former.8 This starting point, together with the view that the final redac-
tion of the book of Isaiah cannot stem from an “out-of-power, disenfranchised

5  See further Paul A. Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah: The Structure, Growth and
Authorship of Isaiah 56–66 (VTSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 204 (conclusion).
6  For a succinct history of research, see Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage, 6–13.
7  The purpose of this article is not to evaluate whether or not there was a conflict between the
indigenous Judahite population and the returning exiles in the sixth century BCE. Rather, it
investigates whether such a conflict is referred to in the texts in Isa 56–66.
8  Brooks Schramm, The Opponents of Third Isaiah: Reconstruction of the Cultic History of the
Restoration (JSOTSup 193; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 108–109.
Hope and Disappointment 59

group” but must be the product of the central Israelite community in Yehud,
led Schramm to view the authors responsible for Isaiah 56–66 as the forerun-
ners of Ezra, whose theological standpoint was compatible with and comple-
mentary to that found in Ezra-Nehemiah.9 In contrast, many of the prophet’s
opponents should be located among the people who had remained in Judah
after 586 BCE.10 Schramm develops his argument through a detailed study
of the aforementioned polemical passages in chapters 56–59, 65–66, as well
as of those passages which portray the cult in positive terms (e.g. Isa 56:1–8;
58:13–14). If, however, Schramm’s starting point is partly false, namely that
Isaiah 40–55 is neither the product of, nor aimed at the Babylonian ‫גולה‬, his
reasoning becomes less convincing. Berquist, another proponent of this the-
ory, suggests that the conflict in Isaiah 56–66 was “between priests and poli-
ticians among the immigrants, over against native groups.” Berquist tries to
make a case that the priests and the political leaders of Yehud were the pro-
tagonists who preached inclusivity and social justice, against the indigenous
Judahites who were “The Others,”11 yet as he merely cites Isa 56:3, 6; 58:6–8, his
attempt is unconvincing. Most recently, Rom-Shiloni argues likewise that at
least chapters 65–66 reflect the struggle between the Babylonian repatriates
and the people who had remained in Judah. The former are the “in-group,” i.e.
the approved, righteous people, while the latter are the “out-group.”12
Hanson is the chief defender of the second theory.13 He proposes that the
texts in Isaiah 56–66 form an attack on the leading exilic priestly party and

9  Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 112–14.

10  Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 109–11, 179–82.
11  Jon L. Berquist, Judaism in Persia’s Shadow: A Social and Historical Approach (Minneapolis,
MN: Fortress, 1995), 153–55.
12  Dalit Rom-Shiloni, Exclusive Inclusivity: Identity Conflicts between the Exiles and the People
who Remained (6th–5th Centuries BCE) (LHBOTS 543; London: T&T Clark, 2013), 99–136
(esp 121–34). Her conclusions, namely that all of Isa 40–66 reflects “an exclusive prefer-
ence for the Babylonian Exiles and Repatriates” (p. 135) is diametrically opposite to my
view put forward here, namely that all of Isa 40–66 reflects the concerns of the indig-
enous Judahites.
13  Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish
Apocalyptic Eschatology (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1975). In addition to Hanson, see also
James D. Smart, “A New Interpretation of Isaiah lxvi 1–6,” ExpTim 46 (1934–35): 420–424
(here 423–424); Alexander Rofé, “Isaiah 66:1–4: Judean Sects in the Persian Period as
Viewed by Trito-Isaiah,” in Biblical and Related Studies Presented To Samuel Iwry, ed. Ann
Kort and Scott Morschauer (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 205–217; Idem, “The
Onset of Sects in Postexilic Judaism: Neglected Evidence from the Septuagint, Trito-
Isaiah, Ben Sira, and Malachi,” in The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism:
60 Tiemeyer

their programme of restoration. This party sought to maintain the pre-exilic

social and cultic structures, and came to dominate the political and religious
climate in post-monarchic Yehud. Their opponents, namely the authors of
Isaiah 56–66, were the heirs of Deutero-Isaiah. They had taken his message to
heart and accordingly placed their hope in God’s direct intervention on behalf
of his people.14 My own research on this topic develops Hanson’s theory fur-
ther. In my view, the people responsible for the various textual strands in Isaiah
56–66 sought to reform the early post-monarchic priestly leaders by high-
lighting their shortcomings. They were failing to teach the community about
YHWH’s laws, they committed acts of social injustice towards the less fortunate
in society, and their cultic performances left much to be desired.15
Paul offers an alternative version of the second view. He argues that there
were two parties in Yehud in the early post-monarchic era, namely the “uni-
versalists” who advocated inclusion of all who wished to worship YHWH, and
the “isolationists,” i.e. pietistic and exclusionary people who advocated purity
of stock. Paul places the single author responsible for all of chapters 40–66
firmly into the first category. Thus, although Paul never interacts with Hanson’s
view, and maintains that the Isaianic author is a returnee from the Babylonian
exile, he agrees with the aforementioned second theory insofar as he places
the prophet in a different group than the “isolationists” such as the returning
exiles mentioned in Ezra 4:3.16

3 What are the Characteristics of “The Others”?

Which of these two theories fits the textual evidence in Isaiah 56–66 the best?
To determine this question, we need to investigate how the polemical passages
in Isaiah 56–66 characterize “the Others.” As we shall discover, a detailed study
of these passages confirms the second view, namely that the prophet’s oppo-
nents should be identified with the leadership in Yehud.17

Essays in Tribute to Howard Clark Kee, ed. Jacob Neusner (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1988),
39–49.
14  Hanson, Dawn, 71–76, 212, 217–27, Joseph Blenkinsopp, “A Jewish Sect of the Persian
Period,” CBQ 52 (1990): 5–20; Idem, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual
Leadership in Ancient Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, KY: WJK, 1995), 92.
15  Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage.
16  Shalom M. Paul, Isaiah 40–66: Translation and Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2012), 447–450.
17  The size of the community in Yehud, as well as its different components, is difficult to
determine. For two different views, see Charles E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in
Hope and Disappointment 61

3.1 Isaiah 56:9–12

Isaiah 56:9–12, the opening section after the prologue in Isa 56:1–8, sets the
tone for the rest of the material.18 In many respects, this passage is an ironic
inversion of the invitation to come and eat in Isa 55:1–3.19 The identity of the
target audience is elucidated by the two designations ]‫“( צפו [צפיו‬his watch-
men”) in verse 10 and ‫“( רעים‬shepherds”) in verse 11.20 These two terms point
unequivocally towards the leaders of the community in Yehud. What is less
clear is the kind of leaders that are targeted. The term “watchman” can be used
to denote a city guard (2 Sam 18:25–27; probably also Isa 52:8), yet it often
implies a prophet (e.g. Jer 6:17; Ezek 3:17; 33:7).21 The term “shepherd” is a more
generic appellation for the civic leadership. Due to the use of two different
terms, Koole postulates that Isa 56:9–11 criticizes two different groups of leaders.
While verses 9–10 target the false prophets, verse 11 speaks against the secu-
lar rulers.22 Other indications suggest that Isa 56:9–11 condemns the priestly
leadership. In particular, the use of the verb ‫ ידע‬brings to mind 2 Kgs 17:26–28
where the failure “to know” signifies lack of knowledge of God’s law.23 Hanson,
for example, argues that while the term ‫ צפים‬denotes the prophets, the term

the Persian Period: A Social and Demographic Study (JSOTSup 294; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1999), esp. 172–213, 214–48, 285; and the critique of his views in Oded
Lipschits, “Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries
B.C.E.,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period (ed. Oded Lipschits and
Joseph Blenkinsopp; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 323–76.
18  For the discussion of the interpretation of the text, as well as of text-critical matters, see
further Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, “The Watchman Metaphor in Isaiah lvi–lxvi,” VT 55 (2005):
378–400 (esp. 385–87).
19  Noted by, e.g., Burkard M. Zapff, Jesaja 56–66 (NEB; Würzburg: Echter, 2006), 359; Leszek
Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde im Wandel: Eine Untersuchung zu Jesaja 56–66 (FRLANT
191; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 74.
20  See, e.g., Paul, Isaiah 40–66, 476. He states that “Of course, the shepherds and their dogs
represent the nation’s leaders (be they political and/or religious), who are indifferent to
the people’s fate.”
21  See further Tiemeyer, “The Watchman Metaphor,” 379–83.
22  Jan L. Koole, Isaiah 56–66 (Part III/3; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 34–40, argues that the focus
of the critique in vv. 9–10 is on false prophets who, in contrast to a “true prophet,” are
not able to alert the people to the corrupt situation in which they find themselves. The
prophets should have been “visionaries,” i.e. people who see. At present, however, they
are asleep, concerned only with “stimulated revelations of dreams.” According to Koole,
vv. 9–10 emphasize the absence of righteousness in the community. In contrast, v. 11
speaks to the rulers, i.e. the king and his dignitaries.
23  Karl Pauritsch, Die neue Gemeinde: Gott sammelt Ausgestossene und Arme ( Jesaia
56–66): Die Botschaft des Tritojesaia-Buches literar-, form-, gattungskritisch und
62 Tiemeyer

‫ רעים‬denotes the priests.24 In contrast, Ruszkowski maintains that the critique

in Isa 56:9–12 targets only the secular leadership.25 Blenkinsopp concurs, stat-
ing (contra Hanson) that there is no indication that the watchmen are “anti-
eschatological Zadokite priests.” Rather, that “the civic and religious leadership
is intended may be accepted in a general sense.” Blenkinsopp further highlights
(cf. above) that the terminology employed in verses 9–10 emphasizes that the
prophets in particular form the key target of the critique.26
Isaiah 56:9–12 accuses the leadership of neglecting their duties towards the
community. Verse 10 offers a scathing rebuke of the leaders. Instead of warn-
ing the people of the oncoming danger, the leaders have slept on their post.
They are likened to watchdogs that cannot bark and that prefer to sleep rather
than being on guard. Ps 121:4 offers a pertinent contrast, as it describes God as
Israel’s guardian who “neither slumbers nor sleeps” (‫הנה לא ינום ולא יישן שומר‬
‫)ישראל‬.27 Verse 11 adds more venomous details: verse 11a speaks of the leaders’
greed and their lack of knowledge and discernment, and verse 11b criticizes
their selfishness and self-interest. Finally, verse 12 accuses the leaders of drunk-
enness and overindulgence. In view of the similar critique in Isa 38:7 which
accuses the prophets and the priests of drunkenness, Zapff suggests that Isa
56:12 is not critique of excess; rather it targets the leadership’s lack of responsi-
bility and their misuse of their positions.28
In view of the content of Isa 56:9–12, it is difficult to uphold the theory that
the text represents the view-point of the returning exiles and targets the indig-
enous people of Yehud. Schramm, attempting to save his proposed theory,
maintains that the criticism in Isa 56:9–12 is generic, insofar as it is representa-
tive of the prophetic polemic extant throughout the Hebrew Bible.29 That is
true; yet the “traditional” character of the accusations retracts neither from
their seriousness nor the fact that they target the leadership. As a polemical

redaktionsgeschichtlich untersucht (Analecta Biblica 47; Rome: Biblical Institute Press,

1971), 55–56. See also Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 123–125.
24  Hanson, Dawn, 196.
25  Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde im Wandel, 79. According to Ruszkowski, Isa 56–66 else-
where criticizes the priests for their cultic activities, not for aspects related to their role as
leaders of the community. Isa 56:9–12 is thus unlikely to be aimed at the priests.
26  Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary
(AB 19B; New York, NY: Doubleday, 2003), 146–47.
27  Paul, Isaiah 40–66, 459.
28  Zapff, Jesaja 56–66, 360.
29  Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 126–27.
Hope and Disappointment 63

text, Isa 56:9–12 offers one of the most severe criticisms of the community’s
leaders attested in the Hebrew Bible.30

3.2 Isaiah 57:3–13

The passage in Isaiah 57:3–13 accuses the target audience of a wide range of
unacceptable cultic behaviour, as well as the failure of worshiping YHWH
alone.31 The pronoun ‫ואתם‬, opening verse 3, contrasts the addressees of Isa
57:3–13 with the righteous people mentioned in the immediately preceding
57:1–2, as well as with those who take refuge in YHWH referred to in the fol-
lowing 57:13b.32 In the present arrangement of chapters 56–57, the opening
pronoun ‫( ואתם‬57:3) refers back to the leaders in 56:9–12.33 Given the strong
arguments in favour of the literary unity of Isa 56:9–57:13, the most natural
reading of the text is thus to assume that that same author held the leaders of
the community mentioned in Isa 56:9–12 responsible for committing the cultic
atrocities referred to in Isa 57:3–13.34
Yet several scholars postulate a break between verse 2 and verse 3. Zapff,
for instance, maintains that the target audience of 57:3–13a is different from
that in Isa 56:9–12. Yet the two passages are linked, as the shepherds of 56:9–12,
through their negligence, are ultimately responsible for the people’s behav-
iour reported in 57:3–13a (“deren Versagen diese Umbriebe offenbar erst
verursachen”).35 Koole likewise argues that 57:3–13a aims at the whole commu-
nity in Yehud, but that their current unorthodox worship is caused by and thus
is the responsibility of the prophets referred to in 56:9–10.36 Paul also views

30  Leaders are criticized elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. For instance, Jer 12:10 states that
“many shepherds” (‫ )רעים רבים‬have destroyed God’s vineyard and trampled his portion
(‫)שחתו כרמי בססו את חלקתי‬. The passage in Ezek 34:1–10 likewise speaks against “the
shepherd” and highlights their neglect towards their flock (v. 2a, ‫בן אדם הנבא על רועי‬
‫)ישראל‬. They have been feeding themselves but not their flocks (v. 2b–3), they have not
tended to the weak and the sick, or looked for the lost ones (v. 4a), but instead ruled them
harshly (v. 4b, ‫)ובחזקה רדיתם אתם ובפרך‬.
31  See further my discussion in Priestly Rites, 150–59.
32  Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 155.
33  This is noted by Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 128, yet he never draws out the con-
sequences of this insight.
34  For details, see my discussion in Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 36–48. It is important to remem-
ber that we cannot use these polemical passages to reconstruct the historical behaviour
of the leaders in Yehud. We learn only what the people responsible for the biblical texts
claim that the leaders did.
35  Zapff, Jesaja 56–66, 361.
36  Koole, Isaiah III, p. 49.
64 Tiemeyer

the target audience of verses 3–13a to be the entire nation. Paul fails to specify
who exactly belongs to this “nation,” however, beyond the claim that the pas-
sage “reflects the situation in Jerusalem after the return from the Babylonian
exiles.”37
From a different perspective, Ruszkowski treats Isa 57:3–13 as a secondary
extension of Isa 56:9–57:2. He states that the addressees of verses 3–13 are “eine
Gruppe mit illegaler Abstammung.”38 These people have nothing to do with
those criticized in Isaiah 58.39 They are also distinct from the leaders in Isa 56:9–
12. The interpretation that 57:3–13 targets the leadership is thus not inherent to
the original textual unit; it is only suggested by its position in the final form of
the book of Isaiah. In conclusion, Ruszkowski suggests that the m.pl. address
(57:3) targets the leaders, while the f.sg. address (57:4–13a) targets Jerusalem.40
Ruszkowski’s observations carry weight, yet there are good reasons to follow
the reading of the final form. According to Ruszkowski’s own argumentation,
57:3–13 was purpose-written for its present place in Isaiah 56–66, composed to
correspond with 65:1–12.41 If that is correct, it is reasonable to assume that the
later author responsible for 57:3–13 would have intended it to form the con-
tinuation of the preceding pericope and, as such, to implicate the leaders.
In sum, I see no good reasons to differentiate between the addressees of
56:9–12 and 57:3–13a. There is no inherent contradiction between the two pas-
sages. Rather, they complement one another. While 56:9–12 focuses on the
leaders’ failure to care for their people, 57:3–13a is centred on their failure to
worship YHWH exclusively in an acceptable manner.
Isaiah 57:13b speaks to the prophet’s own followers. They are promised that
a person who seeks refuge in YHWH will possess the land and will inherit the
Holy Mountain. This half-verse suggests that the underlying conflict in Isa
56:9–59:21 was about land and about the temple. This insight can cut both
ways when we seek to identify the two conflicting groups. On the one hand, we
can argue that the prophet’s followers were the returning exiles who wished
to claim back their ancestral land from the people who, since 586 BCE, had
appropriated their land. These followers are further promised that they will
be in charge of the temple.42 On the other hand, we may equally well assume
that the prophet’s followers were the people who had remained in Judah. They
now feared for their holdings and for their ways of worshipping YHWH, as the

37  Paul, Isaiah 40–66, 461 (quote), 463.

38  Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 98.
39  Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 99.
40  Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 100.
41  Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 99–100.
42  It appears as if Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 162, 166, leans towards this interpretation.
Hope and Disappointment 65

returning exiles began to claim back their ancestral land and to take up leader-
ship positions in the restored temple.

3.3 Isaiah 58:1–14

The target audience of Isaiah 58:1–14 is difficult to discern. The opening phrase
in 58:1 encourages the immediate addressee43 to reveal to “my people” their sin
and to “the house of Jacob” their crimes (‫)והגד לעמי פשעם ולבית יעקב חטאתם‬.
There is no reason to differentiate between these two appellations. Rather they
probably denote the same group of people.44 Verse 1 thus speaks of the people
in general. This has caused many scholars to identify the target audience of
Isaiah 58 with the community as a whole, without much discussion.45
There are, however, three factors which imply that the rest of the chapter
singles out the upper classes and the religious leaders as its chief target.

1. Verses 2–3a speak of daily devotion and fasting. Verse 2 addresses a group
of people who are described as seeking the Lord daily (‫ואותי יום יום ידר־‬
‫)שון‬, desiring to know his ways (‫)ודעת דרכי יחפצון‬, asking about laws of
righteousness (‫)ישאלוני משפטי צדק‬, and wanting to draw near to God
(‫)קרבת אלהים יחפצון‬. This type of portrayal fits best persons whose profes-
sion involves daily cultic interaction with God. Unless these descriptions
are merely poetic expressions of pious devotions, we must conclude that
the prophet is speaking of people who have a religious profession.
2. The vocabulary of verse 2 which describes the addressees’ actions, in par-
ticular the expression '‫ דרש ה‬and the root ‫קרב‬, is suggestive of a priestly
identification of the target audience.46
3. Verse 3b implies that the addressees constitute people of power, as it
refers to their business and their task of overseeing labourers.47

43  The immediate m.sg. addressee is probably the prophet. See further Paul, Isaiah 40–66,
482. In contrast to the sleeping watchmen in Isa 56:9–12 who are mute, a true prophet
should make his voice heard (cf. Zapff, Jesaja 56–66, 368).
44  Cf. Koole, Isaiah III, p. 123; Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 45.
45  See, e.g., Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 133–34; Paul, Isaiah 40–66, 480; and
Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 45.
46  Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 90–91. Cf. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 177, who notes that these
areas were traditionally the responsibility of the priests. See also Hanson, Dawn, 109. In
contrast, Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 45–46, acknowledges that this may be so, yet
concludes that these tasks can also be held by lay people.
47  See further Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 139–42. Ruszkowski, Volk und Gemeinde, 46–47, con-
curs, yet also argues, through a comparison with Zech 7:3–4 which addresses “the people
and the priests,” that the elite here represent the nation as a whole.
66 Tiemeyer

These three factors together suggest that the message in Isa 58:2–3 was aimed
especially at the leaders of the community.
The subsequent 58:4–14 corroborates this impression. The polemic in verses
4–14 addresses an assortment of felonies. Two aspects stand out, however,
namely the mistreatment of those economically less fortunately in the com-
munity and the neglect of the worship of YHWH. These two aspects imply that
the author’s key targets were people in leadership positions. The focus on the
failure in the ritual field in verse 13 likewise suggests that the religious leader-
ship constituted an important target group.48 This verse criticizes those who
disregard the Sabbath and instead choose to carry out their own interests on
this day.
Verse 14 speaks of the heritage of Jacob (‫)והאכלתיך נחלת יעקב אביך‬. If the
addressees in verses 1–13 fulfil their obligations, then they will receive their
heritage. This concern is parallel to the term ‫ ירש‬in Isa 57:13 (above), yet it is
uncertain as to whether verse 14 addresses the same conflict over land. Notably,
the people who will receive the heritage here are those who are criticized. They
are given a chance to reform. If they do, they will receive their heritage.

3.4 Isaiah 59:1–8

The material in Isa 59:1–8 contains few hints at the identity of “The Others.”
Just as in Isa 57:3–13, the accusations against the target audience concern cul-
tic offences and social injustice. Further, as in the case of Isaiah 58, several
aspects suggest that the addressees belonged to the upper levels of society. For
instance, verse 4 alludes to a court situation, where people accuse each other
falsely and pronounce false verdicts (v. 4a, ‫)אין קרא בצדק ואין נשפט באמונה‬. It
is, however, impossible to draw any firm conclusion about the exact identity of
the target audience on the basis of this text alone.

3.5 Isaiah 65:1–7, 11–12

The identity of the target audience in Isa 65:1–25 is not explicitly stated, yet
the wording of verse 5 (‫ )קרב אליך אל תגש בי כי קדשתיך‬suggests that the priest-

48  I understand v. 13 to be an integral part of the pericope in Isa 58. See further the discus-
sion in Koole, Isaiah III, 118–19, 156. Koole points out that the focus on the Sabbath in
v. 13 corresponds to the focus on the fast day in v. 3. Further, the question in v. 2 does not
receive its answer until vv. 13–14. For a complementary perspective, see Paul, Isaiah 40–66,
493, who on the one hand connects the day of fasting in v. 3 with the Day of Atonement
and, on the other hand, points out that both days are called ‫ שבת שבתון‬in Exod 31:15; 35:2;
Lev 16:31; 23:3. In this way, there is an integral connection between the beginning and the
end of Isa 58.
Hope and Disappointment 67

hood is a prime target. The word ‫קדשתיך‬, vocalized as a Qal form in the MT, is
best translated intransitively, and the attached object suffix can be understood
in a comparative sense, resulting in the translation “I am holier than you.”49
Moreover, the use of the three roots ‫נגש‬, ‫קרב‬, and ‫קדש‬, are, to cite Hanson,
“three of the cardinal technical terms in the priestly language.”50 Assuming
that the surrounding verses address the same group of people, we find that the
priests are accused of all kinds of unorthodox behaviour, ranging from sacri-
fices in gardens and incense-burning on bricks (v. 3), to ancestor worship, the
eating of pork (v. 4), and the worship of deities other than YHWH (v. 11).

3.6 Isaiah 66:3–6, 17

The material in Isa 66:3–6, 17 likewise targets the priesthood. This identification
of “The Others” with the clergy is based on the content of verse 3. Following
Rofé, the combination of orthodox and unorthodox cultic rites referred to in
this verse points to the priesthood and a temple setting.51 As I have shown in
detail elsewhere, the syntax of verse 3 is best understood as containing four
sets of subjects and predicates: “The one who does X (also) does Y.” The person
who performs the legitimate ritual act (X) is the same as the one who performs
the illegitimate acts (Y). Verse 3 thus describes a situation where the person
who slaughters an ox (also) kills a man, the one who sacrifices a lamb (also)
breaks a dog’s neck, the one who presents a cereal offering (also) offers swine’s
blood, and the one who makes a memorial offering of incense (also) worships
idols. As to the identity of these people, the priesthood is the natural choice, as
they would be the only ones who were able to perform the legitimate rituals.52

3.7 Conclusion
In view of these six passages, we can draw some tentative conclusions regard-
ing the identity of “The Other” in Isaiah 56–66.

1. Many passages target the leadership (56:9–12; 58:2–4; 65:5; 66:3).

2. Many passages speak of cultic and/or religious crimes against YHWH
(57:3–13; 58:13; 59:1–8; 65:1–7, 11–12; 66:3, 17).

49  For more details, see Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, “The Haughtiness of the Priesthood (Isa 65,5),”
Biblica 85/2 (2004): 237–44; idem, Priestly Rites, 97–99.
50  Hanson, Dawn, 147–50 (quote on pages 147–48).
51  Rofé, “Isaiah 66:1–4,” 205–217.
52  Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 164–177.
68 Tiemeyer

3. Many passages criticise the target audience of mistreatment of the poor

and/or the less fortunate in society or of neglect towards the community
(56:9–12; 58:3–14; 59:1–8).

These passages together paint a picture of the target audience as a group of

people with economic and cultic power over others, who neglect their duties
towards their community and towards YHWH. This suggests, contra Schramm
etc., that “The Others” in Isaiah 56–66 constitute the central political, eco-
nomic, and religious leadership in Yehud.

4 The Leadership in Yehud—Who Were They?

The conclusion above raises the pertinent question as to the identity of the
leadership in Yehud in the early Persian period. Did these criticized leaders
come from the indigenous Judahite community that had remained in post-
monarchic Judah after 586 BCE or from the returning exiles? The answer to
this question is not self-evident. Rather it depends on the historical credibility
of key passages in the Hebrew Bible (Ezra 1–6; Haggai; Zech 1–8).53 The biblical
texts are polemical documents and, as such, unlikely to present an unbiased
account of the early post-exilic period. Our answer also depends on our under-
standing of the socio-political position of the returnees.
The relevant biblical material states that the returnees quickly became the
leaders of the Jewish community in Yehud. Most scholars accept this claim.
Kessler, for example, who uses John Porter’s sociological model of the Charter
Group (“the first ethnic group to come into a previously unpopulated territory,
as the effective possessor”) as a heuristic vantage point from which to observe
the Golah returnees and their actions, concludes that the returnees functioned as
an elite group in the position of power.54 From a different perspective, Cataldo

53  Archaeological evidence does not shed much light upon the exact identity of the lead-
ership. For instance, the epighraphic evidence presented by Nahman Avigad, Bullae
and Seals from a Post-exilic Judean Archive (Qedem 4; Monographs of the Institute of
Archaeology; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1976), cannot help us to
determine whether the people bearing Hebrew names came from the exiles or belonged
to the indigenous Judahite community. For a recent discussion, see Lisbeth S. Fried, The
Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire (Biblical and
Judaic Studies 10; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 183–187.
54  John Kessler, “Persia’s Loyal Yahwists: Power Identity and Ethnicity in Achaemenid
Yehud,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred
Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 91–121.
Hope and Disappointment 69

assumes that the Golah group were the ruling classes in Yehud. For him, the
question is rather to what extent the governor and the High Priest were auto­
nomous rulers and to what extent they were appointed by the Persian authori-
ties and carried out the commands of the imperial government.55
I ultimately agree with the biblical claim of the high social status of the
returning exiles, yet a degree of caution may be in place as the historical reality
may have looked somewhat different. For instance, Southwood’s study of the
mixed marriage crisis in Ezra and Nehemiah highlights some of the difficulties
that may face returning ethnic groups in the ancestral homeland.56

4.1 The Evidence from Haggai and Zechariah 1–8

Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 depict Zerubbabel and Joshua as arriving from
Babylon during the reign of Darius I (Hag 1:1ff., cf. Ezra 3:2, 8).57 The vision
report and its accompanying oracles in Zech 1–6 maintain that the two men
held the top-level civic (4:6ab–10a) and religious (3; 6:9–15) positions of
power in Yehud. This material is fully supportive of the governor. In contrast,
a few indications suggest a more critical disposition towards the High Priest
(Zech 3).58
Outside of Zech 1–6, Zech 7:2–6 contains two references to priests. On the
one hand, Zech 7:2–3 treats priests and prophets as a source of authority regard-
ing fasting. On the other hand, Zech 7:4–6 criticizes the priesthood, along with
“people of the land” (‫אל כל עם הארץ ואל הכהנים‬, v. 5a), for having fasted for their
own rather than for God’s sake. Two text-historical considerations suggest that
Zech 7:2–6 is a composite text. First, while verses 2–3 treat fasting positively,

55  Jeremiah W. Cataldo, A Theocratic Yehud? Issues of Government in a Persian Province

(LHBOTS 498; London: T&T Clark, 2009), esp. 67–117.
56  Katherine E. Southwood, Ethnicity and the Mixed Marriage Crisis in Ezra 9–10: An
Anthropological Approach (OTM; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 41–56, 191–211.
57  There are no clear reasons to reject the claim that they came around 520 BCE. See further
Lester L. Grabbe, “ ‘They Shall come Rejoicing to Zion’—or Did They? The Settlement
of Yehud in The Early Persian Period,” in Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the
Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and
Lester L. Grabbe, with Deirdre Fulton (LSTS 73; London: T&T Clark, 2009), 116–37 (119,
125).
58  See further Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, “The Guilty Priesthood (Zech 3),” in The Book of
Zechariah and its Influence, ed. Christopher M. Tuckett (Aldershot, England: Ashgate,
2003), 1–19. More recently, see also Mark J. Boda, “Perspectives on Priests in Haggai-
Malachi,” in Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Essays in
Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday, ed. Jeremy Penner, Ken M.
Penner, and Cecilia Wassen (STDJ 98; Leiden: Brill, 2011), 13–33.
70 Tiemeyer

verses 4–6 convey a more critical attitude. Second, the priests (and the proph-
ets) in verses 2–3 are connected to “the house of YHWH,” while the priests in
verses 4–6 appear to have a broader geographical setting.59
The identity and origin of these leaders are unclear. In the case of the priests
and the prophets in 7:2–3, much depends on our understanding of the syn-
tactical position of the expression ‫ בית אל‬in verse 2a, a well-known exegetical
conundrum:

1. Is it part of the name of one of the characters involved in the narrative

(Bethel-sarezer);60
2. is it the place of origin of the delegation (Bethel);61
3. or is it the destination to which the characters are being sent (Bethel /
“the house of GOD”)?62

If we follow the first or the second reading, a delegation has set out to consult
the priests and the prophets in '‫( בית ה‬v. 3) which probably denotes the cen-
tral sanctuary in Jerusalem. The leaders are then likely to be part of the newly
arrived elite from Babylon. If, however, we follow the third reading, then the
opposite view prevails, namely that there was a sanctuary ('‫ )בית ה‬in Bethel
(‫ )בית אל‬which functioned as a place of worship in the interim between the
destruction of the old temple and the rebuilding of the new, and that the clergy
officiating there were among the people who had remained in Judah after the
fall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE.
The second reading is supported by Hebrew syntax, according to which the
subject of a sentence tends to precede the predicate. This reading further fits

59  See further Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 34–35, including cited bibliography. For recent discus-
sions of the gradual textual growth of Zech 7–8, see Mark J. Boda, “From Fasts to Feasts:
The Literary Function of Zechariah 7–8,” CBQ 65 (2003): 390–407 (here 394–402); and
Martin Hallaschka, Haggai und Sacharja 1–8: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung
(BZAW 411; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 288–89. Both scholars, writing from different per-
spectives, note that the question in Zech 7:2–3 receives two responses. They maintain that
Zech 8:18–19 is the original response, while the one in Zech 7:4–6 is secondary. Differently,
Jakob Wöhrle, Die frühen Sammlungen des Zwölfprophetenbuches (BZAW 360; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2006), 348–49, 355, argues that all three sections Zech 7:2–3, 4–6; and 8:18–19
belonged together. According to Wöhrle, there are no clear indications that one section is
later than the other.
60  Cf. the JPS translation.
61  Cf. the NIV translation.
62  Cf. the reading of the LXX (εἰς Βαιθηλ).
Hope and Disappointment 71

the custom of allowing a city to represent its inhabitants.63 I therefore main-

tain that the term ‫( בית אל‬v. 2) refers to the origin of the delegation (Bethel)
while the term '‫( בית ה‬v. 3) denotes its destination (the Jerusalem temple). As
a result, the leaders referred to in Zech 7:2–3 are likely to be of exilic origin.
The origin and setting of the priests in verses 4–6 are even less clear. The
expression ‫ (כל) עם הארץ‬is a code-word for the indigenous population of Judah
in the later material in Ezra-Nehemiah (e.g. Ezra 4:4; 9:1, 2, 11; 10:11). There is,
however, no explicit reason to import this derogative meaning into the earlier
Zech 7.64 It is therefore safer to say that the priests that are being criticized
for their misguided fasting in Zech 7:4–6 may stem from either the Judahite
or the exilic community or possibly even from both.
The critique of the priests in Zech 7:4–6 is reminiscent of the critique of the
(religious) leadership in Isa 58:4. Both texts express the idea that fasting must
be done together with proper attention on YHWH. Moreover, the wider con-
texts of both texts focus on social issues, and imply that fasting whilst mis-
treating those people dependent on you, is displeasing to YHWH (Isa 58:6–7,
10 / Zech 7:9–10).65 It cannot be excluded that the two texts address the same
group of people, namely the exilic leadership.
Finally, the passage in Hag 2:10–14 reveals a critical estimation of the
priesthood.66 There is, however, no way of determining the origin of the men-
tioned priests, beyond what is suggested by the general Jerusalem-setting
underlying the entire book of Haggai (as implied by its focus on the rebuilding
of the temple).
To conclude, the priests and the other kinds of leaders in Haggai and
Zechariah appear to be based in Jerusalem. While some of these leaders may
have been of indigenous Judahite origin, it is reasonable to assume that the
majority were returnees from the Babylonian exile.

4.2 The (Lack of ) Evidence from Ezra and Nehemiah

The significantly later texts in Ezra and Nehemiah shed surprisingly little
light upon the identity of the leaders in fifth century Yehud, despite ample
references to leaders of various kinds. They name Ezra and Nehemiah, both
of exilic origin, as the key leaders of the Jewish community in Yehud. Other
passages refer to leaders of non-exilic origin (Ezra 4:1–5; Neh 4). The character

63  Jill Middlemas, “Going beyond the Myth of the Empty Land: A Reassessment of the Early
Persian Period,” in Exile and Restoration Revisited, 174–94 (esp. 183–84).
64  See further the discussion in Middlemas, “Going beyond the Myth,” 178–83.
65  Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 96–97.
66  Cf. Tiemeyer, Priestly Rites, 220–39.
72 Tiemeyer

of Nehemiah criticizes nearly all leaders other than himself: present leaders
(Neh 5:7), the priests (Neh 5:12), and the previous governors (Neh 5:15). Neh 6
further speaks of prophets active in Jerusalem (Neh 6:7) and mentions Tobiah,
Sanballat, and Noadiah (Neh 6:12–14), but it is impossible to establish with any
degree of certainty the ethnic identity of these persons. In addition, Neh 5:17
speaks of 150 Jews and officials eating at Nehemiah’s table (Neh 5:17), i.e. peo-
ple who were likely to be part of Nehemiah’s government. These men are likely
to have been imperial appointees of the Achaemenid king, Jews and non-Jews
alike.67

4.3 Summary
To sum up, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, as well Ezra and Nehemiah, depict a
situation in which men of exilic origin are the leaders of the Jewish community
in Yehud. Although it is unclear to what extent these depictions correspond
with historical reality, it is difficult to escape the impression that the leader-
ship in Yehud in the early post-exilic period consisted primarily of people who
had arrived from Babylon. It is possible that some of the people in leadership
positions, especially some of the clergy, were from among the people who had
remained in the land, yet it is unreasonable to assume that they formed the
majority. With this in mind, we can conclude that the critique of the leadership
in Isaiah 56–66 chiefly targeted people who had returned from Babylon rather
than people belonging to the indigenous Judahite community.

5 What the Critique of the Exilic Leadership Can Tell Us about the
Geographical Origin of the Texts in Isaiah 40–66

The realization that antagonists in Isaiah 56–66 primarily constitute people

from the exile demands that we reconsider the relationship between chapters
40–55 and 56–66. Although thematic development occurs throughout these
26 chapters, there is an overarching sense of continuity throughout the chap-
ters. This, in turn, makes it unlikely that the authors of the earlier textual strata
held opinions that differed fundamentally from those of the authors of the
later strata. Phrased differently, given the fact that the material, in its final
form, constitutes one book, the people who authored its various parts are likely
to have belonged to a shared tradition and to have held compatible theologies.
If, on the one hand, Isaiah 40–55 is the product of the exilic community, it
is possible to identify “The Others” in Isaiah 56–59; 65–66 with the indigenous

67  See further Fried, The Priest and the Great King, 188–90.
Hope and Disappointment 73

Judahite community and to assume a conflict between the two, along the lines
of the (later) conflict attested in Ezra 1–6. The main problem with this view,
however, is that “The Others” in Isaiah 56–59; 65–66 constitute the leaders.
Unless we assume that the indigenous Judahite population held the key reli-
gious, economic, and cultic positions in early Persian period Yehud, a view
which we rejected above as unlikely, this theory becomes untenable. If, on the
other hand, chapters 40–55 are the product of the Judahite community, then it
makes sense to identify “The Others” in chapters 56–59; 65–66 with the newly
returned exilic leadership. The authors of Isaiah 40–55 anticipated the return
of the exiles with joy. The later authors of Isaiah 56–59; 65–66 expressed their
disappointment with those same exiles with bitterness and grief.
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah
Bob Becking*

1 Divine Incomparability Assumes Monolatry

The doxology at the end of the Book of Micah1 contains a praise of the incom-
parability2 of YHWH:

Who is a God like Thee, who pardons iniquity

And passes over the rebellious act of the remnant of His possession?
He does not retain His anger forever,
Because He delights in unchanging love.3

A few remarks need to be made. The doxology at the end of the book was most
probably added by the final redactor of the Book of Micah. This view is, of
course, in need of an argument. It is, however, not the aim of this contribution
to sketch the redactional and compositional history of the Book of Micah or
to discuss the question whether or not the redactional process concurred with

* It is with great pleasure that I dedicate this essay to Hans Barstad. Out of our first discussion
over a pizza in Louvain 1989 grew friendship and an exchange of ideas. Hans’s communi-
cations—both written and oral—have always urged me to rethink my position(s) and to
improve the methodological fabric of my argument.
1  Mic 7:18–20.
2  On this concept see C.J. Labuschagne, The Incomparability of Yahweh in the Old Testament
(Pretoria Oriental Series, 5; Leiden: Brill, 1966); M.Z. Brettler, The Metaphorical Mapping
of God in the Hebrew Bible (Duisburg: Linguistic Agency, University of Duisburg, 1997);
D.T. Olson, “God for Us, God against Us: Singing the Pentateuch’s Songs of Praise in Exodus 15
and Deuteronomy 32,” Theology Today 70 (2013): 54–61.
3  Mic 7:18, NAS; see, e.g., A.S. van der Woude, Micha (POT; Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1976), 263–
67; H.W. Wolff, Dodekapropheton 4 Micha (BKAT XIV/4; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener
Verlag, 1982), 204–08; D.R. Hillers, Micah: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Micah
(Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press), 1984, 87–91; W. Brueggemann, Theology of the Old
Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 141–42; K.C. Peacock,
“Who is a God like you? Theological themes in Micah,” Southwestern Journal of Theology 46
(2003): 27–47; M. Roth, Israel und die Völker im Zwölfprophetenbuch: Eine Untersuchung zu
den Büchern Joel, Jona, Micha und Nahum (FRLANT 210; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
2005), 182–205; J. Jeremias, Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha (ATD 24/3; Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 222–225.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_008

Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 75

the emergence of the “Book of the Twelve.”4 Suffice it to make two observa-
tions. (1) Micah 7:18 contains a pun of the name of the prophet—as has often
been remarked. The words mî ʾēl kāmôkā, “who is a god like you,” resemble the
name of the prophet: mîkā, which as such is a shortening of a theophoric name
mîkāʾēl / mîkāyā, “who is like God/ YHWH.”5 (2) Micah 7:18–20 contains a vari-
ety of theological evaluations of Israel’s history with God that are expressed in
a register of language different from the rest of the Book of Micah.
In this doxology, the incomparability of YHWH is not only testified to, but
the statement is argued with reference to his character: YHWH is a God of
exemplary forgiveness.6 This attribute makes him different from other deities.
It should be noted that proclaiming YHWH’S incomparability assumes (1) the
acceptance of the existence of other deities and (2) a denunciation of these
deities and their veneration.7
Almost fifty years ago—that is before the discussions on the Jahweh-allein
Bewegung8 and before the discovery of the inscriptions referring to “Yahweh
and his Asherah”—Labuschagne made an important remark: “The fact that
Israel did as a matter of fact compare its God with other gods confirms that they
took the existence of other gods seriously.”9 This observation brings him to the
conclusion that the religion of ancient Israel cannot be construed as express-
ing intolerant or absolute monotheism.10 This view is now—after the great dis-
cussion on monotheism in the 1990s—almost universally accepted. In my view
the incomparability of YHWH implies a form of monolatry: It was only YHWH

4  See, e.g., J.D. Nogalski, Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 217; Berlin:
de Gruyter, 1993), 123–70; T. Collins, The Mantle of Elijah: The Redaction Criticism of
the Prophetic Books (Biblical Seminar 20; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993);
P.L. Redditt and A. Schart (eds), Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve (BZAW
325; Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2003); J. Wöhrle, Die frühen Sammlungen des
Zwölfprophetenbuches: Entstehung und Komposition (BZAW 360; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006);
J. Wöhrle, Der Abschluss des Zwölfprophetenbuches: Buchübergreifende Redaktionsprozesse
in den späten Sammlungen (BZAW 389; Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 2008); R. Albertz,
J.D. Nogalski, and J. Wöhrle (eds), Perspectives on the Formation of the Book of the Twelve:
Methodological Foundations-Redactional Processes-Historical Insights (BZAW 433; Berlin:
Walter de Gruyter, 2012).
5  See R. Albertz, R. Schmitt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant
(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2012), 575.
6  See Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament, 117–313.
7  See Labuschagne, Incomparability; R. Kessler, Micha (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 1999), 309.
8  As labelled by B. Lang, Der einzige Gott: Die Geburt des biblischen Monotheismus (München:
Kosel Verlag, 1981).
9  Labuschagne, Incomparability, 144.
10  Labuschagne, Incomparability, 142–49.
76 Becking

who should be venerated by the Israelites, the main “argument” for which was
his loving kindness and trustworthy guidance of the people. The question is,
however, what kind of monolatry is involved. Does the doxology at the end of
the Book of Micah imply the veneration of a variety of divine beings in Ancient
Israel? Or is something like Mono-Yahwism at stake?11 This would imply that
the doxology is promoting a specific form of Yahwism detrimental to other
forms of Yahwism.

2 Other Gods

Different from the Book of Amos,12 no other divine beings are mentioned by
name in the Book of Micah. The only instance where other gods are referred to
is Micah 4:5. The vision concerning what will happen in days to come is con-
cluded in Micah as follows:

Although all people walk

each in the name of his god,
as for us, we have to walk
in the name of YHWH, our God forever and ever.13

As is well known, there are striking similarities between the text in Mic 4:1–4
and Isaiah 2:2–5. The scholarly discussion on this point has not yet reached a
consensus.14 I construe Mic 4:1–4 to be part of the original layer of the Book of

11  On the concept of Mono-Yahwism see Lang, Der einzige Gott, and recently, J.M. Hutton,
“Local Manifestations of Yahweh and Worship in the Interstices: A Note on Kuntillet
Ajrud,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 10 (2010): 177–210.
12  See H.M. Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos: Studies in the Preaching of Am 2, 7B–8; 4,
1–13; 5, 1–27; 6, 4–7; 8, 14 (VTSup 34; Leiden: Brill, 1984).
13  Mic 4:5; pace Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos, 186; I do not think that this verse
stands isolated in its context, since the lines draw a conclusion with regard of the moral
conduct of Judah; see also the poetic arguments in F.I. Andersen and D.N. Freedman,
Micah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 24E; New York:
Doubleday, 2000), 425–27; Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament, 171; U. Bail,
“Die verzogene Sehnsucht hinkt an ihren Ort”: Literarische Überlebensstrategien nach der
Zerstörung Jerusalems im Alten Testament (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2004),
117–22; and Jeremias, Die Propheten, 168–77.
14  The four possibilities are: 1. Micah is original and was borrowed by Isaiah; 2. Isaiah is
original and was borrowed by Micah (or the editors of this book); 3. both have adopted an
already existing hymn from the Jerusalem cult-tradition; 4. the text is a late interpolation
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 77

Micah. The text expresses a future that will come after the period of doom that
is described in various sections of Micah 2–5.15 The conclusion in verse 5 needs
to be read in the context of the reversal imaginary of Mic 4:1–4. In light of the
forthcoming reversal of the world-order, Israel is summoned to take YHWH as
their moral compass during the interim period of decline, desperation, and
destruction that is seen by Micah for the imminent future.
The summons expresses an aspect of common ancient Near Eastern the-
ology. According to a wider understanding, the god(s) each had their own
territory.16 This common precursor of the idea cuius regio, eius religio is, how-
ever, given a specific twist in the context of Micah 4. The forthcoming doom
might have yielded the idea of the powerlessness or incapacity of YHWH.
Despite the disaster, Israel is summoned to remain faithful in the expectation
of a reversal of fate.
The “gods of the nations” are unnamed here. This implies that no specific
deities are mentioned. Yet, the mention underscores the fact that Micah took
their existence seriously.17

3 Customs, Acts, and Morality

Religion, however, is more than only knowing the name of the divine being.
Any religion is a system that contains a set of beliefs, cultural values, a world-
view, moral values that expresses itself in a variety of rituals quite often based
on shared mythology.18 I will not enter here in a broad discussion on various
types of definition of the concept of “religion,” but apply some sort of functional
idea of the concept to the texts in the Book of Micah by putting the question:

in both books. These are all defended in the various commentaries and studies on Micah,
with a majority preference for the final one.
15  See also B. Becking, “Expectations about the End of Time in the Hebrew Bible: Do they
exist?” in Apocalypticism in History and Tradition, ed. C. Rowland and J. Barton (JSP Sup 43;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 44–59.
16  See, e.g., D.I. Block, The Gods of the Nations: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Theology
(ETS; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic Press), 2000.
17  See also Kessler, Micha, 187–88, 309.
18  See, e.g., C. Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System,” in Anthropological Approaches
to the Study of Religion, ed. M. Banton (Association of Social Anthropologists of the
Commonwealth Monography 3; London: Tavistock Publications, 1966), 1–46; B. Hargrove,
The Sociology of Religion: Classical and Contemporary Approaches (Arlington Heights, IL:
Harlan Davidson, 1979); F. Bowie, The Anthropology of Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000).
78 Becking

Does the Book of Micah contain traces of a dispute about the function of
Yahwism in Ancient Israel?
Before answering that question in detail, I would like to have a look at the
Book of Micah in general. Micah is both well-known and complex. Reading
through the Hebrew text reveals beautiful poetry full of imaginative and
impressive metaphors. Most readers are familiar with the portrayal of end-
time peace in Micah 4 just referred to, above. The slightly incorrect quotation
of Mic 5:1 by Matt 2:6, in the Nativity Account, has focused attention on this
so-called “Messianic” prophecy. Mic 6:8 is often seen as foundational for moral
piety.19 Questions about the unity, coherence, and the composition of the Book
of Micah, however, bring to light various fissures in the beauty. How may we
reconcile the harsh words of punishment and doom with the sweet language
of salvation? How may we explain the difference in tone between Micah 5 and
6–7? These questions have led to an on-going scholarly debate on the emer-
gence and composition of the Book of Micah. This debate has not yet reached
a consensus.20 I therefore feel free to offer my personal view that the book
consists of the following three parts:

*Micah 1 An original, but distorted prophecy

*Micah 2–5 A prophetic futurology based on a variety of reworked sayings
from the Micah tradition
*Micah 6–7 A Josianic treatise based on pseudepigraphy

19  See Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos, 113–114; W. Werner, “Micha 6,8: eine alttes-
tamentliche Kurzformel des Glaubens? Zum theologischen Verständnis von Mi 6,8,”
Biblische Zeitschrift NF 32 (1988): 232–48; Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament,
460, 640; M.D. Carroll, “ ‘He has told you what is good’: Moral Formation in Micah,” in
Character Ethics and the Old Testament: Moral Dimensions of Scripture, ed. M.D. Carroll
and J.E. Lapsley (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 103–18; D.L. Dreisbach, “Micah
6:8 in the Literature of the American Founding Era: A Note on Religion and Rhetoric,”
Rhetoric and Public Affairs 12 (2009): 91–105; W. Brueggemann, “Walk Humbly with your
God: Micah 6:8,” Journal for Preachers 33 (2010): 14–19; E.I. Mostovicz and N.K. Kakabadse,
“He has told you, O man, what is good!” Journal of Management Development 31 (2012):
948–961.
20  See, e.g., K. Jeppesen, “New Aspects of Micah Research,” JSOT 8 (1978): 3–32; K. Jeppesen,
“How the Book of Micah lost its Integrity: Outline of the History of the Criticism of the
Book of Micah with Emphasis on the 19th Century*,” Studia Theologica 33 (1979): 101–31;
Hillers, Micah, 1–9; Kessler, Micha, 35–70; Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 3–29; M.R.
Jacobs, “Bridging the Times: Trends in Micah Studies since 1985,” Currents in Biblical
Research 4 (2006): 293–329; B.K. Waltke, A Commentary on Micah (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2007), 1–16.
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 79

3.1 Transgressing the Moral Code (Micah 1)

The first chapter of the Book of Micah—in its Masoretic version—seems to
be in disorder. Several proposals have been made to reconstruct a more origi-
nal or fluid text form. Although I would not like to multiply wild textual con-
jectures, the present text of the MT needs some amendation in order to be
understood. The text itself starts from a description of a theophany, thence
moving to a prophecy of doom containing threatening puns on place names. I
read this chapter as a prophetic reflection on the sack of Samaria that hints at
the inhabitants of Judah and Jerusalem, especially those who believe that the
divine election has made them invulnerable to inimical threat.
In this chapter, a few polemic remarks on the religion can be found. In the
beginning of the chapter it is written:

All this is for the rebellion of Jacob

And for the sins of the house of Israel.
What is the rebellion of Jacob?
Is it not Samaria?
What is the high place of Judah?
Is it not Jerusalem?21

This verse assesses the moral and religious conduct of both the Northern
and the Southern Kingdom as a trespassing of the moral code. Words from
the semantic field of “sin” are applied: peša‘ and ḥāṭā’. The depreciating label
bāmāh, “high place,” for the temple in Jerusalem indicates that the worship in
this house of God was seen as illicit. Verse 5 is rather implicit on the character
of this misconduct. The terminology is largely general. In verse 7, however, the
author is more explicit by referring to the “idols.” This depreciating noun is
polemical, since it assesses the veneration of divine—seen by the venerators
as a worthy way of worship—as illicit.

3.2 Bad Conduct, Bad Prophecy, and Bad Idols (Micah 2–5)
The second part of the Book of Micah, chapters 2–5, is well known for its con-
ceptual and compositional problems. In these chapters the interplay between
prophecies of doom and prophecies of salvation can be found, as will be
explained with the help of an example taken from the transition from Micah 3
to 4. Mic. 3:12 contains a fierce prophecy of doom:

21  Mic 1:5 NAS; Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos, 184, correctly notes that this oracle
is not directed towards Samaria; pace V. Fritz, “Das Wort gegen Samaria Mi 1 2–7,” ZAW 86
(1974): 316–31.
80 Becking

Zion will be ploughed like a field,

Jerusalem will become a pile of ruins.

Mic 4:1–4 is a vision full of hope with tones of peace and welfare. Mic 3:12 can
be seen as a portrayal of the end of time, foreshadowing doom and anxiety.
Here the exile equals the eschaton, while Mic 4:1–4 is written in the language of
the consoling perspective of a salvific eschaton. What has happened between
the two chapters? How can both utterances be seen as part of the same text?
Here we meet the enigmatic alternation of the themes of “hope” and “doom”
in Micah. This interchange has been interpreted in different ways. The tradi-
tion of classical, nineteenth-century exegesis constructed a literary-critical or
redaction-historical solution, as it did for various other places in the prophets
where the same problem occurs. Micah was seen as an eighth century prophet
of doom; during or after the Babylonian exile the traditions relating to this
prophet were augmented with optimistic phrases borrowed from the school of
Deutero-Isaiah. Other scholars read Micah, or at least Micah 2–5, as a coherent
text.22 Van der Woude, for example, has elaborated an ingenious theory.23 In
his opinion, chaps. 2–5 of the present Book of Micah contain the text of a dia-
logue between the pessimistic prophet and some optimistic pseudo-prophets.
The views mentioned have strong and weak points, but they are not convincing
since they too easily deconstruct Micah to a pure prophet of doom. So, I prefer
a view taking into account the position of Hillers,24 who characterizes Micah
as “millenarian,” or a prophet of a New Age. In Hillers’ view, Micah foresees the
coming of times of trouble before the onset of a golden Messianic age.25

22  E.g., D.G. Hagstrom, The Coherence of the Book of Micah: A Literary Analysis (SBLDS 89;
Atlanta GA: Scholars Press, 1988); H. Utzschneider, Michas Reise in die Zeit: Studien zum
Drama als Genre der prophetischen Literatur des Alten Testaments (SBS 180; Stuttgart:
Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1999), 152–64; C.J. Dempsey, “Micah 2–3: Literary Artistry, Ethical
Message, and some Considerations About the Image of Yahweh and Micah,” JSOT 85
(1999): 117–28; J.R. Wood, “Speech and Action in Micah’s Prophecy,” CBQ 62 (2000): 645–62;
Andersen and Freedman, Micah; E. Runions, Changing Subjects: Gender, Nation and Future
in Micah (Playing the Texts 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 133–65; Bail, “Die
verzogene Sehnsucht hinkt an ihren Ort,” 75–142; Waltke, Commentary on Micah 143–342;
M. Richelle, “Un triptyque au coeur du livre de Michée (Mi 4–5),” VT 62 (2012): 232–47;
W. Wessels, “YHWH, the God of new Beginnings: Micah’s testimony,” HTS Teologiese Studies
/ Theological Studies 69 (2013), 8 pages.
23  Van der Woude, “Micah in Dispute,” 244–60; Van der Woude, Micha, esp. 61–192.
24  Hillers, Micah, 4–8.
25  Hillers, Micah, 6.
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 81

I prefer a different approach, and propose the following: The prophet Micah
had to bring a message of doom. This was necessary within the framework of
his time, for the people of Israel had undermined their relationship with God
by transgressing the religious and social code implied in that relationship. At
the same time, Micah knew about God’s love and divine salvation. Both doom
and salvation are brought together in a double-layered prophetic message. The
first level is the prophecy of immediate doom as punishment. Doom, however,
was not God’s final word. In a more distant future Israel would be created anew
within the dimensions of God’s salvation. In order to describe this second level,
Micah borrowed the imagery of his great predecessor Isaiah.
The dichotomy between “hope” and “doom” can best be solved by accepting
a pattern of prophetic futurology in the Book of Micah. In this pattern, which
might be called the “chastening pattern,” threats, conquest, downfall, exile,
etc., are interpreted as divine acts in history. These acts are not, however, the
end of time or history. Through the humiliation a new future will be possible.
This future can be reached by conversion, or by new deeds of the deity. This
pattern can be found both in Micah and Jeremiah, for instance in the Book of
Consolation.26 In this prophetic view, history is the display of an interchange
between “good times” and “bad times.” The texts imply the idea that there is
an alternation in time from periods of prosperity to times of trouble, and from
situations of sorrow to periods of peace. Fear and freedom follow each other in
a continuing interplay. While later apocalyptic literature understands history
in a schematic way, this concept of periodizing in its extreme form is not yet
present in the prophetic, proto-apocalyptic view. The active role of the divine
being is, however, already stressed. I would further add that a comparable
worldview is attested in Mesopotamian texts that are roughly contemporane-
ous with “Micah.” In the so-called Akkadian literary predictive texts the same
pattern of interchange between “good times” and “bad times” is detectable.27
The theme of reversal is not only present in the Akkadian literary predictive
texts, but also elsewhere in the ancient Near East.28
By viewing Micah 2–5 within this conceptual framework, a alternate reading
of the textual unit is evoked. To the author of the Book of Micah, the exile does
not equal the eschaton. The forthcoming exiling of the inhabitants of Judah

26  B. Becking, Between Fear and Freedom: Essays on the Interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31 (OTS
51; Leiden: Brill, 2004); see also texts such as Amos 6:12; Jer 2:32; 8:4; 18:14.
27  M. de Jong Ellis, “Observations on Mesopotamian Oracles and Prophetic Texts: Literary
and Historiographic Considerations,” JCS 41 (1989), 140–57; T. Longman, Fictional Akkadian
Autobiography: A Generic and Comparative Study (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1991).
28  SAA III 11: r. 9–10; The Admonitions of Ipuwer 8:1–5 (COS I, 96); the Cyrus-Cylinder.
82 Becking

and the ruination of the city of Jerusalem—both took place some 125 years
after the prophet Micah is generally assumed to have uttered his words—is
not the end of history and certainly is not seen as the end of the divine involve-
ment and support. This implies that a message can be read from the Book of
Micah that is consoling for the personae miserae of all places and in all times.29
In this prophetic futurology some elements of religious polemics occur,
mainly in the arguments justifying the forthcoming doom. I will discuss three
of them.
First, I will pay attention to Micah 2. Micah’s futurology is in conflict with the
general ideas of his time. In his day and age society was on the move. From
the archaeological evidence, in combination with the general knowledge on the
Ancient Near East, the following picture emerges. On the level of histoire con-
joncturelle a shift in the social organization in Ancient Israel is observable
during Iron Age II. This shift basically is economic. The organization of the pro-
duction of goods (e.g., food, clothing, tools) gradually changed from “domestic”
or “kinship-related” into a more tributary system. In other words, a situation
in which they “raised what they ate and ate what they raised” changed into a
production of surplus to satisfy the needs of a dominant ruling class that might
have been subordinate to international power. A “domestic” economy tends
to be egalitarian, since that is an appropriate way to survive and to endure.
Tributary societies are by implication non-egalitarian. A minority group domi-
nates the society and wants to continue and extend its control. The shift from
one form to the other was caused by the contact that Israel had with com-
petitive (e.g., Phoenicia and Syria) and dominant (Assyria) powers during Iron
Age II.
As a result of this change a dichotomy in ancient Israelite society emerged.
Some people profited from the economic prosperity, others however, suffered
from the harsh side-effects of a market-oriented economy. Many fell into pov-
erty. With his prophetic futurology Micah is reproaching this dichotomy. In the
midst of “modernity” he appeals to the traditional egalitarian social code. This
is immediately clear from the opening stanza in Micah 2:

Woe to those who scheme iniquity,

Who work out evil on their beds!
When morning comes, they do it,
For it is in the power of their hands.
They covet fields and then seize them,
And houses, and take them away.

29  Kessler, Micha, 53–70.

Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 83

They rob a man and his house,

A man and his inheritance.30

At first sight, this prophecy of woe does not contain elements of religious
polemic: some persons are simply accused of wrong moral conduct. They are
transgressing a part of the moral code that was originally based on an egalitar-
ian principle: each person or family was allowed to have its own plot of land,
the naḥalā. Lopsided growth leading to too great a difference was assumed to
be restored by an act of compensation.31 A distinction between “moral code”
and “religion” is characteristic of a modern, Western, disenchanted view of
reality. In our secular society we are accustomed, even required, to separate
the religious from the secular. However, there are strong indications that in the
mind of the ancient Israelites, these dimensions were intertwined.32 The Torah
underlines time and again that there is no such thing as simply legal issues—
matters of law are always bound up with the relationship with YHWH. In other
words, reproach of the moral conduct needs to be read as a form of religious
polemic. Micah did disagree with the moral conduct of those who prospered
while others became poor. To him, this conduct was not the correct expression
of Israelite religion.
My second example would be the way prophecy is understood in Micah 3.
Prophecy has been an important means of divination in ancient Israel.33 In my

30  Mic 2:1–2 (NAS); see, e.g., Van der Woude, Micha, 65–69; Hillers, Micah, 31–33; Kessler,
Micha, 111–19; E. Ben Zvi, “Wrongdoers, Wrongdoing and Righting Wrongs in Micah 2,”
Biblical Interpretation 7 (1999): 87–99; H.P. Nasuti, “The Once and Future Lament: Micah
2.1–5 and the Prophetic Persona,” in Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East
Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon, ed. J. Kaltner, L. Stulman (LHBOTS, 378; London,
New York: Continuum, 2004), 144–160; Jeremias, Die Propheten, 144–56.
31  See, e.g., Deut 15:1ff; Lev 25.
32  See, e.g., G. Stansell, Micah and Isaiah: A Form and Tradition Historical Comparison (SBL DS
85; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 101–32; E. Otto, Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments
(ThW 3.2; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994); V. Wagner, Profanität und Sakralisierung im Alten
Testament (BZAW 351; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005); B. Wells, “The Cultic Versus the
Forensic: Judahite and Mesopotamian Judicial Procedures in the First Millennium BCE,”
JAOS 128 (2008): 205–32; P.D. Miller, The Ten Commandments (Interpretation; Louisville:
Westminster John Knox, 2009), 1–9.
33  There is an abundance of literature on this topic; see, e.g., H.M. Barstad, “No Prophets?
Recent Developments in Biblical Prophetic Research and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,”
JSOT 18 (1993): 39–60; R.I. Thelle, Ask God: Divine Consultation in the Literature of the Hebrew
Bible (Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie 30; Frankfurt aM: Peter Lang Verlag,
2002); M. Nissinen, “What is Prophecy? An Ancient Near Eastern Perspective,” in Inspired
Speech, 17–37; J. Stökl, Prophecy in the Ancient Near East: A Philological and Sociological
84 Becking

view, religious specialists acted as consultants in and around the court advis-
ing indecisive or vacillating kings and magistrates.34 About them Micah speaks
the following words to the leaders of the nation:35

Thus says YHWH concerning the prophets

Who lead my people astray;
When they have something to bite with their teeth,
They cry, “Peace,”
But against him who puts nothing in their mouths,
They declare holy war.
Therefore it will be night for you—without vision,
And darkness for you—without divination.
The sun will go down on the prophets,
And the day will become dark over them.36

The identity of these “prophets” is uncertain given the broad semantic spectre
of the plural noun nebî’îm that as a container concept can refer to all sorts
of religious specialists. They are portrayed by Micah as persons deceiving the
people of Israel. Their main mistake—in his eyes—is their manipulation of
the divine revelation. In addition to that, their advice is dependent on what
people are willing to pay them. The more you pay the nicer their prophecy.
In times to come, however, these prophets will suffer from divine silence. The
theme of prophetic silence functions to underpin the very bitterness of Judah’s
fate. In days to come YHWH will leave his people, and the traditional channels
of communication—divination and prophecy—will be closed. In the com-
ing darkness YHWH will be out of reach; the people of Judah are left on their

Comparsion (CHANE 56; Leiden: Brill, 2012); K. van der Toorn, “Turning Tradition into
Eternal Truth: The Invention of Revelation,” Studia Theologica Nordic Journal of Theology
67 (2013): 3–27.
34  See D.C. Benjamin, “An Anthropology of Prophecy,” Biblical Theology Bulletin 21 (1991):
135–144.
35  See Mic 3:1 and 9: “heads (of the house) of Jacob and rulers of the house of Israel.”
36  Mic 3:5–6 (NAS); see, e.g., Van der Woude, Micha, 106–117; Hillers, Micah, 44–46; Hagstrom,
Coherence of the Book of Micah, 34–36; R.P. Carroll, “Night Without Vision: Micah and
the Prophets,” in The Scriptures and the Scrolls: Festschrift for A.S. van der Woude, ed.
F. García Martínez, A. Hilhorst, and C.J. Labuschagne (VTSup, 49; Leiden: Brill, 1992),
74–84; Kessler, Micha, 151–60; M. de Jong Ellis, Isaiah among the Ancient Near Eastern
Prophets: A Comparative Study of the Earliest Stages of the Isaiah Tradition and the Neo-
Assyrian Prophecies (VTSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 326.
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 85

own.37 The inability of a prophet to receive a vision on his personal behalf will
deprive him of his last hope.
In a polemical note, Micah puts himself in opposition to these prophets:

On the other hand

I am filled with power . . .38
And with justice and courage
To make known to Jacob his rebellious act,
Even to Israel his sin.39

Over against the expedience and the self-interest of the prophets, stands
Micah’s obedience to YHWH. The pride and prestige, the arrogance and con-
ceitedness of the other prophets are countered by Micah’s self-construction of
being divinely elected. It is of course Micah’s view and his depiction of himself
as an almost perfect prophet that we encounter in the section. The polemic,
however, is clear.40
Third, I will move to the penultimate section in Micah’s prophetic futurol-
ogy. Micah 5 is a prophecy of doom that is directed towards a complete dis-
mantling of the vital structures of Judah and Jerusalem.41

“In that day,” declares YHWH,

“I will destroy your horses from among you
and demolish your chariots.
I will destroy the cities of your land
and tear down all your strongholds.
I will destroy your sorceries
and you will have no more fortune-tellers.
I will destroy your idols
and your sacred stones from among you;

37  The theme is also present in a lengthy letter written by Urad-Gula to an Assyrian king, SAA
X 294: r. 30–33.
38  The words ’et rûaḫ yhwh, “which is the Spirit of YHWH,” are to be seen as an explanatory
gloss, see, e.g., Van der Woude, Micha, 116.
39  Mic 3:8 (NAS).
40  See, esp., Stansell, Micah and Isaiah, 67–99.
41  I delimit the unit to Mic 5:9–13, since I construe Mic 5:14—“But I will execute vengeance
in anger and wrath on the nations which have not obeyed”—as a unconnected uttering
on the distant future in which Judah’s fate will be restored by God’s vengeance on the
nations; see also the remarks by Kessler, Micha, 253.
86 Becking

you will no longer bow down

to the work of your hands.
I will uproot from among you your Asherah poles
when I demolish your cities.”42

The depiction of the power fabric is, however, not restricted to features of the
military. Jerusalem will be stripped off of its horses, chariots, and defensive
strongholds. The powers on which the city and its elite based their confidence,
will be disassembled. This act will eventually lead to the destruction of the city
by foreign military forces. Another pillar of trust, however, will also be invali-
dated. In times to come, the leading elite can no longer rely on the religious
elements of sorcery, idols, and the goddess Asherah. I will not discuss these
phenomena in full, but only make a set of remarks.
Sorcery, kesep, refers here to the practice of consulting the dead ancestors
in a situation of uncertainty. This divinatory form was widespread in ancient
Israel and in the ancient Near East.43 In the Deuteronomistic code, this form
of divination is strictly forbidden.44 This code, however, was written about a
century after Micah. Fortune-tellers, me‘onnîm, were also practicing divination
using the insights from astrology,45 also strictly forbidden by Deuteronomy.
“Idols” and “sacred stones” were almost omnipresent in Iron Age Judah and
Israel. They can be construed as part of the ancestor-religion, the images being
the representation of the deceased ancestor, who could be invoked for help

42  Mic 5:9–13 (NIV); with, e.g., J.T. Willis, “The Authenticity and Meaning of Micah 5:9–14,”
ZAW 81 (1969): 353–68; Hillers, Micah, 72–74; K. Jeppesen, “Micah v 13 in the Light of a
Recent Archaeological Discovery,” VT 34 (1984): 462–466; Kessler, Micha, 244–54.
43  See, e.g., Hillers, Micah, 73; A. Tsukimoto, Untersuchungen zur Totenpflege (kispum) im
alten Mesopotamien (AOAT 216; Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker/Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1985); B.B. Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor Cult and
Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns,
1994); H.E. Mendez, Condemnations of Necromancy in the Hebrew Bible: An Investigation of
Rationale (Diss. University of Georgia, 2009); Albertz and Schmitt, Family and Household
Religion, 429–72.
44  See, e.g., Deut 18:10, with 2 Kgs 9:22; and H.M. Barstad, “The Understanding of the Prophets
in Deuteronomy,” SJOT 8 (1994), 236–51.
45  See, e.g., E. Reiner, “Fortune-telling in Mesopotamia,” JNES 19 (1960): 23–35; N.R. Bowen,
“The Daughters of Your People: Female Prophets in Ezekiel 13:17–23,” JBL 118 (1999): 417–
433; S.M. Maul, Die Wahrsagekunst im Alten Orient: Zeichen des Himmels und der Erde
(München: Beck-Verlag 2013).
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 87

and advice by bowing down before the image.46 Deuteronomy also forbids this
form of divination.47
The goddess Asherah, often represented by a pole, was in the Iron Age the con-
sort of YHWH. Although some details of her veneration are still discussed— such
as the connection with the pillar-figurines48 and the overlap with the venera-
tion of goddesses such as Anat, Ishtar/Astarte, and the Queen of Heaven—
Asherah can be construed as a dea nutrix. She was a protecting dea nutrix that
could be evoked in times of danger and despair especially in the process of
giving birth.49 To the Deuteronomists the veneration of this goddess was seen
as an illicit form of Yahwism.50 This section in Micah 5 is obviously polemical.
As ancestor to the Jahweh-Allein Bewegung, the prophet rebukes the religious
trust of the Jerusalemite elite.

3.3 How to Appease an Angry God?

In the final chapters of the Book of Micah a different voice can be heard.
Van der Woude’s literary-critical division between 1–5 and 6–7 is still valid,51
but I do not share his conclusion that Deutero-Micah should be depicted as
a prophet from Northern Israel living before the fall of Samaria. I propose to
read the pseudepigraphic text of Micah 6–7 against a different historical back-
ground, namely that of the time of King Josiah. The text joins in the chorus of

46  There exists an abundance of literature on this topic. I confine myself to a few references:
T.N.D. Mettinger, No Graven Image? Israelite Aniconism in its Ancient Near Eastern Context
(ConBOT 42; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1995); F. Stavrakopoulou, Land of Our
Fathers: The Roles of Ancestor Veneration in Biblical Land Claims (LHBOTS 473; New York/
London: T & T Clark, 2010); Albertz and Schmitt, Family and Household Religion, 74–171.
47  See, e.g., Deut 4:16, 23, 25, with Deut 27:15, 2 Kgs 21:7.
48  See, e.g., I. Cornelius, “The Religious Iconography of Israel and Judah ca. 1200–587 BCE,”
Religion Compass 2 (2008): 96–118.
49  See, in addition to the literature from the twentieth century CE, e.g., W.G. Dever, Did God
Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids, Cambridge,
UK: Eerdmans, 2005); G. Gilmour, “An Iron Age II Pictorial Inscription from Jerusalem
Illustrating Yahweh and Asherah,” PEQ 141 (2009): 87–103; M.S. Smith, “The Blessing God
and Goddess: A Longitudinal View from Ugarit to Yahweh and . . . his Asherah at Kuntillet
‘Ajrud’,” Coniectanea Biblica 58 (2011): 213–226; Albertz and Schmitt, Family and Household
Religion, 60–74.
50  See, e.g., Deut 7:5; 12:3; 16:1; Judg 6:25–30; 1 Kgs 18:19; 2 Kgs 17:16; with S.J. Park, “The Cultic
Identity of Asherah in Deuteronomistic Ideology of Israel,” ZAW 123 (2011): 553–564.
51  A.S. van der Woude, “Deutero-Micha: ein Prophet aus Nord-Israel?” Nederlands
Theologisch Tijdschrift 25 (1971): 365–78; his position is contested by all those scholars
who operate within Dodekapropheton-theory. Interesting remarks can be found in Roth,
Israel und die Völker, 172–232.
88 Becking

hope for the restoration of the Davidic dream of unity and for the return of the
exiled Samarians. An interesting question would be: why were these chapters
added to the book of Micah? My intuition would be that circles of the Jahweh-
Allein Bewegung claimed the prophet Micah as one of the important ancestors
of the movement. The addition of the two pseudepigraphic chapters can then
be seen as an aggiornamento of the then existing tradition to the period of
transition from “Manasseh” to “Josiah.”
Micah 6:1–8 is an intriguing text in which this adaptation is easily detected.
In the form of a judicial ordeal, the unit adapts various themes from Micah 2–5.
Although the unit does not contain words from the semantic field of trespass-
ing, the idea as such is clearly implied. YHWH presents himself as the God who
had guided the people of Israel through its darkest hours in history. This is
apparent in his defence plea:

Indeed, I brought you up from the land of Egypt and ransomed you from the
house of slavery, and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. My people,
remember now what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of
Beor answered him, and from Shittim to Gilgal.52

This historical retrospect refers to three important traditions. (1) The Exodus
out of Egypt; (2) The inimical threat during the journey through the desert,53
and (3) The conquest of the Holy Land.54 This plea apparently evoked a con-
sciousness among the people of Israel that they had failed. They seek to appease
the divine with excessive and almost impossible gifts: thousands of rams and
even the life of the firstborn child. This merchandising proposal, however, is
countered with an instruction that is much more human and humane:

to do justice,
to love kindness,
and to walk perceptively with your God.55

52  Mic 6:4–5; the final clause of verse 5 leaves the retrospect by putting an intiguing question
to the audience.
53  See Num 22–24.
54  Shittim was the last stopping place before the crossing of the Jordan (Josh 3:1); Gilgal the
first dwelling place in the promised land (Josh 4:19). See, e.g., Van der Woude, Micha, 213;
Andersen, Freedman, Micah, 523; J.S. Burnett, “ ‘Going Down’ to Bethel: Elijah and Elisha
in the Theological Geography of the Deuteronomistic History,” JBL 129 (2010): 281–97.
55  Mic 6:8; see Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos, 113–114; Hillers, Micah, 75–79; Werner,
“Micha 6, 8”; Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 525–30; Kessler, Micha, 256–72; Dreisbach,
“Micah 6:8”; Jeremias, Die Propheten, 197–205.
Religious Polemics in the Book of Micah 89

Historically, this shift in moral orientation coincides with the reformation in

the times of Josiah.56 I construe this reformation not only as a form of political
power play on behalf of the newly formed priestly elite in Jerusalem, but also
as an incentive to reframe the role of the cult in connection with appeasing the
divine. Micah’s saying can then be read as a polemic against all those who still
believe in the power of excessive offerings.

4 Conclusion

According to Micah’s programmatic name, the God of Israel is seen as incom-

parable to other divine beings. In the three sections of the book and during
various stages of the composition of the Book of Micah, this concept of incom-
parability is spelled out, not as a polemic against specific other deities, but as a
rebuke against certain forms of Yahwism. This implies that the phrase “Who is
a God like Thee” in the doxology of Micah 7 should be interpreted in the frame-
work of a religions interner Pluralismus.57 Within the variety of possible and
existing Yahwisms, Micah—the prophet as well as the book—takes a specific
and polemic stand.

56  The historicity of the account in 2 Kgs 22–23 is heavily debated; see, e.g., J. Blenkinsopp,
“Remembering Josiah,” in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early
Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination, ed. E. Ben Zvi and D.V. Edelman
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 236–56.
57  See esp. R. Albertz, Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit (GAT 8/1–2;
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Rupprecht, 1992); pace, inter alia, Peacock, “Who is a God
like you?”
“We Do not See our Signs” (Psalm 74:9):
Signs, Prophets, Oracles, and the Asaphite Psalter

Robert P. Gordon*

More than any other psalm, Psalm 74 poses the question “How long?” as it
laments the ruination of Jerusalem and its temple. To make his point, the
psalmist uses the term neṣaḥ/lāneṣaḥ four times in his appeals to God to inter-
vene: “Why do you reject1 us for ever, O God?” (v. 1); “Turn your steps towards
the perpetual ruins” (v. 3); “Will the enemy revile your name for ever?” (v. 10);
“Do not forget the lives of your afflicted ones for ever” (v. 19). Again, the cry
“How long?” helps bring the first lament section in the psalm (vv. 1–11; cf. vv.
18–23) to its climax in vv. 10–11.2 The psalm also has a unique combination,
within the Psalter, of appeals to God to remember (vv. 2, 18, 22) and not to for-
get (vv. 19, 23) what is going on.
The most obvious candidate for the dating of the psalm is the period after
the destruction and exile of 587/586 BCE, when there seemed little hope of
imminent recovery. It is useful, nevertheless, to be reminded that there were
other occasions when Jerusalem and the temple suffered from enemy atten-
tion, and that some such occasion would have been capable of inspiring like
anguished cries by a poet-psalmist.3 A Maccabean setting is less likely, though
some elements of the psalm have occasionally been thought to reflect the cir-
cumstances of this later period: the introduction of enemy standards into the
temple precincts, the burning of meeting places, and the absence of proph-
ets have all been cited in this regard.4 Both the probability and the remaining

* To avoid complication, the Hebrew numbering of psalm verses will be followed in this essay.
1  Reuven Yaron, “The Meaning of zanaḥ,” VT 13 (1963): 237–39, argues that, when it is used
intransitively as in the present reference, zānaḥ means “be angry” (cf. Akkadian zenû, “be
angry”).
2  Marvin E. Tate, Psalms 51–100 (WBC 20; Dallas: Word, 1990), 241 n. 1.c., suggests that (lā)neṣaḥ
lacks a durative force and sometimes is best translated by words such as “totally” or “com-
pletely.” He suggests that it may on occasion be ambiguous, moving back and forth between
“for ever” and “totally.” It seems to me that, especially in the present psalm, and not least in
view of v. 9 (“and no one knows how long this will be”), the durative sense is to be preferred.
3  Tate, Psalms 50–100, 247, notes several references in this connection: 1 Kgs 14:25–26; 15:18;
2 Kgs 14:14; 16:8; 24:13.
4  See Tate, Psalms 50–100, 247; he cites 1 Macc 4:46; 9:27; 14:41 on the specific issue of the
absence of prophecy in the later period.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_009

“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 91

uncertainties are well represented by Hans-Joachim Kraus who favoured an

exilic dating, though one nearer to 520 than to 587 BCE, while at the same time
he remained open to “all possibilities.”5
Psalm 74 is a “Psalm of Asaph,” and pleading against God’s seemingly end-
less abandonment of his people is especially characteristic of the Asaphite
psalms (see also Pss 77:8–10; 79:5; 80:5).6 Psalm 77 has a concentrated expres-
sion of such despair:

Will the Lord reject for ever?

and never show favour again?
Has his unfailing love ceased for ever?
Has his promise failed for all time? (vv. 8–9)

1 Signs in Psalm 74

The vivid imagery and despairing plaints of Ps 74:1–9 culminate in what

appears to represent the ultimate proof of abandonment:

We do not see our signs (’ôtōtênû); there is no longer a prophet;

There is no one with us who knows how long.

There are three elements here: the lack of signs, the unavailability of a prophet,
and the absence of anyone credible who knows “how long this is to last”
(REB). The psalm contains a rare occurrence of nābî’ (“prophet”) within the
Psalter, the only other instances coming in the superscription of Psalm 51 and
in Ps 105:15 (||1Chr 16:22): “Do my prophets no harm.” The connection between
the third element and the first two in Ps 74:9 is clear, though it was not so to
some of the earliest translators of the text. The Septuagint’s “and us he will
know no longer,” has mistakenly pointed MT ’ittānû as ’ōtānû, as though it were
a suffixed accusative particle (“us”) rather than the preposition ’et (“with us”). It
is also unclear who it is who will not know “us”—the inaccessible prophet who,
even if such were to appear, would no longer recognize them, or possibly God
who will “know us no longer”? The Peshitta is even less satisfactory since it fails
to represent adequately both the first and third elements of the triad: “Their

5  Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalmen 2: Psalmen 60–150, 5th ed. (BKAT 15/2: Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 679.
6  Compare also in this respect a couple of psalms in the Korahite collection (44:24–25; 85:6),
and Ps 89:47 (“A maskil of Ethan the Ezrahite,” v. 1).
92 Gordon

signs they did not see; there is no longer a prophet; nor is there a wise person
with us.” The Syriac translator appears to be thinking of the enemy’s “signs,”
perhaps because he was influenced by the reference to the enemy standards
in v. 4. Again, the significance of no one “knowing how long” in this context
has been obscured in the substitution of “wise man” for “one who knows how
long.”7 In the Peshitta, therefore, only the simple statement about the absent
prophet survives the translational-interpretive process.
The significance of the “signs” in Ps 74:9 has been variously explained. ’ȏt
(“sign”) occurs twice earlier in the psalm, in the not altogether transparent state-
ment in v. 4 that the enemy “set up their standards as standards,” apparently in
the temple, in celebration of their victory over Judah and its god.8 These may
have been “signs” in the same sense as the clan banners mentioned in Num
2:2 which, like the later Roman signa, could combine military and religious
significance.9 In a monograph dedicated to the meaning of BH ’ôt, Carl Keller
maintained that there is a deliberate correspondence between the “signs” in
vv. 4 and 9: the enemy had set up their signs; the community, however, no longer
see their signs. Keller contended that, even if the enemy “signs” were military
ensigns, these would have had religious significance and could account for the
wording of v. 9 where “our signs” is foregrounded for emphasis: these enemy
standards with their religious significance were occupying sacred space where
the psalmist and his community were accustomed to see their own cherished
religious symbols.10 Keller noted that a wide range of possible explanations of
“sign” in a Judahite religious context had already been proposed, ranging from
cultic emblems and objects to synagogues and even to the sabbath as a symbol
of Jewish religious observance.
Such explanations tend to be dismissed by those who see a close connec-
tion between the signs and the other two elements in v. 9. A number of writers
have, with or without reference to v. 4, explained the looked for signs as divine
revelatory or confirmatory signs that had been promised in the context of the
national crisis but that had failed to materialize.11 And even if an explanation

7  It is not so likely that the Syriac is based on a Vorlage that lacked ‘ad-mah (presumably by
haplography with ‘ad mātay in the next verse).
8  Cf. the Vulgate’s posuerunt signa sua in tropeum (“they set up their standards as a com-
memorative trophy” [=Vulg Ps 73:4]).
9  Compare the “standards” of 1QpHab VI, 4; 1QM III, 13–17; IV, 1–17.
10  Carl A. Keller, Das Wort OTH als “Offenbarungszeichen Gottes”: Eine philologisch-theolo-
gische Begriffsuntersuchung zum Alten Testament (Basel: E. Hoenen, 1946), 45–46.
11  Cf. Tate, Psalms 50–100, 249, for whom the signs are “signs of divine intervention to change
the situation”; the absence of a prophet meant that there was no one capable of explain-
ing such signs even if they were granted.
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 93

of this type is preferred, it may not require abandoning the idea of a deliberate
contrast between the signs of vv. 4 and 9. For although such revelatory signs
would not be visible in the manner of the enemy standards displayed in the
temple, even in an altered sense as compared with v. 4 “our signs” might still
contrast with “their signs”: their signs are all too visible, whereas the ones “we”
look for are nowhere to be seen.12
In a short study published in 1977 J.J.M. Roberts adduced evidence in support
of this interpretation of ’ôt in Ps 74:9 as denoting revelatory or confirmatory
signs by which God had promised to intervene on behalf of the community.13
Roberts sees a close connection between the question “How long?” and the
mention of signs. A certain type of “sign” in the Old Testament has to do with
the prescribing of time limits within which the divine purpose of deliverance
or judgment will be fulfilled. Roberts’s examples include the symbolic three-
year sequence in 2 Kgs 19:29 // Isa 37:30, in which the defeat of Sennacherib
is assured. He also cites several passages where, without the presence of ’ôt, a
terminus ante quem for the judgment of national enemies is announced: three
years (Isa 16:14), one year (Isa 21:16), two years (Jer 28:3). Similarly, a seventy-
year eclipsing of Tyre is announced in Isa 23:15, 17, and the laying waste of
Judah by the Babylonians for seventy years, in Jer 25:11–12.14 Other texts in the
Old Testament reflect concern about non-fulfilment or at least delayed fulfil-
ment of such predictions. For example, in Zech 1:12 the “angel of YHWH” asks
how long YHWH’s indignation against Jerusalem and Judah will persist beyond
the predicted seventy years.15
Roberts also cites Mesopotamian texts that, like their biblical counterparts,
reflect the widespread belief in the ancient Near East that “there were prede-
termined limits to the periods of divine wrath which the gods might reveal
through omens or oracles.”16 All this has a direct bearing on the third element

12  Cf. Aubrey R. Johnson, The Cultic Prophet and Israel’s Psalmody (Cardiff: University of
Wales Press, 1979), 133: “Our own signs . . . we do not see.” In v. 4 Johnson (132) has “Who
left these signs of themselves . . . as signs.”
13  J.J.M. Roberts, “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits: A Note on Psalm 74:9,” CBQ 39 (1977):
474–81 (= 274–81 in Roberts’s The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays [Winona
Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002]). Roberts (474) interprets Kraus in particular as advocating this
interpretation (“die Offenbarungszeichen durch die Jahwe sein Einschreiten ankündigt,”
Kraus, Psalmen 2, 680).
14  “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits,” 477–78.
15  “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits,” 479.
16  “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits,” 478. For example, Roberts quotes an omen text
relating to the Elamite captivity of Bel: “the Umman-manda will arise and rule the land.
The gods will depart from their daises, and Bel will go to Elam. It is said that after thirty
94 Gordon

in Ps 74:9 (“there is no one with us who knows how long”). Roberts relates the
failed signs of this text to the failed prophecies of Hananiah and others who
similarly encouraged false hope (Jer 28:1–17), and he sees the claimed absence
of prophets, not as denying the existence of the like of Jeremiah and Ezekiel,
but as reflecting a preference for prophets of the Hananiah variety, with their
empty assurances of imminent deliverance.17 “ ‘Our signs we have not seen’
means that the signs which the prophets promised as a confirmation of their
oracles of salvation have not come to pass.”18
If Bible translations are some indication of interpretive trends—and by their
mere existence they certainly contribute to such—the promissory explanation
has still not fully established itself. Of the translations or revisions published
since Roberts’s article, NIV “We are given no miraculous signs” has yielded in
the most recent update (2011/2014) to “We are given no signs from God.” The
use of “given” remains unhelpful in view of the ambiguity of this verb in this
context: signs may be given in the sense of being announced (Deut 13:2) or
being performed (Deut 6:22). ESV “We do not see our signs” is literalish and non-
committal, rather as is NJB “We see no signs.” NABRE “Even so we have seen
no signs for us” is perhaps an improvement on NAB “Deeds on our behalf we
do not see,” which had a footnote reference comparing the miraculous events
associated with the exodus. NRSV “We do not see our emblems,” while exclud-
ing fulfilment and confirmatory signs, could embrace standards or symbols
such as are mentioned in v. 4. REB “We cannot see any sign for us”19 appears
to tilt in the direction advocated by Roberts. At the least, it represents a recan-
tation from its predecessor NEB’s “We cannot see what lies before us,” which
emended the MT and read ’ōtiyyôtênȗ (“our future things”) instead of ’ôtōtȇnȗ.20

years vengeance will be exercised and the gods will return to their place.” Roberts cites
from George Smith, The Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, 3 (London: Bowler, 1870),
61, no. 2:21′–22′.
17  “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits,” 479.
18  “Of Signs, Prophets, and Time Limits,” 481. Roberts suggests that the psalmist may have
shared the views of many of his contemporaries on Jeremiah and Ezekiel: “Jeremiah
was considered by many of his contemporaries as a traitor, and Ezekiel must have been
regarded as crazy, or at best, entertaining by many of those who knew him” (480).
19  Cf. “Zeichen für uns” (my italics) in Die Heilige Schrift: Elberfelder Bibel, 7th ed. (Wuppertal:
Brockhaus, 1996).
20  See Leonard H. Brockington, The Hebrew Text of the Old Testament: The Readings
Adopted by the Translators of the New English Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, and
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 140. Cf. DCH, 1, 166.
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 95

2 Signs in the Mari Texts

The close association between “signs” and “prophet” in Ps 74:9 is paralleled,

and indeed exceeded, elsewhere in the Old Testament. In one well-known
case, a prophet and his offspring are appointed by YHWH as “signs” (’ōtōt) and
“portents” (môpĕtîm) in Israel (Isa 8:18).21 Again, and using the same terms,
Isaiah, naked and barefoot, is described as a “sign” and “portent” against Egypt
and Cush in Isa 20:3. Several times Ezekiel is said to be a “portent” (môpēt) to
Israel (Ezek 12:6, 11; 24:24, 27).22 Away from the Old Testament, a couple of texts
from Mari seem to make this same connection between prophet and sign, if
anything even more directly.
Only a few excerpts from the Epic of Zimri-Lim, which was composed in the
eighteenth century BCE, have so far been published. Lines 137–42 were pub-
lished by Durand in 1988 and they contain a reference to a prophet as a “sign”
whom Zimri-Lim “sees.”23 In this excerpt, Zimri-Lim’s enjoyment of divine
patronage is much in evidence:

139īmurma ittašu āpilam eṭel māti[m]

140šarru libbašu danānam uṣbam
141illak Addum ina šumēlīšu
142Erra dapinumma ina imnīšu

139The prince of the land saw his sign, the prophet;

140The king goes forth vigorous of heart.
141Adad goes at his left side,
142Erra, the mighty one, at his right.

21  Hugh G.M. Williamson, “A Sign and a Portent in Isaiah 8.18,” in Studies on the Text and
Versions of the Hebrew Bible in Honour of Robert Gordon, ed. Geoffrey Khan and Diana
Lipton (VTSup 149; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 77–86 (77–80), deploys the lectio difficilior potior
principle in favour of the 1QIsaa reading “sign and portent” as compared with MT “signs
and portents.” Note his comment (80) that in Isa 8:18 it is Isaiah’s children, and not their
names, that are “a sign and a portent”; contrast Jack M. Sasson, “The Posting of Letters
with Divine Messages,” in Florilegium marianum II: Recueil d’études à la mémoire de
Maurice BIROT, ed. Dominique Charpin and Jean-Marie Durand (Mémoires de N.A.B.U.
3: Paris: SEPOA, 1994), 299–316 (308 n. 34).
22  Compare also the “men of a môpēt” (Zech 3:8: NRSV “they are an omen of things to come”).
“I have become like a portent [môpēt] to many” in Ps 71:7 seems less directly relevant.
23  See Jean-Marie Durand, Archives épistolaires de Mari, I/1 (ARM 26/1; Paris: Editions
Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1988), 393, and the brief notice of this published excerpt
in Jonathan Stökl, Prophecy in the Ancient Near East: A Philological and Sociological
Comparison (CHANE 56; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 33.
96 Gordon

The king evidently is about to go into battle and sees “his sign the prophet,”
the prophet apparently being identified as the “sign.”24 It is possible that lines
140–42 represent a prophetic oracle of encouragement, assuring the king of
divine protection as he sets out.25
Another text from Mari that possibly describes humans with a prophetic or
divinatory role as “signs” is text ARM 26 207, containing a message from Šibtu
the wife of Zimri-Lim to her husband with whom, on the evidence of the Mari
archive, she conducted an extensive correspondence.26 In text ARM 26 207 she
writes on the matter of “the campaign on which my lord is embarking,” report-
ing favourable omens that she has obtained:

3aššum ṭēm gerrim 4ša bēlī illakū ittātim 5zikāram u sinništam 6ašqi aštālma iger-
rûm 7ana bēlīya mādiš damiq

As regards the planned campaign on which my lord is embarking, I gave drink to

the male and female signs. The response is exceptionally favourable to my lord.

The translation “I gave drink to the male and female signs” is supported by
Durand27 but is debated. Sasson translates, “I gave male and female the signs to
drink,” construing šaqȗm (“give to drink”) with a double accusative. However,
Sasson finds the reference opaque: “it is difficult to ascertain the kind of potion
they were administered.”28 The procedure has been compared with the ordeal
mentioned in ARM 26 208 11′–26′, in which certain deities are required to drink

24  Cf. Michaël Guichard, “Les aspects religieux de la guerre à Mari,” RA 93 (1999): 27–48 (“Le
poète considère que la venue non sollicitée par le roi constitutait en soi un omen, qui
soutenait le courage en l’action du roi” [36]).
25  See Martti Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (SBLWAW 12; Atlanta:
Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 80. Nissinen presents the text and translation of lines
137–42 on p. 90.
26  For the text see Durand, Archives épistolaires, 435–37. The comparison with the Epic of
Zimri-Lim is noted by Durand on p. 392; cf. Martti Nissinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted,
and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” in Writings and
Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H.
Floyd (SBLSymS 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 235–71 (263 n. 105).
27  Jean-Marie Durand, “In vino veritas,” RA 76 (1982): 43–50 (43–45).
28  Sasson, “The Posting of Letters,” 308. Stökl, Prophecy, 49, notes the difficulties posed by
the text and translates, somewhat tentatively: “I gave (something) to drink to a male and
a female so that I may question (them) about signs.”
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 97

a potion of water containing dirt from the gate of Mari in order to establish
whether they have malign intentions in relation to the brickwork of Mari.29
There is no specific word for prophet in Šibtu’s report, unless with Finet we
read MAḪ instead of ašqi at the beginning of line 6 and understand it as an
ideogram for maḫḫûm/muḫḫûm.30 If, however, ašqi is not deemed original
the identification of the male and female persons with the “signs” is no lon-
ger an option. The translation would then be along the lines of “I have asked
for omens from the male and female ecstatic(s).”31 Whatever the translation,
a broadly oracular dimension still seems assured. egerrûm is sometimes used
for oracular responses and may have that connotation in line 3 of our passage,
though the word can be used for any kind of utterance and is not specifically a
Mariote technical term for “oracle.”32
An oracular inquiry is also made by similar means in ARM 26 212, and the
same translational and interpretive issues arise as in ARM 26 207:

1′[aššum ṭē]m Bāb[ili] 2′ittātim ašqi aštalm[a]

[Concern]ing Babyl[on] I inquired about the matter by giving drink to the signs.33

29  For the text see Durand, Archives épistolaires, 437–38; Nisinnen, Prophets and Prophecy,
42–43. Stökl, Prophecy, 92–93 n. 30, finds no evidence for induced prophecy in this
passage.
30  André Finet, “Un cas de clédonomancie à Mari,” in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies
Presented to F.R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. G. van Driel et al.
(Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten Studia Francisci Scholten Memoriae Dicata
5; Leiden: Brill, 1982), 48–55 (51–52): “Il semble donc acquis que la reine de Mari a consulté
‘homme et femme’ de la corporation religieuse quant au sort de l’expédition que doit
entreprendre Zimri-Lim” (52); cf. Sally A.L. Butler, Mesopotamian Conceptions of Dreams
and Dream Rituals (AOAT 258; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1998), 154–55.
31  Cf. Butler, Mesopotamian Conceptions of Dreams, 153. Wolfgang Heimpel, Letters to the
King of Mari: A New Translation, with Historical Introduction, Notes, and Commentary
(Mesopotamian Civilizations 12: Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 257, accepts the read-
ing ašqi and also its construal with two accusatives, “one for the drink, the other for the
drinker,” but, although still referring the “signs” to the “sign giver,” he regards them as “a
metonym for the drink rather than the persons.”
32  See Stökl, Prophecy, 78–79. Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy, 41, compares the occurrence
in ARM 26 196 8. For fuller study of egerrûm see Butler, Mesopotamian Conceptions of
Dreams, 152–57.
33  See Durand, Archives épistolaires, 440–41; idem, “In vino veritas,” 44.
98 Gordon

These passages, and especially the excerpt from the Epic of Zimri-Lim, may
have a bearing on our interpretation of Ps 74:9.34 They may be taken to support
the view that the “signs” in the psalm have indeed to do with hoped-for confir-
mation from God of his intention to fulfil promissory signs that had been given
through the medium of prophecy. And in this respect there is a notable con-
trast between the Psalm and the Mari texts. In the Epic of Zimri-Lim the king
strides confidently forth to battle, assured of divine assistance in his under-
taking, and, similarly, in text ARM 26 207, it is with the encouragement of the
“signs” that the king embarks upon his campaign. Psalm 74, describing a land
in desolation and a community bereft of confirmatory signs (v. 9), stands at
the opposite pole from these positivities. Not surprisingly, the psalm itself con-
tains no oracle of assurance and no hint that it ever did have such a response to
the community’s plea for help. This also, as we shall see, distinguishes it from
the next psalm in the Asaphite collection.

3 The Editing of the Psalter: Psalms 73–75

Increasing attention has been paid in recent decades to the organization of the
Psalter and to verbal and thematic links that connect certain of the psalms and
that may have been formative for the editing or “shaping” of the Psalter.35 Thus

34  That there may be some degree of correspondence between eighteenth-century

Mesopotamian texts and Old Testament references to prophecy is not, of course, prob-
lematic in view of the considerable number of such parallels that have already been noted
in the secondary literature. For such parallels within Mesopotamia itself, see Nissinen,
“Spoken, Written,” 263–64 (and n. 106), noting the “many” features shared by the excerpt
from the Epic of Zimri-Lim and the much later Neo-Assyrian oracles.
35  See Gerald H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, CA: Scholars
Press, 1985). Wilson does not deal so much in catchwords and themes as do some subse-
quent writers on the Psalms. His study includes Mesopotamian incipit evidence and the
Qumran Psalms material; for his treatment of “thematic grouping” of psalms see pages
190–94. Other relevant studies include J. Clinton McCann, ed., The Shape and Shaping of
the Psalter (JSOTSup 159; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993); Kenneth Kuntz, “Wisdom Psalms
and the Shaping of the Hebrew Psalter,” in For a Later Generation: The Transformation
of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, ed. Randal A. Argall et al.
(Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000), 144–60; Robert L. Cole, The Shape and
Message of Book III (Psalms 73–89) (JSOTSup 307; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
2000); Susan E. Gillingham, “The Zion Tradition and the Editing of the Hebrew Psalter,”
in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. John Day (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 308–41;
eadem, “The Levitical Singers and the Editing of the Hebrew Psalter,” in The Composition
of the Book of Psalms, ed. Erich Zenger (BETL 238; Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 91–123; Robert E.
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 99

an emphasis more common in popular reading and preaching of the Psalter

has become an accepted focus of academic study. Such connections may be
detectable in adjacent psalms or within groupings of psalms sharing the same
attribution, as, for example, the Korahite Psalms or Psalms of Ascents.
A clear example of this “interrelationship” within the Psalter is provided by
the non-adjacent Psalms 44 and 48, both of which are “Psalms of the Sons of
Korah.” Psalm 44 laments a situation of defeat and national depression. All
that is militarily positive and to be commemorated is in the distant past. There
is no sense of hope or of imminent amelioration of circumstances. Only in the
final strophe is there a hint of hope, and it is in the form of a plea: “Rise up and
help us; deliver us because of your unfailing love” (v. 27). Much of the psalmist’s
and the community’s plight is expressed in the opening sentence: “We have
heard with our ears, O God; our fathers have told us what you did in their days,
in days long ago.”36 Psalm 48 is not the next Korahite psalm after Psalm 44
in the canonical arrangement, but it seems both to echo and to answer to
Psalm 44. It celebrates fortress Zion, and more particularly the God of Zion,
evidently in the light of a signal deliverance from a coalition of enemy armies,
and it is the experience of this victory that leads to the acknowledgement: “As
we have heard, so have we seen in the city of the Lord of Hosts, in the city
of our God” (v. 9).37 It was correspondences of this sort that inclined Michael
Goulder to apportion the Korahite psalms across the eight days of a Danite
autumn festival whose reconstructed liturgy was made to accommodate the
various themes and moods of the Korahite collection.38
Study of the composition of the Psalter has also pointed to a number of
more specific indications of the purposeful arrangement and grouping of
psalms. For example, Walther Zimmerli, among others, has drawn attention
to the “twinning” of psalms, where recurrent words and phrases suggest a
more than casual association, at least when considered at the editorial level,
between juxtaposed psalms. Zimmerli noted numerous such pairings, among

Wallace, The Narrative Effect of Book IV of the Hebrew Psalter (Studies in Biblical Literature
112; New York: Peter Lang, 2007); idem, “The Narrative Effect of Psalms 84–89,” JHS 11 (2011):
2–15.
36  In the variant “as in days long ago” there is perhaps reflected the awareness of a tension
between the two ideas “our fathers have told us what deeds you performed in their days”
and “in days long ago” (so MT).
37  For discussion of Psalm 48 as celebration of an historical deliverance or as a (merely)
liturgical text see Robert P. Gordon, Holy Land, Holy City: Sacred Geography and the
Interpretation of the Bible (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2004), 35–45.
38  Michael D. Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah (JSOTSup 20; Sheffield: JSOT Press,
1982).
100 Gordon

which he included Psalms 73 and 74 on the one hand, and Psalms 74 and 75 on
the other. And commenting on the occurrences of the word mô‘ēd in Pss 74:4, 8
and 75:3, the last-named “an hervorgehobener Stelle,” he asks whether this can
simply be coincidence.39
Others have focussed on relationships within the constituent collections
named in the Psalter, in our case the Asaphite psalms. Nasuti has observed
that the word miqdāš (“sanctuary”) occurs five times in the Psalter, with three
of these occurrences coming in the Asaphite psalms (73:17; 74:7; 78:69), and
he concludes that these may have some significance in linking together the
Asaphite collection.40 Clinton McCann has noted several instances of repeti-
tion linking Psalms 73 and 74.41 These two psalms differ in that they are respec-
tively an intensely personal composition and a community lament, yet various
writers have drawn attention to their common purpose and function in their
present setting.42 Psalm 73, read in the light of Psalm 74, expresses a collec-
tive as well as a personal viewpoint, reflecting the dejection associated with
exile and dispersion and also, in its closing verses, the appropriate response to
such circumstances (“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength
of my heart and my portion for ever”, v. 26).43 Psalm 73, as is well known, has
the psalmist testify that only when he brought his problem into the presence
of God (“the sanctuary,” v. 17) did he see things in a more positive light. This is
now the background to Psalm 74, in which the spokesman psalmist describes
the present calamity, recalls God’s acts of power in a mythological past, and
calls for intervention in the unrelieved present.
In its canonical setting Psalm 74 still represents unfinished business, and it
is in this connection that Psalm 75 fulfils a role that exceeds its probable origi-
nal purview. Like the two preceding psalms, Psalm 75 is an Asaphite psalm,

39  Walther Zimmerli, “Zwillingspsalmen,” in Wort, Lied und Gottesspruch: Beiträge zu

Psalmen und Propheten, ed. Josef Schreiner (Forschung zur Bibel 2; Würtzburg: Echter
Verlag, 1972), 105–13 (106). On pages 107–11 Zimmerli pays special attention to the pairings
in Psalms 111/112 and 105/106 respectively.
40  Harry P. Nasuti, Tradition History and the Psalms of Asaph (SBLDS 88; Atlanta: Scholars
Press, 1988), 64.
41  McCann, The Shape, in his chapter entitled “Books I–III and the Editorial Purpose of the
Hebrew Psalter” (= 93–107, esp. 95–96).
42  See André Caquot, “Le Psaume LXXIII,” Semitica 21 (1971): 29–55. Caquot thinks that
Psalm 74 reflects the same circumstances as Psalm 73 (46); Psalm 73 is a meditation on
the fate of Israelites living in Palestine between 587 and 538 BCE, in which the psalmist
speaks in the name of the whole community (54).
43  McCann, The Shape, 100 (cf. 105). On pages 102–3 McCann explains the individualistic
Psalms 42–43 in relation to the community lament of Psalm 44 in comparable fashion.
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 101

and, as we have noted, links between this psalm and the preceding one have
already been observed.44 Moreover, given the tight aggregation of all but one
of the Asaphite psalms (Pss 73–83; the exception is Ps 50) within book III of the
Psalter, evidence of connectedness or progression of thought within the group
is almost to be expected.
Psalm 75 begins as an expression of community thanksgiving and ends on
a note of individual praise. Its thanksgiving element comes not as a response
to deeds done on behalf of the community but in expectation of God’s deliver-
ance. To that extent, the inquiring perspective of the “How long?” of the pre-
ceding psalm remains unanswered. Now, however, God is “near” (v. 2),45 and
his approach, if we may so put it, is made in the form of an oracle.46 Though
unrubricated, the psalm has strongly prophetic elements accounting in one
way or another for most of its content. Tate, for example, while acknowledging
that the psalm is “hybrid,” identifies an oracle in vv. 3–6 and a prophetic exhor-
tation in vv. 7–9; and he also entertains the possibility of a short oracle in v. 11.47
This strongly oracular content of Psalm 75, which has its parallels within the
Asaphite group (see also Pss 50, 81, 82),48 therefore features what is critically
absent from Psalm 74: a word of prophetic reassurance from God. Psalm 75
thus addresses the question “How long?” that, as we have seen, is pressed
in Psalm 74 to an extent not paralleled elsewhere in the Psalter. In a singu-
lar phrase in v. 3, God will “take [the] appointed time.” The uniqueness of
the phrase led the KJV translators to the improbable-sounding “When I shall
receive the congregation49 I will judge uprightly.” At least KJV appears to have
God as speaker, which somewhat exceeds the performance of the Septuagint
translator who makes a sentence with the preceding clause: “I will recount [all]

44  See especially Cole, The Shape, 28–45, on verbal and thematic links between Psalms 74
and 75.
45  So the MT, but LXX and Syr. have “call [upon] your name” (i.e., a form of BH qārā’ for MT
qārȏb). Vulg iuxta nomen tuum reflects MT, if not the actual intended sense of MT.
46  Cf. Gillingham, “The Zion Tradition,” 325, on Psalms 75–76 as divine response to the situ-
ation previously described in Psalm 74.
47  Psalms 51–100, 258. Tate (259) allows the possibility that in v. 11 the speaker is a human
agent (king?) who indicates his willingness to co-operate in the divine acts of judgment.
Kraus, Psalmen 2, 687, regards vv. 3–4 as the oracle and vv. 5–11 as the elaboration of the
cult-prophetic speaker.
48  Cf. Nasuti, Tradition History, 70 n. 63, and 127–36 (= his section “The ‘Prophetic’ Psalms”).
On p. 127 Nasuti lists Psalm 83 in error for Psalm 82.
49  There is a marginal reading, “(When I shall) take a set time,” with a cross-reference to
Ps 102:13 (Heb. 14), which reads in the KJV: “Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion:
for the time to favour her, yea, the set time [= mô‘ēd], is come.”
102 Gordon

your wondrous deeds when I take the opportune moment” (= LXX Ps 74:3).
However, and apart from other textual issues raised by the Greek in the preced-
ing verse, this robs the oracle in vv. 3–6 of an essential element. The Peshitta
likewise fails: “Because I shall take time and I shall judge in uprightness” has
become a statement by the Psalmist, confirmation of which comes in the fol-
lowing verses where for MT “I hold firm” (v. 4) and “I say” (v. 5) the Syriac has
“you held firm” and “you said.” In sum, the Peshitta has quite lost the sense of
a first-person divine oracle in these verses, no doubt because the Hebrew text
gives no indication of a change in speaker from the psalmist in v. 2 to God in v. 3.
The meaning of the MT is clear enough: it has God announcing his intention
to act “at the set time that I appoint” (cf. NRSV).50 No actual set time is indi-
cated; God will act in his own time. But in the meantime, when peoples and
societies are in turmoil, he tempers the chaos so that an underlying stability
prevails (v. 4).51
Psalm 75 with its oracle of assurance responds to the lamentation and pleas
of the two preceding psalms that inaugurate Book III of the Psalter.52 The pos-
sible significance of the word miqdāš for these psalms has already been noted.
In Psalm 73, it was when the psalmist went into God’s sanctuary that a differ-
ent perspective on his problems became possible (v. 17). In Psalm 74, however,
that possibility is foreclosed with the destruction of the sanctuary (v. 7) and,
indeed, of all other religious meeting places in the land (v. 8). In answer, Psalm 75
declares that, even when the earth’s foundations shake, God still upholds the
moral order.53 In this respect the psalm conforms to a general pattern that has

50  Sometimes the phrase is translated as if God will “seize the opportunity” (cf. Kraus,
Psalmen 2, 683 [“Wenn ich den Zeitpunkt ergreife”]).
51  Cole, The Shape, 43, thinks that the stabilizing of the earth’s pillars lies in the future from
the psalmist’s standpoint.
52  As to the likelihood of purposeful editorial positioning of Psalms 73–75, see the comment
by Richard W. Engle, “Psalm 74: Studies in Content, Structure, Context, and Meaning”
(ThD diss., Grace Theological Seminary, 1987), 263–64: “Perhaps a compiler of the psal-
ter deliberately placed Psalms 73, 74, and 75 together to help elucidate Psalm 74, a dif-
ficult maskil psalm. Psalms 73 and 75 clearly conclude that God will deal justly with all
men. Psalm 74 is a bitter complaint about the enemy prevailing over God and His people.
It never moves beyond this issue and, unlike most laments, it neither appeals to nor
applauds God’s moral character and ends without praise or hope.”
53  The temple trajectory could, of course, be continued on into Psalm 76: “His tent is in
Salem, his abode in Zion” (v. 3).
“ We do not see our Signs ” ( Psalm 74:9 ) 103

been observed in the Asaphite collection, where the psalms tend to alternate
between lamentation and hopefulness.54
Psalm 75 may, then, be held to function in part as a response to the com-
plaint of Psalm 74. In that psalm the list of Judah’s woes in vv. 4–9 culminates
in the absence of prophet or confirmatory sign from God, and Psalm 75, even
while itself written from a waiting perspective, supplies the desiderated oracle
of assurance that God will act at the right time.

It is a very great pleasure for me to dedicate this essay to a friend and col-
league who has made such distinguished contributions to the academic fields
of study represented in this congratulatory volume.

54  McCann, The Shape, 96–97. McCann (97) divides Psalms 73–75 as follows: lament (73:1–
13); hope (73:18–28); lament (74); hope (75).
Self as Other : Israel’s Self-Designation as
Adulterous Wife, a Self-Reflective Perspective on a
Prophetic Metaphor
Rannfrid I. Thelle

Prophetic books such as Hosea, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, portray Israel as the
straying, adulterous wife of faithful husband YHWH. Infidelity to God is also
imagined as whoring or promiscuity. In this essay I explore some of the mecha-
nisms at work in the texts in which the Bible’s prophets use the marriage meta-
phor to describe and accuse their own community and its behavior.1 In the
texts to which I will refer, the divine prophetic message identifies the commu-
nity that is being addressed—including the prophets/writers themselves—as
God’s unfaithful wife. The key question I will address is this: what takes place
when the audience is confronted with and urged to identify with this particu-
lar woman?
Determining the extent to which the metaphorical identification of apostate
Israel with a straying wife embodied real life experiences or prevalent attitudes
about women and marriage in ancient Israel is a complicated matter. However,
the disobedient, promiscuous wife clearly afforded the biblical authors an
appropriate vehicle for portraying their people’s breach of the covenant with
their God. This use of the metaphor presents a number of options for the com-
munity’s self-identification. By examining more closely the behavior of which
the “wife” Israel, Judah, or Jerusalem is accused, I will be able to examine the
dynamics of identification made possible by the various applications of the
gendered metaphor of marriage. Analysis of texts such as Ezekiel 16 will reveal
that shifts in identification illustrate what may be a coping mechanism both
for the intended audience and for later readers.

1  It is an honor to contribute to this volume celebrating the career of Hans M. Barstad, my
professor, dissertation supervisor, and academic mentor. One of the mantras that I remem-
ber best from my student years is Professor Barstad’s insistent reminder that the prophetic
literature is largely made up of figurative language. His statements about prophetic poetry
made me think.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_010

Self as Other 105

1 Violent Punishment

In the literature that applies the marriage metaphor, a significant portion of the
message includes descriptions of extremely violent retaliation by “husband”
God against his “unfaithful wife.” Can an examination of YHWH’s “domestic
violence” in terms of the marriage metaphor tell us anything about the self-
perception of the community which produced the literature?
Striking examples of the punishments to which I am referring can be found
in Hosea: “I will strip her (‫ )פן־אפשׁיטנה‬naked and expose her (‫ )הצגתיה‬as in the
day she was born, and make her like a wilderness, and turn her into a parched
land, and kill her with thirst”; “I will uncover her shame (‫ )אגלה את־נבלתה‬in the
sight of her lovers, and no one shall rescue her out of my hand” (Hos 2:5, 12).2 The
punishment is described in sexualized terms, including shaming and exposure.
Similar punishments are meted out in passages in which Ezekiel explores
this metaphor most fully:

Therefore, I will gather all your lovers, with whom you took pleasure, all those
you loved and all those you hated; I will gather them against you from all around,
and will uncover your nakedness to them (‫)וגליתי ערותך אלהם‬, so that they may
see all your nakedness. I will judge you as women who commit adultery and shed
blood are judged, and bring blood upon you in wrath and jealousy. I will deliver
you into their hands, and they shall throw down your platform and break down
your lofty places; they shall strip you of your clothes (‫ )והפשׁיטו אותך‬and take your
beautiful objects and leave you naked (‫ )והניחוך עירם‬and bare (‫)ועריה‬. They shall
bring up a mob against you, and they shall stone you and cut you to pieces with
their swords. (Ezek 16:37–40)

Ezek 23:22–35 also describes God’s punishment involving shaming, stripping

(‫)הפשׁיט‬, exposing (‫)עזבוך עירם ועריה‬, and violent punishment at the hands of
“lovers.”
Similarly, Jeremiah quotes God as saying, “I myself will lift up your skirts
(‫ )חשׂפתי שׁוליך‬over your face, and your shame will be seen (‫)ונראה קלונך‬.
I have seen your abominations, your adulteries and neighings, your shameless
prostitutions on the hills of the countryside. Woe to you, O Jerusalem! How
long will it be before you are made clean?” (Jer 13:26–27). Here, God is portrayed

2  Quoting from the NRSV, unless otherwise stated.

106 Thelle

as violating Jerusalem in a sexual assault, the only biblical text that portrays
this divine behavior toward Israel.3
In all these texts, God’s abusive punishment of his people is expressed in
much more graphic language than when any other metaphor is used to con-
vey YHWH’s relationship with Israel (such as a parent disciplining his child, a
warrior sending an army against a rebellious vassal,4 or the Creator using his
creation to punish through “natural disasters”). The marriage metaphor allows
for a portrayal of violence that is “up close and personal,” expressing emotions
such as jealousy and honor which are not captured as fully by the more generic
language of an angry god who punishes his people by sword, famine, and pesti-
lence. Further, in many traditions of interpretation, the marriage metaphor has
provided ways of speaking that justify or at least explain God’s extremely vio-
lent attacks on his people, powered by ways of thinking often subconsciously
dependent on androcentric and patriarchal social dynamics.5

3  The same figure is found in Nah 3:4–7 in an oracle against Nineveh, and a similar one in Isa
47:3, against Babylon. The question of “how far” we are to understand the attacker as going in
this figure has been debated, the text is multivalent but clearly concerns a sexual assault. See
the discussion of various interpretations in Gerlinde Baumann, Love and Violence: Marriage
as Metaphor for the Relationship between YHWH and Israel in the Prophetic Books (trans.
Linda M. Maloney; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 118–123.
4  As in Deuteronomy 28, although the curses there are also devastating. There are points of
similarity between the ancient Near Eastern vassal treaty and the idea of the marriage cov-
enant. Vassal treaties list punishments stipulating that that the city will become a prostitute,
that the king’s wives will be stripped and raped. The enemy male is depicted in iconography
as being stripped, exposed, and penetrated by Assyrian weapons. Thus the idea of express-
ing the humiliation of the king or city in terms of an attack on his/its honor has a prec-
edent in ancient Near Eastern texts and iconography. See, e.g., Cynthia R. Chapman, The
Gendered Language of Warfare in the Israelite-Assyrian Encounter (HSM 62; Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns, 2004); and Cynthia R. Chapman, “Sculpted Warriors: Sexuality and the Sacred
in the Depiction of Warfare in the Assyrian Palace Reliefs and in Ezekiel 23:14–17,” Lectio
Difficilior (January 2007): http://www.lectio.unibe.ch/07_1/chapman_sculpted_warriors.htm
(accessed 12/28/14). See also the discussion in Baumann, Love and Violence, 79–81.
5  For examples, see the overview in, e.g., L. Day, “Rhetoric and Domestic Violence in Ezekiel 16,”
BibInt 8 (2000): 205–230 (224–29); Renita Weems engages deeply with the dark sides of God’s
power in Battered Love: Marriage, Sex, and Violence in the Hebrew Prophets (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press, 1995). See also below, n. 16. The hermeneutical and theological challenges
posed by the “God of violence” are raised by Baumann in Love and Violence, 233–34.
Self as Other 107

2 The Marriage Metaphor in Its Ancient Near Eastern Context

In the increasingly large body of ancient Near Eastern literature, the biblical
books are unique in applying the marriage metaphor in order to express and
address the divine-human relationship.6 Prophets in the ancient world might
have talked about their gods’ “love lives” in other ways, however. For example,
the gods often had their own consorts. In the Hebrew Bible, the marriage meta-
phor is never applied to YHWH in terms of him having, or not having, a consort
goddess, but rather is exclusively used for his relations with Israel.7 Finally, the
type of myth that involves reenactment through a sacred wedding ritual, the
hieros gamos, has been documented in Mesopotamia and Ugarit, and although
attempts to find it in Israelite culture have been made, this has been rejected
in general by contemporary biblical scholarship.8
However, Israel did share with their cultural neighbors the practice of per-
sonifying cities as female, as Ezek 16 and 23 make clear. Some have suggested
that Canaanite cultures portrayed their royal cities as goddesses, thus finding a
parallel to the biblical personification of Jerusalem as wife, for example.9 This
view has been challenged, however, by Peggy Day,10 who has demonstrated that

6  Gerson D. Cohen, “The Song of Songs and the Jewish Religious Mentality,” in Studies in the
Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1991), 6–8.
7  The “bachelorhood” of Biblical YHWH is a topic that also Hans Barstad has written
about, for example, in A Brief Guide to the Hebrew Bible (trans. R. Thelle; Louisville, KY:
Westminster John Knox, 2010), 75–78; and “Fru Jahve: Nytt lys over den gammel-israel-
ittiske religion,” Kirke og kultur 92 (1987): 88–95. Whether YHWH’s bachelor status was
the case or not historically, is of course another question, as much of the scholarship on
Ashera has shown.
8  See, e.g., William Dever, Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient
Israel (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 34–35, 41.
9  A. Fitzgerald, “The Mythological Background for the Presentation of Jerusalem as Queen
and False Worship as Adultery in the OT,” CBQ 34 (1972): 403–416; and, same author, “BTWLT
and BT as Titles for Capital Cities,” CBQ 37 (1975): 167–83; M.E. Biddle “The Figure of Lady
Jerusalem: Identification, Deification, and Personification of Cities in the Ancient Near
East,” in The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective, ed. K.L. Younger, Jr., W.W. Hallo,
and B. Batto (Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 11; Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1991),
173–94.
10  Peggy Day, “Personification of Cities as Female in the Hebrew Bible: the Thesis of Aloysius
Fitzgerald, F.S.C.,” in Reading from this Place: Social Location and Biblical Interpretation
in Global Perspective, vol. 2, ed. Fernando F. Segovia and Mary Ann Tolbert (Minneapolis:
Fortress, 1995), 283–302. See her article for references to literature on this subject. See also
the discussion in, e.g., Brad E. Kelle, “Wartime Rhetoric: Prophetic Metaphorization of
Cities as Female,” in Writing and Reading War: Rhetoric, Gender, and Ethics in Biblical and
108 Thelle

the evidence is sketchy and based on prejudiced attitudes about Canaanite

religion as excessively focused on fertility, and on preconceived notions of the
absolute dichotomy between biblical and West Semitic language and thought.
Most probably, the biblical phenomenon of personifying cities as female rep-
resents a literary and conceptual phenomenon that does not derive directly
from the ancient Near Eastern (mainly Mesopotamian) idea of cities as god-
desses, though it relates to this general phenomenon.
We must also consider the apparent connections between the dynamics of
the marriage covenant and the functioning of vassal treaties. For example, some
of the ways that a king’s humiliation and loss of honor through military defeat
might be depicted figuratively in ancient Near Eastern literature and iconog-
raphy have parallels in biblical reports of the shame and loss of honor experi-
enced by YHWH the husband in texts such as those quoted above.11 Language
describing public stripping and punishment of male political prisoners paral-
lels some of the biblical descriptions of the punishment of the “wife” Israel.
The metaphors of marriage covenant and the idea of the covenant between
a king and his vassal capture some of the same dynamics of Israel’s transgres-
sive behavior in her relationship to her God, in a social matrix involving public
shaming and dishonoring, and punishments of these actions through violent
retaliation to restore honor.

3 The Effectiveness of the Marriage Metaphor and the Significance of

Biblical Monolatry

The scope of this article does not allow for an adequate discussion of the view
of marriage in ancient Israel. The only thing we know for sure is that men and
women were married, but the exact nature of that arrangement is complex,
whether we focus on legalities, ideal depictions or as actually experienced in
ancient Israelite society. For the present heuristic purposes, I take as a point
of departure that the marriage metaphor in the prophetic literature is meant
to work within the parameters of an ideal, unequal and hierarchical concept

Modern Contexts, ed. Brad E. Kelle and Frank Ritchel Ames (forward by Susan Niditch;
SBL Symposium Series 42; Atlanta: SBL, 2008), 95–112; and the critique in Christl M. Maier,
Daughter Zion, Mother Zion: Gender, Space, and the Sacred in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press, 2008), 63–69.
11  E.g., Chapman, “Sculpted Warriors”; same author, The Gendered Language of Warfare
in the Israelite-Assyrian Encounter (HSM, 62; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), with
iconographic images, 172–75; see also Baumann, Love and Violence, 79–81.
Self as Other 109

of marriage.12 Many are offended by the view of women we are presupposing

here, and we may choose to reject it, as some, particularly feminist interpreters
have,13 and thus render the marriage metaphor inadequate for capturing the
divine-human relationship. But for the purposes of trying to imagine the self-
understanding expressed by these prophetic texts, the way the metaphor func-
tions in the biblical context is fundamental. Of course, the fact that centuries
of later interpretation have added their own agendas and layers of misogynistic
interpretations makes this effort difficult, if not impossible. Exacerbating the
challenges is a Christian tradition of interpretation that reshaped the marriage
metaphor into a symbolic universe, which identifies Christ with the husband
and the church/community of faith as the wife.14

12  Work done by, e.g., Carol Meyers (now most conveniently available in the updated
Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context [Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2013]), has demonstrated the likelihood that real life marriages in ancient Israel were
much more variegated than the biblical literature and other ancient legal texts reflect,
and that gender relations in, specifically, agrarian societies in the rural highland areas of
Palestine in the Iron Age were much more egalitarian in terms of division of labor and
actual distribution of power in the household.
My present concern is with the part of the marriage that makes the metaphor of wife
Israel/husband YHWH work, the part that has to do with the concept of the husband/
male being the “owner” and controller of the wife/female’s sexuality and her reproductive
attributes. It is the understanding of this aspect of marriage as a social institution that
informs the marriage metaphor and the way in which it is used and functions, directly.
13  A number of studies have focused on the “marriage metaphor” recently, contributing to
an increased understanding of the many ways these texts have been read and can be
read. Among the more recent works that include good overviews of the literature on
this subject from the last thirty years, are Sharon Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and Marital
Metaphors in Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008),
6–30; and Baumann, Love and Violence, 7–21.
14  One of the challenges for interpreters of biblical metaphors is that we know so little
about the “real life” of the society that produced these texts. In fact, we are often using
the biblical metaphors as a source of information about the society that produced them.
Metaphor theory in general has provided ways of reading texts that take into account
the relationship and deep connections between language and thought, and how human
experience is organized in language. One accessible presentation of aspects of cognitive
science that has impacted fields such as biblical studies is George Lakoff, Women, Fire,
and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind (Chicago: The University
of Chicago Press, 1987). In biblical studies, awareness about the workings of imaginative
thought, such as metaphor, allegory, and metonymy, has contributed to the understand-
ing that these go beyond mere mirroring and representation, and takes into account the
embodiment of language and thought, which is based in experience. This awareness also
includes the subjectivity of the interpreter, opening up the text to more dynamic and
110 Thelle

That having been said, I would suggest that the monolatraic character of the
biblical divine-human relationship, expressed through the covenant between
YHWH and Israel, is highly compatible with the mechanisms involved in the
ancient world’s idea of marriage. In the ideal ancient marriage, as expressed
in legal literature and reflected also in biblical narrative and legal texts, the
wife had no power to consent; rather, her obligation was to be loyal and true to
her one husband. The husband chose his wife or wives (or the parent genera-
tion made the arrangements), and claimed his wife’s sexuality and reproduc-
tive properties exclusively for himself. The Bible specifies that even on a mere
whim of suspicion of infidelity which led to insemination by another man,
the jealous husband can have his wife tried in front of a priest (Num 5); no
witnessed crime is necessary.
Further, the biblical literature exhibits a cluster of metaphors which facili-
tate the effectiveness of the marriage metaphor, through the equation of idola-
try with adultery. “Going after other gods” or “other Baals” is a common refrain
throughout biblical narrative. The fact that baal also means “husband” and
“lord” or “owner” provides for further meaningful wordplay (see, e.g., Hos 2:18–
19). In addition, the prophetic literature conflates the concepts of “adultery”

open-ended readings. Metaphors are inherently dynamic and elusive, they slip and leap.
As such, traditions of interpretation have tended to want to pin down and lock in meta-
phors (a relevant example in this context is the Christian rendering of the husband as
Christ and the wife as the Church, and all that follows from this “fixing” of the metaphor).
For one useful example of the discussion of metaphor theory within biblical studies,
see the contributions to the Semeia volume, Women, War, and Metaphor Language and
Society in the Study of the Hebrew Bible (1993).
For a relatively early monograph length study of the marriage metaphor, see Nelly
Stienstra, YHWH Is the Husband of His People: Analysis of a Biblical Metaphor with Special
Reference to Translation (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1993), and other monographs I refer to in
this article. On the metaphor of the city as YHWH’s wife, see Julie Galambush, Jerusalem
in the Book of Ezekiel: The City as Yahweh’s Wife (SBLDS 130; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992);
for a relevant discussion of metaphor theory as applied to the metaphor of God as hus-
band, see Tamar Kamionkowski, Gender Reversal and Cosmic Chaos: A Study on the Book
of Ezekiel (JSOTSup 368; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 30–57; for a system-
atic approach to some of the challenges of prophetic metaphors (including the marriage
metaphor), see Julia M. O’Brien, Challenging Prophetic Metaphor: Theology and Ideology
in the Prophets (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2008); and for a recent summary
of research and bibliographies on metaphor in general and in biblical studies, see Job Y.
Jindo, Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah
1–24 (HSM 64; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010), 1–21.
Self as Other 111

and “whoring,”15 thus widening the metaphorical field of behaviors which lead
to accusations against the people of YHWH as God’s wife.
Finally, the marriage metaphor is so effective for those who want to justify
God’s abuse because the thrust of the narrative voice favors the traditional
type of interpreter, who has tended to be convinced that God/the husband is
justified in his punishment of his wife, and that the wife deserves the violent,
abusive and sexualized punishment.16 In the divine prophetic speeches, God,
as the ultimately authoritative voice traditionally accepted without question,

15  While the verb “to whore” (‫ )זנה‬is used to describe Israel’s apostate behavior in Deut 31:16,
and in Judg 2:17; 8:27, 33; the subject in these cases is masculine (the people, Israel). In
the prophetic literature, the case is a different one. ‫ זנה‬and ‫ נאף‬stand in parallel in Hos
2:4, in behavior that the “non-wife” of God is accused of. Also Jer 3:6–8 uses verbal forms
of both ‫ זנה‬and ‫ נאף‬to describe the apostasy of Israel and then Judah, her sister. The
term ‫ אשׁת זנונים‬in Hos 1:2 and 2:4 is unusual (but there are similar constructions in Hos
4:12; 5:4, ‫)רוח זנונים‬, as is the double accusation that the land has “whored” (‫)זנה־תזנה‬
in Hos 1:2, and their meanings are not unequivocal. In Ezek 16, Jerusalem’s adulterous
behavior is described in terms of prostitution (although it is actually worse, since she pays
her lovers).
In both Jeremiah (3:1, 2) and Hosea (4:12, 13, 14, 15; 5:3; 9:1), Israel’s behavior is described
as whoring, with ‫זנה‬. In the Jeremiah context, Israel is personified as female, and the
accusations are presented in a context involving a comparison with a husband whose
wife has deserted him. In Hos 4: 12, 13, and 14, the subject is “my people,” or daughters and
daughters-in-law of the people (with third person plural suffixes, often amended to sec-
ond person), and the accusations are presented alongside concrete accusations of apos-
tasy and illicit cultic behavior. It is quite striking that a male Israel is addressed in Hos 4:15
as a “whore,” (this text has a different history in the Septuagint tradition, where the first
two words of v. 15 are taken with v. 14, thus changing the meaning), and accused of engag-
ing in prostitution in 9:1 (Ephraim is similarly accused in 5:2). The book of Hosea is a good
example of the blending of the prostitution vocabulary with that of adultery (particularly
good examples are Hos 3:1; 4:12–15), to the point that this conflation seems intentional.
See, on the discussion of the meaning of these terms, Phyllis Bird, “ ‘To Play the Harlot’:
An Inquiry into an Old Testament Metaphor,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel,
edited by Peggy L. Day, 75–94 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989); Galambush, Jerusalem
in the Book of Ezekiel, 27–35; on Hos 1–3 (and 4–14), see Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and
Marital Metaphors, 219–224 (61–79), with its references to other literature; Baumann, Love
and Violence, 91–104. For the related, but distinct, discussion of the blending of various
female (and male) divine addresses of Israel in Jer 2–4, see Mary E. Shields, “Circumcision
of the Prostitute: Gender, Sexuality, and the Call to Repentance in Jer:1–4:4,” BibInt 3
(1995): 61–74.
16  Collated examples of the typical traditional scholarly approach can be found in Cheryl
Exum’s contribution to this volume. Overviews of scholarship on the marriage metaphor
are available in several recent publications, including Baumann, Love and Violence, 1–21;
112 Thelle

is simultaneously narrator, prosecutor, judge, and executor of the punishment

in matters pertaining to the extended metaphor.

4 A Self-Reflective Approach to Interpreting the Marriage Metaphor

What happens when a reader/listener identifies with the wife Israel? By asking
the question in this way, I am attempting to envision what some of the poten-
tial audience reactions to these texts might have been, and how the metaphor
may have reflected that audience’s own experiences. And, by extension, what
might we discover about the society whose elites chose to report this language
as the message to their audience?
One thought that comes to mind is the following: Were “unfaithful wife”
and “whore” the worst names these elites could apply to themselves and their
community, in their perceived state of guilt? Can we at least assume that they
believed that their God saw them this way? In putting forward this suggestion,
I am again making the assumption that the elites who chastised the commu-
nity included themselves in this indictment.17 In other words, did they employ
the familiar logic of guilt-based theodicy: “We were punished, humiliated, vio-
lated by our God. We must have done wrong, so it was our fault”? In terms
of the prophetic marriage metaphor, the argument would run: “My husband
punished me, humiliated and violated me. I must have done wrong, so it was
my fault.” If this approximates the authors’ thinking, the prophetic metaphors
represent an attempt to make sense of what was understood to be a divine
punishment that the community deserved.
The application of the marriage metaphor seems to most appropriately
represent or account for the state of guilt arising from the alleged crime of
shaming the deity by breaching his exclusive claim to his “wife.” They were
promiscuous, they couldn’t help themselves, they broke the boundaries and
dishonored God, and they deserve their punishment of exposure and shaming,

a good critical overview, with a clear sense of theoretical issues, in Moughtin-Mumby,

Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 6–30.
17  The question whether or not the prophets in these texts identify primarily with God as
speakers of the divine word, or with the community of which they are a part is an intrigu-
ing one and one that I cannot deal with adequately here. In the biblical prophetic litera-
ture, prophets speak for and intercede on behalf of the community, and even occasionally
protest against God’s judgment (e.g. Isa 6:11; Jer 4:10), although they primarily speak on
behalf of YHWH, bringing devastating oracles—and promises of restoration. I am taking
the position here that the biblical prophets can be read as representatives of the commu-
nity, as a corrective and conscience.
Self as Other 113

and even the threat of death. In accusing their people of being an adulteress
who exhibits promiscuous behavior, the elites are using what they may have
considered as the worst possible name to describe and accuse themselves and
their own behavior through a divine speech of judgment, and in doing so, are
portraying themselves as female.18
This dynamic is reflected in many traditional readings of these texts, which
have tended to focus fairly narrowly on God’s humiliation and Israel’s wrong-
doing, accepting relatively easily the adequacy of the marriage metaphor to
communicate this experience. The fact that the husband YHWH takes his
wife back in both Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and that Hosea takes Gomer back (or
somehow redeems the unnamed woman of Hos 3:1–2), have thus been seen as
evidence of God’s forgiveness and grace.19 The sense is that Israel the wayward
wife deserved her punishment, that she had transgressed against YHWH her
husband and received a fitting punishment. At least he didn’t have her killed,
which he had the right to do, and he even showed compassion and forgive-
ness and took her back. Although this reading is fairly common, it implies an
uncomfortably realistic portrayal of a good wife as a chastised and silenced
one.20 In part because of the authority of the narrative voice, the guilt of
the wife is accepted without question. Readers/listeners may condemn her,
identifying with the husband,21 or identify with her guilt in a more or less per-
sonal way.

18  In many social contexts in our time, the worst possible insult to a man is perhaps calling
him a “slut” or a “bitch,” often implying inferiority or being under the power of others. This
fact itself is revealing about that society’s view of women and sexuality. Gail Corrington
Streete, in The Strange Woman: Power and Sex in the Bible (Louisville, KY: Westminster
John Knox, 1997), 84, discusses the construction of Israel as wife in the biblical texts, and
how the insult against the community for their infidelity toward YHWH is inflicted on
them as a woman.
19  Examples of traditional readings of Ezek 16 are listed in Linda Day, “Rhetoric and Domestic
Violence in Ezekiel 16,” BibInt 8 (2000): 203–30 (224–29). See also Cheryl Exum’s contri-
bution to the present volume. When I have taught texts such as Hos 1–3 and Ezek 16 in
Kansas, students overwhelmingly see these texts as beautiful examples of God’s love and
forgiveness, at least in their initial reading. This type of reading is entrenched in Christian
theology.
20  Corinne L. Patton, “ ‘Should our Sister Be Treated Like a Whore?’ A Response to Feminist
Critiques of Ezekiel 23,” in The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives,
ed. Margaret S. Odell and John T. Strong (Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 221–238 (224–25).
21  And even exonerating her “lovers,” see Peggy L. Day, “The Bitch Had It Coming to Her:
Rhetoric and Interpretation in Ezekiel 16,” BibInt 8 (2000): 231–254.
114 Thelle

5 Does Her Behavior Tell a Story?

Let us go a step further and focus on the behavior of which the wife Israel is
accused. In the following, I will more closely examine how Israel the wife is
portrayed and attempt to identify with her myself. What kind of a wife is this
whoring and unfaithful woman? What has she done wrong? Even though we
do not hear her speak or have her perspective presented in any of these texts,
her behavior, as reported by her accuser and abuser, can still allow readers to
identify with her point of view. Focusing on her portrayal might reveal some
character traits that can help us understand the elements with which the writ-
ers and tradition-bearers specifically identified. And insofar as her perspective
is also the community’s perspective, this may reveal how the metaphor was
meant to “work” for a community that had been devastated and was seeking to
rebuild itself and make sense of its experience.
The marriage of Hosea to Gomer becomes a model for understanding the
relationship between God and Israel, on whom the punishment is pronounced.
Hosea is told to marry a woman who is called a “woman of whoredom,” a
description that has generated a lot of discussion.22 He marries Gomer. The
interpretations range from seeing her as a prostitute who is an independent
business woman to seeing her as a woman who is promiscuous. Her children
are “children of whoredom,” a status that seems to come with being born of a
“woman of whoredom.” Are they illegitimate somehow, perhaps? Do they pol-
lute the land? Gomer’s children with Hosea are “disowned” by God, through
the names Hosea is told to give them. God’s command to marry a prostitute
makes sense if it is supposed to reflect a characteristic of Israel as “straying”
or as someone who makes her own independent choices. The justification
given for why Hosea is to take this wife is that the “land has whored away from
YHWH.” Hosea’s marriage to Gomer thus makes sense if the whole speech act
somehow mirrors God’s choice of a wife who was promiscuous and thus has
polluted herself.
If we accept that Gomer daughter of Diblaim matched up to the description
of the woman Hosea is told to marry—something we actually do not know at
all,23 we might assume that prior to becoming Hosea’s wife and bearing his

22  See, e.g., the discussion and literature referred in Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and Marital
Metaphors, 220–221.
23  The narrative simply states that Hosea married (or “took,” ‫ )לקח‬Gomer. Then they have
children, whom Hosea is told to name. We know nothing of the background of the charac-
ter named Gomer, but she is identified as “bat Diblaim,” daughter of Diblaim. In case that
is meant literally, it would refer to her place of origin or father’s name (H.W. Wolff, Hosea
Self as Other 115

children,24 a key aspect of her behavior was that she was “her own person.” This
actually reflects typically male behavior: she wasn’t letting herself be under the
control of another male, as a nice Israelite girl should.25 It does seem, however,
that the children she has with Hosea are really his, although we are perhaps
meant to be unsure, because of her reputation (of course, if he were unsure
there’s always Num 5 to help him out!).
We actually learn more in Hosea 2, the poem that specifically addresses
Israel as God’s wife (and/or one who is rejected by him). This woman, we are
told, wanted to go her own way, away from YHWH to other “lovers.” This woman
is portrayed as one who makes her own decisions, and who does not let herself
be claimed by her husband. However, we need to keep in mind that her quoted
speech (2:5) is reported by “an interested party,” God. And this behavior also
constitutes her transgressions.
In Jeremiah, Jerusalem/Israel/Judah is depicted as loving and loyal in the
beginning of her relationship with God (Jer 2:2). Only later does she become

[trans. G. Stansell; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974], 16–17), and would seem
to indicate a “legitimate” woman. However, it could also possibly mean that she is the
daughter of “fig-cake” (the dual form of debela), and several tendentious suggestions have
been made as to what this might mean, including that Gomer “could be had for the cheap
price of two cakes” (J.L. Mays, Hosea: A Commentary [OTL; Philadelphia: The Westminster
Press, 1969], 27), or that the name suggests a connection to illicit cults where cakes are
sacrificed (ibid., 27). The truth is that we don’t know.
24  Whether this is a narrated speech act or something we are to understand actually took
place, narratively speaking.
25  In this sense, in spite of the unusual designation of the woman Hosea is told to marry
as a “woman of whoredoms” (‫)אשׁת זנונים‬, and the discussion of what this means, she is
portrayed in ways similar to a prostitute to the extent that she is independent.
Teresa J. Hornsby takes this notion much farther in her “ ‘Israel Has Become a Worthless
Thing’: Re-Reading Gomer in Hosea 1–3,” JSOT 82 (1999): 115–128. Although I appreciate her
attempt to “rehabilitate” the prostitute and reinvigorate the metaphor, I feel that her read-
ing suffers from ignoring several key parts of the text, for example the fact that we really
know nothing about Gomer. Also, Hornsby’s premise that Hosea and God “do nothing” in
Hos 1–2, and that what we have are descriptions of God’s fantasies (e.g. 116) do not reso-
nate entirely with the text. Hosea does “take” Gomer, she does conceive and bear children,
and Gomer even has her only action: she weans her daughter (1:8). If these actions are
to be considered God’s fantasies, what distinguishes them from the actions narrated in
Hos 3? The application of the metaphor of a prostitute that eluded God’s obsessive pur-
suit to the Persian period political setting is not quite convincing. However, her reading
does make us more aware of the distinctions between the metaphor of prostitute and the
metaphor of marriage, even though the biblical texts themselves, Hosea in particular, also
purposely blur this distinction, as discussed above.
116 Thelle

rebellious and begin to lust after other lovers, according to the divine voice.
God repeatedly begs her to return to him, in spite of her having polluted and
defiled herself. In many ways the context in Jeremiah is ambivalent and unre-
solved and less clear cut than in both Hosea and Ezekiel. Yet in all these cases
the situation ends with some type of reconciliation—on God’s terms. Wife
Israel is presented as displaying typically male habits, such as ceaselessly run-
ning after lovers and exhibiting lustful behavior (like camels and donkeys, Jer
2:23–25), though this is not normally condemned in the same way when per-
petrated by a man.
In Ezekiel 16 Jerusalem’s assertive behavior includes utter disregard for the
gifts which her divine husband bestowed upon her. She commits acts of vio-
lence, pays lovers for their services, and pours out her lust (vv. 34, 36). Tamar
Kamionkowski26 has argued that Jerusalem’s behavior here amounts to a com-
plete gender reversal. Jerusalem is explicitly accused of being the opposite of
other women (v. 34), and her actions serve to emasculate God. I will return to
this text below.
In Ezekiel 23 Oholiba and Oholah (Jersualem and Samaria), are two young
sisters who had been victims of sexual assault early in their lives, although
their fates are portrayed as being their own fault. The transgressive behavior of
these characters, who are introduced in rapid succession as sisters, brides, and
mothers, then becomes the focus. In this text, the key crime seems to be the
expression of desire and yearning toward other lovers, rather than the kind of
overt actions reported in Ezekiel 16.
We can now understand the essences of God’s problem with Israel/Judah/
Jerusalem, according to the interpreters and transmitters of the tradition: she
expresses her own agency. In these texts Israel’s transgressions are gendered
as male behavior. Instead of acting like a good wife, showing gratitude, fidelity
and meekness, she is ungrateful, squanders the gifts her husband has given
her, goes her own way, and plays the whore with many lovers. The marriage
metaphor captures this transgressive behavior in a particularly effective way,
whether the transgression is referred to in terms of adultery or as “whoring.”

6 Other Metaphors for the Community’s Misbehavior

Israel’s disobedient behavior is also expressed through other metaphors. God’s

care for his people in Deuteronomy 32 recalls Jeremiah 2. The people’s ungrate-
fulness for God’s gifts is expressed as “Jacob ate his fill, Jeshurun grew fat and

26  Kamionkowski, Gender Reversal and Cosmic Chaos, 110–133.

Self as Other 117

kicked . . .” (Deut 32:15), and the people are accused of forgetting “the God
who gave you birth,” (Deut 32:18). Here, a male Israel is accused of infidelity,
making God “jealous with strange gods,” and provoking him with “abhorrent
things.”
In Hosea the marriage metaphor established in the opening chapters gives
way to other metaphors. The divine-human relationship is represented by
the parent-rebellious child metaphor and the suzerain-vassal metaphor in
chapter 11; several of Israel’s tribal heads, such as Jacob and Ephraim person-
ify Israel and also represent rebellious and ungrateful behavior that God will
punish. The charge that runs throughout is apostasy, idolatry, and the shaming
of their god, YHWH, by sacrificing to other gods, all characterized as whoring, a
behavior that leaves Israel defiled. For this, God will punish them by absenting
himself, rejecting them, and by deporting and destroying them.
In Jeremiah, the young bride who had followed her husband in “the days of
her youth” has strayed. Jeremiah 2 uses many images to describe the people of
Israel as a whole and their leaders in particular. Their transgressive and selfish
behavior is framed as the actions of ungrateful slaves, degenerate wild vines,
restless female camels, lustful wild she-donkeys, thieves, rebellious children,
and so on. Yet, the expression of Israel’s sinful behavior, and particularly her
punishment, is epitomized in the marriage metaphor.

7 Reading from the Wife’s Point of View

Considering the assumptions inherent in the biblical portrayal of gender roles

in the ideal marriage, together with the force of the narrative voice, one might
too easily overlook how much energy, agency, and drive is accorded the female
character, Israel, the disobedient wife. In these vivid depictions of the woman’s
defiant expression of her agency—her tremendous urge toward independence
(in spite of the negative judgment with which her choices are met)—we might
find grounds for a competing interpretation, that is, for a manipulation of
the metaphor that allows us to choose a subversive reading that could also
speak for the community in a restorative, integrative way. In spite of Israel/
Jerusalem’s lack of voice and her silence, the behavior of which she is accused
tells a story. Given the parameters of marriage, God’s wife has very few options
to exercise control over herself, as modern, particularly feminist, readers have
recognized. By recognizing that the ancient authors portrayed wife Israel as
resistant and defiant, although viewed by God and prophet as transgressive,
might we see that those authors granted her a measure of independence?
Is “guilty” woman Israel a kind of anti-hero? We might even recognize this
118 Thelle

characteristic as gender reversal on the metaphorical level, where the active

agent Israel is described as a disobedient wife in terms of typically male
behavior.
There is also the option to see a counter-narrative of a God who chose a
bride with “history.” In the parallel to the divine-human marriage in Hosea,
Gomer is branded from the outset, she is a “woman with a past,” and her chil-
dren are undesirable. Like the “woman of whoredom,” Israel is punished for
going after other men. In Ezekiel 16, Jerusalem is a foundling whom no one
wanted, while in Ezekiel 23, Jerusalem and Samaria are lustful orphans. God
chooses them anyway, and then punishes them for the violations that were
inflicted upon them.
In portraying themselves and their audience as a woman who transgresses
her gendered boundaries, the community that produced these texts perhaps
gave itself room for a counter-narrative, although a highly risky one. It was
risky because of the way that this behavior was officially judged, probably first
and foremost by the community’s elites themselves. A woman should not be
the manager of her own sexuality; a man needed to control and limit her sex-
ual energy and potency. As mentioned above, we can recognize the portrayal of
Jerusalem in Ezekiel as one that portrays the wife as displaying male behavior,
which leaves the husband, God, as the female in the relationship, as long as we
stick to a binary gendered concept of marriage.
This reversal is a way of capturing the essence of Israel’s crime, and the ensu-
ing punishment becomes retribution for the emasculation experienced by
God, with the shame and jealousy that went along with it, mentioned above. In
Ezekiel 16, the wife became independent, went her own way, took multiple lov-
ers, using her husband’s money to become financially secure and even pay her
lovers. She was violent and even exhibited sexually male behavior. Actually,
one could say that she went so far as to become completely independent of any
“partner,” in that she shaped for herself objects with which she could “whore,”
making God the husband superfluous, rendering him unnecessary and mak-
ing him a cuckold.27 This exacerbates the deity’s shame and dishonor, inspir-
ing his impotent rage and retaliatory behavior. He will punish her with public
exposure and shaming, and with violent, physical abuse. She is returned to her
original state of powerlessness, a bloody and exposed state, as she was when
God found her as a baby and a young woman. She is crushed and silenced,
and he takes her back. Perhaps even in this state, however, there is room to

27  As Robert P. Carroll also observes concerning Jer 3:1–5, in Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL;
Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1986), 142.
Self as Other 119

remember her as the active and lively “straying” wife, although I myself am not
so happy with this outcome.

8 Israel’s Self-identification as Adulterous Wife

So, why did the prophets and elites who produced this literature choose the
metaphor of unfaithful wife and jealous husband to portray the divine-human
relationship, in particular when describing their own perceived guilt? In the
end, there are two ways that the community may have reflected on its own
sense of self through this metaphor. In one, the figure of the adulterous wife
provided the worst and most shameful way of describing the transgressions
they understood themselves as having perpetrated against their God, actions
which justify his punishment. They had been that bad and they deserved their
punishment, and in this they, the male elites, identify themselves as female,
“self as other,” in a sense.28
A consequence of this choice is that the elites are choosing to identify with
a true “other,” whereas the community they are speaking for is made up of (in
part) real women, whose life experiences differ starkly from those of the male
elites. Everyone has been a child and almost everyone has been in a subor-
dinate relationship to a superior (king’s subject, vassal, servant). When these
kinds of metaphors are used to portray the divine-human relationship, there is
a bigger potential for inclusiveness in terms of those with whom one can iden-
tify. But there are two categories of experience in which gender matters exclu-
sively in the ancient world: wife and soldier.29 Did the religious elite choose
the category of “wife,” a role in which they most likely had no experience, to
express an experience that was so other to them that they had no other way of
imagining it?
Alongside this option is the one in which the community has recorded its
own expression of agency, even at the risk of receiving condemnation (includ-
ing self-condemnation) for that behavior. In that sense, they are identifying as
male, but at the risk of portraying God as female. In the coping process that I
am envisioning, the prophets’ community may identify itself first as female;
however, a reversal takes place when it realizes that a bad woman is described

28  As also Shields highlights, “Circumcision of the Prostitute,” 67–69.

29  Recall the references I made to the punishments against prisoners of war, involving public
stripping, one place in which the descriptions of a husband’s punishment of his straying
wife and that of the male prisoners of war intersect in terms of what might have been
actual experience, although in gender specific contexts.
120 Thelle

in terms of male behavior. This recognition must pose a challenge to the com-
munity which identifies with the wife in the relationship metaphor. Whereas
the male elites might make an initial shift in identification to the husband in
the metaphor, they might in turn be troubled by the portrayal of the “bad”
woman as exhibiting male behavior, because the gender-reversal entails the
emasculation of God. In yet another step, however, a re-reversal can take place,
when God indicts the wife, who is punished for her behavior, and “put back
in her place.” Her shaming and dishonoring of her divine husband (through
behavior most often attributed to men) is punished by violence, exposure,
and public shaming which, in turn, resonates with the types of punishments
to which prisoners of war are exposed in ancient Near Eastern texts. This re-
reversal may have functioned as a coping strategy, by means of which the com-
munity could again identify with the suffering and abused wife.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited
J. Cheryl Exum

In the late 1990s the problem of sexual violence in prophetic texts—violence

in which God is the subject and the object of his abuse is female-personified
Israel or foreign nations—was widely discussed, at least among female bib-
lical scholars.1 The texts in which God abuses his “wife” Israel or Judah or
Jerusalem are different from those in which foreign cities or nations are the
object because his covenant with Israel gives God ownership of his wife and
control over her sexuality. In these texts, which are my focus here, perceived
(essentially male) sins of social corruption and religious infidelity are sexual-
ized and projected onto women. Sin is identified with uncontrolled female lust
and unrestrained female sexuality, and it is the promiscuous and rapacious
wife’s fault that she is sexually abused because she has invited it by deliberately
flaunting her husband’s will. Male control is seen as necessary and desirable.
As a means of correction, the woman is punished sexually for her sexual sin in
the most degrading way, and this violent physical assault paves the way for the
battered woman’s reconciliation with her abusive spouse.
Such texts are pornographic because they involve objectification, domina-
tion, vindictiveness, pain and degradation. They raise serious ethical questions
not only because they are offensive and demeaning but also because they
could be seen to give biblical sanction to the sexual abuse of women. Because
most readers are likely to read with the text’s ideology and privilege God, the
abusive husband’s behaviour is not open to question.2 Indeed, the woman

1  Already in 1985 T. Drorah Setel had raised the issue in “Prophets and Pornography: Female
Sexual Imagery in Hosea,” in Feminist Interpretation of the Bible, ed. Letty M. Russell
(Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1985), 86–95. For a fuller treatment of the state of the
discussion in 1996 and secondary literature on the subject, see J. Cheryl Exum, “Prophetic
Pornography,” ch. 4 in Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women
(Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 101–28; 2d rev. edn (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix
Press, 2012), 105–31. For recent treatments, see Athalya Brenner, “Some Reflections on
Violence against Women and the Image of the Hebrew God: The Prophetic Books Revisited,”
in On the Cutting Edge: The Study of Women in Biblical Worlds: Essays in Honor of Elisabeth
Schüssler Fiorenza, ed. Jane Schaberg, Alice Bach and Esther Fuchs (New York: Continuum,
2004), 69–81; Sharon Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and Marital Metaphors in Hosea, Jeremiah,
Isaiah, and Ezekiel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).
2  As Judith Sanderson observes, “To involve God in an image of sexual violence is, in a profound
way, somehow to justify it and thereby to sanction it for human males who are for any reason

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_011

122 Exum

is considered solely responsible for the success of the relationship, and the
husband, far from sharing any blame, is portrayed as the wronged party who
deserves our sympathy. The divine husband’s superiority over his nation-wife
lends legitimacy to the human husband’s superiority over his wife, who is
subservient to him and totally dependent on him.3 Through messages about
gender relations encoded in these texts, men are taught to exert their authority
and women are taught to submit.
In my contribution to this volume honouring Hans Barstad for his pioneer-
ing work on the prophets and many other distinguished contributions to the
field, I return to the topic of prophetic pornography to consider to what extent,
if any, the naming of the problem and discussion of the serious ethical issues
it raises have influenced mainstream biblical interpretation. Is the gender bias
of the texts recognized? Is it criticized? Or is the gender bias that characterized
scholarly interpretation before the mid-1990s still prevalent, and the problem
of prophetic pornography ignored or excused? Does it matter?
Due to space constraints I can offer only a sample that is by no means defin-
itive, but I suspect it is representative. Since I am interested in mainstream
interpretation, I do not deal with monographs or selected studies that specifi-
cally address the problem. Rather I have limited my observations to books pub-
lished in English in the past fifteen years that specifically identify themselves
as commentaries—both standard commentaries scholars would be likely to
use and commentaries teachers, students, preachers and an interested general
audience might consult—and to the following key passages: Hos 2:9–10 [11–12
H]; Isa 3:16–26; Jer 13:20–27; Ezekiel 16 (especially vv. 35–42) and 23 (especially
vv. 22–48).4

1 Hosea

Hosea 2 personifies the land of Israel as a harlot, whom God threatens to strip
naked and slay with thirst (v. 3). After denouncing her shameful behaviour

angry with a woman”; Judith E. Sanderson, “Nahum,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed.
Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox, 1992), 221.
3  On the woman’s utter dependence upon male support, see Setel, “Prophets and Pornography,”
86–95; especially 92; for a sobering and saddening application of the biblical marriage meta-
phor to the situation of battered women; see Gracia Fay Ellwood, Batter My Heart (Pendle
Hill Pamphlet, 282; Wallingford, PA: Pendle Hill, 1988).
4  My translations of these texts, with explanatory notes, can be found in Exum, “Prophetic
Pornography.”
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 123

with her lovers, God describes how he will publicly humiliate her by exposing
her genitals for all her lovers to see.

Therefore I will take back

my grain in its time,
and my new wine in its season;
and I will snatch away my wool and my flax,
which were to cover her genitals.
Now I will expose her genitals5
in the sight of her lovers
and no one shall rescue her from my hand (vv. 9–10 [11–12 H]).

Francis Landy’s commentary on Hosea for the Readings series is by far the
most sensitive to the problem of prophetic pornography and to both the com-
plexity of Hosea’s imagery and the ways it subverts itself. “Hosea is undoubt-
edly patriarchal literature,” he writes, “its God is male, its world is governed by
male authorities and conventions, and the prophet is male. Its use of female
imagery is misogynistic; 2:4–15 is a fantasy of sadistic humiliation and bestial
voracity . . .”6

The feminist critique of the chapter is by now well-established: that it robs the
woman of her voice and her point of view, that it objectifies and degrades
her . . . The fantasy is complex, overdetermined, and pornographic, in that as
Setel (1986) says, it depicts women’s sexual shame . . . Chapter 2 belongs to the
literature of sexual disgust, in which desire appears only spectrally, as a revenant,
and in reverse . . . The object of desire becomes undesirable, nablût, both “con-
temptible” and “foolish.” The jealous husband paradoxically acts as a pander, but
only to nullify the jealous transaction, to divest the woman of cultural and social
significance . . . the word nablût, “folly” or “shame,” at least metonymically refers

5  The word ‘erva in v. 9 is a euphemism for genitals; cf. Gen 9:22–23. The word I translate
“genitals” in v. 10 is nablut, a hapax. For this translation, see Hans Walter Wolff, Hosea, trans.
G. Stansell (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), 31, 37 n. 52. Francis I. Andersen
and David Noel Freedman (Hosea [Anchor Bible, 24; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980], 248)
dispute the meaning of the Akkadian cognate cited by Wolff. They note, however, that some-
thing concrete is meant by the image and conclude that it is “likely that the woman is to have
her naked body put on display as obscene.”
6  Francis Landy, Hosea (Readings: A New Biblical Commentary; 2d edn; Sheffield: Sheffield
Phoenix Press, 2011), 10; he goes on to note that gender identifications are constantly shifting
and that Hos 2:25 is a “metaphor for sexual inversion” in which the seed God sows is feminine
(10–11).
124 Exum

to her genitalia, and associates them with folly, contempt, and cosmic disor-
der . . . The underlying fantasy, then, is of gang-rape, the woman encircled by
predators. The fantasy, however, is reversed; the sight turns back on the seers and
taunts them with their incapacity to claim her. The husband, in exhibiting his
wife, simultaneously discards her and asserts his prerogative over her.7

In the transition from v. 8 to v. 12, the passage “comes closest to pornography,”

in Landy’s view, “in the sense of the inscription of women’s shame for the sake
of male pleasure. It feeds off the woman’s desperation and frustration, grati-
fying the man both with the vision of female desire and the assertion of his
power.”8 Like many other commentators, Landy points out that Israel, the wife,
is composed of both men and women. The metaphor involves a displacement
in that the male-dominated Israelite society is characterized as female.

God is the supreme patriarch, before whom all men are women; the relation of
male to female is that of god to humanity. The metaphor is, however, meaning-
less, since the shift in gender of the men corresponds to no social or sacred real-
ity. Their classification as “women” is not reflected in their behaviour or in their
self-perception. Its sole function, indeed, is to activate the contrast between wife
and whore as a metaphor for their faithlessness, to compound their vilification
with misogyny, even if only in drag.9

I have quoted Landy at length in order to show not only how seriously he
takes the pornographic nature of this text but, more importantly, to indicate
some of the things I believe a commentator should tell his (or her, but there are
only two women in this survey) readers about this text. I grant that a primarily
literary commentary like Landy’s offers more scope for this kind of detailed
treatment. But regardless of the format, the problem should be addressed. In
his commentary on Hosea for the Forms of the Old Testament Literature series,
for example, Ehud Ben Zvi draws his readers’ attention to the “ideological con-
structions that underlie the horizon of ideas that characterize the world of the
book,” among them:

7  Landy, Hosea, 27–28.

8  Landy, Hosea, 30.
9  Landy, Hosea, 33; he qualifies this observation by proposing that the presentation of men as
women renders women visible as social actors (33–34).
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 125

. . . the reflection of male concerns (or insecurities) about female fidelity within
husband-wife relations, and above all the implicit ideological construction of
the roles of husband and wife in such a relation. One may notice, for instance,
that the provider (YHWH/husband) is to be served/worshipped by the one being
provided for, that his voice is the dominant one in the relation. He seduces, mar-
ries, rejects, condemns, punishes, or restores his wife. He has the power of death
and life over her (cf. v. 5 [of ch. 2]) and possibly over her sons. Needless to say, he
also re-creates her speech and condemns her for it. She is unable to speak for
herself in her own defense. Significantly, the wife takes the initiative, according
to the husband’s recount, only to do evil (that is, to follow other men/providers/
gods).10

Rather than offering an explicit critique of this ideology, however, Ben Zvi lim-
its himself to analysing the ideological discourses of the time of composition,
pointing out that “readers of the book are asked to identify with a deity that
is authoritatively imagined as sharing their Weltanschauung.”11 He does not
encourage his readers to be resistant, but he does counsel that “reading the text
as an authoritative text cannot but produce a reader who is subordinate to the
way in which the book assumes YHWH commanded Israel to behave.”12 This,
of course, has different implications for female readers, who are placed in the
subordinate position, than for male readers, who can easily adopt the superior
role by identifying with the cuckolded husband.
In his commentary for the Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries series,
designed for theological students and pastors, upper-level college or university
students and teachers in congregational settings,13 Daniel Simundson glosses
over the offensive nature of Hos 2:9–10. He does, however, raise the ques-
tion of relevance for readers today. Noting the difficulty the metaphor of the

10  Ehud Ben Zvi, Hosea (The Forms of the Old Testament Literature XXIA/1; Grand Rapids,
MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 72.
11  Ben Zvi, Hosea, 13. For example, “The imagery of the legal avenues for the husband/YHWH
to punish his wife/Israel/land may be seen against the background of the actions that,
within the discourse of the readership, the husband/YHWH could inflict upon his adulter-
ous wife/Israel/land (e.g., the fall of the monarchic polities, depopulation—the land loses
her sons—diminished agricultural production, and the like)” (71).
12  Ben Zvi, Hosea, 76.
13  Patrick D. Miller, foreword to Hosea; Joel; Amos; Obadiah; Jonah; Micah, by Daniel J.
Simundson (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press,
2005), vii.
126 Exum

faithful husband and the adulterous wife has “for many readers of the book,
particularly women,” he asks, “Is it still a helpful description of God and a
rebellious people, or does it carry too may negative possibilities to be of posi-
tive value?”14 Although he counsels that “the metaphor needs to be used care-
fully, with awareness of what it might mean to others” and that “[t]hese texts
are not to be read as models for the way a twenty-first century family should
organize itself,”15 he affirms the metaphor for its role in making Hosea “one of
the most loved of the biblical prophets for his bold statements of a persistent,
forgiving love that will never abandon the loved one and desires to be loved
out of freedom and not by coercion . . .”16 But how one reconciles this god’s
desire not to coerce but rather to be loved gratuitously with his sexual violence
against his spouse is not entirely clear.
For Andrew Dearman, writing for the New International Commentary on
the Old Testament, Israel’s violent punishment is justified. Like Simundson, he
recognizes that some readers might have a problem with Hosea’s disparaging
imagery; however, he encourages his readers not to take it too seriously:

The question has been raised whether the imagery of harlotry is gender specific
in the OT, and if so, whether this is not inherently sexist, if not misogynist, and
indeed more damaging than helpful for modern theological appropriation. The
question is complicated by several factors, not the least of which is the broad gap
between ancient formulations and modern sensibilities. We should start with
the fact that the most common use of the term zānâ in the OT is the metaphori-
cal one to describe faithless activity in the religious and social spheres, even if
this meaning is derived from a term for illicit sexual activity carried out by females.
In the metaphorical usage, which is the primary way Hosea employs the termi-
nology, it clearly applies without distinction to both men and women who have
failed in their responsibilities before the Lord . . . Finally, the more important
matter for modern appropriation is the depiction of religious faithlessness as the

14  Daniel J. Simundson, Hosea; Joel; Amos; Obadiah; Jonah; Micah (Abingdon Old Testament
Commentaries; Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2005), 3.
15  Simundson, Hosea, 37; he continues, “And males who read about Israel as the unfaithful
wife need to set aside false notions of manhood and see themselves, and not someone
else, as the offending wife.” This does not, however, encourage men to challenge the offen-
sive portrayal of women in these texts but rather depends upon their accepting it.
16  Simundson, Hosea, 36–37.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 127

human violation of an intimate trust—rather than annoyance at another cul-

ture’s depiction of gender.17

So (1) modern readers have different standards from ancient ones and should
not judge an ancient text like the Bible by them. Why not? Surely it is our task
to evaluate the biblical materials by the best ethical standards we have, and
not by standards we cannot agree with. (2) The metaphor applies to men as
well as women. This argument ignores the fact that the metaphor degrades
women as women in a way that it does not degrade men. (3) Finally, a more
important issue is at stake: faithfulness. That, of course, is the subordinate
partner’s responsibility. The divine husband, who, in the metaphor, sexually
abuses his “wife” as punishment, cannot, by definition, be faulted for problems
in the relationship.

2 Isaiah

Isaiah, who, like Hosea, calls Jerusalem a harlot (1:21; cf. 57:3–13), uses language
of sexual humiliation similar to Hosea’s in Isa 3:16–24. In this case, the pro-
phetic diatribe begins with real women, the women of Jerusalem (who will be
violently punished by God for their pride and the possession of luxury items),
before turning into an indictment of Zion herself, pictured as a ravaged woman
(“her entrances will lament and mourn, ravaged she will sit upon the ground,”
v. 26).18 The text of these verses is notoriously difficult, and whether or not
v. 17 reflects the exposure of the woman’s genitals, as is the case in Hosea, is
debated. Translating v. 17b as “the Lord will uncover their foreheads,” Brevard
Childs, in his Old Testament Library commentary, notes that “foreheads” is
“[c]learly a euphemism,” though he does not say for what.19 Of the excessively
brutal treatment of the women, he observes simply:

17  J. Andrew Dearman, The Book of Hosea (New International Commentary on the Old
Testament; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 367–68, italics mine. Shifting the issue
yet again, he continues, “The real shock of the book, however, is not just the negative
portrayal of 8th-century Israel, but the portrayal of a God who feels justly wounded, who
refused to let the failures of his people stand as the last word on human culpability” (368).
18  Cf. Susan Ackerman, “Isaiah,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Newsom and Ringe,
162: “Indeed, the identification of women, in particular the women of Jerusalem/Zion,
with Jerusalem/Zion itself was made so facilely that a prophet could slip almost without
notice from describing one to the other.”
19  Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (Old Testament Library; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox,
2001), 26–27.
128 Exum

The women of Jerusalem are singled out to illustrate the indulgent, arrogant, and
silly behavior of the wealthy, who will shortly suffer humiliation and shame. All
the horrors of war—rape, disease, and famine—will replace the luxurious life of
opulence and self-indulgence.20

John Watts, in his Word Biblical Commentary, offers a similar appraisal:

“The women of Jerusalem are depicted as an example of the pride that makes
destruction necessary and of the sad result of the judgment.”21 “God does not
act arbitrarily.”22 Watts and Childs pass over the misogynistic nature of the
passage, whereas Hugh Williamson, in the International Critical Commentary
(like Watts, opting for the translation “foreheads”) assures his readers that
Isaiah’s denunciation of the women is “not a case of misogyny.” The women are
punished for their “attitude”; in Isaiah’s opinion, they “sought to draw attention
to themselves, which nobody who was conscious of the majesty of God would
want to do.”

This is not psychological profiling, but a simple rhetorical device which [Isaiah]
would expect his (mainly male) audience to appreciate: “look, you can see how
stuck up and ridiculous they look!”23

This invective, however, is more than a (male) joke. Why should the women’s
attitude—or, for that matter, being stuck up and ridiculous—merit such vile
treatment at God’s hand?24 As Joseph Blenkinsopp observes in his Anchor
Bible Commentary, “ogling and walking with mincing gait hardly represent
serious infractions of the social order.” Blenkinsopp renders “he [God] will lay
bare their private parts” in v. 17b, and points out that “neither Isaiah nor Ezekiel
shrinks from using blunt and coarse language on occasion.”25 Nevertheless, he

20  Childs, Isaiah, 34.

21  John D.W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33, rev. edn (Word Biblical Commentary, 24; Nashville, TN:
Thomas Nelson, 2005), 73.
22  Watts, Isaiah 1–33, 70.
23  H.G.M. Williamson, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27, Vol. 1
(International Critical Commentary; London: T. & T. Clark, 2006), 276–77, 289.
24  Evidently Watts too thinks it does: “[T]he women glance coyly to see whether their ele-
gance is noticed” (Isaiah 1–33, 71)—such a truly evil thing to do.
25  Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (Anchor Bible, 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 200–201;
he also remarks that “the passage does not make for pleasant or edifying reading” (201).
The word pot in 1 Kgs 7:50 refers to the sockets in which the door pivots turned (BDB, 834;
DCH VI, 797); assuming the word refers to a hollow place in which something turns, I read
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 129

distances the deity from the sexual atrocity he commits against these women
with the comment, “Yahveh is represented as acting out the role of a victorious
army in its routinely savage treatment of female prisoners of war.”26
Alec Motyer, in the Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries, is another com-
mentator who evades the problem of the pornographic nature of this passage.
Noting “the way in which [Isaiah] moves from the ‘daughters’ (16–24) to Zion
herself (25)” and that “the womenfolk encapsulate the spirit of the city,”27 he,
too, interprets the women’s abuse as justified by their attitude:

In 3:16–4:1 Isaiah turns from the leading men of the city to its leading women,
and finds incarnate in them the spirit of arrogant self-satisfaction which is the
death warrant of the city itself.28

Although he comments that v. 17 could be translated “expose their private

parts,” his only comment on this is that it would then refer to “the dreadful fate
awaiting [the women] when the city falls.”29 He does not mention that God is
the one who does the exposing in this text.

3 Jeremiah

In Jeremiah, Israel’s unfaithfulness is again described in terms of illicit female

sexual activity (e.g., 4:30; 22:20–23; 2:33–3:20). In Jer 13:22–27, Jerusalem is raped
by Babylon, and her divine husband participates in the attack. Jack Lundbom,
in his Anchor Bible commentary, translates:

For your great sin your skirts were exposed

your heels were violated (v. 22).

it as an obscene reference to the woman’s vagina (cf. RSV, “the Lord will lay bare their
secret parts”).
26  Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 201; italics mine. Blenkinsopp recognizes that the “recurring
images of the violent exercise of power” in general can be problematic for modern read-
ers: “The offense to the modern reader may be mitigated if not entirely removed by other
aspects, in particular the fact that power is also exercised on behalf of the poor and needy
in the struggle for a social order based on justice and righteousness . . .” (109–10).
27  Alec Motyer, Isaiah: An Introduction and Commentary (Tyndale Old Testament
Commentaries; Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1999), 58.
28  Motyer, Isaiah, 55.
29  Motyer, Isaiah, 58.
130 Exum

So I, I pulled off your skirts over your face

and your disgrace was seen
Your adulteries and your neighings
your infamous whorings (vv. 26–27).30

“Skirts” in v. 22, he points out, “is a euphemism for what is under the skirts,”
and “heels” is “simply another euphemism” for “one’s ‘private parts.’ ”31 In
v. 26 “disgrace” “is euphemistic, referring to the ‘private parts.’ ”32 Lundbom too
seems to prefer euphemisms to soften the prophet’s course and insulting lan-
guage, which, he explains, describes the indignities suffered by women in war.
Although he recognizes God’s role—“He personally has pulled off her skirt so
others might see her ‘disgrace’ ”—he assures his readers that “divine judgment
has a reason,”33 and his note to the text is somewhat at odds with his transla-
tion above:

 . . . because of her adultery he [Yahweh] will now uncover her nakedness before
the enemy and then hand her over to the enemy who will strip off her clothes and
leave her bare.34

If Yahweh has already uncovered her nakedness (and, moreover, exposed her
genitals), there seems to be little left for the enemy to do.
Leslie Allen, writing for the Old Testament Library, similarly translates v. 22
as “it is because your guilt is so great that your skirts will be lifted up, your
limbs exposed” and comments that “limbs” is “a euphemism for genitalia.”35
Of Jer 13:26, where he translates, “So I for my part will pull up your skirts right
over your face, and your nudity will be brought into shameful view,” he com-
ments only:

The metaphor of ultimate degradation used earlier of a wartime eventuality is

strikingly echoed in a divine mandate. It now takes the form of public pillorying
that would expose the capital’s wrongdoing . . .

30  Jack Lundbom, Jeremiah (Anchor Bible, 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999), 683, 688.
31  Lundbom, Jeremiah, 686.
32  Lundbom, Jeremiah, 690.
33  Lundbom, Jeremiah, 686, 691.
34  Lundbom, Jeremiah, 690; italics mine.
35  Leslie C. Allen, Jeremiah (Old Testament Library; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox,
2008), 162, 164.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 131

God’s role in the exposure has, in the comment, disappeared from view, and
v. 27 assures the reader that the punishment fits the crime. In Jer 13:18–27 the
loss of political power is explained “in terms of a providential response for
adopting pagan religion and ignoring Yahweh.”36
What these commentators fail to address is the unmistakable offensive-
ness—and thus rhetorical force—of portraying an (essentially male) audi-
ence as a filthy whore who is going to have her genitals exposed for all to see.
For men, it is a call to change their ways, to repent and escape the humiliat-
ing female subject position the metaphor assigns to them. Women, however,
remain identified with the object of scorn and abuse. For women these texts
are more damaging, for, if we read with the ideology of the text and privilege
the divine point of view, we are obliged to read against our own interests and to
accept the negative portrayal of female sexuality encoded in these texts.
The problem of prophetic pornography is simply ignored by Tremper
Longman in his Jeremiah commentary for the New International Biblical
Commentary. The people “have committed spiritual adultery,” he explains, “so
their punishment is described like that levied on a prostitute, namely public
humiliation.” He neither mentions what the evidence is that prostitutes were
treated so brutally in ancient Israel nor does he tell his readers exactly how
sadistically Jerusalem is treated in Jeremiah 13, although he does describe the
people’s punishment as “likened to sexual abuse: they will be stripped and
raped.”37 The problem is also ignored by Hetty Lalleman, in the Tyndale Old
Testament Commentaries. She too speaks of “spiritual adultery” and observes:

36  Allen, Jeremiah, 162, 164–65. Although he was not sympathetic to the feminist critique,
Robert P. Carroll recognized the ideological and pornographic nature of Jeremiah’s invec-
tive and the crudeness of his euphemisms. Carroll’s commentary on Jeremiah in the Old
Testament Library (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986) has been replaced by Allen’s; it
has been reprinted by Sheffield Phoenix Press (2 volumes, 2006).
37  Tremper Longman III, Jeremiah, Lamentations (New International Biblical Commentary;
Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2008), 116–17; italics mine. Similarly, Henry McKeating (The
Book of Jeremiah [Epworth Commentaries; Peterborough: Epworth, 1999], 90) observes,
“There is a good deal of evidence that in Israel, as elsewhere in the ancient near east [sic],
one of the regular punishments for adultery by a woman was the horrible one of being
stripped naked in public.” Here sexual abuse is not just for prostitutes but for any woman
found guilty of adultery, and, moreover, as a regular practice in Israel among other pos-
sible punishments.
132 Exum

Because of her unfaithfulness to God, she (meaning Jerusalem) will be humili-

ated. Such language expresses the idea of violent rape, which happened literally
during wartime and exile . . .38

Louis Stulman, in the Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries, similarly

avoids the issue, telling us only that Jerusalem is personified, among other
things, as “a ravaged and violated prisoner of war (13:22, 26), and a shameless
harlot (13:27).”39 The broken-marriage metaphor, he explains:

. . . depicts Yahweh as a faithful and generous husband who is injured by betrayal

and infidelity. Yahweh initiates a relationship with Israel, provides for his
beloved, and more than anything else longs for intimacy and union. Israel, on
the other hand, fractures the relationship by going after other partners and refus-
ing to return to her first love. Such interaction causes Yahweh enormous pain
and heartache, which evokes compassion for God and disdain for Israel.40

In Stulman’s view, the woman is to blame for the breakdown of the relation-
ship, and God alone deserves our sympathy. God’s judgment “is not vindictive
but purposeful and grounded in raw emotion,” and it is not the final word.41
A god whose actions are grounded in raw emotion seems a bit scary to me.

4 Ezekiel

The most pornographic examples of the objectification and sexual abuse of

women appear in Ezekiel, especially chapters 16 and 23, where God’s willful,
promiscuous wives are publically humiliated, stripped naked, raped, muti-
lated, stoned to death, dismembered and hacked to pieces with swords, after
which God, having vented his anger on his victim, will feel better (“I will be

38  Hetty Lalleman, Jeremiah and Lamentations (Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries, 21;
Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2013), 148, 147.
39  Louis Stulman, Jeremiah (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville, TN:
Abingdon Press, 2005), 138.
40  Stulman, Jeremiah, 61.
41  Stulman, Jeremiah, 23. Elsewhere he says that “The wrath of love is grounded in enormous
pain and is expressed in acts of justice” (22), and “announcements of judgment are not
primarily retributive or punitive but rather are grounded in pain and exasperation as well
as hope and pining for reconciliation” (61–62).
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 133

calm and will not be angry any more,” 16:42). In contrast to most of the com-
mentators in my survey, Paul Joyce alerts his readers to the issue of prophetic
pornography and provides helpful bibliographical references. Of Ezekiel 16, he
notes how feminist criticism

has highlighted a discourse of gratuitous titillation (e.g. v. 7), humiliation (e.g. v.

37) and abusive violence (e.g. v. 40), with the female figure presented as a pos-
sessed object (v. 8) dominated by her own insatiable sexual appetite (e.g. v. 28) . . .

He makes the same point about Ezekiel 23:

. . . modern feminist criticism . . . has highlighted a discourse of gratuitous titilla-

tion (e.g. vv. 3, 20), humiliation and abusive violence (e.g. vv. 10, 25), with the
female figures presented as possessed objects (e.g. vv. 4, 5) dominated by their
own insatiable sexual appetites (e.g. vv. 7, 11).42

Though he does not overtly enter the debate, Joyce is critical of the violent
imagery, and draws attention to the way translations typically tone down the
graphic sexual language and to the similarity between God’s treatment of his
“wife” and domestic violence.43
Steven Tuell, in the New International Biblical Commentary, also makes ref-
erence to the feminist critique of the graphic sexual violence in Ezekiel 16 and
in Ezekiel 23, which he finds “even more offensive” than ch. 16 but about which
he has less to say.44

Many interpreters have gone so far as to condemn this passage [Ezek 16] and
others like it (particularly Hos 2 and Ezek 23) as pornography that implicitly con-
dones violence against women . . .

42  Paul Joyce, Ezekiel: A Commentary (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 482;
London: T. & T. Clark, 2007), 131, 161.
43  Joyce, Ezekiel, 132–33; though, curiously, he seems to see the woman’s punishment as
“poetic justice” (e.g., 133, 162).
44  Steven Tuell, Ezekiel (New International Biblical Commentary; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson,
2009), 153. Contributors to the NIBC are “believing critics” who write for the church
and the academy; Robert L. Hubbard Jr and Robert K. Johnston, Foreword to Jeremiah,
Lamentations, by Tremper Longman III (New International Biblical Commentary;
Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2008), xii (the same Forward appears in Tuell, Ezekiel).
134 Exum

But after offering some bibliography, instead of dealing with this critique he
continues with a non sequitur: “On the other hand, as Daniel Smith-Christopher
notes, we have no reason to think that Ezekiel’s audience was predominately or
exclusively male . . .” Apparently because (again quoting Smith-Christopher),
“the images of violence, bloodshed, vengeance, and terror are not concoctions
of Ezekiel’s normative theological reflection, but the realities within which he
is living,”45 the brutal treatment of Jerusalem personified as God’s wife and the
portrayal of God as an abusive spouse become less problematic. Tuell stresses
repeatedly the fact that what Ezekiel describes in these texts are war crimes,
and “not the way human relationships ought to be.”

Unquestionably, this is a deeply disturbing, indeed offensive, text. In no way is

the intention of this passage to justify or encourage child abuse, spouse abuse, or
rape. Remember, too, that Ezekiel did not invent the imagery of this chapter;
rather, he participates in a long history in the ancient Near East. Ezekiel 16 is not
a literal description of God or of Jerusalem, but an extended metaphor—an alle-
gory, or parable.46

Tuell seems to me to be suggesting that, if you insult someone by using

offensive and derogatory language, you are less culpable if you did not invent
the slurs yourself. He also appeals to the “it’s only a metaphor” argument, as
though gender relations inscribed in a text on a metaphorical level are less
problematic than on a literal level. “Although the imagery is blatantly sexual,
the references are to relationships that are historical, political alliances.”47 Thus
“[i]t is little wonder that the Lord is driven to wrath,” for “Jerusalem’s horrific
crimes call forth horrific penalties.”48 Should we, because the references are
to particular situations of Ezekiel’s time and probably experienced by Ezekiel
himself (do we really know this about the composition of these oracles?), over-
look the fact that the metaphor pictures this wrathful Lord as a violent abu-
sive husband, even if his wayward wife has truly merited her “divine spouse’s

45  Tuell, Ezekiel, 104, citing Daniel Smith-Christopher, “Ezekiel in Abu Ghraib: Rereading
Ezekiel 16:37–39 in the Context of Imperial Conquest,” in Ezekiel’s Hierarchical World, ed.
Stephen L. Cook and Corrine L. Patton (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004),
146.
46  Tuell, Ezekiel, 92; similarly, “To understand what happens to Jerusalem in [ch. 16] verses
37–41 we need to look not to any understanding of normal human relationships, but
rather to the pathological realm of war crimes” (90–91).
47  Tuell, Ezekiel, 89.
48  Tuell, Ezekiel, 90.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 135

understandable (though never in human terms excusable or justifiable) wrath

and jealousy.”49 Why is the uncontrolled venting of wrath and jealousy inex-
cusable for humans but excusable in a god?
Nancy Bowen’s commentary on Ezekiel for the Abingdon Old Testament
Commentaries stands out among the commentaries I have surveyed for
its frank recognition and criticism of the violent images of sexual assault in
Ezekiel 16 and 23 and for its consideration of how readers might come to terms
with such disturbingly violent material.50 Although she struggles, not entirely
successfully, to find ways of “reimagining the metaphor”51 and reconsidering it
(as opposed to uncritically accepting it or rejecting it outright),52 she insists on
the importance of resisting the biblical marriage metaphor because it affirms
the male’s power over the female, who risks punishment if she is not submis-
sive and obedient to his will.

[F]aith communities should join feminists in the critique of the language of

sexualized violence. We must resist the brutalization of women, including bru-
talizing language, even while acknowledging that such brutalization is a reality.
Increasingly, research suggests that many respond to images of sexualized vio-
lence by viewing it as “just a game” or “just a movie.” This is like saying that Ezek
23 is “just a metaphor.” Real relationships are shaped by these images. Failure to
resist violent language perpetuates violent relationships.53

5 (Metaphorical) Violence against Women—Does It Matter?

On the whole, the commentaries I have surveyed have been rather reticent in
condemning the divine husband’s sexual abuse of his wife described in these
passages from Hosea, Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Six rhetorical techniques
in particular are commonly relied upon to mitigate the seriousness of the
problem.

49  Tuell, Ezekiel, 92. “Ezekiel is a victim, too,” he explains to his readers (93).
50  Nancy R. Bowen, Ezekiel (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville, TN, 2010),
91, and, especially, the sections called “Theological and Ethical Analysis,” 91–93, 143–45.
51  Bowen, Ezekiel, 92; e.g., imagining what it would be like to “express the intimate relation-
ship with God in terms of equality.” In spite of her reflections, I fail to see how a relation-
ship with a god can be imagined in terms of equality.
52  Bowen, Ezekiel, 144, where she proposes an analogy to rap music, where “the ugliness and
brutality of rap is a form of truth telling” (144); however, a critical difference is that rap
music does not have the authoritative status that the Bible has for many of its readers.
53  Bowen, Ezekiel, 145.
136 Exum

(1) Toning down the horror of these texts in translation—even when the

translator comments that the sexual imagery is graphic and that numerous
euphemisms refer to the women’s genitalia—reduces the offensiveness of
texts that were clearly intended to shock their original hearers, with the effect
that modern readers are less likely to object to them.
(2) Readers are often encouraged to see God’s violent treatment of his wife
as a description of crimes that were known to have been perpetuated upon
women victims of war. But war crimes—both ancient and modern mistreat-
ment of both women and men in war—are not the issue for the feminist cri-
tique of these texts. The imagery of graphic sexual violation and abuse of a
woman by a theologically justified abusive husband-deity and its effect on
readers, women and men, is. If Ezekiel, for example, had said, “These are some
of the horrible things that will happen to you as prisoners of war” and gone
on to list them, that would be one matter. But to represent God as saying that
he is going to expose his unfaithful wife to her lovers, to whom he gives free
rein to strip, stone, mutilate and hack to pieces, is another matter altogether—
especially when the text in which God assaults his “wife” is one that many com-
mentators and their readers take to be in some way authoritative or inspired.54
(3) Related to this, and frequently cited as a mitigating factor, is the fact
that the chief addressees of these oracles are men. But metaphorical violence
against women is not cancelled out by the fact that men as well as women are
the objects of the prophets’ abusive language. A fundamental point of the fem-
inist critique is that the use of imagery of female sexual sin and female sexual
abuse as a means of representing male social and political sins and their conse-
quences reflects what amounts to a devaluation and denigration of women. As
Gale Yee observes about the prophetic marriage metaphor, it “makes its theo-
logical point at the expense of real women and children who were and still are
victims of sexual violence.”55
(4) It is sometimes argued that the prophet is using language common to
the cultural milieu of his time.56 As I indicated above, in my view using familiar

54  E.g., “. . . the Old Testament is not simply another text from the ancient world”; David G.
Firth, Series Editor, and Tremper Longman III, Consulting Editor, General Preface to the
revised Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries, in Jeremiah and Lamentations, by Hetty
Lalleman, 7.
55  Gale A. Yee, “Hosea,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H.
Ringe and Jacqueline E. Lapsley (3rd rev. edn; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox,
2012), 305.
56  Cf. Patricia K. Tull, “Isaiah,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Newsom, Ringe and
Lapsley, 257, who speaks of the historical context in which such pornographic imagery
was taken for granted and of Isaiah’s authors possibly exercising restraint.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 137

offensive slurs rather than inventing them does not make the prophet less cul-
pable, or the imagery less offensive. One could argue that it makes the prophet
more responsible and the imagery more offensive, since the prophet casually
appropriates it rather than finding some new (possibly alternative) way to
scandalize his audience.
(5) Appealing to the “it’s only a metaphor” argument is another way of try-
ing to explain (away) the problem.57 In her study of the sexual and marital
metaphors in prophetic texts, Sharon Moughtin-Mumby alerts us to two dif-
ferent views of metaphor that inform what she distinguishes as the traditional
and the feminist approaches to this material: the substitutionary approach,
which assumes that a metaphor can be translated or “substituted” for a more
“literal” word or phrase without any substantial loss of meaning, and the cog-
nitive view, according to which metaphor has the ability to introduce new
perspectives and outlooks and cannot be translated, since any paraphrase will
result in a loss of content. Thus, on the one hand, we find feminist readers
insisting that

. . . sexual and marital metaphorical language reinforces negative stereotypes of

women and female sexuality and condones male physical violence; and the per-
sistent response, on the other hand, by more traditional scholarship that such
readings miss the point: these are “only” metaphors, and should be read within
their historical and literary contexts.58

The interesting question for me is, why does interpretation break down
perceptibly—though not exclusively—along gender lines, with most male
commentators taking the “traditional approach” and most women taking the
“feminist approach”? Is this the result of decisions regarding what theory of
metaphor is most compelling? Or is it a question of point of view, with the
perspective of the male critic assumed to be neutral whereas the female critic
has a special interest? For evidence of the difference reading as a woman
makes, one need only consult the articles on prophetic texts in the Women’s

57  I have discussed at greater length the problems with the “it’s only a metaphor” argument
in Exum, “Prophetic Pornography,” 118–22 (2nd rev. edn, 122–25); see also the discussion in
Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, passim.
58  Moughtin-Mumby, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 3–4; citation from p. 1. It follows that
feminists tend to concentrate on the vehicle and the implications of the vehicle for mod-
ern readers, and traditionalists focus on the tenor and the historical and literary con-
text (14). The differences also correspond to reader-oriented and text/author-oriented
approaches, or to cooperative readers versus resistant readers (38–41).
138 Exum

Bible Commentary. At times they may lean toward the apologetic, but they all
recognize the problem and grapple candidly with it.59
(6) Though they may find the prophets’ punishment imagery brutal and
uncomfortable, commentators point out that the final message is one of hope.
“Correction,” then, seems to be justified because it leads to the desired out-
come of submission, obedience and reconciliation. Writing in 1996, I observed:

The “positive” opposite of the adulterous wife metaphor, imaging the people as
God’s faithful wife, does not exalt women, for it relies upon the same patriarchal
hierarchy in which the woman remains as the subordinate, inferior member in
the relationship. Likewise the prospect these texts hold out of reconciliation fol-
lowing punishment provides no solution to the problem posed by the imagery of
sexual abuse because it is part of the pattern. It reinforces the harmful ideology
of abuse as something for the victim’s own good and makes acceptance of blame
and submission the price of forgiveness. It leaves the woman powerless.60

According to the United Nations Population Fund, one in three women

globally is sexually abused, most often by her husband or another male family
member.61 Though it may contribute to the problem, the Bible is not responsi-
ble for this widespread phenomenon. But the ideology that informs these bib-
lical texts is, an ideology according to which women’s bodies are the property
of men and female sexuality is subject to—indeed, requires—male control.62
A woman whose behaviour brings dishonour upon her husband (or father or

59  For those who do not recognize the term, “reading as a woman” was a major topic in early
feminist literary criticism, which stressed the importance of recognizing the phallocen-
tric assumptions that govern male-produced literature and the demands this literature
can make upon female readers.
60  Exum, “Prophetic Pornography,” 121–22 (2nd rev. edn, 124–25). I also find it odd that more
scholarly attention is not given to the fact that a god who violently punishes an entire
nation by virtually destroying it might be theologically problematic for modern readers.
61  http://www.unfpa.org/gender/violence.htm (accessed 22 August 2013). It is estimated
that, worldwide, one in five women will become a victim of rape or attempted rape in
her lifetime. According to UN statistics, up to 70% of women experience violence in their
lifetime; the “most common form of violence experienced by women globally is physical
violence inflicted by an intimate partner, with women beaten, coerced into sex or oth-
erwise abused”; http://www.un.org/en/globalissues/briefingpapers/endviol/index.shtml
(accessed 22 August 2013).
62  Even in our culture, women’s sexual freedom is judged differently from men’s; in Hebrew,
as in English, for example, only women can be harlots or whores. If the terms are applied
to men it is only in an extended or figurative sense.
Prophetic Pornography Revisited 139

brothers) must be punished.63 It is this ideology that gives rise to the prophetic
marriage metaphor in which the unquestioned superior male position is fur-
ther privileged by placing God in the husband’s role.
If biblical scholars do not speak out against the sexual abuse women are
subjected to in these prophetic texts, who will? Biblical scholars have a par-
ticular responsibility for interpreting the Bible, and should not let a desire to
defend the ancient text against criticism interfere with ethical evaluations
of its outmoded view of gender relations. These texts require comment and
should be held accountable, not by the standards of their own ancient patriar-
chal culture but by today’s standards. Our modern standards may be relative,
they may not be perfect, but they are the only standards we have.64
If biblical scholars who find the sexual abuse of women objectionable con-
tinue to pass over it in silence when they encounter it in the prophets, or fail to
critique it, then they are inadvertently condoning it.

63  At present, so-called “honour killings” take the lives of thousands of women a year
according to UN figures—largely, but not limited to Western Asia, North Africa and parts
of South Asia (http://www.unfpa.org/swp/2000/english/ch03.html (accessed 28 August
2013); many have been reported in Europe and America and numerous websites are
devoted to honour-based violence (see, e.g. http://hbv-awareness.com/).
64  For various strategies for dealing with these texts, see, in addition to Landy and Bowen
(discussed above), Exum, “Prophetic Pornography,” 122–28 (2nd rev. edn, 125–31);
Moughtin-Mumby; and the articles in The Women’s Bible Commentary.
part 2
History

∵
Isaiah and the Siege of Jerusalem
Reinhard G. Kratz

Recent studies have made a strong case for the assumption that the prophet
Isaiah of the late 8th century BCE was originally a prophet of salvation, support-
ing the political interests of Judah and the king of Judah, Ahas, in the name of
his God, Jhwh, and that it was only the author of the book of Isaiah—whether
we identify him with Isaiah himself, his pupils or anonymous scribes—who
changed the message.1 After the fall of Samaria and of Jerusalem the oracles
of salvation were turned into oracles of doom against the monarchies of both
Ephraim (Samaria) and Judah (Jerusalem), the “two houses of Israel” (Isa 6–8,
here 8:14). Rather surprisingly, in the narratives of 2 Kgs 18–20 and the par-
allel Isa 36–39, Isaiah appears (once again) to be a prophet of salvation for
Jerusalem and King Hezekiah. It is the same historical situation in which schol-
ars usually date the oracles of doom in Isa 28–31. Thus, the question arises how
the different portraits of the prophet Isaiah fit together. In the following I will
examine different modes of explanation of the Isaiah narratives and will ask
what they contribute to our problem of the different portraits of Isaiah.

1 The Biography of the Prophet

One way of dealing with the different portraits of Isaiah in the narratives and
in the oracles is the biographical approach. Here, the differences are either
levelled out or harmonised on a historical-biographical basis.2 The tensions
between doom and salvation within the oracles of the book are often explained
in a similar way. Here, it is argued that the experience of the prophet’s

1  Uwe Becker, Jesaja—von der Botschaft zum Buch (FRLANT 178; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1997); Matthijs J. de Jong, Isaiah among the Ancient Near East Prophets: A
Comparative Study of the Earliest Stages of the Isaiah Tradition and the Neo-Assyrian Prophecies
(VTSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007); idem, “Biblical Prophecy—A Scribal Enterprise: The Old
Testament Prophecy of Unconditional Judgement Considered as a Literary Phenomenon,”
VT 61 (2011): 39–70; Reinhard G. Kratz, Prophetenstudien: Kleine Schriften II (FAT 74; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2011).
2  See, for example, William R. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah: New Studies (Studies
in the History of the Ancient Near East 18; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 218–19 on the contradiction
between 2 Kgs 19:6–7/Isa 37:6–7 and Isa 22 or Isa 1:4–8.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_012

144 Kratz

rejection by the audience3 or the changing political situation4 led to a change

of mind of the prophet, who initially preached salvation for Judah (Isa 8:1–4), a
bit later doom for Ephraim and Judah (Isa 6–8) and in a third phase concluded
with a mixture of doom for the people in Jerusalem and salvation for the Zion
(Isa 28–31 and 32). So, the argument might go on, why shouldn’t Isaiah have
changed his mind again and, at the end of his activity, proclaimed salvation
once more for the king and the people of Judah?
Of course, whilst this is all perfectly possible the explanation is based on
pure speculation. We know too little about the person of Isaiah and his imme-
diate context to make his biography the key to explaining the text. We are left
with no choice but to restrict ourselves to the literary evidence.

2 Historical Reminiscences

A second model is the historical approach. There is no doubt that the Isaiah
narratives are full of historical reminiscences of the Assyrian invasion in the
late 8th century and, in particular, of the siege of Jerusalem in 701 BCE. I need
only mention the titles of the Assyrian officials,5 the names and the titles
of the Judean officials,6 numerous geographical references,7 the address of
Sennacherib as “the Great King” and further Akkadian expressions,8 Aramaic
as diplomatic lingua franca,9 details of Assyrian war technique,10 methods and
motives of Assyrian propaganda in the speeches of the Rabshakeh,11 the sons
of Sennacherib, and the manner of his death and that of his successor.12 The

3   Christof Hardmeier, “Verkündigung und Schrift bei Jesaja: Zur Entstehung der
Schriftprophetie als Oppositionsliteratur im alten Israel,” ThGl 73 (1983): 119–34.
4  Reinhard Müller, Ausgebliebene Einsicht: “Jesajas Verstockungsauftrag” ( Jes 6,9–11) und die
judäische Politik am Ende des 8. Jahrhunderts (BThSt 124; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener
Verlag, 2012); see already de Jong, Isaiah among the Ancient Near East Prophets.
5  All three titles in 2 Kgs 18:17; only Rabshakeh in Isa 36:2.
6  2 Kgs 18:18/Isa 36:3; see also Isa 22:15–25.
7  2 Kgs 18:17, 34; 19:8, 12f, 37/Isa 36:2, 19; 37:8, 12f, 38.
8  2 Kgs 18:19/Isa 36:4; cf. also “Gods of these countries” 2 Kgs 18:35/Isa 36:20; “Make your
peace” 2 Kgs 18:31/Isa 36:16.
9  2 Kgs 18:26/Isa 36:11.
10  Starvation (blockade) 2 Kgs 18:27/Isa 36:12 (cf. 2 Chr 32:11); storming 2 Kgs 19:32/Isa 37:33.
11  2 Kgs 18:19–25/Isa 36:4–10; 2 Kgs 18:28–35/Isa 36:13–20; 2 Kgs 19:10–13, 14/Isa 37:10–13, 14
(letter); cf. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 169–216, 224–27.
12  2 Kgs 19:37/Isa 37:38.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 145

same could be said of the early history of the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 2 Kgs
20/Isa 39.13
In fact, there are also some historical inconsistencies, such as the anach-
ronism of the title “King of Cush” for the Egyptian pharaoh Tirhakah or the
accurate prediction of the manner in which Sennacherib will die twenty years
before his actual death. However, apart from these few inconsistencies, the
knowledge of so many historical details gives the impression that the narratives
provide a contemporary witness account. For some exegetes the appearance
of authenticity is again evidence of the historical reliability of the statements
concerning the prophet Isaiah.14
However, as authentic and reliable as the historical knowledge in the nar-
ratives may seem, they cannot bear the burden of proof. First, we cannot
simply conclude the historicity of the whole account, the words, or the char-
acter and role of the prophet from the Assyrian colouring of the narratives
and from some historical details, for which we find analogies in Assyrian royal
inscriptions.15 Second, we cannot ignore that this historical knowledge does
not go beyond commonplace phrases and clichés of the Assyrian period.16
Much of what is supposed to be significant for the Assyrian period, such as the
polemic against the alliance with Egypt, is also true of the Babylonian period;
other characteristics, such as the strategies of propaganda, can be said of
any opponent and has, as Gallagher has shown,17 survived to modern times.
Still other data, such as the names of Sennacherib’s sons and his death, are
evidence of prevalent (vague) knowledge, which is also to be found in the

13  See Ernst Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, vol. 2 (ATD 11/2;
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 436.
14  On the basis of source theory, Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 160–254 and
255–62; on the basis of a close reading, Paul S. Evans, The Invasion of Sennacherib in the
Book of Kings: A Source-Critical and Rhetorical Study of 2 Kings 18–19 (VTSup 125; Leiden:
Brill, 2009), 167–90; on the historical questions, see recently, Lester L. Grabbe, “Like a
Bird in a Cage”: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE (JSOTSup 363/ESHM 4; London:
Sheffield Academic Press, 2003).
15  See Rüdiger Liwak, “Die Rettung Jerusalems im Jahr 701 v. Chr.: Zum Verhältnis und
Verständnis historischer und theologischer Aussagen,” ZThK 83 (1986): 137–66, who rightly
points out the ideological character of all (Biblical and Assyrian) sources and, therefore, is
very careful in his historical reconstruction.
16  Cf. Angelika Berlejung, “Erinnerungen an Assyrien in Nahum 2,4–3,19,” in Die unwider-
stehliche Wahrheit: Studien zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie. Festschrift für Arndt Meinhold,
ed. Rüdiger Lux and Ernst-Joachim Waschke (Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 23;
Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2006), 323–56 on Nahum.
17  Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 174–86 with examples from World War II.
146 Kratz

evidence from the Neo-Babylonian to the Persian periods.18 Some elements,

such as the spirit, which feeds a rumour to Sennacherib,19 or the angel, which
slaughtered the Assyrian army,20 can only be seen as a response to historical
events by way of rationalisation and generalisation.
Even if we cannot deny that the Isaiah narratives have an Assyrian colouring
and show some knowledge of the historical conditions of the Assyrian period,
we still have not gained a great deal. The Assyrian colouring and the historical
details mark a terminus a quo, no more and no less. Therefore it is not surpris-
ing that the majority of scholars dates the final form of the Isaiah narratives,
despite their historical colouring, not to the Neo-Assyrian period but to the
Neo-Babylonian or Persian period, and explains the image of the prophet from
the context of this later period.21
This dating can be supported by a comparison with Isaiah’s oracles, which
are usually considered older, if not even authentic. It is also supported by
numerous literary borrowings from the book of Isaiah as well as other biblical
literature, which can be found not only in those parts of the narratives which
deal with the activities and discourses of the people of Jerusalem, but also in
the parts which appear to be particularly Assyrian, such as the speech of the
Assyrian officer Rabshakeh. We can only get around the literary evidence by
claiming a word pool, which was commonly available—and therefore also
accessible for the propaganda of the Assyrian enemy—and thereby smoothing
over the literary cross references. This leads us to the next explanatory model:
the phenomenological approach.

18  On Nab 8, I cf. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 252.

19  2 Kgs 19:7, 9/Isa 37:7, 9; also Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 219f (with
recourse to Carl von Clausewitz, Vom Kriege, trans. On War).
20  2 Kgs 19:35/Isa 37:36, also Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 240–252 (with
digressions on Herodotus II 141 and again with reference to Carl von Clausewitz, Vom
Kriege, trans. On War).
21  Francolino J. Gonçalves, L’expédition de Sennachérib en Palestine dans la literature hébra-
ïque ancienne (Études bibliques NS 7; Paris: Gabalda, 1986); Christof Hardmeier, Prophetie
im Streit vor dem Untergang Judas: Erzählkommunikative Studien zur Entstehungssituation
der Jesaja- und Jeremiaerzählungen in II Reg 18–20 und Jer 37–40 (BZAW 187; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 1990); Ludger Camp, Hiskija und Hiskijabild: Analyse und Interpretation von 2 Kön
18–20 (MThA 9; Altenberge: Telos-Verlag, 1990).
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 147

3 Religio-Historical Analogies

The smoothing over of literary cross references is also a strategy of the phe-
nomenological approach in order to explain the different portraits of the
prophet Isaiah in the narratives and in the oracles of the book. Here, one can
rely on ancient Near Eastern analogies from Mari (end of 2nd millennium
BCE), Nineveh (7th century BCE) and the North West Semitic area.22 In spite
of the presence of specific cultural characteristics all the evidence conveys a
relatively uniform picture. The numerous formal and thematic parallels in the
ancient Near Eastern material are ideal for a comparison with the biblical evi-
dence. According to phenomenology, the biblical evidence fits perfectly into
the picture of ancient Near Eastern prophecy.23
But what do we gain by the phenomenological analogies? It seems to me to
be noticeable that in most of the oracles of the prophetic books the analogies
with the Near Eastern material concentrate mainly on formal aspects (visions,
word reception, word transfer, rhetorical wording, topics) and not so much on
content and meaning, whereas in the biblical narratives the analogies concen-
trate mainly on content and the prophet’s social role (court prophets, oracles
of war and salvation). Only in more recent oracles of salvation or the apoca-
lyptical end-time descriptions (such as Second Isaiah, Isa 24–27) do we also
(again) see a closer contact of content and meaning with the ancient Near
Eastern parallels.
These observations alone should save us from drawing hasty historical
conclusions. It is a great temptation to conclude the historicity of the bibli-
cal prophets on the basis of ancient Near Eastern analogies or, conversely, to
merge the biblical prophets into the phenomenology of the ancient Near East.
Both ways, however, entail an elimination of the specific form and orienta-
tion of the biblical prophets. They seem to serve an apologetic interest, either
by declaring the proprium of the biblical prophecy to be historical according

22  See Kratz, Prophetenstudien, 7f and the literature mentioned here.

23  Hans M. Barstad, “Lachish Ostracon III and Ancient Israelite Prophecy,” ErIs 24 (1993):
8*–12*; idem, “No Prophets? Recent Developments in Biblical Prophetic Research
and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” JSOT 57 (1993): 39–60; idem, “What Prophets
Do: Reflections on the Past Reality in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Prophecy in the Book of
Jeremiah, ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz (BZAW 388, Berlin / New York: de
Gruyter, 2009), 10–32.
148 Kratz

to phenomenological analogy, or by merging the biblical prophets into the

ancient Near East completely and so declaring them historical.24
However, in the case of Isaiah, as with all the other prophets in the Hebrew
Bible, we come neither to the historical prophet nor to an adequate explana-
tion of the disparity between oracles and narratives by using phenomenology.
Phenomenological analogies lead to the cultural background and conditions
of prophecy, which are likely to have been the same in Israel and Judah as well
as throughout the ancient Near East and the rest of the Mediterranean world.
But the analogies tell us nothing about the origin or the dating of the biblical
prophecies, or about the relationship between the oracles and the narratives in
the Hebrew Bible. These questions have to be decided instead by using internal
criteria in the analysis of the biblical texts themselves.

4 The Literary Context

So we leave the field of biographical, historical and religio-historical specula-

tion and turn to the text. As it is well known the Isaiah narratives have been
handed down in two different versions and in two different literary contexts, the
book of Isaiah (36–39) and 2 Kings (18–20). Other versions, although younger
and dependent on Isaiah and/or Kings, can be found in 2 Chr 32, in Josephus
(Ant. X 1–2 §§1–35) and in the short summary of Ben Sira in Sir 48:17–25. In
addition we find various versions in the Septuagint and in the Great Isaiah
Scroll from Qumran (1QIsaa). This all means that we are dealing with a very
complicated history of tradition. Here, we have to differentiate between three
levels of tradition: the composition of the narratives (literary or composition
history), the text (text history) and the incorporation of the narratives into the
biblical books (redaction history).
To explain the complicated situation three hypotheses are advocated in
scholarship.25 Since Wilhelm Gesenius most scholars are in agreement that
the version in 2 Kings is the oldest in both text and redaction historical terms.
This does not rule out the possibility that the version in 2 Kings was also then

24  Erhard Blum, “Israels Prophetie im altorientalischen Kontext: Anmerkungen zu neueren

religionsgeschichtlichen Thesen,” in “From Ebla to Stellenbosch”: Syro-Palestinian
Religions and the Hebrew Bible, ed. Izak Cornelius and Louis Jonker (ADPV 37; Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 2008), 81–115.
25  For a discussion see Peter Höffken, Jesaja: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion
(Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004).
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 149

changed and that, in some cases, the book of Isaiah has preserved the older
text.26 However, some scholars advocate the priority of the version in Isaiah, at
least in text and redaction historical terms and, occasionally, in genetic terms
as well.27 Finally, a third group of scholars suggests a common Vorlage, which
was taken up independently in 2 Kings and the book of Isaiah and developed
in different ways.28
Most of these hypotheses relate to the narratives in their final form and
assume an antecedent growth and independent existence of the narratives. As
a consequence, we would have to assume two different roots of the Isaiah tra-
dition, which were connected only secondarily: the tradition of the prophet of
doom in the book of Isaiah, who speaks against the king and people of Judah,
and the tradition of the Isaiah as a court prophet and prophet of salvation as
well as thaumaturge, who fits more easily into the books of Kings and only by
name in the book of Isaiah. The narratives in Isa 7 and 21 (and also the oracle
against Shebnah and Eliakim in Isa 22) form a mediating category. Based on
content, these pieces conform to the prophet’s oracles; based on form, they
conform to the narratives in Isa 36–39/2 Kgs 18–20.
However, the relationship between the narratives and the oracles of Isaiah
looks different if we take into account the possibility that the narratives have
been supplemented or even formulated within a certain literary context—
whether this is 2 Kings or the book of Isaiah—and not independently of it. This
possibility is supported by the existing literary cross-references in the book of

26  Wilhelm Gesenius, Philologisch-kritischer und historischer Commentar über den Jesaja I–II
(Leipzig: Vogel, 1821): 952–56; cf. Hans Wildberger, Jesaja 28–39: Das Buch, der Prophet und
seine Botschaft, vol. 3 of Jesaja (BK 10/3; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982),
1370–377.
27  Klaas A.D. Smelik, “Distortion of Old Testament Prophecy: The Purpose of Isaiah xxxvi
and xxxvii,” in 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, U.K., 1985, ed. Adam S. van
der Woude (OTS 24; Leiden: Brill, 1986), 70–93; idem, “King Hezekiah Advocates True
Prophecy: Remarks on Isaiah xxxvi and xxxvii // II Kings xviii and xix,” in Converting the
Past: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (OTS 28; Leiden: Brill, 1992),
93–128. Jaques Vermeylen, “Hypothèses sur l’origine d’Isaïe 36–39,” in Studies in the Book
of Isaiah: Festschrift Willem A.M. Beuken, ed. Jacques van Ruiten and Marc Vervenne (EThL
132; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 95–118.
28  Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 260ff.
150 Kratz

Isaiah29 and also in the book of Kings.30 Within the books of Kings the narra-
tives could have been formulated as an alternative to the oracles in the book
of Isaiah; in the book of Isaiah they could have been added in order to supple-
ment them. This would mean that questions on text and redaction history can-
not be treated independently of the origin of the narratives and that they are
most likely to be answered differently for each step of growth. Therefore, the
relationship of the two versions in 2 Kings and in the book of Isaiah cannot be
explained without first carrying out a text and literary critical analysis.

5 Textual Variants

With regard to the text of the Isaiah narratives, the position originally put
forward by Wilhelm Gesenius, which prevailed for a long time and was
unopposed, has recently changed. The reason for this change is the stronger
weighting of the Greek text of Isaiah and 2 Kings as well as the discovery of the
Great Isaiah Scroll from Qumran (1QIsaa), which was unknown to Gesenius.
On this basis, recent studies have come to the conclusion that the Greek text
of Isaiah and the Qumran manuscript may hold priority over not only the
Masoretic text of Isaiah but also the Greek and Masoretic text of 2 Kings.31 This
result would speak for the priority of the version in Isaiah, if not in genetic
terms, at least in terms of text and composition.
But still there are scholars who maintain that the text of 2 Kings is original.32
Furthermore, the text-historical situation is not the same in all chapters.33 For
example, the two versions of the text deviate more strongly from each other

29  Cf. for instance 2 Kgs 18:17/Isa 36:2 and Isa 7:3; 2 Kgs 18:19–24/Isa 36:4–9 and Isa 30:1–7;
31:1–3; on the relationship between the Isaiah narratives and Second Isaiah (2 Kgs 19:18/
Isa 37:19 and Isa 44:9ff etc.) see Reinhard G. Kratz, Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch: Unter­
suchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55 (FAT 1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
1991), 201f.
30  Cf. for instance 2 Kgs 18:22; 25/Isa 36:7, 10; and 2 Kgs 18:4f or the list of nations in 2 Kgs
18:33; 19:12f/Isa 36:19; 37:12f; and 2 Kgs 17.
31  Alessandro Catastini, Isaia ed Ezechia: Studi di storia della tradizione di II Re 18–20, Is 36–39
(SS NS 6; Rome: Università degli Studi di Roma “La Sapienza,” 1989); Raymond F. Person,
The Kings-Isaiah and Kings-Jeremiah Recensions (BZAW 252; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997)
and idem, “II Kings 18–20 and Isaiah 36–39: A Text Critical Case Study in the Redaction
History of the Book of Isaiah,” ZAW 111 (1999): 373–79.
32  August H. Konkel, “The Sources of the Story of Hezekiah in the Book of Isaiah,” VT 43
(1993): 462–82.
33  See Höffken, Jesaja, 135.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 151

at the beginning in the historical introduction (2 Kgs 18:13–16/Isa 36:1) and

towards the end in the narrative of Hezekiah’s illness (2 Kgs 20:1–11/Isa 38) than
they do in the other parts. This means that, in terms of textual criticism, we
must expect a much more sophisticated model of origin. Again, an approach is
required, which does not separate the different levels of tradition, such as liter-
ary history (origin of the narratives), text history (different versions), and com-
position or redaction history (integration in the literary context of the books),
but which analyses their interaction. The question of the relationship between
the narratives and the oracles of Isaiah should be directed not only to the old-
est available text, but also primarily to the oldest available version and original
literary level of the narratives.

6 The Flow of Tradition

This leads us finally to the last approach, the literary analysis of the Isaiah nar-
ratives. Hand in hand with textual criticism, literary criticism aims to recon-
struct the flow of tradition in the different versions of the Greek and Hebrew
texts of Isaiah and 2 Kings (and also in the versions in 2 Chronicles, Josephus
and Ben Sira).
Since Bernhard Stade, it has become a consensus in scholarship to distin-
guish three accounts of Sennacherib’s siege of Jerusalem in 2 Kgs 18–19 and
Isa 36–37: 1) Version A, in which King Hezekiah is ransomed by paying trib-
ute to Sennacherib (2 Kgs 18:13–16); 2) Version B1, in which Sennacherib is
prompted to withdraw from Jerusalem because of a rumour (of/and Tirhakah’s
attack) brought by God’s spirit (2 Kgs 18:17–19:9a; 36–37/Isa 36:2–37:9a; 37–38);
3) Version B2, in which the angel of the Lord rages in the Assyrian camp and
so forces Sennacherib to abandon the siege of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 19:9b–35/
Isa 37:9b–36).34 In addition, there are the narratives of Hezekiah’s illness (2 Kgs
20:1–11/Isa 38) and of the delegation from the king of Babylon (2 Kgs 20:12–19/
Isa 39).
The units can easily be separated from one another. The doublets of nar-
rative motifs in versions B1 and B2 give the impression that we are dealing
with formerly independent narratives, which were circulating freely. We only
have to think of the Assyrian king’s delegations before Jerusalem (2 Kgs 18–19/

34  Bernhard Stade, “Anmerkungen zu 2 Kö. 15–21,” ZAW 6 (1886): 156–92; text division accord-
ing to Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2/3; London: S.C.M. Press,
1967), 69ff; see Höffken, Jesaja, 134f; for the history of scholarship and criticism of the
source hypothesis, Evans, The Invasion of Sennacherib.
152 Kratz

Isa 36–37), the repeated introduction of Isaiah with patronymic (2 Kgs 19:2,
20; 20:1/Isa 37:2, 21; 38:1), or the renewed assurance of Jerusalem’s deliverance
after Sennacherib has already withdrawn (2 Kgs 20:6/Isa 38:6). The composi-
tional markers at the transition to the narratives of Hezekiah’s illness (“in those
days”) and of the Babylonian envoys (“at that time”) also speak for secondary
linking in tradition.
However, another possibility is also conceivable, namely that we are
dealing with successive growth or Fortschreibung. In the case of Hezekiah’s
illness there may have been an older tradition of Isaiah as a thaumaturge in
circulation.35 Also the delegation from the king of Babylon may be based on
an older tradition (originally even without Isaiah), with the purpose of aug-
menting Hezekiah’s fame (2 Kgs 20:12–13/Isa 39:1–2).36 Both traditions, how-
ever, have been connected with their literary context and, in the process, have
been supplemented. Not only the older traditions, which are similar to the his-
torical episodes in the deuteronomistic framework, but also the literary forma-
tion and expansion of both narratives—namely Hezekiah’s prayer in which
he recalls that he has “done what is good in the eyes of YHWH,” the linking of
Hezekiah’s illness with the question of lifespan and duration of reign as well as
the reference to Babylon’s capture of Jerusalem—point more to the books of
Kings as the primary literary context than to the book of Isaiah.
Thus, the phrase “in those days” connects the story of Hezekiah’s illness with
the narrative about the siege of Jerusalem, which also features the renewed
assurance of the deliverance and preservation of the city (2 Kgs 20:6/Isa 38:6).
The miraculous healing of Hezekiah is motivated by Hezekiah’s prayer and
linked with a further miracle (the miracle of the sun), which serves as a sign
and presupposes that healing has not taken place and that Hezekiah has not
yet re-attained the status required to participate in the cult.37 The extension of
the lifespan, which is the subject of Isaiah’s words, probably serves to explain
the long duration of Hezekiah’s reign (2 Kgs 18:2). In the book of Isaiah the
narrative has been supplemented by the Psalm of Hezekiah (Isa 38:9–20).

35  2 Kgs 20:1 (up to “and said to him”), 7 (without “Then Isaiah said”); in Isa 38:1, 21 the epi-
sode is to be found at the end of the narrative, in 1QIsaa it is added above the line together
with the question of signs (v. 22), which could be an indication that the shorter (or short-
ened?) version of the narrative in Isa 38 has been aligned later with the version in 2 Kings
(see below). See Otto Kaiser, Der Prophet Jesaja: Kapitel 13–39 (ATD 18; 3rd ed., Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983), 318 on this reconstruction; similarly, Würthwein, 1. Kön.
17–2. Kön. 25, 433, who also includes the oracle of Isaiah and the weeping of Hezekiah in
2 Kgs 20:1–3 (Isa 38:1–3).
36  See Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, 436.
37  See LXX and also Isa 38:21f.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 153

But also the shorter version and smoother linking of healing and sun miracle
in Isaiah—whereby the healing of the wound has been omitted but the sun
miracle has been stressed—is probably secondary to the version in 2 Kings in
which we can still see the growth.38 The version in Isaiah has been aligned later
with 2 Kings (before or after the insertion of the psalm), so that the miraculous
healing and the question of signs come to nothing (Isa 38:21f).39
The episode of the delegation of the Babylonian King Merodach-Baladan
(Marduk-apla-iddina II) is also incorporated through a redactional connec-
tion (“at that time”) and turns the delegation into sickbed visitors (2 Kgs 20:12/
Isa 39:1).40 The introduction of Isaiah with his interpretation of the event gives
the visit a negative twist and predicts the sack of Jerusalem and the exile of
the Judean royal family. This also seems an indication that the narrative was
inserted primarily into the context of 2 Kings.
Both narratives, i.e. Hezekiah’s illness and the Babylonian delegation,
presuppose the narrative of the siege of Jerusalem in 2 Kgs 18–19/Isa 36–37.
Therefore, we have to search these chapters for the literary core of the Isaiah
narratives. Again, the assumption of formerly independent sources is not the
only option here for explaining their formation. Rather, we will have to expect
successive supplementation or Fortschreibung at least within the Sennacherib
episode. Thus, version B2 cannot be understood without version B1 and is
easier to explain as a supplementation (Fortschreibung) of the older version
B1. The numerous repetitions and literary references of B2 to B1 as well as the

38  In the opposite case we had to assume two major changes which are not so easy to
explain: the supplementation or rearrangement and reinterpretation of the treatment
of the wound (Isa 38:21) as a miracle of healing (2 Kgs 20:7) and the rearrangement and
supplementation, but also the change, of the sun miracle (Isa 38:7–8) in 2 Kgs 20:8–11 (see
Stade, “Anmerkungen zu 2 Kö. 15–21,” 184).
39  Unlike in the text of the Septuagint which explains the treatment of the wound reported
above and applied to Hezekiah (v. 21) as a sign for the recovery of worthiness to take part
in the cult (v. 22): “This is the sign that I will go up (again) to the temple of the Lord.” Thus,
the two miracles are weighted differently here: the sun miracle is the sign for the exten-
sion of Hezekiah’s lifespan and the deliverance of Jerusalem (Isa 38:5–8), the healing of
the wound is the sign for the recovery of his worthiness to participate in the cult again
(Isa 38:21f). The reading of the Septuagint can be clearly recognised as a smoothing over
of the difficult and fragmentary Masoretic text in Isa 38:21f and is therefore likely to be
secondary. The reverse way would be much more difficult to explain, especially if we take
a Hebrew Vorlage of the Septuagint into account.
40  The variant in Isa 39:1 (“for he heard that he had been sick and had recovered”) reads
“strength, recovery” out of Hezekiah’s name and is probably secondary compared to 2 Kgs
20:12 (“for he had heard that Hezekiah had been sick”).
154 Kratz

tendency to augment Hezekiah’s piety (with a prayer as in Isa 38) and to moti-
vate Sennacherib’s withdrawal by means of direct divine intervention support
this assumption.41
But also the older version B1 in turn features a number of narrative
threads that do not perhaps refer to further formerly independent ver-
sions, but are likely to have emerged through successive supplementation or
Fortschreibung.42 For example, it seems that the second speech of the
Rabshakeh to the people, including the transition, which takes advantage of
the question of dialect (Aramaic or Yehudite), has been added (2 Kgs 18:26–35/
Isa 36:11–20).43 In what follows, the main subjects are again the king’s official
and the king himself, previously mentioned in the initial conversation (2 Kgs
18:36–19:7/Isa 36:21–37:7), which speaks for an original connection with this
initial discourse.
Whether there are further additions to be found in B1 depends, among
other things, on what we expect to find. If we expect a formerly independent,

41  For the analysis see, e.g., Kaiser, Der Prophet Jesaja, 298f., 305; Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2.
Kön. 25, 425–32. There is consensus on the secondary supplementation of the satirical
song in 2 Kgs 19:21–28/Isa 37:22–29. Whether one of the oracles of God in 2 Kgs 19:29–34/
Isa 37:30–35 is original or whether both are supplementations, depends on the question
whether the phrase “I have heard” in 2 Kgs 19:20, which is omitted in Isa 38:21 MT (unlike
LXX), is original or not. The oracles of God, however, could have been added together
with 2 Kgs 19:20/Isa 37:21. Be that as it may, the narrative thread in B2 continues in 2 Kgs
19:35/Isa 37:36, leading to the older ending in 2 Kgs 19:36f/Isa 37:37f. Version B2 in 2 Kgs
19:9b–19(20)/Isa 37:9b–20(21) does not have its own beginning, but continues seamlessly
the older version B1, and appears to be more or less consistent. An interesting text variant
can be found at the transition: 2 Kgs 19:9b reads “and he turned around and sent” or “he
sent again”; Isa 37:9b “when he heard it, he sent”; LXX Isa and 1QIsaa offer both readings
here: “and when he heard it, he turned around and he sent again.” It is probable that the
reading in Isa 37:9b is secondary in comparison with 2 Kings and serves either to avoid
a misunderstanding (“and he turned back” instead of a modal verb as in v. 8 from the
Rabshakeh) or the closer association with the pre-context (cf. “and he heard” v. 9a); a
secondary alignment with v. 8 in 2 Kgs 19:9b is not very likely.
42  For the analysis, see Kaiser, Der Prophet Jesaja, 299–304; Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25,
415–25. Würthwein suggests a common core (2 Kgs 18:17; 19:8–9a, 36f), but two different
traditions of the speeches of the Rabshakeh (A 2 Kgs 18:28–36 until “and the people were
silent,” B 2 Kgs 18:18–27, 36f; 19:1–7), which, however, can be explained much more easily
as supplementation.
43  The second speech is addressed to the people and not only to the king’s officials. The
addition seems to have motivated the text variant in 2 Kgs 18:36 MT (“But the people were
silent”) as compared with Isa 36:21 (“But they were silent”) and 2 Kgs 18:36 LXX. In this
case the version in Isaiah would have preserved the older text.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 155

and, where possible, ancient and authentic narrative, then it is obvious that
all traces of literary connections to the context of Kings or the book of Isaiah
need to be deleted.44 If we approach the matter without such expectations and
take the idea of supplementation also into account then only the reference to
the cultic reform of Hezekiah, on the basis of internal criteria, proves to be
an addition. It interrupts the Rabshakeh’s otherwise clearly structured,45 and
coherent first speech, which—with clear reminiscences of Isa 3146—revolves
around the theme of trust.
The argument that Sennacherib was acting on YHWH’s behalf is also suspi-
cious being a secondary addition (2 Kgs 18:25/Isa 36:10). The argument changes
the topic, but is, however, in Rabshakeh’s initial speech the only direct polemic
against YHWH, against which Isaiah’s subsequent message is directed (2 Kgs
19:4, 6/Isa 37:4, 6).47 Actually, I do not see that there are sufficient grounds for
deleting the scene where Isaiah is consulted.48 On the contrary, this scene
seems necessary in order to prepare for a conclusion of the narrative (the
rumour, which causes Sennacherib to withdraw) and to give the narrative a
theological meaning (to trust in God or human beings, according to Isa 31).49

44  See Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, 415f, 421–25 (2 Kgs 18:21, 22, 24b, 25; 19, 1–7) and 416–18
(2 Kgs 18:30, 31–35). According to Würthwein’s reconstruction Isaiah does not occur in the
original text.
45  See the compositional markers “(and) now” or “see” in 2 Kgs 18:20, 21, 23, 25/Isa 36:5, 6,
8, 10. The individual sections build upon each other: the argument of misplaced trust is
initially exposed in general terms, and then related to Egypt before being expanded into a
comparison of strength between Assyria and Egypt; finally the Assyrian king claims that
his action against Jerusalem is on YHWH’s behalf.
46  Becker, Jesaja, 212–19 and 245–63, turns the relation upside down and declares Isa 31 (and
Isa 28–31 in general) as dependent on the narratives which are supposed to be older than
the oracles of doom; against this hypothesis, see Hugh G.M. Williamson, “In Search of
Pre-Exilic Isaiah,” in In Search of Pre-Exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament
Seminar, ed. John Day (JSOTSup 406; London: T & T Clark, 2004), 181–206, ad loc. 198f.
47  The Rabshakeh’s speech is indirect blasphemy since with his rhetorical questions
Sennacherib arrogates the role of God and of the prophet Isaiah; it is, however, possible
that qualifying the king’s speech as blasphemy in 2 Kgs 19:4, 6/Isa 37: 4, 6 is also second-
ary. We could tentatively consider a connection of 2 Kgs 18:25/Isa 36:10 to 2 Kgs 18:20/Isa
36:5 in which the reminiscences of Isa 31 were a secondary addition in 2 Kgs 18:21, 23–24/
Isa 36:6, 8–9. According to this reconstruction, however, we lack the reference in the basic
text for the polemic against trusting the allies.
48  2 Kgs 19:3–4/Isa 37:3–4 could be an addition. See Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, 424.
49  I am of a similar opinion with regard to the second speech (2 Kgs 18:28–35/Isa 36:13–20).
It follows on from the first speech but now explicitly brings “deliverance/salvation” into
the discussion and focuses on the measurement of strength between Sennacherib, who
156 Kratz

All this allows for a tentative reconstruction of a basic narrative, which at

least contains the array of Sennacherib’s delegation (2 Kgs 18:17/Isa 36:2), the
initial discourse of the Rabshakeh with the officials of the Judean king (2 Kgs
18:18–21, 23–25/Isa 36:3–10), the transmission of the message and Hezekiah’s
reaction, as well as the consultation of Isaiah (2 Kgs 18:36–19:7/Isa 36:21–37:7).
The prophet’s information accurately predicts how Sennacherib is to be made
to withdraw and concludes, accordingly, with a report of the prophecy’s fulfil-
ment (the rumour in 2 Kgs 19:8–9a/Isa 37:8–9a, and Sennacherib’s withdrawal
in 2 Kgs 19:36–37/Isa 37:37–38). Everything else in the Sennacherib episode
and the other Isaiah narratives seem to be later additions (Fortschreibungen),
which have been successively inserted into the Isaiah narratives outside or
within the context of one of the biblical books.
If we accept this analysis we can concentrate on the original core of the
Sennacherib episode when asking for the relationship between the two ver-
sions in 2 Kings and the book of Isaiah. Are we dealing with a formerly inde-
pendent tradition, which was inserted secondarily in the context of 2 Kings or
the book of Isaiah, or is it a literary addition or Fortschreibung in either con-
text, which was integrated secondarily in the other?
The question is, as I think, settled by the relationship of the original core
of version B1 to what, since Stade, has been called version A, Hezekiah’s trib-
ute in 2 Kgs 18:13–16. As is well known, this episode is missing in the book
of Isaiah, but is, nevertheless, presupposed there as it is in 2 Kings. Isa 36:1
begins with the same historical introduction as 2 Kgs 18:13: “In the fourteenth
year of Hezekiah, King Sennacherib of Assyria marched against all the forti-
fied towns of Judah and seized them.” Isa 36 then skips the delegation and
Hezekiah’s tribute (“and he sent”) and continues directly with the delegation
from Sennacherib to Jerusalem (“and he sent”).50
In scholarship, the tribute episode of version A is acknowledged to be the
oldest account of the siege of Jerusalem, so that the historical introduction in
2 Kgs 18:13—despite the chronological problem (cf. 1 Kgs 18:1–2)51—belongs
originally to this version. This means that the Sennacherib episode B1 in any

makes a biblical promise of salvation, and Hezekiah, who calls for trust in God. Only the
comparison with the gods of other captured territories (according to 2 Kgs 17) could be an
addition (perhaps together with the additions in the first discourse).
50  The spelling of the name of Hezekiah, which is found only in 2 Kgs 18:1, 10, 13–16 in the short
form, in Isa 36:1 in the long form as is usual in the Isaiah narratives (and in Chronicles)
speaks in favour of the priority of 2 Kgs 18:13 over Isa 36:1. However, we should perhaps not
place too much importance on the difference, since both forms already appear in older
sections of context (short form in 2 Kgs 18:1, long form in 2 Kgs 16:20; 20:20–21).
51  See Würthwein, 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, 412f.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 157

case is dependent on the tribute episode A and must, therefore, be younger.

This, however, does not say anything about the original literary context of the
narrative B1. It is dependent on the tribute episode A, but could have originated
in either context. Like in Isaiah 7 (which is based on 2 Kgs 16:5) the author of
the book of Isaiah could have taken up a historical situation in the books
of Kings as an occasion for forming a narrative of the prophet in the context of
his prophetic book, by using 2 Kings 18:13 as an introduction and formulating
an alternative account to the tribute episode in 2 Kings. Or, the Isaiah narra-
tive B1 could have initially emerged in the context of the books of Kings as a
continuation of the tribute episode A and then been taken over from there to
the book of Isaiah, with 2 Kings 18:13 as an introduction and leaving out the
tribute episode.
At this point, we are possibly brought somewhat further by more closely
examining the conclusion of the original Sennacherib episode (2 Kgs 18–19/
Isa 36–37). Whereas the motif of the rumour (2 Kgs 19:8–9a/Isa 37:8–9a)
undoubtedly still belongs to version B1, i.e. to the oldest Isaiah narrative, this is
in no way as certain as what scholars have assumed since Stade for the note on
Sennacherib’s withdrawal from Jerusalem in 2 Kgs 19:36–37/Isa 37:37–38. These
verses are attributed to version B1 only on the basis of the hypothesis of inde-
pendent sources. However, after Hezekiah’s tribute, which is inserted into the
older (deuteronomistic) context alongside other historical information (2 Kgs
18:1–3 and 20:20–21), we also expect a note on the outcome of the siege. Since
the episode of Hezekiah’s tribute (version A) is older than the Isaiah narra-
tive (version B1), this suggests that Sennacherib’s withdrawal in 2 Kgs 19:36–37
(Isa 37:37–38) did not originally form the conclusion of version B but of
version A, i.e. the tribute episode in 2 Kgs 18:13–16.52
If this reconstruction is correct it has far-reaching implications for the for-
mation of the two versions of the Isaiah narratives in 2 Kgs 18–19 and Isa 36–37,
and the relationship between them. It definitively proves that the oldest lit-
erary core of the Isaiah narrative (version B1) is in fact itself an addition or
Fortschreibung of the tribute episode A in the context of the books of Kings.
The Isaiah narrative B1 (2 Kgs 18:17–19:9a) can be placed between the tribute
episode (2 Kgs 18:13–16) and the historical comment on Sennacherib’s with-
drawal (2 Kgs 19:36–37) and, with the spirit of God which whispers the news
of Tirhakah’s attack to the Assyrian king, gives a new cause for the withdrawal.

52  According to this analysis 2 Kgs 18:1–13 + 19:36–37 + 20:20–21 constitute the basic text; in
this context the older traditions in 2 Kgs 20:1, 7 and 20:12–13 could have been inserted,
before the Isaiah narratives were added and gradually supplemented. See already
Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (trans.
John Bowden; London: T & T Clark, 2005), 169.
158 Kratz

Furthermore, this reconstruction also confirms the widely held view in schol-
arship that the Isaiah narratives were not created within the book of Isaiah,
where the tribute episode is omitted, but must have been taken from the book
of Kings. The flow of tradition, which is revealed in the literary and text history
of the Isaiah narratives, in both versions in 2 Kings and the book of Isaiah as
well as in further reception (2 Chronicles, Ben Sira, Josephus), has, after all, its
origin in 2 Kings.

7 Conclusion

I will now briefly summarise the result of these considerations and, in doing so,
return to our initial question regarding the relationship between the Isaiah of
the narratives and the Isaiah of the biblical book.
As we have seen, the Isaiah narratives cannot be adequately explained in
biographical or in historical or in phenomenological terms. The evidence is
not sufficient to find in them an authentic, reliable source dating from around
701 BCE. Rather, they prove to be a product of literary tradition, which—on
the basis of general knowledge of the time in question, a very narrow narrative
tradition concerning the prophet Isaiah and also borrowings from the book of
Isaiah—has been shaped specifically for its literary context, whether this be
the context of the Isaiah narrative itself, or the context of one of the biblical
books. If our analysis is correct, the narratives originated in the context of the
books of Kings. We are dealing with a different Isaiah than the one in the book
of Isaiah and, thus, with a new interpretation of the prophet and his proclama-
tion of God’s Word in the light of the events in 701 BCE, from a (significantly)
later time.
The point of departure of the Isaiah narratives was the episode of the siege
of Jerusalem, with its relatively mild outcome as a result of Hezekiah’s tribute
to Sennacherib (2 Kgs 18:13–16). In the context of the (deuteronomistic) books
of Kings this episode fulfils a dual purpose. On the one hand it shows the ben-
efit of Hezekiah’s piety—he carried out a cultic reform and always behaved in
an exemplary manner (2 Kgs 18:4, 5–7). Therefore Jerusalem was spared and
Hezekiah’s reign was long. On the other hand, the tribute episode also implic-
itly provides reasons why the kingdom was nevertheless doomed to fall. Whilst
the tribute paid to the Assyrian king resulted in Jerusalem being spared and
the king remaining in power, it simultaneously indicated a departure from the
political and religious steadfastness of the Judean king. Thus, the episode is
indeed ambivalent.
Isaiah And The Siege Of Jerusalem 159

This ambivalence was apparently the reason for the formation of the
Isaiah narratives. In them the fates of Jerusalem and Hezekiah were not left
in Hezekiah’s hands but placed in God’s. For this purpose use was made of
the figure of the prophet, whose oracles often concerned the power of Assyria.
And, in the same way that Assyria—according to the oracles of the prophet
in the book of Isaiah—was led by God against Jerusalem, so should the fate
of Jerusalem and Hezekiah in 701 BCE also be directed by God Himself and
proclaimed by His prophet. And so, just as in the book of Isaiah the people
of Jerusalem were called—albeit usually in vain—to unconditional trust in
God, so the deliverance of Jerusalem had to be carried by unconditional trust
in God, even if this did not stop Judea’s downfall but could only postpone it.
In order to make it quite clear that God is the Lord of history on the evidence
of the sparing of Jerusalem in 701 BCE, the prophet of doom from the book of
Isaiah becomes (once again) a prophet of salvation, who, with reference to
Isaiah’s oracles, calls on unconditional trust in God and so meets again with
success.
The later versions of the Isaiah narratives have taken up and developed
these thoughts in various ways. In 2 Chronicles Hezekiah’s piety is augmented
by the in-depth depiction of his cultic reform; for the concisely summarised
Isaiah narratives which, in turn, also offer evidence of the reform, Chronicles
refers to the more detailed report in the books of the Kings of Judea and Israel
(2 Chr 32:32). Here the prophet’s miracle working is already highlighted (2 Chr
32:31); it is heavily foregrounded in Ben Sira and related to the oracles of salva-
tion for Zion-Jerusalem in Second Isaiah. Finally, Josephus sees the tensions
resulting from the inclusion of the Isaiah narratives, according to which the
tribute does not result in the withdrawal, and produces an explicit connection:
Sennacherib did not keep his promise to withdraw after receiving the tribute.
And in what follows Josephus offers his usual explanations and logical connec-
tions of events, quotes a number of other renowned historians as witnesses,
who report on Sennacherib and the Babylonians, and concludes by emphasis-
ing, like Ben Sira, the reliability of the prophecies and the written records of
Isaiah and the other (twelve) biblical prophets.
From biographical, historical and religio-historical (or phenomenological)
aspects we might think that the historical Isaiah from the late 8th century BCE
has returned, like the one we can get hold of in Isa 8:1–4. But the Isaiah of the
narratives, even in their oldest form, is no longer the historical prophet, but a
literary figure which presupposes the prophet of doom and the conception of
God as found in the book of Isaiah. The God who uses Assyria as a tool against
his own people of Jerusalem and then punishes it for being so, is also the God
160 Kratz

who saves Jerusalem from Sennacherib and a short time later gives the city into
the hands of the Babylonians; this last event is already suggested in the last of
the Isaiah narratives with the Babylonian delegation.
Thus, in the Isaiah narratives we observe a development which can be
found throughout the Former Prophets, also partly in the books of the proph-
ets themselves, and in the reception history, namely in Chronicles, Ben Sira,
and Josephus: a revival of the classical prophet of salvation that is otherwise
to be found in the ancient Near East and in the beginnings of the prophetic
tradition of the Old Testament. However, everywhere in the biblical tradition
this renewed prophecy of salvation presupposes the prophecy of doom and is
proclaimed for the sake of God’s universality and identity, partly in the classi-
cal forms of court prophecy and partly in the form of an apocalyptic-messianic
prophecy. The God of future or already germinating salvation is and remains
a God of judgement, or, speaking in theological terms: the hidden and the
revealed God are one and the same.
Some Aspects of the Monarchy in Ancient Israel
John Day

The purpose of the present essay is to illuminate a number of different matters,

all of which are united by a common concern with the subject of kingship in
ancient Israel.

1 The Coronation Ceremony

Although we have references to the anointing of several kings (e.g. Saul, David,
Jehu), we have more detailed descriptions of the coronation ceremony in con-
nection with Solomon and Joash (1 Kgs 1:32–48; 2 Kgs 11:12–20).1 Anointing set
aside the king as a sacred person. We cannot be totally sure of the origin of the
custom of anointing in ancient Israel. Some scholars have pointed to Egyptian
influence, though the Egyptians only anointed officials and Syrian vassals,
while others point to the Hittites, who did indeed anoint kings, though their
empire ceased long before the founding of the Israelite monarchy.2 However,
most likely the custom was borrowed from the Canaanites, who were much
closer geographically and culturally to the Israelites. The fragmentary Ugaritic
Rephaim text (KTU 1.22.II.15–18) mentions oil in the same context as someone
being enthroned, which is suggestive (cf. Judg 9:8, 15).
As I said earlier, we have more detailed descriptions of the coronation cer-
emony in connection with Solomon and Joash. Interestingly, the two accounts
do have several things in common, suggesting that these constituted the basis
of a regular ritual. In both the coronation took place in two parts. The first part
was in the sanctuary (either the Jerusalem Temple in the case of Joash or by the
Gihon spring at the tent sanctuary of the ark in the case of Solomon), where

1  On the Coronation ritual see Roland de Vaux, Les institutions de l’Ancien Testament, vol. 1
(2 vols.; Paris: Cerf, 1958–60), 158–65, ET Ancient Israel (2nd ed., trans. John McHugh; Darton,
Longman, & Todd, 1965), 102–107; Gerhard von Rad, “Das judäische Königsritual,” in idem,
Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament (Munich: Chr Kaiser, 1958), 205–13, ET “The Royal
Ritual in Judah,” in idem, The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (trans. E.W. Trueman
Dicken; Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1966), 222–31.
2  For these two views see the references cited in John Day, “The Canaanite Background of the
Israelite Monarchy,” in King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. John Day
(JSOTSup 270; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 72–90 (here 80 n. 19).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_013

162 Day

the king was anointed with oil and acclaimed king (“Long live the king!”) to
the sound of a horn or trumpets. The second part was in the palace, where the
new king sat on his throne. In addition, there are some details contained in one
account rather than the other. In the case of Joash we are told that prior to the
anointing he was presented with a crown and the ‫עדות‬, “testimony.” Most likely
the ‫ עדות‬is the same as the ‫חק‬, the “decree” of the Lord, in Ps 2:7. One may com-
pare the Egyptian pharaoh Thutmose III, who is said to have received both the
crown and the protocol at his coronation.3 Another interesting detail in con-
nection with Joash’s coronation is in 2 Kgs 11:14, where following the reference
to the king’s anointing we read that he stood by the pillar of the temple, as was
the custom. The same temple pillar seems to be envisaged in 2 Kgs 23:3, where
we read that King Josiah stood by the pillar when he entered into a covenant
with Yahweh. The parallel account of Joash’s coronation in 2 Chr 23:13 states
that the pillar was at the entrance to the temple. If so, it is likely to have been
either the pillar Jachin or Boaz.4 In the case of Solomon we read that he was
led down on David’s mule to the Gihon spring (a sacred spot which must have
been associated with a tent sanctuary), where Nathan and Zadok anointed him
king (1 Kgs 1:33, 38, 44). We find royalty associated with the mule elsewhere
(e.g. Absalom in 2 Sam 18:9).
Since the mule is a cross between a donkey and a horse, it is perhaps appro-
priate to recall Zech 9:9, where we famously read of the future king riding on a
donkey. It is strange that Rex Mason states that there was nothing particularly
humble about this, since the verse actually states that the king is “humble and
riding on a donkey.”5 However, this is not to deny that the donkey had a long
history in Israel and the ancient Near East as an animal associated with the
monarchy. Thus, in 2 Samuel various figures associated with the royal family
ride on a donkey (see 2 Sam 16:2; 17:23; 18:9). There is also an interesting verse
in Gen 49:11 associating the donkey with the Davidic monarchy. Here, in Jacob’s
blessing of Judah, following a clear reference to the Davidic monarchy in v. 10
(“The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between
his feet . . .”), we read of the king, “Binding his foal to the vine and his donkey’s

3  Cf. Karl R. Lepsius, Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien, vol. 4 (12 vols.; Berlin: Nicolaische
Buchhandlung, 1849–59), 160.
4  Cf. Robert B.Y. Scott, “The Pillars Jachin and Boaz,” JBL 58 (1939): 143–49, who suggested that
Jachin (“he [i.e. Yahweh] shall establish”) and Boaz (or rather ‫ ְבעוֹז‬, “in strength”; cf. its name
“Strength” in LXX 2 Chr 3:17) were so named because each name was the first word of a dynas-
tic oracle on the pillar in question.
5  Rex A. Mason, “The Messiah in the Postexilic Old Testament Literature,” in King and Messiah,
ed. Day, 338–64 (here 355).
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 163

colt to the choice vine. . . .” Further, there is much earlier evidence in the
ancient Near East for the association of the donkey with royalty. One strik-
ing reference is a letter from Mari (18th century BCE) where the prefect of the
Mari palace writes to King Zimri-Lim saying, “since you [Zimri-Lim] are the
king of the Khana tribes and you are, secondly, king of Akkad (land), my lord
ought not to ride on horses; rather it is upon a palanquin or donkeys that my
lord ought to ride, and in this way he could give honour to his majesty.”6 Other
evidence from Mesopotamia could also be cited.7

2 Some Aspects of the Royal Ideal in the Psalms

2.1 Priest Forever after the Manner of Melchizedek

There is one place where the Israelite king is explicitly called a priest, namely
Ps 110:4, where it is declared of him, “you are a priest forever after the manner
of Melchizedek.” This is in keeping with various references in the historical
books to the Davidic kings undertaking priestly actions, e.g. sacrifices by David,
Solomon and Ahaz (2 Sam 6:17–18; 1 Kgs 3:4; 9:25; 2 Kgs 16:12–16), and David
wearing a linen ephod, a priestly garment, in 2 Sam 6:14. One may compare the
evidence for Phoenician kings playing a similar priestly role, e.g. Tabnit and his
father Eshmunazar, both kings of Sidon, were priests of Astarte (KAI 13.1, 2).
Since the Davidic monarchs could not claim Levitical descent, their association
with the priest-king Melchizedek could thus function as a justification for their
playing a priestly role. (No one now follows Harold H. Rowley8 in attributing
the reference to the priest Zadok, since the rest of Psalm 110 clearly addresses
the king, and Melchizedek in Gen 14:18ff. was both a king and a priest.)
However, in recent years a few scholars have wished to date Psalm 110 to the
post-exilic period, and either relate the figure associated with Melchizedek to

6  See Jean R. Kupper, Correspondance de Baḫdi-Lim, préfet du palais de Mari (ARM 6; Paris:
Imprimerie nationale, 1954), no. 76, lines 19–25. Kupper renders “mules” in line 23 but “don-
keys” is actually the normal meaning of the Akkadian word, as Édouard Lipiński, “Recherches
sur le livre de Zacharie,” VT 20 (1970), 25–55 (here 51 n.5) points out.
7  See Lipiński, “Recherches sur le livre de Zacharie,” 51; Samuel Feigin, “Babylonian Parallels to
the Hebrew Phrase ‘Lowly and Riding upon an Ass,’ ” in Studies in Memory of Moses Schorr,
1874–1941, ed. Louis Ginzberg and Abraham Weiss (New York: The Professor Moses Schorr
Memorial Committee, 1944), 227–40 [Hebrew].
8  Harold H. Rowley, “Melchizedek and Zadok (Gen 14 and Ps 104),” in Festschrift Alfred Bertholet,
ed. Walter Baumgartner et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1950), 461–72.
164 Day

the post-exilic priests of the Persian period (John Van Seters9) or, more often,
with Simon the Hasmonean priest-king ca. 140 BCE, though other dates in the
Hellenistic era have also recently been proposed.10 Neither view, however, is
convincing. The post-exilic priests had to be Aaronite, and if high priests also
Zadokite, which Melchizedek could not claim to be, and the post-exilic high
priests were not kings, whatever royal symbolism they had appropriated. As
for Simon, the Hasmonean priest-king, a date of 140 BCE seems impossibly late
for Psalm 110 (not long before LXX and the earliest Qumran Psalms manuscript,
and the textual obscurities of v. 3 tell against it). In fact, Psalm 110 is not very
appropriate for a Maccabean king, since, as Deborah Rooke11 has pointed out, it
clearly depicts a king receiving priesthood rather than a priest receiving king-
ship. Moreover, the apparent fusion of the Israelite royal ideology with that of
the Jebusites, which the Melchizedek reference seems to betoken, makes more
sense in the early monarchical period rather than later, perhaps even under
David.12 The fact that the Hasmoneans were called “High Priests of God Most
High” (As. Mos. 6:1; cf. Josephus, Ant. 16.163 of John Hyrcanus specifically) must
be a secondary application of the title and is easily explicable in the light of
their non-Zadokite background, the appropriation of language from Ps 110:4
helping to justify their position. The older view that Psalm 110 actually contains
an acrostic on the name of Simon, still maintained by Marco Treves,13 was con-
vincingly rejected by John W. Bowker long ago.14

9  John Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1975), 306–8.
10  Herbert Donner, “Der verläßliche Prophet. Betrachtungen zu 1 Makk 14,41ff und zu Psalm
110,” in Prophetie und geschichtliche Wirklichkeit im alten Israel: Festschrift für Siegfried
Herrmann, ed. Rüdiger Liwak and Siegfried Wagner (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1991), 31–41.
Ulrich Dahmen and Heinz-Josef Fabry, “Melchisedek in Bibel und Qumran,” in “Ich
werde meinen Bund mit Euch niemals brechen!” (Ri 2,1): Festschrift für Walter Groß zum
70. Geburtstag, ed. Erasmus Gaß and Hermann-Josef Stipp (HBS 62; Freiburg: Herder,
2011), 377–98 (here 382–83) relate it to Simon. Miriam von Nordheim, Geboren von der
Morgenröte? Psalm 110 in Tradition, Redaktion und Rezeption (WMANT 117; Neukirchen-
Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2008), 134–41 dates it to the 3rd century BCE, while Ernst A.
Knauf, in a review of von Nordheim’s book in the online JHS 9 (2009), relates it to John
Hyrcanus.
11  Deborah Rooke, “Kingship as Priesthood: the Relationship between the Priesthood and
the Monarchy,” in King and Messiah, ed. Day, 187–208 (here 188).
12  See John A. Emerton, “The Riddle of Genesis xiv,” VT 21 (1971): 403–39; Day, “The Canaanite
Inheritance of the Israelite Monarchy,” in King and Messiah, ed. Day, 74.
13  Marco Treves, “Two Acrostic Psalms,” VT 15 (1965): 81–90 (here 86).
14  John W. Bowker, “Psalm cx,” VT 17 (1967): 31–41. Gard Granerød, Abraham and Melchizedek:
Scribal Activity of Second Temple Times in Genesis 14 and Psalm 110 (BZAW 406; Berlin: W. de
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 165

2.2 Son of God

The kings of the house of David are several times spoken of in the Old
Testament as God’s son. For example, in Ps 89:26–27, Yahweh declares of the
Davidic king, “He shall cry to me. ‘You are my Father, my God, and the Rock of
my salvation.’ And I will make him the first-born, the highest of the kings of the
earth.” This passage echoes the oracle of Nathan to David in 2 Sam 7:14, where
Yahweh promises, “I will be his father, and he shall be my son.”
However, the most famous instance of the king’s sonship is in Ps 2:7, where
God declares to the king, “You are my son, today I have begotten you.” This
is often described as sonship by adoption, but it seems to involve something
more mythological which transcends adoption, “today I have begotten you”—
not merely “today I have become your father.”15 In this there is a contrast with
Egypt and Ugarit, where the king was seen as the son of God in essence, not
simply from the time of his coronation.
Are we to assume that the idea of divine sonship was appropriated—and
modified of course—by Israel from Egypt or from Canaan? The latter seems
more likely, since Egypt was more remote, not only geographically but also
culturally, and moreover, there are other grounds for thinking that Israel’s
royal ideology was influenced by Canaanite ideas. As we have seen, Ps 110:4
associates the Davidic king with the Canaanite priest-king Melchizedek. It is
therefore striking that the immediately preceding verse (v. 3) in LXX seems to
parallel Ps 2:7 in speaking of God begetting the king. The LXX reading implies
‫ילדתיך‬, “I have begotten you” instead of MT ‫“ ילדותיך‬your youth.” Such a reading
is supported by the preceding words which refer to “the womb of the dawn”—
“from the womb of the dawn you have the dew wherewith I have begotten you.”
(Since Shaḥar and Shalem, Dawn and Dusk, were sibling deities at Ugarit, we
should not be surprised if the city of Jerusalem, originally a Canaanite name

Gruyter, 2010), 174–88, 195–214 sees Psalm 110 as pre-exilic but unjustifiably eliminates the
reference to Melchizedek.
15  So rightly, John J. Collins in Adela Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins, King and Messiah as
Son of God: Divine, Human, and Messianic Figures in Biblical and Related Literature (Grand
Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008), 19–22. It is noteworthy that the Pentateuchal laws make no
provision for adoption. However, I reject the suggestion of Gard Granerød, “A Forgotten
Reference to Divine Procreation? Psalm 2:6 in Light of Egyptian Royal Ideology,” VT 60
(2010): 323–36 to understand Ps 2:6 as saying, “I have poured out (‫[ )נָ ַס ְכ ִתּי‬semen so as to
procreate] my king on Mt Zion,” reflecting Egyptian ideology. If the verb ‫ נסך‬really has
the meaning “pour out” here, the text would be saying, “I have poured out my king on
Mt Zion,” which is nonsensical. It is much more natural to translate it as “I have set up
my king on Mt Zion.” Compare Prov 8:23, where Wisdom declares, “Ages ago I was set up
(‫)נִ ַסּ ְכ ִתּי‬,” which Granerød fails to mention (cf. Akkadian nasāku).
166 Day

meaning “Foundation of Shalem” (cf. Jeruel, “Foundation of El” in 2 Chr 20:16),

also made room for a mythological role for Shaḥar, “Dawn” (now feminine
rather than masculine, unlike at Ugarit).
However, supporting an Egyptian background, some have argued that there
were originally five royal names in Isa 9:5 (ET 9:6), mimicking the Egyptian pha-
raoh’s five names, the last of which being fragmentarily preserved in the ‫ לם‬at
the beginning of ‫ לםרבה‬in 9:6 (ET 9:7). Klaus-Dietrich Schunck,16 for example,
suggested that the fifth name was ‫ׁשפט עולם‬, “eternal judge.” However, as Walther
Zimmerli long ago pointed out, in Isa 9:6 (ET 9:7) ‫לםרבה המשׂרה ולשׁלום אין קץ‬,
“of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end,” plays on
both parts of the last epithet of v. 5 (Eng. v. 6), ‫ׂשר ׁשלום‬, “Prince of Peace,” thus
making it most unlikely that any fifth name intervened.17

2.3 God?
In ancient Egypt the king was seen as a god: son of Ra, incarnation of Horus,
and after death assimilated to Osiris. At Ugarit too we have evidence for the
divinity of the king. Thus, in the epic of King Keret, Keret is referred to as “the
son of El,” and when he becomes ill, his son Yaṣṣib declares, “Do gods die?”
(KTU 1.16.I.10–23). Moreover, in the Ugaritic King List the names of all the kings
are preceded by the word il, ‘god’ (KTU 1.113). Compare Ezek 28:2, where the
king of Tyre says, “I am a god: I sit in the seat of the gods.” (In Mesopotamia
the kings were held to be divine only early on during the Sumerian period,
and the Hittite kings were divinized only after death.)
In ancient Israel the evidence of the Old Testament as a whole suggests that
the king was not seen as divine. However, there remains Ps 45:7 (ET 45:6). On
the most natural interpretation of the Hebrew (followed by the LXX), we read
“Your throne, O God, endures for ever and ever.” Sometimes attempts have
been made to evade this by translating otherwise, e.g., “Your throne is like
God’s for ever and ever,” to make the text more theologically acceptable, but
this seems forced.18 Years ago the Myth and Ritual and Uppsala schools tended
to see here confirmation of their claims for the full-blooded divinity of the
king. This too is unlikely in view of the overall picture of the king presented in
the Old Testament. However, that the king could be called “god” is further sup-

16  Klaus-Dietrich Schunck, “Der fünfte Thronname der Messias (Jes ix 5–6),” VT 23 (1973):
108–110.
17  Walther Zimmerli, “Vier oder fünf Thronnamen des messianischen Herrschers von Jes. ix
5b.6,” VT 22 (1972): 249–52.
18  E.g. John A. Emerton, “The Syntactical Problem of Ps. 45.7,” JSS 13 (1968): 58–63. For other
suggestions to avoid the natural rendering, see the various Psalms commentaries.
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 167

ported by Isa 9:5 (Eng. v. 6), where the ideal future king (Hezekiah?) is called
‫אל גדול‬, “mighty god.” It is surely significant that the reference to the king as god
in Ps 45:7 (Eng. v. 6) likewise occurs in a military context (vv. 4–6, ET vv. 3–5),
and v. 4 (ET v. 3) similarly uses the word ‫ גבור‬of the king. Probably we have here
a relic of Canaanite (Jebusite?) mythology, but it is now merely hyperbolical
language (cf. Samuel’s ghost as an ‫ אלהים‬in 1 Sam 28:13), just as in British coro-
nation services it is said, “May the King (or Queen) live forever.”

3 The Law of the King in Deuteronomy 17:14–20

In marked contrast to the Psalms, which have a very high view of the king, we
find in Deut 17:14–20 the so-called “Law of the King,” which very much puts the
king in his place. While the people may indeed have a king like all the nations
(cf. 1 Sam 8:5, 20), it must be the person whom the Lord chooses. Among other
stipulations, we read that the king must not multiply horses (thereby going
down to Egypt), or wives, or silver and gold. While we may grant that other
kings might also have done this, it is difficult to resist the impression that the
writer is here specifically rejecting various aspects of the portrayal of King
Solomon which are described in 1 Kings 9–11. This is interesting, for whereas
1 Kgs 11:1ff. certainly agrees in condemning Solomon’s many foreign wives,
since they led him astray to worship other gods, the multiplication of silver
and gold and of horses from Egypt appear to be spoken of positively in 1 Kings
9–10. It is part of the general picture of glorifying Solomon before the rot set
in during his old age. In support of this stands not only the fact that there is
no real criticism of Solomon prior to 1 Kings 11, but Solomon’s wealth is spe-
cifically mentioned alongside his wisdom (cf. 1 Kgs 10:7, 23), which is undoubt-
edly intended positively. Moreover, references to gold coming from Ophir and
elsewhere appears in the midst of the very positive story of the visit of the
Queen of Sheba (1 Kgs 10:11), as well as immediately before and after this story
(1 Kgs 9:28; 10:14ff.—including also silver, 10:25, 27). Solomon’s trade in horses
from Egypt (and Kue) in 1 Kgs 10:26, 28 is similarly set in a positive context, in
between a eulogistic reference to his wealth and wisdom exceeding that of all
other kings and the subsequent account of the visit of the Queen of Sheba. It is
difficult to deny, therefore, that the ideology lying behind the Deuteronomistic
account of Solomon in 1 Kings differs at certain points from the Law of the
King in Deuteronomy.19

19  
In this conclusion I agree with Gary N. Knoppers, “The Deuteronomist and the
Deuteronomic Law of the King: A Reexamination of a Relationship,” ZAW 108 (1996):
168 Day

Deuteronomy 17:15 further stipulates that the king should not be a foreigner.
This has evoked a certain amount of discussion, since we do not know of any
foreigners who took the throne of Israel or Judah, though occasionally it has
been speculated that Omri was a foreigner (because of his name) and the inten-
tion of the opponents of Judah to set up the foreigner ben Tabeel on the throne
of Judah at the time of the Syro-Ephraimite crisis (Isa 7:6) has also sometimes
been cited. Ernest W. Nicholson has proposed, however, that the reference is
rather to Judah’s Assyrian overlords in the 8th–7th centuries BCE.20 But the
way in which Deut 17:15 is worded does not support this view, for the refer-
ence to not having a foreign ruler is cited in the context of Israel’s desire for
their own king like all the nations round about (echoing 1 Sam 8:5, 20), which
hardly fits its subjection to an Assyrian overlord. Although I do not feel certain
about the matter, the best suggestion I have come across, that of David Daube,
is that Abimelech could be in mind: he was the very first attempted king in
Judges 9 (half-Canaanite, the son of a Canaanite mother), and the Canaanite
Shechemites regarded him as their brother (Judg 9:3, 18), which one may con-
trast with Deut 17:15, where Israel is commanded to nominate one of their own
brothers as king.21

4 Love and Marriage

4.1 Royal Wedding Psalm 45

In the Old Testament we have only one royal wedding psalm, Psalm 45. In
the past it was sometimes supposed that the marriage of the king to a Tyrian
princess was envisaged, since v. 13 (ET v. 12) refers to “the daughter of Tyre.”
However, it is clear that this expression is comparable to the phrase “daugh-
ter of Zion” and refers to the people of Tyre rather than a specific Tyrian girl,
something supported by its poetic parallelism with “the richest of the people,”

329–46 (here 337–46); idem, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and
the Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings,” CBQ 63 (2001): 393–415 (here 409–12).
Contrast Marvin A. Sweeney, I and II Kings (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press,
2007), 149; Karl W. Weyde, “The Narrative of King Solomon and the Law of the King: On
the Relationship between 1 Kings 3–11 and Deut 17:14–20,” in Enigmas and Images: Studies
in Honor of Tryggve N.D. Mettinger, ed. Göran Eidevall and Blazenka Scheuer (ConBOT 58;
Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 75–91 (here 82–86, 87–88).
20  Ernest W. Nicholson, “ ‘Do Not Dare to Set a Foreigner over You’: The King in Deuteronomy
and ‘The Great King,’ ” ZAW 118 (2006): 45–62.
21  David Daube, “ ‘One from among your Brethren You shall Set over You,’ ” JBL 90 (1971):
480–81.
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 169

cf. NRSV, “the people of Tyre will seek your favours with gifts, the richest of
the people with all kinds of wealth.” However, v. 11 (ET v. 10) may nevertheless
imply that the princess is a foreigner, since it is said to her, “forget your people
and your father’s house,” unless, of course, “people” can refer to kinsmen.

4.2 Song of Songs

It is clear that the Song of Songs does not emanate from Solomon but is a late,
post-exilic composition, as the Hebrew is often close to Mishnaic Hebrew,
as well as containing at least one Persian loan word (‫)פרדס‬. However, in my
view the writer of this late work did intend to present us with the love songs
of Solomon and his most important lover. Already in the first chapter, in her
first and second speeches, the woman refers to her lover as “the king” (Song
1:4, 12; cf. 7:6, ET 7:5). Since the first chapter sets the scene, this is confusing if
she is merely implying that her lover is her “prince charming,” as some modern
scholars suppose.22 Moreover, the only king mentioned in the book is Solomon
(Song 1:1, 5; 3:7, 9, 11; 8:11, 12), and Solomon’s marriage is explicitly referred to in
3:11, which seems uncalled for if the work is merely recounting the love affair
of lesser mortals. At the time of the wedding the woman is depicted as coming
up from the desert (3:6; similarly 8:5), which might fit the view that the woman
is Solomon’s Egyptian princess (cf. 1 Kgs 3:1).23 Interestingly, it is in the imme-
diately following chapter that the man repeatedly refers to the woman as “my
bride” (Song 4:8, 9, 10, 11, 12; 5:1), which makes sense if the man in question is
the Solomon whose marriage has just been referred to in 3:11. While Song 6:8
mentions that there are “sixty queens and eighty concubines,” the following
verse goes on to describe the female lover in the song as “the only one . . . ,” and
states that the queens and concubines praise her. This makes sense only if the
woman lover is meant to be Solomon’s supreme wife. If the royal language of
the book is simply a fiction to denote that the man is her prince charming, it
seems totally uncalled for to refer to sixty queens and eighty concubines. This

22  E.g., Michael V. Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs (Madison:
University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), 98. Fox compares Egyptian love poems where the
woman describes her lover as “my prince” or “prince of my heart,” but these are more
obviously metaphorical than the Song of Songs’ repeated references to “the king” or
“Solomon” pure simple.
23  The view that the woman in the Song of Songs was an Egyptian princess is already
attested in Theodore of Mopsuestia; see Dmitri Z. Zaharopoulos, Theodore of Mopsuestia
on the Bible: A Study of His Old Testament Exegesis (New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 33–34,
49–52, 54, 70. This view was subsequently followed by a fair number of scholars over the
centuries. A recent advocate is Victor Sasson, “King Solomon and the Dark Lady in the
Song of Songs,” VT 39 (1989): 407–414.
170 Day

only makes sense if Solomon really is in mind (since nobody else in the Old
Testament had remotely as many queens and concubines), and the fact that
the numbers fall short of the seven hundred wives and three hundred concu-
bines of 1 Kings 11 most naturally implies the text is referring to a much earlier
period in Solomon’s reign (cf. 1 Kgs 3:1, where Solomon marries the Egyptian
princess early on in his rule).
Since the book is late, it must have been written with knowledge of 1 Kings,
which mentions not only that Solomon composed “three thousand proverbs”
but also “his songs numbered a thousand and five” (1 Kgs 5:12, Eng. 4:32). This
verse, I submit, was the source of the author’s idea of compiling a work cel-
ebrating Solomon’s love affair with a particular woman in song. Judging by
1 Kings one would expect this woman to be the Egyptian princess, who is sin-
gled out for special mention several times and is clearly Solomon’s primary wife
(1 Kgs 3:1; 7:8; 9:16, 24). (Interestingly, no objection to marriage with Egyptians
is attested in the Old Testament before Ezra 9:1; the pentateuchal writer clearly
felt no objection to Joseph’s marriage with the Egyptian Asenath [Gen 41:45,
50; 46:20].) In further support I would note that the woman is described as
“the daughter of a prince (‫( ”)בת נדיב‬Song 7:1); similarly her lover appears to be
called “prince” (‫ )נדיב‬in Song 6:12.24 Moreover, in Solomon’s very first speech
in Song 1:9 he addresses her as “a mare among Pharaoh’s chariots,” which is
understandable if she was an Egyptian. Finally, it should be recalled that the
Song of Songs is widely agreed to show considerable influence from Egyptian
love poetry (e.g., the references to the female lover as “my sister” in Song 4:9–10,
12; 5:1–2),25 which makes sense if the woman is to be understood as Solomon’s
Egyptian princess.
I trust it is clear that in this section I have sought to shed light not so much
on the monarchy itself as on a late, post-exilic perception of it.

5 Death and Burial

Finally we come to the topic of the death and burial of the king. We do not
know much about the funerary rites for the king. However, one thing that we
do learn is that people lamented for him, saying “Alas, lord!” (Jer 22:18; 34:5), or

24  See the commentaries on the textual problems of Song 6:12.

25  See John B. White, A Study of the Language of Love in the Song of Songs and Ancient
Egyptian Poetry (SBLDS 38; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1978); Fox, The Song of Songs.
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 171

“Alas, his majesty!” (Jer 22:18), or “Alas, my brother!” (Jer 22:18). This is compa-
rable to what we read in connection with the death of lesser mortals, e.g. the
words “Alas, my brother!” regarding the dead prophet in 1 Kgs 13:30.

5.1 Funerary Burnings

There is, however, something that we read of in connection with the funerals
of kings that we do not read of others, namely a funerary burning or fire. This
is mentioned three times: in connection with Asa (2 Chr 16:14), Jehoram—that
it was not practised for him as it had for others (2 Chr 21:19), and Zedekiah and
kings preceding him (Jer 34:5). The latter two references suggest that it was a
regular practice. Although the books of Kings make no reference to this cus-
tom, the fact that it is not confined to the late Chronicler but is also mentioned
in Jer 34:5, gives credence to its historicity. Some scholars have thought that
the burning consisted of the burning of spices, because spices are mentioned
immediately before the allusion to burning in 2 Chr 16:14, but this is quite spec-
ulative; the references to spices and burning are probably quite distinct. The
text says: “They laid him [i.e. Asa] on a bier that had been filled with various
kinds of spices prepared by the perfumer’s art; and they made a very great fire
in his honour.” The translation “burn with spices,” which we find in the RSV,
NRSV, NAB, JB, and NJB translations of Jer 34:5 in connection with Zedekiah
does not correspond to what the text says—it simply states “they shall burn
for you”—but is presumably an extrapolation from the misunderstanding of
2 Chr 16:14 just referred to (NIV, NEB, and REB keep closer to the actual text in
Jer 34:5).
Wolfgang Zwickel and Brian Schmidt have pointed to certain Assyrian texts
which speak of funeral fires for Assyrian kings (e.g., Esar-haddon) and they
think that Israel borrowed this custom from the Assyrians.26 Apparently the
Assyrian custom involved the destruction of furniture and other objects asso-
ciated with the king. Both Zwickel and Schmidt hold that the practice was
appropriated under Manasseh (a contemporary of Esar-haddon), in which
case the Chronicler’s earlier references will be a projection back, but this view
is speculative.

26  Wolfgang Zwickel, “Über das angebliche Verbrennen von Räucherwerk bei der Bestattung
eines Königs,” ZAW 101 (1989): 266–77; Brian B. Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor
Cult and Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition (FAT 11; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 1994), 175, 240–41.
172 Day

5.2 The Location of the Judean Royal Tombs

Where were the Judean monarchs buried? According to the books of Kings most
of the Davidic monarchs (i.e. those prior to Hezekiah) were buried in the city of
David, i.e. on the south-eastern hill of Jerusalem. Interestingly, the reference to
the royal tombs (lit. “the tombs of David”) in Neh 3:16 enables us to locate them
more precisely at the southern end of the city of David. This is widely accepted,
even if it has now become difficult for most scholars to equate them with the
primitive cave-like structures discovered there by Raymond Weill in 1913–14,
and believed by him to be the royal tombs.27 One recent excavator of the city
of David, Ronny Reich,28 for example, points out certain Second Temple fea-
tures of these structures, and argues that they are not in fact tombs. (This goes
against Jeffrey Zorn’s suggestion that they might have been earlier Bronze Age
tombs reused by the Judean kings.29) This is in addition to the more frequently
noted point that Weill’s “tombs” do not resemble other known Iron Age tombs,
and that they are surprisingly much more primitive looking than the tombs of
certain Israelite nobles just across the Kidron valley in Silwan.
Also to be rejected is the view of Nadav Na’aman30 that the kings prior to
Hezekiah were buried in the royal palace near the Temple (comparing Ezek
43:7–9). This location was outside the city of David—to the north of it (cf. 1 Kgs
8:1)—whereas the kings prior to Hezekiah are repeatedly stated by the books
of Kings to have been buried in the city of David.
However, two kings, Manasseh and Amon, are said to have been buried not
in the city of David but in the garden of Uzza (2 Kgs 21:18, 24). The former
reference states that this was “in the garden of his house,” i.e. the palace. The
evidence indicates that the royal palace was near the temple (cf. the close-
ness of the comparable Tell Tainat temple and palace). Accordingly, there is
every reason to connect these burials with what we read in Ezek 43:7–9, which
states, “The house of Israel shall no more defile my holy name, neither they nor

27  Raymond Weill, La cité de David, vol. 2 (2 vols; Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1920–47), 117.
28  Ronny Reich, Excavating the City of David: Where Jerusalem’s History Began (Jerusalem:
Israel Exploration Society, 2011), 74.
29  Jeffrey R. Zorn, “The Burials of the Judean Kings: Sociohistorical Considerations and
Suggestions,” in “I will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical
Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday, ed. Aren M.
Maeir and Pierre de Miroschedji (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 801–20.
30  Nadav Na’aman, “Death Formulae and the Burial Place of the Kings of the House of
David,” Bib 85 (2004): 245–54.
Some Aspects Of The Monarchy In Ancient Israel 173

their kings, by their whoring, and by the corpses of their kings31 at their death.32
When they placed their threshold by my threshold and their doorposts beside
my doorposts, with only a wall between me and them, they were defiling my
holy name by their abominations that they have committed; therefore I have
consumed them in my anger. Now let them put away their idolatry and the
corpses of their kings far from me . . .”33
In the light of this, it is impossible to follow some alternative minority views
as to the location of these later royal tombs: e.g. the opinion of Amos Kloner34
that they were in the grounds of the École biblique (which is much too far
north), or the claim of Gabriel Barkay35 that they were on the western hill,
the view of Benjamin Mazar and Ronny Reich36 that they were on the lower
slopes of the Mount of Olives/Silwan, or the assumption of Shemuel Yeivin37
that they were in the city of David itself, like the earlier tombs.
Also to be rejected is the view of Na’aman that the garden of Uzza is to be
equated with the king’s garden mentioned in Neh 3:15 (cf. the reference to
tombs in Neh 3:16). It seems unlikely that the kings would have had two pal-
aces in such a small area, one by the Temple and the other associated with the
garden of Uzza outside the city altogether—one would naturally assume that
any royal palace would be inside the city for safety’s sake.38

31  It has sometimes been thought that ‫ פגרי מלכיהם‬in vv. 7 and 9 refers rather to “the funer-
ary stelae of their kings” on the basis of the alleged meaning of Ugaritic pgr and Mari
pagru and pagrā’um. But the evidence that these words meant “stele,” let alone “funerary
stele,” is unconvincing. See Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead, 250 and references there.
32  Reading ‫מוֹתם‬ ָ ‫ ְבּ‬, “at their death” for ‫מוֹתם‬
ָ ‫ ָבּ‬, “their high places,” which does not seem
appropriate.
33  Francesca Stavrakopoulou, “Exploring the Garden of Uzza: Death, Burial and Ideologies
of Kingship,” Bib 87 (2006): 1–21 dismisses the historicity of both the garden of Uzza and
the evidence of Ezek 43:7–9 for the location of royal tombs on inadequate grounds.
34  Amos Kloner, “The ‘Third Wall’ in Jerusalem and the ‘Cave of the Kings’ (Josephus War V
147),” Levant 18 (1986): 121–29.
35  Gabriel Barkay, “On the Location of the Later Kings of the House of David,” in Between
Hermon and Sinai: Memorial to Amnon Binyaminovitz: Studies in the History, Archaeology
and Geography of Eretz Israel, ed. Magen Broshi (Jerusalem: Private Publication, 1977),
75–92 [Hebrew].
36  Benjamin Mazar, The Mountain of the Lord (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 187; Reich,
Excavating the City of David, 123.
37  Shemuel Yeivin, “The Sepulchres of the Kings of the House of David,” JNES 6 (1948): 30–45.
38  For a recent study of the location of the Judean royal tombs see Matthew J. Suriano, The
Politics of Dead Kings: Dynastic Ancestors in the Book of Kings and Ancient Israel (FAT 2.
Reihe, 48; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 100–118. There is no space here to discuss the
location of the tombs of the kings of northern Israel in Samaria, which Norma Franklin
174 Day

These and other detailed issues need to be considered when writing the his-
tory of the ancient Israelite monarchy. I therefore have great pleasure in dedi-
cating this essay to Hans Barstad, for whom historiography, as well as prophecy,
has long been a great concern. He has been a good friend over many years, and
I have much appreciated his learned and innovative scholarship.

believes she has discovered. See Norma Franklin, “The Tombs of the Kings of Israel: Two
Recently Identified 9th-Century Tombs from Omride Samaria,” ZDPV 119 (2003): 1–11;
Suriano, The Politics of Dead Kings, 118–20.
The Ritual of Reading Scripture (Nehemiah 8:1–12)
Sara Japhet

Nehemiah chapter 8 has attracted much attention in modern biblical scholar-

ship, most of which has focused on the identity of “the book of the Torah” from
which Ezra read to the people on the first day of the seventh month.1 This ques-
tion in turn has been related to literary-historical studies of the Pentateuch, and
among others, to the questions of the origin and date of the Priestly Source, the
canonization of the Hebrew Bible, and the like. An important aspect of these
studies has been the discussion and interpretation of the second half of the
chapter (vv. 13–18), which deals with the Festival of Succoth.2 Much less atten-
tion has been paid to the first part of the chapter—the reading of the Torah
(vv. 1–12); this is the focus of my present discussion.3

1  Williamson devoted to it a special chapter in the introduction to his commentary on Ezra-

Nehemiah: “The Identification of the Book of the Law”; see Hugh G.M. Williamson, Ezra,
Nehemiah (Waco, TX: Word, 1985), xxxvii–xxxix. See also, among others, Ulrich Kellermann,
“Erwägungen zum Esragesetz,” ZAW 80 (1968): 373–85; Ralph W. Klein, “Ezra-Nehemiah in
Recent Studies,” in Magnalia Dei: The Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology
in Memory of George Ernest Wright, ed. Frank Moore Cross et al. (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday,
1976), 361–76, in particular, 366–68; Rolf Rendtorff, “Esra und das ‘Gesetz’,” ZAW 96 (1984):
165–84; Rolf Rendtorff, “Noch Einmal: Esra und das ‘Gesetz’,” ZAW 111 (1999): 89–91.
2  See, among others, Karl William Weyde, “And They Found it Written in the Law: Exegetical
Procedures Reflected in Nehemiah 8:13–18,” in Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its
Exegesis and Its Language, ed. Moshe Bar-Asher et al. (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 2007), 143*–
63*; Corinna Körting, Der Schall des Schofar: Israels Feste im Herbst (BZAW 285; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 1999), 240–250, 261–263 and the bibliography included there.
3  The passage is discussed by all the commentaries on Ezra-Nehemiah, as well as by others. See
recently G.J. Venema, Reading Scripture in the Old Testament: Deuteronomy 9–10, 31, 2 Kings
22–23, Jeremiah 36, Nehemiah 8 (OTS 48; Leiden: Brill, 2004); Arie van der Kooij, “The Public
Reading of Scriptures at Feasts,” in Feasts and Festivals, ed. Christopher M. Tuckett (Leuven:
Peeters, 2009), 27–44; Eckart Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien
zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumrahmens
(FAT 30; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 196–211; Körting, Der Schall des Schofar, 250–55,
260–61.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_014

176 Japhet

The lines of the story are simple, and without going into questions of narrative
structure, unity of composition, and so on, they are as follows: The people of
Judah gather in Jerusalem on the first day of the seventh month (Neh 7:72b;
8:2) and ask Ezra to bring “the book of the Torah of Moses” (8:1). Ezra obliges,
and brings the book to the people. He takes his place on a wooden platform,
and flanked by thirteen men, he reads from the book (vv. 3–4). The reading
goes on from the early morning until noon (v. 3). As Ezra opens the book the
people stand up, Ezra blesses God, the people respond by saying “Amen” with
their hands lifted up, and they bow down in worship (vv. 5–6). Then thirteen
Levites circulate among the people and explain to them what is being read
(vv. 7–8). The people listen closely and start weeping; Ezra and the Levites react
to this by instructing them to be happy rather than sad and to celebrate the day
with food, drink and rejoicing (vv. 9–11). The people follow these instructions
and leave the place to celebrate the occasion with “great joy” (v. 12).
Already this brief outline of the event attracts our attention by its pecu-
liar character, expressed in both the details included and those expected but
missing. The first thing to note is that, although the reading of the Torah is
presented as a spontaneous act—Ezra’s response to the request of the people
during their gathering in Jerusalem (vv. 1–2)—it is in fact a highly structured
event, prepared in advance. At v. 4, we learn that in order to be seen and heard
by the people, Ezra was standing on a wooden platform (NRSV),4 which had
been prepared in advance for this purpose.5 The reading should thus be seen
as a preconceived event rather than a spontaneous act.6

4  The Hebrew phrase is ‫ מגדל עץ‬literally, a wooden tower (NJPS; see also HALOT: “wooden
framed tower,” 544). Since this meaning seems inadequate in this context, I preferred the
rendering of BDB (“elevated stage, pulpit”; 154) and NRSV, inspired by the version/interpre-
tation of the Septuagint: βῆμα. This interpretation is reflected also in the Mishnah, in the
description of the king’s reading of the Torah at the end of the remission year: “a wooden
platform” (‫ ;בימה שלעץ‬m. Sotah, 7:8). The precise nature of this structure is not specified, but
it was certainly quite big and solid, as it accommodated fourteen people (see the next verse).
It is often compared to the “bronze platform” (‫)כיור נחשת‬, on which Solomon stood at the
dedication of the Temple, but the nature of this structure is also unclear.
5  For the conclusion that this statement betrays the nonspontaneous character of the event
see, among others, Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 288; Michael Kochman and Michael Heltzer,
The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah (Olam Hatanach 17; Jerusalem: Davidson/Tel-Aviv: Atai,
1988), 153 (in Hebrew).
6  This seems to be the narrative pattern of Ezra’s acts in Jerusalem, as is demonstrated by the
account of his dealings in the matter of the mixed marriages. There too, the initiatives are
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 177

The actual details are presented briefly. The thirteen persons flanking Ezra
are introduced by name but without titles or pedigree; it is generally assumed
that they were laymen, perhaps the heads of the leading families of the Judean
community.7 They, too, were probably nominated for the occasion in advance.
Facing the crowd, Ezra begins with two ceremonial acts: he opens the book
before the people, and he blesses “the Lord, the great God” (vv. 5–6). The peo-
ple, too, behave in a ceremonial fashion: when the book is being opened they
stand up, respond with a double “Amen,” and lift their hands. Following this
they bow down to the ground in an act of worship. Only then begins the actual
recitation from the book, which is the heart of the ceremony.8 All these fea-
tures mark the event as a well-structured performance with clear ritualistic
elements. It should be noted, however that the ritual acts are simple and quite
succinct, with the focus being the reading of the words in the book rather than
the book as an object.9

always ascribed to the people rather than to Ezra (see Ezra 9:1–2; 10:2, 7, 14, 16). The question
as to whether this feature is a historical reflection of Ezra’s passive character and mode of
operation or a literary feature of the story cannot be answered.
7  The number thirteen, six on one side and seven on the other, is rather unusual, and scholars
suggest either that one name fell out and should be added, or that one name should be omit-
ted (as in the Septuagint). The repetition of the same number of persons in v. 7 speaks against
these suggestions.
8  Note that the common translation of the Hebrew verb ‫ קרא‬as “reading”—although correct
in itself—is insufficient; the basic meaning of this verb is “to call,” “to shout,” with further
derivative meanings (See BDB, s.v ‫קרא‬, 894–896; HALOT, s.v. ‫קרא‬, 1128–1131). According to
HALOT: “[The] basic meaning of the vb: to draw attention to oneself by loudness of voice”
(1128). The actual act would be better represented here by “reciting.”
9  Blenkinsopp lists, among other elements, a “procession with a Torah scroll” and a sermon as
the equivalent of explanation (Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary [OTL;
Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988], 285), for the first of which there is no basis in the text.
I also question the thesis of Karel van der Toorn, concerning “the functional analogy between
the Babylonian cult of divine images . . . and the Israelite veneration of the Torah” (Karel van
der Toorn, “The Iconic Book: Analogies between the Babylonian Cult of Images and the
Veneration of the Torah,” in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of
Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. Karl van der Toorn [Louvain: Peeters,
1997], 229–48, quotation on 230). Van der Toorn appears to ignore Nehemiah 8 in construct-
ing his theory. Another view that should be rejected, is that of James W. Watts (“Ritual
Legitimacy and Scriptural Authority,” JBL 124 [2005]: 401–17), who makes the claim that “texts
were used in a variety of cultures to establish correct ritual performance” (411) and sees that
the purpose of Ezra’s reading was to revive the (long-neglected) festival of Succoth; Watts’s
reading of Nehemiah 8, however, clearly misses the point.
178 Japhet

The ritualistic nature of the event is further illuminated by comparison with

the other two occasions of reading “in the book of the Torah” reported in the
same chapter: the reading on the second day of the month by Ezra and the
heads of the fathers’ houses (v. 13), and the reading during the feast of Succoth,
“each day, from the first to the last day” (v. 18). The reading on the second day of
the month is reported in one sentence, which mentions the group affiliations
of the persons involved and the purpose of their coming to Ezra: “On the sec-
ond day the heads of the clans of all the people and the priests and the Levites
gathered to Ezra the scribe to study the words of the Torah.”10 No other details
are provided, and the gathering seems like a study session rather than a ritual,
with Ezra as the teacher and the leaders of the people as his students. Even less
is said about the reading during the feast of Succoth. Ezra is not explicitly men-
tioned (although the singular “he read” probably refers to him), and nothing at
all is said about the circumstances of the reading. Only the public reading on
the first day of the seventh month is clearly and emphatically a ritual.11
The most striking feature of the ritual—and of Nehemiah 8 as a whole—is
its extra-Temple character; because of its comprehensiveness one may perhaps
even define it as “anti-Temple” in character. The event is not connected to the
Temple ritual in any of its aspects, including location, participants, performers,
and actions. From a formal point of view, the events described in the chapter
are components of the “festival calendar”: the new moon, more specifically,
the new moon of the seventh month, and the festival of Succoth. However, the
acts undertaken on these dates have nothing to do with the Temple cult. There
is a vocal silence regarding sacrifices, both those explicitly prescribed for the
Temple for these holy days (see Lev 23:25, 36 and Num 28:11, 29:1–6, 13–38),12
and those brought by the people to mark those days (‫ שלמים‬and ‫ ;זבחים‬cf. Num
10:10). This silence is especially vocal regarding Succoth, given the elaborate set
of sacrifices described in Numbers 29; indeed, in the account of the holiday
in Ezra 3, “burnt offerings . . . as prescribed (‫ ”)כמשפט‬are the only detail men-
tioned concerning the two celebrations (Ezra 3:4–5).13

10  The English translation follows the NJPS unless otherwise stated. As a rule I divert from
the NJPS in representing the Hebrew ‫ תורה‬by transliteration rather than by the NJPS sys-
tematic representation “instruction.”
11  The difference between the several acts of reading is not acknowledged by Michael
Fishbane, who remarks that “Ezra . . . set about to fulfill the royal firman through a series
of public readings of Torah” (Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel
[Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991], 108).
12  See Körting, Schall des Schofar, 218–22.
13  There is therefore no point in bringing up the omission of the tenth day of the seventh
month, “the Day of Atonement.” As Kaufmann pointed out, the “Day of Atonement”—the
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 179

The same extra-Temple nature of the ritual is also expressed by its perform-
ers. The most conspicuous facet of this feature is the absolute omission of the
priests—the “professionals” of the Temple cult. The only priest participating
in the great event is Ezra himself (8:2), who is more often identified by his
other title “the scribe” (8:1, 4, 13; “priest and scribe,” v. 9)14—I will return to this
matter later.15 The other performers in the event are either laymen (v. 4), or
Levites (vv. 7, 8, 11). Priests are mentioned in chapter 8 only once, not during
the ritual but following it: on the second day, when the “the heads of the clans
of all the people,” including the priests and Levites, come to Ezra to study the
Torah (v. 13). A specific omission is that of the trumpets. The New Moon is one
of the occasions on which the trumpets are to be blown (Num 10:10). The New
Moon of the seventh month is actually described in the festival calendar of the
Pentateuch as “a holy convocation, commemorated with trumpet blasts” (Lev
23:24; NRSV). However, the blowing of trumpets was the function of the priests
(Num 10:8), and it is not mentioned in the ceremony of Nehemiah 8.
As counterpart to these outstanding omissions, the ritual includes some
positive data which reflect the same tendency. First among them is the
location of the event: “the square before the water gate” (vv. 1, 3). Although
the precise location of the “water gate” has not yet been established, the
other references to the gate make it clear that it was on the eastern side of
the city, either in front of or outside of the city wall, and had nothing to do
with the Temple courts.16 As for the participants in the event, they are very

10th of the seventh month—was strictly a Temple ritual, intended to purify the Temple
and the land (Yehezkel Kaufmann, History of the Religion of Israel [Tel-Aviv: Dvir, 1960],
1:121, 217–18 [in Hebrew]); it is irrelevant to the events described in Nehemiah 8.
14  1 Esdras strongly emphasizes Ezra’s priestly status, in particular in the parallel passage
to Neh 8:1–12. He is designated three times in this context as “high priest” (1 Esd 9:39,
40, 49)—a definition absent from Ezra-Nehemiah. This is one expression of 1 Esdras’s
attempt to present both the ritual of reading the Torah and the figure of Ezra in a dif-
ferent light (see also below n. 16). On Ezra’s titles and figure in 1 Esdras, see Sara Japhet,
“1 Esdras: Its Genre, Literary Form, and Goals,” in Was 1 Esdras First: An Investigation
into the Priority and Nature of 1 Esdras, ed. Lisbeth S. Fried (Atlanta: Society of Biblical
Literature: Ancient Israel and its Literature 7, 2011), 217–23. Otto claims that in Nehemiah
8 Ezra is acting as a high priest, but I do not find that his arguments support this view
(Otto, Deuteronomium, 197).
15  Page 184 below, and n. 32.
16  The Water Gate is mentioned several times more (Neh 3:26; 8:16; 12:37). Wilhelm Rudolph,
Esra und Nehemia (Handbuch zum Alten Testament 20; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1949),
43, suggests that the gate was not part of the wall of Jerusalem but an inner gate on the
east side of the king’s palace, from which the “place” stretched eastwards to the wall.
Similarly Kochman and Heltzer suggest that it was an internal gate, inside the city, which
180 Japhet

emphatically defined as “all the people”; in the short passage of twelve verses
this designation is repeated 10 times! (vv. 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 11, 12; “the people”
vv. 7, 7, 9). They are also presented twice in a more specified manner: “the
congregation, men and women and all who could listen with understanding”
(v. 2; see also v. 3). Even the standard postexilic cultic definition of the people,
“Israel, priests, and Levites,” so common in Ezra-Nehemiah (see Ezra 1:5; 6:16;
7:7, and more), does not occur in the description of the ritual and is reflected
only once following it (v. 13). Both the location and the participants illustrate
most clearly that the occasion is a popular event.17
The participation of the people in the performance of the ceremony is
expressed in several ways. As noted, the people initiate the event and per-
form several ritual acts that mark the presentation of the Torah. However,
the most important aspect of their involvement is their “understanding,”
emphatically recorded. This is alluded to in the repeated presentation of the
gathered community as men, women and “all who could listen with under-
standing” (‫ ;כל מבין לשמוע‬v. 2), and “all who could understand” (‫ ;והמבינים‬v. 3).18
Throughout the description there is a constant emphasis on the interpretation
of the readings and the fact that the people understood. It is first indicated by
their attentive listening: “the ears of all the people were given to the scroll of
the Torah” (v. 3). Then there is a list of Levites who instruct the people (v. 7).
And finally, “They read from the scroll of the Torah of God, interpreting19 it,

led to the king’s palace south of the Temple’s precincts (Kochman and Heltzer, Ezra and
Nehemiah, 151, and the map on 120). Williamson, by contrast, claims that “the Water Gate
lay to the east (and so outside) of the new line that Nehemiah’s wall took along the crest
of the Kidron Valley. Its name . . . suggests association with the Gihon Spring to which it
probably provided access” (Ezra, Nehemiah, 287). All the references to the water gate are
changed in 1 Esdras, so that it is presented as one of the Temple gates. This systematic
alteration is another expression of 1 Esdras’s wish to present the ritual of the Torah read-
ing as taking place in the Temple’s precincts. See also above n. 14. (For the references,
see Zipora Talshir, I Esdras: A Text Critical Commentary [Septuagint and Cognate Studies
Series 50; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature: 2001], 292–95, 484–85.)
17  For the emphasis on “all the people” as a major element in the celebration of the Succoth
festival, see Weyde, “And They Found it Written,” 157*–58*.
18  For a similar phrase see Neh 10:29.
19  Hebrew; ‫ מפרש‬NJPS: “translating.” This term has attracted much attention in the his-
tory of research, beginning already with the rabbinic statement that ”‫ מפורש‬is Targum”
(y. Megillah 4:1 and parallels). See (among others), Arie van der Kooij, “Nehemiah 8:8 and
the Question of the ‘Targum’ Tradition,” in Tradition of the Text: Studies Offered to Dominique
Barthélemy in Celebration of his 70th Birthday, ed. Gerard J. Norton and Stephen Pisano
(OBO 109; Fribourg: Fribourg University Press/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1991), 79–90; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 278–79; Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 108–9.
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 181

and giving the sense, so they understood the reading” (v. 8). The same empha-
sis on “understanding” is associated also with the words of the leaders, who tell
“all the people” how to proceed after the reading (v. 12). We may thus define the
ritual as a ritual of teaching! The “students” are “all the people” and the teach-
ers are first and foremost the Levites (vv. 8–9).
Another important feature of the event is its joyous nature. The people’s
reaction of weeping upon hearing the Torah is met by the thrice-repeated
instruction of Ezra and the Levites:20 “You must not mourn or weep” (v. 9 cf.
vv. 10–11); “do not be sad” (vv. 10, 11). The text does not explain why the peo-
ple weep, and following the reading of the Torah the people begin “to make
great merriment” (‫ ;לעשות שמחה גדולה‬v. 12); this theme is repeated in the ensu-
ing celebration of the Succoth festival: “and there was very great rejoicing”
(‫ ;ותהי שמחה גדולה מאד‬v. 17). To celebrate the festival, the people are instructed
to “eat choice food and drink sweet drinks and send portions to whoever has
nothing prepared” (v. 10), and this is what they do (v. 12); again, no sacrifices of
any kind are even hinted at.21

The uniqueness of the ritual of “reading the book of the Torah” may be seen
from every perspective; it is not similar to anything that we know from other
biblical sources. Can we nevertheless find any parallels to this ritual, or trace
the possible sources that influenced it? What seems like a “natural” procedure
is to look for such parallels in the Pentateuch and the historical books.

20  In v. 9 Nehemiah is unexpectedly introduced: “Nehemiah who is the Tirshata.” However,
this remark is generally recognized as a gloss (see, e.g., Rudolph, Esra und Nehemia, 148,
Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 279). The gloss, by the author of Ezra-Nehemiah, is one
expression of the author’s historiographical view that Ezra and Nehemiah were contem-
poraries (see Sara Japhet, “Composition and Chronology in the Book of Ezra-Nehemiah,”
in Second Temple Studies 2, ed. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi and Kent Harold Richards (JSOTSup
175; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 189–216; Japhet, “Periodization between
History and Ideology II: Chronology and Ideology in Ezra-Nehemiah,” in Judah and the
Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake:
Eisenbrauns, 2006), 502–5.
21  The plural ‫( משמנים‬v. 10) in the absolute case is a hapax, but its meaning may be easily
determined by the usage of the other forms of the noun and the context. ‫ ממתקים‬appears
only once more, in the metaphorical picture of Song 5:16, and its meaning may be inferred
by the root and the verb “drink.” For the sending of “portions” as a characteristic feature of
great festivity and joy, see Esth 9:19, 22.
182 Japhet

Looking first for the topics of “reading,” “learning,” and “teaching,” we are
immediately made aware of the difference between Deuteronomy, and the
non-Deuteronomic sections of the Pentateuch. In the non-Deuteronomic parts
of the Pentateuch there is no mention of “the book of the Torah”; indeed, very
few books are mentioned at all.22 While the verb ‫ קרא‬is indeed common in the
Pentateuch, its use in the sense of “to read” is found outside Deuteronomy only
once.23 The scarcity of “books” (‫ )ספרים‬and even “writing” (‫ )כתב‬in the priestly
sections of the Pentateuch is significant: this source mentions numerous
“laws” defined as “Torah”—mainly in the construct state—which the English
translations render correctly with “ritual,” “procedure,” “law,” and the like.24
Nowhere are the priests asked to write these “laws” or to read them. A major
task of the priests is defined in Lev 10:11 as “distinguish[ing] between the sacred
and the profane, and between the unclean and the clean”; it is in this sphere
that their function as the people’s guides is stated: “and you must teach25 the
Israelites all the laws which the Lord has imparted to them through Moses”
(ibid.). The general position of the priestly sections is that knowledge is the
possession of the priests, who are expected to guard it and transmit it among
themselves.26 However, the immanent connection between the priests and
Torah/instruction does not imply a “book of Torah” or its reading.

22  Only two books are mentioned in what are regarded as priestly sections: Gen 5:1, RSV:
“This is the book of the generations of Adam”; Num 5:23, RSV: “Then the priest shall write
these curses in a book.” Four other books are mentioned in the nonpriestly sections: “the
book of the covenant” (Exod 24:7), “a book” (Exod 17:14), “Your book that You have writ-
ten” referring to God (Exod 32:32), and “the Book of the Wars of the Lord” (Num 21:14). It
is interesting that while the RSV preserves the word “book” in all these instances, the NJPS
represents only Num 21:14 with “Book” while the other instances are presented as “record”
(Gen 5:1; Exod 24:7; 32:32), “document” (Exod 17:14), and “in writing” (Num 5:23). A similar
procedure is followed by the NRSV.
23  Exod 24:7, where Moses reads “the book of the covenant” to the people.
24  See Lev 6:2, 7, 18, etc.; Num 5:30, 19:2, 14; 31:21; and more.
25  The verb used here is ‫ ירה‬in the hiphil, which in this capacity appears in the priestly sec-
tions only this one time. It is used of the priests in Deut 24:8; 33:10, and of priests and
judges in Deut 17:10, 11.
26  The priests’ task as instructors is expressed also by Ezekiel, first in his rebuke of the priests
(Ezek 22:26) and then in his program for the future: “They shall teach my people the dif-
ference between the holy and the common, and show them how to distinguish between
the unclean and the clean” (Ezek 44:23; NRSV). See also “For instruction shall not fail from
the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor oracle from the prophet” (Jer 18:18); “Then they
shall seek vision from the prophet . . . instruction shall perish from the priest and counsel
from the elders” (Ezek 7:26). These aspects of the priests’ task are described well by the
statement of the prophet Malachi: “For the lips of a priest guard knowledge / and men
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 183

The picture changes dramatically as we turn to Deuteronomy. In addition

to the expression “the book of the Torah,” which is peculiar to this book,27
Deuteronomy also includes several references to “the Torah” with the same
meaning.28 Also peculiar to Deuteronomy is the emphasis on the people’s obli-
gation to know God’s commandments, to learn them, and to act upon them
as a result of their learning. Moses describes his own task as teaching, and the
people’s obligation as learning.29 An explicit commandment to read and study
the book of the Torah is directed to future kings (Deut 17:19), and in the book of
Joshua, to Joshua as the new leader (Josh 1:7–8). However, among all the texts
that instruct the people to learn and follow “this Torah,” only one text refers to
the reading of the Torah as a ritual, encompassing the entire people of Israel.
This is Deut 31:9–13.30 We are told that Moses wrote down “this Torah,” “gave it
to the priests the sons of Levi . . . and to all the elders of Israel” (v. 9), and then
commanded them as follows:

Every seventh year, the year set for remission, at the Feast of Booths, when all
Israel comes to appear before the Lord your God in the place which He will
choose, you shall read this Torah aloud in the presence of all Israel. Gather the
people—men, women, children and the strangers in your communities—that
they may hear and so learn to revere the Lord your God and to observe faithfully
every word of the Torah (31:10–12).

This is clearly an instruction to conduct a recurring ritual of reading, the

details of which are briefly recorded. We learn about the time and frequency of
the occasion—once in seven years at the feast of Succoth; of its location—“the
place which the Lord will choose,” that is, the Temple; and its audience—all
the segments of Israelite society, including children and strangers (‫)גר‬. There
is no mention, however, of the performers of the reading, of the sections of the

seek rulings (Heb: ‫ )תורה‬from his mouth” (Mal 2:7), and by Haggai’s address: “Seek a rul-
ing (Heb: ‫ )תורה‬from the priests” (Hag 2:11)—the ruling involving questions of clean and
unclean.
27  Deut 28:61; 29:20; 30:10; 31:26; see Venema, Reading Scripture, 193.
28  See Deut 4:8, 44; 17:18; 31:9, 11, 12.
29  The verb ‫למד‬, meaning “learn” in the qal conjugation and “teach” in the piel, appears in
Deuteronomy over 15 times, and nowhere in the other parts of the Pentateuch. For Moses
as teacher see Deut 4:1, 5, 14; 5:28; 6:1; 31:19, 22. For the people’s learning, see 4:10; 5:1; 14:23;
17:19 (the king); 31:12, 13; and for the people teaching their children, see 4:10; 11:19.
30  Another ritual peculiar to Deuteronomy is the ritual of “blessings and curses”
(Deuteronomy 27), but this does not include a reading from the Torah. The enactment of
this ritual is described in Josh 8:34–35.
184 Japhet

Torah that should be read, of the ritual acts performed during the ceremony,
and the like. All we hear is that “you shall read this Torah aloud in the presence
of all Israel.” Thus, while the presence of features common to Deut 31:10–12 and
Nehemiah 8 cannot be denied, they are actually minimal and consist mainly
of the act of reading and the presence of the entire people. Even in terms of
this last feature, “children” are replaced in Nehemiah 8 by “all who could listen
with understanding”; and the omission of the ger cannot be regarded as simply
an oversight.31 We may perhaps conjecture that since in Deut 31:9 Moses gives
the book of the Torah in custody to the “priests, the sons of Levi,” and since the
reading is intended to be performed in the Temple, the intended readers are
the priests, but this is not explicitly mentioned.32
The unavoidable conclusion is that the rituals of Deuteronomy 31 and
Nehemiah 8 differ in almost all of their details: the time, the frequency,
the location and the performers. Moreover, each of the passages includes
details that are missing from the other, such as the details of the reading,
the interpretation of the texts, and more. It is hardly possible to regard the
ritual in Nehemiah 8 as a straightforward application of the instructions in
Deut 31:10–13.33 At the same time, however, the overall spirit of Nehemiah 8
is indeed similar to that of Deuteronomy. It is the book of Deuteronomy in its
entirety, rather than the specific instructions of Deuteronomy 31, that serves
as the source of inspiration for the ritual of Nehemiah 8. The same spirit moti-
vates both: the people wish to act upon their obligation to hear, understand,
and learn the commandments of the Torah, and the leaders, to fulfill their obli-
gation to read, teach, and explain.

Is it possible to say something about the afterlife of this ceremony or its impact
on Jewish worship—that of the postexilic community on the one hand and of
the later Jewish synagogal liturgy on the other?

31  The term ‫ גר‬is absent from Ezra-Nehemiah, and the exclusivist position of both Ezra
himself and the author of Ezra-Nehemiah is well known. See, among others, Sara Japhet,
“People and Land in the Restoration Period,” in idem, From the Rivers of Babylon to the
Highlands of Judah: Collected Studies on the Restoration Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns,
2006), 96–116.
32  This may explain the fact that in Neh 8 Ezra is presented also as a priest—one of those
who according to Deuteronomy have the custody of the Torah (see also Deut 17:18).
33  As assumed, for instance, by Mordechai Zer-Kavod, Ezra and Nehemiah (Da’at Mikra,
Jerusalem: Mosad ha-Rav Kook, 1980), 103 (in Hebrew); Aaron Demski, Literacy in Ancient
Israel (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 2012), 338 (in Hebrew); Otto, Deuteronomium, 198–99.
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 185

3.1
The procedure of reading the Torah and acting upon its instructions finds sev-
eral expressions in the subsequent chapters of the book of Nehemiah. I have
already mentioned that Nehemiah 8 refers to two additional occasions of read-
ing the Torah (vv. 13 and 18). As noted above, neither of these occasions shares
the ritualistic features of vv. 1–8. The reading on the second day of the seventh
month is oriented towards the learning and fulfillment of the Torah’s instruc-
tions, and one may infer from the context that among the passages learned
were those that dealt with the feast of Succoth. The reading during Succoth is
described so briefly that beyond the fact that it was conducted on each day of
the festival, no other conclusions may be drawn.34 References to reading in the
Torah are found also in Neh 9:3 and 13:1. In Neh 9:1–3 the reading is presented
as part of the people’s confession of sins.35 Although this brief record includes
some ritualistic vestiges (e.g., the public nature of the event; standing up when
the Torah was read; and prostration), in the final analysis it is quite abstract; it
is impossible to gain a clear picture of the event. Neh 13:1 is even briefer, and
lacks any ritualistic elements. All that is said is: “On that day it was read (‫)נקרא‬
in the book of Moses in the hearing of the people.”
Although these references to the reading of the Torah are brief and even
laconic, they testify well to the importance of the reading for the postexilic
community, as presented by the author of Ezra-Nehemiah. The reverence for
the Torah extends beyond adherence to its commandments as a way of life, to
include its absorption by the people through the process of public reading and
learning. However, the forms of this learning are not specified and there is no
hint as to whether the ritual as described in Nehemiah 8 had any afterlife fol-
lowing its introduction during the short term of Ezra’s mission.
The lack of information regarding the ritual of learning becomes even more
profound when we turn to other postexilic biblical works. In the books of the
prophets Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi the term Torah occurs several times,
but these books include no reference to the “book of the Torah” or to reading
from it—publicly or individually.36 In Chronicles, there are many references to
Torah in the different senses of the term. It may have the general connotation
of “instruction,” or refer to the book of Torah, which is also referred to as “the

34  Fishbane asserts that “there is good reason to regard it (i.e., the daily reading) as an exe-
getical deduction based on Deut 31:10–13” (Biblical Interpretation, 112). See also Weyde,
“And They Found it Written,” 151*.
35  The passage introduces the great prayer of the Levites (9:4–37), which in turn introduces
the making of the covenant (Nehemiah 10). The structure of chapters 8–10 is beyond the
interests of the present paper.
36  See Hag 2:11; Zech 7:12; Mal 2:6, 7, 8, 9; 3:22, and above note 26.
186 Japhet

book of Moses.”37 However, the evidence of Chronicles regarding the reading

from the Torah or the learning of it by the people is quite different from that of
Nehemiah 8. The “reading from the book” is described in Chronicles once, in
the narrative about King Josiah, taken from 2 Kings 23. Chronicles repeats the
text of 2 Kgs 23:1–2 verbatim with only minor changes (2 Chr 34:29–30).38 It
does not refer in any way to the postexilic reality.
The Chronicler’s handling of the learning of Torah by the people is more
instructive: it is described once, as follows:

In the third year of his reign he [Jehoshaphat] sent his officers Ben-hail
etc. . . . throughout the cities of Judah to offer instruction (‫)ללמד‬. With them were
the Levites, Shemaiah etc. . . .; with them were Elishama and Jehoram the priests.
They offered instruction (‫ )וילמדו‬throughout Judah, having with them the book
of the Torah of the Lord. They made the rounds of all the cities of Judah and
instructed the people. (2 Chr 17:7–9)

The teaching of the people is described here as a one-time event, initiated

by King Jehoshaphat. It has only one point in common with the description
of Nehemiah 8: the view of the Levites as instructors of the people, though
in this case not exclusively so. Other than that the description in Chronicles
is in every respect the antithesis of Nehemiah 8: rather than a ritual, it is a
quotidian, even administrative, matter, devoid of any ceremonial features or
special reverence; it does not involve the gathering of the people to Jerusalem
but is carried out “in the cities of Judah”; reading in the book of Torah is not
mentioned; and the instructors are a group of five lay officers, nine Levites and
two priests. No trace of the Deuteronomic phrasing or views is to be found
in the description of this event.39 Chronicles’ penchant for grand ceremonies,

37  For the references to the Torah in Chronicles, and for its place in the Chronicler’s world-
view, see Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought
(3rd ed.; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 184–94.
38  The only interesting change is that of “the prophets,” mentioned among those gathered
in Jerusalem (2 Kgs 23:2), to “the Levites” (2 Chr 34:20), but this change has no bearing on
our topic.
39  There is an ongoing debate among scholars regarding the historical setting of this episode:
does it reflect the authentic circumstances of the monarchic period, or more specifically
Jehoshaphat’s reign (thus, for example, Demski, Literacy, 163); or does it reflect practices
of the Chronicler’s time, projected into the monarchic period (see, e.g., Sara Japhet,
I & II Chronicles: A Commentary [OTL; London: SCM Press; Louisville, KY: Westminster
John Knox, 1993], 748–49? For the view that an authentic source was later edited by the
Chronicler, see Wilhelm Rudolph, Chronikbücher [Handbuch zum Alten Testament 21,
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 187

occurring on different occasions and in varied forms, is well-attested in his

work, but these all take place in or in reference to the Temple, with its elaborate
cultic apparatus; a ritual of public reading of the Torah, with public instruction
of the people, performed outside the precincts of the Temple, is certainly not
among them.
A ritual of reading the book of the Torah is not referred to anywhere in the
postbiblical literature, including the Apocrypha and the Qumran literature.40

3.2
As for later sources, the traditional Jewish view regarding the reading of the
Torah is that it was initiated and commanded by Moses and practiced in Israel
throughout its history. Therefore the specific reading of Ezra was seen as noth-
ing more than one occasion of this practice.41 The view that the regular reading
of the Torah was initiated by Moses is stated already by Philo and Josephus,42
whereas in a short passage in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael the origination
of this practice is ascribed to “the prophets and the elders”: “The elders and
the prophets instituted the reading from the Torah for the Sabbath and for the
second and fifth day of the week.”43 This process is more elaborately presented
in the Palestinian Talmud: “Moses instituted for Israel to read the Torah on the
Sabbaths and the Holidays and the New Moons and the nonsabbatical days of
the Holidays . . . Ezra instituted for Israel to read the Torah on the second and
fifth day of the week and in the afternoon service on the Sabbath” (y. Megillah,
4a). The only regulation attributed to Ezra is the establishment of the read-
ing on the second and fifth days of the week and the afternoon service of the
Sabbath. Consequently, the ceremony of reading as described in Nehemiah 8
did not attract any attention in rabbinic literature.44

Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1955], 251). Only the latter views are relevant to our discus-
sion. There is a third possibility—that the passage in Chronicles is the Chronicler’s free
creation. In this case it certainly reflects the Chronicler’s positions.
40  The only mention of this event in the Apocrypha is the reproduction of Neh 8:1–12 in
1 Esdras 9:38–55, which of course is not an independent piece of information.
41  See for instance Zer-Kavod, Ezra and Nehemiah, 103–4.
42  Philo, Hypothetica 7.12–13; Josephus, Against Apion 2.17 (175). (I wish to thank Dr. Ruth
Clements for drawing my attention to Philo’s reference).
43  Jacob Z. Lauterbach, Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, 2 vols. (2nd ed.; Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 2004; 1st ed. 1933), Tractate Vayassa 1.225. In the Mekhilta de Rabbi
Shimon Bar Yoḥai the version is: “the prophets among them, etc.” See David Nelson,
Mekhilta de Rabbi Shimon Bar Yoḥai (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2006), 161.
44  Kochman and Heltzer, who accept the rabbinical view that Ezra was an interpreter of the
biblical legal instructions, explain this fact by arguing that “it is possible that Ezra was a
188 Japhet

Quite a few scholars who have dealt with the ritual of Nehemiah 8 have
expressed the view that the ritual reflects a synagogal liturgy. This basic stance
has several variations, depending on the perspective from which the ritual has
been examined. Thus in looking for the origins of this ritual, Fishbane con-
nects it with the question of the origin of the synagogue and suggests that the
event includes some features which “reflect established congregational wor-
ship.” He therefore concludes that “there is a presumptive likelihood that the
entire service or its parts developed during the Babylonian exile. Certainly the
custom of reading and studying the Torah under levitical guidance would have
formed a sound basis for communal service in the exile.”45 As evidenced by
Fishbane’s careful phrasing, his suggestion is purely hypothetical, with no sup-
port of any kind.
Other scholars regard this ritual as a fully-fledged synagogal ritual, practiced
in Ezra’s time and a precursor of later rabbinic practice: “Hier wird in einer ide-
alen Szene ein synagogaler Gottesdienst am Vormittag skizziert.”46 Williamson
has very aptly refuted this view,47 and I here summarize his stance (with which
I concur): The distance between Ezra’s ceremony and the first attestations
of the Jewish synagogal ritual,48 combined with the absence of intermediate
evidence of any kind, as illustrated above, make such claims entirely hypo-
thetical. To this I should add the essential differences between the narrative
of Nehemiah 8 and rabbinic practice, the only common feature between them
being the actual reading of the Torah.49

too bold an interpreter, and the later tradition did not accept all his regulations.” (Ezra
and Nehemiah, 153).
45  Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 113.
46  Antonius H.J. Gunneweg, Nehemia, vol. 2 (Kommentar zum Alten Testament XIX2;
Gütersloh: Mohn, 1985, 1987), 110. See among others also Kurt Galling, “Erwägungen zur
antiken Synagoge,” ZDPV 72 (1956): 163–78; Wilhelm Th. in der Smitten, Esra: Quellen,
Überlieferung und Geschichte (Studia Semitica Neerlandica 15; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1973),
38–47.
47  Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 281–82; also, more briefly, Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 285.
48  See, among others, Samuel Safrai and Menahem Stern, The Jewish People in the First
Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and
Institutions, vol. 2 (2 vols.; Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum 1;
Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974, 1976), 914–33.
49  For the details of the synagogal ceremony and its history, see Ismar Elbogen, Jewish
Liturgy: A Comprehensive History (trans. Raimond Scheindlin; Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America Press, 1993; origi-
nal German edition, 1913). For a concise presentation of the differences, see Williamson,
Ezra, Nehemiah, 282.
The Ritual Of Reading Scripture (nehemiah 8:1–12) 189

Confronted with these issues, but still wishing to find a connection between
the ritual of Nehemiah 8 and synagogue worship, some scholars claim that
while Nehemiah 8 was not by itself a synagogal service, it served as the inspira-
tion for later Jewish customs. Ismar Elbogen, for example, claims that “There
can be no doubt that Ezra’s reading is what led to the introduction of the
Torah reading and that its particulars were imitated in the synagogue and their
minutiae preserved.”50 In the same line but less decisive is the view of Safrai
and Stern:

We may not be far out if we see the initial stages of the institution of the syna-
gogue in the public assemblies under Ezra, where the main purpose was the
reading of the Torah . . . This is not to affirm that Ezra founded the synagogue but
merely that the elements on which it was based and from which it developed
may be traced back to certain activities of Ezra.51

As mentioned above, Williamson denies the connection between Nehemiah 8

and the synagogue service but he proposes another hypothesis that denies
the idiosyncrasy of the event. According to his view the individual “liturgical
elements” of this event “are . . . better understood as being borrowed from cur-
rent liturgical practice for a specific occasion rather than being part of a syna-
gogue service. . . . We would rather conclude that some form of liturgy already
existed.”52
Taking the last mentioned views as our point of departure we might make
a minimal suggestion that Ezra’s reading of the Torah marked the beginning
of a process that culminated after many centuries in the Jewish synagogal ser-
vice and the details of rabbinic law of reading the Torah. However, even this
minimal and rather vague position remains entirely in the realm of conjecture.
With the absence of evidence of any kind there is no way to reconstruct such
a process or to show its development. As was the case with the hypotheses dis-
cussed above, this view also fails to be substantiated in any way.

The final conclusion is unavoidable: as far as the evidence goes, the ritual
described in Nehemiah 8 was an absolutely idiosyncratic event. It had no prec-
edent in earlier biblical worship or law as we know them, and no continuation

50  Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy, 130–31. Elbogen’s view is repeated by Rudolph: “in Wahrheit war
Neh 8 das Vorbild, das man später in der Synagoge bis in Einzelheiten nachahmte” (Esra
und Nehemia, 149).
51  Safrai and Stern, The Jewish People, 912–13.
52  Williamson, ibid.
190 Japhet

during the Second Temple period or later. Was it an absolute innovation or

was it based on some contemporary practice?53 Even this question cannot be
positively answered. The very multiplicity of different and contrasting views
is in a way proof that none of them can be confidently confirmed. The ritual
of reading the Torah, as described in Nehemiah 8, remains a unique event in
the history of Israel, with no attested precedents and no attested follow-ups. It
should be seen as a particular expression of the postexilic community, within
its specific historical, political, social and religious parameters.

53  The first possibility is the view of Kochman and Heltzer (The Books of Ezra and
Nehemiah, 153), the second, of Williamson (Ezra, Nehemiah, 282), and Fishbane (Biblical
Interpretation, 113).
Queen or Delegation of Saba to Solomon?
André Lemaire

In 2002 I published a study of the ancient traditional story of the meeting

between the queen of Saba and Solomon in Jerusalem.1 It was criticized by
the editor of the volume, Ernst Axel Knauf, because of “the dangers of relying
on textual evidence . . .”2 He apparently did not take into account my propos-
als about the literary criticism of the biblical text to distinguish various layers.
More than ten years later I was able to update this study, taking into account
the latest archaeological and epigraphical discoveries, especially for Sheba.3
I concluded that there was a probable historical basis for a trade mission from
Sheba to Jerusalem, emphasizing, however, that the mention of a queen at
the head of such a trade mission is surprising and problematic.4 In fact, this
is a detail that is sometimes considered as a clear indication that the story is
legendary.5
South-Arabian epigraphy seems so far to have given us only the name of
a late queen of Hadramaut, “Malkihalik,” the wife of King “Il‘azz Yalut” of
Hadramaut and sister of the king of Sheba, “Sha‘ir Awtar” (probably in the first
half of the second century AD).6 The name of another earlier Minaean queen7

1  A. Lemaire, “La reine de Saba à Jérusalem: la tradition ancienne reconsidérée,” in Kein Land
für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred
Weippert, ed. U. Hübner and E.A. Knauf (OBO 186; Freiburg/Göttingen: Universitätsverlag/
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 43–55.
2  E.A. Knauf, “Introduction,” ibidem, 1–3, esp. 3, note 4.
3  A. Lemaire, “The Queen of Sheba and the Trade Between South Arabia and Judah,” in Ben
‘Ever La‘Arav: Contacts between Arabic Literature and Jewish Literature in the Middle Ages and
Modern Times, Volume 6; A Collection of Studies Dedicated to Prof. Yosef Tobi on the Occasion of
his Retirement, ed. Ali A. Hussein and Aylet Oettinger (Haifa: University of Haifa Press, 2013),
xi–xxxiv.
4  Ibidem, xxiii.
5  S.A. Frantsouzoff, “Die Frau im antiken Südarabien,” in Im Land der Königin von Saba, 7. Juli
1999–9. Januar 2000, ed. W. Daum et al. (München: Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde,
1999), 151–69, esp. 151.
6  Ch. Robin, “Sheba II: Dans les inscriptions de l’Arabie du Sud,” in Supplément au Dictionnaire
de la Bible, 12, ed. J. Briend and E. Cothenet (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1992/1996), col. 1047–1254,
esp. 1135.
7  M. Arbach, “Une reine en Arabie du Sud? Abiwathan fille de Yasaq’îl, d’après une inscrip-
tion provenant de la région du Jawf,” Chroniques yéménites 12 (2005): 19–26; M. Arbach and
J. Schiettecatte, Catalogue des pièces archéologiques et épigraphiques du Jawf au Musée

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_015

192 Lemaire

arose as the result of a misinterpretation of an inscription.8 The situation

in South-Arabia seems therefore different from North-Arabia, where the
important role of queens is well attested in Neo-Assyrian inscriptions, at least
during the second half of the eighth century and the beginning of the seventh
century BCE.
Various ways to solve this problem can be proposed:

1. In the Biblical text malkâh does not necessarily mean that this particular
malkâh ruled the land of Sheba. Besides 1 Kings 10 and the parallel text of
2 Chronicles 9, the Hebrew word malkâh is mentioned only in the scroll
of Esther and in Song of Songs 6:8–9. In Esther (1:9, 11, 12 . . .), this title is
used for primary or secondary wives of the reigning king, who do not
seem have any official political role to play. Song of Songs 6:8 indicates
that there could be as many as “sixty” of them, and several translations
accordingly prefer “princesses” to “queens.” In Hebrew we may have the
same situation as in Nabataean, where mlkh also seems to indicate a
member of the royal family, a “princess,” and not necessarily a “queen.”9
This philological remark, however, does not solve the problem com-
pletely, since it is difficult to think of a princess at the head of a trade
mission from afar.
2. Although the status of women in South-Arabian society is still difficult to
specify, it seems that some of them could have had official functions.10
Furthermore, any argument has to be a silentio for the second half of the
tenth century BCE, a period practically not documented so far in South-
Arabian inscriptions. The most that we can say, therefore, is that such a
trade mission directed by a woman is not completely impossible.

National de Ṣan‘â’ (Ṣan‘â’: Centre français d’archéologie et de sciences sociales de Ṣanâ’,

2006), 44.
8  F. Bron, “Notes d’épigraphie minéenne,” Semitica 55 (2013): 173–78, esp. 175–76.
9  N. Khairi, “A New Dedicatory Nabatean Inscription from Wadi Musa,” PEQ 113 (1981):
19–26, esp. 24; K. Dijkstra, Life and Loyalty: A Study of the Socio-Religious Culture of Syria
and Mesopotamia in the Graeco-Roman Period Based on Epigraphical Evidence (Religions
in the Graeco-Roman World 128; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 61; N. Kokkinos, The Herodian
Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (JSPSup 30; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1998), 376–
77; M.-J. Roche, “Une intaille du British Museum au nom de š‘dt,” in Entre Carthage et
l’Arabie heureuse. Mélanges offerts à François Bron, ed. F. Briquel-Chatonnet et al. (Orient
et Méditerranée 12; Paris: De Boccard, 2013), 301–14, esp. 308.
10  Ch. Robin, “Sheba II: Dans les inscriptions de l’Arabie du Sud,” in Supplément au
Dictionnaire de la Bible, col. 1196; S.A. Frantsouzoff, “Die Frau im antiken Südarabien,” in
Im Land der Königin von Saba, 152–55.
Queen Or Delegation Of Saba To Solomon ? 193

3. That a queen of Sheba was specified was already raised as a difficulty in

rabbinic tradition. According to the Babylonian Talmud, Baba Batra 15b:
“R. Samuel b. Naḥman said in the name of R. Jonathan: Whoever says that
the malkath [queen] of Sheba was a woman is in error: the word malkath
means the Kingdom of Sheba.” But the interpretation as “kingdom,”
apparently taking malkat as a written variant of malkût, seems strained in
the context.

Since none of these three tentative explanations seems totally convincing,

I would like to propose a fourth one. In 1 Kgs 10:1, 4, 10 we find the phrase mlkt-šb’,
where mlkt could be an orthographic variant of ml’kt, “mission, embassy, del-
egation,” with loss of the ’.
The meaning “mission, embassy, delegation” for ml’kh is well attested in clas-
sical Hebrew, even with the precise meaning of “trading mission” (cf. Ps 107:23;
Prov 22:29), and this has already been indicated in the Dictionary of Classical
Hebrew.11 It is cognate with Ugaritic ml’kt, “embassy, delegation, mission,”12
which is clearly a derivative from l’k, “to send.”13 Even so, to justify that mlkt
can be an orthographic variant of ml’kt requires further evidence.
The loss of ’ is a well known phenomenon in Phoenician, within a word (syn-
cope) as well as initially (aphaeresis).14 Apparently from around Bethlehem
and dating from the eleventh century BCE, inscribed arrowheads present
the alternation ‘BDLB’T / ‘BDLBT.15 It is especially relevant to note that ml’kt,
“work,” is written with ’ four times in Phoenician epigraphy (KAI 10,11.13.14; 37

11  DCH, vol. 5 (2001): 288. See already W.F. Albright, “Specimens of Late Ugaritic Prose,”
BASOR 150 (1958): 36–38, esp. 38, n. 14; pace E.L. Greenstein, “Trans-Semitic Idiomatic
Equivalency and the Derivation of Hebrew ml’kh,” Ugarit-Forschungen 11 (1979): 329–36,
esp. 332.
12  Cf. J. Aistleitner, Wörterbuch der ugaritischen Sprache (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1974),
166; G. Del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartin, Diccionario de la lengua ugaritica II (Barcelona:
Sabadell, 2000), 273–74. ET: idem, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic
Tradition II (Handbook of Oriental Studies I. The Near and Middle East 67/2; Leiden: Brill,
2003), 546–47.
13  See, for instance, J.-L. Cunchillos, “Etude philologique de MAL’ĀK,” in Congress Volume:
Vienna 1980, ed. J.A. Emerton (VTSup 32; Leiden: Brill, 1981), 30–51, esp. 32–37, 45;
J.-L. Cunchillos, “La’ika, mal’āk et melā’kāh en sémitique nord-occidental,” RSF 10 (1982):
153–60.
14  J. Friedrich, W. Röllig, and M.G. Guzzo Amadasi, Phönizisch-punische Grammatik
(Analecta Orientalia 55; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1999), § 14.
15  F.M. Cross and J.T. Milik, “Inscribed Javelin Heads from the Period of the Judges. A Recent
Discovery in Palestine,” BASOR 134 (1956): 5–15.
194 Lemaire

A 13), but at least ten times it is written mlkt, without ’ in Punic16 (KAI 81,2; 89,1;
96,5; 101,5) and Neo-Punic (KAI 119,6.7; 124,2; 126,11; 137,2.3).
The loss of ’ is rarer but still known to occur in Biblical Hebrew,17 with exam-
ples of the same word written with and without ’. For instance, m’kl, “food,”
a derivative from ’kl, “to eat,” is generally writtten with ’, but in 1 Kgs 5:25 it is
without ’, mklt. Therefore, in principle, biblical Hebrew mlkt could be a similar
variant of ml’kt.
When we look more precisely at the graphic alternation of masculine ml’k/
mlk and feminine ml’kt/mlkt in the MT, the situation appears complicated and
somehow confusing. Although there seems to be no clear example of mlk or
mlkt for ml’k or ml’kt, we find several instances of ml’k or ml’kt for mlk, “king” or
mlkt, “queen.” Some are clear enough, but others are more contested.

– In 2 Sam 11:1, the Leningrad/St Petersburg codex, B19A, clearly reads

hammelā’kîm, “the messengers,” but several manuscripts, the qeré, 1 Chron
20:1 and the versions read hammelākîm, “the kings,” and this fits the context.
– In 1 Chron 21:20, the same codex B19A clearly reads hammal’āk but several
Kennicott manuscripts, 2 Sam 24:20 and the Septuagint read hammelek.
This is the reading that fits the context.
– In Ps 68:13, codex B19A reads malkēy ṣebā’ôt which seems to fit the context
but several manuscripts read mal’akēy and this last reading has been pre-
ferred by a few commentators.
– In Jer 7:18; 44:17, 18, 19, 25, codex B19A reads meleket haššāmayim, “queen of
heaven,” with a pejorative vocalization, but other manuscripts read mele’ket
haššāmayim. The vocalization mele’ket is normally the vocalization of the
status constructus of melā’kāh, “work, mission.”18

16  On the difference between KAI II, 55 (with hesitation) and III, 14, in KAI 37A7.10, MLKT
means “queen” and not “work, service.” See O. Masson and M. Sznycer, Recherches sur
les Phéniciens à Chypre (Hautes Etudes Orientales 3; Paris/Genève: Droz, 1972), 43–44;
M.G. Guzzo Amadasi and V. Karageorghis, Fouilles de Kition III: Inscriptions phéniciennes
(Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, Cyprus, 1977), 112.
17  Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar (GK), § 19k, 23b–l, 35d, 68, b–k; P. Joüon, Grammaire de
l’hébreu biblique (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1923), § 17e; P. Joüon and T. Muraoka,
A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1993), § 17e, 24fa. See
also D.T. Tsumura, “Textual Corruptions, or Linguistic Phenomena? The Cases in 2 Samuel
(MT),” VT 64 (2014): 135–45, esp. 136.
18  See, for instance, M. Delcor, “Le culte de la « Reine du Ciel » selon Jer 7,8; 44,17–19, 25 et
ses survivances. Aspects de la religion populaire féminine aux alentours de l’Exil en Juda
et dans les communautés juives d’Egypte,” in Von Kanaan bis Kerala: Festschrift J. van der
Ploeg, ed. W.C. Delsman et al. (AOAT 211; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982),
Queen Or Delegation Of Saba To Solomon ? 195

– In 2 Kgs 6:33, the MT reads hammal’āk, as in 6:32,19 but, following Flavius

Josephus, most of the commentators20 think that the comparison with
2 Kgs 7:2 indicates that the original reading was hammelek. This correction
has been argued in detail by Barthélemy as follows:
“Une correction de hammal’āk en hammelek s’impose en effet ici, car:
1. Le contenu de 33b montre assez que ce sont les paroles du roi, ce que
Cajetan a reconnu explicitement.
2. 7,18 atteste que c’est au roi qu’Elisée a parlé en 7,1.
3. La référence donnée en 7,17bγ (brdt hmlk ’lyw) porte sur 6,33aβ lu sous
la forme whnh hmlk yrd ’lyw . . .”21
– In Mal 3:1, the MT reads mal’āk habberît, “the messenger of the covenant,”
but a few commentators22 propose to read melek habberît, “the king of the
covenant.” Yet this textual correction does not seem necessary.23

Considering all these instances of the alternation ml’k/mlk, 2 Sam 11:1 seems a
rare case of ’ used as a mater lectionis24 for ā, but this interpretation does not

101–22, esp. 103 (= M. Delcor, Environnement et tradition de l’Ancien Testament [AOAT 228;
Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990], 138–59, esp. 140); DCH, vol. 5, 2001, 290.
19  Several commentators, esp. Wellhausen and Stade, would elide all reference to the mes-
senger in this passage, but that is more doubtful: see J.A. Montgomery and H.S. Gehman,
A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T & T Clark,
1951), 386.
20  See, for instance, C.F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Book of Kings (Oxford:
Clarendon, 1903), 290; Montgomery and Gehman, Kings, 386; J. Gray, I & II Kings: A
Commentary, vol. 2 (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1970), 519; E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der
Könige: 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25 (ATD 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 308;
M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1988), 76, 80–81.
21  D. Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament (OBO 50/1; Fribourg/Göttingen:
Editions universitaires/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 389.
22  See, for instance, J. Pedersen, Der Eid bei den Semiten (Strassburg: Trübner, 1914), 43;
A. Bentzen, “Priesterschaft und Laien in der jüdischen Gemeinde des fünften
Jahrhunderts,” AO 6 (1930/31): 280–86, esp. 283.
23  A. Meinhold, Maleachi (BKAT XIV/8; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2006), 241.
24  The alternation mlk/ml’k in the much discussed Punic phrase mlk ’mr / ml’k ’mr can prob-
ably also be explained as the use of ’ as a mater lectionis. See R. Charlier, “La nouvelle
série de stèles puniques de Constantine et la question des sacrifices dits ‘molchomor’, en
relation avec l’expression ‘bsrm btm’,” Karthago 4 (1953): 3–48, esp. 5–15; A. Berthier and
R. Charlier, Le sanctuaire punique d’El-Hofra à Constantine (Paris: Arts et métiers
graphiques, 1955), 49–51, n. 54–55; E. Lipiński, “Molk,” in Dictionnaire de la civilisation
phénicienne et punique, ed. E. Lipiński (Turnhout: Brepols, 1992), 296–97; H.-P. Müller,
“Hebräisch molek und punisch ml(’)k(t),” in Michael: Historical, Epigraphical and Biblical
196 Lemaire

seem to work for 1 Chron 21:20; Ps 68:13, Jer 7:18; 44:17, 18, 19; or 2 Kgs 6:(32), 33,
which all probably indicate a general scribal confusion between mlk and ml’k.
If that is the case, in the earlier layer of 1 Kgs 10:1–13 the word written mlkt or
ml’kt could mean “mission, embassy, delegation” as well as “queen, princess.”
As in other cases of textual criticism, the choice between these two meanings
has to be based on the context and on historical criticism.25
We shall not repeat here the arguments advanced in favour of the basic
historicity of a trade mission from Sheba to Jerusalem in the second half of
the tenth century BCE.26 The fact that the three occurrences of ml(’)kt can be
interpreted as a “trade mission” of Sheba seems to fit perfectly into the context.
Moreover, we have noted above that the presence of a queen at the head of
such a trade mission seems a priori very problematic.
Actually it was not necessary at all for the story to identify the head
of such an embassy. The best parallel for the story of the delegation from
Sheba to Jerusalem at the end of Solomon’s reign is the embassy from
Babylon to Jerusalem during Hezekiah’s reign, where it is recorded that:
“B/Merodach-baladan son of Baladan king of Babylon sent envoys with a gift
to Hezekiah . . . Hezekiah welcomed them and showed them all his treasury . . .”
(2 Kgs 20:12–13). There, although the king of Babylon is mentioned by name,
his envoys remain anonymous. In the same way, the leader of the trade mis-
sion from Sheba to Jerusalem could well have been anonymous in the original
record, something that cannot be proved but that seems likely.
It is a great pleasure to dedicate this modest essay of textual and historical
criticism to a colleague and friend who has always been interested in the con-
nections between Ancient Near Eastern history and the Bible.

Studies in Honor of Prof. Michael Heltzer, ed. Y. Avishur and R. Deutsch (Tel-Aviv/Jaffa:
Archaeological Center Publications, 1999), 243–53, esp. 246. See also C.C. Wagner and
L. Ruiz Cabrero (ed.), El Molk como concepto del Sacrificio Punico y Hebreo y el final del Dios
Moloch (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Fenicios y Púnicos, 2002).
25  See A. Lemaire, “Critique textuelle et critique historique: remarques méthodologiques
et exemples,” in Textual Criticism and Dead Sea Scrolls Studies in Honour of Julio Trebolle
Barrera, ed. A. Piquer Otero and P.A. Torijano Morales (Supplements to the Journal for the
Study of Judaism; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012), 193–202.
26  See notes 1 and 3 above.
Judah and Edom in the Book of Kings and in
Historical Reality

Nadav Na’aman

1 The Judahite-Edomite Struggle According to the Book of Kings

The author of the Book of Kings related the Kingdom of Judah’s relations with
its neighbouring kingdoms by means of short chronistic accounts. On its north-
ern front Judah was bordered by Israel, on the west by the Philistine kingdoms
and on the south by Edom. The author of Kings described synchronistically
the histories of the kingdoms of Judah and Israel and related some episodes
that took place on Judah’s northern and south-western borders (1 Kgs 15:16–22;
2 Kgs 14:8–14; 16:5, 7–9).1 Except for a single episode, Judah’s relations with the
Philistine kingdoms are not mentioned in the Book of Kings, possibly because
they were peaceful throughout the late tenth–eighth centuries BCE.2 Only
Hezekiah attacked the Philistines and conquered their towns in the course
of his rebellion against Assyria and his efforts to consolidate an anti-Assyrian
coalition (2 Kgs 18:8). By the offensive on the western front of his kingdom,
Hezekiah tried to force the Philistines to participate in his coalition, thereby
magnifying his military power, just as Rezin and Pekah had attacked his father,
Ahaz, in an attempt to compel him to participate in their anti-Assyrian coali-
tion (2 Kgs 16:5, 7–9; Isa 7:1–2, 5–6).3
In marked contrast to the relations between Judah and the Philistine king-
doms were the relations between Judah and Edom, which the author of Kings
related in detail. By further examining these episodes, it becomes clear that he
expressed a special interest in the question of who ruled the region of Arabah
between the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Eilat. He demonstrated his interest by

1  Prophetic stories that discuss the relations of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah in the 9th
century are an integral part of the Book of Kings, but since they belong to an entirely differ-
ent genre, I exclude them from the present discussion.
2  The Book of Chronicles presents many accounts of armed struggles between Judah and the
Philistine kingdoms (2 Chr 14:8–14; 21:16–17; 22:1; 26:6–8; 28:18). The historicity of all these
episodes is dubious, however; hence, I exclude them from the present discussion.
3  N. Na’aman, “Forced Participation in Alliances in the Course of the Assyrian Campaigns to the
West,” in Ah, Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography
Presented to Hayim Tadmor, ed. M. Cogan and I. Eph‛al (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33;
Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991), 94–97.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_016

198 Na ’ aman

three short story cycles, each of which opens with a conquest of Edom by
a king of Judah, who retains possession for some time until one of his heirs
loses it.
The first Edomite cycle opens with the history of David (2 Sam 8:13ab–14a).
The text that relates the conquest and subjugation has suffered from hap-
lography caused by homoioteleuton, but it may be restored thus: “When he
returned from smiting Aram (sic!) <he smote Edom> in the Valley of Salt, eigh-
teen thousand (people).4 And he put prefects in Edom; throughout Edom he
put prefects, and all the Edomites became David’s servants.” Within the history
of the United Monarchy, David’s conquest of Edom enabled Solomon to build
a fleet at Ezion-Geber and sail southward, to Ophir (1 Kgs 9:26–28).
According to the author of Kings, the change in the southern front took
place in the later years of Solomon. The account opens with a detailed reitera-
tion of David’s conquest (1 Kgs 11:15–16): “For when David was in Aram (sic!),
when Joab the commander of the army went up to bury the slain, he slew every
male in Edom; for Joab and all Israel stayed there six months, until he had cut
off every male in Edom.”5 The two accounts relate that Edom was conquered
after the return from the war with Aram and that Edom was subjugated thence-
forward until Solomon’s later years. At that time, Hadad the Edomite rebelled
against Solomon and became his adversary (1 Kgs 11:14–25). Unfortunately, the
Hadad episode was curtailed after v. 22; its possible conclusion (v. 25abb) was
probably taken out of its original context and placed erroneously after the
Rezon episode. On the basis of the MT and LXX, we may reconstruct it thus:
“and this is (w<z>‘t) the evil that Hadad (did). And he abhorred Israel, and he
reigned over Edom (sic!).”6 The restored ending of the Hadad episode closes
the first story circle of Edom’s conquest, subjugation and rebellion.

4  D. Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, vol. 1. Josué, Juges, Ruth, Samuel,
Rois, Chroniques, Esdras, Néhémie, Esther (OBO 50/1; Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires and
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 251–52.
5  My suggested rendering clarifies that the author described a situation in which David stayed
in Aram, while Joab returned to bury the dead soldiers and then embarked on a campaign
against Edom.
6  For further discussion, see C.F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Kings
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1903), 162; J.A. Montgomery, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on
the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1951), 237–38, 246; J. Gray, I & II Kings (2nd
ed; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), 283, note b; Barthélemy, Critique textuelle, 361–62;
G.N. Knoppers, Two Nations under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual
Monarchies, vol. 1: The Reign of Solomon and the Rise of Jeroboam (Atlanta: Scholars Press,
1993), 160–61; M.J. Mulder, 1 Kings, volume 1: 1 Kings 1–11 (HCOT; Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 576–
78. The solution adopted by some scholars (Barthélemy, Mulder), to attribute v. 25b to the
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 199

The second cycle opens with Edom already subjugated to Judah. 1 Kgs 22:48
“And there was no king in Edom; a prefect was king.”7 It enabled Jehoshaphat to
build ships and sail to Ophir for gold. But the maritime venture ends with the
wrecking of the ships (1 Kgs 22:49–50). Edom rebelled in the time of Jehoram,
Jehoshaphat’s son, and set up its own king. The Judahite king conducted a cam-
paign to crush the rebellion, but was defeated, and the Edomites freed them-
selves from Judah’s yoke (2 Kgs 8:20–22a).
The third cycle opens with Amaziah’s victory over Edom in the Valley of Salt
and the conquest of Sela, a place located near the Arabah (2 Kgs 14:7).8 The
subjugation of Edom enabled Uzziah to build Elath, near the shore of the Gulf
of Aqaba (Tell el-Kheleifeh) (14:22). The author of Kings does not relate the
fate of Edom after the reign of Amaziah. However, according to the internal
logic of his work, Edom remained subjugated to Judah until its ultimate release
in the reign of Ahaz. This is related in 2 Kgs 16:6: “At that time King Rezin of
Aram recovered Elath for Edom (sic!), and drove out the Judahites from Elath.
And Edomites (qere) came to Elath and settled there until this day.” Many
commentators have suggested omitting the vocable “Rezin” as a gloss inserted
from v. 5 and reading melek ‘edōm (“King of Edom”) for melek ’ărām (“King of
Aram”) as the subject of the sentence, to be translated: “At that time the king
of Edom recovered Elath . . .”).9 However, not only is the assumed omission not
supported by the versions, but the omission of Rezin and the restoration “the
king of Edom” suddenly introduces a king that ruled Edom at a time when

Rezon story, is questionable because the end of v. 25b (“he was king in Damascus”) repeats
the words of v. 24bb (“and he reigned as king in Damascus”).
7  For a detailed discussion, see N. Na’aman, “Sources and Composition in the Biblical History
of Edom,” in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume, ed. C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz and
S.M. Paul (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 313–14.
8  For the identification of Sela at as-Sela‛, a remarkable mountain stronghold near where
a relief of Nabonidus was discovered, see S. Hart, “Sela‛: The Rock of Edom?” PEQ 118
(1986): 91–95; M. Lindner, U. Hübner and E. Gunsam, “Es-Sela‛—2500 Jahre Fliehburg und
Bergfestung in Edom, Südjordanien,” Das Altertum 46 (2001): 243–78, with earlier literature;
P. Gentili and C. Saporetti, “Nabonedo a Sela‛,” Geo-Archeologia 21/1 (2001): 39–58;
B.L. Crowell, “Nabonidus, as-Sila‛, and the Beginning of the End of Edom,” BASOR 348 (2007):
75–88, with earlier literature.
9  For the list of scholars who omitted the name “Rezin,” see Barthélemy, Critique textuelle, 406;
H. Tadmor and M. Cogan, “Ahaz and Tiglath-Pileser in the Book of Kings: Historiographic
Considerations,” Biblica 60 (1979): 496, note 22; E. Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige:
1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25 (ATD 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1984), 386; M. Cogan and
H. Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; Garden
City: Doubleday, 1988), 184, 186.
200 Na ’ aman

according to the Book of Kings, Edom was subjugated to Judah. The text should
be analysed in its own right, regardless of the historicity of the description;
according to its author, Edom was subjugated to Judah until it was released by
Rezin, King of Aram.10
The Edom that the Book of Kings referred to is always located in the Arabah,
whereas the Edomite plateau plays no role in the accounts. All the wars nar-
rated are conducted in the Arabah, and a natural historical continuity exists in
each episode between the subjugation of Edom and the organization of mari-
time ventures in the Gulf of Eilat. Such is the case with Solomon, Jehoshaphat,
and by inference with Uzziah (2 Kgs 14:22).
All three story cycles suffer from textual corruptions which, in my opinion,
indicate that they were extracted from an old, slightly damaged source that
the author of Kings copied verbatim. The continuity of conquest and com-
mercial activity in the Gulf of Eilat further supports the assumption that the
author of Kings extracted his accounts from an old source which integrated
the commercial ventures into the narrative. In fact, the name Edom in the
old source reflects the reality of the ninth–eighth centuries BCE. Otherwise,
the author would have used the name Edom according to the custom of his
time and anachronistically connected it to the plateau, where the Edomite
state developed in the late eighth–seventh centuries BCE under the umbrella
of the Assyrian empire. Moreover, the late kingdom of Edom, with its centres
built on the plateau, is missing from the Book of Kings; only Judah’s relations
with the early kingdom of Edom, during the ninth–eighth centuries located in
the lowlands, are related.
How can we explain the interest the author of Kings expressed in Judah’s
relations with the early rather than the late Kingdom of Edom? The answer to
this question may be found by analysing what we know of Edom in the tenth–
eighth centuries BCE.

10  An illuminating example is the description of Hezekiah’s rebellion against Assyria in the
Book of Kings. According to the author of Kings, the revolt ended in utter success: the
Assyrian ruler and his army retreated from Judah and the offensive invader was murdered
by his own sons. Following this episode, the Book of Kings makes no further mention of
Assyria. In view of the internal sequence of the narrative in Kings, any reader would draw
the conclusion that Judah fell under the yoke of Assyria in the reign of Ahaz and was freed
during the reign of Hezekiah. Historically, however, the rebellion was an utter failure, and
Judah remained an Assyrian vassal until the Assyrian retreat from Palestine, probably in
the 620s of the 7th century BCE.
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 201

2 Judah and the Copper Production in the Arabah in the

Tenth–Ninth Centuries BCE

Archaeological research has demonstrated that in the tenth–ninth centuries

BCE large quantities of copper were produced in the Arabah region. As the area
of Wadi Faynan contains the largest concentration of smelting sites, excava-
tions mainly concentrated on this area, and in particular in the site of Khirbat
en-Naḥas. Levy and his partners described the copper industry as follows:11

Khirbat en-Nahas (area = c. 10 ha) is the largest Iron Age copper-smelting site in
southern Levant. The site is situated in an area where numerous outcrops of cop-
per ore were mined in the Saharo-Arabian desert zone, at the eastern margin of
the Araba/Arava valley . . . The amount of slag left by the Iron Age metallurgists
at the centre of Khirbat en-Nahas as evidence for a mass production of copper
(c. 50,000 to 60,000 tons) should be considered in close context with Iron Age
metallurgical activities at the nearby sites of Khirbat Faynan and Khirbet el-­
Jariyeh, where roughly another 40,000 tons of slags were produced.12

The results of the archaeological excavations and surveys conducted in the

Faynan region gave new insights in evaluating the results of the archaeologi-
cal evidence from the southern Levant in the Iron Age I–IIA (late 12th–ninth
centuries).13 Throughout the history of the Levant, settlement and prosperity

11  T.E. Levy, R.B. Adams, M. Najjar, A. Hauptmann, J.D. Anderson, B. Brandl, M.A. Robinson
and T. Higham, “Reassessing the Chronology of Biblical Edom: New Excavations and 14C
Dates from Khirbat en–Nahas (Jordan),” Antiquity 78 (2004): 865.
12  A. Hauptmann (The Archaeometallurgy of Copper—Evidence from Faynan, Jordan [Berlin:
Springer Verlag, 2007], 147), estimated the slag quantities of Iron Age Faynan to be
between 100,000 and 130,000 tons.
13  For the results of the excavations and surveys in the Faynan area, see Levy et al.,
“Reassessing the Chronology,” 863–76; T.E. Levy, R.B. Adams and A. Muniz, “Archaeology
and the Shasu Nomads: Recent Excavations in the Jabal Hamrat Fidan, Jordan,” in
Le-David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute to David Noel Freedman, ed. R.E. Friedman and
W.H.C. Propp (Biblical and Judaic studies 9; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 63–89;
T.E. Levy, T. Higham, C. Bronk Ramsey, N.G. Smith, E. Ben-Yosef, M. Robinson, S. Münger,
K. Knabb, J.P. Schulze, M. Najjar and L. Tauxe, “High-Precision Radiocarbon Dating
and Historical Biblical Archaeology in Southern Jordan,” Proceedings of the National
Academy of Sciences 105 (2008): 16460–65; T.E. Levy, “Pastoral Nomads and Iron Age Metal
Production in Ancient Edom,” in Nomads, Tribes, and the State in the Ancient Near East:
Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives, ed. J. Szuchman (Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the
University of Chicago, 2009), 147–76; E. Ben-Yosef, T.E. Levy, T. Higham, M. Najjar and
L. Tauxe, “The Beginning of Iron Age Copper Production in the Southern Levant: New
202 Na ’ aman

in arid zones have been mainly the result of improved economic conditions.
Hence, the emerging system of settlements in the Beersheba Valley, the Negev
Highlands and the lower Naḥal Besor area in the late Iron I–early Iron IIA
(late 11th–early ninth centuries) is directly connected to copper production and
copper trade in the north-eastern Arabah at that time. The pastoral nomads
must have participated in the mining, smelting and transportation of the
copper, and the profits they gained enabled them to settle in the areas where
formerly they had wandered but left no evidence of their presence.14
In one of his later years Shishak, King of Egypt (ca. 945–924), conducted
a campaign in Palestine. In order to commemorate his achievements, he
inscribed on the walls of Amon’s temple at Karnak a list of the places he had
conquered.15 An analysis of the topographical list indicates that the campaign
was directed against the kingdom of Israel and the settlements he conquered
were located in the Beersheba Valley, the Negev Highlands and the lower Naḥal
Besor area. The many southern settlements enumerated in the list were estab-
lished before the Egyptian campaign, and were probably involved in copper
production and trade.16 Shishak’s campaign was an Egyptian effort to control
the copper mining and trade routes and divert some of the revenues to Egypt.17
Thus the Egyptians did take control of the regions of the northern Arabah and
the Beersheba Valley and hold them for a few decades. Furthermore, a major
change in the technologies for producing copper in the Arabah was introduced
in the late tenth–early ninth centuries, which was probably a result of Egyptian

Evidence from Khirbat al-Jariya, Faynan, Jordan,” Antiquity 84 (2010): 724–46; T.E. Levy,
E. Ben-Yosef and M. Najjar, “New Perspectives on Iron Age Copper Production and Society
in the Faynan Region, Jordan,” in Eastern Mediterranean Metallurgy and Metalwork in the
Second Millennium BC, ed. V. Kassianidou and G. Papasavvas (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2012),
197–214.
14  I. Finkelstein, “Arabian Trade and Socio-Political Conditions in the Negev in the Twelfth–
Eleventh Centuries BCE,” JNES 47 (1988): 241–52; idem, Living on the Fringe: The
Archaeology and History of the Negev, Sinai and Neighbouring Regions in the Bronze and
Iron Ages (Monographs in Mediterranean Archaeology 6; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 1995), 120–26.
15  For the topographical list of Shishak, see recently K.A. Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh
Shoshenq I into Palestine (FAT II/ 9; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 101–33, with earlier
literature.
16  M.A.S. Martin and I. Finkelstein, “Iron IIA Pottery from the Negev Highlands: Petrographic
Investigation and Historical Implications,” Tel Aviv 40 (2013): 6–45.
17  A. Fantalkin and I. Finkelstein, “The Sheshonq I Campaign and the eighth Century-BCE
Earthquake—More on the Archaeology and History of the South in the Iron I–II,” Tel Aviv
33 (2006): 24–28.
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 203

involvement in that process.18 Hence, we may safely assume that there was an
‘Egyptian stage’ in the copper production and trade in the Arabah in the late
tenth–early ninth centuries BCE.
In recent years archaeologists have discovered that copper was smelted
not only in the Wadi Faynan area but also in the southern Arabah.19 Recent
excavations at Site 30 in the Timna Valley demonstrated that copper produc-
tion in the place was initiated only after the Egyptian withdrawal from Canaan
during the second half of the 12th century and reached its peak in the tenth
century BCE.20 In the light of the similarity of the production dates, the smelt-
ing technology and the organization of the industry within the Timna and
Wadi Faynan regions, Ben-Yosef et al. concluded that the regions of Faynan
and Timna “were socially united and that the copper production enterprise
was a local initiative controlled by semi nomadic tribes.” They further hypoth-
esized that “the sophisticated organization of production demonstrates cen-
tralized authority and political power which might represent the early tribal
state of Edom.”21
The Edom mentioned in the Book of Kings is located in the Arabah and
the Negev Highlands up to Kadesh-barnea, in an area that overlaps with the
late 11th–ninth century system of enclosed settlements that have been discov-
ered in this region. The Edomites referred to in the Book of Kings are the clans
and families that settled in this region and participated in the copper produc-
tion and copper trade. These families and clans gradually achieved an internal
unity, gained economic and military power and organized themselves in a kind
of polity, which the Bible called Edom.22

18  Levy et al., “High-Precision Radiocarbon Dating,” 16460–65; Levy et al., “New Perspectives,”
210–11; E. Ben-Yosef, R. Shaar, L. Tauxe, and H. Ron, “A New Chronological Framework for
Iron Age Copper Production in Timna (Israel),” BASOR 367 (2012): 47–48, 52, 59, 63–65;
E. Ben-Yosef, “Environmental Constraints on Ancient Copper Production in the Aravah
Valley: Implications of the Newly Discovered Site of Khirbet Mana‛iyah in Southern
Jordan,” Tel Aviv 39 (2012): 196, 200.
19  Ben-Yosef et al., “New Chronological Framework,” 31–71; Ben-Yosef, “Newly Discovered
Site,” 186–202.
20  Ben-Yosef et al., “New Chronological Framework,” 59–65.
21  Ben-Yosef et al., “New Chronological Framework,” 65; see Ben-Yosef, “Newly Discovered
Site,” 191–92.
22  I very much doubt the assumption that the early Edomite polity included the region
of the Edomite plateau (T.E. Levy, M. Najjar, J. van der Plicht, N. Smith, H.J. Bruins and
T. Higham, “Lowland Edom and the High and Low Chronologies: Edomite State
Formation, the Bible and Recent Archaeological Research in Southern Jordan,” in The
Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science, ed. T.E. Levy and T. Higham
204 Na ’ aman

The large-scale copper production in the Arabah and the gains from the
copper trade, as well as the development of international commercial activ-
ity along the routes that lead to the Gulf of Eilat (discussed below), explain
the campaigns the kings of Judah conducted in this region in the ninth–early
eighth centuries and the interest of the author of the Book of Kings in the his-
tory of Judah’s relationship with Edom in the tenth–eighth centuries BCE.
The first story cycle presented above relates the operations of David and
Solomon in Edom and the Red Sea. In earlier papers, I have suggested that the
source on which the author based his description of David’s wars with Israel’s
neighbours was written in the late ninth or early eighth centuries BCE23 and
that the early source of the history of Solomon might also be dated to this
period.24 If this is indeed the case, the descriptions of the operations of David
and Solomon in the south based on these late ninth–early eighth century
sources might be anachronistic, reflecting the reality of the time in which
they were composed rather than the time of the two kings. In other words, the
histories of David and Solomon might not be useful in reconstructing the real-
ity of the so-called “United Monarchy,” but are important evidence for the
reality of the late ninth–early eighth centuries, the time in which the sources
underlying their composition were themselves composed in writing.
According to the Book of Kings, Jehoshaphat (ca. 874–849) subjugated
Edom and gained control over the region of Arabah (1 Kgs 22:48 [ET v. 47]).
He then “built Tarshish ships to go to Ophir for gold; but he did not go, for the

[London and Oakville: Equinox, 2005], 131, 157–58; Levy, “Pastoral Nomads,” 159–61). As
the plateau was sparsely settled in Iron I–IIA, it is unlikely that it formed part of the low-
land polity before it was settled in the late eighth century BCE under the umbrella of the
Assyrian Empire (I. Finkelstein, “Khirbet en-Nahas, Edom and Biblical History,” Tel Aviv 32
[2005]: 120–22; E. van der Steen and P. Bienkowski, “How Old Is Edom? A Review of New
Evidence and Recent Discussion,” Antiguo Oriente 4 [2006]: 11–12; Martin and Finkelstein,
“Iron IIA Pottery,” 9–10). Levy (“Pastoral Nomads,” 151, 160), noted that his excavations in
the northern Arabah add “some 300 more years to the Iron Age chronology of Edom.”
However, this early Edomite polity differs in territory, population, economy and organiza-
tion from the late eighth–seventh century kingdom whose main centres were established
on the plateau.
23  N. Na’aman, “Sources and Composition in the History of David,” in The Origins of the
Ancient Israelite States, ed. V. Fritz and P.R. Davies (JSOTSup 228; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1996), 173–83; idem, “In Search of Reality behind the Account of David’s
Wars with Israel’s Neighbours,” IEJ 52 (2002): 203–11.
24  N. Na’aman, “Sources and Composition in the History of Solomon,” in The Age of Solomon:
Scholarship at the Turn of the Millennium, ed. L.K. Handy (Studies in the History and
Culture of the Ancient Near East XI; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 61–63, 76–77.
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 205

ships were wrecked at Ezion-geber” (v. 49). Following the aborted voyage, he
refused a request by Jehoahaz, king of Israel, to participate in the commercial
venture (v. 50). An identical maritime venture is attributed to Solomon (1 Kgs
9:26–28; 10:22), but unlike Jehoshaphat, the latter cooperated with Hiram of
Tyre, whose seamen “were experienced on the sea” (1 Kgs 9:27) and succeeded
in the expedition by bringing an enormous amount of gold from Ophir (420
talents of gold). It seems that the account of Solomon’s successful maritime
venture was composed as an antithesis to Jehoshaphat’s failed expedition, and
hence its historical validity is dubious.
Jehoram, son of Jehoshaphat, organized a campaign to crush the rebellion
of Edom, but the Edomites conducted a surprise attack at night and smote his
troops, and the Judahite army withdrew from the battlefield. “Thus Edom has
rebelled against the authority of Judah until this day” (2 Kgs 8:20–22a). The
reference to the Edomite rebellion and the breaking of Judah’s yoke indicates
that prior to this episode, Judah was involved in the affairs of Edom and in part
benefited from the profits of the copper trade from the local inhabitants of the
Arabah.
As the history of the kingdom of Judah was written long after the termina-
tion of the events related in the author’s sources, the silence of the Book of
Kings regarding the copper production and copper trade is understandable.
Evidently the source(s) available to the author of Kings did not specify the
objectives of the Judahite operations. As the copper industry in the Arabah
came to an end in the late ninth century BCE, the author did not know about
its existence and related only the details documented by his sources. Among
these details were the struggle for domination of the Arabah and the aborted
maritime venture through the Gulf of Eilat in the time of Jehoshaphat.

3 Judah and the Red Sea: From Mooring Place to Fortified Fortress

The identification of Ezion-geber and Elath was debated in the early days of
modern biblical and archaeological research. Following the discovery of Tell
el-Kheleifeh, its excavations and the unearthing of an Iron Age fortress, some
scholars identified it with Ezion-geber.25 It is now beyond doubt, however,
that the site should be identified with Elath. First, the Book of Kings explicitly

25  For the history of research, see J.R. Bartlett, Edom and the Edomites (JSOTSup 77; Sheffield:
JSOT Press, 1989), 46–48; idem, “ ‘Ezion-geber, which is near Elath on the Shore of the Red
Sea’ (I Kings IX 26),” OTS 26 (1990): 1–16; M. Lubetski, “Ezion-geber,” in ABD, vol. 2 (New
York: Doubleday, 1992), 723–26.
206 Na ’ aman

states that Uzziah built Elath (2 Kgs 14:22), and Tell el-Kheleifeh is the only
site constructed in the Iron Age, which was discovered near the Gulf of Eilat.
Moreover, the earliest pottery unearthed at Tell el-Kheleifeh is dated to the
eighth century BCE and fits well with the biblical account of Uzziah’s founda-
tion of the place.26 Second, Elath’s name has been preserved in the name Aila,
which was the main port of trade in Classical times in the Gulf area. Aila is
located about 1 kilometre north-east of Aqaba, about four kilometres from Tell
el-Kheleifeh, and is mentioned in many literary sources dated to the Hellenistic
period onward.27 It clearly succeeded Elath near the Gulf of Aqaba. Thus, all
the available evidence confirms the identification of Tell el-Kheleifeh as Elath,
which opens the question of where Ezion-geber was located.
On the basis of the close similarity of names, Robinson identified Ezion-
geber with el-Ghadian, about 38 kilometres north of the Gulf of Eilat.
Indeed, a perfect accord exists between the two names.28 In the words of
Köhler, “Wenn ghaḍiān ‘ghaḍa-Wäldchen’ heist, dann heist Ezjon dasselbe.
Denn hebräisch ‛äṣjōn ist arabisch ghaḍiān.”29 Until the discovery of Tell el-
Kheleifeh near the Gulf of Aqaba (1933), some scholars accepted Robinson’s
identification.30 Following the discovery of the site, however, Sellin published
an article in which he dismissed the identification on the basis that the long
distance between the oasis of el-Ghadian and the Gulf of Eilat eliminates
the possibility of this identification.31 Since then, all scholars have accepted
Sellin’s opinion. Indeed, as the tamarisk (ghaḍa) is abundant in this region, it
may have been associated with more than one place-name.
Geber is probably a personal name (1 Kgs 4:13, 19).32 Combinations of
toponyms and family/clan names are common in the Negevite topographi-
cal list of Shishak. Noteworthy is the toponym šblt n gbry (Nos 73–74]), which

26  G.D. Pratico, “Nelson Glueck’s 1938–1940 Excavations at Tell el-Kheleifeh: A Reappraisal,”
BASOR 259 (1985): 1–32; idem, Nelson Glueck’s 1938–1940 Excavations at Tell el-Kheleifeh:
A Reappraisal (ASOR Archaeological Reports 3; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1993).
27  F.M. Abel, Géographie de la Palestine II (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1938), 311; Bartlett, Edom, 46–47.
28  E. Robinson and E. Smith, Biblical Researches in Palestine, Mount Sinai and Arabia Petraea:
A Journal of Travels in the Year 1838, vol. 1 (Boston: Crocker & Brewster, 1841), 250–51.
29  L. Köhler, “Zum Ortsnamen Ezion-Geber,” ZDPV 59 (1936): 193–95.
30  For example: A. Šanda, Die Bücher der Könige übersetzt und erklärt: 1. Das erste Buch der
Könige (EHAT 9/1; Münster: Aschendorff, 1911), 263; J.A. Montgomery, Arabia and the Bible
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1934), 177, note 29.
31  E. Sellin, “Zur Lage von Ezion-Geber,” ZDPV 59 (1936): 123–28.
32  R. Zadok, The Pre-Hellenistic Israelite Anthroponymy and Prosopgraphy (Leuven: Peeters,
1988), 65, 79.
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 207

might be rendered “the stream (šibbōlet) of Geber.”33 Thus, the place-name

Ezion-geber (“the tamarisk of Geber”) fits well with the Negevite toponymic
tradition of the late tenth–early ninth centuries BCE.
Except for Tell el-Kheleifeh, no other Iron Age site exists near the Gulf
of Eilat. The suggested identification of Ezion-geber on the island of Jezirat
Fara‛un, located about 11 kilometres down the west coast of the Gulf, does not
fit the biblical data for the place.34 Despite the great advance in our archeo-
logical acquaintance with the region, the location of Ezion-geber remains
unknown.
As noted above, recent archaeological work in the southern Arabah indi-
cated that a large amount of copper was smelted in the Timna Valley35 and
at Khirbet Mana‛iyah, in southern Jordan.36 Potentially a certain amount of
southern Arabah copper could have been transported through the Gulf of
Eilat and the Red Sea to Egypt, or even to Africa and/or Arabia. In exchange
for the copper, the clients might have paid with Ophir gold.37 1 Kings 22:49
relates that Jehoshaphat built Tarshish ships to go to Ophir for gold, but his
ships were wrecked at Ezion-geber. The ancient source behind the descrip-
tion probably referred to the king’s involvement in the Arabah copper trade
and transportation. The account of Jehoshaphat’s ships—anachronistically
called “Tarshish ships”38—that sailed to Ophir but were wrecked on their way

33  W. Helck, Die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien im 3. und 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (2nd
rev. ed.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1971), 242; K.A. Kitchen, The Third Intermediate Period
in Egypt (1100–650 BC) (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1973), 439; J.E. Hoch, Semitic Words in
Egyptian Texts of the New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1994), 276.
34  For the identification, see B. Rothenberg, God’s Wilderness: Discoveries in Sinai (New York
and Toronto: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1961), 86–92; see Bartlett, “Ezion-geber,” 8–10.
35  Ben-Yosef et al., “New Chronological Framework,” 31–71.
36  Ben-Yosef, “Newly Discovered Site,” 186–202.
37  For the location of Ophir, see A. Lemaire, “Les phéniciens et le commerce entre le
Mer Rouge et la Mer Méditerranée,” in Phoenicia and the East Mediterranean in the
First Millennium BC, ed. E. Lipiński (Studia Phoenicia 5; Leuven: Peeters, 1987), 49–60;
D.W. Baker, “Ophir,” in ABD, vol. 5 (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 26–27; K.A. Kitchen, “Sheba
and Arabia,” in The Age of Solomon: Scholarship at the Turn of the Century (Leiden: Brill,
1997), 143–47, with earlier literature. For the gold of Ophir in an epigraphic document,
see F.W. Dobbs-Allsopp, J.J.M. Roberts, C.L. Seow, and R.E. Whitaker, Hebrew Inscriptions:
Texts from the Biblical Period of the Monarchy with Concordance (New Haven and London:
Yale University Press, 2005), 401–4, with earlier literature.
38  Tarshish was probably located in Tartessos (Spain). “Tarshish ships,” apart from being
mentioned in this verse and in the legendary story of Solomon’s maritime expeditions
(1 Kgs 10:22), are known to have sailed only in the Mediterranean (Isa 2:16; 23:1, 14; 60:9;
208 Na ’ aman

southward accords well with the hypothesis of a consignment of copper dis-

patched by the Red Sea to be paid for with gold.
Whereas Ezion-geber plays a role in accounts of the tenth–ninth centuries
BCE, Elath took its place in the accounts of the eighth century. Its founda-
tion reflects the economic and social transformations that took place in the
eighth–seventh centuries in the Arabah. In the late ninth century BCE the cop-
per production in the northern and southern Arabah came to an end and the
last settlements in the Negev Highlands were deserted. The gains from the cop-
per trade were replaced by the revenues from the Arabian trade, which gradu-
ally accelerated from the ninth century BCE onward. Liverani has pointed out
that Arabian trade had already begun in the early ninth century, since goods
and products originating from southern Arabia (myrrh and kohl) appeared in
the Assyrian booty lists from the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta II (890–884 BCE)
onwards.39 A Suhu inscription, dated to the mid-eighth century BCE, is the
earliest ancient Near Eastern document that mentions the names of Arabian
tribes (Šaba’ and Tema).40 It describes how the governor of Suhu lay in ambush
for a large Arabian caravan (of 200 camels) that reached Hindanu, a city on the
Euphrates, and how he attacked and pillaged it. Shortly afterwards, the inscrip-
tions of Tiglath-pileser III (745–727) mention several Arab tribes that clashed
with the Assyrians on the periphery of the Fertile Crescent.41

Ezek 27:25; Ps 48:8). The reference to Tarshish is probably anachronistic, reflecting the
late date in which the text was edited. For the vast literature discussing the location of
biblical Tarshish, see K. Galling, “Der Weg der Phöniker nach Tarsis in literarischer und
archäologischer Sicht,” ZDPV 88 (1972): 1–18, 140–81; A. Lemaire, “Tarshish-Tarsisi: prob-
lème de topographie historique biblique et assyrienne,” in Studies in Historical Geography
and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai, ed. G. Galil and M. Weinfeld
(VTSup 81; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 44–62; E. Lipiński, Itineraria Phoenicia (Studia Phoenicia
18; Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 225–65; J. Day, “Where was Tarshish?” in Let us Go up to Zion:
Essays in Honour of H.G.M. Williamson on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed.
I. Provan and M.J. Boda (VTSup 153; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 359–70.
39  M. Liverani, “Early Caravan Trade between South-Arabia and Mesopotamia,” Yemen 1
(1992): 111–15.
40  For the text and the place of Hindanu in the caravan commerce, see A. Cavigneaux and
B.K. Ismail, “Die Statthalter von Suḫu und Mari im 8. Jh. v. Chr. anhand neuer Texte aus den
irakischen Grabungen im Staugebiet des Qadissiya-Damms,” Baghdader Mitteilungen 21
(1990): 346–47: iv 26b–38a; 351, 357; G. Frame, Rulers of Babylonia: from the Second Dynasty
of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC) (RIMB 2/The Royal Inscriptions of
Mesopotamia Babylonian Periods 2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1995), 300: iv
26b–38a.
41  H. Tadmor and S. Yamada, The Royal Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III (744–727 BC) and
Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC) Kings of Assyria (RINAP 1; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns,
2011). For discussion, see I. Eph‛al, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 209

The construction of the fort-like structure at Kuntillet ‛Ajrud is the most

remarkable archaeological evidence of the growth of international commerce
in the Negev in the first half of the eighth century BCE. The site is located in
north-eastern Sinai, about 50 kilometres south of Kadesh-barnea and 15 kilo-
metres west of Darb el-Ghaza. It was probably constructed by Jeroboam II
(786–746 BCE) in an effort to control and supervise the important trade route
that connected the coast of Philistia to the Gulf of Elath and possibly as a
religious centre for the cult of the goddess Asherat.42 Artifacts and inscrip-
tions discovered at the site manifest the presence of the Israelite king, under
the patronage of YHWH, the Israelite national god.43 Part of the revenue
from the trade conducted then along the Darb el-Ghaza route must have
reached the court of Samaria, the capital of Israel.
The building of the fortress of Elath by Uzziah (2 Kgs 14:22) took place at
about the same time as the construction of Kuntillet ‛Ajrud. Its erection was
made possible by Judah’s control of the Arabah route, which according to
the biblical account was conquered in the time of Amaziah (2 Kgs 14:7), pos-
sibly by means of an agreement with the pastoral nomads who lived in the
Arabah region.44 According to the Book of Kings, Joash, king of Israel, defeated
Amaziah, king of Judah, in the battle of Beth-shemesh. In the course of the
battle he took Amaziah captive and proceeded to conquer Jerusalem (2 Kgs
14:11–14). Did Uzziah, the son of Amaziah, build Elath as an independent
king, or did he construe it as a vassal of Jeroboam, son of Joash, king of Israel?
Unfortunately, we do not know precise details of the relationship between
the two kingdoms at the time of Jeroboam and Uzziah or how long Judah was
subjugated to Israel. Either Judah freed itself from the Israelite subjugation
immediately after Joash’s death and Uzziah built Elath as an independent king,
or else he, as a vassal of the king of Israel, erected the place.45

Crescent 9th–5th Centuries BC (Jerusalem: Magnes and Leiden: Brill, 1982), 21–36, 82–92;
R. Byrne, “Early Assyrian Contacts with Arabs and the Impact on Levantine Vassal
Tribute,” BASOR 331 (2003): 11–25.
42  N. Na’aman and N. Lissovsky, “Kuntillet ‘Ajrud, Sacred Trees and the Asherah,” Tel Aviv 35
(2008): 186–208.
43  I recently discussed in detail the inscriptions and other artifacts discovered at Kuntillet
‛Ajrud. See N. Na’aman, “The Inscriptions of Kuntillet ‛Ajrud through the Lens of Historical
Research,” UF 43 (2011): 299–324, with earlier literature.
44  For a discussion of the possible details of the relationship between Israel and Judah in the
first half of the eighth century BCE, see N. Na’aman, “Azariah of Judah and Jeroboam II of
Israel,” VT 43 (1993): 227–34.
45  For a suggested account of a struggle between Judah and Israel in the time of Jeroboam II,
see Na’aman, “Azariah,” 230–32.
210 Na ’ aman

The construction of Kuntillet ‛Ajrud and Elath is evidence of the efforts of

the kingdoms of Israel and Judah to participate in the growing international
trade near the Gulf of Eilat and to profit in part from its revenues. It supports
the documentary evidence of the growth of the Arabian trade in the first half
of the eighth century and the central place of the Arabah route in the trans-
portation of the goods to their final destinations as might be inferred from the
accounts of the Book of Kings.
According to 2 Kgs 16:6, the kingdom of Judah controlled Elath until the
rise of Rezin, king of Aram, who uprooted the Judahites from the place and
settled Edomites there. The account may support the conclusion that Uzziah
built Elath as an independent king; otherwise, the place would have been held,
or at least controlled, by Pekah, Rezin’s ally. However, Rezin’s occupation of
the place was short-lived. Following the Assyrians’ conquest of Syria-Palestine,
they attempted to wrest control of the Arabian trade and constructed a system
of forts in strategic places along the trade routes, among them the fortress of
Tell el-Kheleifeh.46 It is no wonder that, following Rezin’s occupation of Elath,
Edom and the Arabah are no longer mentioned in the Book of Kings.
It seems that the Book of Kings accurately related the emergence of trad-
ing stations near the Gulf of Eilat. Ezion-geber was probably a mooring place
through which copper was transported by sea during the ninth century BCE.
With the termination of the copper industry in the Arabah in the late ninth
century and the intensification of the Arabian trade in the eighth century,
the newly constructed fortress of Elath took Ezion-geber’s place. Elath hence-
forth held a central place in the international trade that passed from Arabia to
the Gulf of Eilat and either continued west through Darb el-Ghaza or turned
northward through the Arabah route.
In conclusion, the chronistic accounts in the Book of Kings that relate the
kingdom of Judah’s relations with Edom and Judah’s participation in the Red
Sea maritime trade shed light on the activity of the kings of Judah in the Arabah
region during the ninth–eighth centuries BCE. The development of copper

46  For the Assyrian efforts to control the Arabian trade, see A. Alt, “Neue assyrische
Nachrichten über Palästina und Syrien,” ZDPV 67 (1945): 138–46; H. Tadmor, “The
Campaigns of Sargon II of Assur: A Chronological–Historical Study,” JCS 12 (1958): 77–84;
idem, “Philistia under Assyrian Rule,” BA 29 (1966): 90–93; N. Na’aman, “The Brook of
Egypt and Assyrian Policy on the Border of Egypt,” Tel Aviv 6 (1979): 68–74, 80–86; idem,
“An Assyrian Residence at Ramat Raḥel?” Tel Aviv 28 (2001): 260–70, 275; I. Finkelstein,
“Ḥorvat Qiṭmīt and the Southern Trade in the Late Iron Age II,” ZDPV 108 (1992): 156–70;
L. Singer-Avitz, “Beersheba—A Gateway Community in Southern Arabian Long-Distance
Trade in the Eighth Century BCE,” Tel Aviv 26 (1999): 3–8, 50–60.
Judah And Edom In The Book Of Kings And In Historical Reality 211

production in the Arabah and the revenues from the copper trade attracted
the kingdoms of the southern Levant and beyond it (Egypt). Among the rulers
who sought to gain some of the revenues were Jehoshaphat and Jehoram, kings
of Judah. The reality of the ninth century was anachronistically shifted to the
time of David and Solomon, who—like the ninth century Judahite rulers—are
depicted as subjugators of Edom and operated long-distance maritime trade
with Ophir through the Red Sea. The termination of the copper industry in
the late ninth century and the development of the Arabian trade in the eighth
century transformed the nature of the economic activity in the Arabah. Elath,
a fortress that Uzziah built near the Gulf of Eilat, took the place of the anchor-
age of Ezion-geber. Elath then served as a Judahite centre of trade for about
half a century, until taken over by Rezin, King of Aram, in the second half of
the eighth century BCE.
On Floods and the Fall of Nineveh: A Note on the
Origins of a Spurious Tradition

C.L. Crouch*

The association between the fall of Nineveh and overwhelming flood waters is
a well-established one in both critical and pre-critical traditions regarding the
fall of the city. This association, which has only recently been cast into doubt, is
the consequence of several apparent references to the contribution of the sur-
rounding rivers to the fall of Nineveh, in the Greek account of Diodorus Siculus
(in the Bibliotheca historia, at this point largely based on the work of Ctesias)
and in biblical Nahum. In a recent article Pinker has examined these and other
related accounts, concluding that the claim that Nineveh was brought low as a
result of its water sources should be abandoned.1
It is not the aim of the present enquiry to question the accuracy of Pinker’s
conclusions. It will, however, suggest that the idea that Nineveh fell as a result
of flooding is not as inexplicable as the geographical and meteorological
obstacles to the idea at first suggest. Indeed, it is quite comprehensible once an
awareness of the common language used to describe the destruction wrought
during military campaigns in the ancient Near East is brought to bear on the
language of these texts. I will first examine Nahum, which has generally consti-
tuted the focus of biblical scholarship on this subject, particularly the language
of flood in Nah 1:8 and the language of the gates of the rivers in Nah 2:7, before
turning briefly to the classical material.
Pinker rightly notes with regard to Nah 1:8 that the simile “like a flood” is
regularly used in the Assyrian royal inscriptions’ descriptions of the king’s
conquest of various cities. This type of language appears in the inscriptions
of Tiglath-pileser III, Sargon II, Sennacherib, Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal.2

* Offered to Hans Barstad in gratitude for his quiet but steady support to a young scholar.
1  Aaron Pinker, “Nahum and the Greek Tradition on Nineveh’s Fall,” JHS 6 (2006): n.p.; cf. David
Stronach, “Notes on the Fall of Nineveh,” in Assyria 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R.M. Whiting
(Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997), 319–23 and Peter Machinist, “The Fall
of Assyria in Comparative Ancient Perspective,” in Assyria 1995, 189–95, both of whom sug-
gest that the flooding was limited and symbolic, undertaken after the city’s defeat.
2  Among many such references see Hayim Tadmor and Shigeo Yamada, The Royal Inscriptions
of Tiglath-Pileser III (744–727 BC) and Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC), Kings of Assyria (RINAP 1;
Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 39 9; 47 2; 51 2; Andreas Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II.
aus Khorsabad (Göttingen: Cuvillier, 1994), Ann. 373; W.R. Mayer, “Sargons Feldzug gegen

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_017

On Floods and the Fall of Nineveh 213

Pinker concludes that “the poet of the theophany in Nahum used with respect
to God a simile that was frequently used to describe the magnificent achieve-
ments of the great Assyrian kings.”3 He denies that the language in Nahum has
anything particularly to do with Nineveh’s own fall, although he concedes that
the use of this language, which he understands as particularly Assyrian, may
relate to the rest of the book’s focus on that city and on Assyria.
Research on ancient Near Eastern conceptions and depictions of military
activities, however, suggests that this language need not be understood as
deriving solely from the Assyrian subject, while also developing our under-
standing of Nahum’s use of this particular terminology. To address the latter
first: the background to the Assyrian language of royal destruction as like that
wrought by a flood is to be found in the divine epic Enuma elish, in which
Marduk (alternatively Assur and Ištar) battles chaos, manifest as the goddess
Tiamat.4 In the process he employs conventional weaponry as well as the
forces of nature: flood, wind and storm.5 As a reward for his victory, Marduk is
crowned king of the gods.
Language evoking this divine battle is used by the Assyrian kings in order
to articulate the purpose of their own military endeavours; like the royal god,
they are battling chaotic forces which threaten the order and security of the
universe. Thus Sargon’s annals speak in terms of flood (abūbu), fog (imbaru),

Urartu—714 v. Chr.: Text und Übersetzung,” MDOG 115 (1983): 76: 90; A. Kirk Grayson and Jamie
Novotny, The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1, (RINAP 3/1;
Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2012), 1 25; 19 ii’ 12’; 24 vi 7’; 26 i 14’; 34 6b; Erle Leichty, The
Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC) (RINAP 4; Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns, 2011), 1 ii 69; 6 ii’ 14’; 8 ii’ 11’; 104 i 41; 105 ii 32; 114 ii 2; 116 13’; 127 12’; Riekele Borger,
Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1996), 82: 2; 84: 56.
3  Pinker, “Nahum and the Greek Tradition,” 11.
4  Recent editions of Enuma elish include Philippe Talon, Enūma Eliš: The Standard Babylonian
Creation Myth (SAACT 4; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2005); and Thomas
R. Kämmerer and Kai A. Metzler, Das babylonische Weltschöpfungsepos Enūma eliš (AOAT
375; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2012). On the variability of the deity, see Wilfred G. Lambert,
“The Assyrian recension of Enūma Eliš,” in Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten: XXXIXe Rencontre
Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992, ed. H. Waetzoldt and H. Hauptmann
(HSAO 6; Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1997), 77–79; C.L. Crouch, War and Ethics
in the Ancient Near East: Military Violence in Light of Cosmology and History (BZAW 407;
Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009), 131; C.L. Crouch, “Ištar and the Motif of the Cosmological Warrior:
Assurbanipal’s Adaptation of Enūma eliš,” in “Thus Speaks Ishtar of Arbela”: Prophecy in Israel,
Assyria and Egypt in the Neo-Assyrian Period, ed. Robert P. Gordon and Hans M. Barstad
(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 129–41.
5  Especially En.el. IV 35–49 and repetitions.
214 Crouch

storm (meḫû) and net (sapāru).6 Sennacherib goes so far as to identify his
Babylonian enemy as being in the “likeness of a gallû-demon,” one of Tiamat’s
minions in Enuma elish.7 In using this language the king aligns himself with
the acts of the god in fighting against chaos, drawing the authority of the deity
into his own actions against his earthly enemies. In the Assyrian material the
language of flood and related natural phenomena is not used to depict the king
in isolation but relies on the depiction in Enuma elish of the deity in battle
against divine enemies, invoking this imagery and paralleling both god and
king in the ongoing struggle against earthly chaos.
In the biblical text the use of language of flood and storm may be observed
in the tradition about a primordial battle between YHWH and chaos, manifest
as the sea, as well as in the application of this language to the paralleled battle
of the human king against his earthly enemies. Though no Hebrew rendering
of YHWH’s battle at creation has survived, vestiges of YHWH’s battle against
the sea may still be seen in a number of texts and is especially recognisable
in the imagery of the psalms, including Psalms 18; 89; and 93.8 Psalm 93, for
example, acclaims YHWH’s kingship in relation to his strength over the sea;
Ps 89:11 praises YHWH’s military might with the declaration that “You rule the
raging of the sea / when its waves rise, you still them. / You crushed Rahab
like a carcass / you scattered your enemies with your mighty arm.” Psalm 18,
in the context of a lengthy description of the joint efforts of the human and
divine kings, speaks of YHWH’s weapons in meteorological terms (Ps 18:11–15):
his chariot is the wind, he is clothed in clouds and his actions culminate with
“then the channels of the sea were seen, and the foundations of the world were
laid bare” (Ps 18:16).
The psalms are also clear in rendering the king and god in parallel; thus,
in Psalm 89 the psalm says of YHWH that “You have a mighty arm / strong is
your hand, high your right hand” (Ps 89:14). “My hand,” responds YHWH, “shall

6  Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons, Ann. 69; Ann. 296; Ann. 373; Mayer, “Sargons Feldzug,” 88: 194;
90: 215.
7  Elnathan Weissert, “Creating a Political Climate: Literary Allusions to Enūma Eliš in
Sennacherib’s Account of the Battle of Halule,” in Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten: XXXIXe
Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992, ed. H. Waetzoldt and
H. Hauptmann (HSAO 6; Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1997), 191–202. For further
references and discussion see Crouch, War and Ethics, 21–28, 35–64, 119–55.
8  John Day, God’s Conflict with the Dragon and the Sea: Echoes of a Canaanite Myth in the Old
Testament (COP 35; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) contra Rebecca S. Watson,
Chaos Uncreated: A Reassessment of the Theme of “Chaos” in the Hebrew Bible (BZAW 341;
Berlin: de Gruyter, 2005), who rejects the idea of a biblical Chaoskampf because of the lack of
a standard version. For further discussion see Crouch, War and Ethics, 29–32, 65–80.
On Floods and the Fall of Nineveh 215

always remain with him [the king]; my arm also shall strengthen him . . . I will
set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers” (Ps 89:22, 26). YHWH
explicitly declares in Ps 89:20 that he has conferred his power upon the king.
Similarly, in Psalm 18 a number of verbs associated with YHWH’s military activ-
ities as well as certain military imagery (bow, arrow, shield) are used to corre-
late YHWH and the king.9
The point of this digression is to affirm that, within the Hebrew Bible, the
imagery of YHWH battling against the sea using the weaponry of flood and
other natural elements is well-established and, furthermore, is connected to
the human king’s ongoing battles against earthly chaotic forces, his enemies.
The language in Nahum describing YHWH as having the effect of a flood is
thus in keeping not only with ancient Near Eastern but also biblical language
and conceptualisation about the god’s involvement in earthly warfare. We may
thus further illuminate Pinker’s observation with regard to the ancient Near
Eastern background of the language in Nahum by pointing out that this lan-
guage is used also in Judah as a statement of the human king’s involvement in
the god’s struggle against chaos, and that it is thereby no great surprise to see
the poetry of Nah 1:8 using this language of YHWH.10 That YHWH’s destruction
of Assyria is likened to that of a flood may be a deliberate play on the Assyrian’s
own use of such imagery, but it is equally at home in the cosmology and royal
ideology of Judah.
This broader cosmological context for the language of flood in use during
battles both human and divine is useful also in understanding the second pas-
sage in Nahum which has been traditionally thought to refer to the effect of
Nineveh’s rivers on its demise, Nah 2:7. In this case we may again turn toward
the ancient understanding of the origin and design of the universe and, in par-
ticular, to the idea that the chaotic waters defeated by the god at creation—
and held at bay by the king in his ongoing battles—are restrained by the
god from inundating the present by the upper and lower firmaments. Literal
attempts to understand the statement that the gates of the rivers were opened

9  Klaus-Peter Adam, Der königliche Held: Die Entsprechung von kämpfendem Gott und kämp-
fendem König in Psalm 18 (WMANT 91; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2001). On
the shared weaponry of divine and human kings, see Nicholas Wyatt, “Degrees of Divinity:
Some Mythical and Ritual Aspects of West Semitic Kingship,” in “There’s Such Divinity
Doth Hedge a King”: Selected Essays of Nicholas Wyatt on Royal Ideology in Ugaritic and Old
Testament Literature (SOTSMS; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 151–89.
10  Note also Machinist’s suggestion that Nah 1:8 “echoes, even as it reverses” Isa 8:7–8, in
which YHWH’s assault against Judah, in the form of Assyria, is described in terms of over-
flowing river waters (“The Fall of Assyria,” 183). This surely constitutes another, unrecog-
nised, biblical use of this imagery in articulating YHWH’s earthly military endeavours.
216 Crouch

have resulted in interpretations involving the opening of the sluice gates of

the city’s rivers (or canals) or, in efforts to avoid interpretations involving the
defeat of Nineveh by flood, suggestions such as Pinker’s, in which the reference
is taken to involve the bridges over the rivers rather than the rivers themselves.11
Far less tenuous—historically or interpretively—is the recognition that the
reference to the gates of the rivers being opened constitutes a reference to the
release of the chaotic waters from where they are contained behind the fir-
mament (cf. Gen 7:11) so that, at the deity’s behest, they overwhelm YHWH’s
current enemy. Here too is a concept of earthly battles being marked by tumul-
tuous conflict between chaotic waters and order: again the use of ancient Near
Eastern cosmological language to describe military activities. Nineveh will be
overcome by the cosmic floodwaters, unleashed by YHWH.
In neither passage in Nahum, therefore, is there any reason to understand
the author as either predicting (if the text is thought to be prior to 612 BCE) or
describing (if it is thought to be ex eventu) the fall of Nineveh as dependent in
literal terms upon destruction as a result of water. Indeed, there is no reason to
think that any part of this text has to do with literal water at all. In both cases
the language of flood and of the rivers derives from a common ancient Near
Eastern and biblical vocabulary of military defeat, coloured by the concep-
tion of royal battle as reflecting the deity’s ongoing conquest of chaotic waters
through the use of natural phenomena.
Having noted this, it is only a matter of a few moments to establish the
origins of the language regarding water and flood in Diodorus and beyond.
Reading his description of torrential rains which resulted in the flooding of
the Euphrates in light of the military imagery of flood and water, it takes no
great leap of the imagination to see how a writer (whether Diodorus, his source
Ctesias, or some earlier transmitter of the tradition), ignorant of the cosmolog-
ical language used by more ancient sources, might have thought a reference to
Nineveh having been turned into “a heap of flood ruins” meant that the city’s
demise had arisen as a result of an actual flood and that torrential rains must
have occurred to cause such a flood, rather than recognising the mythological
reference of this image.

11  Pinker, “Nahum and the Greek Tradition,” 11–12; cf. e.g., JoAnn Scurlock, “The Euphrates
Flood and the Ashes of Nineveh (Diod. II 27.1–28.7),” Historia 39 (1990): 382–384.
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel
Niels Peter Lemche

Years ago I had the pleasure of reviewing for the Norwegian Academy of
Sciences the manuscript of Hans M. Barstad’s The Myth of the Empty Land and
to recommend it for publication.1 This was for good reasons, as the subject was
(and still is) important, although at that time it was not yet absolutely clear
what the consequences would be. However, one thing became clear: that the
biblical myth of the empty land did not reflect what was there in the former
Kingdom of Judah after the Babylonian conquest(s) at the beginning of the
sixth century BCE. The idea as found in Jer 25:11 and repeated in 2 Chron 36:20–
21, that the exile in Babylon was to last for seventy years and in the meanwhile
the land was to be empty and could enjoy its Sabbaths free of people, is clearly
an ideological interpretation of the exile as described in 2 Kings 25 involving
only a minor part of the Judean population. It is easier to claim the right to a
country said to be empty of people than first to exterminate the population
and then to move in. The modern Israeli slogan that the Jewish nation was
a people without a land which found a land without a people easily comes
to mind, based on the myth that the Romans caused a massive flight from
Palestine to Europe after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE.2 The
obvious question is therefore: In whose interest was this myth of a deportation
of the inhabitants in the pre-exilic state of Judah formulated? Following the
information in Jer 52:28–30 about the three deportations from Judah in 597,
587, and 582, hardly more than a fraction of the population went into exile;
according to Jeremiah, only 4600 people.3
There can be no doubt that the territory of the former state of Judah was
utterly destroyed by the Babylonians. The first analysis of the cumulative

1  H.M. Barstad, The Myth of the Empty Land: A Study in the History and Archaeology of Judah
during the “Exilic” Period (Symbolae Osloenses Fasc. Suppl. XXVIII; Oslo: Scandinavian
University Press, 1996).
2  On the deconstruction of this myth see S. Sand, The Invention of the Jewish People (New York:
Verso 2009), expanded in his The Invention of the Land of Israel: From Holy Land to Homeland
(New York: Verso, 2012).
3  For a recent discussion, I. Finkelstein and N.A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s
New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origins of Its Sacred Texts (New York: The Free Press,
2001), 306. The theme of the discussion is whether or not the 4600 persons mentioned by Jer
52:28–30 included every person deported or only the males. If the numbers in Jeremiah only
included the males, the number would have been up to five times larger.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_018

218 Lemche

evidence was collected by David Jamieson-Drake more than twenty years ago.4
His analysis resulted in the conclusion that a total societal breakdown took
place at this time. Since then, his conclusion has been confirmed in the study
of the fall (and rise) of Jerusalem by Oded Lipschits.5 The Babylonians really
destroyed most of Palestine at the beginning of the sixth century BCE. Only
the territory belonging to the ancient city-state of Samarina, already for more
than a hundred years an Assyrian province, was spared, or experienced only
marginal destruction.
The conclusion must be that there really was a Babylonian exile as a con-
sequence of the hopeless endeavour of the Judean king to oppose his master
and patron, the Babylonian king, although this exile only involved a fraction of
the population in the areas afflicted by the Babylonian conquest. Most people
remained where they had been living.
On one point the information in 2 Kgs 25:12 about those who remained in
the land as the poorest and most destitute part of the population seems pre-
cise and concurs well with the archaeological picture of Judah after the fall
of Jerusalem. Practically every major settlement in the country was demol-
ished. Organized society was totally destroyed. What was left was a population
engaged in basic food production with very little in the way of an organized
administration to support it with an infrastructure.6 Any possibility of the
survival of an intellectual group of people able to carry on a written tradition
seems out of the question, at least in Judah.7 If we are to look for places where
the survival of the tradition that later developed into the biblical writings was

4  D. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and Schools in Monarchic Judah: A Socio-Archeological Approach

(The Social World of Biblical Antiquity Series, 9; Sheffield: The Almond Press, 1991).
5  O. Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake:
Eisenbrauns, 2005).
6  The Old Testament places the Babylonian administrator of what was left in 587 BCE at
Mizpah, some ten kilometers north of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 25:22–25). The site of Mizpah was
extensively dug between 1926 and 1935. The excavation reports were published after the chief
archeologist’s death, and years later J.R. Zorn has done his best to make sense of these reports.
Cf. Zorn’s article on Tell en-Nasbeh in The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in
the Holy Land, ed. E. Stern (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society & Carta, 1993), 1098–1102. Cf.
also J.R. Zorn, “Tel en-Naṣbeh and the Problem of the Material Culture of the Sixth Century,”
in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp
(Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 413–47. We have no information about what happened to
this administration after the murder of Gedaliah in 582 BCE.
7  In a society relying almost exclusively on basic agriculture, there is no surplus to feed people
not engaged in food production. Of course there would not even have been a market for intel-
lectual products as in such a society hardly any person could read or write.
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 219

possible, it would be within the territory of the former city-state of Samaria, or

Samarina. Only a dogmatic position in favour of Jerusalem as a center of intel-
lectual activity would deny that this could very well explain the dominance of
northern traditions in large parts of the Pentateuch.8

1 The So-Called Post-Exilic Scene

Now this position of Jerusalem as the central place for the establishment of
biblical literature requires the existence of Jerusalem when this literature orig-
inated. However, in the years following the disaster at the beginning of the
sixth century BCE nothing in Judah favoured such intellectual activity.
According to traditional Old Testament scholarship the exile formally
ended in 538 BCE when Cyrus, the new master of Babylon, is said in biblical
tradition (Ezra 1) to have issued a decree setting the exiled Judeans free result-
ing in a massive return of people who traced their origins back to Jerusalem,
42,360 persons in all (Ezra 2; repeated in Neh 7:4–66). Back in Jerusalem they
set to work on what was the main essence of Cyrus’ decree, a new temple.
Otherwise not much happened before the arrival of Nehemiah, who after hav-
ing inspected the ruins of the wall, arranged for their rebuilding. Nehemiah’s
travel to Jerusalem began in the 20th year of King Artaxerxes’s reign (Neh 2:1);
Ezra is said to have arrived in Artaxerxes’s seventh year (Ezra 7:7).
In the period when Persia ruled the east, there were three kings by the name
of Artaxerxes: Artaxerxes I (465–424 BCE), Artaxerxes II (404–358 BCE), and
Artaxerxes III (358–338 BCE), which gives us different options concerning the
time when Ezra and Nehemiah came to Jerusalem. The usual solution has been
to date Nehemiah’s visit to the reign of Artaxerxes I, i.e., 445 BCE, and Ezra’s
visit to the time of Artaxerxes II, i.e., 397 BCE. Nothing would, however, prevent
Ezra from having been in Jerusalem in 351 BCE, in the reign of Artaxerxes III.
The same variety—or rather lack of variety—in Persian royal names makes
it possible to have a different view also of the date of the building of the second
temple, finished in the 6th year of King Darius (Ezra 6:15). There happen to be
also three kings of Persia named Darius, Darius I (c. 522–486 BCE), Darius II
(423–405 BCE), and Darius III (336–330 BCE). The last one lost his life as a con-
sequence of being defeated by Alexander at Gaugamela and is hardly a seri-
ous contender. But although the Jewish tradition centers on Darius I, a date
in the reign of Darius II would also be possible. In that case the temple would

8  Further on this below.

220 Lemche

have been reinstalled in 417 BCE.9 We have few details about this temple but at
least a famous letter from the community of Yehudin at Elephantine in Egypt
from Darius II’s 17th year (408 BCE) mentions a high priest Johanan, the ‫כהנא‬
‫ רבה‬and the other priests in Jerusalem confirms that there was a priesthood in
Jerusalem at this time enjoying official recognition, the receiver of the letter
being one Bagohi, ‫פחת יהוד‬, governor of the Yehud.10 Most likely there was a
priesthood established in Jerusalem at this time and most likely this priest-
hood was related to the temple there.
Without doubt the biblical information about the Persian Period is hope-
lessly confused, and it has been even more compromised by recent studies of
Jerusalem in the Persian Period. As usual there seem to be two Israeli schools
among historians and archaeologists, one (mainly with the Hebrew University
in Jerusalem as their alma mater) arguing that what we find in Nehemiah
about his rebuilding of the city walls is basically founded on historical facts,
and the other (mainly from Tel Aviv University) claiming that the information
in Nehemiah is just as mythic as most other so-called historical information
about ancient Israel—in itself a mythical concept.11
As usual, the positions taken all depend on archaeology. Nehemiah rebuilt
the wall around Jerusalem, which means that it should be possible to trace this
wall to its historical context. However, so far nothing has been found. Until this
situation changes, assuming that it might change, the only argument for its
existence is the biblical narrative. It has to be there but we cannot really know
before at least a few slabs belonging to this wall have been found.
The debate has recently centred on two, or perhaps three, proposals con-
cerning Jerusalem in the Persian period. On one hand Israel Finkelstein has
spoken about a Jerusalem in the Persian period, mostly an unfortified settle-
ment of a couple of hectares, with a population of some five hundred people.12
Oded Lipschits has, for his part, enlarged the estimate of the size of Jerusalem

9  D. Edelman, The Origins of the “Second Temple”: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding
of Jerusalem (London: Equinox, 2005), proposes to see the date of the rebuilding of
Jerusalem’s temple in the time of Artaxerxes I (465–424).
10  A.E. Cowley, Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century BC (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1923),
No. 30. The letter carries the date of the seventeenth year of Darius II, 408 BCE.
11  As I have claimed in several publications. Following P.R. Davies, “ancient Israel” is a con-
coction of historical Israel and biblical Israel. Biblical Israel is not a society of this world,
it is the people of God. See N.P. Lemche, The Israelites in History and Tradition (Louisville:
Westminster John Knox Press, 1998), 86–132 (Chapter 4, “The People of God”).
12  I. Finkelstein, “Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud Rejoinders,” in Focusing Biblical
Studies: The Crucial Nature of the Persian and Hellenistic Periods. Essays in Honor of
Douglas A. Knight, ed. J. Berquist and A. Hunt (London: T & T Clark, 2012), 49–62. Cf. Also
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 221

in this period to a few more hectares allowing for a population of a couple

of thousand inhabitants.13 The most radical evaluation of Jerusalem in the
Persian period comes from David Ussishkin, who will argue that nothing hap-
pened in Jerusalem before the beginning of the second century BCE.14 His esti-
mate of the size of the population in the Persian Period will probably be in line
with Finkelstein’s estimate of the insignificance of this site between 587 BCE
and 200 BCE. At the most it was a provincial town.
When speaking of the place where literature included in the Old Testament
originated, the modern trend has been to propose Jerusalem in the Persian
Period. Personally I have, for many years, been in opposition to this idea as
unfounded and have instead proposed to see biblical writings as the outcome
of intellectual activity during the Hellenistic Period.15 Jerusalem would hardly
have been the place of such activity between, say 587 and 150 BCE. However,
we actually know that at least some form of the Book of Exodus was in exis-
tence before the second century BCE, not in its Hebrew original but in a trans-
lation very similar to the later manuscripts of the Septuagint, in the form of
the scattered fragments of Hezekiel the Tragedian’s tragedy, the Exagogoge,
based on the Exodus and seemingly quoting the Septuagint version of this
story. Hezekiel may be dated to c. 200 BCE, although not everybody agrees
on this date. His home was in Alexandria, which agrees well with the gener-
ally accepted idea that the Pentateuch was translated into Greek in the third

his “The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud/Judea in the Persian and Early
Hellenistic Periods,” Rev Bib 117 (2010): 39–54.
13  O. Lipschits, “Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations,” JHS Vol.
9 Article 20 DOI: 10.5508/jhs c.9.a.20, and I. Finkelstein’s rejoinder, “Persian Period
Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder,” JHS Vol. 9, Article 24, DOI: 10.5508/jhs c.9.a.24. Cf. also
O. Lipschits, “Between Archaeology and Text: A Reevaluation of the Development Process
of Jerusalem in the Persian Period,” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, ed. M. Nissinen
(VTSup 148; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 145–66. Lipschits mentions as an example of the views
hold among Jerusalem archaeologist G. Barkay, who opts for a size of Jerusalem in the
Persian period of twelve hectares; cf. Lipschits, “Between Archaeology and Text,” 155 n. 19.
14  D. Ussishkin, “The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian Period,” in Judah
and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (Winona Lake:
Eisenbrauns, 2006), 147–66, and “On Nehemiah’s City-Wall and the Size of Jerusalem
During the Persian Period: An Archaeologist’s View,” New Perspectives on Ezra-Nehemiah:
History and Historiography, Text, Literature, and Interpretation, ed. I. Kalimi (Winona
Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2012), 101–30. Ussishkin does not exclude the idea that Nehemiah did
some restoration on the wall but calls it “symbolic.”
15  In “The Old Testament: A Hellenistic Book?” SJOT 7 (1993): 163–93. Reprinted in N.P.
Lemche, Biblical Studies and the Failure of History: Changing Perspectives 3 (London:
Equinox, 2013), 133–57.
222 Lemche

century BCE—although of course we cannot say to what degree this transla-

tion is the same as that found in later Septuagint manuscripts.16
If we follow this line of discussion, Jerusalem has no part in the composition
of this literature. If we look for other possible places as alternatives to Alexandria
under the early Ptolemeans, the obvious place to go would be Mesopotamia,
and here Babylon is the first choice. Russell Gmirkin’s thesis about the impor-
tance of Berossos, a Babylonian priest and historian who lived c. 300 BCE, is
not a bad point of departure.17 Berossos was born before the Macedonian con-
quest, and brought up within the traditional Babylonian educational tradition.
After the Macedonian conquest, Berossos adapted to the new conditions of
intellectual life and wrote in Greek literary style his Babyloniaca, his history
of Babylon, which although only preserved as fragments in mostly Josephus
and later Christian writings, shows an astonishing similarity to the Primeval
History in Genesis. According to Gmirkin, Berossos served as an inspiration or
even a model for the composition of the first chapters of the Book of Genesis.18
But nothing similar to the Primeval History in Genesis or in Berossos has been
found in either ancient Near Eastern or pre-Hellenistic Greek literature.19
We could also say that nothing even remotely similar to the historical parts of
the Old Testament, sometimes called the Enneateuch,20 the books from Genesis
to Second Kings, has ever been found in the ancient Near East. As a matter of
fact, the closest parallel to this collection of books is neither the ancient Near
East, nor classical Greece, in spite of the literature that has appeared claim-

16  The fragments of Hezekiel are translated by R.G. Robertson in J.H. Charlesworth, The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2 (New York: Doubleday, 1985), 803–20. The Greek texts can be
found in Howard Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel (Cambridge: University Press, 1983). I
present the case for Alexandria in “Is the Old Testament Still a Hellenistic Book?” in History,
Archaeology, and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity,” ed. A.K. de Hemmer Gudme and
I. Hjelm (Changing Perspectives 6; London: Acumen, 2015). Forthcoming.
17  R. Gmirkin, Berossos and Genesis, Manetho and Exodus: Hellenistic Histories and the Date
of the Pentateuch (New York & London: T & T Clark, 2006).
18  On the life of Berossos cf. G. De Breucker, “Berossos: His Life and His Work,” in The
World of Berossos: Proceedings of the 4th International Colloquium on “The Ancient Near
East between Classical and Ancient Oriental Traditions,” Hatfield College, Durham 7th–9th
July 2010, ed. Johannes Haubold, G.B. Lanfranchi, R. Rollinger, J. Steele (Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz, 2013), 15–28.
19  Before Berossos we find only fragments of a primeval story in Greek tradition from the
time of Hesiod onward, and in Babylonian traditions since Sumerian times. After Berossos
we have Genesis 1–11 and Ovid, the opening of The Metamorphoses.
20  On the concept of the Enneateuch, cf. R. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher
des Alten Testaments: Grundwissen der Bibelkritik (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
2000), 219–25.
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 223

ing the existence of a relationship between biblical historiography and Greek

history writing—especially Herodotus.21 We should rather look for a parallel
in Livy’s history of Rome, not seeing Livy as an inspiration for biblical history
writing but rather as another specimen of Hellenistic historiography.22 It is of
course out of the question that Livy should predate the Pentateuch, and that
was never my intention when I first pointed out the parallel. The idea was (and
is) that biblical historiography, just like Livy’s, was part of the Hellenistic tradi-
tion of writing history.
The affinity between the Roman historian and biblical history writers has
to do with a similar intellectual environment, and Livy shows this to be the
Hellenistic world where also Roman intellectuals felt at home.23 Because
Berossos in Babylon just as well as Manetho in Egypt, who lived at the same
time as Berossos, both belonged to the early Hellenistic world, they are both
examples of the impact of the Hellenistic tradition on the intellectual life of
the centres of the Near East, both moulding their own traditions into a new
kind of historiography previously unknown to their societies. Biblical histori-
ography evidently belongs to the same tradition of blending oriental traditions
and motives with a Greek tradition of writing history.

2 The Pre-Exilic Scene

2.1 The So-Called United Monarchy

Reviewing the present discussion and giving up Jerusalem between c. 600
and 150 BCE as the likely place of origin of the biblical traditions does not
mean that there are no alternatives for tracing these traditions to an earlier
Jerusalem. On the contrary, most Old Testament scholars are, even today, of
the opinion that biblical literature as represented in the Pentateuch and in the

21  On Herodotus and biblical historiography: S. Mandell and D.N. Freedman, The
Relationship between Herodotus’ History and Primary History (Atlanta: Scholars Press,
1993); F.A.J. Nielsen, The Tragedy in History: Herodotus and the Deuteronomistic History
(Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997; J.W. Wesselius, The Origin of the History of
Israel: Herodotus’ Histories as Blueprints for the First Book of the Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 2002).
22  N.P. Lemche, “How Does One Date an Expression of Mental History? The Old Testament
and Hellenism,” in Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the
Hellenistic Period, ed. L.L. Grabbe (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 200–24 (221).
23  There is hardly any reason to go into details on this. The Hellenistic influence is evident
in literature as well as art, and a study of literary genres belonging to both worlds only
confirms the impression already gained from the studying of art and literature.
224 Lemche

Deuteronomistic History24 had its in Jerusalem in pre-exilic times. However,

very few will today subscribe to the idea, current a generation ago, that history
writing began under the united monarchy of David and especially Solomon.
This is for good reason, as the situation in Jerusalem in the tenth century BCE,
the asserted time of David, was not very different from the situation in the
Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods: Jerusalem was at the most no more than
a hamlet or a very small town.25

2.2 After the Fall of Samaria

The second proposal that places the emergence of biblical literature in the
heart of Jerusalem has been one that places it during the time following
the growth of the city in the days of Hezekiah, c. 700 BCE. Before the end of
the eighth century, Jerusalem had been a provincial town in the centre of the
central Palestinian highlands. Although its roots go back to at least the Middle
Bronze Age, it developed slowly during Iron I and II. Then, over a few years at
the end of the eighth century it rapidly grew to a major fortified settlement
demanding major expansions of its area.
There are two main explanations of this growth, and they are not mutu-
ally exclusive. The first explanation points at the developments to the north of
Jerusalem, where the Assyrians in 722 BCE had extinguished the last remnants
of the Northern Kingdom of Israel/Bît Ḫumriya. The Assyrian conquest, fol-
lowed by a deportation from the newly conquered areas of some 27,290 per-
sons (the number mentioned by the Assyrians), provoked a massive stream of
refugees from Samaria to Jerusalem. Here they established themselves within a
short period of time as a new intellectual, and perhaps also political, elite, car-
rying their traditions with them and incorporating them in their blending of
Israelite and Judean traditions. In this way, the origins of Deuteronomism, with

24  Only a note on the Deuteronomistic History, the famous creation of Martin Noth in his
Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien I (Halle: Niemeyer, 1943), which has increasingly
been the victim of modern scholarship. Cf., for an overview, T. Römer, The So-Called
Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London:
T & T Clark, 2005). This writer’s position is, however, quite close to that of J. Van Seters,
“The Deuteronomistic History: Can It Avoid Death by Redaction?” in The Future of the
Deuteronomistic History, ed. T. Römer (Leuven: University Press/Uitgeverij Peeters, 2000),
213–22. This discussion is not really important in this connection.
25  This is certainly not the place to discuss this in detail. We have two conflicting posi-
tions, represented by archaeologists from Tel Aviv University and archaeologists from the
Hebrew University in Jerusalem. For a resumé of the position close to the one of this
author, cf. 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: Free Press, 2006), 267–74.
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 225

its many recollections of the lost kingdom and of Israel and its centring on
Jerusalem as the focal point of their society can be explained, as well as the pre-
ponderance of traditions deriving from the north present in the Pentateuch.26
This proposal will date the basic formulation of the historical tradition in the
Old Testament to the time between the growth of Jerusalem c. 800 BCE and the
destruction of the city in 587 BCE.
Standing alone, this idea about the origins of biblical historiography has a
rather strong foundation, and it combines several elements which are answered
by the presence of northern traditions in a literature that obviously presup-
poses southern, i.e., Judean editing. It would also go very well with the still
generally accepted date of the so-called pre-exilic prophetic literature, which
still looks for a date of the first part of Isaiah in the eighth or seventh centuries,
in spite of clearly Deuteronomistic inlays, e.g., in Isaiah 7, not to speak of the
final chapters of Proto-Isaiah.
However, there are problems, both historical and tradition-historical ones.
Although the Assyrians conquered Samaria, they seem not to have destroyed
the city. They don’t boast of having erased Samaria from the face of the earth,
nor does archaeology support the claim. They deported maybe something like
five to ten percent of the population, following normal practice. The main
part of the population was left in peace, although under new management.
Furthermore, the claim that the Assyrian conquest led to a massive migration
to Judah and Jerusalem cannot be traced in the archaeological remains. One
thing more, there is not one word in the Old Testament about such a migration
from Samaria to Jerusalem. 2 Kings 17 has a description of the deportations
from Samaria but also of a migration of foreign people to Samaria, present-
ing the reason for the later view of the Samaritans as a pariah people (2 Kgs
17:24–25). There is an alternative explanation to the growth of Jerusalem at
this time: Jerusalem was the only city in the south spared by Sennacherib in
701 BCE. In his annals he boasts of having destroyed every city of Hezekiah
except Jerusalem. Most proud was he of his destruction of Lachish, the biggest
city in Hezekiah’s kingdom. This feat was so important to the Assyrian king
that it was depicted on the walls of his palace in Khorsabad.27 Since Jerusalem
was the only city that remained standing, it would have served as a magnet
to homeless people from all over Hezekiah’s kingdom—or what was left of it.

26  Cf. On this and this author’s position N.P. Lemche, “The Deuteronomistic History:
Historical Reconsiderations,” in Raising Up a Faithful Exegete: Essays in Honor of Richard
D. Nelson, ed. K.L. Noll and B. Schramm (Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns 2010), 41–50.
27  Cf. D. Ussishkin, The Conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University,
Institute of Archaeology, 1982).
226 Lemche

The problems with this proposal have to do with the analytical procedure
scholars have followed. In all types of tradition-history, whether German or
Scandinavian, it has been the rule to begin at the beginning, meaning a kind
of text-archaeological process where the investigator is looking for the oldest
part of a certain tradition, now preserved for posterity in writing. In this way,
it was possible to argue for an early date of the presumed earliest source of the
Pentateuch, the Yahwist, which was dated to the tenth century, and nowadays
by many scholars still dated to the ninth or eighth centuries. This idea, com-
bined with the assertion that intellectuals from the north travelled to Judah at
the end of the eighth century BCE and carried their Northern traditions is in
tension with the presence of Northern traditions even in the so-called oldest
layer of the Pentateuch.
The only one who protested against this procedure in a serious way was Ivan
Engnell, who emphasized the need to begin with the present shape of a piece
of written tradition preserved in the Old Testament and work backwards.28
Classical source criticism, as developed among historians like Barthold
Niebuhr, Leopold von Ranke, and Johann Gustav Droysen at the beginning
of the nineteenth century, should be distinguished from the tradition-critical
system of biblical study; literary criticism and redaction criticism might be a
help to sort out what information of historical importance can be extracted
from biblical historiography but it is hardly able to propose a date for the his-
toriography itself. In this way Engnell’s method is recommendable but only of
limited use in the investigation here.
The proposal today among many students of the Old Testament is that the
basic frame of the Deuteronomistic History belongs to the seventh century,
and is in this way related to the time of King Josiah of Judah. The problem with
this idea is that the only information we have about this time is found in the
same documents thought to have been put into writing at this time—a clear
example of the kind of circular argumentation so common in biblical studies.29
Furthermore, it is evident (from the last note in 2 Kgs 25:27–30) that the date
of this composition, or its conclusion, cannot be before 562 BCE (the year of
Nebuchadnezzar’s death).

28  Cf. on the methodology, I. Engnell, Gamla Testamentet: En traditionshistorisk inledning I

(Stockholm: Diakonissestyrelsens Bokförlag, 1945).
29  On circular argumentation, see N.P. Lemche, The Old Testament between Theology and
History: A Critical Survey (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 110–12.
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 227

3 Summing Up

The Enneateuch cannot have been finished before the late sixth century at the
earliest, and nobody apart from the most traditional biblical scholars would
argue in favour of such a date. The discussion should really be: How much can
be traced back to pre-exilic times? And the question might be: Is it really neces-
sary to assert that any part precedes the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem?
The answer I gave more than twenty years ago (showing this writer’s origins
within the Uppsala School of biblical studies)30 was: Begin with the first physi-
cal evidence of the existence of biblical books, which in the case of most books
would be the Dead Sea Scrolls, which contain fragments of almost every bibli-
cal book, apart from the Book of Esther.31 Some literature is definitely older.
I have already referred to Hezekiel the Tragedian as a witness to the existence
of the Exodus story in a Greek translation around 200 BCE, certainly an argu-
ment in favour of a date of the Pentateuch in some form or the other between,
say, 300 and 200 BCE. Placing the composition of the Pentateuch and the other
books belonging to the Enneateuch before the exile in 587 BCE would have
burdened the people leaving for Mesopotamia with the weight of carrying all
these manuscripts to Mesopotamia and there to settle down and continue to
transmit and expand them. The argument that this process did not happen in
Jerusalem or in Judea has already been presented.
In his study of Berossos, Russell Gmirkin has also included a study of
Manetho and the Exodus story, because Manetho’s version definitely repre-
sents a rewriting of the Egyptian tradition about the expulsion of the Hyksos.32
On the other hand, the story about the Hyksos has little to do with Palestine
in the Persian period. The biblical story of the Exodus is a continuation of the
Joseph story and certainly reflecting late Egyptian habits as demonstrated years
ago by Donald B. Redford.33 Gmirkin’s and others insistence on the Egyptian
home of such traditions is important, as it prevents us from simply assuming
that biblical historiography originated in one place only.

30  The main representatives of this school were—apart from I. Engnell, already mentioned
above—H.S. Nyberg, E. Nielsen, and (at least in his younger years), G.W. Ahlström.
31  A convenient translation of the Biblical DSS fragments: M. Abegg, P. Flint, and E. Ulrich,
The Dead Sea Scrolls Bible (San Francisco: Harper, 1999). A proper scientific edition of the
fragments in E. Ulrich, The Biblical Qumran Scrolls I–III (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2012).
32  More on this: Gmirkin, Berossus, 170–91.
33  Cf. D.B. Redford, A Study of the Biblical Story of Joseph (Genesis 37–50) (Leiden: E.J. Brill,
1970).
228 Lemche

Here little has been said about the Samaritans but it is a fact that the
Samaritans, understood not in the exclusive sense of a special religious com-
munity, but as a name for the population of the former state of Samaria who
might have called themselves “Israelites,”34 survived the Babylonian cam-
paigns against Palestine very well and continued their existence after 587 BCE
relatively undisturbed. It would hardly be a problem if we should look for
the composition of the Pentateuch here, or at least see Samaria—or rather
their extended community in Shechem and on the Gerizim mountain—as a
place where traditions and documents originating in many places may have
been collected and formed into a coherent story.35 As it stands, the focus on
Jerusalem as the place where the Pentateuchal literature originated together
with the traditional image of the Samaritans as a pariah population in com-
parison to orthodox Judaism is definitely a result of the later adoption of
Samaritan tradition in Jerusalem in Hasmonean times. It has probably very
little to do with the actual situation around, say, 300 BCE, when there was a
Samaritan community based in Shechem, whereas there was no Jerusalem of
a size likely to produce great literature. As usual, as Mario Liverani once said,
historians are lazy people who prefer to retell ancient sources—in this case the
Old Testament—instead of making independent analyses of their sources.36 It
is desirable that we biblical scholars of the present liberate ourselves from the
tyranny of biblical historiography and see the formative period of the histori-
ography in the Old Testament as a period when nothing of what we read in the
Old Testament could be identified with the real world.
And now, finally, returning to the opening question: In whose interest was
the biblical tradition formulated as it now stands? Most certainly it was not in
the interest of people living in the Jehud in the sixth, fifth, or fourth centuries
BCE to write a story in favour of a now foreign group “returning” to occupy

34  For a discussion (with literature) of the two inscriptions found at Delos by “Israelites,” cf.
N.P. Lemche, “The Greek Israelites and Gerizim,” in Plogbillar & svärd: En festskrift till Stig
Norin, ed. T. Davidovich (Uppsala: Molin & Sorgenfrei, 2012), 147–54.
35  Further on the Samaritans: I. Hjelm, The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis
(Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), and M. Kartveit, The Origin of the Samaritans
(Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009). As to the Samaritan temple and the city next to it at Gerizim, cf.
Y. Magen, “The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in
Light of the Archaeological Evidence,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century BCE,
ed. O. Lipschits, G.N. Knoppers, and R. Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 157–211.
36  M. Liverani, “Telipinu, or: on solidarity,” in Myth and Politics in Ancient Near Eastern
Historiography, ed. Z. Bahrani and M. Van de Mieroop (London: Equinox, 2004), 27–52
(28).
Locating the Story of Biblical Israel 229

their land.37 Tracing the origins of biblical literature outside of Palestine and
Jerusalem and understanding it as basically located in the Diaspora in the
late Persian end especially early Hellenistic periods, point at this literature as
propaganda trying to awake an interest in returning to the land of the fathers
among members of the Jewish diaspora, a “return” that meant giving up a basi-
cally easy life in the centres of the ancient world in favour of settling in one of
the poorest regions. History writing as found in the Old Testament is not his-
tory writing in the modern sense of the discipline; it is cultural memory, a way
of retelling the past in the interest of the present. Cultural memory is the cre-
ation of an intellectual group (i literati) arranging the past in such a way that
it suits their own interest. In the Old Testament positioning a Palestinian past
for “ancient Israel” and claiming it to be the past of those for whom this literary
activity was aimed at was the device used to further a return to the homeland.
And like every story from the past, if it was accepted by the people for whom it
was written, it was “true.”38

37  It is therefore obvious that I cannot follow the so-called “Norwegian special tradition” of
seeing Deutero-Isaiah as situated in Judah during the Babylonian exile, as recently refor-
mulated by H.M. Barstad, The Babylonian Captivity of the Book of Isaiah: “Exilic” Judah and
the Provenance of Isaiah 40–55 (Oslo: Novus, 1997).
38  I have in recent years devoted several studies to this subject, most extensive in my The Old
Testament between Theology and History: A Critical Survey (Louisville: Westminster John
Knox Press, 2008), especially “Part III: From History and Back to Theology,” 165–253. Cf.
also N.P. Lemche, “Is the Old Testament Still a Hellenistic Book?” in Biblical Interpretation
Beyond History, ed. I. Hjelm and T.T. Thompson (Changing Perspectives 7; London:
Routledge, 2015), forthcoming; N.P. Lemche, “When the End is the Beginning: Creating a
National History,” SJOT 29 (2015): 22–32; N.P. Lemche, “Exiles as the Great Divide: Would
There Be an ‘Ancient Israel’ Without an Exile?” in Myths of Exile: History and Metaphor in
the Hebrew Bible, ed. A.K. de Hemmer Gudme and I. Hjelm (Copenhagen International
Seminar; London: Routledge, 2015), forthcoming; and N.P. Lemche, “Ps 137: Exile as Hell!”
In Myths of Exile, forthcoming.
King David and El Cid: Two ‘Apiru in Myth and
History

Lester L. Grabbe

One of the main problems we have with extracting history from the biblical
text is that many personages and events are attested in no other source. This
applies to the seminal period of the Israelite monarchy’s beginnings, with
the reigns of David and Solomon. Not only are there no other written sources,
but the archaeology is currently disputed. Without other reliable sources we
are thrown back on trying to evaluate the biblical account, with all its prob-
lematic features. I propose here to use the story of the medieval Spanish hero
known as El Cid to illumine the historical process involved in appraising the
biblical account.

1 The Story of Rodrigo Díaz (El Cid)

We have some sources for the life and deeds of Rodrigo that were written dur-
ing his lifetime or shortly afterward. This makes them primary sources. The
earliest is probably the Latin poem, Carmen Campi Doctoris.1 It has not a lot
of information, but it was probably written even while the Cid was still alive.
The most important source is the Latin chronicle called the Historia Roderici.2
The dating is debated, some thinking it was written by 1125 or even earlier, not
long after Rodrigo’s death in 1099. There are also some Muslim accounts in

1  The text and a translation, with discussion, are published in Roger Wright, “The First Poem
on the Cid—the Carmen Campi Doctoris,” in Roger Wright, Early Ibero-Romance: Twenty-one
Studies on Language and Texts from the Iberian Peninsula between the Roman Empire and the
Thirteenth Century (Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1994), 221–64.
2  The text was given by Ramón Menéndez Pidal, La España del Cid, vol. 2 (vols 1–2; 7th edition,
ed. Pedro Muguruza; Obras de R. Menéndez Pidal, vols 6–7; Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1969),
921–71. A better text is now available in Emma Falque Rey (ed.), Historia Roderici vel Gesta
Roderici Campidocti (Chronica Hispana saeculi 12, part I, CCM 71; Turnhout: Brepols, 1990),
1–98. For an English translation, see Simon Barton and Richard Fletcher, The World of El Cid:
Chronicles of the Spanish Reconquest (Manchester Medieval Sources Series; Manchester
University Press, 2000), 98–147.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_019

King David and El Cid 231

Arabic that provide some valuable data, especially the writings of Ibn ’Alqama
and Ibn Bassam.3
The most famous source is probably the Cantar de mio Cid (or Poema de
mio Cid), but this is accepted by modern scholars to be quite unreliable.4 It
was composed at the latest by 1204 but is probably several decades older. The
relationship of this work to history and the historical sources will be discussed
at some length in the rest of this paper (referred to hereafter simply as Cantar).

2 Rodrigo’s Life as Reconstructed by a Historian5

Rodrigo was born about 1045. He is associated with the town of Vivar, though it
is not clear that this is an early datum. He seems to have been of noble origins,
though not in the forefront of aristocratic families, even though the Cantar
makes him the son of a miller (par. 148, lines 3377–81). He was thus brought
up to be a soldier, which was his life’s work. We do not have the details of his
training or early experiences, but as a young man he had established a reputa-
tion as a military leader and fighter. Sources mention success in a number of
single combats. At this time Spain was divided between the Christian north
(the old Visigothic kingdom) and the Muslim south, or al-Andalus. The Muslim
area had been controlled by an Umayyad dynasty, centering on Córdoba, for
250 years from the mid-eight century. But the Umayyad caliphate declined and
collapsed by 1031, and al-Andalus split into a number of small independent
states or principalities. Originally perhaps more like city-states (since they
were based on the old provinces of the caliphate), a number engulfed others

3  Not available to me, except for excerpts found in Colin Smith (ed.), Christians and Moors in
Spain, Volume 1: 711–1150 (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1988). A few short quotes are also found
in some of the secondary sources used here (see note 5).
4  Medieval Spanish text and English translation (along with an introduction and notes) can be
conveniently accessed in Rita Hamilton, Janet Perry, and Ian Michael (eds.), The Poem of the
Cid (Manchester University Press, 1975; reprinted London: Penguin Books, 1984).
5  For this I have consulted especially the Historia Roderici, but for judgment about what data
are historical, I am mainly dependent on Richard Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1990). Also useful were Gonzalo Martínez Diez, El Cid Histórico (Divulgación:
Biografías y Memorías; Barcelona: Planeta, 1999); Antonio Ubieto Aretata, El “Cantar de Mio
Cid” y algunos problemas históricos (Valencia: Anurar Ediciones, 1973); Bernard F. Reilly, The
Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI 1065–1109 (Princeton University Press, 1988);
and Colin Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio Cid (Cambridge University Press, 1983),
especially ch. 5.
232 Grabbe

until only a half dozen larger kingdoms remained. These were referred to by
the Arabic term ṭā’ifa “faction.”6
According to the Historia Roderici, Rodrigo Díaz was made chief military
commander of the forces of King Sancho of the Christian kingdom of Castile
in the 1060s. This is no doubt an exaggeration of his status at this time: he
was a military commander but only one of several and was not over all of
Sancho’s forces. Sancho died in 1072, and his realm came under the control
of his brother Alfonso VI. Rodrigo transferred his allegiance (even though he
had fought against Alfonso in some of the struggles between the kingdoms of
the two brothers) and was accepted into his service. Alfonso respected him,
as indicated by his marriage to an alleged relative of the king, Jimena. There
are some difficulties as to her ancestry, but the king evidently arranged the
marriage and was a witness to the marriage contract.7 Over the decade after
Rodrigo came into Alfonzo’s service, we have a number of documents to which
he was a witness, and he even made representations in court on behalf of cli-
ents supported by the king. He also undertook many military activities.
The title we know that Rodrigo bore was the Spanish title, Campeador
(derived from Latin campi doctus “regimental drill instructor”), which is found
in many documents from his own lifetime (either as the Spanish Campeador
or a Latin version Campiator, Campiductor, or Campidoctus).8 At some point,
however, Arabic speakers apparently gave him an Arabic title, el-Sayyid “the
lord.” Who gave him this epithet is not clear, because the title was not used
in any contemporary document, whether Spanish, Latin, or Arabic. Perhaps it
was his Muslim soldiers or possibly even his Arabic-speaking opponents. This
entered Spanish as El Cid and is the title that eventually became the signature
one in the traditions about him and his life.9

6  Federico Corriente, A Dictionary of Andalusi Arabic (HdO 1/29; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 336–37:
ṬWF: ṭā’ifah “group, sect.”
7  Reilly, King Alfonso VI, 83, 130–31; Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 121–23; Barton and Fletcher, The
World of El Cid, 101–2 n. 13; Martínez Diez, El Cid Histórico, 76–87. There are difficulties with
this identification (we have no record of her alleged father, Count Diego of Oviedo), but it
seems reasonable that he married “into an Asturian family of noble rank” (Fletcher, Quest for
El Cid, 121–22).
8  Cf. J.F. Niermeyer and C. van de Kieft, Mediae latinitatis lexicon minus (Leiden: Brill, 1976),
123: campiductor: “1. army instructor. 2. army commander”; Ramón Menéndez Pidal, Cantar
de mio Cid: Texto, Gramática y Vocabulario (vols 1–3; 4th edition; Obras de R. Menéndez Pidal,
vols 3–5; Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1969), vol. 2, 524–30.
9  Corriente, Dictionary of Andalusi Arabic, 266 (under SWD): sayyid or sīd “lord, master”;
sīdī “my lord”; Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 3; Barton and Fletcher, The World of El Cid, 98 n. 1;
Menéndez Pidal, Cantar, vol. 2, 574–77.
King David and El Cid 233

Rodrigo was sent into exile in 1081 by Alfonso VI. The exact reason is not
completely clear, but there seem to be two causes. One was the jealousy of cer-
tain figures at Alfonso’s court, who undermined Rodrigo in the king’s eyes. In
1079 he was sent by the king to collect tribute from the taifa kingdom of Seville.
While he was there, the king of Granada (also a Muslim) attacked Seville.
Rodrigo confronted and defeated the Granada army at Capra; unfortunately,
Capra may have belonged to Granada at this time rather than Seville. This sug-
gests that Rodrigo “may have been invading Granada rather than defending
Seville.”10 Perhaps more important, fighting with the Granadans were some
Christian nobles, including García Ordóñez, whom Rodrigo took captive, thus
making a powerful enemy.
The other cause was Rodrigo’s own misguided actions a couple of years
later, perhaps instigated by a certain arrogance or rashness on his part, in deal-
ing with a raid on Castile. The raiders were probably from the Toledo area,
though hardly sponsored by the king of Toledo. The king was away on a cam-
paign, and Rodrigo decided to punish those responsible by undertaking a pil-
laging expedition into Toledan territory. The trouble is that the ruler of Toledo
was a tributary of Alfonso! It was a diplomatic fiasco. As a result of El Cid’s
actions, the king was compelled to banish him, perhaps as an example to oth-
ers. This action on the king’s part may have been less drastic than it seems at
first. He would have been aware that Rodrigo might deal with both Barcelona
and Valencia, without himself being blamed; at least, this is what happened.
Likewise, Rodrigo took a private army into the Spanish Levante where he could
act as he chose; the result for El Cid was to gain riches and prestige.11 First,
he journeyed to the court of Barcelona but was turned away.12 Eventually, he
ended up in the service of al-Muqtadir, the Muslim ruler of the taifa kingdom
of Zaragoza. Shortly after Rodrigo had arrived there, al-Muqtadir died and was
succeeded by his son al-Mu’tamin.
Rodrigo’s activities on behalf of his Muslim overlord are interesting, in the
light of his clear Christian affiliation. According to the Historia Roderici (12–24),
al-Mu’tamin’s brother al-Ḥāyib, who ruled in Denia, was his rival. On al-Ḥāyib’s
side were the Christians Sancho, the king of Aragon, and Berenguer Ramón
II, the count of Barcelona. Thus, Rodrigo ended up engaging militarily against
Christian forces on behalf of his Muslim lord. One of the first engagements
was at the castle of Almenar which Rodrigo had restored and used as a base. In
1082 a siege against Almenar, led by al-Ḥāyib with his Christian allies, brought

10  Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 129.

11  Reilly, King Alfonso VI, 129–30.
12  Historia 12. Reilly (King Alfonso VI, 162 n. 4) rejects this event as “fabulous.”
234 Grabbe

Rodrigo onto the scene. Not only did he win the fight, but he also captured the
count of Barcelona and a number of other Christian nobles. His share of their
ransom made him wealthy.
About the beginning of 1083, Alfonzo sent an army into Zaragozan territory
at the request of a rebel against al-Mu’tamin. The leaders of this military force
were slain while entering a fortress under a flag of truce. Rodrigo had nothing
to do with this, since he was quite far away at the time. But he hastened to
Alfonzo’s court. Although we have no official knowledge of what transpired,
it looks as if he was reassuring the king of his innocence with regard to the
murder of his military commanders. In subsequent years Rodrigo won further
battles and increased his fame and fortune. When al-Mu’tamin died in 1085, he
continued to serve his son and successor, al-Musta’in. The next year, Alfonzo
brought an army to besiege Zaragosa, with Rodrigo presumably an important
figure in defense of the city. But then the Almoravids invaded Spain.13 Alfonzo
took an army to meet them toward the end of 1086 but was badly defeated.
Shortly afterward, the king and Rodrigo were reconciled, an outcome for
which the appearance of the Almoravid threat does not seem to have been a
coincidence.
The Almoravids is a Hispanizing of the Arabic al-Murābiṭ.14 They estab-
lished a Berber empire in North Africa on the basis of Islamic fundamentalism
in the mid-eleventh century. Marrakesh was founded in 1062 as their capital.
Their rule was relatively short lived, and they were replaced by the Almohads
(al-Muwāhhid) about 1150. The Muslims of al-Andalus, not surprisingly, saw
them as an ally in their struggle with the Christian rulers of the north. Yet
because of having a long history of culture and education, the Andalucians
regarded the Almoravids as ignorant, uncultured, and religious fanatics. This
meant that even as they called on the Almoravids for assistance, they had an
uneasy relationship with them.
Rodrigo seems to have made very favorable arrangements for recompense
with Alfonso, but for the next two years we know nothing about his activities.
The next we hear is early in 1089 when he took an army into the Spanish Levante.
He collected tribute from the governor of Valencia that Alfonzo had placed

13  On the Almoravids, see Bernard F. Reilly, The Contest of Christian and Muslim Spain:
1031–1157 (A History of Spain; Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), especially 99–125, 205–30; Fletcher,
Quest for El Cid, especially 144–64, 194–95.
14  Corriente, Dictionary of Andalusi Arabic, 198: RBṬ: “murābiṭ Almoravid”; the name is
derived from the root meaning “tie.” Reilly (The Contest of Christian and Muslim Spain,
101) states, “More recent scholarship prefers to trace the word to a root meaning of jihād,
or holy war.” Unfortunately, he gives no source for this statement.
King David and El Cid 235

there. But Valencia was threatened by the ruler of Játiva who assembled vari-
ous allies to assist him, including al-Hayib, ruler of Lérida and Denia. Rodrigo
was able to see off the threat temporarily, but then a second Almoravid inva-
sion intervened. Alfonzo raised an army and called for Rodrigo and his force
to meet him near Aledo which was under siege from the invaders. Apparently
because of miscommunication Rodrigo did not meet up with the king until
after he had relieved Aledo. The king was very angry, encouraged by Rodrigo’s
enemies at court. Apparently, even some of Rodrigo’s followers began to desert
him. But he returned north and made raids in the Levante against al-Hayib,
who finally came to an arrangement with him. Rodrigo also received “gifts”
from the ruler of Valencia.
Al-Hayib was a subject of Count Berenguer Ramón II of Barcelona, and the
ruler of Valencia was a subject of Alfonzo. It is uncertain what sort of game
Rodrigo was playing, though it may have been nothing more than making
his living—and fortune—by raiding, plunder, and “protection.” The count of
Barcelona tried to put together a group of allies, but no one was willing to join
him. Berenguer advanced against him, nevertheless, and he took refuge in a
place in the mountains called Iber. Rodrigo won the battle decisively, taking
not only Berenguer captive but also a number of other nobles who supported
him. The ransom and plunder enriched him enormously, and he also came to
an arrangement with Berenguer. But he had been wounded in the battle and
took time to recover. Moreover, Al-Hayib died about this time. Rodrigo was
now the de facto governor of the Spanish Levante (1090).
The Almoravids had withdrawn back to Morocco after defeating Alfonzo in
1089, but now in the summer of 1090 they invaded again. They began forceful
actions to take control of the various taifa kingdoms. Alfonzo tried twice to
block their northward advance in 1091 but was defeated both times. Finally
the queen appealed to Rodrigo to join her husband and fight with him against
the Berber invaders. Rodrigo did just that, but he and Alfonzo soon fell out
again. The ostensible reason was how Rodrigo had the tents of his followers
pitched in relation to the king. He claimed it was to help protect the mon-
arch, but there was a protocol about placement of tents, and this was seen as
challenging Alfonzo’s authority. Alfonzo’s anger with the Cid may ultimately
have resulted from a litany of alleged sins. But the essential point was that
Alfonzo was not able to control him. He even attempted to have him arrested,
but Rodrigo escaped. His protests of innocence fell on deaf ears, but the king
returned to Toledo, leaving Rodrigo free to pursue his own interests.
Rodrigo could not expect Alfonzo to forget his failure to toe the line, how-
ever, and he sought out his old employer, al-Musta’in of Zaragoza, and made
an ally of him. He then made another ally of the king Aragon by effecting a
236 Grabbe

settlement between him and Zaragoza. It was 1092 by this time, and Alfonzo
decided to besiege Valencia. But during the siege he received news that Rodrigo
was raiding Castile. The territory attacked was mainly that of Rodrigo’s old
enemy, García Ordóñez, but it forced Alfonzo to break off the siege of Valencia.
A rebellion in Valencia put a new ruler in power in the principality, and the
Almoravid threat also remained. Rodrigo himself began a siege of Valencia in
the summer of 1092. The city appealed to the Almoravids, and they send some
supplies but no army to relieve those besieged. Finally, after a year the city
fell to Rodrigo in the summer of 1093. He had almost exactly six years to live
after this.
Although the Cantar makes Rodrigo a loyal subject of Alfonzo VI at this
time, it appears that he was acting as an independent ruler of Valencia.15 This
is strongly indicated by the charter of endowment for the Valencia cathedral.16
In it a preamble refers to Rodrigo as princeps (“prince”), and no reference
of any kind is made to Alfonzo. Yet relations between the two seem to have
warmed up. This is suggested by several small pointers, though perhaps one
of the clearest is that the Cid’s only known son, Diego, was killed fighting for
Alfonzo in 1098. The Almoravids had not accepted Rodrigo’s rule, and he had
to fight several battles to defend the city. The first was already a few months
after taking Valencia, when a large Almoravid force besieged the city. However,
although outnumbered, El Cid enacted a clever stratagem that let him attack
the undefended camp of the enemy. They evidently panicked, and Rodrigo
won a considerable victory, the first defeat of the Almoravids in their Spanish
adventures. In 1097 Rodrigo was in the company of the king of Aragon, on
their way to Benicadell, when they were attacked by an Almoravid force. After
attempting unsuccessfully to out-maneuver the Muslim force and return to
Valencia, they were forced to fight. Again, the Almoravids were defeated by
El Cid. Finally, he took the fortress of Murviedro that was viewed as impreg-
nable, after a long siege. The defenders attempted to call in supporters, includ-
ing the Almoravids, without success and finally agreed to give up the fortress
to Rodrigo.
El Cid died in July 1099—on his bed and not on the battlefield. With his
son dead and his daughters married off, it fell to his widow Jimena to defend
Valencia against a determined Almoravid intent to take the city back under
Muslim control. She called on Alfonzo for help, and he came, driving off tem-
porarily a besieging Muslim force. But he evaluated the situation and decided

15  Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 179.

16  Latin text and English translation of the first part is found in Smith (ed.), Christians and
Moors in Spain: Volume 1, 130–33.
King David and El Cid 237

that it would take too many resources to hold the city, when it lay well into
Muslim territory, and Castile was so far away. He took Jimena, the body of
Rodrigo, the spoils of his conquests, the remaining troops and settlers, and
abandoned the city. In 1102 Valencia once more came under Muslim control.

3 Development of the El Cid Legend

As already noted above, the famous Cantar de mio Cid (or Poema de mio Cid)
is already a legendary work, though probably written within a century of
Rodrigo’s death. It has been characterized as follows:

The poem is important to us because in it for the first time there steps forth a Cid
who has moved some way from the Rodrigo Díaz of history. He is not unrecog-
nizably different. Yet the fact remains that in the epic the first and most decisive
step—judged only of course on the evidence of surviving texts—from history
into myth has been taken. This, its principal historical interest, pales into insig-
nificance besides [sic] its literary interest: the Poema de Mio Cid is one of the
masterpieces of European literature . . . The independent, insubordinate, arro-
gant Rodrigo Díaz of history has been wrapped in a cloak of royalist pieties.17

Although Rodrigo is an unconquered military hero, the focus is not on his

actions as a statesman and administrator but on the romantic element of the
unwise marriage of his daughters, their subsequent mistreatment by their hus-
bands, and how the Cid took revenge. Although the writer is quite happy to use
historical sources and historical facts, he does not hesitate to change them for
literary reasons. For example, the names of his daughters were in fact Christina
and María, yet the Cantar calls them Elvira and Sol. Colin Smith has suggested
that the change was primarily for metrical reasons.18
In the following centuries, though, the legend developed further.19 For exam-
ple, toward the end of his life Rodrigo was supposed to have taken myrrh and
balsam that preserved his body after death. Thus, although Rodrigo had died
in bed, the story eventually developed that his body (so embalmed) dressed

17  Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 190, 194.

18  Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio, 142.
19  Unfortunately, I have not had access to the primary sources for the examples of legends
given here. They come mostly from Fletcher, Quest for El Cid, 88, and Colin Smith, “The
Diffusion of the Cid Cult: a Survey and a Little-known Document,” Journal of Medieval
History 6 (1980): 37–60.
238 Grabbe

in armor, with the eyes open, was mounted on his horse, Babieca. This was no
doubt the inspiration of the final scene of the film, El Cid (directed by Anthony
Mann and produced by Samuel Bronston), that had his dead body, clad for
battle and mounted on his charger, leading his army in a final charge and vic-
tory. Another story was that he met a leper who turned out to be St Lazarus in
disguise (hence, the scene in the film where he gives a leper drink from his own
water flask), likely a development of the account (also late and probably unhis-
torical) that he endowed or founded the Hospital de San Lázaro in Palencia.20
Thus, surprising as it may seem, a number of the scenes in the El Cid movie
that look like pure Hollywood were in fact based on the Cid legend, but a leg-
end that had developed a considerable distance from the actual history that we
know something about.
Further examples of how the author has transmogrified history for liter-
ary purposes are discussed below. Yet in spite of its distortions the Cantar has
some of the main outlines of Rodrigo’s career correct. It begins with his exile,
though it seems to telescope the two exiles into one. It knows of his success in
a number of battles but especially of his conquest of Valencia. His loyalty to
Alfonzo seems to be exaggerated, but he did evidently seek to become recon-
ciled to the king in real life—at least, up to a point.

4 The Story of King David

The story of David is primarily known from 1 and 2 Samuel, plus 1 Kings 1. Much
work has been spent on analyzing the text, but there is probably more disagree-
ment now about how the text relates to history than there was a generation ago.
Scholars as different as Martin Noth and John Bright seemed to accept—more
or less—the biblical account of the United Monarchy. For about two decades
now a number of scholars have rejected (or at least questioned) the existence
of a united monarchy and the historicity of the reign of David.
The story of David is basically equivalent to the Cantar de mio Cid; i.e., it is
a legendary version, though there are no doubt some historical data within
it. The problem is trying to evaluate what historical details can be extracted
from the account. In the case of El Cid, we have some primary sources (roughly
contemporary literary and documentary—and evidently trustworthy—
sources) for his deeds (especially the Historia Roderici) that help us to con-
firm or deny historicity at any point. With the story of David, we are left to
judge what might be historical from internal analysis alone, except for some
brief help from archaeology. This means that we have few means of external

20  Smith, “The Diffusion of the Cid Cult,” 48–49.

King David and El Cid 239

evaluation of what might be legendary and what might be historical. This of

course is why we are so keen to find some means of penetrating the hardy shell
of this problem.

5 Comparison of the Stories of David and Rodrigo Díaz21

David Rodrigo Díaz

Allegedly born a shepherd, but probably Allegedly born a miller, but evidently a
of minor nobility, as indicated by his member of a minor noble family.
position at Saul’s court.
David makes his name by his military Although his youthful military exploits
exploits (whatever these might be, are probably exaggerated, they appear to
though in the present context they are begin his reputation.
associated with his killing of Goliath).
David has to flee Saul who is set on Probably partly from court intrigue but
killing him. also his own refusal to be controlled, he
is exiled.
David sets himself up as a mercenary Rodrigo is essentially head of a
captain of a private army, and lives by mercenary army, which engages in
plundering and selling his services to the plunder but then attaches itself to
Philistines. al-Mu’tamin, the prince of the Muslim
taifa of Zaragoza.
The story is that David pretended to raid Rodrigo fights the enemies of Zaragoza,
Israel but actually attacked Philistine which includes Christian opponents, and
villages; it is more likely that he would even his old boss Alfonso VI.
have taken booty and tribute wherever
he could.
David takes Jerusalem after a siege. Rodrigo takes Valencia after a siege.
David rules, first as king of Judah then as Rodrigo acts as de facto independent
king over all Israel, for a total of 40 years. ruler of Valencia for the final 6 years of
his life.

21  I had chosen my topic for this paper and was well into the research for it when I came
across a reference to the article, Russell Sebold, “Un David Español, O ‘Galán Divino’:
El Cid contrarreformista de Guillen de Castro,” in Homage to John M. Hill in Memoriam
(Indiana University Press, 1968), 217–42. Thus, I was anticipated in the thought of compar-
ing David and Rodrigo, but at least my idea was conceived independently.
240 Grabbe

6 Comparing Historicities

We are now in a position to make some judgments with regard to the story
of David in comparison with the life of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar. The problem
with lack of primary sources was noted above. Another important point is how
quickly El Cid’s story metamorphosed into legend. The Cantar or Poema de
mio Cid is no later than a century after the death of Rodrigo and perhaps only
75 years or so later. Yet the amount of legend that had already accumulated is
remarkable. As we follow the Spanish chronicles over the next few centuries,
the transformation becomes greater and grander. This is an eloquent reminder
of the speed with which a historical account can become distorted in popular
memory. As time goes on, the tendency is for the story to be assimilated to the
conventional stereotypes. We see that assimilation clearly with the David story,
in which he becomes the model of the ideal king who is wise, brave, pious, and
leads his people well (even if there are elements that seem to go contrary to
this tendency).
In the present form of the story of David, the first episode is the choice of
David who functions as a shepherd for the family sheep (1 Sam 16:1–13). This is
kept secret, but David is then chosen to play the lyre for Saul (1 Sam 16:14–23).
At this point, David is already described as a “warrior” (‫)אישׁ מלחמה‬, which
indicates that David began his career at court and in military training, thus
probably being of the minor nobility. It is only after this that the Goliath epi-
sode is given (1 Sam 17), and in it Saul suddenly does not know David (neither
does the general of the army, Abner), and David has had no military experi-
ence. Yet the women proclaim, “Saul has slain his thousands; David, his tens
of thousands” (1 Sam 18:7). This seems a strange thing to sing when David has
slain only one person, albeit the Philistine champion Goliath. On the other
hand, it makes a lot of sense if David was by this time an up-and-coming officer
in Saul’s army who was distinguishing himself in battle.
As is well known, the Goliath story was originally about the Israelite cham-
pion, Elhanan son of Jaareoregim the Bethlehemite, and only later transferred
to David (cf. 2 Sam 21:19). The Goliath story thus looks like a later addition to
the narrative. With that episode omitted from the narrative, David does not get
his start as a shepherd boy with a sling, unable even to wear armor because of
its unfamiliarity. His arising from a lowly family and herding the family sheep
is, of course, already in the story of his anointing (1 Sam 16:1–13), but this part
of that story also does not fit: since when does the king suddenly summon an
unknown lad from an unknown family to live at court and play the lyre in the
king’s presence? Rather, like El Cid, the David of the main narrative seems to be
of the noble or warrior class in Israel who comes to court and makes his name
King David and El Cid 241

from his military prowess over a period of time (rather than just the one event
of slaying a Philistine champion). He was put over the soldiers (‫)אנשי המלחמה‬
and succeeded in a variety of commissions from the king (1 Sam 18:5). He was
so successful that he caught the attention of the general populace and came to
be seen as a rival to the old Israelite champion, Saul (1 Sam 18:6–8).
Saul promised his daughter to David, in return for his fighting battles for
him. Rodrigo married Jimena, who was not the daughter of the king, but she
does seem to have been a relative of Alfonso VI (see above). Saul went on to
ask for a hundred Philistine foreskins as the mōhar for the bride. All of this, we
are told, was aimed toward seeing David killed by the Philistines, but it did not
work, for David brought double the requested foreskins and took his wife. The
result was that Saul became jealous (1 Sam 18:9), attempted unsuccessfully to
get rid of David by various stratagems, and finally forced him to flee for his life
(1 Sam 19:10–18). With Rodrigo we have no indication that the king was jealous
of him, but it is evident that some of the nobles were. Neither did Rodrigo’s
lord try to kill him, but it seems that Rodrigo caused some of his own prob-
lems, as already related above, and was exiled by the king. The exile of Rodrigo
from the royal court has a number of interesting parallels with the narrative of
David’s activities when in exile from the court (1 Sam 20–31).
Both David and Rodrigo were adventurers—’apiru chieftains in ancient
Near Eastern terminology—who enriched themselves and rewarded their sup-
porters by raiding and plundering, as well as by fighting on behalf of whoever
would pay them. Rodrigo had his own private army, probably already built up
well before his exile, with which he obtained employment with the Muslim
leader of Zaragoza, who was named al-Mu’tamin. His chief rival was his brother
al-Hayib, who ruled in Denia. Al-Hayib’s allies were the Christians Sancho, the
king of Aragon, and Berenguer Ramón II, the count of Barcelona. Also inter-
ested in bringing Zaragoza under his control was Alfonzo VI of León-Castile.
Thus, Rodrigo ended up engaging militarily against Christian forces on behalf
of his Muslim lord and even against his own lord, King Alfonzo. Similarly,
David headed a band of mercenaries who sold their services, including to the
Philistine enemies of Saul (1 Sam 27:1–28:2).
One of the interesting elements within the story of David is the series of
vignettes about his “mighty men” (mainly in 2 Samuel 23:8–39; cf. 21:15–22).
It seems clear that this is a separate tradition that has become secondarily
attached to the David narrative.22 One might argue that the fact of an inde-
pendent tradition makes it more likely to be early and to possess a higher

22  For example, see Anthony F. Campbell, 2 Samuel (FOTL 8; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2005), 184–220.
242 Grabbe

degree of believability. That is very possible, but does that demonstrate that
the individuals named were historically associated with David? Consider the
situation with the Rodrigo Díaz tradition. We likewise find names of individu-
als said to be some of the companions of the Cid in the legendary account
of the Cantar (e.g., 37, lines 733–43; 104, lines 1990–2001; 137, lines 3061–3072).
However, one of the mistakes made in considering historicity is to assume
that correct knowledge of contemporary persons, geography, and similar data
shows authenticity. Of course, correct information of this sort might be one
indication of authenticity, but if correct portrayal of known figures was proof
of historicity, Forrest Gump would be a work of history. As Colin Smith states
with regard to the Cantar,

. . . the poet used as personages many who can be shown to have lived in the time
of the historical Cid, with correct names and places of origin; but it is uncertain
whether in history any of these persons was associated with the Cid, or acted
as the poet makes them, and in one important case—that of Alvar Fáñez—it is
sure that the action is wholly poetical.23

Alvar Fáñez is a good example. He was a general of Alfonzo and a popular

figure in local legend. The Cantar makes him a regular companion of the Cid,
influenced apparently by the Chanson de Roland.24 As another example, con-
sider the individual named Diego Téllez who was supposed to have helped
Rodrigo’s daughters after they were abused by their husbands and left for dead
(Cantar 131, lines 2813–19). We know he was a historical person, a fact which
was used as an argument that there might be some truth in the episode con-
cerning the Cid’s daughters. But we have no evidence of any connection with
Rodrigo, and the whole episode relating to his daughters is judged to be unhis-
torical by the consensus of modern historians, since it has no support in any
reliable sources. Similarly, with the “mighty men” of David: even if the lists are
early and authentic (which is by no means demonstrated at the present time),
they could still be lists added to give verisimilitude to the narrative rather than
lists of men who actually fought for David.
The same applies to telling details in the narrative that are “not to be con-
fused with fidelity to historical truth.”25 For example, a girl who gives informa-
tion to El Cid is said to be nine years old (Cantar 4, line 40); five noble ladies are
praying in company with Rodrigo’s wife Jimena when he arrives at San Pedro

23  Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio, 138.

24  Ibid., 61–63, 174.
25  Ibid., 138.
King David and El Cid 243

(Cantar 14, line 239); and so on. One might ask, “Would a writer invent such
information? Is not this an indication of a historical narrative?” The answer
is, such details—which in most cases cannot be checked—can be invented to
give the narrative the atmosphere of truth. There are many interesting details
in the David story, but they may or may not be an indication of historicity.
A related area of historical method has to do with personal details: personal
activities, domestic arrangements and interactions, episodes that are only per-
sonal rather than having political implications. With regard to El Cid, much
of the Cantar is taken up with the story about his two daughters. For none of
this is there any evidence: his two daughters seem to have been well and suc-
cessfully married the first and only time to Prince Ramiro of Navarre and the
count of Barcelona, respectively, and not to the “Infantes de Carrión.” Thus, the
legendary aspects of Rodrigo’s life evidently developed most strongly in more
personal areas, whereas his public life is more realistically presented (even if
his success and stature are evidently grossly inflated). As for the David story,
one should probably discount some of the personal accounts from a historical
perspective as being less likely than some other episodes (though such could
be seen as giving some of the best theological instances): for example, events
like the Bathsheba incident (2 Sam 11) or David’s interaction with Nabal and his
marriage to Abigail (1 Sam 25).
As already noted, the Cantar (although with many inaccuracies) has some
of the main outlines of Rodrigo’s career correct. It knows of his exile (though it
seems to telescope the two exiles into one). His success in many battles, espe-
cially his conquest of Valencia, form an important part of the narrative. On
the other hand, his loyalty to Alfonzo seems to have been romanticized, even
if there was something of a reconciliation in real life. With regard to David,
although it is difficult to judge, a comparison with El Cid would suggest that
where we are more likely to see reliable information is in the general outline of
David’s life: his connection with Saul’s court, his breach with Saul, his alliance
with the Philistines, his taking of Jerusalem.

7 Conclusions

This examination of the story of El Cid has been an interesting exercise with
substantial historical implications. Colin Smith made the following statement
about the author of the Cantar de mio Cid:

He created a drama with a plot, a series of climaxes artistically disposed, and

personages who live a literary life speaking words invented for them by the poet.
244 Grabbe

His drama has, beyond the immediate entertainment and excitement, a moral
and exemplary aim, and is by no means devoid of actively ideological and con-
temporary references. The poet felt no special duty to record or respect or even
to use the facts of history. If he knew them, he used them only when it suited
his entirely literary purpose to do so, and he invented freely, though conscious
of limitations imposed by existing traditions and memories about his compara-
tively recent subject . . .26

This could have been written about the author(s)/writer(s)/shaper(s) of the

David story—except that the phrase “comparatively recent” would have to
be dropped, since the David story was far from being recent when it finally
reached the form in which we now have it.
What we found concerning El Cid was a historical figure, the outlines of
whose life can be reconstructed in considerable detail from reliable near-con-
temporary sources. Yet in no more than a century after Rodrigo Díaz’s death,
his life has been transformed into a legendary account, in the Cantar. This lit-
erary account was based on historical sources, and there are historical details
scattered throughout it, but the historical data have been skewed and twisted
and mixed with a large dollop of invention. The author’s purpose was not to
write history (however much historical material he included) but a narrative
of strong nationalistic and patriotic character and also considerable literary
artistry and appeal. Yet for the next centuries the legend continued to develop,
culminating in some sense in the Mann/Bronston film, El Cid, of 1961.
One can see the benefit of comparing the David story with this similar but
better-attested story of El Cid: many questions and possibilities relating to his-
tory and the David story immediately come to mind. Unfortunately, without
contemporary records it is ultimately impossible to be certain how many of the
details of the David narrative relate to historical reality, unlike with Rodrigo.
Here is a summary of some of the main points arising from the study:

1. Verisimilitude should not be confused with history. While plausibility is

the first criterion that must be satisfied, it is not the guarantee of his-
toricity. It seems clear that the author of the Cantar sought to create a
plausible account—but not a historical one. An account can be plau-
sible without being true, as countless forensic examples demonstrate
on a daily basis. Many of us know stories about an older generation of

26  Ibid., 137.

King David and El Cid 245

scholars that we have no way of verifying. One often hears, “I knew so-
and-so. They said that s/he said/did so-and-so, though the story may be
apocryphal . . .” If we cannot verify stories of those who are basically our
contemporaries, it is so vastly more difficult to confirm the lives of those
who lived thousands of years ago, especially when there is nothing like a
contemporary reference.
2. Verisimilitude can be the intent of a story whose aim is not to write
history. Many of the names and other details of the Cantar are known
from history, yet it is clear that some of the personages had nothing to
do with El Cid or are unlikely to have done what is alleged. The com-
poser of the poem was willing to use historical details to further his aims
which were literary. It is more difficult to determine what happened with
the David story, but we must consider the possibility that the tradents,
compilers, or editors aimed for a certain verisimilitude without intending
to write history.
3. We have to reckon with the speed with which a historical account
becomes distorted in popular memory. A legendary account (Cantar)
was created already within a century of Rodrigo’s death. As time goes on,
the tendency is for the story to be assimilated to the conventional stereo-
types. We see that assimilation clearly with the David story, in which he
becomes the model of the ideal king who is wise, brave, pious, and leads
his people well (even if there are elements that seem to go contrary to
this tendency).
4. Even a legendary account can preserve some of the main outlines of an
originally historical narrative. In spite of its distortions the Cantar has
some of the main outlines of Rodrigo’s career correct. Yet later accounts
are less true to history. The difficulty with the story of David is that it
seems to be several centuries removed from the actual events. Most
scholars accept that there was literary shaping of the narrative, though
how much developed by oral tradition before this redaction is a large
question. Yet comparison with El Cid would suggest that this is justified,
and that where we are more likely to see reliable information is in the
general outline of David’s life: his connection with Saul’s court, his breach
with Saul, his alliance with the Philistines, his taking of Jerusalem, some
of his wars as ruler.

It is with great pleasure that I dedicate this essay to Hans Barstad. We both
have a common interest in the history of ancient Israel and have had many
conversations on the subject. I hope he will find this an intriguing perspective
on the subject.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory
Terje Stordalen*

In the incipient period of modern biblical scholarship it was taken for granted
that biblical passages were meant to convey historical information.1 It is now
clear that biblical literature more precisely transmits collective memory.
Collective remembering reflects how a group of people make sense of aspects
of the past in their present, whereas the writing of history would normally
attempt a more comprehensive overview and a less involved interpretation. So,
while history must often rely on collective remembering, historians aim to dis-
tinguish the former from the latter.2 Consequently there was a trend in some
quarters to disregard biblical texts altogether as sources of historical reflection.
While this is understandable as a critique of uncritical assumptions of history
in biblical literature, it is in the long run no satisfactory solution. Historians
have to consider whether—and how—biblical texts could be used as histori-
cal sources.
This essay argues that such consideration would preferably start by a study
of biblical texts as products of collective remembering. On the surface, bibli-
cal texts are historical sources not for the events that are remembered but for
the remembering of these events. This remembering, of course, also has a his-
tory and the current essay attempts to start recovering the history of one such
memory. As a test case I consider the memory of Heshbon in biblical literature,
ideally in three stages; a) a mapping of biblical memories of Heshbon; b) a
reflection upon the history of these memories; and c) a preliminary reflection
on the history of Heshbon. The discussion will have to shift back and forth
between these lines of enquiry, and for now emphasis will be placed upon the
first two. Also, one should take into account that biblical memories are canoni-
cal and so they are part of the ecology of collective remembering (i.e. the inter-
play and inter-dependence of various agents, cultural products, and conditions

* It is a pleasure to recognise Hans Barstad as one of the relatively few people who have had a
deeply significant influence on my work in Biblical scholarship. His high academic standards
along with his personal generosity had a great impact upon me as a young scholar coming
from a neighbouring institution.
1  For this and the following, see Hans M. Barstad, “Chapter 1: History and the Hebrew Bible,” in
History and the Hebrew Bible (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 1–13, etc.
2  For a discussion on history and collective memory see, for instance, Geoffrey Cubitt, History
and Memory (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_020

Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 247

that co-operate in producing and re-producing a given memory), also in the

world of the researcher.3 As will become clear, the biblical canonical process
worked to harmonise and standardise the reading of single passages in view
of the (emerging) canonical totality. We have to acknowledge the presence of
this dynamic in the texts and also still at work in the contemporary world. In
order to write the history of biblical remembering of Heshbon we should dis-
entangle the passages and consider each memory as potentially distinct. For
this purpose I will preliminarily organise my discussion according to literary
categories: lists, narrative fragments, narratives and poetry. In the end these
categorisations will prove to be a good means of penetrating the material, but
they will capture only some, not all, of the implications of the analysis.

1 Narrative Memories of Heshbon

The toponym Heshbon (‫ ) ֶח ְשׁבּוֹן‬occurs 38 times in 37 verses of the Tanak.4

An additional 15 hits in 13 verses mention the proverbial first ruler of the city,
Sihon (‫ ) ִסיחֹן‬without giving the toponym. These 38 (or 53) references in a total
of some 22 (or 26) passages yield sufficient material for our purpose.

1) Listing topographic memory: Let us note first that Heshbon occurs in lists
as one of a number of cities east of the Jordan.5 The topography of this
memory is complicated and cannot be considered in detail here. The
salient point is that Heshbon could be remembered simply as a landmark
of some significance, without recourse to its history.
2) Reflecting a memory of a fall: A number of story fragments in narrative lit-
erature preserve a memory of Heshbon as having fallen to the Israelites.6
A corresponding group of fragments point out that it was God who gave

3  For canons and shared memory, see Aleida Assmann and Jan Assmann, “Kanon und Zensur
als kultursoziologische Kategorien,” in Kanon und Zensur: Beiträge zur Archäologie der liter-
arischen Kommunikation II, ed. Aleida Assmann and Jan Assmann (München: Wilhelm Fink,
1987), 7–27; Terje Stordalen, “Canon and Canonical Commentary: Comparative Perspectives
on Canonical Systems,” in The Formative Past and the Formation of the Future, ed. Terje
Stordalen and Saphinaz-Amal Naguib, (Oslo: Novus, 2015), 133–160.
4  H ALOT distinguishes between the toponym and the homonymous noun meaning “calcula-
tion” or “exploration” in Qoh 7:25, 29; 9:10, cf. Sir 9:15; 27:5, 6; 42:3, 4. See further Ernst Axel
Knauf, “Hesbon, Sihons Stadt,” ZDPV 106 (1990): 135–44, 138.
5  Num 32:3; Josh 9:10; 13:8–10, 15–21, 24–28; 21:39; 1 Chr 6:66.
6  Deut 1:4; 3:2, 6; 4:46; Josh 2:10.
248 Stordalen

the Israelites victory.7 The second of the two groups has a didactic pro-
file, teaching a lesson from the fall of the city. One narrative fragment
remembers the Reubenites “(re-)building” Heshbon, without any men-
tion of war.8 Except for this one case, the fall of the city is the mnemonic
point in all these fragments.
3) Narrating the story of King Sihon: Five passages render full stories about
the fall of Heshbon and King Sihon. We start with Num 21:21–26, 30–32.9
While we cannot date this text, it seems fairly clear that this passage
became the source for several other biblical stories of Heshbon.10 The
passage narrates how the Israelites under Moses asked for a peaceful pas-
sage northwards through the land east of the Jordan. They were denied
passage and attacked by the Amorite king, Sihon of Heshbon, at Yahats.11
The Israelites then took his land “from Arnon to the Jabbok,” not enter-
ing the territory of the Ammonites. So the land associated with Heshbon
is that of the Madaba plains (the ‫ ִמישׁוֹר‬or “tableland”) extending to the
Jabbok in the north. Thus it included the hills between the Jordan River
and the Amman plateau, bordering the territory of the Ammonites and
Moabites. While the passage says that Israel settled down (‫ )ישב‬in the
cities of King Sihon, the overall plot of the book depicts them still on
the move towards the north and west (v. 33ff). A note in v. 32 says the
Israelites spied out and overcame the town of Jazer.12

The same story is reflected with varying details in other passages. Deut 2:24–37
negotiates the issue of initiative by having the Lord harden the spirit and heart
of Sihon. Moses follows God’s command to attack, again at Yahats. Sihon’s ter-
ritory extends south to Aroer and north “as far as Gilead,” a fairly imprecise
designation, leaving it uncertain whether or not it included Gilead.13 So Gilead
now may be the neighbour in the north, Ammon in the east, and Moab by
implication south of the Arnon. The Israelites did not settle there and Moses
did not see Heshbon as part of the promised land (2:29), but God, in the view of
the narrator, may have done so (2:31).14 In Deut 29:6f [ET: 29:7f] Sihon initiates

7  Deut 31:4; Josh 9:10; Neh 9:22; Cf. Ps 135:11; 136:19.

8  Num 32:37.
9  The verses left out here, 27–30, are considered along with other non-narrative texts below.
10  Discussion in Walter Gross, Richter (Freiburg: Herder, 2009), 557–63, cf. 550–73.
11  There is no unambiguous historical identification of ‫יַ ַהץ‬, so I render it in transcript.
12  A border city near Ammon according to Num 21:24 LXX.
13  See details in Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 176.
14  Cf. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy, 173–78.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 249

the war. The location of the battle, the extent of the land and the identity of its
neighbours are not mentioned. Heshbon is part of the land given to Israelite
tribes, who apparently settle there following the war.
Joshua 12 repeats the story of Moses and Sihon (Josh 12:2–5). Sihon’s
land now includes the “half of Gilead,” while the land across the Jordan is
remembered as “our land,” not as promised land. The Israelites settle (‫ )ירש‬in
Heshbon. A final repetition occurs in Judg 11:19–28, where the Ammonite king
lays claim to the Israelite land of Sihon. This is striking, partly because in the
other narratives Heshbon is associated with Moab rather than Ammon and
because the Ammonites, whose national deity was Milcom, are here associ-
ated with Chemosh, the national deity of the Moabites. Jephthah replies by
reiterating the story of the battle with and the defeat of Sihon at Yahats, alleg-
edly some three hundred years earlier than the period in which it was nar-
rated. This argument fails to convince the Ammonites, so Jephthah repeats
the success of Moses: he engages in a war over Heshbon in what appears to
be Ammonite territories. Again, all the enemies are killed and the Israelites
settle (‫ )ירש‬in the land, which they had already allegedly been occupying for
three hundred years.

2 Interpretation of the Narratives

1) Observations: Judges 11 makes explicit what is implicit in all these narratives:

the memory of war in Heshbon is to give legitimacy to a political claim for set-
tling the land of Sihon. Given that all the texts in question are, in their current
form, from a period where the state of Israel no longer existed, this must have
been heard as a claim on behalf of Judah or Yehud based on the memory of an
ancient Israelite presence. This is a classical case of collectively remembering
the past so as to make political sense of the present.
As is evident above, these legitimations reflect shifting constellations of
the lands in question. A canonical synthesis of the narratives would portray
Heshbon and the surrounding area as originally Moabite, won by Sihon the
Amorite, taken by Moses and the Israelites, partly inhabited by Gilead, won
by Israelite tribes, claimed by Ammonites and re-conquered by the Israelites.
All this represented a process where erets yisrael was first the Promised Land
and then the homeland, whereas the disputed land must have been settled by
the Israelites in complex patterns. This synthesis is contrary to extra-biblical
historical information. It is also internally inconsistent concerning the extent
of the land and the patterns of Israelite settlement. The story of Jephthah as
Moses in Judges illustrates how one episode could be telescoped onto another.
250 Stordalen

I take this process to be illustrative of all remembering of Heshbon in biblical

narratives.
Despite the shifting affiliations of Heshbon and its vicinity, the one figure
most consistently associated with the place is neither Moses, Jephthah, nor the
Israelites, but Sihon the Amorite. Sihon may originally have been a tribal name
or a toponym,15 but in the biblical narrative Sihon is consistently described as
the proverbial ruler of Heshbon.
As in the case of the narrative fragments above, the memorable point of
these stories of Sihon and his city was not their splendour but their fall. Sihon
becomes a proverbial loser and the story of Heshbon is seen as a ‫משל‬, a narra-
tive lesson (see more below): what happened to Sihon is an exemplary warn-
ing. This profile of the memory is elaborated in Deuteronomic terminology as
God hardens Sihon’s heart (Deut 2:26–37, cf. Pharaoh in Exod 7:3), and it is
re-applied to the Ammonite king who is “not willing to listen” (Judg 11:28).

2) Syntheses: Variations in the political affiliation and surroundings of Heshbon

were probably influenced by the political conditions experienced by the vari-
ous remembering communities, as is clear also in the poetic material below.
So the memory of Heshbon was part of a continuously reconfiguring social
imaginary,16 and these reconfigurations and imaginaries are what exegetes and
historians would like to explore. Attempting to recover this trail of memory, we
need to distinguish between the formation of a memory enshrined in a biblical
text and the formation of the text. We need to be aware that collective memory
is continually overlaid so that in any given form it may reflect several forma-
tive influences. Finally, memories recorded in biblical texts were influenced
also by a stock of proto-canonical habits, notions, and texts. All this makes for
a complex analysis.
For example, the formative “present” reflected in Judges 11 would be later
than the ones reflected in Numbers and Deuteronomy, since Judges 11 repeats
Numbers 21 and obviously relies on Deuteronomy 2.17 When Judges 11 shares
mnemonic elements with earlier texts, it seems likely that this reflects the
influence of those texts and not on-going collective remembering. If so,
Judges 11 offers no independent evidence for actual “Israelite” political influence

15  Knauf, “Hesbon, Sihons Stadt,” 138–41 argues that Sihon is a Hebrew transcription of a
Moabite toponym and tribal name.
16  Charles Taylor, Modern Social Imaginaries (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004), 23,
defines social imaginaries as “the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit
together with others, [. . .]”
17  For literary influences, cf. Gross, Richter.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 251

on Heshbon. It may, however, document later ideological or “theoretical” top-

ographical claims. And its characteristic recall of Ammonite affiliation with
Heshbon may reflect politics at the time of the composition of Judges 11.
Following this line of reasoning it would, however, seem necessary that at
the time of the formation of a memory of Heshbon as Israelite there would in
fact have been some realistic Jewish (Israelite, Judahite, or Yehudite) political
claim to Heshbon. Without such a claim or aspiration, this element of the nar-
rative biblical memory is hard to explain: a memory formulated under such
conditions would look more like the ones found in poetic material (see below).
Now, the archaeological record of Tall Hisban (most likely to be identified
as biblical Heshbon) shows no noticeable occupation before Iron I. The site
was continuously occupied until the early Persian time, and then deserted for
some 300 years.18
It is conspicuous that biblical narratives remember Sihon the Amorite
as Heshbon’s iconic ruler, an element which seems potentially damaging to
“Israelite” territorial claims. Its continued presence in biblical memory indi-
cates some anchorage in historical material, a lieu de mémoire that kept the
link between Heshbon and Sihon alive,19 a material prompt which by virtue
of its materiality and its mnemonic encoding, probably shared across the
various cultures inhabiting the site over time, would not let Sihon slip into
obscurity. The first monumental pool at the site was constructed around the
transition from Iron I to Iron II, and the second and much larger pool a little
later. This phase coincides with other processes of secondary state forma-
tion in the region. It seems reasonable that Sihon’s connection with Heshbon
emerged in this period, similar to the emergence of David with Jerusalem or
Omri with Samaria. A commonly recognised link (historical or legendary)
between Sihon and monumental installations at the site (all demolished dur-
ing the later Roman occupation) could also explain his resilient presence in
Israelite memory. The Mesha stele confirms an Israelite presence in the mishor
in the ninth–eighth centuries. A biblical memory reflecting a common linking
between Sihon and Heshbon would have emerged in this period, but no earlier
than some time after the earliest settlement at Heshbon. It may be that this

18  For Tall Hisban, see Paul Ray, Jr., Tell Hesban and Vicinity in the Iron Age (Berrien Springs,
MI: Andrews University Press, 2001). See also conveniently Lawrence T. Geraty, “Hesban,”
in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, Vol. 2, ed. Eric M. Meyers
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 19–22.
19  Pierre Nora, “General Introduction: Between Memory and History,” in Realms of Memory:
Rethinking the French Past (Vol. I: Conflicts and Divisions), ed. Pierre Nora (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1996), 1–20, see definition xvii.
252 Stordalen

is also the period reflected in biblical list references to Heshbon.20 Evidently,

the memory of Israelite Heshbon could also be more recent. But if indeed its
rationale were to sustain actual political claims, the initiation of this memory
would seem to have to be pre-Persian.
Obviously, the biblical texts bearing witness to that memory are in part
much later. As one example of what textual development may have contrib-
uted, consider the place Yahats. In Num 21:23; Deut 2:32; Josh 21:36 this is given
as the location of the battle of Israel against Sihon. King Mesha records Yahats
as a city (re-)built by the Israelites and as the stronghold of the king of Israel
in his campaign against Moab.21 Isa 15:4 and Jer 48:34 link Yahats to later bat-
tles over Heshbon that did not include Israelite forces. It stands to reason that
when Numbers 21 and other narratives identify Yahats as the site of war, they
are in fact incorporating a memory of this place as a site of battle from the
sixth century or later.
In any event, the implication is that Sihon would have met Moses only dur-
ing Iron II or the early Persian age, and only in literary imagination. Narratives
of this encounter kept developing over the decades, picking up features of later
times. At some point in this process the mnemonic point crystallised that the
fall of the city was proverbial: a model capable of being re-applied to new inci-
dents and situations.

3 Poetic Memories of Heshbon22

1) Heshbon punishing Moab. While biblical narratives focus on the fall of

Heshbon to the Israelites, two completely different tableaux occur in poetic
texts, as in the so-called Song of Heshbon, Num 21:27–30:23

Therefore, the moshelim24 say:

Come to Heshbon;
The city of Sihon shall be built and firmly founded.

20  Hans-Christoph Schmitt, “Das Hesbonlied Num 21:27aβb–30 und die Geschichte der Stadt
Hesbon,” ZDPV 104 (1988): 26–43, 36f.
21  Mesha stele, line 18f.
22  For now I leave out the reference to Heshbon in Song 7:5, hoping to return to that in a
separate publication. This reference has a different orientation.
23  For an overview of scholarly interpretation of this text, see again Schmitt, “Das
Hesbonlied.”
24  Literally: “reciters of proverbs”, see discussion below.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 253

For a fire goes forth from Heshbon; a flame from the city of Sihon.
It devours the Ar25 of Moab; the lords of the shrines of Arnon.
Woe to you, Moab; you will perish, O people of Chemosh.
He has given his sons as fugitives,
his daughters as captivity to Sihon the Amorite king.
“We shot them to death [from] Heshbon until Dibon;
causing desolation until Nofah, which is near Madaba.”

First, let us note that the land of Sihon here is smaller than in the narratives:
it covers the Madaba plains only, from Heshbon in the north to Dibon in
the south, and eastwards to Nofah, presumably a site with a border towards
the desert.
Secondly, the song is spoken in Hebrew, but from the perspective of the
camp of King Sihon celebrating his victory over Moab. In its current narrative
frame, however, the song has been redirected so as to celebrate the defeat of
Sihon by the Israelites. Pierre Bogaert and Bernard Gosse identified precisely
the convention of redirecting oracles in prophetical books.26 An explicit case
is Ezekiel 31, where a poem against the king of Assyria is applied to the king of
Egypt. A similar move occurs in the narrative framing of Num 21:27–30. The
song that once celebrated the victory of Sihon now marks his defeat. This, of
course, implies that the Song of Heshbon existed prior to its focus being redi-
rected in Numbers 21, perhaps in the form of a Hebrew taunting song against
Moab.27 Since we only know the redirected version we cannot say much about
earlier forms of the poem. The redirected song revolves around the iconic sig-
nificance of the events that transpired: the horrible war; the defeat of Moab;
the building of a glorious city. These paradigmatic traits correspond to the
implicit characterisation of the song as a ‫משל‬, spoken by “those dealing in
proverbs” (‫) ַהמּ ְֹשׁ ִלים‬. ‫ שלמ‬means “proverb,” and in cases like Deut 28:37; Ezek
14:8; Ps 69:12; Job 17:6 it denotes a narrative lesson, that is to say, a (historical
or fictive) fate condensed into a didactic story. ‫ משל‬is the closest one gets to a

25  The ‫ ָער‬of L is uncertain, cf. BHS. Those who read with L take this as the proper name for
an otherwise unknown city (cf. HALOT).
26  Cf. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “Montagne sainte, jardin d’Eden et sanctuaire (hierosolymi-
tain) dans un oracle d’Ézéchiel contre le prince de Tyr (Éz 28,11–19),” in Le mythe, son
langage et son message, ed. H. Limet and J. Ries (Louvain-la-Neuve: Centre d′histoire des
religions, 1983), 131–53; B. Gosse, “Le recueil d’oracles contre les nations d’Ézéchiel XXV–
XXXII dans la rédaction du livre d’Ézéchiel,” RevBib 93 (1986): 549–53.
27  Schmitt, “Das Hesbonlied.”
254 Stordalen

biblical Hebrew word for parable.28 The narrative applies this ‫ משל‬concerning
the Moabites (as enemies of Sihon) back to Sihon (as enemy of the Israelites).
The song in itself, however, clearly praises Sihon and his glorious city.
The Song of Heshbon is echoed in two oracles that occur only in the Hebrew
Jeremiah.

They stand in the shadow of Heshbon; those who flee from power.
For a fire went forth from Heshbon; a flame from inside of Sihon.
It devoured the heels29 of Moab; the skulls of the people of noise.
Woe to you, Moab; the nation of Chemosh has perished.
Your sons are taken captives; and your daughters are in captivity.
(MT Jer 48:45f)

The similarities to the Song of Heshbon, and the shorter form, led scholars
to suggest literary dependence.30 Since those portions in Jeremiah that occur
only in the Hebrew are probably very late (see below), these texts would
have been the ones in this set that were influenced. It seems clear, however,
that the content of this text is not all due to literary influence; some new ele-
ments also occur. The symbolism in 45a may need a comment. Shadow could
symbolise rest (as in Job 7:2) or protection (as in Isa 49:2). The sense here
seems to be that those who used to be protected by Moab now seek refuge with
Sihon instead.31 The “nation of Chemosh has perished” because the deity no
longer offers protection.32 The passage redirects the lesson of Heshbon once
again, now applying the memory of Iron Age Moabite defeated by Sihon to
denounce an enemy of early Hellenistic Yehud (see below). A similar use of
this memory occurs in the introduction to the collection of oracles on Moab
in MT Jeremiah:

28  Terje Stordalen, Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical
Hebrew Literature (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 378f, cf. 378–408.
29  The versions take “corner” in MT to mean “rulers.” I see “corner” as a reference to “heel”;
then the phrase “from corner (heel) to crown (skull)” echoes “from heel to skull,” as in
Job 2:7.
30  Schmitt, “Das Hesbonlied,” 29–32.
31  Similarly Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 524f.
32  One characteristic of Chemosh appears to have been the giving of land to his protégés; see
conveniently Gerald. L. Mattingly, “Chemosh,” in ABD, Vol. 1 (New York: Doubleday, 1992),
895–97.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 255

The praise of Moab is no more; in Heshbon they planned evil against her:
“Come, let us cut her off from being a nation”; even Madmen shall keep silent as
the sword marches [against you]. (MT Jer 48:2)

It is possible that ‫( ַמ ְד ֵמן‬madmen) is not a toponym but a derogatory label

meaning “dung” or similar.33 In any event, the memory of Heshbon as the per-
secutor of Moab is repeated, and re-applied to an Israelite Hellenistic enemy.

2) Heshbon falling along with Moab or Ammon: The larger group of poetic texts
focuses on the fall rather than the victory of Heshbon, but those texts see this
fall differently from the narratives discussed earlier:

Heshbon shall cry out, and also Elealeh; their voice is heard unto Yahats.
Yes the warriors of Moab shout out; their soul is trembling inside. (Isa 15:4)

Elealeh, probably identifiable with present-day El’Al, a few kilometres to the

north of Tall Hisban, is mentioned as one of the cities associated with Heshbon
in Num. 32:3, but it is not encountered in any story of Heshbon warfare. The
critical issue in interpreting this passage is the real meaning of the two verbs
for shouting. Both may denote general cries as well as belligerent shouting
(cf. HALOT). Since Yahats was seen as the location for battle (see above), the
warriors are likely to have been shouting war cries. After the second verb they
are further construed as being filled with fear and despair. In order to decode
this, however, the audience would seem to have to be aware of some story nar-
rating the fall of Heshbon at Yahats. Assuming that this is the required com-
municative competence, this passage telescopes the earlier defeat of Heshbon
onto a contemporary fall of Moab. Heshbon now literally gives voice not to the
victorious party (as in Numbers 21), but to the defeated Moab. A similar con-
figuration of Heshbon and Moab occurs in the next chapter:

The terraces34 of Heshbon languish.

The vine of Sibmah, her sorrels used to smite the rulers of nations,
they reached unto Jazer, were roaming even in the desert,
her shoots were rampant, (even) passing to the sea.
So, I weep the lament of Jazer, O vine of Sibmah.
I drench you with my tears, Heshbon and Elealeh.

33  Fischer, Jeremia 26–52, 507, cf. HALOT sub voce.

34  ‫ ַשׁ ְדמוֹת‬here is best translated as “agricultural terraces” according to HALOT sub voce.
256 Stordalen

For your summer and autumn harvesting songs have died.

Joy and rejoicing of harvest have gone from the orchard; no exulting in the
vineyards.
No treading of vine in the wine vat; I brought shouting to cease.
(Isa 16:8–10)35

Elealeh would be the same as in 15:4. Jazer again seems to be an eastern border
town in the land of Sihon. Most interpreters take ‫( שבמה‬Sibmah) as a toponym
with a semantic sense something like “elevated.”36 This lexeme occurs five
times only in biblical literature, twice in this pericope and once in the parallel
MT Jer 48:32 (see below). Num 32:38 has ‫ שבמה‬as a name, but remarks that the
place was also known by another name. Josh 13:19 lists Sibmah as a daughter
city of Heshbon. The higher number of daughter cities here as compared to
Num 32:37 and Josh 21:39 could again indicate that Sibmah was a twin name. In
Isaiah 16 the “vine of Sibmah” is as an emblem for Heshbon, and the feminine
suffixes in verse 9 construe the vine symbolically as a city. So I take ‫ שבמה‬as an
epithet for Heshbon, i.e. “Heshbon, the Elevated”—which corresponds to the
topography of the place.37
There is an obvious level of realistic reference in the oracle, for instance in
languishing terraces or in wine from Heshbon formerly having been exported
to neighbouring nations (v. 8). On the whole, however, the passage cannot
be understood without reference to conventional horticultural symbolism.38
Rejoicing in orchards and vineyards during harvest was habitual. It echoed the
ideal of happiness for “every man under his vine and his fig tree.”39 The absence
of harvest practices signals the loss not just of the gardens but also of the hap-
piness they were expected to support. The image of the vine of Heshbon is
similar to that of Jerusalem in Ps 80:9–16. Corresponding imagery is elsewhere
applied to Jerusalem (Ezek 17:5–6), to Samaria (Hos 14:8), and to Egypt and
Assyria (Ezek 31).40 In this symbolism shoots and branches stretching out illus-

35  A very similar passage occurs in Jer 48:31–33, but without mention of Heshbon until the
apparent redactional addition in 48:34, cf. below.
36  Cf. HALOT sub voce.
37  Tall Hisban is the single point with the broadest view of the plains. On a bright day one
can see Jerusalem in the west and Jalul and the desert in the east, and sometimes even
Mt. Nebo in the south.
38  I have charted this metaphorical language and literature at length in Stordalen, Echoes of
Eden, see 81–104 (esp. 89–92); 171–80; 430–36.
39  1 Kgs 5:5 (ET 4:25); 2 Kgs 18:31; Isa 36:16; Mic 4:4; Zech 3:10.
40  Stordalen, Echoes of Eden, 177f, cf. 36–47.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 257

trate the sphere of influence of the “tree” in question. So, grapes and shoots in
Isa 16:8 represent the economic and military influence of “the vine of Sibmah.”
The passage performs a taunting lament over the loss of influence due to the
military defeat and horticultural breakdown of “Heshbon, the Elevated.” The
city no longer controls the mishor between the desert and “the sea” (presum-
ably the Dead Sea). As in Isa 15:4, Heshbon is seen as a Moabite city and its
defeat circumscribes the fall of the Moabite nation.
This view of a suffering Heshbon dominates the version of the Book of
Jeremiah as documented in the Greek text. This Greek version of Jeremiah
would seem to be paralleled in Hebrew biblical manuscripts from Qumran.
Many scholars therefore take the present MT to be a later development of
the version documented in the Greek. It is also possible that the book existed
in two or more (Hebrew) versions for a while.41 In any event, material and
sequential patterns now found only in the Hebrew belong to later phases of
the production of the book, whereas material common to the Hebrew and the
Greek would be earlier. Like the Book of Isaiah, this earlier Book of Jeremiah
seems to have no image of a triumphant Heshbon dominating Moab. In the
Greek Jeremiah the first reference to Heshbon is 30:19:

Wail, Heshbon, for Ai is desolate!

Cry, daughters of Rabbah!
Gird yourselves in sackcloth! Lament!42
For Milcom43 goes to captivity,
and his priest and princes the same. (LXX Jer 30:19 = MT Jer 49:3)

The name Rabbah in the context of Heshbon points to the capital Rabbat-
Ammon, an interpretation which is strengthened by the reference to the
Ammonite national deity, Milcom. One city called Ai lies in the highlands of
Judah and another near Gezer in Judah.44 None of these make sense here. The
word ‫ ַעי‬means “heap of ruins” or similar (HALOT), so this may be a derogatory
reference either to Rabbah or to Heshbon itself. Associating Heshbon with the

41  See Emanuel Tov, “The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of its Textual
History,” in Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism, ed. J.H. Tigay (Philadelphia: University
of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 211–37.
42  Assuming LXX reflects an older text, I omit ‫שׁוֹט ְטנָ ה‬
ַ ‫ ַבּגְּ ֵדרוֹת וְ ִה ְת‬in MT Jer 49:3.
43  This is the older reading, cf. LXX, Vulg., and see 49:1.
44  Yohanan Aharoni, The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography (London: Burns & Oates,
1967), 286f.
258 Stordalen

daughters of Rabbah confirms Heshbon as Ammonite, a view also confirmed

by the editors of the Book of Jeremiah (Greek and Hebrew versions).
The next reference is LXX Jer 31:2. Georg Fisher recently charted the influ-
ence from Isaiah 16 in this chapter of Jeremiah,45 and similarities to passages
discussed above are clear. There is a noticeable difference between LXX Jer 31:2
and MT Jer 48:2. Where the Hebrew describes the triumph of Heshbon over
Moab (see above), the Greek follows Isaiah 16 and has Heshbon taking part
in the suffering of Moab. Since the view of a triumphant Heshbon occurs in
the later developments in Jeremiah MT, at this point the Greek would be older
than the MT:

There is no more healing for Moab, no glory in Heshbon.

They planned evil against her: “Let us cut her away [from being] a nation”.
She shall hold still: behind you the dagger shall walk.
(LXX Jer 31:2, cf. MT Jer 48:2)

The last reference to Heshbon in the Greek sequence, is LXX Jer 31:34 = MT
Jer 48:34.

The cry of Heshbon goes to Elealeh; their sound even unto Yahats,
from Zoar unto Horonaim Eglath Shelishiah.46
Even the waters of Nimrin shall be desolate.

The names Heshbon, Elealeh, and Yahats may all be compared to Isa 15:4. A
place called Oronaim was known south-east of the Dead Sea in Roman times,
and this may be Horonaim. Zoar lies at the southern end of the Dead Sea, and
possibly Nimrin also.47 So, this passage again takes Heshbon to be Moabite
and regards the fall of Heshbon as an icon for the fall of Moab. So the earlier
version of the Book of Jeremiah—now witnessed in the material common to
the Hebrew and the Greek, and in one case by a passage in the Greek appar-
ently older than the Hebrew, had no allusion to Numbers 21 and no memory of
Heshbon fighting Moab.

45  Fischer, Jeremia 26–52, 520 for our verse.

46  Words translated as proper names (following HALOT) may rather be symbolic.
47  Cf. Fischer, Jeremia 26–52, 521.
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 259

4 Interpretation of the Poetry

1) Observations: Not one of the poems makes the claim, or even implies, that
Heshbon is Israelite or Jewish. Such a claim occurs only in the narrative
framework of Numbers 21, while the prophetic material explicitly sees Heshbon
as either Moabite or Ammonite.
Only what is presumably the first poem (Num 21:27–30) and what is
demonstrably the latest poetic material (MT Jer 48:2.45f) retain a reference to
Heshbon’s victory over Moab. All other poetic passages see the fall of Heshbon
as an icon for the fall of its nation. Indeed, the fall of Heshbon is still in focus,
but while the narratives see this fall as a parable from which to obtain religious
Jewish learning, the earlier poetical texts take it to be a bad political omen for
nations hostile to the Jewish voices heard in the texts. Except for Numbers 21
and the late Jeremiah passages, Sihon is not important in this memory.

2) Syntheses: The perception in Isaiah and parts of Jeremiah of Heshbon as

Moabite, destroyed with Moab, may reflect the political realities of the Neo-
Assyrian or early Late Babylonian periods.48 The view of Heshbon as Ammonite
in LXX Jer 30:19 (and in Judges 11) may reflect a later Late Babylonian or Persian
administrative order, with Rabbat-Ammon as the head of a local Ammonite
province.49 Excavations at the nearby sites of Jalul and ’Umayri recovered jar
handles stamped with Ammonite official seals, and the 2013 season at Tall
Hisban also seems to have produced one such seal.50 The notion of a destruc-
tion of Heshbon in this period has support in the archaeological record of Tall
Hisban, where occupation ends some time in the Early Persian period. After
this, Heshbon remained effectively a “heap of ruins” from the sixth or mid-
fifth century and for a period of some 300 years.51 The view, in the latest lay-
ers of Jeremiah, of military forces coming from Heshbon could theoretically
reflect the presence of occupational forces in the Hellenistic time beginning to
rebuild Heshbon for military purposes.52 I return to this issue below.

48  The area would have been Moabite under the Assyrians, see Wayne Horowitz, “Moab and
Edom in the Sargon Geography,” IEJ 43 (1993), 151–56. Moab, however, disappears as a state
under the Neo-Babylonians, see Bruce Routledge, Moab in the Iron Age: Hegemony, Polity,
Archaeology (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 210–12.
49  Cf. Oded Lipshits, “Ammon in Transition From Vassal Kingdom to Babylonian Province,”
BASOR 335 (2004): 35–50, 39–41, etc.
50  See Jeffrey P. Hudon, “An Ibex Seal and Seal Impression from Tall Hisban,” Near East
Archaeological Society Bulletin 58 (2014), 13–24.
51  Cf. Ray, Tell Hesban and Vicinity in the Iron Age, 155, 159.
52  Ray, Tell Hesban and Vicinity in the Iron Age, 159–62.
260 Stordalen

That period of some 300 years, with Heshbon uninhabited, was also the
period in which biblical literature for the most part found its overall shape, if
not its final form. Perhaps its state of ruin in this period contributed to making
the fall of the city the most productive impulse of its memory. That, of course,
is a testimony to the history of remembering rather than to the historicity of
what is remembered, a historical witness to how people perceived the past of
their world. Nevertheless, when considering the combined historical record
it seems probable that this mnemonic element may have been strengthened
through actual sacking(s) of the city. Another recurring element is the notion
of a splendid past for the site. This element is not as explicit as that of the
fall, but it is implicit or logically presumed in several portrayals of Heshbon.
Judging from biblical narratives, I argue that this memory first emerged around
the middle or the end of the Iron Age, that it was connected to historical mate-
rial, lieux de mémoire, at the site commonly associated with the name Sihon.
This memory too may have received additional twists and momentum through
actual developments at the site (cf. Isaiah 16).
During the course of biblical literature the mnemonic skeleton made up of
these two poles, the splendid past and the iconic fall of Heshbon, seems to
have been freely overlaid and embroidered. Moses, Joshua, and Jephthah were
all written into the mnemonic universe, as were apparently Neo-Babylonian
and perhaps Neo-Assyrian campaigns. Such flexibility notwithstanding, a dif-
ference developed between memories of Heshbon retained in narratives in
the Pentateuch and the Deuteronomic History on the one hand and poems in
Numbers 21 and in prophetical texts on the other. The first narratives record the
proverbial fall of the city as a religious lesson and a warrant for Jewish political
influence at the site. The second (including the previously redirected poem in
Numbers 21) remember the fall as a warning or a taunt to the enemies of the
Jews. This profiling is all the more striking since a passage like Numbers 21—
apparently central to the Fortschreibung of the memory of Heshbon—is a nar-
rative around a poem. What, then, generated these respective profiles?
The key seems to lie in the habits of how already written memory was
allowed to influence specific later instances of remembering Heshbon. We
have seen signs of exchange internally between the longer Heshbon stories,
likely with Numbers 21 (and perhaps also with some passages in Deuteronomy)
exerting the influence. Many references to Heshbon in narrative fragments
must have been generated in the same way. Later narratives repeated earlier
formulations, sometimes merged them with later remembering, but retained
a basic mnemonic interest and profile. Traces of similar literary influence are
found internally in the prophetic corpus, as for instance in exchange between
the portrayal of Heshbon in Isa 15:4; see also Isa 16:8–10 and LXX Jer 31:2, 34. It is
Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 261

not until very late in the process, however, that we can see exchange between
passages in the Pentateuch and those in prophetic books (see below). The indi-
cation is that for some period during the Fortschreibung of biblical literature,
the literary exchange internally in the corpus of prophetic texts was stronger
than the influence from the Pentateuch and the Deuteronomic History. This
created a space for literary transaction where the prophetic literature (which
happened to be mainly poetic) and the epic literature (which was of course
predominantly narrative) developed characteristic didactic and pragmatic
profiles in their memory of Heshbon. Due to this reconstruction of the path
of memory, we are now able to see very clearly that the claim for Heshbon as
“Israelite” in the sixth or later centuries, which is promoted in the text prag-
matics of the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets, was not universally held
at the time. Indeed, seen from the perspective of prophetic texts on Heshbon,
this rather appears as a partisan memory.
At a later time, when scribes of the prophetic book did in fact solicit influ-
ence from the Pentateuch, in the case of Heshbon it was for some reason still
from the poetry of Numbers. The memory of Heshbon as the destroyer of Moab
enshrined in Num 21:27–30 (but over-ridden in the surrounding narrative) was
taken up in those parts of Jeremiah that occur only in the Hebrew version:
MT Jer 48:2; 48:45f. This layer of the book can hardly be earlier than the third
century BCE, and possibly later.53 Why the scribe should have reverted to this
earlier, poetic, memory we cannot know. But the effect, paradoxically, was
that the latest additions in the Book of Jeremiah came to be influenced by the
mnemonic profile of the previously redirected poem in Numbers 21. This trans-
pired in a period when Heshbon either was still desolate or early in its phase
of rebuilding for military purposes. It seems possible, therefore, that the view
of a military force from Heshbon in these texts did in fact reflect contemporary
developments. Nevertheless, the portrayal of this force is devoid of any con-
temporary reference. Instead the passages in Jeremiah seem to be dominated
by the wording in Numbers 21.54
Interestingly, the two poetic references to Heshbon in the Psalms, clearly
influenced by what I call narrative fragments in the Pentateuch, are also from
a period late in the literary process of that book.55 It seems probable that this

53  Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “Heshbon entre Moab et Ammon: la finale ajoutée à l’oracle sur
Moab en Jérémie 48,45–47TM,” in Interpreting Translation: Studies of the LXX and Ezekiel in
Honour of Johan Lust, ed. by Florentino García Martínez, Marc Vervenne, and Brian Doyle
(Leuven: Peeters, 2005), 42–54.
54  With Bogaert, “Heshbon entre Moab et Ammon,” 47–49.
55  Ps 135:11; 136:19.
262 Stordalen

change in scribal habits by the late editors of Jeremiah and Psalms illustrates
an increasing importance within this group of the concept known in slightly
later sources as “the Law and the Prophets.” But no resolution has been prof-
fered as to why references to Heshbon in late Psalms would be influenced by
Pentateuchal narrative, while late prophetic texts on Heshbon seem to have
been influenced only by a single poetic text.

5 Outlook

Biblical remembering of Heshbon was always influenced by notions, habits,

poems, or stories considered to be religiously significant at the time. In an ear-
lier period this influence may have been mediated through material memory
anchorage points and social memory patterns. Later on this influence was
mediated more through codified texts. First, apparently, this happened inter-
nally between narratives in what later became the primary canonical story,
and later it happened across a larger corpus of scriptures. Towards the end
of the process of composing biblical literature, collective remembering, tex-
tual editing, and early canonization seem to have practically combined into
one process. A textual corpus (available at that time to only a tiny minority)
now became the means for making sense of biblical literature. Even texts that
originally reflected more commonly accessible communicative competences
became part of a network of proto-canonical referentiality that increasingly
developed throughout Hellenistic times.
One implication of this is a warning against accumulating collective mem-
ory in biblical texts as a basis for writing history. Rather, what is needed is
better understanding of the complicated political dynamics of memory for-
mation, some of which are sketched above. Another point is more subtle,
relating to the still on-going impact of textual canonisation and canonicity on
attempts at remembering Heshbon (or anything else in biblical literature). In
its later history the Bible emerged as a single book through the use of codices
(Greek, and eventually Hebrew). The text became standardised in the Vulgate
(as in the MT), and its significance became stabilised through networks of
standard interpretations such as the Glossa ordinaria. The collection (in vari-
ous editions) was widely disseminated after Gutenberg, and commonly read
and perceived during Pietist educational programmes. These and other salient
transformations of the Bible as a cultural product contributed to rendering the
internal dynamic of biblical, canonical remembering completely dominant.56

56  Stordalen, “Canon and Canonical Commentary.”

Heshbon—The History of a Biblical Memory 263

Clearly, canonical remembering has been significant also in modern scholarly

attempts at writing the history of Heshbon.
My contribution in this article was to map the early history of this canoni-
cal remembering, hoping to gain a better basis for evaluating biblical texts on
Heshbon historically. At its best, this would be a contribution to what Hans
Barstad once outlined as a paradigm for historical research: “a healthy relativ-
ism with a multi-methodological approach.”57

57  Barstad, “Chapter 1: History and the Hebrew Bible,” 7.

  I would like to thank Diana V. Edelman for urging me to clarify my argument in this
essay and to spell out its implications.
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History?
Kåre Berge*

A current tendency in modern exegesis is to read biblical texts as construc-

tions of identities. From this perspective, the Deuteronomistic (Dtr) History
presents itself as a construction of post-collapse identity. In a 2010 article, Jon
L. Berquist remarks that the dominant scholarly construction of the scope and
theology of the Dtr History is too future-oriented, being overly invested in the
longing for a new temple and a new monarchy.1 As an alternative, Berquist pro-
poses a different interpretation, which intends to reduce or at least modify this
view of longing for the future as the dominant scope of the History. However,
his focus on post-colonial reading, counter-factualism, and fantasy, brings him
back to a kind of future-orientation after all.
Now, Berquist’s description of the dominant scholarly construction is pre-
cisely what begs the question: First, I doubt that this is a fair description of
research on the Dtr History. I find few “representative” studies concluding that
the scope of the History is a longing for a new temple and a new monarchy. This
is the case even with Martin Noth whose “DtrG” did not express any hope for
the future.2 As I intend to show, “representative” studies of the History do find
longing for a new future in it, but this longing is not connected with the king-
dom. Scholars who find hope for the future in the promises to the king usually
“democratize” these promises by detaching them from the Kingdom. Second,
and more far-reaching: Is future-orientation a prerequisite for identity forma-
tion, and is longing for an alternative world the way that post-collapse and
post-colonial thinking operates? Is longing for an alternative or better world
the only possible interpretation of the Dtr History? This article presents an
alternative view, which better explains, according to my mind, the relevant
features of the History. My approach takes as its point of departure a model of

*  It is a pleasure to contribute to the Festschrift for Hans Barstad. When he was still a university
librarian, he was the first person to introduce me to the intricacies of library and research
work, when I had just started on my doctoral project.
1  Jon L. Berquist, “Identities and Empire: Historiographic Questions for the Deuteronomistic
History in the Persian Period,” in Historiography and Identity (Re)Formulation in Second
Temple Historiographical Literature, ed. Louis C. Jonker (New York: T & T Clark International,
2010), 5.
2  For literary references and different positions, see the presentations by Jochen Nentel,
Trägerschaft und Intentionen des deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerks (BZAW 297; Berlin:
W. de Gruyter, 2000), esp.7–9.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_021

Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 265

interpretation that reads the History as a representation of the communal cri-

sis of exile and collapse as “trauma.” As such, the History is to be read as a part
of a post-collapse collective identity-formation especially related to how exiled
or “diaspora” people create identity, worked out slowly and in some distance
to the events themselves, probably in post-exilic period. First, however, I will
review some scholarly descriptions of the theology or ideology of the History,
so as to clarify the idea of the concept of “future.”
This application of a post-traumatic model of identity formation will allow
for a better understanding of the scope of the History, one that accounts for the
lack of explicit references to future hope.
Berquist admits that longing for the future is essential in the scholarly
understanding of the text, but adds that this is in the scholarly theory or idea
of a “Dtr History;” it is not in the text itself; this longing exists in the minds
of the modern interpreters. If the work was created in the exilic period, this
longing would have been in the author’s mind too, but read from a post-exilic
point of view, the focus is more on construction of identity for the postexilic
community, not asking “how can we restore the prior glories?” but “who are
the Yehudites?” Berquist goes on to point out three literary themes in the Dtr
History: 1) It explains why the Yehudites do not have self-governance: Their
state lost in military conflict against Babylonia is (also) the fault of Judah’s own
political leaders. 2) It shows why Jerusalem is the appropriate center for self-
identity. 3) The governments of Israel and Judah were, for the most part, unsa-
vory and unhelpful.
From this, Berquist draws the conclusion that the exilic version of the Dtr
History simply constructed the identity of the Yehudites as a part of the empire,
as subjects who owed a debt to their rightful rulers and who were “beginning
to see themselves as parts of the empire rather than as members of a separate
people.”3 In a new context however—and here Berquist is not quite clear: is
this new context at the outer edge of the Persian Empire?—the Dtr scribes,
now with a hybrid identity as both bureaucrats of the empire and living in a
local Yehudite community, change the function of the Dtr History. They started
to read it as post-colonial peoples: They discover their own past, before the
empire; they imagine a world without the empire, as a fantasy. They celebrate
the heroes of the past, “for whom the reader can yearn.” That is, this is not
historiography read to understand what happened. Rather, it is a reading “for
the power of the text to create an alternative world.”4 At this stage (and as the
one of its two different “messages”) of reading the Dtr History, it is fantasy, a

3  Ibid., 8.
4  Ibid., 10.
266 Berge

myth of origins, counterfactual; it distracts the Persian-period reader from the

realities of the empire.
Hence, we are back to a kind of future-orientation after all, although in a dif-
ferent way, which corresponds more to “post-modern” view of utopia than to
the “linear” view of historicism and the “large narratives.” Counter-factualism
and fantasy imply, at least in this kind of identity-formation, a longing for an
alternative world, although it is very different from the longing for a restitution
of the kingdom. And even when this “world without empire” is presented as
nasty and brutish and ultimately ineffectual in building lasting identity or soci-
ety, there still is a longing for this kind of life and society, obviously to Berquist
the way colonial peoples create their counter-factual worlds as fantasy and
inspiration for subversive action.
It is clear that there are elements of utopia in the Deuteronomist. In another
article, I have argued that the late redaction of Deuteronomy presents a uto-
pian vision of the whole of Israel as a collective of scribes, studying and prac-
ticing the statutes of the written Torah.5 The Dtr History appears to be on the
same track. But the utopian vision is something other than specific hopes for
a better future.
To be sure, discourses of identity are invested with positive sentiment, but
this does not necessarily include hope of (substantial) change. Colonial and
post-colonial studies show that minorities and ethnic groups that are sup-
pressed by the majority or by the ruling elite may adopt this majority’s view
of the minority group. So, even when they are struggling to make their living
conditions better, they will not necessarily long for radical change in terms of
liberation or political independence. The Dtr History is simply—if not a his-
tory of the Yehudites from the empire’s point of view—at least the Yehudite
elite’s view of themselves as a people now under the rule of an empire, a peo-
ple with no king and no independent state apparatus, but still a people with
a history. We know from anthropological and historical studies that the ruling
elite will try to keep suppressed peoples, like slaves, “invisible” by not letting
them write their own history.6 So, in order to maintain or create an ethnic or
group identity, it is important for a minority to create a history of its own. This
is what the History does, even when it does not intend to mobilize any political
upheaval, as far as we can see from the text itself. By presenting the glorious
story of David and Solomon, the people (that is, the reading elite) takes pride

5  Kåre Berge, “Literacy, Utopia and Memory: Is There a Public Teaching in Deuteronomy?” JHS
12/3 (2012): n.p.
6  Liisa H. Malkki, Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology among Hutu
Refugees in Tanzania (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995).
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 267

in their past (even when much of their history ends in fatal events); it gives
them a vision of a people with a glorious past, which again encourages them to
identify themselves as a separate group even when existing as a minority group
in a province under the ruling empire. The question is, however: How do they
create identity and what kind of identity is created?
A preliminary look shows that the Dtr History is altogether occupied with
the past. What beg special investigation are the few indications of a positive
future. Although the glorious past, linked mainly to David and Solomon, con-
tains some expressions of the everlasting kingdom of David (e.g. 2 Sam 7:16),
it seems to be limited to the special occasion with David (and Solomon); the
miserable story of the succeeding kings is just the story about how the promise
fails. There is next to nothing in the story which indicates that the promise is
still intact and valid so as to give the nation a hope of radical political change
after the exile.
It is clear that Deuteronomy (chap. 30) speaks of a new beginning and a
future return of the people to Yahweh, promising divine compassion and
return to the land. The question is however, if—or how—this is reflected in
the Dtr History and especially—in the case of this study—in the late (to my
mind post-exilic) redaction layer. The concluding notice about Jehoiachin
(2 Kgs 25:27–30) is inconclusive in this regard, and we need to look for other
indications. One point of departure, which indicates that “it is over,” may be
the “reversal” of the name theology, which also includes Judah, in 2 Kgs 21:7–
9; 23:27; not even the righteous king Josiah can remove God’s great, burning
anger. 2 Kgs 17:13, 19–20 and 24:20a proclaim God’s rejection of both Judah and
Israel. The question is: Is there—in spite of this rejection of Israel and Judah—
any promise of a new beginning for the people of Israel?
The standard answer to this is that there is such a promise, but it is con-
nected to the people and its obedience to the Torah, not to the kingdom and
the dynasty. Following Erik Aurelius, these are the textual arguments:7

1. The later redactions emphasize Gesetzesgehorsam and the obligation of

the whole people (not specifically the king) as responsible for their des-
tiny, 2 Kgs 17:7a, 8–11, 18, 21–23, 24; 25:21.
2. The DtrN-redaction in 2 Kgs 18:5–12; 21:7–9; 23:25–27, which presents a
picture of Israel’s history like Jer 7:22–28, proceeds along the same track:

7  Erik Aurelius, Zukunft jenseits des Gerichts: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie zum
Enneateuch (BZAW 319; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2003).
268 Berge

“Die Tendenz zur Verallgemeinerung der Königsideologie,” and the blame

of the divine wrath on Manasseh (the king).8
3. The Gehorsamsideal (expressed through the formula ‫הו֣ה‬ ָ ְ‫ָשׁ ְמ ֗עוּ ְבֹּקול֙ י‬
‫יהם‬ ֵ ‫ ) ֱא‬as the prerequisite for this blessed future, following a trajectory
ֶ֔ ‫ֹלה‬
from Exod 19:3b–8, via Deut 30:2 to 2 Kgs 18:12. According to Aurelius, this
line is created by the late DtrN edition (this edition did not create the
Exod and the Deut texts, which are older).9
4. The prayer of Solomon in 2 Kgs 8:46–51. In Aurelius’ view, this notice,
which admittedly does not belong to the latest redactions, should be
understood as a commentary on the Jehoiachin notice, proclaiming hope
not for the dynasty but for the people.

Hence, acccording to Aurelius, the texts do present indications of a positive

future, which he calls “die Möglichkeit einer Zukuknft ohne einen eigenen
irdischen König, aber mit Gott wird aktualisiert, anders gesagt: die Möglichkeit
einer Zukunft nicht als Staat, aber als Kirche, als religionsgemeinschaft:”10

Durch den Anschluss an diese Texte und an das Liebesgebot Dt 6:5 wird Josia in
2 R 23:25 nicht nur gelobt, sondern als Ideal des künftigen gottesvolkes nach dem
Gericht dargestellt. Und durch das in 2 R 23:25 vorausgesetzte Gebet des Salomo
um eine Zukunft des gerichteten, aber bekehrten Volkes (1 R 8:46–51) werden
die Mitglieder dieses Volkes, also die Leser des Geschichtswerkes angeleitet, die
Schlussnotiz über Jojachin als Angeld der neuen Zuwendung Gottes zu seinem
Volk zu verstehen.

Accordingly, Aurelius states that in the late DtrN-redaction, the notice about
Jehoiachin becomes a sign of divine mercy on the whole people. As an addi-
tional argument, he refers once more to 2 Kgs 23:25, which not only praises
Josiah but even draws an ideal picture of the people of Yahweh and every
member of the people after the judgment: the picture of a people who turns to
God with all their heart, soul, and might.
A number of scholars have come to the same conclusion. Thus, for instance
Walter Dietrich writes:11

8  This nomenclature refers to the so-called Göttingen school’s differentiation between dif-
ferent redactions of the Dtr History (DtrN referring to a nomistic redactor).
9  Aurelius, Zukunft jenseits des Gerichts, 141.
10  Ibid., 138.
11  Walter Dietrich, “Niedergang und Neuanfang: Die Haltung der Schlussredaktion des deu-
teronomistischen Geschichtswerkes zu den wichtigsten Fragen ihrer Zeit,” in The Crisis of
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 269

An der Haltung zur Tora und insbesondere zum Ersten Gebot hat sich das Wohl
und Wehe Israels schon immer entschieden—und wird es sich auch künftig
entscheiden.

In the DtrN edition, there is no hope for the kingdom or for the state.
“Stattdessen liegt alles daran, dass Israel in konzentrierter Ausrichtung auf
die Tora seine Identität als Gottes Volk neu findet. Darin liegt seine Zukunft.”12
According to DtrN, it is even possible that Yahweh’s kingship in Israel has been
reinstated after the collapse of the kingdom, a position he lost when the king
was first instituted in Israel (Judg 8:33; 1 Sam 8:7; 10:19). Even the temple and
its cult is, in DtrN’s view, not intrinsic or necessary to the Yahweh religion. This
is supported by 2 Sam 7:5b–11: All time from the exodus until David, Yahweh
ֹ ֖ ‫ ְבּ‬. God is not dependent on the temple so
went about in a tent, ‫א ֶהל ְוּב ִמ ְשׁ ָ ֽכּן‬
as to be with Israel.13 As to the promise of the Land, the material is not so
clear.14 A possible restitution of the land is linked to the collective Torah-piety
of the people. The DtrN presents Israel’s history as a “Beispielsammelung für
Bewährung oder Versagen,” Dietrich says, referring to the same comprehensive
understanding of Torah-obedience as Aurelius. However, the DtrN hope for the
future is very tempered. Dietrich writes:15

Natürlich hofft und glaubt DtrN, das Volk, dem JHWH seinen ‘Bund zugeschworen
hat’, werde nicht ‘zugrundegehen’. Doch kann es sich für die Zukunft nicht mehr
auf die drei grossen Heilsgaben stützen, die ihm bisher Halt verliehen hatten:
den Besitz des Landes, den Tempel in Jerusalem und das davidische Königtum.

The differences between Aurelius and Deitrich in their theological picture

result from different textual definitions of DtrN, but that does not affect my
presentation.
Thomas Römer’s 2005 book on the Dtr History is certainly representative
of the state of the art. In his comprehensive presentation of the History and
its research, he states that 2 Kgs 25:27–30 shares literary conventions with

Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times, ed.
Bob Becking and Marjo C.A. Korpel (OTS 42; Leiden: Brill., 1999), 59.
12  Walter Dietrich, Von David zu den Deuteronomisten: Studien zu den Geschichtsüberliefe-
rungen des Alten Testaments (BWANT 156; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2002), 271.
13  See ibid., 268.
14  Ibid., 265.
15  Ibid., 59.
270 Berge

the “Diaspora novels.”16 The point is: Exile is here transformed into Diaspora.
Römer’s list of arguments includes the replacement of the temple by the door-
posts of every house (Deut 6:6–9), the replacement of the sacrificial cult by the
reading of the Torah (2 Kings 22–23), and the notice in 2 Kgs 2, which together
with Joseph (Gen 37–50), Esther, and Daniel, shows that the land of deporta-
tion is a land where Jews can live. Römer’s study contributes to showing that
Berquist overstates his case when claiming that recent research on the History
is overly invested in the longing for a new temple and a new monarchy. In
fact, the opposite is the case. As for the redactional interest in segregation and
monotheism in the History, we can hardly say that this points to any hope of
monarchical restoration. These are separate themes not inherently connected
to monarchy.
To be sure, the discussion above relates to the Persian (final) redaction. As to
the preceding, exilic redaction, Römer’s material is not quite clear. On the one
hand, he claims that “[f]or the exilic Deuteronomists, the Davidic monarchy
remains the only legitimate dynasty.”17 On the other hand, he maintains that
in this edition there is “understandably not much concern about the future.”18
We see even in this redaction the tendency to move a possible picture of the
future away from the kings to the law (Deut 17:18–20),19 and even the fact that
“the Deuteronomists locate all important institutions in the period of ‘origin’ ”
points in the same direction: A possible future of the monarch is at least open-
ended.20 The issue of the Land is another problem. Römer counts 1 Kgs 8:46–51
to the exilic redaction level. Together with the expression that Yahweh dwells
in heaven, not really in the temple, these verses move the interest somehow
outside the Land into the land of exile. So, even when the theme of the land is
at the very center of the History, and even when one gets the impression of a
redaction which waits for the possibility of entering the land,21 one still has the
feeling that the interest is directed more towards life in exile than the return
to the land.
In another work, Römer points to two important transformations that
take place in the post-587-passages in 1 Kgs 8:22–53. These are: 1) the idea of

16  Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and
Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark, 2005), 177.
17  Ibid., 146.
18  Ibid., 164.
19  Ibid., 140–41.
20  Ibid., 122.
21  Ibid., 124.
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 271

absolute transcendence in v. 27 makes it possible to worship Yahweh outside

the temple; and 2) in vv. 59, 60 (verses that belong to the final redaction), laws
and ordinances replace temple and land.22
Finally, the monograph by Jochen Nentel attempts to define authorship and
intentions in Dtr through a redaction-historical analysis of the different layers
in Joshua 1; 23 and 24; 1 Samuel 12; and 1 Kings 8. Of interest here are the two
layers DtrH (Grundschicht, which comprehends Deuteronomy to 2 Kings 25,
exilic redaction after 561) and DtrS (late dtr redaction, presupposes the Second
Temple). DtrH shows no explicit hope of a future Kingdom: “Tempel, Land und
davidische Dynastie sind offensichtlich verloren.”23 DtrS turns DtrH’s “back-
looking” theology into a theology for the future. Presupposing the existence
and positive function of the Second Temple, a specific hope is connected to
the Land.24 No more hope is connected to the Kingdom. However, the most
significant feature of this redaction is the theme of intercession on behalf of
the sinful people, conversion (shub), penitence and the cry for Yahweh’s salva-
tion and mercy (e.g. 1 Sam 12:23; 1 Kgs 8:31–53), which secures the continuing
relation between Yahweh and his people.25
If there is a theological / ideological intention in the late redactions of the
Dtr History, one needs to reflect on the relation between the History and the
Pentateuch. In his 1995 conference paper, Hans-Christoph Schmitt investi-
gated a possible common redaction of the Tetrateuch and the History by look-
ing for a common, comprehensive theological intention.26 Schmitt finds such
an intention in the idea of the distance between Israel and the nations—this
idea is further developed in Nentel’s monograph—which includes the motif
of the faith in Yahweh and Yahweh’s turning away from his anger. There is a

22  Thomas Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12: Between Deuteronomistic History
and Pentateuch,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem
Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach (FRLANT 206; Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 153–67.
23  Nentel, Trägerschaft und Intentionen des deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerks, 271.
24  Ibid., 300.
25  Ibid., 285, 288.
26  Hans-Christoph Schmitt, “Das spätdeuteronomistische Geschichtswerk Genesis 1–2
Regnum XXV und seine theologische Intention,” in Congress Volume Cambridge 1995, ed.
John A. Emerton (VTSup 66; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 261–280; reprinted in Schmitt, Theologie
in Prophetie und Pentateuch, 2001, 277–94. See also “Dtn 34 als Verbindungsstück zwischen
Tetrateuch und deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen
Pentateuch und deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard
Achenbach (FRLANT 206; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 181–192.
272 Berge

late-Dtr, post-exilic redaction of the Enneateuch, which combines the Torah

and the Nebiim (in which the “Urprophet” Moses legitimizes the prophets
of the Dtr History). He concludes: The unity and identity of the post-exilic
Israelite community was not created by the priestly theocracy of a temple
state in Jerusalem but by the Dtr scribes who combined Torah and prophecy.
This late Dtr redaction replaced a monarchic orientation (e.g. the blame of the
destruction of the monarchy on the kings, especially Jeroboam) with a com-
munal, “democratic” Torah piety. Among the central texts are 2 Kgs 17:7–20;
1 Kgs 11:1–13, 32–36*; 1 Sam 15:11, 35; 2 Sam 14:16f. This redaction presents David
as an exemplary pious figure, for the sake of whom the promise of kingship to
one tribe of Israel is still valid (1 Kgs 11; 15:4f; 2 Kgs 8:19: “for David’s sake”). So,
even when there still is the promise of a “lamp” of David’s kingdom, the Dtr’s
conditional promise of the land has been significantly reduced. The issue is
not the promise of kingdom but the reward of David’s piety and, accordingly,
his piety as a model for the people.
To conclude this section, it seems clear that in the exilic/post-exilic redac-
tions of the Dtr History, there is no hope for the Kingdom. The temple seems to
be presupposed as existing and functioning, but Yahweh does not really dwell
in the temple; he is in heaven (1 Kgs 8:8–12). In the posited “DtrS”-redactional
addition of vv. 33–53, there is a prayer for a return to the land (v. 34), a concern
about the land (v. 37), and even a prayer for the welfare of the land (vv. 36, 40),
but the focus of vv. 46–53 is on how to manage and survive in the land of exile.
One has the impression that this is more like the Diaspora’s idea of the land of
their origin. The concern here is not the return to the land but the separation
of the people of Israel as God’s possession and heritage from “all the peoples
of the earth.” The focus on the sins of the individuals of the people and their
hearts—features which also appear in v. 38—is not specifically linked to a pos-
sible return to the land. One may consider the verses to be a later addition to
the exilic reflection on God in heaven and the temple as a place of prayer.27
In any case, it leads the reader away from the land itself towards the life
outside. It fits into what Anthony D. Smith, a student of nationality and ethnic-
ity, calls ethnie: This is “a named human population with myths of common
ancestry, shared historical memories and one or more common elements of
culture, including an association with a homeland.”28 The Land is something
to which one belongs, longs for, even praying for its welfare, but one does not

27  For the opposite conclusion, see Nentel, Trägerschaft und Intentionen des deuteronomist-
ischen Geschichtswerks, 226–229, and Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History, 120.
28  Anthony D. Smith, Nationalism: Theory, Ideology, History (Cambridge: Polity Press,
2001), 13.
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 273

live there. It is a marker of identity. Any idea of return and re-possession is not
necessarily the point.
One should also note that the institutions intrinsic to the people originated
before the kingdom and are not bound to it. There is a “myth of the empty
land,” 2 Kgs 25:21 (first introduced by Hans Barstad, this notion has become
ubiquitous in recent scholarship), which implies that the Land is now for
the Golah, not for the people who remained in it. The point is, however, that
the Dtr History, both in the exilic and post-exilic editions, appears as “crisis
literature”29 and “Diaspora novel.” These terms signal that the History is much
more occupied with the question of how to explain the exile, and how to get
around in the land of deportation and even prosper in it. The preoccupation of
these redactions is: segregation, monotheism, and Torah piety. There is a col-
lective or even “democratic” tendency in these redactions.

2 Elements of “Penitential Prayer” in the History

In this part of my article I will look specifically at the passage which is most
“promising” with regard to a new beginning and a positive future, 1 Kgs 8:46–53.
Verse 5 in the penitential prayer of Dan 9 is almost identical to 1 Kgs 8:47.
Similar confessions appear also in Neh 1:6–7; 9:16–18; and Ezra 9:6, 7, 13, 15.30
Rodney A. Werline defined “penitential prayer” this way: “Penitential prayer
is a direct address to God, in which an individual, group . . . confesses sins and
petitions for forgiveness as an act of repentance.”31
1 Kings 8 is not a penitential prayer per se, he says, but it instructs Israel about
repentance. Samuel E. Balentine informs us that the chapter is “at or near the
beginning point of the emergence of confession as a major motif in prayer.”32
Of the four characteristics of penitential prayers listed by Balentine, only the
first one of terminology (lehitwaddeh “to make confession”) is clearly missing
in Solomon’s prayer.33 The other characteristics listed by him are the elabo-
rate character of the prayers, with borrowing from especially Deuteronomistic

29  Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History, 163, 113.

30  Samuel E. Balentine, “ ‘I Was Ready to be sought Out by Those Who Did Not Ask’,” in
Seeking the Favor of God Volume 1: The Origins of Penitential Prayer in Second Temple
Judaism, ed. Mark J. Boda, D.K. Falk, and R.A. Werline (Early Judaism and Its Literature;
Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006), 9.
31  Werline in ibid., XV.
32  Banentine in ibid., 12.
33  Balentine in ibid., 8–9.
274 Berge

tradition, their decisively penitential character, and the emphasis on God’s

sovereignty, mercy and justice. 1 Kings 8 also includes the theme of God’s righ-
teousness, although it is more implicit in his righteous acts, v. 32. If not a full-
fledged penitential prayer, it is on its way to the penitential prayers of Ezra 9,
Nehemiah 9 and Daniel 9, which according to the scholars represent the first
fully developed examples of the genre. The reoccurring notion of the people’s
and individuals’ sins, repentance as an expression of the heart, and the prayer’s
concession that the bad things that happen are completely justified, with no
complaint or protest, make the text very similar to the penitential prayers.34
Mark Boda calls penitential prayers one of the “transformations in the litur-
gical responses of the Jewish community to the fall of the kingdom of Judah.”35
The purpose of this transformation is “to bring an end to the devastating effects
of the fall of the state: either to captivity, oppression, or the sorry condition of
Palestine.” Boda adds the following statement:

Because these expressions are prayers to God, they include a request, consis-
tently for divine recognition of distress (Neh 1:5–6, 11; 9:32; Dan 9:17–19), but also
for a divine modification in disposition (Dan 9:16), divine recollection of prom-
ise (Neh 1:8), and/or divine intervention in human affairs (Neh 1:11; Dan 9:19).36

From the textual examples, it is clear that penitential prayers may request, for
example, the restitution of Jerusalem (Dan 9:17–19). However, the focus is on the
confession of sin and the grace of God. It is on the dynamic interplay between
the confessing heart and the gracious God, it is—in the words of Boda—“an
enduring covenant interaction that encourages passionate expression of the
pain while maintaining self-awareness of the sin of humanity.” He also states:37
“Rather than relying on a Zion theology with its self-interest in the preserva-
tion of the kingdom, penitential prayer encourages an honest encounter with
the God of grace and justice.” This is not to say that the similarity between 1 Kgs
8 and the penitential prayers testifies to the absence of any hope for a national
future in the text, but it does mean that its focus is not there; it is rather on the

34  See Dalit Rom-Shiloni, “Socio-Ideological Setting or Settings for Penitential Prayers?” in
ibid., 62–63.
35  Mark J. Boda, “The Priceless Gain of Penitence: From Communal Lament to Penitential
Prayer in the ‘Exilic’ Liturgy of Israel,” in Lamentations in Ancient and Contemporary
Cultural Context, Nancy Lee and Carleen Mandolfo (eds.), (Atlanta: Society of Biblical
Literature, 2008), 82–83.
36  Ibid., 83.
37  Ibid., 98.
Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 275

human-divine interplay described above. This focus emphasizes the confess-

ing community’s self-knowledge more than the “material outcome” in terms of
a possible return to the Land or its restitution. The text’s link with Deut 4 and
30 also points more to a “Torah piety” than to any hope of material restitution
in the Land.

3 Identity Formation and Post-crisis Literature

As “crisis literature,” the History’s prime objective is to explain the exile. This
explanation proceeds along the lines of a history (story). In the following, I
look at the Dtr History as trauma literature, applying the collective trauma
model presented by Jeffrey C. Alexander.38
We may define “collective trauma” as “a blow to the basic tissues of social
life that damages the bonds attaching people together and impairs the pre-
vailing sense of communality.”39 According to Alexander, trauma is something
constructed by society, either based on real or imagined events. The defini-
tion cited above continues by stating that, “The collective trauma works its way
slowly and even insidiously into the awareness of those who suffer from it, so
it does not have the quality of suddenness normally associated with ‘trauma’.”
According to this theory, events do not, in and of themselves, create collec-
tive trauma. Events are not inherently traumatic. Trauma is a socially mediated
attribution, says Alexander, continuing, “Traumatic status is attributed to real
or imagined phenomena . . . because these phenomena are believed to have
abruptly, and harmfully, affected collective identity.”40 The traumatic process
is to fill the gap between the event and its representation. This bridging process
is called a “spiral of signification.” It is a process of meaning-making carried
out by so-called carrier groups. They are situated in particular places in the
social structure, and they have both ideal and material interests. Alexander
finds the trauma process to be the creation of trauma as a new master narra-
tive. Alexander states: “For the wider audience to become persuaded that they,
too, have become traumatized by an experience or an event, the carrier group
needs to engage in successful meaning work.”

38  Jeffrey C. Alexander, “Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma,” in Cultural Trauma and
Collective Identity, ed. Jeffrey C. Alexander et al. (Berkeley, CA: University of California
Press, 2004), 1–22.
39  Kai Erikson, here cited through J. Alexander, in ibid., 4.
40  Ibid., 10.
276 Berge

Four critical representations are essential to the creation of a new master

narrative: 1) The nature of the pain. What actually happened—to the particu-
lar group and to the wider collectivity of which it is a part? 2) The nature of the
victim. What group of persons was affected by this traumatizing pain? Where
they particular individuals or groups, or “the people” in general? 3) Relation
of the trauma victim to the wider audience. To what extent do the members
of the audience for trauma representations experience an identity with the
immediately victimized group? According to Alexander, only if the victims
are represented in terms of valued qualities shared by the larger collective
identity will the audience be able to symbolically participate in the experi-
ence of the originating trauma. 4) Attribution of responsibility. Who caused
the trauma? This issue is always a matter of symbolic and social construction,
says Alexander.
Alexander calls this representation through a new master narrative of social
suffering a “(re)classification,” which is critical to the process by which a col-
lectivity becomes traumatized.41 If the trauma process unfolds inside the reli-
gious arena, its concern will be to link trauma to theodicy. Here, he refers to Job,
who asks, “Why did God allow this evil?” Alexander concludes: “The answers
to such questions will generate searching discussions about whether and how
human beings strayed from divinely inspired ethics and sacred law, or whether
the existence of evil means that God does not exist.” Finally, he refers to the
aesthetic realm of meaning creation: “Insofar as meaning work takes place in
the aesthetic realm, it will be channeled by specific genres and narratives that
aim to produce imaginative identification and emotional catharsis,” and to the
legal sphere: “When the cultural classification enters the legal realm, it will be
disciplined by the demand to issue a definitive judgment of legally binding
responsibilities and to distribute punishments and material reparations.”
To be sure, all these representations are visible in the Dtr History. The pain
is the deportation and the destruction of the national structures of Samaria
and Jerusalem including the temple. The victims are the groups of deported
people, including the king and royal court, but we have the impression that
a wider audience is included. There is no group outside of those deported to
Babylon; there is no focus on the rest remaining in Judah. Eventually, respon-
sibility is attributed to the whole people. As the trauma process unfolds inside
the religious arena, as Alexander says, the text makes clear that this happened
because of the people’s own sin and apostasy. The legal realm is also present as
far as the remedy for repairing the relation to God is through a Torah piety that
binds the people in responsible actions based on a study of the divine laws. As

41  Ibid., 18.

Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic History ? 277

a whole, on an aesthetic level, the theme of the History bears some characteris-
tics known from the Greek tragedies. Through the tragic story of an unfaithful
king and people, the story creates an emotional catharsis.42
So, what is the result for our theme about hope? If the Dtr History is trauma
literature, my application of the trauma theory above indicates that one should
not necessarily expect statements about a future hope of restitution of the
Kingdom or a return to the Land. As trauma literature, the Dtr History aims at
a presentation of something that affected the collective identity, by including
the whole (relevant) population and by attributing guilt and responsibility for
what happened to the whole of the people. One should also regard the cathar-
tic function of this narrative. To be sure, even when there may be elements of
hope in such a narrative, specific objects of hope is not an intrinsic quality of
such a narrative.
Is this a description of exile-literature rather than post-exilic literature? Not
necessarily. Trauma literature reflects identity-formation, the creation of a col-
lective mentality through representation of past events, a process that may
develop over (a long) time. As such, there is nothing in it which presupposes,
per se, an imminent reaction to specific experiences. To be sure, trauma theory
even takes issue with the “lay” idea of the close and immediate connection
between events and trauma, the idea of trauma as an immediate emotional
response to a sudden, extraordinary, disruptive event. Again, with the above-
mentioned reference to Erikson cited by Alexander: “The collective trauma
works its way slowly and even insidiously into the awareness of those who suf-
fer from it, so it does not have the quality of suddenness normally associated
with ‘trauma’.”43
From this perspective, it is completely understandable that there is no agree-
ment among the scholars about possible hope in the story. It may be there, but
it is not the essential characteristic of this trauma story.

42  In another article, I have discussed this theme with regard to the tragic figure of Pharaoh
in the Exodus narrative. I think this could be applied to the Dtr History’s story of the
rise and fall of the kingdoms too. See my “The Anti-Hero as a Figure of Memory and
Didacticism in Exodus: The Case of Pharaoh and Moses,” in Remembering and Forgetting
in Early Second Temple Judah, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin (Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 2012), 158–60.
43  Alexander et al., Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity, 4.
 Part 3
Explorations

∵
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14: Solomon, the Master,
the Beggar

Martin Ravndal Hauge

The chiastic relationship between the introductory and concluding strophes in

Canticles has often been noted.1 The references to the vineyards and the broth-
ers angry with their sister in 1:5–6 are elaborated into independent strophes
in 8:8–10 and vv. 11–12; the former concerns the brothers, worried about their
little sister, the latter the juxtaposition of Solomon and the Maiden as vineyard
owners.2 The evident parallelism of these strophes invites some comment on
the relationship between the very first and last lines of Canticles:

1:2–4
May he kiss me with kisses of his mouth!
For your love is better than wine, and good is the scent of your oils.
“Oil refined” is your name. Therefore the girls love you.
Draw me after you! and we shall come running. May the king bring me into his
chambers!
and we shall exult and rejoice in you, we shall praise your love as better than
wine.
Rightly do they love you!

8:13–14
Oh you the dweller in the gardens, the companions attentive to your voice:
Make me hear!
Flee, my darling and make yourself like the hart or the young stag
upon the balsam mountains!

1  J. Cheryl Exum, “A Literary and Structural Analysis of the Song,” ZAW 85 (1979): 47–79;
W.H. Shea, “The Chiastic Structure of the Song of Songs,” ZAW 92 (1980): 378–96; E.C. Webster,
“Pattern in the Song of Songs,” JSOT 22 (1982): 73–93.
2  As a matter of convenience I shall refer to the protagonists in Canticles as “the Maiden” and
“the Lover,” the latter occasionally by his name, Solomon. This implies that I do not follow the
usual trend and take “Solomon” to be a literary travesty, but I regard Solomon the king as an
essential member of the cast!

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_022

282 Hauge

8:13–14 consists of the Lover’s plea and the Maiden’s response. The parallelism
of 8:14 and the Maiden’s answer to a similar plea in 2:17 suggests that the final
strophe as a whole represents a condensed version of 2:8–17.3 Accordingly, one
could perceive 8:13 as simply a repetition of the Lover’s plea in 2:10–14. The
referential relationship of the two passages is obvious. But the scenography of
v. 13, in which there is an allusion not only to the two protagonists but to a third
group of actors, and in its interplay with the opening strophe in 1:2–4, points to
the special significance of the final plea:4
As parallel—and inverted—scenes of supplication, the two strophes mirror
each other. The woman’s plea “May he kiss me!” ( yiššāqēnî) and “draw me after
you!” (moškēnî) in 1:2–4 is echoed by the man’s “Let me hear!” (hašmî‘înî) in
8:13.5 In this way the book opens with the Maiden begging for the Lover’s atten-
tion and ends with the Lover as the beggar. Moreover, formally both strophes
stand peculiarly isolated in the context. Accentuated by the pleonastic style,
the phrase: “May he kiss me with kisses of his mouth!” represents a remarkably
abrupt opening, paying no consideration to the reader’s wish to be properly
introduced to the actors and their background. The impressionistic character
of the subsequent lines in 1:2–4 adds to this effect by images that reflect the
complex set of scenes given to the king and his entourage. Similarly, aside from
the retention of the Maiden and the Lover as actors, 8:13–14 ends the composi-
tion without any formal signs that reflect any connection to the former stro-
phes or prepare the reader to expect the end of the composition.
However abrupt the insertion of the two strophes and however impression-
istic their character, the chiastic effects accentuate their connectedness: The
scene of supplication—with the Maiden begging—in 1:2–4 is followed by a
scene that relates the Maiden on to the vineyards her brothers in vv. 5–6. This
is mirrored in 8:8–14, in reverse order, with the Lover being allocated the beg-
gar’s role. The meticulous organization held together with the introductory
and concluding positions points to 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 as juxtaposed scenes that
frame the composition and intimate that the theme of supplication is vital for
understanding Canticles.

3  8:13–14 is a rebound of the whole poem according to A. LaCocque, Romance, She Wrote: A
Hermeneutical Essay on Song of Songs (Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Trinity Press, 1998), 190.
4  Cf. also D. Garrett, Song of Songs (WBC 23B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2004), 264. She regards
8:13 as the counterpart to 1:2–4. In the latter, the Maiden and a chorus declare their admira-
tion for the man, corresponding to the Lover and a chorus celebrating the transformation of
the heroine in the former.
5  F. Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise: Identity and Difference in the Song of Songs (Bible and
Literature Series, 7; Sheffield: Almond Press 1983), 207.
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 283

Both scenes refer to royal categories, explicitly in the first and implicitly
in the final scene when Solomon has been mentioned twice in the preceding
strophe. Referring to the royal harem as the setting for the protagonists, the
opening scene establishes the basic relationship between the two protagonists
as between the adored master and the submissive harem girl. According to the
scene which follows in 1:5–6, the latter is even an outsider among the other
women. In contrast, the final scene, that represents Solomon the king begging
for his girl’s attention, makes a remarkable ending.
Two extra sets of actors underline the special connection between 1:2–4 and
8:13 as inverted scenes: In the former the Maiden is part of a group of women,
all equally in love with the male protagonist. A comparable set of secondary
actors appears in the final scene in 8:13, when the male supplicant is joined by
his “companions” (ḥabērîm).6 Moreover, the Lover and the companions have a
parallel relationship to the Maiden.7 The Lover pleads “Make me hear,” which
corresponds to the companions “paying attention to your voice.” Just as the
Maiden is included in a group of women all in love with the king in 1:2–4, the
Lover’s supplication makes him part of the group of listeners paying attention
to the woman dwelling in the gardens.
The connotations of the first scene are obvious. While the Maiden is the
dominating figure in Canticles, the manner of her introduction in the open-
ing scene does not endow her with any qualities as the noble heroine. Readers
tend to mitigate their first impression of the Maiden as a harem girl in the
opening scene. But explicitly, the heroine describes herself as one of many
girls, all equally enamoured of the male protagonist.8 Mentioned in the third
person or presented in the first person plural as “we” who shall “run,” “exult
and rejoice in you” and “praise your love” (1:3–4), the group of loving women
includes the I-figure who longs to be kissed and to be brought into the royal
chambers.9 The connotational impact of these motifs would be reduced if the

6  LaCocque regards the Lover’s companions (cf. also 1:7 and 5:1) as a pendant to the theme of
the daughters of Jerusalem (Romance She Wrote, 73; cf. also Exum, Song of Songs, 262).
7  M.H. Pope, Song of Songs: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; Garden
City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), 695.
8  The impact of the imagery appears rather reduced when Fox suggests that the girls in this
scene represent the Maiden’s projection of her feeling onto her peers, she being so certain of
his excellence (M.V. Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs [Madison:
University of Wisconsin Press, 1985], 304); cf. also Exum, Song of Songs, 95).
9  LaCocque stresses the echoes of cultic language in the phrases “we shall exult and rejoice in
you, we shall praise” in 1:4b (Romance She Wrote, 70). This would correspond to such a harem
scene. The allusions accentuate and exaggerate the women’s adoration of their master rather
too much.
284 Hauge

scene is related to the bridal scene in 3:6–11, where a separation between the
bride and the jubilant daughters of Zion is implied.10 But the parallelism of
the Maiden and the young women in 1:2–4 does not suggest such a separation.
6:8–9 might represent a more relevant frame of reference by alluding to a situ-
ation where the royal preference separates the Beloved from the multitude of
concubines. But according to the compositional development this scene refers
to a later situation and reflects the Lover’s changed perceptions (cf. below).
The imagery of the Maiden in 1:2–4, on the one hand part of a “we” of loving
women and on the other hand begging to be kissed and dragged into the royal
chambers, clearly refers to a harem scene.11 Esth 2:12–16 provides a vivid illus-
tration of such a setting. Comparably to the I-figure in Cant 1:2–4, the maidens
of the Persian king wait for their turn to be brought to the royal palace, spend-
ing the rest of their lives waiting at the king’s pleasure for a new invitation.12
In Canticles, the elaboration of the Maiden’s role in the opening scenes even
reflects an effort to add to her being disparaged as a harem girl. Aside from the
juxtaposition of the ladies of Jerusalem and the Maiden as the sunburnt out-
sider from the vineyards in 1:5–6, the kiss motifs in 1:2 reduce her stature. Only
three times has the kiss sexual implications in the Hebrew Bible; it is part of
the description of the unfaithful wife as a hussy hunting for men in Prov 7:13 in
addition to the Maiden’s longing to be kissed or to kiss her beloved in Cant 1:2
and 8:1. The pleonastic effects in Cant 1:2 accentuate its impact. The verb “kiss”
is extended by the unnecessary noun “kiss” and further lingered upon by the

10  M.T. Elliott, The Literary Unity of the Canticle (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1989), 46–47; cf. also
J.M. Munro, Spikenard and Saffron: A Study in the Poetic Language of the Song of Songs
(JSOTSup 203; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 126–27. Garrett takes 1:2–4 as
representing the combined voices of the heroine’s “soprano” and a chorus. The latter
celebrates the man’s love for his woman. Accordingly, the presence of the other women
would not disturb the special relationship of the two lovers (Song of Songs, 126–27). Pope
suggests a radically different approach for the perception of the relationship between the
Maiden and the women: The comparable switch from first person singular to plural in
Sumerian sacred marriage songs could reflect the ritual background in which the priest-
ess, as the substitute for both the goddess and mortal females, represents a plurality of
voices (The Song, 304).
11  M. Goulder, The Song of Fourteen Songs (JSOTSup 35; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986), 11–12;
cf. also Exum, Song of Songs, 96. The significance of the harem setting, however, is much
diminished when Cheryl Exum regards it as one of the many travesties, comparable to the
perception of Solomon as a literary fiction among the many roles in the poems.
12  Cf. the repeated application in Esth 2:12–16 of “come to” (bô ’el) the king in his palace,
concluded by Esther being “taken” to the palace, corresponding to the king “bringing” the
Maiden to his chambers and to the wine house in Cant 1:4; 2:4.
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 285

equally redundant “his mouth.” A young woman, so helplessly possessed by her

feelings that she behaves like the proverbial hussy when she begs for the king’s
attention, has a revolting impact. Set as the very opening of the composition,
the Maiden’s wish to be kissed marks her as a figure of shame.13
The Maiden’s role in the opening scene has repercussions for our perception
of the Lover’s role in the juxtaposed scene in 8:13 when he begs:

Oh you the dweller in the gardens, the companions attentive to your voice:
Make me hear!

The role allocation is comparable to the harem situation in the introductory

scene. Corresponding to the heroine as part of the women’s “we,” it puts the
Lover on a par with his companions in their relationship to the Maiden: The
Lover’s entreaty to be spoken to corresponds to his companions’ eager listen-
ing to her voice. As we have seen, modern readers tend to protect the special
stature of the heroine by separating her from the other harem girls in 1:2–4.
Similarly, one usually separates the Lover from the other male actors referred
to in 8:13 in order to underline his unique position as the Maiden’s sole beloved.
Thus, the parallelism of the Lover and the companions has been explained as a
reference to a scene where the Lover is together with his friends, the latter wait-
ing for the Maiden’s speech to the Lover.14 Conversely, the supplication could
express the Lover’s wish that the Maiden would proclaim her love before his
companions,15 or, simply, that everyone wants to hear her speak.16 Illustrating
the problematic character of the imagery, Landy refers to functional catego-
ries and regards it as a breach of the textual format: by extending the group of
companions to comprise all lovers, 8:13 includes also the audience of the song
as part of the story.17
While such efforts reflect that the role allocation in 8:13 is peculiar indeed,
the counterpoint effect of 1:2–4 and 8:13 accentuates their connection.
The Maiden as part of a group of women, all adoring their lord, corresponds to

13  When confirmed by her features as a figure of wisdom, authoritatively advising the
daughters of Jerusalem on proper conduct, the Maiden’s role represents a provocative
clash of connotations.
14  Elliott, The Literary Unity, 209–10.
15  Fox, Song of Songs, 177.
16  Garrett, Song of Songs, 265; cf. also Munro, Spikenard and Saffron, 110.
17  Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise, 206–7; cf. his influence on LaCocque, Romance She Wrote,
129; and Exum, Song of Songs, 262. (Landy finds similar rhetorical effects in 5:1, cf. below
in this section).
286 Hauge

the roles in the last scene with the Lover and his companions all eagerly wait-
ing for the Maiden’s voice. The final scene in 8:13 inverts the harem situation
in 1:2–4 by presenting a new constellation of the characters when the “dweller
of the gardens” presides over a group of men that are equally drawn to her.18 In
both cases, the supplicant begs to be the preferred one, to be chosen to enter
the royal chambers or to be spoken to.
5:1 adds to the perception of the two sets of actors:

I have come to my garden, my sister bride,

I gather my myrrh with my balsam,
I eat my honeycomb with my honey,
I drink my wine with my milk.
Eat, friends, drink and be drunk with love!

5:1 and 8:13 represent similar situations, with their parallelism being the more
important as they mark the end of the two main parts of the book.19 In both
scenes, the Lover, the Maiden and the Lover’s friends are placed in a garden
setting. This arrangement is not found elsewhere in Canticles. Moreover, the
description of the Maiden in 8:13 reflects the parallelism of the two scenes. The
evocative epithet “Oh you the dweller in the gardens” in 8:13 is comparable to
the imagery in 4:12–5:1 where she is likened to a garden enclosed, giving her
scents to the winds so the Lover can find his way into the garden to delight in
its glorious fruits.
The imperatives in 5:1 could be addressed to the lovers by a third party,
such as the poet or the daughters of Jerusalem.20 But there is no indication
that the Lover’s speech is interrupted by new actors.21 Related to a wedding
scene, the challenge to the friends could reflect the Lover addressing the guests
who are participating in the celebration to enjoy themselves, corresponding
to the scene in Judg 14:10–11. But as “love” represents the drink to be enjoyed,
one would expect that the invitation referred to an experience more akin to
what was enjoyed by the Lover. Thus, the challenge could simply express the

18  The companions are perceived as the Lover’s rivals by LaCocque, Romance She Wrote, 189.
19  Cf. the usual perception of 5:1 as central for the composition. To Landy it represents “the
emotional center” of Canticles, around which all the other scenes are grouped (“The Song
of Songs,” 116–17); “the climactic center” to Elliott (The Literary Unity, 119); “the midpoint
of the Song” to Munro (Spikenard and Saffron, 115).
20  Fox, Song of Songs, 139; Garrett, Song of Songs, 201.
21  Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise, 109.
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 287

invitation to the friends to share—at least vicariously—in love’s delights;22 or

it could, transcending the confines of the actual scene, include “all who partici-
pate in the Song, and in the garden of Love.”23
The juxtaposition of 1:2–4 and 8:13 suggests a special perspective with
respect to the scene in 5:1. The setting implies the parallelism of the Lover
and his friends, the former eating and drinking in his garden (a metonym for
the Maiden in 4:16), and the friends eating and drinking, drunk with love. The
parallelism of the two sets of male feasters, as well as of their fare in 5:1, cor-
responds to the connection between the Lover and the companions in 8:13, all
attentive to the Maiden’s speech.
In its turn, the relationship of 5:1 to 8:13 adds to the perception of 1:2–4 and
8:13 as inverted scenes: The Maiden depicted as the humble supplicant, part
of a group of loving women, is set against a concluding scene where the male
protagonist is the beggar, part of a group of listening companions. The parallel
scene in 5:1 sets out the Lover’s different emotional mode in 8:13. The former
presents him in a situation of exuberant triumph, challenging his friends to
share his delights, in contrast to his humility when he begs for the Maiden’s
voice. It is natural to connect this difference to the different textual locations.
The exuberant hero of 5:1 marks the conclusion of the first part of Canticles.
Solomon the humble beggar represents the conclusion of the composition.
In this way we end with a final scene that marks a counterpoint to the open-
ing scene. The imagery implies connotations of the harem. Intimations of a
male version of a harem scene are rather strange in the context of the Hebrew
Bible. But the parallel scenes of men feasting on love in 5:1 as well as the rau-
cous we-group calling for the Maiden to reveal her charms in the first part
of 7:1–10, depicting the Lover in a group of men centred around the Maiden,
underline the significance of the imagery common to the opening and con-
cluding scenes.
Although apparently strange, the allusion to a harem related to male actors
in the final scene could have a function that corresponds to the special elabo-
ration of the imagery of 1:2–4. Certain details are slanted in a way that adds
to the impact of the scenes. The figure of Esther illustrates that, of itself, the
allocation of the role of the harem girl would not raise any eyebrows. But
the abrupt introduction of the Maiden in Canticles, running after the Lover
and shamelessly expressing her wish to be kissed, violates any right-thinking

22  C.E. Walsh, Exquisite Desire: Religion, the Erotic, and the Song of Songs (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press, 2000), 125.
23  Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise, 109.
288 Hauge

reader’s expectations of proper female behaviour. Similarly, the vague allu-

sions to the male group in 8:13 play upon connotations that fully stated would
have too revolting an impact. The imagery suggests a poet sailing rather close
to the wind. But the function of the dramatic effects is obvious. The image
of the mighty king totally changed represents the climax of the lovers’ story.
Turned into a beggar, Solomon bears witness to the power of love. The aspects
of shame enhance this effect. The shameless girl and the humiliated Solomon
demonstrate the awesome power of love. While Esther and the Strange Woman
in Proverbs 2–7 show that Cant 1:2–4 can draw on an established type for the
female figuration, the unique role of Solomon in the final scene represents a
remarkably dramatic statement.
In this respect, the emphasis on the Maiden’s voice as the object of the men’s
desires in the final scene has an important function. It mitigates the provoca-
tive implications of the imagery. The parallel scene in 5:1 sets out the special
character of the discourse. In 5:1 the Lover gorges himself on the wonderful
fruits of his garden—earlier identified as the Maiden—while the friends are
drunk on “love.” In 8:13 the Maiden’s voice represents the fare when the Lover
exclaims “Make me hear!” and the companions are “attentive to your voice.”
The sense of the Maiden’s “voice” has been perceived differently. It could,
for example, represent a special signal24 or refer to her lovely singing.25 Or the
Lover begs that she would proclaim her love to his friends.26 The emphasis
on the Maiden’s voice is especially significant to Landy: The role allocation in
5:1 and 8:13 implies a breach with the literary format of Canticles. The pecu-
liar parallelism of the Lover and his companions in the two strophes indicates
that the poet leaves his usual mode of addressing his readers and includes his
audience as part of the story. In 8:13–14 the Maiden remains as the voice of the
garden, ultimately representing the voice of poetry, while the Lover joins the
poet’s audience in the garden, all listening eagerly to her speaking.27
More concretely, it is natural to turn to the parallelism between 2:10–17 and
8:13–14 as the background for the poet’s choice of “voice.”28 In 2:14 the Lover
begs “Let me see your face! Let me hear your voice! For your voice is sweet

24  O. Keel, The Song of Songs. A Continental Commentary (transl. Frederick J. Gaiser;
Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 285.
25  Y. Zakovitch, Das Hohelied (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 284.
26  Fox, Song of Songs, 177.
27  Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise, 206–7 and 109, cf. also Exum, Song of Songs, 262.
28  Roland E. Murphy, The Song of Songs: A Commentary on the Book of Canticles or the Song of
Songs (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 200; cf. also LaCoccque, Romance
She Wrote, 190.
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 289

and your face is lovely.” Concluding the invitation to come away and join him
outside her house in vv. 10–13, the imagery of v. 14 implies the Maiden revealing
herself to the Lover. The emphasis on the Maiden’s voice in 8:13 refers to the
earlier scene and reduces the impact of the daring implications of 8:13 related
to 1:2–4. To a reader weaned on the connotations of a patriarchal society,
the playful allusions to a male version of the harem are acceptable when the
Maiden’s voice and her worshippers’ eager listening represent the interaction.
The delicate evasion of too direct references even turns the scene into a funny
one. The idea of Solomon as the humble supplicant in a crowd of equals, beg-
ging a woman to speak to him, plays havoc with the traditional image of the
king with his thousand wives.
The impact of the contrasting scene in 1:2–4 adds to the absurdity. The
effects of pleonasm as well as the image of girls running around, wildly enthu-
siastic when one of their number is invited into the royal bed, suggest a poet
having fun. V. 4βγ adds to this impression by applying hymnic phrases.29 Even
if not perceived as playful irony at first hand, the counterpart scene in 8:13
accentuates this impression when the once supreme master of his adoring
girls elevates one of them into the sublime position and places himself as a
humble supplicant among other men.
The playfulness—as well as its serious implications—continues the preced-
ing strophe in 8:11–12:

Solomon had a vineyard in Baal Hamon;

he gave the vineyard to guardians.
Each brought a thousand silver pieces for its fruit.
The vineyard that belongs to me is for me, the thousand is for you Solomon,
and two hundred for the guardians of its fruit.

The absurd juxtaposition of the Maiden’s impetuous generosity and Solomon’s

bleeding his tenants concludes the discourse in 8:6–12 on love as the expres-
sion of a reality completely different from the usual ways of the world. The
upheaval of the lovers’ roles in 8:13 illustrates the Maiden’s point. As differ-
ent from normality as the Maiden’s husbandry according to v. 12, the Lover’s
supplication—together with the enigmatic response in v. 14—marks the cli-
max of the composition. Marking his transformation from harem master into
a true lover longing for the beloved, Solomon’s plea illustrates the power as
well as the character of love. The interplay with the introductory scene points
to the significance of supplication as the common mode of address. Be it the

29  Perceived as iconoclastic allusions by LaCocque, Romance She Wrote, 70–71.

290 Hauge

wish to be kissed or simply to be spoken to, the position of the humble beggar
manifests love.

Conclusion: The Canticles as a Story

The parallelism of the opening and closing scenes must be important for the
perception of the composition as a whole. The counterpoint effect could sim-
ply have a rhetorical function by relating the two scenes to each other as two
halves of an antithetic parallelism that marks the introduction and conclu-
sion of the book. This would correspond to their character as formally isolated
strophes in the context, the one abruptly introducing the reader to the Maiden’s
inner world, the other just as abruptly marking the end of the poems. By fram-
ing the poems, the two strophes call attention to love as the sublime power that
takes total possession of their objects, turning them into figures that verge on
caricatures, both brushed with a touch of shame: the girl too keen, the mighty
king transformed into a beggar. In this way, the two scenes could have a func-
tion akin to the posters in the plays of Berthold Brecht: formally isolated from
the action on the scene, they inform the public of what the action is all about.
But without disturbing a function of this character, the two strophes could
mark the beginning and the end of some development that overarches the
composition as a whole. However valid the warnings against sequential read-
ing and expectations of a plot in Canticles,30 the interplay of 1:2–4 and 8:13
refers not only to contrasted scenes, but points to definite changes in the rela-
tionship of the lovers. Something has definitely taken place that invites the
reader to question what happened in between to invert the roles of the two lov-
ers, something that could explain how the remarkable changes came to pass.
I submit that primarily 3:6–11, 6:8–10 and 8:5 could reflect the different
stages in the lovers’ relationship. These passages are connected formally by the
rhetorical question “Who is this?” followed by a participle construction (3:6,
6:10, 8:5a). Moreover, the imagery of the three passages corresponds to the
harem references in 1:2–4 and 8:13: the wedding scene in 3:6–11 is given over
to the Lover in a luxurious setting. Crowned by his mother, he is the spoiled
darling of Jerusalem’s women. In 6:8–10 the Lover praises the Maiden as the
One among his sixty queens and eighty concubines and girls without number.
5:8 evokes the Lover’s awakening “under the apple tree,” an event as significant
as his conception by his mother.31

30  E.g. Exum, Song of Songs, 45.

31  His “new birth,” according to Elliott, The Literary Unity, 193.
Canticles 1:2–4 and 8:13–14 291

Together these passages could suggest a storyline describing the change of

the Maiden’s position when the sunburnt girl from the vineyard becomes the
adored dweller of the gardens. For this storyline, 6:8–10 could function as a
midway station when the lord of the harem acclaims the Maiden as the One.
The concluding scene in 8:13 when Solomon humbles himself before his lady
represents the zenith of her elevation. It is noteworthy that this story is not
set out in lengthy passages of narrative character, but is expressed in isolated
strophes that, like milestones, mark some special step in the development of
the story. Together they reflect a consistent and distinct story we could entitle
“The Elevation of the Harem Girl.” Moreover, such a story represents an estab-
lished topos. It reflects components of a literary tradition shared by the book
of Esther as well as, on a more modest scale, the book of Ruth.
Both Cant 6:8–10 and 8:13 suggest that the Maiden’s elevation depends on
the Lover’s recognition of whom or what she really is.32 This suggests another
storyline centred around the male protagonist. In this context, the Maiden’s
“rags to riches” story is part of a scenario that presents the Lover as the hero
of what we could call an “illumination story.” Related to categories of sexual-
ity, the recognition of some special kind of qualities embodied by the Maiden
represents the basic theme of the male version of the lovers’ story. The formu-
laic “Who is this who . . .?” in 3:6; 6:10; and 8:5a echoes this theme like some
refrain. The outline of the events in a male scenario follows the dramatic highs
and lows of the Maiden’s story. The contrasts of the spoiled, well-oiled wom-
en’s darling in 1:2–4 and the Lover’s self-humiliation in 8:13 mark the extreme
points of the story, the former aspect being accentuated by the opulent sce-
nography in 3:7–11, while his praise of the Maiden as the One in 6:6–10 suggests
his new perception.
Just as the story of the harem girl represents a special version of an estab-
lished theme, the illumination story in Canticles reflects certain aspects of the
Solomon tradition. 1 Kings 11 shows that Solomon and his many wives consti-
tuted a traditional theme. In the Deuteronomistic context it presents a back-
drop for the story of how Solomon’s kingdom collapsed. The use in Canticles of
the tradition shows that it represented an established literary topos that could
be alluded to as a matter of course. In this case, the tradition constitutes the
backdrop that sets off the miraculous transformation when Solomon, the lover
of many women, experiences the being of the One. The Lover’s illumination
could even play upon the story of how Solomon gained wisdom in 1 Kings 3,
the awakening by the Maiden in Cant 8:5 a counterpoint to his awakening in

32  Also this trait seems traditional: the acceptance by the Persian king in the story of Esther
and of Boaz in that of Ruth is essential for the elevation of the heroines. The assistance of
Mordecai and Naomi was required to change of the hero’s perception of them.
292 Hauge

Gibeon. The Canticles alludes not only to the aspects of Solomon, the lover
of many women, but combines them with the tradition of Solomon, the sage.
The two story lines given to respectively the Maiden and the Lover are inter-
twined as one story, the climax of the one manifesting the fulfilment of the
other. But when the arrangement of scenes allocates the closing position to
8:13–14, it is natural to perceive Solomon’s illumination as the culminating
event. The span between the opening and closing scenes points to the Lover as
a figure of dramatic change, whose transformation sets forth the decisive steps
of the compositional movement.
The reference in Canticles to the wisdom tradition accentuates these
aspects.33 Admonishing the daughters of Jerusalem (2:7; 3:5; 8:4; cf. also 5:8),
the Maiden embodies a traditional role as a wisdom teacher:34 Just as the
teacher warns the young men against the seductive Strange Woman (Prov 2:16–
19; 5:3–20; 6:24–35; 7:5–27), the Maiden warns the women against awakening
love before the right time. The counter-effect of the two situations—a young
girl and an old man admonishing respectively the daughters of Jerusalem and
a male youngster on the proper relationship to love—can hardly be coinciden-
tal, but must reflect a close literary relationship. The elaboration of the Maiden
as a figure of shame adds to the Canticles’ play upon the sapiential tradition.
The nightly scene in Cant 3:1–4 (cf. also 5:2–7), given to the Maiden roaming in
the city, looking for her man and dragging him home, firmly in her grasp, even
presents her as a duplicate of the Strange Woman depicted in Prov 7:10–23.
An infatuated young girl set up as a teacher of wisdom, a counter-image to
the venerable sapiential figure, accentuates the hilarious aspects of the inver-
sion of the tradition: the redaction of the book of Proverbs names Solomon
as the old sage who is worried about the influence of the Strange Woman on
the immature youngster. In Canticles a young girl, endowed with the features
of the Strange Woman, is the sage, while Solomon embodies the role of the
immature youngster. However hilarious—probably also provocative—the
inversion of the established roles may appear, its setting in a profoundly seri-
ous paean to the power of love must herald a radically new kind of wisdom.

33  K.J. Dell, “Does the Song of Songs have any connections to wisdom?” in Perspectives on the
Song of Songs/Perspektiven der Hoheliedauslegung, ed. A.C. Hagedorn (BZAW 346; Berlin,
2005: de Gruyter), 8–26.
34  Canticles is a kind of éducation sentimentale addressed to young women according to
Munro, Spikenard and Saffron, 147.
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft
David J.A. Clines

1 The Thesis

My thesis is a simple one: it is that all the Ten Commandments are, in one way
or another, commandments against theft. The apparently wide-ranging set
of ethical principles we find in the Decalogue can be shown to have an inner
coherence when it is recognized that they are all dealing with a single ethical
issue: the wrongful appropriation of the property of another person.
If this claim is correct, the character of the Decalogue is different from what
it has always been taken to be: namely, a more or less random collection of
ethical principles covering subjects as diverse as murder, adultery and sabbath
observance. It can now be seen as a set of exemplifications of one underlying
principle, the avoidance of theft. The one great sin, in its perspective, is the
infringement of the property and rights of others; such infringement can take
many forms.
I am not suggesting that the framers of the Decalogue had this single prin-
ciple in mind as they brought together the various clauses that constitute the
Decalogue. But the end-result of the composition of the Decalogue was a con-
sistent collection of requirements and prohibitions addressing the single issue
of theft.

2 The Commandments

2.1 The Tenth Commandment (Coveting)

It is agreed on all sides that the Tenth Commandment1 is something of an
anomaly in the Decalogue, in that unlike all the other items this one appears
to deal not with an observable action but with an inner disposition.
It has indeed been much disputed whether the Hebrew term ‫“ חמד‬covet”
refers exclusively to disposition or whether it also includes a consequent

1  I am following the numbering system used mainly by Protestants (and similar to that of
Philo). There is a helpful table of the differences among seven numbering systems at http://
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ten_Commandments.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_023

294 Clines

action. J. Herrmann began a trend in favour of the latter view,2 adducing a

number of texts such as Deut 7:25, Josh 7:21, and Prov 6:25 where it is followed
by words for taking. These examples, however, are by no means probative for
the meaning of ‫חמד‬, since it is natural for desire to lead to action, and thus for
a term for desire to be followed by one for an action.3
If ‫ חמד‬does mean “acquire” in the Commandment, that would make it eqi-
valent to stealing in the Eighth Commandment, and no one believes there
could be two commandments about the same subject. Many consequently
have followed A. Alt in regarding ‫“ גנב‬steal” in the Eighth Commandment as
properly (or originally) referring to stealing a person, kidnapping.4 The verb
never means that elsewhere, however, and the proposal, despite its multitude
of supporters, is weak.
Since it is hard to sustain the view that ‫ חמד‬does indeed refer to action, we
are compelled to accept the traditional view that the last Commandment is
indeed about desire, not about action, and to address the question whether
such a commandment is truly appropriate within the Decalogue.
My proposal is that the Tenth Commandment forms the climax of the
Decalogue, and is, properly speaking, not only the last but also the greatest of
the Commandments, reaching beyond the encouragement or the prohibition
of external acts to the realm of motivation.5 Do not commit what is forbidden,
says the Decalogue; don’t even think about it!, says the tenth commandment.
What coveting leads to is always theft, since the object of coveting is always

2  J. Herrmann, “Das zehnte Gebot,” in Beiträge zur Religionsgeschichte und Archäologie
Palästinas: Ernst Sellin zum 60. Geburtstage dargebracht, ed. Anton Jirku (Leipzig: A. Deichert,
1927), 37–42. On the question, see recently Alexander Rofé, “The Tenth Commandment in the
Light of Four Deuteronomic Laws,” in his Deuteronomy: Issues and Interpretation (Edinburgh:
T & T Clark, 2002), 79–86.
3  As shown by William L. Moran, “The Conclusion of the Decalogue (Ex 20, 17 = Dt 5, 21),”
CBQ 29 (1967): 543–54; see also Brevard S. Childs, Exodus: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM
Press, 1974), 425–27; G. Wallis, “‫ ; ָח ַמד‬chāmadh,” TDOT, vol. 4, 452–61 (457–58).
4  Albrecht Alt, “Das Verbot des Diebstahls im Dekalog,” in his Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte
des Volkes Israel, I, ed. M. Noth (Munich: Beck, 1953), 333–40.
5  David Noel Freedman, The Nine Commandments: Uncovering a Hidden Pattern of Crime and
Punishment in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Doubleday, 2000), speaks of the tenth command-
ment as a supplement to the others (hence his title The Nine Commandments): “The tenth
commandment is a supplement to the previous commandments. It presents the motivations
behind the crimes, especially for violations of commandments six through nine” (155). But
he does not apply the concept of coveting to the earlier commandments, and he is not saying
that the commandments depict various types of theft.
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 295

what belongs to someone else. Every other commandment has proscribed

theft, the last proscribes the contemplation of theft.6
This proposal also explains why it is only with coveting what belongs to
someone else that the impulse and not just the action is forbidden: it is because
coveting lies behind every one of the Commandments since every one of them
is about theft. There is no need to forbid an impulse to commit murder or to
neglect the sabbath, for example, since those actions are, equally with stealing,
the outcome of coveting—as I will go on to show.

2.2 The Eighth Commandment (Stealing)

Little needs to be said about this Commandment, since it is unquestionably a
prohibition of theft. The term “steal” (‫ )גנב‬in the Hebrew Bible can have as its
grammatical object either a physical object, such as a domestic animal (as in
Exod 21:37 [ET 22:1]), or a person (as in Exod 21:6). Appearing without a gram-
matical object here in the commandment, the verb would apparently cover
both types of theft, though they are very different in character. Theft of goods
can be compensated for by a monetary payment, as in Exod 22:3, 6, 8 (ET 4, 7, 9)
(strangely, the restitution of the property is never explicitly envisaged). Theft
of a person (kidnapping), however, presumably in order to sell into slavery, is
punishable by death (Exod 21:16).
It is not very easy to see how kidnapping of a free person can be regarded
as theft (as with the case of Joseph, for example, in Gen 40:15); a free person
could hardly be regarded as the owner of himself or herself, though a child like
Joseph could well be regarded as the property of his father. The stealing of a
slave, however, is obviously a case of theft, since the slave is the property of his
or her owner.
The idea that the commandment refers properly to kidnapping (see §a.
above) is purely speculative. J. Philip Hyatt rightly observed that the rarity of
such an occurrence in ancient Israel would hardly justify the existence of a
commandment against it in such a collection as the Decalogue.7

6  A somewhat similar position, though without the present emphasis on theft as the com-
mon thread throughout the Decalogue, is taken by John I. Durham, remarking: “The tenth
commandment . . . functions as a kind of summary commandment, the violation of which
is a first step that can lead to the violation of any one or all the rest of the commandments.
As such, it is necessarily all-embracing and descriptive of an attitude rather than a deed”
(Exodus [WBC 3; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987], 298).
7  J. Philip Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus (NCB; London: Oliphants, 1971), 215; similarly, Childs,
Exodus, 422.
296 Clines

Theft, we may add, is perhaps to be understood as more than a violation of

a person’s property or wealth; it may be regarded in Israel, where it is arguable
that property was thought of as an extension of the self (‫)נפשׁ‬,8 as also a viola-
tion of one’s person.9

2.3 The Seventh Commandment (Adultery)

Adultery in Israel was not viewed as “a violation of the sanctity of the marriage
bond,”10 or as a breach of sexual loyalty,11 or as an assault on the solidarity of
the family,12 or still less a breach of the integrity of Israelite relationship with
Yhwh,13 but properly as “an offence against the husband, who was entitled
to exclusive sexual possession of his wife.”14 The commandment is therefore
not concerned with sexual ethics or social stability or anything other than the
threat of theft to a man and his property.

2.4 The Ninth Commandment (False Witness)

There is a verbal difference between Exodus and Deuteronomy over this com-
mandment. Exod 20:16 has: “You shall not testify (lit. answer, ‫ )ענה‬against your
neighbour as a witness of falsehood (‫)שׁקר‬,” whereas Deut 5:20 has for the final
words “as a witness of vanity, worthlessness (‫)שׁוא‬.” It would seem that Exodus
has in mind a lying testimony, whereas Deuteronomy envisages an insubstan-
tial testimony.
In what respect could a testimony in a law court amount to theft? What is
always at stake in such a setting is the honour (‫ )כבוד‬or reputation (‫ )שׁם‬of the
neighbour, whether as plaintiff or defendant. If the truth is not told by the
witness, damage to the neighbour ensues. The neighbour is robbed of his inno-

8  See Johannes Pedersen, Israel: Its Life and Culture (London: Oxford University Press, 1926),
170, 229 (“Property is imbued with the essence of the owner”), 250.
9  So Terence Fretheim, Exodus (Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and
Preaching; Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1991), 235.
10  Hyatt, Exodus, 214.
11  So Frank Michaeli, Le livre d’Exode (Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament, 2; Neuchâtel:
Delachaux & Niestlé, 1974), 186, though he notes that “Le commandement se rapportait
plus à une sorte de droit de propriété qu’à une inconduite morale.”
12  James D. Newsome, Exodus (Interpretation Bible Studies; Louisville, KY: Geneva Press,
1998), 90.
13  John I. Durham, Exodus (WBC 3; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), 294, adding “Everywhere in
the ANE . . . adultery was a crime against persons; but in Israel it was first of all and even
more a crime against Yahweh.” This cannot possibly be true.
14  Hyatt, Exodus, 214. This view is resisted by A.C.J. Phillips, Ancient Israel’s Criminal Law, 117;
see also his “Another Look at Adultery,” JSOT 20 (1981): 3–25 (7).
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 297

cence or integrity by the falsehood. The witness has stolen, if not his property,
a valuable possession of the neighbour.
We notice that what is at issue here is a testimony against (‫ )ב‬the neighbour,
that is to say, against his interests. The commandment is not a general prohi-
bition of lying, and even allows a false testimony on the neighbour’s behalf,
that is, in favour of the neighbour. It is not a general moral principle, as might
appear, but rather a prohibition of damaging the neighbour’s interests, of steal-
ing from him what he has a right to.
We may notice also that the commandment does not concern giving false
testimony in general, but of giving it against a neighbour. Those who are not
neighbours have no honour or reputation, it would appear; and if they have
no honour or reputation they cannot be robbed of them. It would then not
be theft, by the standards of the Decalogue, to give false testimony against an
enemy, for example.

2.5 Sixth Commandment (Murder)

It is perhaps a little counterintuitive to suggest that murder may be an exam-
ple of theft, since it is evidently a crime that is much more serious than theft.
However, I would suggest that it is rewarding to consider murder in this con-
nection, for it helps to establish why murder is being prohibited here; it is obvi-
ously a shocking crime, but why does it find a place in the Decalogue?
In other words, we can of course content ourselves with the thought, which
everyone will readily subscribe to, that murder should be prohibited, and that
it therefore forms one of the Commandments. But we can equally well ask why
murder is prohibited, why in fact we recoil against it. Its place in the Decalogue
encourages us, I am arguing, to see it as yet another exemplification of theft.
There can be no doubt that taking a life is a signal case of taking, that taking
the life of another is a paramount example of taking what does not belong to
oneself. It differs from stealing, for example, for if it is a life that one takes, one
does not come into possession of what one has taken. But what the murderer
wants is not to acquire the life of another, but simply to deprive the other of
what the other has. The stealing of a life has no benefit to the thief apart from
the loss it causes to the victim. But to a murderer that is a real benefit, so great
a benefit that it justifies murder.
My programme in this paper now compels me to ask: From whom does the
murderer steal? The apparently obvious answer may not be the best. The victim
loses his life, so obviously he has been robbed. But to whom does a life belong,
in ancient Israel? Is it perhaps not rather to God? As G.A. Piper has said, in the
Hebrew Bible “Life is not regarded as an immanent creative principle in all that
is . . . The individual’s life is God’s property. Hence the individual has no right
298 Clines

to destroy his own life or wantonly to kill other life.”15 Reprehensible in the
extreme as robbing someone of their life is, perhaps even more disgraceful is
stealing the property of the deity.
I should add that there is nothing here about a supposed “sanctity of life,”
which even Brevard Childs invokes16—unless we understand “sanctity” in the
sense I adopt below in reference to “holiness,” that it refers to nothing more
transcendental than ownership by the deity. Life would then be sacred, not in
itself, or as a general principle, but precisely because a human life is the prop-
erty of God, and the taking of a life is a theft from him.

2.6 Fifth Commandment (Honouring Parents)

What is involved in “honouring” someone (the verb is ‫ כבד‬piel)?17 We can dis-
regard one possible situation, in which a person has an honour bestowed, a
title or a position perhaps, for a son is hardly likely to be able to bestow honour
upon a parent. A typical form of honouring that will no doubt be envisaged in
this commandment is the recognizing and respectful acknowledging of the
honour the other person already has. A son will honour his father by treating
him with respect and upholding his honour in public. It is in the public sphere,
of course, that honour is created and has to be maintained.
Another way in which a son can honour parents is by not bringing shame
upon them. A person’s honour depends to some extent on one’s ability to con-
trol one’s family; a disobedient son causes a loss of honour to the parents, as
Deut 21:18–21 shows.18 To strike a parent or to insult them (Exod 21:15, 17) would
equally affect their honour.
The question arises how a mother may be honoured, for women, who do
not move in the public sphere, are not usually the possessors of honour. In fact,
there is only one place in the Hebrew Bible where honour (‫ )כבוד‬is attributed
to a woman: Isa 66:11, where Jerusalem is represented as a woman. Those who
mourn for her are to suck and be satisfied with her breasts of consolation; they
should drain them out and delight themselves “in the nipple(s) of her glory”
(‫)מזיז כבודה‬. The honour or glory of the woman is full breasts. That is nothing
like the honour a man can have, and we should conclude that, poetic language

15  G.A. Piper, “Life,” in IDB, vol. 3, 124–30 (124).

16  Childs, Exodus, 419.
17  It is doubtful whether a speaker of ancient Hebrew made any connection with the other
sense “make heavy,” as Westermann and many others have thought (cf. Claus Westermann,
“‫כבד‬, kbd to be heavy,” TLOT, vol. 2, 590–602 [591]).
18  See Anselm C. Hagedorn, “Guarding the Parents’ Honour—Deuteronomy 21.8–21,” JSOT 88
(2000): 101–21.
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 299

apart, women in ancient Israel were not regarded as possessing honour. They
could however have less than zero honour: they could be dishonoured, espe-
cially by the sexual misbehaviour either of men of their family or indeed of
themselves. The commandment thus should probably be read as saying, for
all intents and purposes, “You shall honour your father and not dishonour
your mother.”
So in what respect would not honouring parents be an act of theft? Honour
is probably the most precious possession a person can have, worth more than
property or wealth. Any assault on the honour of a person is thus a theft of
what is theirs. In diminishing their public standing, dishonouring them would
be very much like a literal theft of their goods.

2.7 Fourth Commandment (Sabbath)

The key to understanding a breach of the Sabbath commandment as theft lies,
not in the term “remember” (‫זכר‬, Exod 20:8) nor in the term “observe” (‫שׁמר‬,
Deut 5:12), but in the term “sanctify” (‫ קדשׁ‬piel). The verb can mean “make holy,”
as in does in Exod 20:11 (a factitive sense), where Yhwh blessed the sabbath
and made it holy, or “regard as holy” as it does in v. 8 (a declarative-estimative
sense),19 where the addressee of the commandment is told to regard or treat
the sabbath day as holy.
The holy is quite simply that which belongs to the realm of the divine.20 The
term ‫ קדושׁ‬implies nothing about any person or object other than its owner-
ship by the deity. Thus God, his words, his temple, his city and its mountain,

19  Using the terminology of Paul Joüon and Takamitsu Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical
Hebrew I (Subsidia biblica, 14; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1991), 155 (§52d).
20  This claim cannot be justified here. Our standard handbooks are surprisingly weak on
this matter of the meaning of “holiness”: Walter Kornfeld and Helmer Ringgren, “‫קדשׁ‬
qdš,” in TDOT, vol. 12, 521–45, are unable to offer any synthetic statement about the mean-
ing of the term. H.-P. Müller, “‫ קדשׁ‬qdš holy,” in TLOT, vol. 3, 1103–18 (1107), thinks that
qdš is “primarily associated with the concept of might” (which seems implausible). David
P. Wright defines holiness in the Hebrew Bible as “a positive cultic or moral condition
of God, people, things, places, and time . . . It is defined on the one hand to that with is
consistent with God and his character, and on the other as that which is threatened by
impurity” (“Holiness,” in ABD, vol. 3, 237–49 [237] (I would dispute that holiness has a
moral dimension, and I don’t see how there can be a cultic condition of God). Even James
Muilenburg wrote, tautologously, that “‘holiness’ gives expression to the essential nature
of the ‘sacred’ ” (“Holiness,” IDB, vol. 2, 616–25 [616]).
300 Clines

his feasts, his priests are all holy.21 They belong to him, they are within his
own sphere.
It is not only objects like the temple and the cult vessels that are holy; it is
also portions of time that he has designated holy. The Sabbath, along with fes-
tival times, is a time that is declared holy. The Israelite therefore cannot work
at his occupation in order to gain benefit for himself on such days, for he has
no ownership of those times. If he does not desist from work (‫שׁבת‬, we recall,
does not mean “rest” but “desist”), he encroaches on holy time, he is a thief of
time that has been laid claim to by the deity. As v. 10 says explicitly, the seventh
day is “a sabbath belonging to Yhwh your God.”
It should be added that the set of over-determined reasons offered in the
Decalogue for the sabbath commandment are not very persuasive. The first
is that in six days Yhwh made the universe, and desisted on the seventh
(Exod 20:11). It is not explained why what Yhwh did in the week of creation
(there is no suggestion that he continues to observe weekly sabbaths) should
have anything to do with what humans are to do every week. There may of
course be a hint that Israelites should be imitators of God, but not a word is
said about that. The second reason is that Israel was once a slave in Egypt and
was brought out by Yhwh (Deut 5:15). The connection between that event and
the observance of the sabbath is even harder to discern than in the case of the
week of creation.22 Perhaps the implication is that in Egypt the Israelites never
had a day off work, whereas under the sabbath commandment they are freed
from work every seventh day (though the connection is not drawn explicitly);
but that would not be a reason for being commanded to observe the sabbath,
though it would be a happy thought to have on sabbaths. Whether one is obli-
gated to work on the sabbath or obligated not to work on the sabbath, it is still
an obligation.23

21  What belongs to a male deity, incidentally, is, not surprisingly, male, as I have elsewhere
noted: “[N]othing female, nothing domestic, nothing from the realm of the moral, noth-
ing outside the sphere of the male God himself and the objects and practices of his cult”
belong to the realm of the holy (“He-Prophets: Masculinity as a Problem for the Hebrew
Prophets and their Interpreters,” in Sense and Sensitivity: Essays on Biblical Prophecy,
Ideology and Reception in Tribute to Robert Carroll, ed. Philip R. Davies and Alastair G.
Hunter [JSOTSup 348; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002], 311–28 [318]).
22  Childs, Exodus, 417, thinks that “Israel is commanded to observe the sabbath in order to
remember its slavery and deliverance . . . The festival arouses and excites the memory.”
But he does not say how or why observance of the sabbath would conjure up that particu-
lar memory.
23  The third reason given is not offered as a justification for keeping the Sabbath, but as an
explanation for why servants are included among those who must observe it: “so that
your male and female slaves may rest as you do” (Deut 5:14). This reason does not however
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 301

The one reason that really makes sense as a justification for the sabbath
commandment is that the period of time known as the sabbath is God’s prop-
erty, “holy” in the sense of belonging to the deity, and that therefore any human
activity that benefits oneself on that day is an infringement of his rights. He
claims the right to tell Israelites what they are to do on that day, and what they
are to do is: nothing. There are no rituals, no sacrifices, no worship, prescribed
for the sabbath.
It is an interesting thought that if one of the days of the week is holy, i.e.
belongs to the deity, the others are not.24 It would therefore be wrong, from the
standpoint of the Decalogue, to claim that time in general belongs to God.25 (It
is often said, for example, that in Israelite thought the world belongs to God,
and that people or nations own land only if it has been given to them by the
deity.) But if time in general belongs to humans, what right or reason has the
deity to claim even a seventh of time as his own? To “sanctify” it, i.e. to claim
it as holy, is no more than an annexation of property that belongs to others.
The deity’s claim to the sabbath might then, surprisingly, be seen as a form of
theft, at the same time as the Decalogue is portraying a breach of the sabbath
as a theft.

2.8 Third Commandment (Using Yhwh’s Name)

There are some interpretational problems with this commandment, lit. “you
shall not lift up the name of Yhwh your God to futility (‫( ”)שׁוא‬Exod 20:7;
Deut 5:11). Some think it refers to swearing falsely,26 others to using the name

explain why the resident alien should observe the sabbath (and such an explanation is
sorely lacking, for the other two reasons for the sabbath are not applicable to resident
aliens either: they cannot be expected to attempt to imitate the Hebrew deity, nor to
remember that they were slaves in Egypt, which they were not). Nor does it explain why
the farm animals should keep the sabbath.
24  Hyatt, Exodus, 212, is one of the few commentators who acknowledge that six days of
the week are “profane or secular”; similarly Martin Noth, Exodus: A Commentary (trans.
J.S. Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1970), 164.
25  In a rather fine article, Ernst Jenni admits that the Old Testament “has no theological
dogmas on time and its relation to God,” though he does want to speak of “God’s domin-
ion over time . . . most clearly revealed by the fact that he created time along with the
universe” (“Time,” IDB, vol. 4, 642–49 [647]). It may be questioned, however, whether
Genesis 1 represents God as creating time; he creates the heavenly bodies that demarcate
days and years (Gen 1:14), but he does not create days and years; it is almost as if they exist
of their own accord.
26  So, for example, NJPS; Childs, Exodus, 412: “to support a false oath which had the intent of
inflicting evil upon another.”
302 Clines

of Yhwh for any valueless purpose,27 others to using the name for mischief,28
others to using the name specifically for evil magical purposes.29
We can leave aside here the exact reference of the commandment, for on
any interpretation of its wording this is another evident case of a theft that
is prohibited: it is the misuse of the name of the deity, which is his property.
The idea is that “the name is a part of the being who bears it . . . Anyone who
knows a divine name can make use of the divine power present in the name to
effect blessings and curses, adjurations and bewitching and all kinds of magi-
cal undertakings.”30
It does not seem that swearing of legitimate oaths is here being addressed,
or prohibited. Invoking the name of the deity in the ordinary business of life as
a witness or guarantor of one’s fidelity is no theft of the deity’s dignity. But if a
person appropriates the name of the deity to oneself for nefarious purposes, or
simply frivolously, that is a theft. Though the term theft is not used, the distinc-
tion between proper use and misuse of the divine name must hang on whether
the use is “fair use” and whether therefore there has or has not been a theft.

2.9 Second Commandment (Images)

Since the first Commandment deals with the prohibition of deities other than
Yahweh, it seems unlikely that this second commandment also should have
them in view. Rather, it is against the representation of Yahweh by means of
a carved or cast image (the term ‫ פסל‬could apparently refer to either).31 As
Noth rightly says, “We should hardly look for the reason for the prohibition
of images in a “spiritual” conception of God which forbade the introduction
of any creaturely being from the sphere of the “world” . . . The basis for it lies
rather in the idea . . . that an image had a firm connection with the being it por-
trayed, and that with the help of an image a man [sic] might gain power over
the being represented in the image.”32

27  Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus (trans. Israel Abrahams; Jerusalem:
Magnes Press, 1967), 243; similarly Durham, Exodus, 286 “to empty purpose.”
28  So Walter Harrelson, The Ten Commandments and Human Rights (Overtures to Biblical
Theology; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980), p. 73: “Using Yahweh’s name for mischief
means misusing the power inherent in the personal name for God to do harm against
others.”
29  Sigmund Mowinckel, Psalmenstudien I (Kristiania: J. Dybwad, 1921), 50ff.
30  Noth, Exodus, 163.
31  It is a cast image in Isa 44:10. Cf. HALOT, 949a; DCH, vol. 6, 726a.
32  Noth, Exodus, 162–63. Similarly J.J. Stamm with M.E. Andrew, The Ten Commandments in
Recent Research (SBT, 2/2; London: SCM Press, 1967), 85, 88–89.
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 303

This would appear to be a more convincing explanation of the rejection of

images of Yahweh than the argument that it arises from a concern to protect
Yahweh’s transcendence, or even to protect the manner of his relatedness to
humans, as the following statement suggests: “Unlike plastic images, which are
static and immobile, deaf and dumb, unfeeling and unthinking, and fix God
at a point in time, Israel’s God is one who can speak and feel and act in both
nature and history”.33
Yahweh does not allow images of himself because he does not want to
run the risk of anyone gaining power over him. Even if it is only a little of his
power that would be usurped by manipulation of an image of him, it would
still be an infringement of his personal authority and status, a theft in short.
It would be very like the human use of his name for personal gain in the third
commandment.

2.10 First Commandment (No Other Gods)

Here too there is an interpretational problem, the exact sense of “before me”
(‫)לפני‬. Does it mean “beside me,” “over against me,” “in defiance of me,” or even
“as long as I exist” (Rashi)?34 As with the Third Commandment, the issue is of
little moment for the present purpose.
What is being demanded by this commandment, as most agree, is monola-
try, a “dynamic monolatry which had the seeds of monotheism within it,” as J.J.
Stamm puts it.35 There is no denial of the existence of other gods; indeed, the
formulation effectively presupposes it. Yet all worship carried out by Israelites
must be worship of Yahweh; if they also worship other deities, their worship of
Yahweh will be the less. They will be withholding from him the worship that he
demands as his due, and in that respect they will be robbing him of his rights.36

3 Some Conclusions

a. From beginning to end, the Decalogue contains prohibitions against theft. In

five cases it is theft of the property or reputation of the neighbour, in one case

33  Fretheim, Exodus, 226.

34  See, for example, the discussion in Stamm and Andrew, The Ten Commandments in Recent
Research, 79.
35  Stamm and Andrew, The Ten Commandments in Recent Research, 81.
36  It is another matter whether the best method of ensuring the worship of one’s devotees
is to demand it, upon pain of punishment, and not rather to earn it in an open market in
which various deities might compete for worship.
304 Clines

theft of what is due to parents, and in four cases theft of what belongs to the
deity. As I suggested at the beginning, the tenth commandment is an appropri-
ate climax to the set of commandments, in that it pinpoints covetousness as
the underlying cause of theft, and proscribes the mental act that invariably
precedes the diverse actions outlawed in the other nine commandments.
b. One result of recognizing the coherence of the Decalogue is that its some-
what strange combination of positive and negative elements can then be easily
explained: if the avoidance of theft is the underlying issue, that project can as
well be accomplished by prohibitions of theft as by encouragements to engage
in behaviour that respects the rights and property of others. So long as the
Decalogue is seen as essentially a collection of ethical principles, it is hard to
see why some should be couched as positive commandments and others as
negative.
c. A set of commandments against theft must reflect a society where private
property is recognized, and recognized as an important good. This is no com-
munitarian society, where all have access to the assets of the community. As in
the Covenant Code, it is a society of neighbours,37 who are practised in being
helpful to one another, but have a strong sense of their individual rights.
d. Theft is an especially, perhaps even exclusively, male concern. For it is
males that own property and possess honour and so have something to lose
from theft. It is unsurprising that the males who are (exclusively) addressed in
the Decalogue are the same males that feel under a obligation to avoid theft,
for theft of their property and rights is what they most fear.
e. The deity is conceived of along much the same lines as the men of the
Decalogue: he too has his rights and his property and he fiercely protects them,
being sensitive to infringements on what is his and what he claims as his.
f. So long as the Decalogue is viewed as a comprehensive statement of ethi-
cal principles, it is evidently lacking in important respects. It has regard prin-
cipally to the rights and property of the individual (whether human or divine)
and displays a weak sense of the community, or of responsibilities to other

37  See my profile of the society implied by the Covenant Code in “Being a Man in the Book
of the Covenant,” in Reading the Law: Studies in Honour of Gordon J. Wenham, ed. J.G.
McConville and Karl Möller (LHBOTS 461; London: T & T Clark International, 2007), 3–9.
See also my “The Ten Commandments, Reading from Left to Right,” in Words Remembered,
Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer, ed. Jon Davies, Graham Harvey and
Wilfred G.E. Watson (JSOTSup 195; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 97–112; a
revised version was published in my Interested Parties: The Ideology of Writers and Readers
of the Hebrew Bible (JSOTSup 205; Gender, Culture, Theory 1; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 1995), 26–45.
The Decalogue as the Prohibition of Theft 305

members of the community. There is no altruism in the Decalogue, no concern

for the positive advancement of others.38 It is self-regarding. There is no feeling
in the Decalogue: apart from the desire to possess what belongs to others, it is
emotion-free, and blind to the springs of action. But if it is no more than an
elaboration of the principle of the avoidance of theft, such omissions do not
matter, for they were not within its scope.
g. Recognizing the Decalogue as directed as a whole and in its parts toward
one particular issue, the avoidance of theft, has a profound effect on how the
Decalogue should be understood. It can no longer be regarded as a compre-
hensive rule for life, or as a statement of universal ethical principles, or as fun-
damental guidance for a just society. It addresses only one element in a scheme
of justice, that is, not robbing others of what is due to them. It completely
ignores the issue of how giving to others what is due to them may be achieved.
And it leaves entirely out of consideration social values outside the realm of
justice, such as friendship, kindness, solidarity, and the communal experience
of joy and sorrow.

38  The exemption of various members of one’s household, and of one’s farm animals, from
labour on the sabbath does not derive from a humanitarian impulse: it simply makes
the male householder, who is the addressee of the commandments, responsible for the
adherence to the commandments by all those over whom he has power.
Being Like the Cushites: Some Western and African
Interpretations of Amos 9:7

Knut Holter

1 Prelude: Changing Interpretations

The book of Amos continues to attract readers.1 A fascinating example of the

multifarious interpretive attention the book receives today is the way a con-
sciously African perspective on Amos 9:7 responds to a not that consciously
Western interpretive tradition.

Are you not like the children of the Cushites to me,

O children of Israel? says Yahweh.
Did I not bring Israel up from the land of Egypt,
and the Philistines from Caphtor and the Arameans from Kir?

The text has traditionally been interpreted rather negatively, as Western bibli-
cal interpreters have tended to see Amos’ somewhat surprising comparison of
the elected people of Israel with the Cushites of Africa as some kind of a threat
or judgement. In recent years, however, the negative associations of the com-
parison have been toned down, both in Western interpretation and even more
in the first one or two generations of a consciously African interpretation.
This development calls for a critical analysis of the factors that bring about—
and have brought about—these different interpretations. In the following
pages I will attempt to draw some contours of such an analysis: first, some
lines concerning the interpretive tradition vis-à-vis Africa and Africans as it is
expressed by Western Old Testament scholarship, then some lines concerning
the response to this tradition from the emerging guild of Old Testament schol-
arship in Africa, and finally a few words on the importance of acknowledging
interpretive contextualities.

1  It is a privilege to address this essay to Professor Hans M. Barstad. Back in the early 1990s
I happened to be his first doctoral student at the University of Oslo, and he guided me care-
fully into the world of prophetic literature. The following reflections on Amos 9:7 attempt to
link my own research interest for African interpretive strategies vis-à-vis the Old Testament
to the Old Testament book that was Hans’ first love and to Hans’ many examples of decon-
structing interpretive traditions.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004293274_024

Being Like the Cushites 307

2 Tracing the Contours of Western Interpretive Tradition vis-à-vis

Africa and Africans

More than one third of a century has passed since Edward W. Said made us
aware of the history and nature of Western attitudes towards the East, describ-
ing “Orientalism” as an ideological creation by which Western writers, phi-
losophers, and colonialists handled the otherness of Eastern culture. Those of
us working within the field of biblical studies must admit that Said is correct
when he notices—although just en passant—that our academic field has been
part of this othering of the Easterners.2 Likewise, those of us working within
the field of African studies, or Asian studies, or Latin American studies, or—
to put it negatively—studies of whatever non-Western culture, must admit
that Said’s concern can be transferred to other orientations than that of the
Orient. Our creation of the non-Western other is indeed a foil to our creation
of ourselves.
Such is also the case with regard to the way Africa and Africans have been
represented within Western interpretation of the Old Testament; partly within
the kind of interpretation we find within church and society, but unfortunately
also deep within the critical discipline of Old Testament interpretation. One
example is the “Curse of Ham,” an interpretive tradition arguing that Noah’s
curse in Gen 9:25–27—“let Canaan be his slave”—could justify the Western
enslavement of Africans. Another example is the “Contempt for Cush,” an
interpretive tradition that takes for granted that Old Testament references
to the black Cushites living south of Egypt reflect negative associations. Both
examples use Old Testament texts to express negative prejudices against black
Africans.3 Still, in both examples it is clear that the texts are not necessarily
the problem, rather it is how they are used. In the case of Ham, it is actually
Canaan, not Ham (or Cush), who is enslaved. And in the case of the Cushites,
the Old Testament portrayal is hardly contemptuous, rather quite favorable. In
other words, the texts serve as a means of expressing already existing negative
concepts of Africa and Africans, rather than as sources for forming concepts
about Africa and Africans.

2  Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin, 2003), 76–77, 202, 290.

3  The literature is overwhelming, in particular on the interpretation of Ham, see especially
David M. Goldberg, The Curse of Ham: Race and Slavery in Early Judaism, Christianity, and
Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003). To the interpretation of Cush, see espe-
cially Rodney S. Sadler, Can a Cushite Change his Skin? An Examination of Race, Ethnicity, and
Othering in the Hebrew Bible (LHBOTS 425; New York: T & T Clark, 2005).
308 Holter

As pointed out above, this essay will focus on a tiny part of this interpretive
conglomerate: the comparison of Israelites and Cushites in Amos 9:7; first, as
it has been interpreted by influential voices in Western Old Testament scholar-
ship, and then, how it is currently being read by influential voices within the
emerging guild of African Old Testament scholarship.
I will have to find a pragmatic point of departure, and I have decided to use
William R. Harper’s commentary on Amos and Hosea from 1905 as an entry,
for three reasons.4 First, the author represents some of the best scholarship
of its time. Harper served as a Professor of Semitic languages and literature at
the University of Chicago, and the same year that he published his Amos and
Hosea commentaries the Society of Biblical Literature elected him as its presi-
dent. A close reading of his commentary confirms the rationale of these aca-
demic appointments. The list of references in the beginning of the book, and
indeed the use of these references throughout his interpretation of Amos and
Hosea, reflects familiarity with a broad spectrum of contemporary German,
British and American Old Testament and Ancient Near Eastern scholarship.
Second, Harper’s commentary is chosen because the book was published in
one of the most distinguished commentary series of its time (and, actually, of
our time as well). “The International Critical Commentary” was in 1905 a quite
recent British-American initiative, intended to bringing together the best rep-
resentatives of critical biblical scholarship within the Anglophone world, with
Samuel R. Driver and Charles A. Briggs as the Old Testament editors. Third,
Harper’s commentary has proved to be a very influential commentary. It has
been reprinted several times—it is still for sale, and the last reprint is actu-
ally as recent as from 2013—and as I will show below, many subsequent com-
mentators to Amos echo, more or less verbatim, Harper’s interpretation of the
exegetical role of the Cushites in Amos 9:7.
Harper reads Amos 9:7 as part of vv. 1–8, “A fifth vision of destruction, with
a passionate description of the ruin.” His interpretation of v. 7, though, is not
well integrated into that of the rest of the vision, apart from a quite general
reference to the universalism of v. 7 in relation to the judgment in v. 8.5 Rather,
Harper focuses on the historical situation of Cush in the time of Amos, refer-
ring to current research by Heinrich K. Brugsch (Egyptologist) and Hugo
Winckler (archaeologist and Hittitologist). Then he turns to the exegetical role
of the Cushites, a role, he argues, that is quite negative:

4  William R. Harper, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Amos and Hosea (ICC; Edinburgh:
T & T Clark, 1905).
5  Harper, Amos and Hosea, 193.
Being Like the Cushites 309

Israel, says the prophet, is no more to me than the far-distant, uncivilized, and
despised black race of the Ethiopians; cf. Je. 13:23. No reference is made to their
Hamitic origin [footnote with reference to Baur, 1847], or their black skin [foot-
note with reference to Keil, 1866]; and yet their color and the fact that slaves were
so often drawn from them added to the grounds for despising them.6

Harper here responds explicitly to two colleagues within Old Testament guild
in Germany. Against Gustav Baur, who in his 1847 commentary on Amos had
referred to “die verachteten Cushiten” as “die Nachkommen des verfluchten
Ham,”7 Harper notices that Amos 9:7 contains no explicit reference to the
curse of Ham. Likewise, against Carl F. Keil, who in his 1866 commentary on
Amos had explained the exegetical role of the Cushites, “nicht sowohl als
Nachkommen des Verfluchten Ham, sondern vielmehr wegen der schwarzen
Farbe ihrer Haut, die als Bild der geistigen Schwärze gedacht wird,”8 Harper
again points out that the texts does not explicitly refer to the black skin of
the Cushites.
Having admitted that the text has no explicit reference to the curse of Ham
or the black colour of the Cushites, Harper nevertheless adds an interpretively
significant “yet.” Yet, he argues, their colour and the fact that they “so often”
provided others with slaves, added to the grounds for despising them. In other
words, the two points he has just rejected in his dialogue with Baur (curse of
Ham) and Keil (black colour), as they are not explicitly mentioned in the text,
are suddenly reintroduced, without any legitimation. Two points are strik-
ing here. The first is that Harper without any discussion claims that the black
colour of the Cushites inevitably has connotations of contempt. Apart from a
dubious reference to Jeremiah 13:23, which hardly proves anything with regard
to contempt vis-à-vis the Cushites, Harper does not bother to explain his claim
any further. One should notice that he does not mention, positively or nega-
tively, Keil’s claim that the dark colour of the Cushites reflects their spiritual
darkness. For Harper, it is simply taken for granted that the black colour of the
Cushites has connotations of contempt. The other point is Harper’s reference
to the Cushites as slaves, a “fact” that is also taken for granted. The associa-
tion of the Cushites to slavery is not found in the commentaries of Baur and
Keil, but it is found in some of the other literature Harper had at his disposal.
A prominent example is Julius Wellhausen, whose 1892 commentary on the

6  Harper, Amos and Hosea, 192.

7  Gustav Baur, Der Prophet Amos (Giessen: J. Ricker’sche Buchhandlung, 1847), 431.
8  Carl F. Keil, Biblischer Commentar über die zwölf kleinen Propheten (BCAT 4; Leipzig: Dörffling
& Franke, 1866), 232.
310 Holter

Twelve Prophets is elsewhere frequently referred to by Harper, and who refers

to the Cushites as a “verachtetes schwarzes Sklavenfolk.”9 The slave status of
the Cushites eventually becomes an exegetical problem for Wellhausen here in
Amos 9:7, as it implies a comparison of the chosen people of Israel to a slave
people. Wellhausen’s solution is then that the prophet in this particular case
should not be taken literally.10
It would of course be unfair to Harper to say that his interpretations of the
Cushites in Amos 9:7 are simply a result of his late nineteenth century North
American context. As indicated above, Western stereotypes of Africa and black
people go far deeper into our—I am talking as a Westerner—conceptualiza-
tion of “us” versus “them” than what accidental experiences of accidental bibli-
cal interpreters may be an expression of. Nevertheless, not even a distinguished
scholar such as Harper is able to escape his own interpretive context. One thing
is that he, being born in 1856, might have remembered the formal abolition of
a kind of slavery that equated black Africans with slaves. Another is that he
throughout his lifetime (1856–1906) hardly experienced any real emancipation
of his fellow African Americans. This interpretive context of his is at least part
of the problem. Like so many other interpreters of the Bible, when approach-
ing a Cushite—a black African—in the text, Harper, too, saw one of his black
contemporaries in North America. He would himself identify with the (white?)
Israelites, whereas the black Cushites could never be more than a “them,” that
is, a “them” he would frequently meet in the streets of Chicago, as descendants
of African slaves. In other words, he lacked a critical distance to his interpreta-
tion, a distance that for example could have enabled him to reject not only the
surface of Keil’s reference to black people in the text, but even more its deeper
roots: Keil’s allegorical interpretation of the black skin of the Cushites as being
a consequence of their spiritual blackness.
Harper, of course, is not alone. First, he is not alone as far as his immedi-
ate historical context is concerned. Six years before Harper published his com-
mentaries on Amos and Hosea in “The International Critical Commentary,”
another Old Testament scholar based in the USA published a commentary on
the books of Samuel in the same series. Henry P. Smith—like Harper, a dis-
tinguished scholar, who could count the Presidency of the Society of Biblical
Literature (1909) as one of his academic merits—comes across a Cushite war-
rior in the army of King David in his interpretation of 2 Samuel 18, and refers

9  Julius Wellhausen, Die Kleinen Propheten (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963/1892), 94.

10  Wellhausen, Die Kleinen Propheten, 94.
Being Like the Cushites 311

to him as “a Negro, naturally a slave.”11 Smith’s use of the term “naturally” is

important here, not only because it creates a rhetorical link between the terms
“Negro” and “slave,” but even more because the rhetoric legitimizes the link,
assuming it to be obvious to the early twentieth century North American and
British readers of this international and critical commentary.12
Second, and more important in the present context, is the fact that Harper is
not alone in his interpretation of the role of the Cushites in Amos 9:7. His value-
loaded terms—“uncivilized,” “despised” and “blacks”—are actually echoed in
many commentaries and other sorts of scholarly literature throughout most
of the twentieth century. An early example is Ernest A. Edghill, whose 1914
commentary on Amos repeats the term “uncivilized” as a general characteristic
about the Cushites, and refers to the Cushites here in Amos 9:7 as an exam-
ple of an association of “despised blacks.”13 Half a century later, around 1970,
Harper’s value-loaded terms still echoe. The Ethiopianist Edward Ullendorff
explicitly quotes Harper, seeing the reference to the Cushites in Amos 9:7 as
an “epitome of a far-distant, uncivilized, and despised black race,”14 whereas
the Bible translators Jan de Waard and William A. Smalley, without explicitly
quoting Harper still argue that “Israel is put on the same level as the most dis-
tant and despised people (the Ethiopians).”15 Simultaneously with Ullendorff
and de Waard/Smalley, Old Testament scholars such as Erling Hammershaimb
could refer to the Cushites in Amos 9:7 as being despised by the Israelites,16
whereas James L. Mays could argue that the point of comparing the Israelites
to the Cushites is to “humiliate Israel completely with respect to Yahweh.”17
In recent years, however, the negative associations of the Cushites in critical
biblical scholarship have gradually been reduced. The Cushite in 2 Samuel 18,
for example, underwent a slight transformation from Henry P. Smith’s late-
nineteenth century “naturally a slave” (cf. above), to mid-twentieth century
expressions like George B. Caird’s “probably a slave,”18 and James M. Ward’s

11  Henry P. Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Samuel (ICC;
Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1898), 359.
12  Knut Holter, “ ‘A Negro, naturally a slave’: An aspect of the portrayal of Africans in colonial
Old Testament interpretation,” OTE 21 (2008): 373–82.
13  Ernest A. Edghill, The Book of Amos (London: Methuen, 1914), 90.
14  Edward Ullendorff, Ethiopia and the Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968), 9.
15  Jan de Waard and William A. Smalley, A Translator’s Handbook on the Book of Amos (Helps
for Translators Series; New York: United Bible Societies, 1979), 180.
16  Erling Hammershaimb, Amos (3rd ed; København: Nyt Nordisk Forlag, 1967/1946), 133.
17  James L. Mays, Amos: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 157.
18  George B. Caird, “The First and Second Books of Samuel,” IntB, vol. 2 (New York: Abingdon
Press, 1953), 1142.
312 Holter

“perhaps a Negro slave.”19 More recently, the rehabilitation of this particular

Cushite in King David’s army has reached a new level, when he in the words of
Rodney S. Sadler has become “a loyal and faithful officer,”20 reflecting a Cushite
presence in Judah.
A similar development can be seen with regard to the interpretation of the
Cushites in Amos 9:7. The negative associations—such as in Ullendorff’s (cf.
above) “epitome of a far-distant, uncivilized, and despised black race”—have
more or less disappeared. The Cushites are still “far-distant,” but being so is
not any longer equivalent to characteristics as “uncivilized” and “despised.”
Their function here in Amos 9:7 is rather said to be that of exemplifying the
belief that Yahweh’s influence and power transcends the borders of Judah and
Israel—and even the borders of the neighbouring nations, as they are depicted
in Amos 1:2–2:3—reaching the ends of the known world.
It should here be admitted that this interpretive concentration on a geo-
graphical—rather than ethnical or cultural—remoteness of the Cushites is
not an entirely new interpretation. Also previously there have been critical
voices rejecting the tradition of associating the Cushites with slavery and con-
tempt. In a Festschrift essay dedicated to Hans M. Barstad, one could men-
tion that one of his predecessors at the University of Oslo, Simon Michelet,
more than a century ago argued that the Cushites popping up in Amos 9:7
were not a despised and black slave people “as most exegetes tend to think,”
rather, they are mentioned here as representatives of peoples living far away.21
In more recent commentary literature, this has more or less become a standard
interpretation. Hans W. Wolff—to mention an important representative of the
mid- to late-twentieth century generation of German interpreters of Amos—
can serve as an example, when he argues that:

To compare the Israelites with the Cushites does not in itself mean to say any-
thing disdainful, much less anything reprehensible, about them. They are men-
tioned only as representative of foreign and remote peoples who live in the
outermost periphery of the known world.22

19  James M. Ward, “Cushi,” IDB, vol. 1, 751.

20  Sadler, Can a Cushite, 114.
21  Simon Michelet, Amos oversat og fortolket (Kristiania: Aschehoug, 1893), 257.
22  Hans W. Wolff, Dodekapropheton 2: Joel und Amos (2nd ed.; BKAT, xiv/2; Neukirchen:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1975), 398–99; here quoted from the English translation, Joel and
Amos (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 347.
Being Like the Cushites 313

Both details and overall perspectives of this focus on the geographical remote-
ness of the Cushites in Amos 9:7 may vary. One example is Francis I. Andersen
and David Noel Freedman, who see it as a key expression of Amos’ universal-
ism, arguing that “. . . just as there is a special relation between Yahweh and
Israel there will be a comparable relation with the Cushites.”23 Another exam-
ple is Rodney S. Sadler, who argues that the reference to Cushites in Amos 9:7 is
not an exemplification of a people living in a remote part of the known world,
rather, the prophet talks about groups of Cushites “. . . who have settled in the
immediate environs of Judah. As with Israel, Philistia, and Aram, they were
known to have come from another region.”24
Nevertheless, it seems clear that the Cushites in Amos 9:7 have experienced
a transformation in the last century or so of professional Old Testament inter-
pretation. Rather than exemplifying the “uncivilized” and “despised” associa-
tions of black Africans, they are now seen as representatives of foreign and
remote people who are still within the sphere of the God of Israel. It is hardly a
coincidence that the century that experienced this transformation is the same
as the one in which Africa gained independence from European colonialism.
Neither is it a coincidence that African biblical scholars who operate in postco-
lonial contexts would like to reread a biblical text like Amos 9:7.

3 Tracing the Contours of the Response from the Emerging African

Guild of Biblical Studies

Academic biblical studies is by no means a recent introduction to Africa.

The Jewish and Christian academies of North Africa provided the world with
biblical texts and interpretations that are still crucial for the global guilds of
biblical studies, and the Orthodox churches—and seminaries—in Egypt and
Ethiopia represent a kind of historical link between the North African heritage
and today’s church and academia in Africa. Nevertheless, the biblical studies
of classical North Africa plays only a marginal role in what today counts as
biblical scholarship in Africa, although it sometimes may be referred to as an
important predecessor.25

23  Francis I. Andersen and David N. Freedman, Amos (AB 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989),
906.
24  Sadler, Can a Cushite, 45.
25  Samuel O. Abogunrin, “Biblical research in Africa: The task ahead,” African Journal of
Biblical Studies 1 (1986): 7–24.
314 Holter

The year 1960 is often used to pinpoint the liberation of Africa after a cen-
tury—or several centuries, depending on the definition—of colonialism;
politically, with the establishment of a number of (more or less) “new” nations,
but also ecclesiastically, with a deliberate Africanization of power and theol-
ogy in the fast-growing churches that had been planted in African soil from
the nineteenth century on. The 1960s also saw the first steps in the direction
of what we today know as African biblical—and indeed Old Testament—
scholarship.26 One of the results of political and ecclesiastical liberation was
the establishment of a large number of universities and theological seminar-
ies. In the period of post-independence, the mission of the universities was
seen as part of the efforts of national development, politically, economically,
and obviously also culturally. In the humanities this led to a focus on African
culture and languages, and the departments of religious studies followed this
up with research and teaching programs on African traditional religion and on
the relationship between African religion and Islam and Christianity. Likewise,
theological seminaries—of which some eventually were to become church-
related universities—developed interpretive strategies vis-à-vis the Bible and
theology that in various ways reacted to the colonialism of the political and
ecclesiastical past.
The idea of an “African presence” in the Old Testament is part of this post-
colonial reactive movement—of the 1970s and 80s—with regard to biblical
interpretation and theological reflection. The idea is especially linked to the
Old Testament references to the Cushites, an African people referred to as
“Ethiopians” by the Septuagint and a long series of translations even up until
today.27 The idea of an “African presence” in the Old Testament—expressed
through the Cushite, or rather, Ethiopian texts—had already for a century or
two been advocated by certain movements (“Ethiopianism”) and churches ini-
tiated by Africans, mainly in the USA and in South Africa. The main charac-
teristics of the so-called “Ethiopian” churches is the conviction that God has
a special plan for Africans, independent of what they experience of “white”

26  For critical introductions to Old Testament scholarship in Africa, see Knut Holter,
Contextualized Old Testament Scholarship in Africa (Nairobi: Acton, 2008), and Knut
Holter, Old Testament Research for Africa: A Critical Analysis and Annotated Bibliography
of African Old Testament Dissertations, 1967–2000 (Bible and Theology in Africa, 3; New
York: Peter Lang, 2002). For sample collections, see Gerald O. West and Musa W. Dube
(eds.), The Bible in Africa: Transactions, Trajectories and Trends (Leiden: Brill, 2000), and
Mary Getui & al. (eds.), Interpreting the Old Testament in Africa (Bible and Theology in
Africa, 2; New York: Peter Lang, 2001).
27  Knut Holter, “Should Old Testament Cush Be Rendered ‘Africa’?” BiTr 48 (1997): 331–36.
Being Like the Cushites 315

control in society and church. The “Ethiopian” churches have a strong focus
on Old Testament texts referring to the relationship between the Africans of
the Old Testament and the God of Israel, such as Isaiah 18:7 and Psalm 68:32,
describing the Cushites as bringing gifts to Yahweh in Jerusalem.
Accordingly, what was new in the 1970s and 80s was not a focus on the Cush
texts, but that an already existing focus—in certain churches—on the Cush
texts entered academia and led representatives of the emerging African guilds
of theology and biblical scholarship to interpret the Cush texts from con-
sciously African perspectives. An early example was the Cameroonian theolo-
gian and historian Engelbert Mveng, who as early as in 1972 published an essay
on Old Testament texts referring to African peoples and individuals.28 Mveng
demonstrates a descriptive and almost encyclopedic approach, by no means
reading any explicitly postcolonial concerns into the texts. Still, the very fact
that the essay was published simultaneously as Mveng’s famous monograph
on black African history according to Greek sources,29 as well as his insistence
that the Cushites were black, shows that the time was ripe for a new focus on
sources of black African involvement in the development of what had up to
now been assumed to be a typically European culture.
A couple of decades later, the interpretive context allowed for a more explicit
elaboration of the Africanness of the “African presence” in the Old Testament.
One example is an essay by Sidbe Sempore, a theologian from Burkina Faso,
who addresses the role of Cush in select Old Testament texts. Sempore argues
that these texts portray the God of Israel as including Africans in his history of
salvation, right from the beginning. Accordingly, the relationship between God
and Africa is not a result of nineteenth century missionary or colonial activi-
ties, it has always been there. In this context, the role of the reference to the
Cushites in Amos 9:7 is to exemplify a theological universalism.30
However, the most important exponent of this search for an “African pres-
ence” in the Old Testament is the Nigerian biblical scholar David T. Adamo,
who in the 1990s published a series of essays on various Cush texts in the

28  Engelbert Mveng, “La Bible et l’Afrique noire,” The Jerusalem Congress on Black Africa and
the Bible: April 24–30, 1972, ed. Engelbert Mveng and Raphael J.Z. Werblowsky (Jerusalem:
Anti-Defamation League of B’nai Berit, 1972), 23–39.
29  Engelbert Mveng, Les sources grecques de l’histoire négro-africaine depuis Homère jusqu’à
Strabon (Paris: Présence Africaine, 1972).
30  Sidbe Sempore, “Le noir et le salut dans la bible,” in Universalisme et Mission dans la Bible:
Actes de Cinquième Congrès des Biblistes Africains, ed. P. Adeso et al. (Nairobi: Catholic
Biblical Centre for Africa and Madagascar, 1993), 17–29, 24.
316 Holter

Old Testament,31 including one on Amos 9:7.32 Then, in 1998 Adamo sum-
marized his work on Cush with a monograph on Africa and Africans in the
Old Testament,33 demonstrating a view of the body of Cush texts from a con-
sciously African perspective. Positively, he argues that the biblical Hebrew
term “Cush” should be rendered “Africa,” as it equals what today is known as
the African continent.34 Negatively, he emphasizes the general marginalizing
of Africa in the Western intellectual tradition. Adamo refers to central expo-
nents of European philosophy and historiography, and claims that even today:

. . . the assumption prevails that the ancient world in Africa was limited to Egypt
and that sub-Sahara Africa had no historic past before the Portuguese coloniza-
tion. The aforementioned assumptions about Africa have affected the attitudes
of not only historians, but also theologians in their examination of the Bible and
Africa and Africans, to the extent that they have produced a doctrine of inferior-
ity of black people all over the world.35

This has important consequences for the academic discipline of Old Testament
studies, Adamo argues; the discipline needs to be de-colonized.36 One exam-
ple of this de-colonizing is that the historical links between Africa and ancient
Israel should not (any longer) be neglected. Ancient Israel interacted in vari-
ous ways with her neighbouring nations, and Africa and Africans “. . . made a
significant contribution to the religious life and the civilization of the ancient
Near East, and particularly ancient Israel.”37

31  For a survey, cf. Knut Holter, Tropical Africa and the Old Testament: A Select and Annotated
Bibliography (Faculty of Theology: Bibliography Series, 6; Oslo: University of Oslo, 1996),
20–23. For a critical discussion, cf. Marta Høyland, “An African Presence in the Old
Testament? David Tuesday Adamo’s Interpretation of the Old Testament Cush Passages,”
OTE 11 (1998): 50–58.
32  David T. Adamo, “Amos 9:7–8 in an African Perspective,” Orita 24 (1992): 76–84.
33  David T. Adamo, Africa and Africans in the Old Testament (San Francisco: Christian
Universities Press, 1998).
34  David T. Adamo, “Ethiopia in the Bible,” African Christian Studies 8 (1992): 51–64; Adamo,
Africa and Africans, 165–69; a critical discussion is found in Holter, “Should Old Testament
Cush.”
35  Adamo, Africa and Africans, 1.
36  David T. Adamo, De-colonizing African Biblical Studies (Abraka: Delta State University,
2004).
37  Adamo, Africa and Africans, 165.
Being Like the Cushites 317

In his discussion of Old Testament references to Cush, Adamo finds the

comparison between Israel and Cush in Amos 9:7 to be of special interest. He
is familiar with the heavy tradition of Western interpretation which has seen a
humiliation and even rejection of Israel in this text. Against this interpretative
tradition, Adamo claims that “any honest and well-informed biblical scholar”38
will see that it has no textual basis. The point of the comparison is rather the
opposite, he points out:

The same God who guided Israel from Egypt also put the Africans where they
were . . . God’s special relationship is bounded by justice and righteousness. He
is, therefore, not exclusively bound to one nation, but is master of all and has a
special relationship with all. . . . The comparison demonstrates that Israel is as
precious as Africans before Yahweh.39

The last sentence demonstrates an interpretation of Amos 9:7 that has turned
the traditional order of the relationship between Israel and Cush upside
down. It is no longer a question of threatening the Israelites that they will be
pushed down to the level of the despised Cushites; rather, it is a question of
the Israelites being lifted up to the same level as that of Africans. This is an
interpretation that not only rejects an influential Western interpretive tradi-
tion, it is also a program for doing Old Testament studies in Africa. Adamo can
therefore conclude his essay on Amos 9:7 with a description of the double task
of an Africanized Old Testament scholarship: not only to expose the Western
misinterpretations of the past, but also to correct them, through exegetical and
historical analyses of the role of Africa and Africans in the Old Testament:

[Amos . . . ] was quite familiar with . . . other nations, including Africans. . . .

Without any doubt, the prophet Amos does not see Africans as despised and
slavish people, as Hammershaimb, Harper, Mays, Ullendorff and others inter-
preted Amos 9:7–8. Perhaps these scholars were influenced in their interpreta-
tions by the nineteenth and twentieth centuries’ belief about black people. They
tried to justify from the Bible the evil act of enslaving Africans. African Biblical
scholars have the task of exposing and correcting such academic prejudice
and sin.40

38  Adamo, “Amos 9:7–8,” 82.

39  Adamo, Africa and Africans, 100.
40  Adamo, “Amos 9:7–8,” 84.
318 Holter

4 Postlude: Context Matters and Should Matter

I started the first main section with a reference to Edward W. Said’s concept
of “orientalism.” In the three or four decades that have passed since Said pub-
lished his book, a sudden wave (some would say a tsunami) of interpretive
strategies—generally, but imprecisely referred to as “postcolonial biblical
studies”—has come over us and has become an interpretive growth indus-
try, with increasing numbers of essays and journals as well as books and book
series.41 Not all of those Old Testament exegetes who read Amos 9:7—the
majority of which are trained in historical and textual methodologies (only)—
find postcolonial approaches relevant in their work with ancient texts.
Nevertheless, some of the basic interpretive experiences and concerns that
have been made and expressed within the circles of postcolonial biblical inter-
pretation should be allowed to challenge even the traditionalists of the guild.
First is the experience that interpretive context matters. Biblical interpreta-
tion is no innocent activity, performed in sterile laboratories by researchers
who are detached from their contextual concerns and experiences. Rather, we
are, if not necessarily part and parcel of our interpretive communities, then
at least heavily influenced by our contexts, and the consequence is that we,
like Harper, easily might confuse “uncivilized and despised” phenomena in the
ancient texts and our own interpretive context.
Second, interpretive context should matter. It is hardly an aim to escape
from all our contextually biased perspectives (for a long time we thought we
could do that by help of historical-critical approaches, and we were wrong).
The aim is rather, I would tend to think, to develop sensitivity with regard to
the interpretive power we exercise when we interpret the ancient texts, and be
open about the implicit and explicit concerns of our socio-cultural, interpre-
tive contexts. This will hopefully strengthen the communal aspect of biblical
interpretation, so that when Adamo—speaking with capital letters—rejects
our interpretations, we are still willing to listen.

41  If I am to single out one volume to represent the whole field, it will have to be Fernando
F. Segovia, Decolonizing Biblical Studies: A View from the Margins (Maryknoll, New York:
Orbis, 2000).
Hans M. Barstad: A Bibliography of His Books,
Edited Volumes, Essays, and Articles 1975–2013

Svein Helge Birkeflet

1975–1980

“Die Basankühe in Amos 4:1.” Vetus Testamentum 25 (1975): 286–97.

“En bemerkning til Deuteronomium 32:15.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 76 (1975): 103–6.
“De arabiske kilder og studiet av Det gamle testamente: Noen refleksjoner omkring en
ny bok [Review Article of The Desert Bible: Nomadic Tribal Culture.]” Norsk teologisk
tidsskrift 77 (1976): 163–77.
“ ‘Der rasende Zeus’: Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis von Lukians ‘De dea Syria’ Kap 47.”
Temenos 12 (1976): 149–62.
“Festmahl und Übersättigung: Der ‘Sitz im Leben’ von RS 24.258.” Acta Orientalia 39
(1978): 23–30.
“HBL als Bezeichnung der fremden Götter im Alten Testament und der Gott Hubal.”
Studia theologica 32 (1978): 57–65.
“Utgravningene i Tell Mardikh/Ebla i Nordsyria: En kort orientering med bibliografi.”
Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 79 (1978): 41–48.
“The Historical-Critical Method and the Problem of Old Testament Theology: A few
Marginal Remarks.” Svensk exegetisk årsbok 45 (1980): 7–18.

1981–1985

Studies in the Religious Polemics in the Book of Amos, with Particular Regard to its
Background, with Special Reference to Am 2:7B–8, 4:1–13, 5:1–27, 6:4–7, 8:14. Oslo: 1981.
[Doctoral Thesis, revised and published in 1984.]
“Arvid S. Kapelrud.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 83 (1982): 74–75. [Written together with
Svein Aage Christoffersen.]
“Lebte Deuterojesaja in Judäa?” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 83 (1982): 77–87.
“Professor Arvid S. Kapelruds forfatterskap 1940–1981.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 83
(1982): 163–75.
“Tjenersangene hos Deuterojesaja: Et eksegetisk villspor.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 83
(1982): 235–44.
320 Birkeflet

“Veterotestamentica: Donum natalicum Aruido S. Kapelrud a collegis et amicis XIV

lustra complenti ediderunt Svein Aage Christoffersen et Hans M. Barstad.” Norsk
teologisk tidsskrift 83 (1982): 73–175.
The Religious Polemics of Amos. Studies in the Preaching of Am 2,7b–8; 4,1–13; 5,1–27; 6,4–
7; 8,14. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 34. Leiden: Brill, 1984.
“Den profetiske formaningstale—2. opposisjon.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 85 (1984):
153–60. [Opposition at Karl Arvid Tångbergs Doctoral Disputation.]
“Le canon comme principe exégétique: Autour de la contribution de Brevard S Childs
à une ‘herméneutique’ de l’Ancien Testament.” Studia theologica 38 (1984): 77–91.
“Restaurering og konservering ved Bibliothèque nationale.” Synopsis 16 (1985): 129–33.

1986–1990

“Fru Jahve: Nytt lys over den gammel-israelittiske religion.” Kirke og kultur 92 (1987):
88–95.
“Israels eldste historie: Omkring den seneste utvikling innen forskningen.” Norsk teo­
logisk tidsskrift 88 (1987): 99–107.
“On the So-Called Babylonian Literary Influence in Second Isaiah.” Scandinavian
Journal of the Old Testament 1 (1987): 90–110.
“Da ‘Gud’ ble til: Noen gammeltestamentlige perspektiver.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 89
(1988): 19–26.
“The Life and Work of Sigmund Mowinckel, edited by Hans M. Barstad and Magnus
Ottosson.” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 2/2 (1988): 1–168.
“On the History and Archaeology of Judah during the Exilic Period: A Reminder.”
Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 19 (1988): 25–36.
“Some Aspects of Sigmund Mowinckel as an Historian.” Scandinavian Journal of the
Old Testament 2/2 (1988): 83–91.
“Religiøs graffiti om Jahve-kulten.” PM: Populærvitenskapelig magasin (1988/10): 4–5.
A Way in the Wilderness: The “Second Exodus” in the Message of Second Isaiah.
Journal of Semitic Studies. Monograph 12. Manchester: Manchester University
Press, 1989.
“The Old Testament Feminine Personal Name rahab: An Onomastic Note.” Svensk exe­
getisk årsbok 54 (1989): 43–49.
“Nytt lys over Amosboken.” Kirke og kultur 95 (1990): 355–63.
“Professor Anders Jørgen Bjørndalen in memoriam.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 91
(1990): 59.
“Profetene i Det gamle testamente: fakta eller fiksjon?” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 91
(1990): 149–56.
“Israelittenes ørkenvandring.” PM: Populærvitenskapelig magasin (1990/1): 20–22.
Hans M. Barstad 321

1991–1995

“Nye bidrag til spørsmålet om det gamle Israels religion.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 92
(1991): 217–26.
“Professor Arvid S. Kapelrud: An Appreciation.” In Arvid S. Kapelrud: A Bibliography of
His Writings 1938–1982, edited by Svein Helge Birkeflet, 9–13. Bibliography Series 4.
Oslo: University of Oslo. Faculty of Theology, 1992.
Det Gamle Testamente. En innføring. Oslo: Dynamis, 1993. [Revised Edition published
in 2003 with the title En bok om Det gamle testamente.]
“Lachish Ostracon III and Ancient Israelite Prophecy.” In Avraham Malamat Volume,
edited by S. Ahituv and B.A. Levine, 8–12. Eretz-Israel: Archaeological, Historical and
Geographical Studies 24. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1993.
“‫ רצה‬rāṣāh / ‫ רצון‬rāṣôn.” In Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, vol 7. Edited
by G.J. Botterweck, H. Ringgren and H.J. Fabry, 640–52. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1993.
[An English translation by D.E. Green was published in Theological Dictionary of the
Old Testament, vol. 13, 618–30. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 2004.]
“No Prophets? Recent Developments in Biblical Prophetic Research and Ancient Near
Eastern Prophecy.” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 57 (1993): 39–60. [The
article was reprinted in The Prophets, ed. by Philip R. Davies, 106–26. The Biblical
seminar 42. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996.]
“Akkadian ‘Loanwords’ in Isaiah 40–55—And the Question of Babylonian Origin of
Deutero-Isaiah.” In Text and Theology: Studies in Honour of Professor Dr. theol. Magne
Sæbø Presented on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, edited by Arvid Tångberg,
36–48. Oslo: Verbum, 1994.
“The Future of the ‘Servant Songs.’ Some Reflections on the Relationship of Biblical
Scholarship to its own Tradition.” In Language, Theology, and The Bible: Essays
in Honour of James Barr, edited by Samuel E. Balentine and John Barton, 261–70.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994.
“Prophecy at Qumran?” In In the Last Days: On Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic and
its Period, edited by Kirsten Nielsen, Bent Rosendal and Knud Jeppesen, 104–20.
Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1994.
“History and Ideology in the Old Testament: Papers Read at the Nordic Symposium
for Old Testament Studies, Gran, Hadeland, Norway, 15–17 August 1993. Edited [and
with a Preface] by Hans M. Barstad and Arvid Tångberg.” Scandinavian Journal of
the Old Testament 8 (1994): 163–305.
“The Understanding of the Prophets in Deuteronomy.” Scandinavian Journal of the Old
Testament 8 (1994): 236–51.
“Dod ‫דוד‬.” In Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (DDE), edited by Karel van der
Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst, 493–98. Leiden: Brill, 1995. [Also
published in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. 2d. ed. 1999, 259–62.]
322 Birkeflet

“Sheol ‫שאול‬.” In Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (DDE), edited by Karel
van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst, 1452–57. Leiden: Brill,
1995. [Also published in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. 2d. ed. 1999,
768–70.]
“Way ‫דרך‬.” In Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (DDE), edited by Karel
van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst, 1685–89. Leiden: Brill,
1995. [Also published in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. 2d. ed. 1999,
895–97.]
“Does the Stele from Tel Dan Refer to a Deity Dôd?” Biblische Notizen 77 (1995): 5–12.
[Written together with Bob Becking.]
“Minnetale over professor dr. theol. Arvid Schou Kapelrud holdt i den historisk-filoso-
fiske klasses møte den 28. september 1995.” Det norske videnskaps-akademi. Årbok
(1995): 268–73.
“Professor Arvid S. Kapelrud 14.5.1912–23.10.1994.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 96 (1995):
127.

1996–2000

The Myth of the Empty Land: A Study in the History and Archaeology of Judah during the
“Exilic” Period. Symbolae Osloenses. Fasc. suppl. 28. Oslo: Scandinavian University
Press, 1996.
“In memoriam: Arvid S. Kapelrud (14.5.1912–23.10.1994).” Temenos 32 (1996): 261–62.
The Babylonian Captivity of the Book of Isaiah. “Exilic” Judah and the Provenance of
Isaiah 40–55. Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Serie B, Skrifter 102.
Oslo: Novus forlag, 1997.
“History and the Hebrew Bible.” In Can a “History of Israel” Be Written? edited by Lester
L. Grabbe, 37–64. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series
245. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997.
“Some Reflections on the Meaning of the Expression ‫ מרוח בית‬in Jer 16:5.” In Built on
Solid Rock: Studies in Honour of Professor Ebbe Egede Knudsen on the Occasion of his
65th Birthday April 11th 1997, edited by Elie Wardini, 17–26. Instituttet for sammen-
lignende kulturforskning. Serie B, Skrifter 98. Oslo: Novus forlag, 1997.
“The Strange Fear of the Bible: Some Reflections on the ‘Bibliophobia’ in Recent
Ancient Israelite Historiography.” In Leading Captivity Captive: ‘The Exile’ as History
and Ideology, edited by Lester L. Grabbe, 120–27. Journal for the Study of the Old
Testament, Supplement Series 278. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998.
“Liv og Død i Det gamle testamente.” In “Livet etter livet”: Mennesket og døden. Det teo­
logiske fakultet, Det praktisk-teologiske seminar, Etterutdanningskurs 1997, edited by
Notto R. Thelle, 29–38. Etterutdanning for prester 5. Oslo: Det teologiske fakultet,
1999.
Hans M. Barstad 323

“Terje Stordalen: Echoes of Eden.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 100 (1999): 159–62. [Summary
of Terje Stordalens Dissertation.]
“Comparare necesse est? Ancient Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy in
a Comparative Perspective.” In Prophecy in its Ancient Near Eastern Context:
Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian Perspectives, edited by Martti Nissinen, 3–11.
Society of Bibilical Literature Semeia Series 13. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature,
2000.

2001–2005

“Deuteronomists, Persians, Greeks, and the Dating of the Israelite Tradition.” In Did
Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period,
edited by Lester L. Grabbe, 47–77. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament,
Supplement Series 317. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001.
“Den gammeltestamentlige profetismen belyst ved paralleller fra Mari.” Tidsskrift for
teologi og kirke 72 (2001): 51–68.
“ ‘Fact’ versus ‘Fiction’ and Other Issues in the History Debate, and Their Relevance for
the Study of the Old Testament.” In Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments: Beiträge
zur biblischen Hermeneutik. Festschrift für Rudolf Smend zum 70. Geburtstag, edited
by Christoph Bultmann, Walter Dietrich and Christoph Levin, 433–47. Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2002.
“Isa. 40,1–11: Another Reading.” In Congress Volume Basel 2001 [International
Organization for the Study of the Old Testament.], edited by André Lemaire, 225–40.
Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 92. Leiden: Brill, 2002.
“Kapelrud, Arvid Schou.” In Norsk Biografisk Leksikon, 190–91. Oslo: Kunnskapsforlaget,
2002.
“Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah and the Historical Prophet.” In Sense and Sensitivity:
Essays on Reading the Bible in Memory of Robert Carroll, edited by Alastair G.
Hunter and Phillip R. Davies, 87–100. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament,
Supplement Series 348. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002.
“Is the Hebrew Bible a Hellenistic Book? Or: Niels Peter Lemche, Herodotus, and the
Persians.” Transeuphratène 23 (2002): 129–51.
“Nyere Qumranforskning i Skandinavia.” Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 103 (2002): 41–44.
En bok om Det gamle testamente. Oslo: Det teologiske fakultet, 2003.
“After the ‘Myth of the Empty Land’: Major Challenges in the Study of Neo-Babylonian
Judah.” In Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, edited by Oded
Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp, 3–20. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003.
“The Prophet Oded and the Zakkur Inscription: A Case of obscuriore obscurum?”
In Reading from Right to Left: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J.A.
Clines, edited by J. Cheryl Exum and H.G.M. Williamson, 26–39. Journal for the
324 Birkeflet

Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series 373. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 2003.
“Jeremiah as Text: Some Reflections on Genre and Reality in Old Testament Prophetic
Research.” In Historie og konstruktion: Festskrift til Niels Peter Lemche i anledning af
60 års fødselsdagen den 6. september 2005, edited by Mogens Müller and Thomas L.
Thompson, 11–18. Forum for Bibelsk Eksegese 14. København: Museum Tusculanums
Forlag, 2005.
“Mari and the Hebrew Bible: Some Parallels.” Svensk exegetisk årsbok 70 (2005): 21–32.

2006–2010

“Sic dicit dominus: Mari Prophetic Texts and the Hebrew Bible” In Essays on Ancient
Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman, edited by Yairah Amit
et al., 21–52. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006.
“Can Prophetic Texts be Dated? Amos 1–2 as an Example.” In Ahab Agonistes: The Rise
and Fall of the Omri Dynasty, edited by Lester L. Grabbe, 21–40. Library of Hebrew
Bible/Old Testament Studies 421. London: T & T Clark, 2007.
“Haggai among the Prophets: An Example of Prophetic Continuity in the Hebrew
Bible.” In Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, its Exegesis and its Language,
edited by Moshe Bar-Asher et al., 265–83. Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007.
“The History of Ancient Israel: What Directions Should We Take?” In Understanding
the History of Ancient Israel, edited by H.G.M. Williamson, 25–48. Proceedings of the
British Academy 143. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
History and the Hebrew Bible. Studies in Ancient Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern
Historiography. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 61. Tübingen: Mohr, 2008.
“Some Remarks on Prophets and Prophecy in ‘The Deuteronomistic History.’ ” In Houses
Full of All Good Things: Essays in Memory of Timo Veijola, edited by Juha Pakkala and
Martti Nissinen. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 95, 300–15. Helsinki:
Finnish Exegetical Society, 2008.
The Past in the Past: Concepts of Past Reality in Ancient Near Eastern and Early Greek
Thought. Edited by Hans M. Barstad and Pierre Braint, 7–10. Instituttet for sammen-
lignende kulturforskning. Serie B. Skrifter 130. Oslo: Novus Press, 2009.
Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah. Edited by Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz.
Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 388. Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2009.
“Preface.” In The Past in the Past: Concepts of Past Reality in Ancient Near Eastern and
Early Greek Thought, edited by Hans M. Barstad and Pierre Braint, 7–10. Instituttet
for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Serie B. Skrifter 130. Oslo: Novus Press, 2009.
Hans M. Barstad 325

“The Problematic ‘Past in the Past.’ ” In The Past in the Past: Concepts of Past Reality in
Ancient Near Eastern and Early Greek Thought, edited by Hans M. Barstad and Pierre
Braint, 13–20. Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Serie B. Skrifter 130.
Oslo: Novus Press, 2009.
“What Prophets Do: Reflections on Past Reality in the Book of Jeremiah.” In Prophecy
in the Book of Jeremiah, edited by Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz, 10–32.
Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 388. Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2009.
A Brief Guide to the Hebrew Bible. Translated by Rannfrid Thelle. Louisville: Westminster
John Knox Press, 2010. [Translation of En bok om Det gamle testamente, 2003.]
“History and Memory: Some Reflections on the ‘Memory Debate’ In Relation to the
Hebrew Bible.” In The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe,
edited by Philip R. Davies and Diana V. Edelman, 1–10. Library of Hebrew Bible/Old
Testament Studies 530. London: T & T Clark, 2010.

2011–2013

“The City State of Jerusalem in the Neo-Babylonian Empire: Evidence from the
Surrounding States”. In By the Irrigation Canals of Babylon, edited by John J. Ahn
and Jill Anne Middlemas, 34–48. Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies
526. New York: T & T Clark, 2012.
“Jeremiah the Historian: The Book of Jeremiah as a Source for the History of the
Near East in the Time of Nebuchadnezzar.” In Studies on the Text and Versions of
the Hebrew Bible in Honour of Robert Gordon. Edited by Geoffrey Khan and Diana
Lipton, 87–98. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 149. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
“Who Destroyed Ashkelon? On some Problems in Relating Text to Archaeology.” In
Let Us Go Up to Zion: Essays in Honour of H. G. M. Williamson on the Occasion of his
Sixty-Fifth Birthday, edited by Iain Provan and Mark J. Boda, 345–57. Supplements
to Vetus Testamentum 153. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
“Thus speaks Ishtar of Arbela”: Prophecy in Israel, Assyria, and Egypt in the Neo-Assyrian
Period, edited by Robert P. Gordon and Hans M. Barstad. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns,
2013.
“Hosea and the Assyrians.” In “Thus speaks Ishtar of Arbela”: Prophecy in Israel, Assyria,
and Egypt in the Neo-Assyrian Period, edited by Robert P. Gordon and Hans M.
Barstad, 91–110. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013.
“Eduard Nielsen’s Oral Tradition Sixty Years After.” Scandinavian Journal of the Old
Testament 27 (2013): 8–21.
Index of Modern Authors

Abegg, Martin 227 Barthel, Jörg 25

Abel, Felix-Marie, P. 206 Barthélemy, Dominique 180, 195, 198, 199
Abogunrin, Samuel O. 313 Bartlett, John R. 205, 206, 207
Ackerman, Susan 127 Barton, John 77, 321
Adam, Klaus-Peter 215 Barton, Simon 230, 232
Adamo, David Tuesday 315–318 Batto, Bernard F. 107
Adams, Russell B. 201 Baumann, Gerlinde 106, 108, 109, 111
Adeso, P. 315 Baumgartner, Walter 163
Aharoni, Yohanan 257 Baur, Gustav 309
Ahituv, Shmuel 321 Beaulieu, Paul-Alain 34
Ahn, John J. 225 Becker, Uwe 9, 20, 143, 155
Aistleitner, Joseph 193 Becking, Bob 2, 9, 27, 77, 81, 269, 321, 322
Albertz, Rainer 24, 27, 75, 86, 87, 89, 228 Ben Zvi, Ehud 12, 14, 44, 51, 52, 83, 89, 96,
Albright, William Foxwell 193 124, 125, 277
Alexander, Joseph A. 18 Benjamin, Don C. 84
Alexander, Jeffrey C. 275–277 Bentzen, Aage 195
Allen, Leslie C. 130, 131 Ben-Yosef, Erez 201, 202, 203, 207
Alt, Albrecht 210, 294 Berge, Kåre 4, 266
Ames, Frank Ritchel 108 Berges, Ulrich 21, 24, 25, 27
Amit, Yairah 324 Berlejung, Angelika 22, 145
Andersen, Francis I. 76, 78, 80, 88, 123, 313 Berquist, Jon L. 59, 220, 264–266, 270
Arbach, Mounir 191 Berthier, André 195
Argall, Randal A. 98 Beuken, Willem A.M. 25, 42, 149
Assmann, Aleida 247 Biddle, Mark E. 107
Assmann, Jan 53, 247 Bienkowski, Piotr 204
Auld, Alan Graeme 2, 7, 8, 9 Bird, Phyllis 111
Avigad, Nahman 68 Birkeflet, Svein Helge 1, 321
Avishur, Yitzhak 196 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 2, 27, 30, 34, 42, 45, 46,
47, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 89, 128, 129, 177,
Bach, Alice 121 188, 218, 223
Bäckersten, Olof 20 Block, Daniel I. 23, 77
Bail, Ulrike 76, 80 Blum, Erhard 20, 148
Baker, David W. 207 Boda, Mark J. 69, 70, 208, 273, 274, 325
Balentine, Samuel E. 321 Bogaert, Pierre Maurice 253, 261
Baltzer, Klaus 42 Bordreuil, Pierre 16
Banton, Michael 77 Borger, Riekele 213
Bar-Asher, Moshe 175, 324 Botterweck, G. Johannes 321
Barkay, Gabriel 173, 221 Bowen, Nancy R. 86, 135, 139
Barr, James 321 Bowie, Fiona 77
Barstad, Hans M. 1–4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 14, 16, 27, 28, Bowker, John W. 164
41, 45, 46, 56, 57, 74, 76, 78, 79, 83, 86, Braint, Pierre 324, 325
88, 104, 107, 122, 147, 174, 212, 213, 217, Brassey, Paul Del 26
229, 245, 246, 263, 264, 273, 306, 312, Brenner, Athalya 121
319–325 Brettler, Marc Zvi 74
Barth, Hermann 17, 20, 25 Breucker, Geert De 222
Index of Modern Authors 327

Briend, Jacques 191 Crouch, C.L. 3, 213, 214

Briquel-Chatonnet, François 192 Crowell, Bradley L. 199
Brockington, Leonard H. 94 Cubitt, Geoffrey 246
Brockmeier, Jens 42, 43, 52, 53 Cunchillos, Jesús-Luis 193
Bron, François 192
Broshi, Magen 173 Dahmen, Ulrich 164
Brueggemann, Walter 74, 75, 76, 78 Daube, David 168
Budde, Karl 32 Davidovich, Tal 228
Bultmann, Christoph 323 Davies, Jon 304
Burnett, Joel S. 88 Davies, Philip R. 204, 220, 300, 321, 323, 325
Burney, Charles Fox 195, 198 Day, John 3, 4, 98, 155, 161, 162, 164, 208, 214
Butler, Sally A.L. 97 Day, Linda 106, 113
Byrne, Ryan 209 Day, Peggy L. 107, 111, 113
Dearman, J. Andrew 126, 127
Caird, George B. 311 Deck, Scholastika 19
Camp, Ludger 146 Del Olmo Lete, Gregorio 193
Campbell, Anthony F. 241 Delcor, Mathias 194, 195
Caquot, André 100 Delitzsch, Franz 18
Carr, David M. 51, 54 Dell, Katherine J. 292
Carroll, M. Daniel 78 Delsman, Wilhelmus C. 194
Carroll, Robert P. 7, 84, 118, 131, 300, 323 Dempsey, Carol J. 80
Carter, Charles E. 60 Demski, Aaron 184, 186
Cassuto, Umberto 302 Deutsch, Robert 196
Cataldo, Jeremiah W. 68–69 Dever, William G. 87, 107
Catastini, Alessandro 150 Dietrich, Walter 19, 268, 269, 323
Cavigneaux, Antoine 208 Dijkstra, Klaas 192
Chapman, Cynthia R. 106, 108 Dillmann, August 18, 38
Charlesworth, James H. 222 Dobbs-Allsopp, Frederik W. 207
Charlier, René 195 Donner, Herbert 19, 164
Charpin, Dominique 95 Dreisbach, Daniel L. 78, 88
Childs, Brevard S. 17, 20, 21, 127, 128, 149, 151, Driel, Govert van 97
294, 295, 298, 300, 301, 320 Dube, Musa W. 314
Chilton, Bruce D. 33 Duhm, Bernhard 19, 34, 38, 39
Christoffersen, Svein Aage 319, 320 Durand, Jean-Marie 95, 96, 97
Clements, Ronald E. 24, 187 Durham, John I. 295, 296, 302
Clifford, Richard J. 22
Clines, David J.A. 4, 27, 47, 323 Edelman, Diana V. 52, 89, 220, 263, 325
Cogan, Mordechai 195, 197, 199 Edghill, Ernest A. 311
Cohen, Chaim 199 Eidevall, Göran 168
Cohen, Gerson D. 107 Elbogen, Ismar 188, 189
Cole, Robert L. 98, 101, 102 Elliger, Karl 32, 34, 38
Collins, Adela Yarbro 165 Elliott, M. Timothea 284, 285, 286, 290
Collins, John J. 48, 165 Ellwood, Gracia Fay 122
Collins, Terence 75 Emerton, John A. 164, 166, 193, 271
Cornelius, Izak 87, 148 Engle, Richard W. 102
Corriente, Federico 232, 234 Engnell, Ivan 226, 227
Cothenet, Edouard 191 Eph‛al, Israel 197, 208
Cross, Frank Moore 175, 193 Erll, Astrid 43, 51, 52, 53
328 Index of Modern Authors

Evans, Paul S. 145, 151 Gilmour, Garth 87

Exum, J. Cheryl 2, 27, 111, 113, 121, 122, 137, 138, Ginzberg, Louis 163
139, 281, 283, 284, 285, 288, 290, 323 Gmirkin, Russell 222, 227
Goldberg, David M. 307
Fabry, Heinz-Josef 164, 321 Goldingay, John 47
Falque Rey, Emma 230 Gonçalves, Francolino J. 20, 146
Fantalkin, Alexander 202 Gordon, Robert P. 2, 16, 21, 99, 213, 304, 325
Feigin, Samuel 163 Gosse, Bernard 253
Finet, André 97 Goulder, Michael D. 99, 284
Finkelstein, Israel 202, 204, 210, 217, 220, 221, Grabbe, Lester L. 4, 14, 48, 69, 145, 223, 322,
224 323, 324, 325
Firth, David G. 22, 136 Granerød, Gard 164, 165
Fischer, Georg 254, 255, 258 Gray, John 195, 198
Fishbane, Michael 178, 180, 185, 188, 190 Grayson, A. Kirk 213
Fitzgerald, Aloysius 107 Green, D. E. 321
Fletcher, Richard 230, 231, 233, 234, 236, Greenstein, Edward L. 193
237 Gross, Walter 248, 250
Flint, Peter 227 Gudme, Anne K. de Hemmer 222, 229
Floyd, Michael H. 96 Guichard, Michaël 96
Fox, Michael V. 169, 170, 283, 285, 286, 287 Gunkel, Hermann 30
Frame, Grant 208 Gunneweg, Antonius H.J. 188
Franklin, Norma 173, 174 Gunsam, Elisabeth 199
Frantsouzoff, Serge A. 191, 192 Guzzo Amadasi, Maria Giulia 193, 194
Freedman, David Noel 76, 78, 80, 88, 123,
201, 223, 294, 313 Haak, Robert D. 48
Frerichs, Ernest S. 49 Hagedorn, Anselm C. 292, 298
Fretheim, Terence 296, 303 Hagstrom, David Gerald 80, 84
Fried, Lisbeth S. 68, 72, 179 Hallaschka, Martin 70
Friedman, Richard Elliott 202 Hallo, William W. 107
Friedrich, Johannes 193 Hamilton, Rita 213
Fritz, Volkmar 19, 79, 204 Hammershaimb, Erling 311, 317
Fuchs, Andreas 212, 214 Hanson, Paul D. 59–60, 61, 62, 65, 67
Fuchs, Esther 121 Hardmeier, Christof 144, 146
Fulton, Deirdre 69 Hargrove, Barbara 77
Harper, William R. 308–311, 317, 318
Galambush, Julie 110, 111 Harrelson, Walter 302
Galling, Kurt 188, 208 Hart, Stephen 199
García Martínez, Florentino 84, 261 Haubold, Johannes 222
Garrett, Daune 82, 284, 285, 286 Hauptmann, Andreas 201
Gaß, Erasmus 164 Hauptmann, Harald 213, 214
Geertz, Clifford 77 Heimpel, Wolfgang 97
Gehman, Henry Snyder 195 Helck, Wolfgang 207
Gentili, Paolo 199 Heltzer, Michael 176, 179, 180, 187, 190, 196
Geraty, Lawrence T. 251 Henten, Jan Willem Van 53
Gesenius, Wilhelm 148, 149, 150, 194 Herrmann, Johannes 294
Getui, Mary 314 Herrmann, Siegfried 164
Gibson, John C. L. 18 Higham, Thomas 201, 203
Gillingham, Susan E. 98, 101 Hilhorst, A. 84
Index of Modern Authors 329

Hillers, Delbert R. 30, 74, 78, 84, 86, 88 Kaufmann, Yehezkel 278, 279
Hitzig, Ferdinand 18 Keel, Othmar 288
Hjelm, Ingrid 222, 228, 229 Keil, Carl F. 309, 310
Hobsbawm, Eric 53 Kelle, Brad E. 107, 308
Hoch, James E. 207 Keller, Carl A. 92
Höffken, Peter 19, 148, 150, 151 Kellermann, Ulrich 175
Høgenhaven, Jesper 19 Kessler, John 68
Holter, Knut 4, 22, 25, 26, 311, 314, 316 Kessler, Rainer 75, 77, 78, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86,
Hornsby, Teresa J. 115 88
Horowitz, Wayne 259 Keulen, Percy S.F. van 12
Horst, Pieter W. van der 321, 322 Khairi, Nabil I. 192
Houtepen, Anton 53 Khan, Geoffrey 16, 95, 325
Hubbard, Robert L. Jr. 133 Kieft, C. van der 232
Hübner, Ulrich 191, 199 Kissane, Edward J. 35
Hunter, Alastair G. 323 Kitchen, Kenneth A. 207
Hutton, Jeremy M. 76 Kittel, Rudolph 36
Hyatt, J. Philip 295, 296, 301 Klein, Ralph W. 175
Kloner, Amos 173
Ismail, Bahijah Khalil 208 Knauf, Ernst Axel 164, 191, 247, 250
Knobel, August 18
Jacobs, Mignon R. 78 Knoppers, Gary N. 69, 167, 198, 228
Jacobson, Howard 222 Kochman, Michael 176, 179, 180, 187, 190
Jamieson-Drake, David 218 Köhler, Ludwig 206
Japhet, Sara 3, 175, 179, 181, 184, 186, 324 Kokkinos, Nikos 192
Jenni, Ernst 301 Konkel, August H. 150
Jeppesen, Knud 78, 86, 321 Kooij, Arie van der 21, 175, 180
Jeremias, Jörg 74, 76, 83, 88 Koole, Jan L. 46, 47, 61, 63
Jindo, Job Y. 110 Kornfeld, Walter 299
Jirku, Anton 294 Kort, Ann 59
Joachimsen, Kristin 2, 48 Körting, Corinna 175, 178
Johnson, Aubrey R. 93 Kratz, Reinhard G. 3, 8, 24, 35, 143, 147, 150,
Johnston, Robert K. 133 157, 222, 324, 325
Jones, Gwilym H. 35 Kraus, F.R. 97
Jong Ellis, Maria de 81, 84 Kraus, Hans-Joachim 91, 93, 101, 102
Jong, Matthijs J. de 143, 144 Kuntz, Kenneth 98
Jonker, Louis 148, 264 Kupper, Jean R. 163
Joüon, Paul 194, 299
Joyce, Paul 133 Labuschagne, Casper J. 26, 74, 75, 84
LaCocque, Andre 282, 283, 285, 286, 289
Kaiser, Otto 19, 30, 152, 154, 161 Lakoff, George 109
Kaltner, John 83 Lalleman, Hetty 131–132, 136
Kamionkowski, Tamar 110, 116 Lambert, Wilfred G. 213
Kämmerer, Thomas R. 213 Landy, Francis 44, 51, 52, 123–124, 139, 282,
Kansteiner, Wolf 52 285, 286, 287, 288
Kapelrud, Arvid S. 321 Lang, Bernhard 75, 76
Karageorghis, Vassos 194 Lapsley, Jacqueline E. 78, 136
Kartveit, Magnar 228 Leene, Hendrik 42, 47, 48, 50
Kassianidou, Vasiliki 202 Leichty, Erle 213
330 Index of Modern Authors

Lemaire, André 3, 191, 196, 207, 203, 323 Metzler, Kai A. 213
Lemche, Niels Peter 3, 220, 221, 223, 225, Meyers, Carol 109
226, 228, 229, 323, 324 Meyers, Eric M. 251
Lepsius, Karl R. 162 Michael, Ian 231
Levin, Christoph 323 Michaeli, Frank 296
Levine, Baruch A. 321 Michelet, Simon 312
Levy, Thomas E. 201, 202, 203, 204 Middlemas, Jill 71, 321
Lindner, Manfred 199 Milik, Jozef T. 193
Lipiński, Edouard 163, 195, 207, 208 Miller, Patrick D., Jr. 83, 125
Lipschits, Oded 27, 61, 68, 181, 218, 220, 221, Miroschedji, Pierre de 172
228, 323 Mittmann, Siegfried 19
Lipton, Diana 16, 95, 325 Möller, Karl 304
Liss, Hanna 19 Montgomery, James A. 195, 198, 206
Lissovsky, Nurit 209 Moran, William L. 294
Liverani, Mario 208, 228 Morris, Pam 51
Liwak, Rüdiger 145, 164 Morschauer, Scott 59
Longman, Tremper III 81, 131, 133, 136 Motyer, Alec 129
Lubetski, Meir 205 Moughtin-Mumby, Sharon 109, 111, 112, 114,
Lund, Øystein 44, 45, 46 121, 137, 139
Lundbom, Jack 129–130 Mowinckel, Sigmund 302, 320
Lux, Rüdiger 145 Muguruza, Pedro 230
Muilenburg, James 229
MacDonald, Nathan 22 Mulder, Martin J. 198
Machinist, Peter 212, 215 Müller, Hans-Peter 195, 299
Maeir, Aren M. 172 Müller, Mogens 324
Magen, Yitzhak 228 Müller, Reinhard 144
Maier, Christl M. 108 Muniz, Adolfo 201
Mandell, Sara 223 Munro, Jill M. 284, 285, 286, 292
Martin, Mario A.S. 202, 204 Muraoka, Takamitsu 194, 299
Martínez Diez, Gonzalo 231, 232 Murphy, Roland E. 288
Mason, Rex A. 162 Mveng, Engelbert 315
Masson, Olivier 194
Matheus, Frank 22 Na’aman, Nadav 3, 21, 172, 173, 197, 199, 204,
Mattingly, Gerald. L. 254 209, 210, 324
Maul, Stefan M. 86 Najjar, Mohammad 201, 202, 203
Mayer, Walter R. 212, 214 Nasuti, Harry P. 83, 100, 101
Mays, James L. 115, 311, 317 Neusner, Jacob 49, 60
Mazar, Amihai 172 Newsom, Carol A. 122, 127, 136
Mazar, Benjamin 173 Newsome, James D. 296
McCann, J. Clinton 98, 100, 103 Nicholson, Ernest W. 168
McConville, J. Gordon 304 Niditch, Susan 108
McKay, Heather A. 47 Nielsen, Eduard 227
McKeating, Henry 131 Nielsen, Flemming A.J. 223
Meinhold, Arndt 145, 195 Nilesen, Kirsten 321
Mendes-Flohr, Paul 53 Niermeyer, Jan Frederik 232
Mendez, Hugo Enrique 86 Nissinen, Martti 8, 83, 96, 97, 98, 221, 323,
Menéndez Pidal, Ramón 230, 232 324
Mettinger, Trygve N.D. 87, 168 Nogalski, James D. 75
Index of Modern Authors 331

Nora, Pierre 251 Reilly, Bernard F. 231, 232, 233, 234

Nordheim, Miriam von 164 Reiner, Erica 86
Norton, Gerard J. 180 Rendtorff, Rolf 175
Noth, Martin 29, 224, 238, 264, 294, 301, 302 Reventlow, Henning Graf 48
Novotny, Jamie 213 Richelle, Matthieu 80
Ringe, Sharon H. 122, 127, 136
O’Brien, Julia M. 110 Ringgren, Helmer 299, 321
O’Connor, Michael P. 18 Robbins, Joyce 53
Odell, Margaret S. 113 Roberts, Jimmy Jack McBee 93–94, 207
Oeming, Manfred 27, 68, 181, 221 Robin, Christian 191, 192
Olick, Jeffrey K. 53 Robinson, Edward 206
Olson, Dennis T. 74 Roche, Marie-Jeanne 192
Otto, Eckart 83, 175, 179, 184, 271 Rofé, Alexander 59, 67, 294
Ottosson, Magnus 320 Röllig, Wolfgang 193
Römer, Thomas 224, 269–271, 272, 273
Pakkala, Juha 324 Rom-Shiloni, Dalit 59, 274
Papasavvas, George 202 Rooke, Deborah 164
Park, Sung Jin 87 Rosendal, Bent 321
Parpola, Simo 212 Roth, Guenther 40
Patton, Corinne L. 113, 134 Roth, Martin 74, 87
Paul, Shalom M. 60–65, 199 Rothenberg, Beno 207
Pauritsch, Karl 61 Routledge, Bruce 259
Payne, David 47 Rowley, Harold H. 163
Peacock, Kevin C. 74, 89 Rudolph, Wilhelm 179, 181, 186, 189
Pedersen, Johannes 195, 296 Ruiten, Jacques van 42, 149
Penner, Jeremy 69 Ruiz Cabrero, Luis 196
Penner, Ken M. 69 Runions, Erin 80
Perry, Janet 231 Russell, Letty M. 121
Person, Raymond F. 150 Ruszkowski, Leszek 61, 62, 64, 65
Phillips, Anthony C.J. 296
Pinker, Aaron 212–213, 215, 216 Sadler, Rodney S. 307, 312, 313
Piper, Otto A. 298 Safrai, Samuel 188, 189
Pisano, Stephen 180 Said, Edward W. 307, 318
Pohlmann, Karl-Friedrich 19 Sand, Shlomo 217
Pope, Marvin H. 283, 284 Šanda, Alb. 206
Pratico, Gary D. 206 Sanderson, Judith E. 121, 122
Preuß, Horst D. 22 Sanmartín, Joaquin 193
Propp, William Henry C. 201 Saporetti, Claudio 199
Provan, Iain 208, 325 Sarot, Marcel 53
Sasson, Jack M. 95, 96
Quinn-Miscall, Peter D. 42 Sasson, Victor 169
Schaberg, Jane 121
Rad, Gerhard von 161 Schart, Aaron 75
Ranger, Terence 53 Scheuer, Blaženka 48, 49, 168
Ray, Paul, Jr. 251, 259 Schiettecatte, Jérémie 191
Redditt, Paul L. 75 Schmidt, Brian B. 86, 171, 173
Redford, Donald B. 227 Schmitt, Hans-Christoph 19, 252, 253, 254,
Reich, Ronny 172, 173 271
332 Index of Modern Authors

Schmitt, Rüdiger 27, 75, 86, 87 Sturken, Marita 53

Schniedewind, William 19 Suriano, Matthew J. 173, 174
Schramm, Brooks 58–59, 62, 63, 65, 68, 225 Sweeney, Marvin A. 42, 57, 168
Schreiner, Josef 100 Sznycer, Maurice 194
Schunck, Klaus-Dietrich 166 Szuchman, Jeffrey 201
Scott, Robert B.Y. 162
Scurlock, JoAnn 216 Tadmor, Hayim 195, 197, 199, 208, 210, 212
Sebold, Russell P. 239 Talon, Philippe 213
Segovia, Fernando F. 107, 318 Talshir, Zipora 180
Sellin, Ernst 206, 294 Tate, Marvin E. 90, 92, 101
Sempore, Sidbe 315 Taylor, Charles 250
Setel, T. Drorah 121, 122, 123 Thelle, Notto R. 322
Shea, William H. 281 Thelle, Rannfrid I. 2, 83, 107, 325
Shields, Mary E. 111, 119 Thompson, Thomas L. 324
Silberman, Neil Asher 217, 224 Tiemeyer, Lena-Sofia 2, 28, 42, 45, 46, 57, 58,
Simon, Ulrich E. 35 60, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69, 70, 71
Simundson, Daniel J. 125, 126 Tolbert, Mary Ann 107
Singer-Avitz, Lily 210 Toorn, Karel van der 84, 177, 321, 322
Sivan, Daniel 19 Torrey, Charles C. 2, 33–35, 37, 40
Smalley, William A. 311 Tov, Emanuel 257
Smart, James D. 34, 59 Treves, Marco 164
Smelik, Klaas A.D. 149 Tsukimoto, Akio 86
Smend, Rudolf 323 Tsumura, David Toshio 194
Smith, Anthony D. 272 Tuell, Steven 133–135
Smith, Colin 231, 236, 237, 238, 242, 243 Tull, Patricia K. 136
Smith, Eli 206 Tångberg, Arvid 321
Smith, George 94
Smith, Henry P. 310, 311 Ubieto Aretata, Antonio 231
Smith, Jonathan Z. 49 Ullendorff, Edward 311, 312, 317
Smith, Mark S. 87 Ulrich, Eugene 227
Smith, Morton 36 Ussishkin, David 221, 225
Smith, Paul A. 58 Utzschneider, Helmut 80
Smitten, Wilhelm Th. in der 188
Spykerboer, Hendrik Carel 22 Van Seters, John 164, 224
Stade, Bernhard 151, 153, 156, 157, 195 Vaux, Roland de 161
Stansell, Gary 83, 85, 115, 123 Venema, Geert Johan 175, 183
Stavrakopoulou, Francesca 87, 173 Vermeylen, Jacques 20, 149
Steen, E. van der 204 Vervenne, Marc 42, 149, 261
Stern, Ephraim 27, 218
Stern, Menahem 188, 189 Waard, Jan de 311
Stienstra, Nelly 110 Waetzoldt, Hartmut 213, 214
Stipp, Hermann-Josef 164 Wagner, Carlos C. 196
Stökl, Jonathan 8, 16, 83, 95, 96, 97 Wagner, Siegfried 164
Stordalen, Terje 4, 247, 254, 256, 262, 323 Wagner, Volker 83
Streete, Gail Corrington 113 Wallace, Robert E. 98–99
Stronach, David 212 Wallis, Gerhard 294
Strong, John T. 113 Walsh, Carey Ellen 287
Stulman, Louis 83, 132 Waltke, Bruce K. 18, 78, 80
Index of Modern Authors 333

Ward, James M. 311, 312 Williamson, Hugh G.M. 2, 22, 27, 47, 95, 128,
Wardini, Elie 322 155, 175, 176, 180, 181, 188, 189, 190, 208,
Waschke, Ernst-Joachim 145 323, 324, 325
Wassen, Cecilia 69 Willis, John T. 86
Watson, Rebecca S. 214 Wilson, Gerald H. 98
Watts, James W. 177 Wilson, Kevin A. 202
Watts, John D.W. 38, 42, 128 Wöhrle, Jakob 70, 75
Weber, Max 40 Wolff, Hans W. 74, 114, 123, 312
Webster, Edwin C. 281 Wood, Joyce Rilette 80
Weems, Renita 106 Woude, Adam S. van der 74, 80, 83, 84, 85,
Weill, Raymond 172 87, 88, 149
Weinfeld, Moshe 199, 208, 248 Wright, David P. 299
Weisman, Zeev 18 Wright, George Ernest 175
Weiss, Abraham 163 Wright, Roger 230
Weissert, Elnathan 214 Würthwein, Ernst 145, 152, 154, 155, 156, 195,
Wellhausen, Julius 195, 309–310 199
Wells, Bruce 83 Wyatt, Nicholas 215
Wenham, Gordon J. 304
Werline, Rodney A. 273 Yamada, Shigeo 208, 212
Werlitz, Jürgen 21, 24 Yaron, Reuven 90
Werner, Wolfgang 83, 88 Yee, Gale A. 136
Wesselius, Jan Wim 223 Yeivin, Shemuel 173
Wessels, Wilhelm 80 Younger, K. Lawson Jr. 107
West, Gerald O. 314
Westermann, Claus 32, 34, 38, 45, 50, 298 Zadok, Ran 206
Weyde, Karl W. 168, 175, 180, 185 Zaharopoulos, Dmitri Z. 169
White, John B. 170 Zakovitch, Yair 288
Whiting, Robert M. 212 Zer-Kavod, Mordechai 184, 187
Whybray, R. Norman 47 Zerubavel, Eviatar 54
Wiggans, Steve A. 11, 12 Zimmerli, Walther 99, 100, 166
Wildberger, Hans 19, 24, 25, 30, 149 Zorn, Jeffrey R. 172, 218
Zwickel, Wolfgang 171