Old Testament in Its World

The Old Testament in Its World

Oudtestamentische Studiën Old Testament Studies published on behalf of the Societies for Old Testament Studies in the Netherlands and Belgium, South Africa, the United Kingdom and Ireland

Editor

J.C. de Moor Kampen Editorial Board

H.G.M. Williamson Oxford

H.F. Van Rooy Potchefstroom

M. Vervenne Leuven

VOLUME 52

The Old Testament in Its World Papers Read at the Winter Meeting, January 2003 The Society for Old Testament Study and at the Joint Meeting, July 2003 The Society for Old Testament Study and Het Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap in Nederland en België

Edited by

Robert P. Gordon & Johannes C. de Moor

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2005

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data LC Control Number: 2004058584 Becking, Bob. Between fear and freedom : essays on the interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31 / by Bob Becking. p. cm.—(Oudtestamentische studiën = Old Testament studies, ISSN 0169-7226; d. 51) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 90-04-14118-9 (alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T. Jeremiah XXX–XXXI—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Title. II. Oudtestamentische studiën; d. 51. BS1525.52.B43 2004 224’.206—dc22

2004054639

ISSN ISBN

0169-7226 90 04 14322 X

© Copyright 2005 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill Academic Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii K.J. Cathcart, The Comparative Philological Approach to the Text of the Old Testament . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 M. Dijkstra, ‘As for the other events . . . ’ Annals and Chronicles in Israel and the Ancient Near East . . . . . . . . .14 R.P. Gordon, ‘Comparativism’ and the God of Israel . . . . . 45 A.C. Hagedorn, ‘Who would invite a stranger from abroad?’ The Presence of Greeks in Palestine in Old Testament Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 P.S. Johnston, Death in Egypt and Israel: A Theological Reflection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 K.A. Kitchen, The Hieroglyphic Inscriptions of the NeoHittite States (c. 1200–700 bc): A Fresh Source of Background to the Hebrew Bible . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 M.C.A. Korpel, Disillusion among Jews in the Postexilic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .135 N. MacDonald, Whose Monotheism? Which Rationality? Reflections on Israelite Monotheism in Erhard Gerstenberger’s Theologies in the Old Testament . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 M.E.J. Richardson, Textual Modification: Some Examples from Egypt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 J.E. Tollington, Abraham and his Wives: Culture and Status . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 P.J.P. van Hecke, Pastoral Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible and in its Ancient Near Eastern Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . .200

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J.A. Wagenaar, The Priestly Festival Calendar and the Babylonian New Year Festivals: Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Year . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 J.-W. Wesselius, Language Play in the Old Testament and in Ancient North-West Semitic Inscriptions: Some Notes on the Kilamuwa Inscription . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 P.J. Williams, Are the Biblical Rephaim and the Ugaritic RPUM Healers? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 266

Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 Index of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281 Index of Biblical Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288

Introduction This volume brings together papers read at the Winter Meeting of The Society for Old Testament Study in Birmingham, 6-8 January, 2003, and at the joint meeting of The Society for Old Testament Study and the Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap in Nederland en Belgi¨e, in Cambridge, 21-23 July, 2003. The latter meeting was organised in coordination with the Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting (20-25 July, 2003). The meetings had as their overarching theme ‘The Hebrew Bible against its Ancient Near Eastern Background’, and most of the papers presented in this volume have a Near Eastern as well as an Israelite-Old Testament dimension. The benefits of drawing upon the linguistic stock of the neighbouring cognate languages for the illumination of obscure words and phrases in the biblical text have long been appreciated. In the opening essay, however, K.J. Cathcart argues the further point that it may on occasion be justifiable to emend the Hebrew text in the course of applying the insights of comparative philology to textual cruces. With the use of worked examples, he illustrates the ways in which Akkadian, Ugaritic and Old Aramaic may help to solve problem readings in the Hebrew. M. Dijkstra is concerned with the content of texts of an historical complexion. He commends Hans-Gustav G¨ uterbock’s distinction between what kings in antiquity had recorded for their own glorification and truly historical writing in which posterity ‘selected and wrote what it wanted to remember from the past’. It was the latter that gave rise to historiography in the ancient Near East, and Israelite historiography is to be seen within the context of this development. Israel did not have to wait for Herodotus to develop a view on its history. The conceptions of history held in Israel and in the adjacent countries are one of several topics that engage R.P. Gordon as he considers the question of comparativism’ and whether, and in what respects, it is possible to distinguish Israel from her neighbours. His conclusion is that the comparing and contrasting of intellectual and religious developments in Israel and among her neighbours is both legitimate and desirable. The essay by A.C. Hagedorn reminds us that Israel also had neighbours to the west. While acknowledging the likelihood of

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migrant craftsmen from the east settling in ancient Greece, Hagedorn is interested in the reverse process, focussing on the points of contact between Greek and oriental in Palestine as a means of discovering something about the social identity of those Greeks who settled in Palestine. Egypt, Israel’s most influential neighbour to the south, is the focus for comparison and contrast in the essay by P.S. Johnston on death and the dead in Egypt and in Israel. Johnston notes the positive aspects of death that are popularly associated with ancient Egypt, but also highlights a problem in that there are also clear indications that, in practice, the Egyptians failed to respect the dead, and were to a considerable degree sceptical and cynical about the afterlife. ‘Egyptian views on death and the afterlife were altogether more varied than often assumed.’ Such hope as there was and such preparations for death as were possible were the privilege of the well-to-do. In Israel, to judge from its scriptures, death was fairly uniformly regarded as ‘the negation of life, disrupting its activity and bringing separation from the divine presence’. K.A. Kitchen, best known for his Egyptological work, is concerned here with the ‘transitional era of Western mini-empires (c. 1180-950 b.c.)’, which saw the flourishing of the Neo-Hittite states, the Aramaean state of Aram-Zobah, and the Israelite ‘empire’ of David and Solomon. The Neo-Hittite states are seen as important from an Old Testament perspective, not only on account of their historical interaction with Israel but also for the cultural background that they provide for the accounts of Israelite history in Samuel-Kings and Chronicles. Some filling in of the sparse narration of the biblical books is possible in the light of the recently published corpus of over 220 inscriptions in Hieroglyphic Luwian. M.C.A. Korpel takes us several centuries further on as she considers the negative effects on the Jewish people of the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and the deportation of leading citizens to Babylonia. She claims that the general preoccupation with the restoration of Judah after the exile has deprived scholars of a proper appreciation of the disillusionment and pessimism that affected Jewish communities in the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods. The literary evidence, both biblical and archival, for

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the state of mind of Jews in Judah, Egypt and Babylon during this period gives ample illustration of the despairing re-evaluation of their religious faith and traditions that was going on. There was no full and instantaneous triumph of strict monotheism’ at the end of the exile. N. MacDonald does not address the question of monotheism expressly within a Near Eastern setting, but his conclusion directs discussion back towards that larger environing world in which Old Testament faith developed. MacDonald seeks to apply insights from Systematic Theology to the discussion of monotheism, noting that the term itself is a coinage of the English Enlightenment. He demonstrates the danger of imposing upon Old Testament texts a ready-made term and therewith a conceptuality that is more restrictive than, and less truly descriptive of, what the texts actually say in relation to Israelite belief about God. It is the transmission of traditions that engages M.E.J. Richardson, who concentrates on Egyptian literature, ranging from Coptic tradition, in which the Gospel account of the Holy Family in Egypt develops into a number of links with specific sites, to the much-cited Merenptah Stele, with its mention of ‘Israel’. It is suggested that some texts that share motifs with Old Testament passages are also deserving of recognition as comparative’ material and therefore of inclusion in anthologies devoted to the presentation of such. It is also urged that consideration be taken of such matters as the purpose and the transmission of documents when they are cited in illustration of biblical texts. Though she does pay attention to ancient Near Eastern parallels occasionally, J.E. Tollington retains a specifically Old TestamentIsraelite focus in her examination of the relationships between Abraham and his wives. The accounts of the lesser’ wives, Hagar and Keturah, are truly ‘patriarchal’ in outlook, but it is not so in the depiction of Abraham and Sarah: ‘A close reading indicates that neither patriarchy nor matriarchy is the appropriate authority for God’s people.’ P.J.P. van Hecke, writing on pastoral metaphors, discusses the depiction of God as shepherd in relation to his people, but Van Hecke does not limit himself to positive imagery: he is also interested in negative evaluations of God as sheep-owner and

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even as ‘anti-shepherd’. The justification for this approach lies partly in the fact that ‘opposing metaphors’ from within the same domain may co-exist in a text. ‘Text’ may refer to biblical or, more generally, to Near Eastern texts, since, as Van Hecke shows, the non-Israelite texts have not only the traditional, positive use of the shepherd metaphor but also clear instances of the reversed form. J.A. Wagenaar is largely concerned with the internal development of the festival calendar of Israel, including the relation between the agricultural seasons and the fixed-date prescriptions of the priestly calendar of Leviticus 23. The possibility of influence from the Babylonian festival calendar is noted, and the Israelite Gezer calendar inevitably comes into the picture. The comparison between Israel and Babylonia becomes most pronounced when it is suggested that the transformation of PesachMassot into a New Year festival may mirror a similar transformation of the Babylonian New Year Festival, according to which equal ‘equinox years’, each of six months, were recognized. The use of words tropically is addressed by J.-W. Wesselius, who seeks to fill a lacuna in modern studies of wordplay in the Bible and related literature by highlighting possible occurrences in epigraphic material. Special attention is paid to the Phoenician Kilamuwa Inscription where the invocation of casus pendens is thought to illuminate the meaning of the opening lines. The same inscription, it is suggested, contains an example of polysemy in which the several possible significances of a word are each developed subsequently in the text. The additional feature of the ‘trapdoor’, in which an expression that is ambiguous is taken in a different direction from that expected, is noted for Kilamuwa and the Bible, and further illustrates the point that word-play was ‘a very serious element in composing official texts’ in the literary culture shared by the Old Testament and Kilamuwa. Finally, P.J. Williams considers the meaning of the Hebrew term ‘Rephaim’ and its apparent Ugaritic cognate RPUM, and in particular the possibility that the terms may mean ‘healers’. The vocalisation of the biblical term, however, does not necessarily support such a derivation, and the meaning of Rephaim-RPUM is regarded as remaining an open question. The Editors

Kevin J. Cathcart

Campion Hall, Oxford – United Kingdom

The Comparative Philological Approach to the Text of the Old Testament 1 Introduction1 One of the events in the 1960s which many Old Testament scholars remember well was the publication of James Barr’s Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament.2 No less interesting were some of the lively reviews of that book.3 It is important to note that Barr does not regard his work as an introduction to the discipline of comparative philology. He is more concerned with the ‘application of philological means to elucidate Old Testament passages which would otherwise be regarded as obscure or corrupt’.4 Accordingly, it may be helpful to begin with Barr’s very useful definition of comparative philology: This term has meant the comparative study of language groups within which signs of a common historical origin can be detected; ‘comparison’ is not a general discussion of similarities and diffences, but the construction of an historical common scheme within which the material of related languages can be placed.5

Thus, to be comparative means to be historical, and employing the comparative philological method for the study of the text of the Old Testament involves the general comparative study of the Semitic language family. Barr distinguishes two types of treatments (his term): the textual treatment and the philological treatment. Generally speaking, the textual critic deals with a text 1

Whereas elsewhere in this volume Hebrew is printed in Hebrew type, the Editors decided in this case to maintain the transliterated Hebrew the author used in his manuscript to facilitate comparison with the other Semitic languages he cites. 2 J. Barr, Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament, Oxford 1968. 3 See, for example, the reviews by M.J. Dahood, ‘Comparative Philology Yesterday and Today’, Bib. 50 (1969), 70-9; W.L. Moran, CBQ 31 (1969), 238-43. 4 Barr, Comparative Philology, 10. 5 Barr, Comparative Philology, 77.

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in which a graphic error has occurred during transmission. The scholar who applies the comparative philological method does not posit a different original text, but seeks to elucidate the existing one. One can assume that Barr’s textual treatment (or approach) includes, for example, emendations proposed on the basis of other Semitic texts like the Ugaritic texts recovered from Ras Shamra. Let us take an example. In 2 Sam. 1:21 (David’s lament um¯ ot should be over Saul), it has been proposed that ˜ ´s e dˆe t e rˆ um¯ ot, ‘upsurging of the deeps’, comemended to read ´s e ra  t e rˆ paring KTU 1.19:I:45. I am not concerned here with the strengths and weaknesses of this proposal,6 made on the basis of a similar Ugaritic text. I simply make the point that, if the ˜ is emended, it seems to belong to the category of a ‘textual treatment’ rather than, or perhaps as well as, a philological one. Of course, this particular case may illustrate the not uncommon situation in which one works with a combination of the textual and comparative approaches. Although it is true that the philological approach may often justify rare or anomalous words, the same approach may also bring about the identification of a word that is not rare at all. (See the discussion of Heb. y¯ apˆı a h. and Ugar. yph. below.) Finally, it is interesting to note that Emmanuel Tov regards support from cognate languages, especially from Ugaritic, as leading to ‘linguistic emendations’ because they involve ‘some form of emendation, namely, in vocalization’.7 Nevertheless, in this connection it is salutary to read Barr’s contribution on the ‘fallibility’ of the consonantal text, in which he quite rightly criticises philological scholars, as he calls them, for their inconsistency in the use of emendation.8 However, excesses in some philological treatments should not deter scholars from engaging in the comparative philological approach. Sound philological proposals do make us generally cautious about tampering with the text. On the other hand, wholesale reckless emendation of the biblical text that we associate with scholarship of a previous era cannot be used to block convincing and sensible solutions based on emend6

See, however, J.P. Fokkelman, ‘´s e dˆe t e rˆ um¯ ot in II Sam 1, 21a: A NonExistent Crux’, ZAW 91 (1979), 289-292; S. Talmon, ‘The “Comparative Method” in Biblical Interpretation – Principles and Problems’, in: F.E. Greenspahn (ed.), Essential Papers on Israel and the Ancient Near East, New York 1991, 381-419 (405-6). 7 E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, Assen 1992, 363. 8 Barr, Comparative Philology, 191-4.

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ation. Quite rightly Barr stresses the need to be conscious of the ‘balance of probability’ in textual and philogical approaches to the text. After examining many issues and sending out several warnings, Barr sums up as follows: These criteria are not rules the simple observation of which will certainly lead to a right result. They themselves are probable rather than absolute; and sometimes they may seem capable of working in either direction.9

It would be impossible to address all the points which arise in discussing the comparative philological approach, so I have chosen some worked examples that I think are interesting in the light of recent research and epigraphical discoveries. Conscious of some of the pitfalls of the philological approach, highlighted in particular by Barr, I shall now set out some examples of philological treatment that involve the use of comparative data from Akkadian, Ugaritic and Old Aramaic, and which have a direct bearing on the text of the Old Testament. I admit shamelessly that to some extent my own particular interests have guided my choices, but I am quite confident that I am not influenced by that factor which Barr says is ‘more social than genuinely linguistic’, namely ‘the love of the scholar for his own specialization’.10 My choices scarcely need justification. Akkadian is the most widely attested Semitic language of the ancient Near East and its great importance is self-evident. Ugaritic and Old Aramaic texts meet some of the criteria suggested by Barr for making preferences between sources. These texts are written in Northwest Semitic languages; they come from the Syro-Palestinian area, and they are near to the Old Testament period in time.11

2 Examples Using Akkadian Although it is not always recognised, for Old Testament scholars one of the most significant developments in ancient Near Eastern studies during the nineteenth century was the decipherment of Mesopotamian cuneiform by Edward Hincks and Henry Creswicke Rawlinson.12 The basic decipherment was accomplished by 9

Barr, Comparative Philology, Barr, Comparative Philology, 11 Barr, Comparative Philology, 12 The best account of Hincks’s 10

288. 111. 112-13. work is by P.T. Daniels, ‘Edward Hincks’s

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Hincks in a series of papers between 1846 and 1852.13 One can only imagine Hincks’s excitement when he was able to read Akkadian words that were not names of persons or places, or when he identified for example, the mention of Jehu son of Omri in the inscription on the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III in 1851. Among Hincks’s papers in the Griffith Institute, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, there is a fragment of a paper that is the beginning of an article on ‘Hebrew Roots Compared with Assyrian, No. 1’. It begins as follows: In addition to the light which the recent discoveries in Assyrian literature throw on the history, chronology and geography of the Bible, it may be expected that the language of the inscriptions, which is of the same family as the languages of the Old Testament, will illustrate obscure passages of the Bible by giving the true meaning of roots that are of rare occurrence in Hebrew, perhaps hapax legomena; and also by giving the true derivations of Hebrew nouns, of which the verbal roots have been hitherto only conjectured.14

The first entry in his draft article is on the Hebrew root s.rb, which occurs four times in the Hebrew Bible: as a passive verb in Ezek. 21:3; as an adjective in Prov. 16:27, and as a noun in Lev. 13:23, 28. Hincks had correctly translated a line in the great pavement inscription from Nimrud in which he identified a verb s.ar¯ abu. The line reads: dam¯eˇsunu ˇsadu as.rup,15 which he renders: ‘with their blood the mountains I reddened’. Hincks read the verbal form as.rup as as.rub, so he identified it with the Hebrew verb Decipherment of Mesopotamian Cuneiform’, in: K.J. Cathcart (ed.), The Edward Hincks Bicentenary Lectures, Dublin 1994, 30-57. See also Daniels’ contribution on decipherment in: P.T. Daniels, W. Bright (eds), The Writing Systems of the World, London 1996, 141-59; and Cathcart, ‘The Age of Decipherment: the Old Testament and the Ancient Near East in the Nineteenth Century’, in: J.A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume: Cambridge 1995 (VT.S, 66), Leiden 1997, 81-95. There is still no good critical account of H. C. Rawlinson’s contribution to the decipherment of Mesopotamian cuneiform (not to be confused with the decipherment of the Old Persian cuneiform writing system). There is much useful background information, however, in M.T. Larsen, The Conquest of Assyria: Excavations in an Antique Land, London 1996. 13 See K.J. Cathcart, P. Donlon, ‘Edward Hincks (1792-1866): A Bibliography of his Publications’, Or. 52, 1983, 325-56. 14 Griffith Institute, Oxford: Hincks Correspondence, MS 558. 15 The text is cited in CAD [S.], 104, where the full references are given.

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arab, missing the identification of s.ar¯ apu which would later be .s¯ made with .s¯ arap, ‘to smelt, refine’. Modern dictionaries of Akkadian list .sar¯ apu, ‘to smelt and refine metals; to fire clay tablets or bricks; to burn; to dye textiles, ivory, leather, even mountains red’.16 Hincks’s knowledge was imperfect, but his instincts were correct and his interpretation of s.¯ arab in the biblical texts was e u, ‘shall be scorched’; Prov. 16:27, accurate: Ezek. 21:3, nis.r bˆ arebet, ‘as a scorching fire’; Lev. 13:23, 28, s.¯ arebet, ‘ink e ¯eˇs s.¯ flammation, redness; scar’. It is, of course, true that misuse of the newly deciphered texts from Mesopotamia led to the excesses of pan-babylonianism, but there is no doubt that the study of Akkadian and Sumerian texts has contributed enormously to the understanding of the Old Testament. In this article, however, I am concerned with comparative philological data from Akkadian. The unsatisfactory translations of mlh lbtk (Ezek. 16:30) in many modern English Bibles illustrate what might be described as an example of wilful resistance to knowledge gained from comparative philology. The NRSV has: ‘How sick is your heart’; the NAB, ‘How wild is your lust’, and the JPSV, ‘How sick was your heart’. The JPSV translator does admit in a footnote that, on the basis of the Akkadian, a change of vocalisation will give, ‘How furious I was with you’. The NEB and REB have a satisfactory version: ‘How you anger me!’ The correct understanding of this verse was first published by David Hartwig Baneth in 1914, when he published a suggestion made by his father Eduard Baneth that Akk. libb¯ ati malˆ u, ‘to become angry with’, had a counterpart in Ezek. 16:30.17 It was noted that the same idiom occurred in Aramaic too. Godfrey Rolles Driver made the same proposal in 1928, and elaborated on it in 1931.18 All the main Hebrew lexicons admit this identification by Baneth, and the Akkadian loan has been subjected to further scrutiny by Harold Cohen19 and again thor16

CAD [S.], 1962, 102-5; J. Black et al. (eds), A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian, Wiesbaden 2000, 334. Note Neo-Babylonian s.ar¯ abu. 17 D.H. Baneth, ‘Bemerkungen zu den Achikarpapyri’, OLZ 17 (1914), 251, n. 1. 18 G.R. Driver, ‘Some Hebrew Words’, JThS 29 (1928), 393; Idem, ‘Studies in the Vocabulary of the Old Testament III’, JThS 32 (1931), 366. Joseph Fitzmyer added a new Aramaic occurrence in 1961; see J.A. Fitzmyer, ‘A Note on Ez 16, 30’, CBQ 23 (1961), 460-2. 19 H.R. Cohen, Biblical Hapax Legomena in the Light of Akkadian and Ugaritic, Missoula 1978, 47-8.

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oughly by Paul Mankowski in his very important published Harvard dissertation.20 Among early modern commentators, G.A. Cooke21 accepted the Akkadian and Aramaic evidence for the correct understanding of the text, but some commentators still prefer the interpretation apparently intended by whoever pointed the ˜. The interpretation of the Akkadian loanword, lbh, ‘anger’, as a cognate of Heb. l¯eb, ‘heart’, is an example of a loanword in the consonantal Hebrew text of the Bible being wrongly interpreted in the Massoretic text. It is interesting to note that the Ì (‘How should I dispose of your daughter?’) and the Í (‘Why should I judge your daughter?’) did not interpret lbtk as ‘your heart’. Among the many useful contributions to the study of the Biblical Hebrew lexicon in Mankowski’s work on Akkadian loanwords, the section on sibilants in his phonological analysis is highly informative for Hebraists. He writes: ‘The single most important diagnostic tool for identification of loans in BH is the treatment of sibilants’.22 He draws attention to the fact that, in Akkadian, sibilants written with ˇs -signs had the Babylonian pronunciation [ˇs ] but the Assyrian pronunciation [s]; and sibilants with s-signs had the Babylonian pronunciation [s] and the Assyrian pronunciation [s]. Perhaps one of the best-known examples of the representation of Akk. ˇs by Northwest Semitic s is that in the Hebrew words misk¯en¯ ut, ‘poverty’, in Deut. 8:9, and misk¯en, ‘poor man’, in Qoh. 4:13; 9:15, 16. Akk. muˇsk¯enu, ‘commoner’ (as for example in the Code of Hammurabi), also had the meaning ‘poor man’. The sibilant indicates that the Akkadian word entered Hebrew and Aramaic via Neo-Assyrian.23 Another good example of a loanword with Heb. s for Akk. ˇs is Heb. .taps¯ ar, Akk. .tupˇsarru, which occurs twice in the Old Testament, in Jer. 51:27 and Nah. 3:17. The spelling of the Hebrew form with s corresponding to Akk. ˇs points to a borrowing from 20 P. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew (HSS, 47), Winona Lake 2000, 77-80. 21 G.A. Cooke, The Book of Ezekiel (ICC), Edinburgh 1936, 171-3. 22 Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 155. 23 There is a fascinating discussion of the transmission of Akk. muˇsk¯enu into other Semitic languages and then into the Romance languages, in Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 97-9, who fails, however, to give Heinrich Zimmern his due, cf. H. Zimmern, Akkadische Fremdw¨ orter als Beweis f¨ ur babylonischen Kultureinfluss, Leipzig 1914, 47.

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Neo-Assyrian. Klaas Spronk is under the impression that .taps¯ ar 24 occurs in Isa. 33:18 also, but the word there is s¯ op¯er. Notice, however, that .taps¯ ar is in the apparatus for that verse in BHK, as part of a proposed emendation of s¯ op¯er. At Jer. 51:27, .taps¯ ar is used of a military officer, and one can compare ˇs¯ o.t¯er, with the sense of ‘marshal’ or ‘quartermaster’, in Josh. 1:10; 3:2. I continue to hold the view that, in Nah. 3:17, .taps¯ ar is a palace functionary. Furthermore, I see no reason to change my long-standing view that the parallel word minz¯ arayik should be emended slightly to manz¯ azayik, as proposed long ago by H. Torczyner.25 No defence azu is a well-known term of the ˜ stands up to scrutiny. Akk. manz¯ for a palace functionary (see manz¯ az ekalli ), so manz¯ azayik is an excellent parallel to .taps¯ arayik. I have discussed elsewhere my interpretation of the significance of these terms and the roles of these palace officials or functionaries.26 The Vulgate custodes tui has led some scholars to propose the identification of Heb. minz¯ ar with Akk. mas.s.aru, ‘guardian, guard, sentinel’. This proposal does not stand up to scrutiny. One would have to assume nasalisation of the geminate consonants, which, although well attested in Imperial Aramaic, is not found in Biblical Hebrew. Mankowski examines the possibility of an Aramaic loan route but finds it virtually impossible to sustain. As he says, mas..sar is not attested in any Aramaic dialect, and the hypothetical *mas..sar > *mans.ar > *manzar > Heb. minz¯ ar is problematic.27 Finally, it is possible ¯r¯ ah in Nah. 2:2 should be repointed to mas.s.¯ ar¯ ah and that m e .su related to Akk. mas..sartu, as in the Akk. mas.s.arta nas.¯ aru, ‘to stand guard’. Nah. 2:2, n¯ as.ˆ or mas..s¯ ar¯ ah, may be rendered ‘stand guard’.

3 Examples Using Ugaritic The close affinity of Ugaritic to Hebrew within the classification of the Semitic languages is just one of the factors that has ensured its pre-eminence in the study of the language, literature and religion of ancient Israel. Progress in the study of Ugaritic 24

K. Spronk, Nahum (HCOT), Kampen 1997, 139. H. Torczyner, ‘Presidential Address’, JPOS 16 (1936), 7. 26 K.J. Cathcart, ‘Micah 2:4 and Nahum 3:16-17 in the Light of Akkadian’, in: Y.L. Arbeitman (ed.), Fucus: A Semitic/Afrasian Gathering in Remembrance of Albert Ehrman, Amsterdam 1988, 197-200. 27 Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 96. 25

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continues unabated. In this article I confine my remarks to some Ugaritic lexical items that bear directly on Old Testament texts and have (or should have) impacted on modern versions. One of the more interesting discoveries for the Biblical Hebrew lexicon is the identification of the Hebrew noun y¯ apˆı a h., cognate with Ugar. yph., ‘witness’. This was already noted by Mitchell Dahood in 1958.28 In the 1960s Samuel Loewenstamm published a more detailed article on y¯ apˆı a h. and Dahood again made further important observations.29 William McKane was convinced by the Ugaritic evidence and accepted the interpretation of y¯ apˆı a h. in 30 Proverbs as a noun meaning ‘witness’. In 1978 Dennis Pardee reviewed all the Ugaritic and Hebrew evidence carefully and he presented an excellent systematic examination of all the texts.31 The noun y¯ apˆı a h. occurs at least once in the Psalms, six times in Proverbs and once in Hab. 2:3. Many modern translations of the Old Testament adhere to the long-standing analysis of ypyh. as a form of the verb pwh., ‘to blow, breathe’. At Hab. 2:3 the RSV ‘it hastens’ and the NEB ‘it will come in breathless haste’ recall BDB’s ‘panteth (hasteth) towards the end’. The REB ‘it will testify to the destined hour’ is definitely an improvement, and the JPSV ‘A truthful witness for a time that will come’, is obviously based on the new knowledge about Ugar. yph..32 The NRSV, on the other hand, is rather unsatisfactory. For Hab. 2:3 it has, ‘it speaks of the end’, and in Prov. 14:5 we are back to the old ‘breathes out lies’. Thankfully, the REB with ‘honest witun¯ ah at Prov. 12:17, for example, has given ness’ for y¯ apˆı a h.  e mˆ its approval to a noun y¯ apˆı a h., ‘witness’, as do most of the newer dictionaries of Biblical Hebrew.33 28

M. Dahood, ‘Some Ambiguous Texts in Isaias’, CBQ 20 (1958), 47-8, n.

21. 29

S. Loewenstamm, ‘y¯ ap¯e a h., y¯ ap¯ı a h., y¯ apˆı a h.’, Leˇs. 26 (1962), 205-8 (reprinted with some additions in: S.E. Loewenstamm, Comparative Studies in Biblical and Ancient Oriental Literatures (AOAT, 204), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1980, 137-45); M. Dahood, Proverbs and Northwest Semitic Philology, Rome 1963, 45; Idem, ‘Hebrew-Ugaritic Lexicography III’, Bib. 46 (1965), 319-20; Idem, Psalms I (AB, 16), Garden City 1965, 169. 30 W. McKane, Proverbs: A New Approach, London 1970. 31 D. Pardee, ‘yph., “witness” in Hebrew and Ugaritic’, VT 28 (1978), 20413. 32 K.J. Cathcart, ‘Legal Terminology in Habakkuk 2:1-4’, PIBA 10 (1986), 103-10. 33 HALAT, 405; HAHAT, 479; L. Alonso Schoekel, Diccionario B´ıblico

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Much has been written on Ugaritic-Hebrew parallelism in poetry. Here I simply wish to comment on a remark by Barr. He writes: Where Ugaritic words are used for the elucidation of Hebrew, it should be remembered that the meanings of many of these depend in the first place on parallelisms in Ugaritic, and the same caution has to be used in any reliance on these Ugaritic meanings.34

I think that I understand Barr’s worries here, but I suggest that we should be just as cautious about reliance on Hebrew meana ˆ ot, ings. Let me take an example. The parallel pair h¯ arˆım  g e b¯ ‘mountains  hills’, is common in biblical poetry, and notably so in the psalms and the prophetic books, especially Isaiah. In Ugaritic literature the equivalent pair is g˙ r  gb , plur. g˙ rm  gb m, and this Canaanite pair has survived in Num. 23:9.35 One may translate Num. 23:9 as follows: ‘I see him from the top of the mountains, I watch him from the hills’. The NRSV has ‘crags’ for .su ¯rˆım, the REB ‘rocky heights’. This preference for ‘rocks, rocky heights’ is remarkable. It is true, of course, that, elsewhere in the Old Testament, s.u ˆr means ‘rock, rocky ground, place of refuge’. Now, a search of Driver’s translation of the Ugaritic texts is quite revealing.36 There we find ‘rocks’ for g˙ rm and ‘mountains’ for gb m. The rendering ‘mountain’ for gb  is quite surprising and really inexplicable, not least because in his glossary Driver had ‘hill, hillock’ for this word.37 In the second edition of Canaanite Myths and Legends, Gibson too has ‘rocks’ for g˙ rm, but he does correctly translate gb m as ‘hills’.38 I think that g˙ rm must be translated as ‘mountains’ in the Ugaritic texts.39 I prefer the translation ‘mountains’ for s.u ¯rˆım in Num. 23:9, but I am open Hebreo-Espa˜ nol, fasc. 4, Valencia 1991, 300; D.J.A. Clines (ed.), The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 4, Sheffield 1998, 251. 34 Barr, Comparative Philology, 282. 35 So for the first time, W.F. Albright, ‘The Oracles of Balaam’,JBL 63 (1944), 212, n. 22. See also S. Gevirtz, Patterns in the Early Poetry of Israel (SAOC, 32), Chicago 1963, 56-7. 36 G.R. Driver, Canaanite Myths and Legends, Edinburgh 1956, 97, 109, 111. 37 Driver, Canaanite Myths and Legends, 146. 38 J.C.L. Gibson, Canaanite Myths and Legends, Edinburgh 2 1978. 39 ˇ see now This also follows from the equivalence g˙ rm = d HUR.SAG.MES, ˘ D. Pardee, Les textes rituels (RSO, 12), t. 1, Paris 2000, 292, 306.

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to any persuasive arguments that it means ‘rocks, cliffs’. I have chosen this example to show how familiarity with the frequent Biblical Hebrew word s.u ˆr, ‘rock’, has influenced not only our translation of the text in Numbers 23:9, but even some translations of Ugaritic texts.

4 Examples Using Old Aramaic Old Aramaic inscriptions are a rich source for philological research and are particularly relevant for the study of the Old Testament.40 As long ago as 1964 Delbert Hillers quite rightly pointed out that the Aramaic inscriptions of Sefire provide many interesting and close parallels to Old Testament literature.41 Since the 1970s, the corpus of Old Aramaic texts has expanded. There is the very important late ninth-century Neo-Assyrian/Aramaic bilingual from Tell Fakhariyah, and more recently we have seen the publication of thirteen lines of a reasonably well-preserved Aramaic text found at Buk¯ an in Iranian Azerbaijan, south-west 42 of Lake Urmia. In this article several interesting lexical items are chosen from the Sefire inscriptions. The following words occur in Sefire III:4: whn yqrq mny qrq, ‘Now if a fugitive flees from me’.43 Here we find two forms of the verb qrq, ‘to flee’, which in later Aramaic is rq, that is, with ayin in first position. In Job 30:3, 17 we find the dislegomenon ¯ araq, which means ‘to gnaw’. This meaning ‘to gnaw’ is accepted by most scholars, who cite Arab. araqa and point out that the Vulgate has rodebant in v. 3. In his commentary on Job, Marvin Pope writes with regard to v. 3: 40 See K.J. Cathcart, ‘The Curses in Old Aramaic Inscriptions’, in: K.J. Cathcart, M. Maher (eds), Targumic and Cognate Studies: Essays in Honour of Martin McNamara (JSOT.S, 230), Sheffield 1996, 140-52; S.A. Kaufman, ‘Recent Contributions of Aramaic Studies to Biblical Hebrew Philology and the Exegesis of the Hebrew Bible’, in: A. Lemaire (ed.), Congress Volume: Basel 2001 (VT.S, 92), Leiden, 2002, 43-54. 41 D.R. Hillers, Treaty-Curses and the Old Testament Prophets (Biblica et Orientalia, 16), Rome 1964, 77. 42 A. Lemaire, ‘Une inscription aram´eenne du VIIIe s. av. J.-C. trouv´ee ` a Bukˆ an (Azerba¨ıdjan iranien)’, StIr 27 (1998), 15-30; Idem, ‘The Old Aramaic Inscription from Bukan: A Revised Interpretation’, IEJ 46 (1999), 105-15. 43 Text as in J.A. Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire (BibOr, 19A), Rome 2 1995, 136.

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The word rq which occurs only here and in v. 17 below may also mean ‘go away, flee’ or the like. Either sense would be acceptable here, e.g. ‘Roaming the arid steppe’ as with the Targum (rqyn rˇsy y  b r   .sh.yy  [‘the wicked were fleeing in a parched land’]).44

Now the third edition of Koehler-Baumgartner lists three intera ¯ or e qˆım .siyy¯ ah in v. 3.45 First, a figurative one: pretations of ˜ h¯ ‘the gnawing of drought’. Second, the proposal to insert iqq e rˆe, ‘roots’, before s.iyy¯ ah. This is followed by the REB: ‘they gnawed roots in the desert’. Finally, the interpretation found in the Ì and Ê: ‘They flee into the wilderness’. In support of this last interpretation, which, as we have just seen, Pope thought was valid, Koehler-Baumgartner lists Jewish Aramaic, Syriac and Mandaic rq; Old Aram. qrq, and Arab. araqa. There is also the suggestion that, of the three interpretations given, the last is unlikely. Unfortunately, the compilers of the lexicon have not seen the incompatibility of the various words which they believe to be cognates. The initial q in Old Aram. qrq indicates proto-Semitic d.; therefore a Hebrew cognate would have s. and an Arabic cognate would have d..46 Compare, for example, the common Semitic word for ‘earth’: Aram. arq¯ a/ ar ¯ a, Heb. eres., Arab. ard.. The Ê translator naturally understood ¯araq as if it were an Aramaic word. The Ì oiJ feuvgonte" suggests the same. If there is an Arabic verb araqa, ‘to flee, depart’ (and I have not found it in the lexicons), it simply cannot be cognate with the Aram. e raq, ‘to flee’, for, as we have seen, its initial consonant would have to be d.. It is best, therefore, to do what BDB did and have in the lexicon of ancient Hebrew only the entry ¯ araq, ‘to gnaw’, citing  Arab. araqa with the same meaning. There is another interesting example of an Old Aramaic word with q in Sefire III: 6, rqh trqhm, ‘you must placate (appease) as.¯ ah, ‘to be acceptable, them’.47 This verb is cognate with Heb. r¯ pleasing’. I have drawn attention elsewhere to the use of this 44

M. Pope, Job (AncB, 15), Garden City 1965, 193. I have inserted a translation of the Ê. 45 L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, study edition (ed. M.E.J. Richardson), Leiden 2001, 888-9. 46 See the brief but perceptive remarks on the etymology of Aram. qrq/ rq, by Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire, 146. 47 Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire, 136.

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verb in the Hadad (Zenjirli) inscription, line 22, which, although fragmentary, has zbh.h w’l yrqy bh, ‘his sacrifice, and may he not look favourably upon it’, which can be compared with Amos 5:22, ‘Even if you offer me burnt offerings and your gift offerings, I will not accept them (l¯ o  ers.eh)’.48 Or is the sense, ‘I will not be appeased’ ? In the final section of this paper, I offer a new proposal to remove a particular difficulty in Nah. 2:14. The precise meaning of several words in this verse could be debated, but the discusah. This word sion here will be confined to the problematic ˜ rikb¯ causes difficulty because of the third person feminine singular suffix and the mention of ‘chariots’ in the context. Some scholars, most recently J.J.M. Roberts,49 think that ‘chariots’ breaks the metaphor of the lion. Accordingly, with the Ì and 4QpNah frags. ah, with a second masculine 3+4 col. I, 10, Roberts reads rubb e k¯ a for singular suffix, and thinks that it, like .trpk (he reads .tarp e k¯ ˜ .tarp¯ek ) later in the verse, refers to the plundered wealth stored up in Nineveh. Driver pursued the lion metaphor even further by ah to rohb¯ek, ‘your pride’, and ˜ mal ¯ ak¯ek¯eh emending ˜ rikb¯  (probably to be read mal ¯ akayik ) ‘your ambassadors, messenal¯ek, ‘your feeding’.50 Not surprisingly, Driver’s gers’, to ma  a k¯ proposals found their way into the NEB. But it is rather surprisal¯ek, ing to find that the JPSV thought the emendation to ma  a k¯ ‘your feeding’, worth mentioning in its footnotes. The reference to lions disappears altogether if one follows Fitzmyer’s proposal to take kpyr as the word for ‘village’, attested with this spelling in the Haddad and Panammu inscriptions and in some late Old Testament texts.51 Robert Gordon notes that, while main Ê MSS have understood the ˜ k e pˆırayik as ‘your princes’, some MSS interpreted it as ‘your villages’.52 Roberts, as most scholars have done, interprets k e pˆırayik as referring to troops or officials. But let us return to rikb¯ ah. The Ì plh'qov" sou and 4QpNah rwbkh, ‘your throng’, clearly support a reading rbk(h) in the Old Test48

Cathcart, ‘Curses in Old Aramaic Inscriptions’, 143. J.J.M. Roberts, Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah: a Commentary, Louisville 1991, 63. 50 G.R. Driver, ‘Linguistic and Textual Problems: Minor Prophets, II’, JThS 39 (1938), 271. 51 Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire, 159-60. 52 K.J. Cathcart, R.P. Gordon, The Targum of the Minor Prophets (The Aramaic Bible, 14), Wilmington 1989, 138, n. 47. 49

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ament text. But how is this to be interpreted? Does it refer to ‘plundered wealth’, as argued by Roberts and others before him, or does it refer to persons? The latter seems to be the interpretation of the Qumran pesher, 4QpNah, frags 3+4 col. I, 10-11: ‘ “Your throng” are his gangs of soldiers [. . . ]; “his cubs” are his nobles [and the members of his council, . . . ] and “his spoil” is the wealth which [the pries]ts of Jerusalem accu[mulated]’.53 Now there is a curse in Sefire I:39-40, which in translation reads: ‘[Just as] this calf is cut in two, so may Matiel be cut in two, and may his nobles (rbwh) be cut in two.’54 This is one of several references to the king and his nobles in the curses. The king is even threatened with being burned like a wax figure (Sefire I:37). I propose being burnt tentatively to read rabbayik and suggest the following version for Nah. 2:14: ‘I shall destroy your nobles (or chief officers) in a pall of smoke, and the sword will devour your young lions.’ We may compare Nah. 3:15, ‘There fire will devour you, the sword will destroy you, it will devour you like a young locust’, and Job 1:15-16 for the destroying sword and fire; and Jer. 39:13; 41:1 for the ‘chief officers (rabbˆe ) of the king’. The selection of texts that has been examined from a philological point of view in this article illustrates how much has been, and can be, accomplished in the study of the Old Testament text. Much still remains to be done. For example, it would be very instructive to carry out a detailed study of the lexical overlap of ancient Hebrew with other Semitic languages, especially Ugaritic. I am thinking here of the sort of thing that Barr55 has done on a sample basis. I have done a limited sample with Ugaritic, but a more extensive study would be very useful. In an age when the ‘dumbing down’ of language requirements is increasing, it is important to encourage young scholars to work in the fields of textual criticism and comparative Semitic philology.

53

F. Garc´ıa Mart´ınez, E.J.C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls (study edition), vol. 1, Leiden 1997, 336-7. 54 Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire, 47. 55 Barr, Comparative Philology, 162-4.

Meindert Dijkstra

Utrecht University – The Netherlands

‘As for the other events . . . ’ Annals and Chronicles in Israel and the Ancient Near East

1 Introduction One of the best-known turns of phrase in biblical tradition, with which the author, presumably of Deuteronomistic provenance, refers to his sources, runs as follows in the AV and RSV: Now the rest of the acts of Jeroboam, how he warred and how he reigned, behold they are written in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel (1 Kgs 14:19). Now the rest of the acts of Rehoboam . . . are they not written in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah . . . (1 Kgs 14:29).

and so on (for instance 1 Kgs 11:41). As a devout child listening to my father’s readings after the evening meal, running continuously through the Bible, I knew that the rest of the story could be found and, if need be, checked in the Book of Chronicles. I still remember how disappointed I was as a young theological student, when I found out that ‘the Chronicles’ were not what they seemed to be, the source of the Books of Kings. But then a more intriguing quest was born, the search for the lost chronicles, the lost history – history-sources of which we know only the titles, such as rv;Y:h' rp,se ‘The Book of the Just (or: Yaˇsar)’ (Josh. 10:13; 2 Sam. 1:18) or hw:hy“ tmoj}l]mi rp,se ‘The Book of the Wars of Yhwh’ (Num. 21:14). Some scholars deem such references to be a learned, but fictional, pia fraus. There is little to prove this point. Some modern scholars have difficulty in accepting the idea that texts sometimes existed beyond texts, texts different from the texts in front of us, but nevertheless their ‘sources’. ‘As for the other events of Rehoboam’s reign . . . are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah?’ You may have noticed the difference. In NIV, ‘the Book of the Chronicles’ is ‘the Book of the Annals’. What is the difference? The Concise Oxford Dictionary says:

‘As for the other events . . . ’

15

annals • pl.n. a record of events year by year ➤ historical records; chronicle • n. a written account of important or historical events in the order of their occurrence.

In his seminal studies on the historical traditions of ancient Mesopotamia and Anatolia, Hans-Gustav G¨ uterbock formulated a fundamental distinction between ‘historical records’ in which royalty prescribed what they wanted to be remembered for by posterity and a kind of historical literature in which posterity selected and wrote what it wanted to remember from the past.1 The latter form marked the birth of ancient Near Eastern historiography. It is my view that scholars have often ignored this distinction between annals and chronicles in comparative studies. The difference in the dictionary does not seem great, but the definition of chronicle may imply a different order of occurrence from year to year, or at least a deliberate recording and selection of events from the viewpoint of the chronicler. I would like to discuss some of the problems of Israelite historiography in the context of Near Eastern historiography from this viewpoint.

2 Historiographic Background and Roots of Israelite Historiography In my study of the summary statement, ‘He who calls the eras from the beginning’ (Isa. 41:4) in the Festschrift for Henk Leene,2 I discussed the question whether the belief in Yhwh’s historical intervention and his power to call up history by his command was 1

H.G. G¨ uterbock, ‘Die historische Tradition und ihre literarische Gestaltung bei Babylonier und Hethitern bis 1200’, ZA 42 (1934), 1-2, 13. Also: A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS, 5), New York 1975 (=AssBabC ); A.K. Grayson, ‘History and Historians of the Ancient Near East: Assyria and Babylonia’, Or. 49 (1980), 140-94, esp. 188-9 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, in: E. Otto et al., Geschiedschrijving in het oude Nabije Oosten (Supplementen ‘Ex Oriente Lux’, 3), Leiden 2000, 37-98, esp. 91-2; J. van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History, New Haven 1983, 91-2; M. van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History (Approaching the Ancient World), London 1999, 25-7. 2 M. Dijkstra, ‘ “He who calls the Eras from the Beginning” (Isa. 41:4): From History to Eschatology in Second Isaiah’, in: F. Postma, K. Spronk and E. Talstra (eds), The New Things: Eschatology in Old Testament Prophecy. Festschrift for Henk Leene (ACEBT.S, 3), Maastricht 2002, 61-76.

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a concept of Second Isaiah’s own design (for instance, as distinctive from Geschichtskonzepte in the Book of Ezekiel),3 or whether it was consonant with the ideas of Israelite historiography as part of ancient Near Eastern historiography. It was my contention that this formula implied a view of history and its periodicity that emerged in the first millennium bce, in particular in the Nabonassar Era (after 747 bce), and was disseminated in the centres of learning of the ancient Near East, whence they also influenced ancient Jewish historiography and Second Isaiah’s concept of history. This contention depended, however, on the premise that a certain historical awareness based on conceptions such as divine intervention, alternations of good and bad periods and the like, emerged in historiographic genres of the first millennium bce, such as the Synchronic King List, the Babylonian Chronicles and even documents of prognostic historiography (so-called Akkadian Apocalypses). It is at present unwarranted to distinguish between a cyclical, deterministic and immanent concept of history in Mesopotamia and a linear (teleological) and transcendent view of history in Israel, as has often been done.4 Assyriological scholars have rightly refuted this schematic simplification used in Old Testament studies.5 At present, the debate about ancient Near Eastern historiography revolves not so much around such differences between historiography in the Bible and the ancient Near East, but around method, in particular, the approach to ‘sources’ of information and their analysis in relation to mater3

T. Kr¨ uger, Geschichtskonzepte im Ezechielbuch (BZAW, 180), Berlin 1989. 4 A view which was definitely challenged by the ground-breaking work of B. Albrektson, History and the Gods: An Essay on the Idea of Historical Events as Divine Manifestations in the Ancient Near East and in Israel (CB.OT, 1), Lund 1967. See also: Van Seters, In Search of History, 57-9. For evidence indicating that the step from an immanent to a transcendent view of history could take place in the Umwelt, see K. van der Toorn, ‘Prophecy between Immanence and Transcendence: A Comparison of OldBabylonian and Neo-Assyrian Prophecy’, in: M. Nissinen (ed.), Prophecy in its Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical and Arabian Perpectives (SBL Symposium Series, 13), Atlanta 2000, 71-87. 5 W.G. Lambert, ‘History and the Gods: A Review Article’, Or. 39 (1970), 175 n.7; Idem, ‘Destiny and Divine Intervention in Babylon and Israel’, OTS 17 (1972), 70-1; A.K. Grayson, Babylonian Historical-Literary Texts, Toronto 1975, 21 n.34; Idem, Or. 49 (1980), 191 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 95; M. deJong Ellis, ‘Observations on Mesopotamian Oracles and Prophetic Texts: Literary and Historiographic Considerations’, JCS 41 (1989), 151, 179-81.

‘As for the other events . . . ’

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ial and social culture. The classical Ereignisgeschichte or histoire ´ ´ev´enementielle in the terminology of the Ecole des Annales (F. Braudel) is a legacy of the optimistic late 19th and early 20th centuries, which saw Assyrian-Babylonian royal inscriptions, Old Testament ‘sources’ (whether or not reconstructed)6 as immediate information for reconstruction of what appears to be political history. However, this intermediate relation between text and history posed a problem in modern theory of history under the influence of modern linguistics, not only in biblical studies, but also in Assyriology.7 At the most, documents are facts in themselves, but do not contain immediate historical facts, let alone events. They are messages or narratives with relative and limited historical value that can only be included, interpreted and understood in a more comprehensive histoire conjoncturelle.8 History is not simply the history of kings and officials, but, in the approach of ´ the Ecole des Annales, supposes also involvement of official and private archives, material culture, architecture and iconography, in short, of all the different genres of culture in their Eigenbegriff-

6

On the problem of calling the Old Testament a ‘source’ of historical information, see B. Becking, ‘Inscribed Seals as Evidence for Biblical Israel: Jeremiah 40.7–41.15, par exemple’, in: L.L. Grabbe (ed.), Can a ‘History of Israel’ Be Written? (JSOT.S, 245), Sheffield 1997, 69. 7 M. Liverani, ‘Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts’, Or. 42 (1973), 178-94. A useful survey is A.M. Bagg, ‘Geschichtsschreibung in der Assyriologie’, WO 29 (1998), 98-108. The article is a review of W. Mayer, Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer, M¨ unster 1995, as a recent example of Ereignisgeschichte in contrast to collections of modern historiographic essays on ancient Near Eastern studies such as M.T. Larsen (ed.). Power and Propaganda, Copenhagen 1979; F.M. Fales (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons in Literary, Ideological, and Historical Analysis (OrAnt.C, 17), Rome 1981. Other representatives of this ‘sceptical’ approach to Mesopotamian historiographic texts are A.L. Oppenheim, M. Civil, F.R. Kraus, H. Tadmor and G. van Driel. Against this ‘sceptical’ approach see W.W. Hallo, ‘The Limits of Skepticism’, JAOS 110 (1990), 187-99; A.R. Millard, ‘Story, History and Theology’, in: A.R. Millard et al. (eds), Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in its Near Eastern Context, Winona Lake 1994, 37-64 (esp. 53-64). 8 B. Becking, ‘Chronology: A Skeleton without Flesh? Sennacherib’s Campaign as a Case-study’, in: L.L. Grabbe, ‘Like a Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 bce (JSOT.S, 363), Sheffield 2002, 46-71, esp. 71; but see also the criticism of Braudel’s three-causes model by Ch. Lorenz, De constructie van het verleden: een inleiding in de theorie van de geschiedenis, Amsterdam 1998, 145-6.

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lichkeit.9 Historiography needs a basic factual and chronological framework. Chronology is still the backbone or even ‘skeleton’ of history,10 and, as such, there is nothing wrong with creating a histoire ´ev´enementielle,11 but to provide it or revive it with flesh and blood is a different matter. Mesopotamian and biblical historiography share many aspects and elements of a common ancient Near Eastern belief system, in particular the idea of divine intervention and a view of the past as a sequence of good and bad times. Furthermore, they often show the same mixture of human and divine action, myth and legend, and aetiological interest, as well as the author’s criticism and disapproval.12 In most of its literary aspects, biblical historiography is a variant form of ancient Near Eastern historiography, except for its fundamental confession of Yhwh’s exclusiveness and the singular emphasis on recalling and remembering ‘Israelite history’ in worship (Deut. 26:3-10; 32:7; Ps. 78:3-4). But such a form of liturgical remembrance is, after all, no less biased and ideological in character than the creation of history serving to legitimate a cult or dynasty in the ancient Near East. Historical memory is everywhere more ‘adjusted to what really serves the present than to what may “really” have happened and cannot in fact be altered’.13 So I doubt whether biblical authors were and could be the first historians or creators of history. With some confidence, I still quote Huizinga’s definition of history, as has been done by numerous students of biblical and ancient Near Eastern history: ‘History is the intellectual form in which a civil9 See Van de Mieroop on history from above and from below (Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 39-85, 86-105). 10 Becking, ‘Chronology’, 67-71. 11 So also Bagg, ‘Geschichtsschreibung’, 103; Van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 55. 12 Some of these aspects have been noted by J. Barr, ‘Story and History in Biblical Theology’, JR 56 (1976), 1-17. He also noted an absence of critical evaluation of sources and reports, but I agree with Millard (‘Story, History and Theology’, 39-40) that this aspect is not completely absent either in biblical (in particular Deuteronomistic) or in Babylonian historiography. See below. 13 B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History, San Francisco 1988; Idem, ‘History as a Jewish Problem’, in: J. Neusner et al., From Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in Quest of Understanding. Essays in Honor of Marvin Fox, vol. 1, Atlanta 1989, 3; M. Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel (JSOT.S, 148), Sheffield 1992, 2 1995, 137.

‘As for the other events . . . ’

19

ization renders account for its past.’ Historiography was born in an axial period of ancient Near Eastern civilisation and biblical historiography took its part in it. Cultural heritage, ideology and theory-loadedness play their part in any form of historiography, ancient or modern, so within the variety of theories of history, Huizinga’s definition allows proper space and place for ancient Israelite and Mesopotamian historiography within the bounds of their mutual Eigenbegrifflichkeit.14 Already in the Umwelt of Israel, we find an historiographic interest that took historiography a step further than the res gestae, i.e. recording the deeds of the king and his officials, namely to the development of a literary historical tradition.15

3 A Survey of ‘Babylonian’ Chronicles What is the difference between annals and chronicles? Annual reports or annals usually relate to the military, cultural and political achievements of a particular king or dynasty, often year after year. Usually such annals are in autobiographical style, but occasionally annalistic inscriptions are in biographic style, perhaps because, as some scholars suppose, they were compiled from current war journals.16 Annalistically structured records appear in royal inscriptions of, for instance, the Third Dynasty of Ur as early as the beginning of the second millennium bce, but the 14 W.E. Krul, ‘Huizinga’s definitie van de geschiedenis’, in: J. Huizinga, De taak der cultuurgeschiedenis, samengesteld, verzorgd en van een nawoord voorzien door W.E. Krul, Groningen 1995, 284; F.R. Ankersmit, De spiegel van het verleden, Exploraties 1: Geschiedtheorie, Kampen 1996, 7-9; Van Seters, In Search of History, 1; DeJong Ellis, JCS 41 (1989), 182-4; Becking, ‘Inscribed Seals as Evidence for Biblical Israel’, 66; but see also the problems with this definition in Brettler, Creation of History in Ancient Israel, 11. Note that Peter Machinist also emphasised this Eigenbegrifflichkeit in his lecture ‘The Old Testament in Comparative Perspective’ (SOTS/SBL 2003 Cambridge). 15 This is seemingly the point missed by Brettler, Creation of History in Ancient Israel, 11. Even if Huizinga made a sharp distinction between history and literature and if, according to Brettler, modern scholarship may not do so, this correction applies also to Israelite and Mesopotamian historiographic tradition. 16 This theory of war journals in combination with letters (reports) to the deity as Vorlage for the Assyrian annals is in Mayer’s view essential for the credibility of the inscriptions (Mayer, Politik und Kriegskunst, 56-59); but for the pitfalls of this theory, see Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 164-70 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 64-67; Bagg, ‘Geschichtsschreibung’, 105.

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genre may go back to kings from the third millennium such as Sargon of Akkad, and even to pre-Sargonic times.17 Collections of such annual reports written on tablets and stored in archives for consultation, study and reference are known in Mesopotamia only from the Late Middle Assyrian Period onwards (1132-935 bce). Similar texts are found in Anatolian archives such as the pinaˇsdar ‘(masculine) acts’ compiled in chronological order. They are annalistically composed texts, which approach the later chronographic texts, being the earliest examples of ancient Near Eastern historiography.18 We think here especially of the Annals of Mursilis II (ca 1300 bce), in particular the decennial records, series of ten years of annals (TUAT, 1/5, 471-81), which were extracts, taken and summarised from extensive running yearbooks. The genre of the chronicle, with its fundamental focus on the past, its selective structure, eclectic preference and hardly hidden historiographic bias emerges after the first quarter of the first millennium. But it did not appear out of the blue. The change in viewpoint from annals to chronicles is a gradual one. In essence, annals focus on the exploits of their sponsor in time and space. Though they may show interest in the past (usually the recent past), their focus is the present, not the past.19 In some early historical texts, even as early as the Sumerian historical inscription of Enmetana of Lagaˇs (ca 2400 bce), there are historical surveys summing up events that constitute the prelude to the present 17

See the survey W.W. Hallo, ‘Sumerian Historiography’, in: H. Tadmor, M. Weinfeld, History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures, Jerusalem 1983, 9-20; R.E. Averbeck, ‘The Sumerian Historiographic Tradition and its Implications for Genesis 1-11’, in: A.R. Millard et al. (eds), Faith, Tradition, and History, Winona Lake, Indiana 1994, 79=102. It follows the observations of Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 142; D.O. Edzard, RLA 6, 77-86; Van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 59-75. Beside the most interesting predecessor of Assyrian-Babylonian historiography, i.e. the Sumerian King List, there is the ‘Tummal Chronicle’, actually a building chronicle. See, however, the criticism of the designation ‘chronicle’ by Edzard, RLA 6, 85-86. 18 H.G. G¨ uterbock, ‘Hittite Historiography: A Survey’, in: Tadmor, Weinfeld, History, Historiography and Interpretation, 30-1 = ‘Hettitische geschiedschrijving: een overzicht’, in: Geschiedschrijving, 108. 19 J. Renger, ‘Vergangenes Geschehen in der Text¨ uberlieferung des alten Mesopotamien’, in: H.-J. Gehrke, A. M¨oller (eds), Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt: Soziale Kommunikation, Traditionsbildung und historische Bewußtsein, T¨ ubingen 1996, 9-60; Van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 25.

‘As for the other events . . . ’

21

situation. In that particular text, the previous history comprises a period of about 150 years, divided into a distant past (Mesilim of Kiˇs, ca 2550 bce) and the recent past (Eanatum, the uncle and predecessor of Enmetena).20 Such reviews of the past often occur, leading up to the occasion for which the inscription was made. A good example is the early Hittite Anitta text (CTH 1),21 which is actually a compilation of inscriptional tablets.22 The technique of reviewing the recent past (sometimes even the distant mythical or legendary past)23 as a ‘historical’ introduction and then describing the current state of affairs stemming from this previous history, is best known from Hittite tradition.24 Famous examples are the Proclamation of Telepinu and the Apology of Hattusilis,25 but such historical reviews also appear often in treaty texts, after the preambles,26 and in West Semitic royal inscriptions, such as the Kulamuwa inscription (lines 2-8) and the Mesha stela (lines 5-8). However, such texts have sometimes been called chronicles, but they are not really part of this genre, since they follow no sys20

See the discussion of this text by Averbeck, ‘Sumerian Historiography’, 93-8; Th.J.H. Krispijn, ‘Het relaas van Enmetana, stadvorst van Lagasj over de strijd met Umma om het Guedana’, in: R.J. Demar´ee, K.R. Veenhof, Zij schreven geschiedenis: historische documenten uit het oude Nabije Oosten, Leiden 2003, 3-9. 21 Hittite texts referred to after E. Laroche, Catalogue des textes hittites (EeC, 75), Paris 1971. 22 As noted by Van Seters, In Search of History, 106-7; see further G. McMahon, ‘History and Legend in Early Hittite Historiography’, in: Faith, Tradition, and History, 149-57, esp. 151. Indeed, Van Seters minimises its importance, but McMahon seems to overstate its innovative character. Its annalistic structure does not make it a kind of early Hittite history. 23 As in the Hittite Zalpa legend (CTH 3), H.A. Hoffner, ‘The Queen of Kanesh and the Tale of Zalpa’, in: W.W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture, vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, Leiden 1997 = ContS 1, 181-182 (1.71), discussed in the literature cited in n. 22. 24 See H.A. Hoffner, ‘Histories and Historians of the Ancient Near East: the Hittites’, Or. 49 (1980), 283-332; G¨ uterbock, ‘Hittite Historiography: A Survey’, 21-35 = ‘Hettitische Geschiedschrijving: een overzicht’, 99-113; McMahon, ‘History and Legend in Early Hittite Historiography’, 149-57. 25 See the new translation and comments of Th.P.J. van den Hout in respectively, ContS 1, 194-98 (1.76) and 199-204 (1.77); also H. de Roos, ‘De troonsbestijging van Hattusili III’, in: Zij schreven geschiedenis, 169-79. 26 Examples may be found in ContS 1, 94, 96, 98-9, 100; E. von Schuler, ‘Die akkadische Fassung des Vertr¨ages zwischen Suppiluliuma I. von Hatti und Niqmaddu II. Von Ugarit’, Staatsvertr¨ age, TUAT 1/2, 131-4.

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tematic chronology.27 A good example is also the ‘Synchronistic History’ from the library of Assurbanipal (AssBabC 21). This historiographic work is not a chronicle in the proper sense, but actually contains a chronologically arranged survey of AssyrianBabylonian relations from the 15th century bce until the reign of Adad-Nerari III (870-783 bce), within the framework of the settlement of a boundary dispute. This document suggests itself as being the copy of a royal inscription on a stela that once allegedly marked the border between both countries. To what extent the text was fictitious in character, but created to be ‘legal proof’ of the fortunes of war that led to the fixation of the present border, is a matter of debate.28 An interesting feature is the suggestion of precise factuality that is clare et distincte, but using pre-existing chronographic records with a hardly hidden political agenda. Apart from this kind of extract in monumental inscriptions, unfortunately few library copies of such annalistic records have been preserved in Assyria.29 This Synchronistic Chronicle (AssBabC 27 Such a misnomer is, for instance, the Hittite ‘Palace Chronicle’ (CTH 8); cf. McMahon, ‘History and Legend’, 153; J. Klinger, ‘Aus der sogenannten “Palastchronik” ’, TUAT, Erg¨ anzungslieferung, G¨ utersloh 2001, 61-4. 28 Grayson, AssBabC, 50-6; Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 181-2 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 83-4; J.A. Brinkman, ‘The Babylonian Chronicle Revisited’, in: T. Abusch et al. (eds), Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran (HSS, 37), Harvard 1990, 73104; Hallo, Origins, 140-1. 29 Fragments in Grayson, AssBabC, 184-9; J.-J. Glassner, Chroniques m´ esopotamiennes, Paris 1993, 174-8. All these fragments, presumably belonging to the same text, have the library of Tiglath-Pileser I as their provenance (1143-1076 bce). They comprise a period from Enlil-Nirari (ca 1329 bce) up to Tiglath-Pileser I (ca 1050 bce). The text does survey the AssyrianBabylonian conflicts but that does not make it a chronicle. See my remarks above on the Synchronistic History (AssBabC 21). About the possible existence of early Assyrian chronicles, see Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 181, n. 191a = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 84, n. 200; H. Tadmor, ‘Observations of Assyrian Historiography’, in: M. deJong Ellis (ed.), Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein (MCAA, 19), Hamden 1977, 211, in contrast to Van Seters, In Search of History, 82-4. Whether this text was a chronicle in the proper sense remains to be seen, for it is at present too fragmentary to warrant such a designation. It is remarkable that we have so many Assyrian annals, especially in monumental fashion, but that such archival historiographic works, comparable to the Babylonian Chronicles, seem to have been absent from the Library of Assurbanipal, despite so many other texts witnessing to the existence of a historical tradition (king lists – even one synchronistically arranged – historical epics, prophecies of Marduk ˇ and Sulgi, the Weidner Chronicle and so on).

‘As for the other events . . . ’

23

21) ends just before Nabu-Nasir’s immediate predecessor, but that is perhaps pure coincidence.30 From the same period, or perhaps some later date is the P(inches)-Chronicle (AssBabC 22), describing political relations between Babylon (Karduniaˇs), Assyria and Elam from the perspective of their dealings with the cult of Marduk.31 A related text is also the ‘Weidner-Chronicle’ (AssBabC 19).32 This document was recently discovered not to be a chronicle, but a letter allegedly written by two early second millennium kings. It has interesting parallels in the prognostic ˇ texts known as the Marduk and Sulgi prophecies, suggesting that it too was a pia fraus counterfeited for propaganda purposes. That does not mean, however, that they were completely unhistorical, because the authors clearly drew their source-material for their historical surveys from existing annals, astronomical diaries and historical chronicles.33 ˇ ˇ The Samaˇ s-Suma-Ukin Chronicle (AssBabC 15) is an excerpt, presumably made for study. It was compiled from different chronicles,34 as is clearly stated in the colophon. Apart from the chronicles of the 4th to the 18th year of this king, it contains some unintegrated lines copied from a writing board about ˇ ˇ Babylonian kings from earlier periods than Samaˇ s-Suma-Ukin’s 35 reign. The Akitu Chronicle, the Religious Chronicle and the 30 It is unclear whether it yet reveals awareness and forms another argument for the existence of a Nabonassar Era. Pace Hallo, Origins, 141. 31 This text stems from Babylon. Van Seters, In Search of History, 86– 7, defends convincingly its literary dependence on the Synchronistic History (AssBabC 21), in contrast to Grayson, AssBabC, 58; Idem, RLA 5, 88 (dating it ca 1155 bce). 32 G¨ uterbock, ZA 42 (1932), 47-57 (Assur 13955gv photograph and copy); Grayson, AssBabC, 43-5; 147-51; Glassner, Chroniques, 215-8, known from a Neo-Assyrian copy from Assur, a few fragments from Babylon and now also a copy from Sippar. See A.R. Millard, ‘The Weidner Chronicle’ (1.138), in: ContS, vol. 1,468-70, and further literature below. 33 In the later periods chronicles were also composed about the Kassite Period and even older dynasties; cf. for instance Chronicle 25. See Grayson, RLA 6, 89; C.B.F. Walker, ‘Babylonian Chronicle 25: A Chronicle of the ˇ Kassite and Isin II Dynasties’, in: G. van Driel et al. (eds), ZIKIR SUMIM: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R.. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (SFSMD, 5), Leiden 1982, 398-417. 34 A.R. Millard, ‘Another Babylonian Chronicle’, Iraq 26 (1964), 14-35; Grayson, AssBabC, No. 15, 32-4; 128-30; Glassner, Chroniques, 189-90. 35 Millard, Iraq 26 (1964), 31; Grayson, AssBabC, 32-3, 130; Glassner, Chroˇ niques, 189-90, covering such Babylonian kings as Assur-Nadin- Sumi (699-

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Eclectic Chronicle (AssBabC 16, 17, 24) probably used existing chronicles of which they are extracts36 written for the special reason of summarising a particular historical development such as the varying fortunes of Bel and the New Year festival (including the Akitu ritual), or to indicate conjunctions of events and extraordinary (ominous?) signs. In a way, they stand outside the mainstream of Babylonian Chronicles, but emphasise the eclectic nature of these Chronicles. This is no longer recording events for the greater glory of royalty (the res gestae), even if some authors are rather biased in their description of certain kings and their fortunes: it also gives a distant view of the past manipulating and rewriting it where necessary according to the writer’s own historical perspective. And that is indeed the mark of true ancient historiography. The most complete series of chronicles that really deserve this name are the Babylonian Chronicles, known in two versions. An older Neo-Babylonian version, which runs from King Nabu-Nasir (747-734 bce) to Darius II, has a colophon dated the 22nd year of Darius and is written on tablets with four columns (AssBabC 1 and 7, Appendix B).37 The second version is known from Late Babylonian sources (Appendix B). This version is expanded with preceding chronicles of early kings,38 and is supplemented with chronicles about the Persian and Greek dynasties until the Seleuˇ ˇ 694 bce, contemporary with Sennacherib); SiriktiSuqamuna (ca 984 bce) ˇ and Nabu-Suma-Iˇ skun (760?-748 bce). 36 See, in particular, in the Akitu Chronicle, the items shared with other chronicles (AssBabC 1 ending; AssBabC 14 ending; and once more AssBabC 15). The interesting thing is that excerpt AssBabC 15 does not mention the proceedings of the Akitu festival as is done in AssBabC 16 (and summarily found in AssBabC 1), but that they were included in the Late Babylonian version (AssBabC 14). This is an interesting case of re-writing history (Grayson, AssBabC, 30-1). See below. 37 Grayson, AssBabC, 9 n. 7; D.J. Wiseman, Chronicles of the Chaldean Kings, London 1956, 3. Fragment BM 34779 (Sp II, 271; see on this fragment Grayson, AssBabC, 280) belongs also to this class of texts. 38 Presumably also AssBabC 14 (Esarhaddon // AssBabC 1), 20 A and ˇ B (Sargon I–Agum III), 25 (Tukulti-Ninurta I 1244-1208 bce; Adad-SumaUsur, 1216-1187 bce; Adad-Apla-Iddina 1068-1047 bce); 24 (from MardukSapik-Zeri 1080–1068 bce to Nabu-Nasir 747-734 and Salmanassar V 726-722 bce) may have been part of this series (Appendix B). AssBabC 20A and 14 have a colophon suggesting that they belong to the same series (ANET, 266, 303; see, however, the critical remark of Grayson, AssBabC, 128).

‘As for the other events . . . ’

25

cid Era (third century bce).39 There were at least two copies of the Late Babylonian version (AssBabC 3, 5, 10[?] written on long tablets with one column on each side and AssBabC 2, 4, 6 and 25 written on small business-tablets). The relation between the two copies is not completely clear, but is interesting to note that the text of tablets AssBabC 3, 4 and 5 joins without any gaps, though they belong to different copies. The chronicles AssBabC 11-13, 13a, 13b are related and begin to date according to years of the Seleucid Era after the elusive reigns of Philip III and Alexander IV (AssBabC 10), which indicates their Late Babylonian origin (the last date is the 88th year).40 The sources of information for this new type of chronicle were perhaps running reports recording astronomical and other data preserved in the so-called astronomical diaries and related texts, the regular observation and recording of which most probably was initiated under king NabuNasir.41 If the Nabonassar Era were indeed the axial period for their emergence, their introduction into the ancient Near Eastern curriculum implies also a cultural, literary and historical difference and development between annals and chronicles. Chronicles are those texts that digest a selection of traditions, events, observations and other data in a chronographic structure and synthesise them into historiography. Interpreting those sources by selecting, summarising, revising and criticising from a distance is the true mark of early historiography.

39

Grayson, AssBabC, 8–9; Idem, Or. 49 (1980), 174 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 75. 40 T. Boiy, ‘Dating Methods during the Early Hellenistic Period’, JCS 52 (2000), 115-20, esp. 117. The first six years of this Seleucid Era perhaps represent the rule of Alexander IV and Seleucus I together. See the King List 6, King List of the Hellenistic Period (RLA 6, 98-9). Only in his / the seventh year (305 bce) was Seleucus I apparently acknowledged as sole ruler when he accepted the royal title. 41 Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 174 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 75; Van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 33-4. See the edition of A. J. Sachs, H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia, ¨ vol. 1: Diaries from 652 B.C. to 262 B.C. (DOAW.PH, 195), Vienna 1988, 11-38. War journals were kept in Egypt alongside other kinds of log book such as the famous ‘journal’ of Amennakht under Ramses III. See recently R.J. Demar´ee, in: Zij schreven geschiedenis, 238-50. On the problem of war journals in Mesopotamia, see note 16.

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4 Sources of the Deuteronomistic Chronicles The Deuteronomistic author or historian (designated DtrH ) used literary sources. Sources which evidently stood more close to the recorded events than the DtrH himself. He, or eventually the author whose chronographic work he consulted and summarised, mentions his sources in so many words, which is a clear but rather unique benchmark of nascent historiography. Three sources are mentioned by name: the hmoløv] yrEb]Di rp,se (1 Kgs 11:41), yrEb]Di rp,se laer:c]yI ykel]m'l] μymiY:h' (1 Kgs 14:19 par.) and ykel]m'l] μymiY:h' yrEb]Di rp,se hd:Why“ (1 Kgs 14:29 par.). The author creates the impression that he compiled his chronographic work from official annual records of major events in Israelite and Judaean history. He made a calculated selection from them, referring his readers for further information to these same sources. I cannot discuss here the theories and problems around the redaction history of DtrH, or the exact nature of his sources.42 It is also still a matter of debate whether the Deuteronomistic author created the synchronistic framework in the Books of Kings himself, expanding it with oral traditions and written sources from other provenances (such as the Elijah–Elisha cycles), or whether he used an existing synchronistic chronicle or king list. Noth and the majority of scholars suppose that DtrH created it himself,43 though Smend does not exclude a pre-existing ‘Synchronistic Chronicle’.44 Is it, how42

See R. Smend, Die Entstehung des Alten Testaments (ThW, 1), Stuttgart 4 1989, 121-2; Y. Yamit, History and Ideology: An Introduction to Historiography in the Bible (BiSe, 60), Sheffield 1999, 56-64, esp. 56-7. 43 ¨ M. Noth, Uberlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien, Teil 1: Die sammlenden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament, Darmstadt 1963, 18-27, 72-3; Smend, Entstehung, 121, T. Veijola, Moses Erben: Studien zum Dekalog, zum Deuteronomismus und zum Schriftgelehrtentum (BWANT, 149), Stuttgart 2000, 13-4; Th.C. Vriezen, A. van der Woude, Oudisra¨elitische & vroegjoodse literatuur (Ontwerpen, 1), Kampen 10 2000, 242-7. Also the Forschungsbericht about recent Deuteronomistic research by T. Veijola, ‘Deuteronomismusforschung zwischen Tradition und Innovation I-III’, ThR 67 (2002), 273-327, 391-424; 68 (2003), 1-41, esp. 6: Das Deuteronomistische Geschichtswerk als Ganzes’, 15-44. 44 Smend, Entstehung, 121, 138. The opinion is occasionally expressed that DtrH counterfeited his sources (see recently F.A.J. Nielsen, The Tragedy in History: Herodotus and the Deuteronomistic History [JSOT.S, 234], Sheffield 1997), but I agree with Smend, Veijola (ThR 68 [2003], 24) and others that there is no obvious reason to deny the existence of these royal annals.

‘As for the other events . . . ’

27

ever, probable that DtrH used such an existing S-Chronicle? The existence of Babylonian Chronicles is evident. But is there evidence that similar synchronistic chronicles existed? There are six pieces that are of a Synchronistic King List known, one adding even the names of viziers (umm¯ anu) who served these kings,45 all from Assur apparently, and ending with Assurbanipal and Kandalanu. It is a pity that the Assyrian scholars, as far as we know, did not write such extensive chronicles as the Babylonians did, but Grayson rightly remarked that a clear distinction between such king lists and chronicles is hardly possible because both are chronographic texts sharing a number of genre-critical features. Sometimes king lists contain short chronistic remarks, whereas chronicles show the listings of regnal years, officials and provenance characteristic of king lists. It is possible that such a king list served as a frame of reference, or was even the ‘skeleton’ or chronological framework of the chronicles and therefore the Synchronistic King List may be a source for the series of Babylonian Chronicles, which have also a clear synchronistic structure.46 Though the viewpoint of the shared history of Assyria, Babylonia and occasionally Elam is alternately Babylonian and Assyrian, it is in reality Babylonian. In my opinion, Grayson and others showed convincingly that such selective, synthetic chronicles written from a biased historical viewpoint were derived from annals, war journals and astronomical diaries. The same sources were used also for the production of monumental inscriptions and showpieces. This historiographic genre that deals both diachronically and synchronically with the history of different countries, periods and dynasties emerged in that period. Their contemporary origin makes a comparative study of biblical and Assyrian-Babylonian historiography even more worthwhile and promising in their comparative aspects and in regard to their individual character. On the one hand, the Babylonian Chronicles usually do not mention their sources, though we occasionally find a hint in a colophon or elsewhere. However, in some cases, we have the remains of their sources, for instance the astronomical diaries, and we even have different versions of the same chronicles. We have seen that these ANET, 272-4; new edition of Grayson, RLA 6,86-135 §3.12-17; Millard, ContS 1,463. 46 ANET, 301-7; R. Borger, TUAT 1/4, 401-4. 45

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series of chronicles have been partly preserved in at least two different versions, a Neo-Babylonian one dated to Darius II (521-486 bce)47 and a Late Babylonian one dated at the latest to year 88 of the Seleucid Era (230 bce).48 On the other hand, DtrH and the Chronicler often mention their sources, though they no longer exist. For DtrH, these were essentially the separate annals of the Kings of Judah and Israel, which certainly left traces in DtrH.49 In the Chronicler’s History, we find extensive extracts from DtrH. By comparison, we get some idea how the respective authors used and adapted these sources. Even a superficial comparison of the versions of the Babylonian Chronicles shows both textual variants and examples of rewritten tradition. Unfortunately, there is still little overlap between the two versions of the Chronicles, and what there is comes mainly in the sections about Esarhaddon and ˇ ˇ Assurbanipal / Samaˇ s-Sumu-Ukin (AssBabC 1.IV // AssBabC 50 14, 15, 16). Notable differences do not only include scribal variants but also often the use of different geographical names. They insert personal names (e.g. Bel-Etir, judge of Babylon), vary in the use of formulas, invert certain events, have different dates for events, and so on. However, despite these variants and differences, they had clearly the same Vorlage. The Neo-Babylonian text has more historical details (e.g. AssBabC 1, IV, 7-10, 24-28), but the Late Babylonian version AssBabC 14 elaborates much more on the exile of Bel in Assur and the cancelling of the Akitu ceremony. Without going into much detail, it is clear that further study will reveal the same kind of stylistic variants, editorial interventions and literary revision as is known in biblical historiography. But similar developments, observable between the historical works of 47

Even copies made close in time, such as the one from Babylon (AssBabC 1 A) and the one from Sippar (AssBabC 1 B(+)C), show some considerable variations in detail and structure. In general, Exemplar B(+)C, as far as preserved, seems to have a longer text, in particular at the beginning. For the details see Grayson, AssBabC, 69-75. 48 Grayson, Or. 49 (1980), 73-5 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 74-7. 49 Occasionally, such references to annals may be marked by the formula wym;y:B], ‘in his days / reign’ (// Akk. formula ina u¯m¯ıˇsu). See 1 Kgs 16:34; 2 Kgs 8:20; 23:29; 24:1. See also this formula ymeyBi with a royal name, e.g. 1 Sam. 17:12; 21:1; 1 Kgs 10:21; 22:47; 2 Kgs 15:29. 50 Only AssBabC 14 seems to represent a kind of standard Late Babylonian version (Glassner, Chroniques, 187-9). The other two texts are of a different character, but apparently contain extracts. On AssBabC 15 see also Millard, Iraq 26 (1964), 14-35, esp. 33; Glassner, Chroniques, 189.

‘As for the other events . . . ’

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the Old Testament and similar works of rewritten history in later Jewish tradition, might be searched for among the sources of the Deuteronomistic History. Jepsen discerned as one of the sources of the Books of Kings a Synchronistic Chronicle.51 He reconstructed a ‘Chronik S’ from the time of Solomon until Hezekiah. He supposed that such a chronicle, apart from the twrøWbG“ ‘the brave / mighty acts’ (1 Kgs 15:23; 16:5, 27; 22:46, etc.) contained other achievements such as the holy objects they made, the cities and temples they built or restored, but also reports of conflicts, wars, diplomatic contacts and dynastic marriages, officials, and finally illness and death, whether or not violent. These are also the subjects found in the Babylonian Chronicles. If indeed such annals existed and the SChronicle derives from them, the earliest possible terminus post quem for such a work would be the fall of the Kingdom of Israel. However, the annals of Judah continued beyond that date (2 Kgs 20:20-21;52 21:17, 25; 23:28-30; 24:5).53 It is plausible that the author who wrote the ‘Synchronistic Chronicle’ that is incorporated in the Book of Kings was also responsible for the selection of other events and references to those events from the lost annals of Israel and Judah. It is my impression that R. Smend, W. Dietrich, T. Veijola and L. Camp (in his informative study on Hezekiah) are inclined to the view that the original DtrH was a slightly expanded Synchronistic Chronicle, which underwent several revisions, in the course of which large blocks of prophetic material were included in and after the Exile.54 The problem with Jepsen’s 51

A. Jepsen, Die Quellen des K¨ onigbuches, Halle 2 1956, text S-Chronicle, 30-6. 52 It is possible that the Siloam inscription was an extract from Judaean royal annals. See M. Dijkstra, ‘History of Israel: Problems, Progress and Prospects’, in: International Bible Commentary (English version forthcoming). 53 It is surprising that this concluding remark for Zedekiah as well as Jehoiachin is missing, even though recording of their reign did not stop. Zedekiah simply disappeared from the records after his deportation (2 Kgs 25:7). Is there an explanation? The passage about Jehoiachin’s rehabilitation (2 Kgs 25:27-30) seems to imply knowledge of his death some time after his release from prison (ca 560 bce). 54 L. Camps, Hiskija und Hiskijabild: Analyse und Interpretation von 2. K¨ on. 18–20 (MThA, 9), Altenberge 1990; W. Dietrich, ‘Prophetie in deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk’, in: T. R¨omer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BEThL, 147), Leuven 2000, 47-65, esp. his reconstructed text of DtrH 2 Kgs 3–10 on page 65.

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hypothesis of an S-Chronicle is that, if it were written during Hezekiah’s reign, it would antedate the bulk of similar king lists and chronicles of Mesopotamian provenance by about a century. Even if we admit that there is evidence that Babylonian scholars started to keep detailed astronomical reports in chronological records in the period of Nabu-Nasir – a historical development that even gave birth to the Hellenistic idea of the Nabonassar Era55 – it seems too far-fetched to find one of its first products in the Israelite-Judaean S-Chronicle. The solution might be that the earliest version of the Deuteronomistic Synchronistic Chronicle, as contained in DtrH, originated after Jehoiachin’s death. I shall leave that problem for the specialists in the Deuteronomistic literature and draw attention to a post-exilic chronographic work that is somewhat more accessible to literary criticism and history, namely the prophetic ‘Chronicle of Haggai’.

5 The Chronicle of Haggai It was a surprise to me to discover that hardly any scholar has described the genre of the minor prophet Haggai as a chronicle,56 though a chronicle it is. It has all the features of one: date formulas, unit division along date lines, inclusion of chronologically arranged events, and, as its only peculiar element, prophecies.57 55 Grayson, AssBabC, 13-4; Idem, Or. 49 (1980), 174 = ‘Assyri¨e en Babyloni¨e’, 75; Hallo, Origins, 140-2. 56 Occasionally one would compare his booklet to an extract from a building chronicle, an idea introduced by Klostermann in 1896 and followed by Rothstein, Deden, Dhorme, etc. See, however, J.L Koole, Haggai (COT), Kampen 1967, 6; A. van der Woude, Haggai Maleachi (PredOT), Nijkerk 1982, 13; Vriezen, Van der Woude, Oudisra¨elitische Literatuur, 319. Rudolph thought of an apology and Koole of a dated propagandistic document to be used as a kind of charter for the Second Temple. More recent surveys may be found in J.E. Tollington, Tradition and Innovation in Haggai and Zechariah l-8, (JSOT.S, 150), Sheffield 1993, 19-23; Idem, ‘Readings in Haggai: From the Prophet to the Completed Book, a Changing Message in Changing Times’, in: B. Becking, M.C.A. Korpel (eds), The Crisis of Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (OTS, 42), Leiden 1999, 194-208; J. Kessler, The Book of Haggai: Prophecy and Society in the Early Persian Period (VT.S, 91), Leiden 2002, 243-5. 57 Basically the redactional debate revolves around the question whether or not a collection of prophecies was secondarily framed by a chronographic framework, be it of ‘Chronistic’ (W.A.M. Beuken, Haggai–Sacharja: Studien ¨ zur Uberlieferungsgeschichte der fr¨ uhnachexilische Prophetie, Assen 1967) or of ‘Deuteronomistic’ origin (R.A. Mason, ‘The Purpose of the “Editor-

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Therefore I would call it a ‘prophetic chronicle’, though that is no more remarkable than a chronicle of New Year festivals, or of market prices, water levels and similar chronographic collections, i.e. from a form-critical perspective. Of course, as a chronological record of prophecies, it is a unique document. I cannot name any other ancient Near Eastern text outside the Old Testament comparable with it. We have collections of salvation oracles for Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, but they are, to my knowledge, neither prophecy, nor chronologically arranged. Also the prognostic historical texts are different, for they all use the future tense and mention no names. Haggai is written in the past tense, and its main characters are mentioned by name: the Persian King Darius II, the Governor Zerubbabel, the High Priest Jeshua and, of course, the Prophet Haggai himself. So it reads somewhat like a story. What is more, it is historiographic in form. Even the Religious Chronicle (AssBabC 17), as far as I understand it, is different, though the chronographic collections of events, omens and so on could be intended for divination. In fact, the only comparable texts come from the Old Testament itself and, hardly surprising, from the Former and the Latter Prophets. Other prophetic books such as Jeremiah and Ezekiel also have many date formulas, but they do not cover the whole book.58 Moreover, the underlying chronological framework and systems of dating are highly confusing and still a matter of debate. The only text that has a clear chronographic structure is Jer. 36:1–45:5 also known as the ‘Memoirs of Baruch’ and running from the 4th year of Jehoiakim son of Josiah to the 7th month of the 11th year of Zedekiah, the year of the capture of Jerusalem.59 However, it remains a ial Framework” of the Book of Haggai’, VT 27 [1977], 413-21, esp. 415-6). Both Tollington and Kessler argue that the oracles of Haggai have been integrated thematically and grammatically in its chronographic framework, which does not suggest a pre-existing prophecy collection, so that as for its literary genre, it primarily originated as a prophetic chronicle, even if it was revised and expanded secondarily (e.g. Tollington, ‘Readings in Haggai’, 200-7). 58 Nevertheless, D. Petersen, Haggai and Zachariah 1–8 (OTL), London 1985, 32-6, rightly noted the resemblance between Haggai and the ‘Historische Kurzgeschichte’ as described by N. Lohfink, ‘Die Gattung der “Historischen Kurzgeschichte” in den letzten Jahren von Juda und in der Zeit des Babylonischen Exils’, ZAW 90 (1978), 319-47. 59 Lohfink, ZAW 90 (1978), 322-3, 343-7, had noted the coherence of Jer. 26 and 36–41. See on the possibility of a pre-deuteronomistic ‘scribal chronicle’, C.R. Seitz, Theology in Conflict: Reactions to the Exile in the Book of

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riddle why, for instance, chapters 32–34 were not incorporated in these memoirs or ‘Chronicle of Baruch’.60 So it is extremely difficult to assess the overall picture of these dates in relation to the origin and redaction of these books. The problem is certainly too complicated to discuss within the limits of this article.61 As comparable texts, I would instead mention isolated ones such as the prophetic stories in Isaiah 762 ] and Amos 7, or the records about the 14th year of Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:13–19:37) and the 18th year of Josiah (2 Kgs 22:3–23:30). They are all narrative texts that include dates, historiographic formulas, and accounts of, in particular, prophetic activity, often with extensive quotations of prophecies. In my opinion, it is undeniable that prophetic and historiographic literature in the period of the Exile and afterwards shows a rapidly increasing, almost explosive interest in meticulous chronological recording by the scribes who produced the collected works, if not by the prophets themselves. The structure and style of this ‘Chronicle of Haggai’ is similar to Deuteronomistic historiographic literature and, presumably, originated in that milieu,63 which was also the environment responsible for the redaction of Jeremiah’s prophecy taken from the ‘Chronicle of Baruch’. One may note the remarkable parallel between the hopeful messianic ending of DtrH and Haggai’s Chronicle. This intimate relationship is significant because the date of the ‘Chronicle of Haggai’ is reasonably well established. Most scholars asJeremiah (BZAW 176), Berlin 1989, 285-7; T.Ch. R¨ omer, ‘How Did Jeremiah Become a Convert to Deuteronomistic Theology?’, in: L.S. Schearing, S.L. McKenzie (eds), Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of PanDeuteronomism (JSOT.S, 268), Sheffield 1999, 196-7. 60 No wonder that the lack of chronologica1 coherence brings quite a number of scholars to the conclusion that the dates and chronological framework are secondary, having been added to already existing collections of Jeremiah’s prophecies. The differences from the shorter Greek text also point in that direction. 61 It is difficult to assess the many date formulas in the Book of Ezekiel. The combination of date formulas and ‘autobiography’ is singular; see, however, Isa. 6:1. Some consider the possibility of literary fiction. Zimmerli, however, pointed to an ever-increasing interest in exact dating in prophetic literature in and after the Exile, in contrast to early prophecy (W. Zimmerli, Ezechiel I, [BKAT 24/1], Neukirchen-Vluyn 1969, 40-1). 62 Also date formulas in Isa. 6:1; 14:28; 20:1. 63 Mason, VT 27 (1977), 414-7; Van der Woude, Haggai, 12; R. Rendtorff, Das Alte Testament: Eine Einf¨ uhrung, Neukirchen-Vluyn 1983, 250.

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sume that it originated shortly after the dedication of the Second Temple (Nisan 515 bce).64 Though the chronicle in its present form contains the words of Haggai only and especially a selection from his Temple speeches,65 it is possible that it was an extract from a more voluminous running chronicle. It is the type of extract known from Babylonian sources as a niˇshu. ˘ belonged to If the Aramaic parts of Ezra (Ezra 4:7-6:18) once the same Aramaic chronographic source used in the compilation and redaction of Ezra–Nehemiah,66 it is clear that this source dates from the last part of the 5th century bce. In particular, the fragment about the rebuilding of the Temple (4:24–6:18) is an interesting, apparently independent, counterpart of Haggai’s Chronicle. Perhaps the two drew their information from the same events and sources, but obviously gave a different picture of the circumstances that led to the standstill of the work on the House of God in Jerusalem. One can discuss and differ widely about the meaning of Haggai’s words cited from the mouth of the people: ‘The time has not yet come for the Lord’s House to be built.’ One could think of theological, psychological, political or economical reasons; it is not the same as in Ezra 4:4, where opposition to the rebuilding by surrounding peoples frustrated their plans during the entire reign of Cyrus, king of Persia, down to the reign of Darius. In Haggai, however, we do not yet find a particular bias against the enemies of Judah. The account in Ezra is clearly a later historical view of these events, a view perhaps 64

It is possible that parts of Zechariah belonged to this Chronicle (1:117; 7:1-14). Their appearance together in the Chronicler’s History within the framework of an Aramaic Chronicle (Ezra 4:8–6:18), from which the Chronicler extracted two segments (4:8-23; 4:24–6:18, apparently revising them and adding some Hebrew glosses 4:24; 6:14), points in this direction. In particular, the words awDø[iArB' hy:r“k'z“W ha;ybin“ yG"j' ta'Wbn“Bi (Ezra 6:14) suggest a joint performance. Zech. 7:14 could have been the epilogue of this chronicle. 65 Rendtorff, Das Alte Testament, 250: ‘Der Rahmen des Buches hat den Worten Haggais eine bestimmte Pr¨agung und Tendenz gegeben, aber wohl kaum ihre urspr¨ ungliche Intention ver¨ andert.’ See also Kessler, Haggai, 243-4. 66 The authenticity is a matter of debate (H.G.M. Williamson, Ezrah and Nehemiah [OTGu] Sheffield 1987, 44-5; Vriezen, Van der Woude, Oudisra¨elitische & vroegjoodse literatuur, 384), but I cannot see why the Chronicler went so far as to translate parts of his work to make them look more authentic, and then inserted some Hebrew glosses afterwards. For my argument, it does not make any great difference, for if the Aramaic source is a counterfeit of the author–redactor of Ezra–Nehemiah, it is even later than the 5 th century bce.

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found for the first time in this Aramaic Chronicle, but adopted and elaborated by the author of the Book of Ezra–Nehemiah. The Aramaic Chronicle displays bias about political developments in the early post-exilic period and has a perspective different from its Hebrew context. It speaks consistently of ayed:Why“ (Ezra 4:12, 23; 5:1, 5; 6:7-8, 14), even of ayed:Why“ as inhabitants of the province of Yehud and Jerusalem (5:1). The same usage is found in the later Memoirs of Nehemiah (Neh. 1:2; 2:16; 3:33-34; 4:6 and so on), that is the usage consistent with the use of Y e hudˆı in the royal Persian administration, denoting Jews from the province of Y e hud, but also Jews living elsewhere in the Empire, and probably still without any religious overtone. Since the documents speak expressis verbis of Jews who lived in Y e hud and Jerusalem at that time, one wonders whether the narrator or chronicler resided somewhere else, perhaps in Mesopotamia, and was writing for Aramaic-speaking local readers.

ˇ 6 Babylonian Scholars on Divine Sulgi of Ur Anyhow, against the background of the ancient Near Eastern tradition of annals and chronicles, and the development of historical tradition transmitted in a diversity of literary chronicles, it is interesting to study the development of Hebrew historiography. There is no immediate reason to look for parallels in early Greek or Hellenistic historiography.67 The explosive interest in chronographic recording and interpretation of events in heaven or on earth originated as early as the Nabonassar Era and may have influenced the beginnings of biblical historiography. To detect examples of biased history-writing in Mesopotamian chronicles is as easy as it is in biblical chronicles such as the DtrH, the Chronicle of Haggai and the literary works that are dependent on them. The same kind of development and elaboration occurs also in many Babylonian Chronicles. ˇ An interesting example is the treatment of King Sulgi in ˇ Babylonian-Assyrian historical tradition. Apart from Sulgi being ˇ the protagonist of the famous Sulgi prophecy and the Marduk prophecy, the vaticinium ex eventu about the adventures of the Marduk statue from Babylon, he figures also in several chronicles. 67

See the book by F.A.J. Nielsen (note 44), and J.W. Wesselius, Origin of the History of Israel: Herodotus’ Histories as Blueprint for the First Books of the Bible, London 2002.

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The best known is the Weidner Chronicle (AssBabC 19; App. A1), though actually it is not a chronicle at all, as was recently discovered.68 Nevertheless, it was once considered a chronicle, an early historiographic text dubbed as ‘the first Mesopotamian textbook on the idea of History’.69 It is, however, a composition set in the form of a letter allegedly from King Damqi-Iliˇsu of Isin to Apil-Sin of Babylon or Rim-Sin of Larsa,70 kings from the 19th century bce. The text originated centuries later and is only known from copies of the first millennium bce. It deals with the fate of various kings who honoured or failed to honour the cult of Marduk at Esagila, and merits attention because it parallels the treatment of kings in the Books of Kings, judging them by their religious policy towards a particular cult. Just as in the Deuteronomistic account, their attitude to the god and his cult ˇ affects his treatment of the kings. Sulgi is also one of the kings with a bad record in the Weidner Chronicle.71 However, there ˇ are more chronicles mentioning Sulgi ’s fate, for instance the Late Babylonian Chronicle of the Early Kings (AssBabC 20 A.28-30; App. A2) and a Late Babylonian scholarly excerpt from Uruk (SBTAU I No 272 dated 21 Abu 61 Seleucid Era = 15 August 251 bce; App. A3).73 The purpose of Chronicle 20 is not clear. 68

The extant sources comprise one Neo-Assyrian copy (A, Ass 13955gv from Assur) and four Neo-Babylonian / Late Babylonian copies; C from Uruk; B, perhaps from Babylon or B(irs) N(imrud); S from Sippar; B, of unknown provenance. See Grayson, AssBabC, 43-45, 166: I.L. Finkel, ‘Bilingual Chronicle Fragments’, JCS 32 (1980), 72-3; F.N.H. al-Rawi, ‘Tablets from the Sippar Library: 1. The ‘Weidner Chronicle’: A Suppositious Royal Letter Concerning a Vision’, Iraq 52 (1990), 1-14 (Sippar excavations No 4/2167 IM 124470). The text was newly translated by al-Rawi, Iraq 52 (1990), 8-10; B.T. Arnold, ‘The Weidner Chronicle and the Idea of History in Israel and Mesopotamia’, in: Millard et al. (eds), Faith, Tradition, and History, 129-57, esp. 133–8; Millard, ‘The Weidner Chronicle (1.138)’, ContS 1, 468-70. 69 E.A. Speiser, ‘Ancient Mesopotamia’, in: R.C. Dentan (ed.), The Idea of History in the Ancient Near East, New Haven 1955, 59. 70 However, on the uncertainties about the name and the cities see al-Rawi, Iraq 52 (1990), 1; Arnold, ‘The Weidner Chronicle’, 131. 71 I maintain this designation for reasons of convenience. See also Millard, ContS 1, 468. 72 H. Hunger, Sp¨ atbabylonische Texte aus Uruk, Teil 1 (ADFGUW, 9), Berlin 1976, No. 2 (W 22289), 20-1 (=SBTAU ). For the text and translation see Appendix A3. 73 Most probably, also in the Dynastic Chronicle, somewhere in Columns III–IV before the Dynasty of Babylon (K 8532+K 16930), but this part has not been recovered yet. See AssBabC 18 (Grayson, AssBabC, 139-44), new

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Grayson advanced plausible arguments that the author used the Weidner Chronicle, in particular the passages about the desecration of Babylon and the Esagila Temple, but not all the kings were blamed for such sins, so the author may have had other interests too.74 Marduk, however, afflicted both kings with a disease for their treatment of Babylon.75 Unfortunately, all copies ˇ are broken at the point where the deadly disease of Sulgi is specified, but circumstantial evidence suggests leprosy. However, the most interesting parallel feature is the development of historical ˇ tradition. In the Chronicle of the Early Kings, Sulgi ’s criminal behaviour contrasts with his favourable treatment of the city of Eridu on the seashore. The author of the Late Babylonian niˇshu of the Chronicles, Anu-Aha-Uˇsabˇsi, from a priestly family ˘ in ˘ Uruk, seems to have been interested in collecting especially all ˇ the ‘historical tradition’ about Sulgi. At the beginning and end of ˇ his niˇshu, he simply marked the reign of Urnammu, Sulgi ’s pre˘ decessor, and Amar-Sin, his successor, in the manner typical of the Dynastic Chronicle, and inserted a large section about divine ˇ Sulgi. I cannot discuss all the details here. Although his view is not favourable, it is certainly balanced, which (I would say) marks the ‘real nascent historian’. Of course, we find the matter of the maltreatment of Babylon, perhaps quoted from the earlier Chronicle of the Early Kings. The words are identical (AssBabC 20 A.29 ˇ = SBTAU I, 2:7). Further, in contrast to Sulgi ’s building activ76 ities in his own city of Ur, he noted the maltreatment of the offspring of his predecessor Utuhengal of Uruk77 and the fam˘ connections and fragments; W.G. Lambert, ‘The Home of the First Sealand Dynasty’, JCS 26 (1974), 208-10; W.G. Lambert, A.R. Millard, Atra-Has¯ıs, ˘ Oxford 1969, 15-21; W.G. Lambert, ‘A New Fragment from a List of Antediluvian Kings and Marduk’s Chariot’, in: Symbolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae Francisco Mario Theodoro de Liagre B¨ ohl Dedicatae (SFSMD, 4), Leiden 1973, 271-5, 278 (second Neo-Assyrian copy not used in Grayson); Finkel, JCS 32 (1980), 65-72. The pattern of the niˇshu in SBTAU I, No. 2 is clearly ˘ that of the Dynastic Chronicle. 74 Grayson, AssBabC, 47–8. 75 As he did with other kings, according to the Weidner Chronicle, e.g. Amar-Sin, who dies of the ‘bite of his shoe’, whatever that may mean (perhaps gangrene, Millard, ContS 1, 470 n. 8). 76 ˇ The words are similar to those in the Sulgi Prophecy about the founding of Nippur–Duranki. See Borger, BiOr 28 (1971), 20, 22 (II 8’-9’). 77 Who presumably was drowned while inspecting a dam, but according to

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ous scholar (umm¯ anu) Lu-Nanna, who presumably is mentioned here as the ‘author’ of the cultic prescriptions for the god Anu of Uruk.78 Most remarkable are, however, his remarks about the ˇ end of Sulgi ’s rule. Though the text is unfortunately somewhat damaged, enough is preserved to understand their general idea. ˇ First, Sulgi wrote and left a stela to posterity, as well as a tablet about impudence in the purification ritual of the god. It can ˇ hardly be doubted that [SU?]LUH .HA DINGIR.RA is meant to ˘ ˘ or neglect of the purificˇ be a reminiscence of Sulgi ’s defilement ation ritual as recorded in the Weidner Chronicle, though the author, in his own words, puts it down to acts of insolence, sacrilege or even blasphemy. The reference to the Weidner Chronicle seems obvious; the reference to the stela is obscure. It is tempting ˇ to think here of the Sulgi prophecy, which initially indeed was ˇ called the Sulgi-narˆ u by G¨ uterbock, because it was clothed in words typical of a royal inscription starting with the res gestae 79 If so, it is most remarkable that our historian calls this ˇ of Sulgi. inscription a lie, as if aware that it served once as a pia fraus. Finally, he recounts the unfortunate demise of the king. Though the text is damaged, it is clear in the light of his sources that either Sin or Bel Marduk became angry, turned an evil eye on him and, in the language of Canaan, struck him with a wasting disease, whether consumption, leprosy or something similar.80 It is obvious that this late scholar from Uruk knew his sources quite well, if we assume that he was the author of this compilation.81 the Weidner Chronicle he was punished by Marduk with this fate, because he carried out criminal acts against Babylon. 78 Another tradition views him as the author of the Adapa myth. Such traditions ascribing authorship of ancient tradition to a famous man of the past is in itself an interesting aspect of the development of historical tradition ˇ in the ancient Near East. The text seems to imply that Sulgi took the records from Uruk to have them introduced to the cult of Sin in Ur (Hunger, SBTAU 1, 20). 79 Cf. G¨ uterbock, ZA 42 (1934), 62-86, esp. 84-6; Borger, BiOr 28 (1971), 22: ‘einigermassen im Stile der K¨onigsinschriften’. 80 The word is broken in all pertinent sources, but the wording is reminiscent of a wasting disease affecting his body and caused by his sin (arnu / ˇ ak¯ annu) (S alu ‘consume’ in the Chronicle of the Early Kings). In particular, the expression ˇse-ret-su ra-bi-tu4 , ‘his great scourge’, is reminiscent of curses which, expressis verbis or by implication, mention leprosy or other skin diseases as a curse of the god Sin, Gula and other gods (CAD (Z), 158 s.v. zumru, also with D-stem lab¯ aˇsu!). 81 Whether his sources and data contained credible historical facts is, of

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ˇ He does not withhold his judgement, blaming Sulgi for criminal sacrilegious acts, though he occasionally also mentions his more successful achievements. It is a beautiful piece of genuine ancient Near Eastern historiography, particularly, if he were also aware ˇ that Sulgi ’s prophecy was a historical fraud. Perhaps some of the suggested connections and historical comments are not convincing but I cannot understand why scholars would view such a text as less historiographic in character than Israelite historiographical writings. It is not clear why some scholars assert so confidently that the Mesopotamian literati never moved beyond chronicle to genuine historiography. It must involve a major misunderstanding of the genuine historiographic character of many of the Babylonian chronicles. To say that Akkadian literature has nothing to compare, for instance, with Israelite characterisation, interpretative presentation of past events and multiple causal factors is certainly a grossly overstated conclusion, perhaps typical of an approach in which the assessment of ancient Near Eastern literature and culture is handicapped by prejudice in favour of Israelite tradition. Here we have an interesting and, in my opinion, convincing example of interpretative development in historical tradition. This development has a remarkable literary parallel in the treatment of the Judaean King Azariah = Uzziah. In the Books of Kings, Azariah is mentioned as one of the kings who was just in the eyes of the Lord. However, the Lord afflicted him with leprosy or another skin disease until the day he died and he therefore lived in a separate house. This is mentioned as a matter of course, with no further comment or explanation (2 Kgs 15:1-7). Within the somewhat revised framework taken from the Deuteronomistic account (2 Chron. 26:1-4, 21-23), however, we find in Chronicles an extensively elaborated version of his res gestae to show that he was a successful king until his pride led to his downfall (2 Chron. 26:5-20). After his successful wars, his building activities and reorganisation of the army, the Lord punished him with leprosy for his unfaithfulness, namely an act of pride and sacrilege. When entering the Temple in order to burn incense as a pontifex course, a different matter, and a problem that is not discussed here. But see on the problem of annals, chronicles and history or historical narrative proper concerning such ancient kings, Van de Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, 76-85.

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maximus, leprosy broke out on his forehead. It is surprising to find that the author of Chronicles built his argument in the same ˇ way as the author of Sulgi ’s history, with climax and anticlimax. This is certainly a coincidence, though it might reveal a certain similarity in theological reasoning and frame of mind.

7 Conclusion Such historical compilation and revision as described here hardly qualify the biblical chronicler and the Babylonian scholars for recognition as modern historians but they were certainly historians in their own right within the bounds of ancient Near Eastern civilisation. They are no less and no more biased in using their traditions and sources than their Greek counterparts Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, who wrote their account of history following their own intentions just as did these ancient Near Eastern scholars. It hurts our historiographic consciousness today less than it did in the past that they were ideologically biased or that they wrote from a particular theological viewpoint. There is not such a thing as objective historiography, and Huizinga’s definition of historiography is a merciful judgement on all historiographic essays in the past and the present. It has not been my goal to discuss annals and chronicles in Israel and the ancient Near East in order to find evidence for greater credibility, accuracy or factuality for either of them, or to show that the biblical authors were more authentic and genuine historians than their Babylonian colleagues. Our limited knowledge of the sources and their origin prohibits such a conclusion for the present. I am more than satisfied if my arguments show that a contextual approach from the cultures and literature of the ancient Near East provides our best ‘controlled comparison’ for the development of historiography in Israel and the Old Testament. If so, there is as yet no historical reason to set it against the background of Hellenistic historiography, much less to declare the Old Testament a Hellenistic book.

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ˇ Appendix A: The Life, Illness and Death of King Sulgi

A1. Weidner Chronicle A-B-C D S

Grayson, AssBabC, No.19, 150 Finkel, JCS 32 (1980), 7 Sippar: al-Rawi, Iraq 52 (1990), 7

S28

ˇ a-na d Sul-gi u-tu kiˇs-ˇsat mˆ ar (DUMU) l Ur-d Nammu LUGAL-´ KUR.KUR id-di-in-ma ˇ [ana d ]Sul-gi mar (DUMU) d Ur-d Nammu LUGAL-ut kiˇs-ˇsat KUR.KUR id-din-ˇsum-[ma] [ ]Nammu ˇsar-ru-ut*[ kiˇs]-ˇsat* KUR[.KUR . . . ] ˇ ana d Sul-gi mar (DUMU) Ur-d Nammu [ˇsar-ru-ut . . . ] ˇA)´ par-s.i-ˇsu ul u ´-ˇsak-lil ˇsu-[luh]-hi-ˇsu ´u ´-la-´ a-i-ma an-na libbi(S ˘ ˘ ˇsu ´:? zu-um-ri-ˇsu ´* il*-tak-kan [par-s.i]-ˇsu ul u ´-ˇsak-lil ˇsu-luh-hi-ˇsu u ´-le-´ u-ma an-na-ˇsu ´ x x zu* [˘˘ um-ri-ˇsu ´] [ ]-ˇsu u ´-la-´ a-i-ma an-na-ˇsu ´ [par-]s.i-ˇsu ul u ´-ˇsak-lil ˇsu-luh[-hi . . . ] ˘ ˘ ˇ He (Marduk) gave to Sulgi, son of Ur-Nammu, sovereignty over all lands. He did not perform his rites, he defiled his purification ritual, and his sin beset his body.

A63 C16 D4’ S29 A64 C16 D5’

A2. Chronicle of the Early Kings AssBabC 20 28 29 30

28 29 30

md ˇ ´ tam-tim a ah (GU) Sul-gi mar m Ur-d Nammu Eridu(NUN)KI ˇs´ ˘ ra-biˇs iz-nun* ´ sag-il u Bablemuttu(MUNUS.HUL) iˇs-te-’-e-ma makk¯ ur E-ˇ ili (TIN.TIR.KI) ˘ ˇ ina ˇsil-lat uˇstes.i d Bel ikkelme (IGI.HUS?)-ma pagar (AD6 )-s´ u liˇ s ˘ ´ ` ´ u-ˇs´ a-kil kaliˇs (DU) muti(US)-ˇsu

ˇ Sulgi, son of Ur-Nammu, provided abundant food for Eridu, which is on the seashore. But he committed a crime by taking away the property of Esagila and Babylon as booty. Bel became [ang]ry and caused his body to waste away completely until his death(?)

Appendix A

41

Appendix A (continued ) A3. Extract from a Chronicle Similar to the Chronicle of Early Kings, or Dynastic Chronicle SBTAU 1, No 2 3

ˇ ˇ S.UNUG.KI) ˇ [x d ]Sul*-gi ˇs´ ar (LUGAL) Uri(SE mˆ ar 2 (A) l UrNammu [ˇsar ]-ru-tu matˆ ati (KUR.KUR) ka-la-ˇsi-na i-pu-uˇs ˇ ˇs´ [x x ]ban-ga-´ ar u m Rab-si-si ˇsarr¯ı(LUGAL.MES) a mat Subarti(SU.BIR4 .KI) i-be-el ˇ mat nu-kur-ti iˇs-lu-lu [al¯ı(URU.]MES*) ´ [makk¯ ur ] E-sag-ila u Babili (TIN.TIR.KI) ina ˇsil-lat uˇs-te-s.i ´ ]-giˇs-nux (SIR)-gal ˇ ˇ S.UNUG.KI) ˇ [E bˆıt d Sin ˇsa q´e-reb Uri (SE ` ipuˇs (DU-uˇs)-ma u ´-ˇsak-lil ´ ˇ S.UNUG.KI) ˇ ` s )-ma iˇsid [d¯ ur ](BAD*) Uri(SE ipuˇs(DU-uˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ (SUHUS) Uri(SES.UNUG.KI) u-kin* ˇ [x ] d˘Sul-gi mˆ ara (DUMU) marta (DUMU.MI) ˇsa md Utu-h´e-en˘ gal ˇs´ ar Uruk *(UNUG[.KI)] m d II l´ u u ´* L´ u- Nanna IGI NU.TUK um-man-nu [x ] ˇ UL-ti ina lib-bi-ˇsu [MUNUS.]H ´-nu ib-ba-x [-x ] ˘ d ˇ UR.MES) ˇ ˇs´ [paras.(GAR]ZA) Anu(60)-´ u-tu usur¯ ati(GIS.H a ˘ Uruk (UNUG.[KI)] [ni]-s.ir-ti l´u um-man-nu ˇs´ a la si-mat u ´-nak-[kir ] ˇ S.UNUG.KI) ˇ [ˇsu?]-ut d Sin [be-]lu Uri (SE iˇs-tur ´ [ina / ana] pal*-e-ˇsu ´ narˆ a (NA4 .RU.A) sur-ra-at tup-pi ˇsilˇ lat MES ˇ [SU?].LUH .HA DINGlR.RA iˇs-tur-ma i-zib ˘ ˘ (LUGAL) ˇsˆ [d Belu] ˇsarru a si-ma-tu-ˇsu ´ rab-ba-´ a ik-kil-me-s´ u-ma [ar-na]-a ˇse-ret-su ra-bi-tu4 [x x ]-gi* zu-mur-ˇsu ´u ´-lab-biˇs [vestiges of signs] d

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

ˇ Sulgi, King of Ur, son of Ur-Nammu, exercised kingship over all lands. He subdued [ ]-Bangar and Rabsisi, kings of the land of Subarti. [Ci]ties of the enemy’s land he plundered. [The property] of Esagila and Babylon he took away as booty. [E ]giˇs-Nugal, the House of Sin in the centre of Ur he completely rebuilt. He made the wall of Ur and established the foundation of Ur. ˇ Sulgi [accused?] the son and daughter of Utu-Hengal, king of ˘ Uruk, and the blind scholar Lu-Nanna of a crime in their heart. The prescripts of the Anu cult, the rules designed for Uruk,

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Appendix A (continued ) 14 15 16-17 18 19-20

[the] secret of the scholar he changed without precedence. [As if those] of Sin, Lord of Ur, he wrote (them) down. [In/About] his reign he wrote and left [for posterity] a false stela, a tablet [about the puri]fication ritual of the god. [Bel?], the king whose destinies are sublime, became angry with him. [As a pu]nishment, he clothed his body with his great scourge.

Appendix B: The Babylonian Chronicle

B1. Neo-Babylonian Version Edition AssBabC 1 CT 34,43–5082

AssBabC 7

82

Museum number, collection A BM 92502 (=84-2-11,356) BM 75976 (=AH 83-1-18,1338) C BM 75977 (=AH 83-1-18,1339) BM 35382 (Sp II, 964)

Provenance Size

Colophon

Sippar

193x158 pirsu reˇstu 22nd Darius 85x68 3rd Nabu-Nasir–acc

Sippar

55x60

Babylon

140x140 1st Nabonidus – ?Cyrus

Babylon

ˇ ˇ Samaˇ s-Sum-Ukin

Fragments B and C from the Sippar collection may be parts of one large tablet. Remarkably, the first section in A starts with the ascension to the throne of Tiglath-Pileser III in the 3rd [?] year of the Babylonian king, NabuNasir. Copy B from Sippar had a preceding section anyway, ending with a remark about the interruption of the Akitu Ceremonies (AssBabC 1,1*), but also an extra passage about Tiglath-Pileser III after A I.10. Perhaps the Sippar text was longer than A. Because about 16/18 lines are missing in Columns III-IV between B and C, the Sippar text could have been written on a rather long tablet (ca 200x85), but the problem is then that one has to assume that this text was also considerably longer in Columns III=IV than the text in A III and IV. More probably, in my opinion, the Sippar text once had six columns. If so, it presumably contained sections of the Babylonian History at the beginning, as found, for instance, in the Eclectic Chronicle (AssBabC 24), of which the last preserved lines overlap with AssBabC 1 1-2, 9–10.

43

Appendix B

Appendix B (continued ) B2. Late Babylonian Version83 Edition

Museum number, collection AssBabC 20A BM 26472 (=98-5-14, 290) AssBabC 20B BM 96152 (=1902-4-12,264) AssBabC 2585 BM 27796 (=98-7-11,61) AssBabC 2486 BM 27859 (=98-7-11,124) AssBabC 14 BM 25091 (=98-2-16, 145) AssBabC 15 BM 96273 (=1902-4-12,385) AssBabC 2 BM 25127 (=98-2-16,181) AssBabC 3 BM 21901 (=96-4-9,6) AssBabC 4 BM 22047 (=96-4-9,152) AssBabC 5 BM 21946 (=96-4-9,51) AssBabC 687 BM 25124 (=98-2-16,178)

83

Provenance Size

Colophon

Babylon

85x55 GIGAM.DIDLI84

Babylon

65x55

Babylon?

55x55*

Babylon Babylon

ˇ 60*x45 Marduk-Sapik-Zeri Nabu-Nasir? 76*x50 GIGAM.GIGAM

Babylon

ˇ ˇ 57x43* Samaˇ s-Sumu-Ukin

Babylon

52x60 acc-3rd Nabopolas

Babylon

132x69 10-17th Nabopolas

Babylon

45x54 18–20th Nabopolas

Babylon

81*x59 21st Nab.–11th Neb. II

Babylon

46x58 3rd Neriglissar

This list does not imply that these texts belong to the same series. Only the groups AssBabC 20A, 14, AssBabC 2, 4, 6 and AssBabC 3, 5 may belong to one another, being copies written by the same scribe. See Grayson, AssBabC, 9 n. 7. Some of these texts, however, are extracts (e.g. AssBabC 6, 15) and contained only parts of a more complete Vorlage. For these, small administrative tablets (‘business-tablets’) were usually used. 84 A library label meaning ‘Battles’. 85 An excerpt written on an administrative tablet. It completes the gap between Chronicle P (AssBabC 22) and the Eclectic Chronicle (AssBabC 24). 86 The Late Babylonian text from Uruk/Warka SBTAU 3, No. 58 contains a rather elaborate chronicle about Nabu-Nasir’s immediate predecessor Nabuˇ Suma-Iˇ skun (763-748 bce). Its relationship to the series of the Babylonian Chronicles needs further investigation. 87 For another text containing an extract of one royal year, the 37th year of Nebuchadnezzar II (568/567 bce), see Wiseman, Chronicles, 94-5; Pl. XXXXI = BM 33041 (=78-10-15, 37). BM 33053 (=78-10-15, 38) does not belong to this text (Borger, HKL 1, 284. See HKL, 553 // CTBT 20,39-42 pace ANET, 308).

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Appendix B (continued ) B2. Late Babylonian Version (continued) Edition

Museum number, collection AssBabC 8 BM 36305 (=80-6-17,30) AssBabC 9 BM 31450 (=76-11-17,1177) AssBabC 1088 BM 34660 (=Sp III, 143) +BM 3631389 (=80-6-17,39) AssBabC 11 BM 32440+32581+ 32585 (76-11-17,2176/ 2324/2328) AssBabC 12 BM 32235(+)32957 AssBabC 13 BM 32171 (=76-11-17,1898) (76-11-17,1962; 78-6-31,46) AssBabC 13a BM 32310 (=76-11-17,2039) AssBabC 13b BM 35421 (Sp II 1008)

88

Provenance Size

Colophon

Babylon

100*x65* Xerxes?

Babylon

48x66

Babylon

92*x70* 7-8th Alexander IV

Babylon

86*x60*

Babylon

110*x85* 18th -19th SE?

Babylon Babylon

60*x55* 30-31 SE 65*x60* 66-67 SE?

14th Artaxerxes III

50*x45* Babylon

70*x53*

Babylon

55*x130 88 SE

This chronicle still dates according to the regnal years of the elusive Philip III and Alexander IV up to the 8th year (see below). In the King List from the Hellenistic Period (RLA 6, 98-9), only the first six years of the Seleucid Era (SE) are attributed to Alexander and Seleucus I together, with Seleucus possibly as co-regent. From other documents, later years of Alexander IV are known too, up to the 11th year (Boiy, JCS 52 [2000], 117). Chronicles 11–13 date after the Seleucid Era. 89 It has been established that the fragments join (different from AssBabC, 115), so that perhaps only one line between them is missing. This implies that lines AssBabC 10, Rev.34-8 belong to the 8th year of Alexander IV (309-308) and not the 9th year (P. Wheatley, ‘Antigonus Monophthalmus in Babylonia 310-308 bce’, JNES 61 [2002], 39-47; 42, n.16).

Robert P. Gordon

St Catharine’s College, Cambridge – United Kingdom

‘Comparativism’ and the God of Israel1 The view that the God of Israel was sui generis among the deities of antiquity was once standard fare, and still has many defenders. During the second half of the twentieth century, however, Old Testament specialists have had to tread more cautiously when making the kinds of comparison (or contrast) that undergird such a claim. For while the idea of the uniqueness of Israel’s God prospered for a time as a tenet of the Biblical Theology ‘movement’, the steady accession of comparative near eastern material has almost inevitably added to the perception of resemblance, rather than of difference, between Israel’s God and the others.2 The issue has been addressed across a broader front by Peter Machinist, in his essay ‘The Question of Distinctiveness in Ancient Israel’ (1991).3 Machinist notes that, with the accrual of information from archaeological discovery, ‘some correspondence always seems to be waiting to be found somewhere in the ancient Near East . . . for what is proposed as a distinctive concept or behavior in ancient Israel’ (197). He suggests that Israel’s distinctiveness may lie not in ‘individual, pure traits’ but in ‘configurations of traits’ (200). Machinist opts for an alternative approach by posing the question: ‘how did Israel, in its Biblical canon, pose and answer the distinctiveness question for itself?’ 1

This was the SOTS presidential paper (2003) read at the winter meeting of the society in Birmingham on 6 January 2003. The word ‘comparativism’ is not recorded in any of the dictionaries that I have consulted. ‘Comparativism’ may be taken to be something that ‘comparativists’ do, and this latter word does already exist. I regard the title ‘the God of Israel’ as appropriate despite the acknowledgement of the existence of other gods by many an Israelite. The Old Testament and Israelite-Judean onomastics together provide sufficient justification for the usage. 2 The dangers attending comparative exercises such as are discussed here are frequently noted. See, for example, D. Damrosch, The Narrative Covenant: Transformations of Genre in the Growth of Biblical Literature, San Francisco 1987, 28-9. 3 P. Machinist, ‘The Question of Distinctiveness in Ancient Israel: An Essay’, in: M. Cogan, I. Ephal (eds), Ah, Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (= ScHier, 33), Jerusalem 1991, 192-212.

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(202). His answer is framed in terms of Israel’s consciousness of a special relationship to her God (205). The present study focusses more narrowly on the God of Israel, but most of the time it will be desirable to think of this God, not in isolation nor in the abstract, but relationally, whether we relate him to the people of Israel, or to Israelite prophets, or to the gods of other nations. I begin by reviewing four areas where claims to uniqueness that long seemed to require no justification are now, in the light of the work of recent decades, in need of at least some nuancing.

Divine Action in History For students of my generation the appearance of Bertil Albrektson’s History and the Gods in 1967 provided a short cut to important insights.4 In this ‘essay’, as it is termed in the subtitle, Albrektson showed that ideas of divine action in history that had widely been regarded as special to the Old Testament were, in fact, shared with her neighbours in Mesopotamia, the Hittite homeland and, more proximately, in the land of Moab. Albrektson also questioned whether the Old Testament talks of a divine ‘plan’ in history in quite the overarching way commonly assumed, and he cited Mesopotamian texts that give some evidence of divine plan in a more limited sense of the term.5 He suggested that the celebration of divine acts in history perhaps featured more prominently in the Israelite cult than was the case elsewhere. He noted the lack of historical reference in the Ugaritic cultic texts especially (115), and he concluded that what distinguished Israel from her neighbours was, if not the concept itself, the prominence that was given to it in the Israelite cult (116). Some years later Nicholas Wyatt sought to show that even the comparatively meagre textual evidence in the West Semitic region reflects ‘the presuppositions of theocratic history’,6 and already J.J.M. Roberts had pointed out that the absence of hymns and prayers in the extant Ugaritic texts makes it dangerous to assume 4

History and the Gods: An Essay on the Idea of Historical Events as Divine Manifestations in the Ancient Near East and in Israel (CB.OT, 1), Lund 1967. 5 Albrektson, History and the Gods, 68-97. 6 N. Wyatt, ‘Some Observations on the Idea of History Among the West Semitic Peoples’, UF 11 (1979), 825-32 (831).

‘Comparativism’ and the God of Israel

47

too much about the importance or unimportance of history to Canaanite religion.7 In his final chapter Albrektson highlighted the Old Testament conception of the divine word as its truly unique possession. The idea of communicating divine words to humans may have been common near eastern currency, nevertheless the content of such divine communication within the Old Testament is ‘in several respects unique’ (122). In the divine word we learn about God’s thoughts and intentions, his nature and his claims in ways that are not experienced elsewhere. Albrektson’s essay added to the discomfiture of ‘Biblical Theology’ at a crucial point in the 1960s. In the previous year, in his Old and New in Interpretation James Barr had been exposing the problems inherent in maintaining history ‘as a central and mandatory theological concept’.8 But neither Albrektson nor Barr denied that history was fundamentally important for the writers of the Old Testament. Nor could they, for Israel is not India.

Prophecy Albrektson’s suggestion that what truly separated Israel from her neighbours was the conception of God that came through the divine word leads directly into the prophetic domain, where once it was possible to hold discussion with minimal reference to contemporary non-Israelite phenomena. However, since George Smith’s publication, in 1875, of an oracle of encouragement to Esarhaddon (now listed as text K. 4310),9 a veritable ‘alternative prospectus’ of near eastern prophetic texts has become available. These include not only the Neo-Assyrian prophecies, which in the 1990s have been made more accessible to non-Assyriologists, in the series State Archives of Assyria, but also the prophetic texts found in the royal archives of eighteenth-century Mari. Since 1875 the story has been one of increasing encroachment upon the uniqueness of the biblical institution of prophecy. It is clear that 7

J.J.M. Roberts, ‘Myth Versus History: Relaying the Comparative Foundations’, CBQ 38 (1976), 1-13 (11). 8 J. Barr, Old and New in Interpretation: A Study of the Two Testaments, London 1966, 65-102 (68). 9 G. Smith, ‘Addresses of Encouragement to Esarhaddon’, in: H.C. Rawlinson (ed.), The Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, vol. 4, London 1875, no. 68 (cuneiform text only); translation by T.G. Pinches in: S. Birch (ed.), Records of the Past, vol. 11, London 1878, 59-72 (61-72).

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the prophet figures of Mari could, as part of their prophetic commissioning by a god, be allowed to witness the Divine Council in its decision-making.10 Something similar is described for the prophet Balaam in the Deir Alla plaster text from the first millennium.11 Again, cognate forms of the Hebrew aybin:, a term which previously had given the impression of being without an Akkadian parallel, have been claimed for Mari (text 216 [A. 2209]) and Emar (text 387).12 However, whereas the Hebrew prophets were characteristically concerned about ethical conduct and social obligation as well as national and international politics, their Mesopotamian counterparts have so far produced only a few syllables that express ethical concerns.13 From the Mari prophecies we have text A. 1121, in which Adad counsels Zimri-Lim through a prophet figure: ‘When a wronged man or woman cries out to you, stand and judge their case.’ In text 194 (A. 4260) the god Shamash tells Zimri-Lim to decree a remission of debts and to direct people with a legal case to Shamash’s own feet. If we go forward to the Neo-Assyrian prophecies we shall find little or nothing by way of moral or ethical content. Parpola cites his texts 1.4.27-9 (‘Do not trust in man. Lift up your eyes, look to me’) and 2.3.17 (‘Mankind is deceitful; I am one who says and does’), but it is a poor return for a night’s fishing.14 Nothing has happened in a thousand years to make prophecy the mouthpiece for divine calls to 10

See the writer in ‘From Mari to Moses: Prophecy at Mari and in Ancient Israel’, in: H.A. McKay, D.J.A. Clines (eds), Of Prophets’ Visions and the Wisdom of Sages (Fs R.N. Whybray) (JSOT.S, 162), Sheffield 1993, 72. 11 For text in transliteration, with English translation, see M. Weippert, ‘The Balaam Text from Deir Alla and the Study of the Old Testament’, in: J. Hoftijzer, G. van der Kooij (eds), The Balaam Text from Deir Alla Reevaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Leiden 21-24 August 1989, Leiden 1991, 153-8. Cf. also the admission of a ‘diviner’ to the Divine Council in the Old Babylonian text discussed by A. Goetze, ‘An Old Babylonian Prayer of the Divination Priest’, JCS 22 (1968), 25-9. 12 See D.E. Fleming, ‘N¯ abˆ u and Munabbi¯ atu: Two New Syrian Religious Personnel’, JAOS 113 (1993), 175-83; Idem, ‘The Etymological Origins of the Hebrew n¯ abˆı: The One Who Invokes God’, CBQ 55 (1993), 217-24. The relevance of the Emar terms is queried by J. Huehnergard, ‘On the Etymology ¯ ˆI ’, ErIs 26 (Frank Moore Cross Volume; 1999), and Meaning of Hebrew NAB 88*-93* (91*-2*). 13 Cf. Gordon, ‘From Mari to Moses’, 63-79 (77-8). 14 S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA, 9), Helsinki 1997, xlviii, cv, nn. 255-6.

‘Comparativism’ and the God of Israel

49

justice and righteousness. For that we have better places to look in Mesopotamia, for example the text ‘Advice to a Prince’.15 The Neo-Assyrian prophecies are largely concerned with kings and their welfare.16 Even so, the preoccupation is often mundane and the undertakings of the god(dess) none too specific. Nor is there much at all that is predictive in the grand way of the Old Testament prophecies.17 If all he knew was prophecy of this sort, we can easily understand how an exilic Judean prophet could ask in relation to developments in the late sixth century, ‘Who told this long ago? Who declared it of old?’ (Isa. 45:21). There clearly are formal and terminological correspondences between prophecy in its Levantine and Mesopotamian manifestations and Israelite prophecy, but these constitute a minor act of encroachment when once their content is taken into account.

The National Covenant A third area where Israel was thought to overtop its neighbours was that of covenant, for the Old Testament, especially in Deuteronomically affected areas, makes much of a covenant forged between the people of Israel and their God. Other covenants are described, notably the Davidic covenant articulating the dynastic ideology of the royal house of Judah. This latter has parallels, but the concept of a God specially bound to his or her people by covenant was otherwise unknown.18 The introduction of the political treaty into the discussion offered explanation for formal elements of the biblical national covenant and even potential clues to dating, though it was disputed whether the second millennium Hittite treaties, as the best examples of a more widespread treaty tradition in the period, or the Neo-Assyrian representatives of the first millennium provided the closer comparison. The popular view that the Old Testament national covenant concept had developed in Deuteronomic hands under the 15

See W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford 1960, 110-5. I am grateful to Professor W.G. Lambert for helpful comments on the status of the ‘royal’ prophecies in the Ashurbanipal library. 17 Cf. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, lxvi. 18 Cf. S.A. Geller, ‘The God of the Covenant’, in: Barbara N. Porter (ed.), One God or Many?: Concepts of Divinity in the Ancient World (Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute, 1), n.p. 2000, 284: ‘Nowhere else is a God attached to a people by a covenant, nowhere else is there such a radical break with myth and mythology.’ 16

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impulse of Neo-Assyrian political practice certainly rendered it ‘of the earth, earthy’ but did not, of itself, impair its essential uniqueness. This too has changed. Eckart Otto, for example, notes that the idea of a covenant between a god and human subjects is also found in Neo-Assyrian texts and in one of the Arslan Tash inscriptions, whose genuineness Otto is happy to accept.19 At first Otto lumps together covenants involving kings and covenants involving the general populace,20 but the necessary distinction is observed when he comes to discuss the Neo-Assyrian text K. 2401, ‘Prophecy for Esarhaddon’.21 This he understands as requiring both Esarhaddon and his subjects to fulfil the terms of the covenant made initially between Asshur and the king.22 The Arslan Tash inscription even refers to an ‘eternal covenant’ ( lt lm) made between Asshur and the citizens of Hadattu, hence judgments on its authenticity are very important˘ for the ‘Israel only’ discussion. Otto claims that the distinctive feature of Judean religion in the seventh century was not ‘covenant theology as such’. What was ‘innovative’ was Judah’s deployment of covenant theology in 19

E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien (BZAW, 284), Berlin 1999, 73, 81-2, 85; Idem, ‘Der Ursprung der Bundestheologie in Assyrien und Juda: Eine forschungsgeschichtliche Orientierung’, in: Idem, Gottes Recht als Menschenrecht: Rechts- und literaturhistorische Studien zum Deuteronomium (BZAR, 2), Wiesbaden 2002, 128-66 (161-6). Otto assumes the authenticity of the Arslan Tash text, citing (Das Deuteronomium, 85 n. 371) J. van Dijk, ‘The Authenticity of the Arslan Tash Amulets’, Iraq 54 (1992), 65-8, and F.M. Cross, quoted in T.J. Lewis, ‘The Identity and Function of El/Baal Berith’, JBL 115 (1996), 401-23 (409). See already Z. Zevit, ‘A Phoenician Inscription and Biblical Covenant Theology’, IEJ 27 (1977), 110-8, for the suggestion, on the basis of the Arslan Tash text, that the national covenant concept was not unique to Israel (118). 20 Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 73. 21 Titled ‘The Covenant of Assur’ by Parpola in his Assyrian Prophecies, 22. 22 Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 82. For the text see Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, 22-7. Parpola thinks that the covenant is made with Ishtar rather than with Asshur, though he also believes that, for the author of the text, Asshur and Ishtar were identical (pp. XIX-XX). For the covenant as a ‘double covenant’ between god and king and then between king and people see T. Ishida, The Royal Dynasties in Ancient Israel: A Study on the Formation and Development of Royal-Dynastic Ideology (BZAW, 142), Berlin 1977, 115-6.

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opposition to Assyrian imperial and royal ideology.23 But it would also be true to say, with Bernhard Lang, that it was only the Judeans who gave this covenant theology anything like developed theological expression.24 Thus the national covenant becomes a key theological concept within the Old Testament, such that even the Judean dynastic covenant is swallowed up in the national covenant in one well-known text (Isa. 55:3), when the ‘sure mercies of David’ are extended to the whole non-monarchical community of the later exile.

Aniconism My fourth example of a diminishing differentia is that of aniconism. The rejection of images to represent Israel’s God, or any god, gives the biblical writers a point d’appui for their attacks on polytheism, and has been recognized as a defining feature of Old Testament – perhaps even Israelite – religion. However, the work of T.N.D. Mettinger (especially) has raised questions about this uniqueness of Israelite aniconism.25 Mettinger argues that aniconic worship is a more general West Semitic phenomenon, and that Israel reflects this common outlook. Much of his evidence is late, coming principally from Nabatea and Phoenicia – Mettinger self-consciously works back from the later evidence to his conclusions about earlier periods – and much depends on the validity and the significance of his category of ‘material aniconism’ which he distinguishes from the ‘empty-space aniconism’ most often associated with the religion of the Old Testament. Examples of this second category outside Israel are especially few and late.26 Because of this assumed West Semitic background, Mettinger holds that aniconism was a feature of Israelite religion from the beginning. But what was special to Israel was the development of programmatic iconoclasm; nowhere else in the ancient Semitic world was there an actual veto on the use of graven images (196). 23

Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 86. B. Lang, The Hebrew God: Portrait of an Ancient Deity, New Haven 2002, 38. 25 T.N.D. Mettinger, No Graven Image?: Israelite Aniconism in its Ancient Near Eastern Context (CB.OT, 42), Stockholm 1995. See also the review by C. Uehlinger, ‘Israelite Aniconism in Context’, Bib. 77 (1996), 540-9. 26 See Mettinger, No Graven Image?, 100-2 (cf. 113) on the (very late) Sidonian ‘votive’ (possibly) thrones, the only datable one coming from ad 59-60. On the aniconism of the ‘Aten revolution’ in Egypt see ibid., 49. 24

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The exclusion took place late in the history of Israel-Judah: Mettinger claims that the accumulation of anthropomorphisms in the Old Testament prophetic literature reflects a situation in which ‘a strictly aniconic theology remained unarticulated’ (15). This fits with his view that explicit prohibition occurred only in the exilic or early post-exilic period, but reads strangely when put against, say, Isaiah 40-66, which has pronounced aniconic moments, yet is very free in its use of the anthropomorphisms of God’s mouth, arm, hand and even eyes and ear.27 Mettinger has unquestionably altered the terms in which discussion about Israelite aniconism must be carried out.28 However, it is a problem that, if the evidence for ‘material aniconism’ is not late, it is as likely to be early and ‘mute’. This applies especially to the standing stones of the Bronze and Iron Ages that Mettinger dignifies as ‘aniconic’. His discussion of West-Semitic ‘aniconism’ rests heavily on these stones. It would assist greatly if we knew how those that are genuinely cultic – for they are divided into several classes – were viewed by the people who made and used them.29 The problem can be illustrated by reference to the Assyrian deity symbols that Mettinger discusses at one point. There is textual evidence to confirm that these symbols could be treated just like images, even to the extent of undergoing the mouth-washing ritual (47), and Mettinger is not inclined to regard them as aniconic (42). By contrast, West Semitic seals of the ninth to sixth centuries displaying divine symbols such as the sun disk are regarded as tending towards (material) aniconism (194). The distinction between ‘iconic’ and ‘aniconic’ can, therefore, be fluid enough. The definition of ‘aniconic’ is an issue to which Mettinger returns in a later study, in which he cites the use of ‘aniconic’, in 27

The view that the polemics against the manufacture of images in Isa. 40–55 are secondary is a potentially complicating factor, but, even if the hypothesis were granted, Isa. 40–55 would still have its ‘aniconic moments’. 28 As well as Mettinger, some others who have written on the subject have contributed essays to: K. van der Toorn (ed.), The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET, 21), Leuven 1997. See further J.C. de Moor, The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism (BEThL, 91A), Leuven 2 1997, 42, 52-4, 60, 128, 264, 297, 354, 358. 29 On Mesopotamian god-symbols see W.G. Lambert, ‘Ancient Mesopotamian Gods: Superstition, Philosophy, Theology’, RHR 207 (1990), 115-30 (123-5).

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the study of Greek religion, for certain kinds of cultic stones and pillars.30 Here he also allows a greater importance to the ‘empty space’ aniconism of the Jerusalem temple as a ‘background factor’ in the eventual development of the prohibition on images (189, 204). No doubt, part of our problem is that ‘aniconic’ and ‘aniconism’ are terms of considerable interest to the biblical theologian, and in that context suggest a concept, and a quite abstract, theological one at that, which may owe little to the niceties of archaeological typology.

‘Reverse’ Comparativism So far we have been concerned with the kind of ‘comparativism’ that has dominated in Old Testament study, and that has been widely perceived to work to the disadvantage of non-Israelite traditions. There is, on the other hand, a kind of comparativism that works in the opposite direction and that sees the Old Testament as impoverished and constricted as compared with the rich and diverse forms of Israelite religion that have been obscured by Deuteronomic and similarly motivated manipulation of the literary tradition. One of the most recent exponents of this view, J. Edward Wright, complains about the ‘parochial perspectives on history and religion’ introduced into the Old Testament by its monotheistic Judean editors.31 He notes, further, that their ‘sterile’ view of reality was nothing like what the average Judean and Israelite thought of the divine and human realms (73). The substantive point in this latter utterance may readily be conceded, and the Old Testament itself is the primary witness to the fact that the Israelites were often nearer in outlook to their near eastern neighbours than to the prophetic and Deuteronomic blueprints presented in the Old Testament. In the light of this newer ‘reverse’ comparativism, we shall now consider representative ways in which even the heavy hand of Deuteronomism, or of monotheism, has worked positively, imaginatively and insightfully with Israel’s traditions, keeping in mind with Stephen Geller that biblical religion is ‘an essentially literary faith’ which ‘ap30

See his essay entitled ‘Israelite Aniconism: Developments and Origins’ in: Van der Toorn (ed.), The Image and the Book, 173-204 (199-200). 31 J.E. Wright, ‘Biblical versus Israelite Images of the Heavenly Realm’, JSOT 93 (2001), 59-75 (60).

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proaches the supernatural through essentially literary means’.32 I shall not be much concerned to make evaluative comparisons with what is found in surrounding cultures. The dangers involved in that kind of exercise have already been acknowledged, though I shall conclude this paper by asserting that ‘comparativism’ remains a legitimate and even desirable feature of our discipline. For now, I am mainly interested in the kinds of things that were possible within what some would view as the straitjacket of Old Testament religion. First we should note, however, that for many students of the Old Testament it is not just a matter of imagery or imagination; the Old Testament is regarded as serious testimony to things at the very heart of reality. So the well-known essay by C.S. Lewis, ‘Is Theology Poetry?’, has relevance, even though Lewis is talking of Christian theology, which for him includes both Testaments. And the first fact I discover, or seem to discover, is that for me at any rate, if Theology is Poetry, it is not very good poetry. Considered as poetry, the doctrine of the Trinity seems to me to fall between two stools. It has neither the monolithic grandeur of strictly Unitarian conceptions, nor the richness of Polytheism. The omnipotence of God is not, to my taste, a poetical advantage.33

But that did not put Lewis off the biblical text, nor did it stifle his enthusiasm for amateur theologizing. Ultimately, with him, we shall want to judge the Old Testament by worthier canons than its use of imagery or its serviceableness as a conduit of phantasmagoric near eastern polytheism. I shall be discussing our topic under four headings: ‘The Coat of Many Colours’, ‘God and the Narrative Tradition’, ‘The Anthropomorphized God’ and ‘The Conciliar God’.

32

S.A. Geller, Sacred Enigmas: Literary Religion in the Hebrew Bible, London 1996, 168. 33 C.S. Lewis, ‘Is Theology Poetry?’, in: Idem, Screwtape Proposes a Toast, and Other Pieces, London 1965, 42. Again, ‘The majestic simplifications of Pantheism and the tangled wood of Pagan animism both seem to me, in their different ways, more attractive. Christianity just misses the tidiness of the one and the delicious variety of the other’ (ibid., 42-3).

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The Coat of Many Colours This subtitle introduces an aspect of the ‘richness’ and ’diversity’ of the Old Testament presentation of God that deserves mention, even though similar tendencies are evident among Israel’s polytheistic neighbours. This is the ‘clothes-stealing’ that goes on in the Old Testament when characteristics (forms, functions, epithets) of non-Israelite gods are assumed by the God of Israel. In some contexts this would come appropriately under the heading of ‘syncretism’. The fourth chapter of John Day’s monograph on Yahweh and the Gods of Canaan deals with this subject and is entitled ‘Yahweh’s Appropriation of Baal Imagery’.34 The potential for enlargement in this area is considerable, but I shall mention only the haunting case of Isa. 45:7 where Judah’s God claims to be the creator of darkness as well as of light, of woe as well as of weal.35 This apparent rejection of conceptual dualism is uttered immediately after the section on the rise of Cyrus the Persian in 45:1-6, and the juxtaposition is striking, given that Persia provided the matrix for dualistic Zoroastrianism. Many commentators refrain from comment in this direction because it is not certain that Zoroastrianism was in a position to influence Judean thinking – even exilic Judean thinking – in the later sixth century. At the same time, Zoroastrianism is occasionally suggested as a factor in the development of Israelite-Jewish monotheism,36 but that is a separate and much larger issue and not at all my concern here. Uncertainty about the dating of Zoroaster and about the extent of his influence in the sixth century discourages easy conclusions about Isa. 45:7 being a response to Persian dualism.37 J.D.W. Watts, in his commentary on Isaiah, takes it for 34 J. Day, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan (JSOT.S, 265), Sheffield 2000, 91-127. 35 On the multifaceted problem of the relation between the deity and evil see now A. Laato, J.C. de Moor, Theodicy in the World of the Bible, Leiden 2003; O. Loretz, G¨ otter – Ahnen – K¨ onige als gerechte Richter: Der “Rechtsfall” des Menschen vor Gott nach altorientalischen und biblischen Texten (AOAT, 290), M¨ unster 2003. 36 References in Robert Gnuse, ‘The Emergence of Monotheism in Ancient Israel: A Survey of Recent Scholarship’, Religion 29 (1999), 315-36; Laato, De Moor, Theodicy, viii-ix. 37 Cf. M. Boyce, A History of Zoroastrianism, vol. 2: Under the Achaemenians (HO, 1/8, 1, 2, 2A), Leiden 1982, 1-4; G. Gnoli, Zoroaster’s Time and Homeland: A Study on the Origins of Mazdeism and Related Problems

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granted that 45:7 functions in this way,38 but then Watts holds that the first audience for the book of Isaiah is to be dated in the late fifth century.39 At least, if it ever were demonstrated that 45:7 was meant to counter Persian dualism, we should not be surprised, for the God of the Old Testament would as happily spoil the Persians as the Egyptians.

God and the Narrative Tradition That the Old Testament presents a literary, and in particular a narrative, tradition that stands apart from those of neighbouring countries seems self-evident. Attempts to boost the image of the competing literatures may alter the detail, but they do not change the picture. Admittedly, the narrative continuum of the Pentateuch-Former Prophets (Genesis–2 Kings) of the Hebrew canon, or of Genesis-Esther in the English Bible tradition, suggests a connectedness that would not have been apparent at the time of the composition of the individual books. Still, the considerable dovetailing of some of the constituent books and their orientation towards a history outside themselves indicate that something more than last-minute editing has created this sense of continuity. The view that the monotheistic faith of Israel has given birth to this narrative tradition is often associated nowadays with Robert Alter and his 1981 volume on biblical narrative.40 The theory is, of course, much older than Alter, whose predecessors in the field include Gerhard von Rad41 and Shemaryahu Talmon.42 When Alter first raises the question, he is consciously building on Talmon’s claim that, far from containing the vestiges of a national epic, the Old Testament deliberately avoids epic because (SMDSA, 7), Naples 1980; Idem, Zoroaster in History (Biennial Yarshater Lecture Series, 2), New York 2000. 38 J.D.W. Watts, Isaiah 34–66 (WBC, 25), Waco 1987, 157. 39 See J.D.W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33 (WBC, 24), Waco 1985, xxx. 40 R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative, London 1981. 41 G. von Rad, ‘The Beginnings of Historical Writing in Ancient Israel’, in: G. von Rad, The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays, tr. E.W. Trueman Dicken, Edinburgh 1966, 166-204 (translated from Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament, M¨ unchen 1958, 148-88. The essay, entitled ‘Der Anfang der Geschichtsschreibung im alten Israel’, first appeared in AKuG 32 [1944], 1-42). 42 S. Talmon, ‘The “Comparative Method” in Biblical Interpretation – Principles and Problems’, VT.S 29 (1978), 320-56 (351-6).

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of its pagan associations: the Old Testament writers ‘purposely nurtured and developed prose narration to take the place of the epic genre which by its content was intimately bound up with the world of paganism and appears to have had a special standing in the polytheistic cults’ (354). Such a creative role for monotheism has been questioned, for example by David Gunn, who thinks that Alter is simply reverting to the values and judgments of the Biblical Theology period.43 Norman Whybray reckoned that Alter’s approach was too heavily final form, expecting too much from the final redactors of the biblical text. He also found it puzzling that narrative writing of the type so praised by Alter appears to have gone into decline in the very period when monotheism was in the ascendant. This, it will be clear, is predicated on certain assumptions about the age of the narrative books of the Old Testament. If in the main they originated in post-exilic times, different arguments would apply. For some, the applicability of the term ‘monotheism’ to Israelite-Judean religion before the Babylonian exile is a major issue, but it may in any case be sufficient to frame the question in terms of the influence of ‘Yahweh-aloneism’ in Israel and Judah, in the pre-exilic period and subsequently. For it is hard to dissociate the development of the unique Israelite literary tradition from questions of world-view, and in almost any ancient society world-view and religion overlap substantially. Certain it is that a comparable narrative-historical tradition did not develop in the surrounding cultures, even where and when the high gods became exceedingly ‘high’. Moreover, if there was no prior Israelite epic tradition, as Talmon has argued,44 the rise of the narrative tradition is the more obviously in need of explanation, since it is then not simply a ‘prosification’ of older epic material. This development of a unique narrative tradition within the literature of the ancient near east is matched by the comparative absence of pictorial art and glyptic in ancient Israel, and this too appears to be related to Israelite religious perception, now in its aniconic/iconoclastic mode. The ban on images was ‘the ruin of their art, but the making of their religion’, wrote 43

D.M. Gunn, ‘Hebrew Narrative’, in: A.D.H. Mayes (ed.), Text and Context: Essays by Members of the Society for Old Testament Study, Oxford 2000, 234. 44 Talmon, ‘The “Comparative Method”’, 353-4.

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D.L. Edwards in a popular volume of his a quarter of a century ago.45 Whether the ‘ban’ was the cause or merely a reflex of an underlying tendency, there is the likelihood of a connection between the ideology and the absence of the art. A similar thing has been observed of England, which has had its share of iconoclastic revolution. In consequence, England has never competed with the other European countries where the visual arts are concerned. On the other hand, a tradition of the written word that is second to none has developed and reached out across the globe.46 This tradition of the word, it is true, is not limited to narrative – Shakespeare appears early on the honours board – but it remains the case that the flow of creative energy has been channelled into the written word in a way that is not true of the visual arts. It appears to have been the same in ancient Israel. To say no more, however, would be to limit ourselves to the via negativa. The idea that Israel’s God was solely responsible for the created order, controlled and shaped history, and determined the whole course of Israelite national affairs, can justly be claimed as the dynamo that powered the narrative-historical tradition within the Old Testament. Other peoples might attribute similar powers to their gods, but polytheism fragments, and even when the gods claimed credit for their doings in history, their vicegerents on earth had a good slice of the glory, as their proud accounts of victory testify. In the Old Testament this is not so, and even Israel’s monumental architecture – whether coincidentally or otherwise – bears silent witness to the sole claim of Yahweh to glory on the field of battle.47 ‘Yahweh-aloneism’ indeed! So, although it may be an overstatement to claim that monotheism per se gave rise to the Old Testament narrative tradition, the manner of Israel’s recognition of one supreme God created the context in which such a tradition could flourish. In this the consciousness of the special relationship between God and people, as described by Machinist (see above), played its part, as can be illustrated from the larger narrative blocks represented by the books of Kings and 45

D.L. Edwards, A Key to the Old Testament, London 1976, 31. Cf. J. Paxman, The English: A Portrait of a People, London 1998, 109-10. This ‘civilisation not of the image, but of the word’ is applied more broadly to Protestant Europe by Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View, London 1969, 159. 47 Cf. 2 Sam. 8:6, 14. 46

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Chronicles. The writers, or compilers, of these books mention annalistic material of the sort that is commonplace within the larger near eastern literary corpus, but they are self-consciously creating a different type of literature in which they recount the story, extending over several centuries, of a people and its God.

The Anthropomorphised God The extent to which God is depicted anthropomorphically in the Old Testament is striking, given that he is viewed as above and beyond his creation, the high and holy One of many a text in prose and verse. The statement in Deuteronomy 4 that at Horeb the Israelites ‘saw no form of any kind’ on the day God spoke out of the fire (v. 15; cf. v. 12) and the parallel aniconic tradition of tabernacle and temple, where God was enthroned invisibly between the cherubim (cf. 1 Sam. 4:4), certainly reflect a noncorporeal conception of God. On the other hand, the point is made increasingly nowadays that Deuteronomy 4 is a rare text on the subject of God’s incorporeality.48 Moreover, it may be argued that Deut. 4:15 is saying only that God did not manifest his form at Horeb, not that no form could ever be attributed to him. Stephen Geller takes this further, claiming that, whereas the old Deuteronomic thinkers allowed but one breach of divine transcendence, at Horeb, Deut. 4:36 wants to reject even this one concession.49 Whatever our views on Deuteronomy 4, we should not globalise its message so as to create an unbridgeable gulf between the God of the Old Testament and the physical world of his making. To do so would involve the further loss of unnecessarily widening the gap between Old Testament views of God and Christian incarnational theology. One of the most striking anthropomorphisms in the Old Testament is the ‘angelophany’, in which the angel of the Lord appears to favoured humans. When God appears to Gideon it is in the guise of the angel of the Lord sitting un48

See S.D. Moore, ‘Gigantic God: Yahweh’s Body’, JSOT 70 (1996), 87-115 (92). 49 Geller, Sacred Enigmas, 42. According to Geller, Deut. 4 teaches that hearing, rather than seeing, is the proper way to experience revelation (39, 48); the Deuteronomic writers are redefining the nature of God and the process of revelation (40-42); the unique feature of ‘biblical religion’, as of its daughter faiths Judaism and Christianity, is ‘transcendent monotheism’ (170).

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der an oak in Ophrah and, apparently, indistinguishable from a human (Judg. 6:22). Gideon does not appreciate the literal potential in the greeting ‘The Lord is with you’; nevertheless, the story discloses that it is none other than the Lord himself speaking to Gideon (Judg. 6:11-24 [14]). It is as a ‘man of God’ that God, initially introduced in the story as ‘the angel of the Lord’, appears to Manoah’s wife (Judg. 13:3, 6, 9, 13, 19-22). The appearance of God to Abraham in Genesis 18 belongs here, even though the chapter does not mention angels or the angel of the Lord.50 Abraham is confronted by three ‘men’, who eat his food, and, it becomes apparent, one of those who enjoys his hospitality is ‘the Lord’ (vv. 13, 17). Similarly, it is as a man that God encounters Jacob at Peniel, and Jacob at the end recognises that he has seen God face to face (Gen. 32:30). As we know, there is a tendency within traditional Christian exegesis to identify the ‘angel of the Lord’ with the second person of the Trinity, though the New Testament itself noticeably refrains from this in the martyr Stephen’s reference to the angel of the Lord at the burning bush (Acts 7:30-34). Such Christophanic emphasis results from exegetical overkill, however, and its effect is to obscure a serious point of contact between the two Testaments: the compatibility of the biblical God with human form. Alter goes to the other extreme in claiming that in the Old Testament there is, ‘despite anthropomorphism’, an ‘absolute cleavage between man and God’: ‘man cannot become God and God (in contrast to later Christian developments) does not become man’.51 As ontology such a statement is pointless in an Old Testament context,52 while the absoluteness of the ‘absolute cleavage’ depends precisely on the limits observed in the anthropomorphising in the biblical texts. In the Old Testament, as we have already seen, anthropomorphism is taken quite far. Paying anthropomorphism its due respect will have repercussions for our reading of the biblical text more generally, as may be illustrated from the first page of the Bible. It is the anthropomorphised God who creates the universe in Genesis 1. There is a tendency to emphasise the fiat aspect of the creation (‘God 50

In 19:1, 15, on the other hand, the other two visitants who continued on to Sodom are called ‘angels’ (or ‘messengers’). 51 Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative, 157. 52 Alter’s contrasting of Christianity, according to which God does ‘become man’, shows the sense in which he (presumably) intends this ‘becoming’.

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said, “Let there be . . . ” ’), as if this expressed a distinctive Israelite standpoint. However, we know that fiat creation is also a feature of Egyptian Memphite ‘creation theology’, and Genesis 1 is actually stronger on the idea of the ‘workman God’, not least when it comes to the creation of the first humans. This may have a bearing on the statement in verse 26 about God’s making humans ‘in our image’, for this strangely abstract phrasing – at least in an Old Testament setting, and as most often expounded – may not be so devoid of corporeality as is often assumed.53 If the language of the Divine Council lies behind the use of the first person plural in the verse, as is widely believed, then there is even more reason for our interpretation of ‘image’ and ‘likeness’ to avoid theological abstraction – this perhaps encouraged by other Old Testament passages which associate God with some sort of corporeal existence, even where the ‘angelophany’ is not involved.54 What we have in the Old Testament is a depiction of God that is as developed and multiplex as that of any human character described there. This relates very directly to the aptitude of the biblical writers for characterisation in narrative: God as a narrative protagonist is treated according to the same literary conventions as the human participants in the narratives. It would be a large claim that characterisation developed in the Old Testament literature in a way unparalleled elsewhere, but a good case could be made. So God himself is depicted with an astonishing range of characteristics and responses to the people and situations described in the biblical narratives. Now, while the danger of the unwarranted comparison lurks again, it is, nevertheless, a fair question whether the personality of any other god in the ancient near east has been so developed, and so anthropomorphised in the process, as that of the God of Israel. 53

This may apply even if the beth essentiae approach is favoured (i.e. ‘as our image’ [v. 26; cf. v. 27]). 54 See R. Kasher, ‘Anthropomorphism, Holiness and Cult: A New Look at Ezekiel 40-48’, ZAW 110 (1998), 192-208 (192-4). See further M.C.A. Korpel, A Rift in the Clouds: Ugaritic and Hebrew Descriptions of the Divine (UBL, 8), M¨ unster 1990, as well as J.C. de Moor, ‘The Duality in God and Man: Gen. 1:26-27 as P’s Interpretation of the Yahwistic Creation Account’, in: J.C. de Moor (ed.), Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel: Papers Read at the Tenth Joint meeting of The Society for Old Testament Study and Het Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap . . . Oxford, 1997 (OTS, 40), Leiden 1998, 112-25.

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The Conciliar God The fate of the ‘foreign’ gods in the Old Testament is to be reduced to angel status and to sing the praises of Israel’s God. Or worse, according to Psalm 82. This, however, does not exhaust the limits of the reconceptualisation of polytheism within the Old Testament, as may be judged from the afterlife that it permits the ‘Council of the Gods’ or ‘Divine Council’.55 The biblical presence of this Divine Council is something more than ‘vestigial’. It is represented in the Pentateuch, the Former Prophets, the Latter Prophets, Psalms, Job and Daniel, sometimes expressly and sometimes implicitly. As we have already noted, it can no longer be claimed that the Old Testament was unique in envisaging the admission of humans to the Divine Council.56 Mari text 208 recounts a discussion among the gods in Ea’s circle, while text 196 portrays Dagan passing judgment on Tishpak, the god of Eshnunna, in the Divine Council, both occasions being witnessed by the prophets who reported them. On the earthly plane, the Babylonian b¯ arˆ u diviners were admitted to the royal court when their services were required, and it is a reasonable supposition that it was the experience of the diviners at the level of the earthly court that led to the idea not only of diviners but also of prophets being admitted to the divine court.57 Actual participation in conciliar decisions in Mesopotamian texts was very much the preserve of the gods themselves. So, already in the Sumerian flood story the decision of the gods in Council to destroy humanity is described as a ‘final sentence’ (di-til-la, a term borrowed from the Sumerian courtroom).58 Decisions of the gods in Council had to be confirmed by an oath at the start or end, or both, of the announced decision. There was no going back, as was discovered by Ningal when she tried to save Ur from destruction: 55 Cf. E.T. Mullen, The Assembly of the Gods: The Divine Council in Canaanite and Early Hebrew Literature (HSM, 24), Chico 1980. 56 Cf. Gordon, ‘From Mari to Moses’, 71-4. 57 See the writer in ‘Where Have All the Prophets Gone? The “Disappearing” Israelite Prophet Against the Background of Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy’, BBR 5 (1995), 78-9. 58 See M. Civil, ‘The Sumerian Flood Story’, in: W.G. Lambert, A. R. Millard, Atra-h¯ as¯ıs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood, Oxford 1969, 142 (iv ˘ 158).

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May my city not be destroyed, I said to them. May Ur not be destroyed. May its people not be killed . . .

But there was no favourable response from Anu or Enlil.59 Once the decision of the gods in Council was reached, there was no opportunity for review. Even less was it open to humans to interfere in the decisions of the Council. While there is evidence in the Mari texts of prophet figures being allowed to witness Council proceedings, there is none that suggests that they participated or in any way questioned the decrees that eventuated. In Ugarit kings seem to have participated in gatherings of their deified ancestors, and similar phenomena have been observed elsewhere.60 An intercessory role has been claimed for the Balaam of the Deir Alla text,61 but this much is not clear from the text itself. It appears that Balaam weeps and fasts after witnessing the gods in Council,62 but that is a different matter from participation in Council proceedings. In the Old Testament, prophets not only witness but may on occasion take part in the Divine Council. Micaiah is merely a spectator in relation to the curious goings-on that are described in 1 Kings 22. Isaiah, on the other hand, not only interrupts the proceedings of the heavenly court with his confession of uncleanness, but also offers his services as messenger and seeks clarification as regards the time-range of the message that he is to announce (Isa. 6:1-13; esp. vv. 5, 8, 11). Those who revocalise rm'a;w“ (‘And he [or “one”] said’) in Isa. 40:6 to rm'aow: (‘And I said’; cf. 1QIsa , Ì) envisage prophetic participation in the proceedings 59

See ‘Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur’ in ANET, 458; cf. T. Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, New Haven 1976, 86. 60 Cf. De Moor, The Rise of Yahwism 2 , 317-61; Idem, ‘Seventy!’, in: M. Dietrich, I. Kottsieper (eds), “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf ”: Studien zum Alten Testament und zum Alten Orient (Fs O. Loretz), M¨ unster 1998, 199-203. 61 See H.-P. M¨ uller, ‘Die aram¨aische Inschrift von Deir Alla und die ¨ alteren Bileamspr¨ uche’, ZAW 94 (1982), 214-44 (242); M. Dijkstra, ‘Is Balaam also among the Prophets?’, JBL 114 (1995), 43-64 (52). 62 See M. Weippert, ‘The Balaam Text from Deir Alla and the Study of the Old Testament’, in: J. Hoftijzer, G. van der Kooij (eds), The Balaam Text from Deir Alla Re-evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Leiden 21-24 August 1989, Leiden 1991, 167-9.

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of a Divine Council meeting at which an anonymous figure in the Isaiah tradition is commissioned with a message for the returning exiles.63 Zech. 3:5, as pointed in the ˜, has the prophet contribute a sentence to the proceedings when he asks that a clean turban be placed on Joshua the high priest’s head. A different level of engagement is represented in the visionary experiences of Amos 7. There is no direct mention of the Divine Council here, except the possible hint in rm'aow: (‘and I said’) in the first two visions (vv. 2, 5). Indeed, it would hardly be possible to have a conventional Council session in these two visions, since they incorporate acted out judgments upon Israel, in the locust attack on the crops and the destruction of the land by fire (vv. 2, 4).64 Nevertheless, it is difficult to divorce the Amos visions from the world of the Divine Council. If not Amos himself, an early interpreter of his sees this kind of experience as God’s revealing of his plan (dwsø) to his prophet-servant (3:7); and the point of the previews in ch. 7 is that they give the prophet the opportunity to intercede on behalf of his endangered people. Here the God of Israel condescends to being entreated and even to ‘repenting’ of his decisions in a way seldom described for an Israelite ruler. Certainly, Amos 7 differs in this respect from the typical king’s council in Old Testament narrative, whether as in 1 Kings 12 (Rehoboam), or 2 Samuel 16–17 (Absalom), or 1 Kings 22 (kings of Judah and Israel). In Amos 7 God is not seeking advice because of his perplexity, but shows himself willing to have his judgment opposed because of his merciful character. This aspect of the divine character is most strikingly apparent in the account of God’s meeting with Abraham in Genesis 18. Their encounter is not presented as a session of the Divine Council, and yet there are elements in the story that seem to point that way.65 And after all, it is on the basis of Abraham’s intercession for Sodom in this chapter that he is described to 63 For the view that the speaker in Isa. 40:6 is a member of the heavenly council see C.R. Seitz, ‘The Divine Council: Temporal Transition and New Prophecy in the Book of Isaiah’, JBL 109 (1990), 229-47. 64 Perhaps Deir Alla provides a parallel in the vision that reduces Balaam to tears; Weippert has already suggested a parallel between the Balaam text and the Amaziah narrative in Amos 7:10-17 (‘The Balaam Text’, in: Hoftijzer, Van der Kooij (eds), The Balaam Text, 164, 177; cf. M. Dijkstra, ‘Response to H.-P. M¨ uller and M. Weippert’, ibid., 216). 65 Cf. G.J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (WBC, 2), Dallas 1994, 50.

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Abimelech in 20:7 as ‘a prophet’: ‘he is a prophet and he will pray for you’.66 What God decides to reveal to Abraham is nothing other than his dwsø (‘plan’). When it is recognised that 18:17 introduces a flashback (cf. The Revised English Bible, ‘The Lord had thought to himself’), it becomes evident that God’s decision about Sodom has not yet been reached when he visits Abraham. His ‘going down to see’ is not the taking of the road from Hebron to Sodom – about which the text has nothing further to say, for only the two accompanying angels reach Sodom (cf. 18:17, 22; 19:1)67 – but, as we would ordinarily expect, his descent from his heavenly abode to investigate what his human subjects are doing (‘I shall go down and see whether they have done according to the outcry that has reached me’, v. 21; cf. Gen. 11:5). So Abraham is truly in the position of a prophetic intercessor whose bargaining takes place before the divine plan is finalised. The result is the remarkable picture of Abraham the Hebrew haggling with God over the fate of a pagan city, which might in its entirety be spared if there were, finally, but ten righteous people in it. In Genesis 18, then, God is memorably shown as being open to persuasion by a mere mortal (cf. ‘dust and ashes’, v. 27). We may perhaps hear echoes of the Council in the book of Hosea, in the self-deliberations of God over Israel. There are scarcely any speech formulae to punctuate the text, and in that respect oracles and soliloquies go seamlessly on. Something of Hosea’s own perplexities are, doubtless, surfacing in the divine fretting over Israel. Hosea has stitched his heart on the sleeve of God.68 This God has no colleagues or even juniors to whom he turns, no Council where decisions can be debated. All is happening in the mind of Israel’s God. So he asks, ‘What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah?’ (6:4); ‘How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?’ (11:8). Andersen and Freedman attribute the seeming lack of structure in Hosea to the consideration that Yahweh’s self-deliberations occur within the context of the Divine Council, or even that they 66

Genesis 18 and 20 are traditionally assigned to different sources, but the portrayal of Abraham as a prophet of intercessory accomplishment is found only in ch. 18. 67 Verse 22a then fulfils its proper function of being a resumptive repetition picking up verse 16 after the flashback material of verses 17–21. 68 The standpoint of the text is, of course, that of the reverse process.

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represent a stage preliminary to the Council.69 So God soliloquises, and we hear him debating the pros and cons of the policy that he is hammering out. Only Jeremiah among the later prophets comes close to such a depiction of God (cf. Jer. 5:7-9). The debating of pros and cons also seems to be a feature of Hos. 2:425 (2-23), and David Clines has written suggestively about this chapter as presenting, not a sequence of actions, but a series of options, the last of which is the course that God actually decides upon, viz. forgiving Israel and loving her out of her rebellious ways.70 Andersen and Freedman, in their commentary published a year later, and in apparent independence of Clines, view with some favour the possibility that the first two options in Hosea 2 are discarded in favour of the third.71 If so, the conceptuality of the Divine Council is not too far away.

In Conclusion In the second part of this paper comparisons and contrasts have not been of crucial importance. A different question has been addressed: How does the Old Testament, committed to the one God Yahweh, respond to the environing traditions and practices in which its own views of God and reality developed? Whether there were parallel developments elsewhere was not so important. But that was a self-denying ordinance on the writer’s part, for there is no reason why the making of cultural comparisons should be abandoned, even if the results must always have an element of provisionality about them. That the sum total of the Old Testament vision witnesses to something unique in the ancient east is self-evident, and it is hard to disagree with David Jobling when he remarks that ‘[i]t argues little maturity on the part of biblical scholars that we sometimes seem to be arguing passionately against the distinctiveness of our material in any respect.’72 69

F.I. Andersen, D.N. Freedman, Hosea: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AncB, 24), Garden City 1980, 45. 70 D.J.A. Clines, ‘Hosea 2: Structure and Interpretation’, in: E.A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Biblica 1978, I: Papers on Old Testament and Related Themes – Sixth International Congress on Biblical Studies, Oxford 3–7 April 1978 (SJSOT, 11), Sheffield 1979, 83-103 (= pp. 293-313 in Clines’s On the Way to the Postmodern: Old Testament Essays, 1967-1998, vol. 1 [=JSOT.S, 292], Sheffield 1998). 71 Andersen, Freedman, Hosea, 263. 72 D. Jobling, ‘Robert Alter’s, The Art of Biblical Narrative’, JSOT 27

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The analogy of apocalyptic and the New Testament may serve a useful purpose in this regard. Part of the exegetical task in the book of Revelation is to distinguish between standard apocalyptic features and specifically Christian elements in the book. They are interwoven in the text, but proper exegesis does not stop there. If verse 11 of the last chapter expresses classic apocalyptic determinism, as most would still recognise it – ‘Let the evildoer still be evil and the filthy still be filthy!’ – then this is overwritten in verse 17 in the unrestricted offer of the water of life to any thirsty hearer.73 That is a specifically Christian element in the text. In the same way, the elements within the Old Testament that modify or rewrite the underlying near eastern ‘script’ are a legitimate concern of the Old Testament specialist. There will never be a complete match, or, if there is, it will be Yahwism by another name, or not even that. In fact, Egyptian Atenism comes closest to the monotheism of the biblical tradition (if one may disregard the chronology), yet the Aten was a ‘nonanthropomorphic, nonspeaking god’ who ‘required an interpreter for humanity, a role taken by the king, who claimed exclusive “knowledge” of the deity.’74 Nonanthropomorphic, nonspeaking! That, surely, is real monotheistic sterility.

(1983), 87-99 (90). 73 ‘Let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who wishes take the water of life freely.’ 74 J. Baines, ‘Egyptian Deities in Context: Multiplicity, Unity, and the Problem of Change’, in: B.N. Porter (ed.), One God or Many? Concepts of Divinity in the Ancient World (Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute, 1), n.p. 2000, 60.

Anselm C. Hagedorn

Humboldt-Universit¨ at – Berlin

‘Who would invite a stranger from abroad?’ The Presence of Greeks in Palestine in Old Testament Times Herrn Prof. Dr. Matthias K¨ ockert zum 60. Geburtstag

In Homer’s Odyssey 1 we read in the 17th book: tiv" ga;r dh; xei'non kalei' a[lloqen aujto;" ejpelqw;n a[llon gΔ eij mh; tw'n oi} dhmioergoi; e[asi, mavntin h] ijhth'ra kakw'n h] tevktona douvrwn, h] kai; qevspin ajoidovn, o{ ken tevrphÛsin ajeivdwn… ou|toi ga;r klhtoiv ge brotw'n ejpΔ ajpeivrona gai'an:2 [Who, pray, of himself ever seeks out and invites a stranger from abroad, unless it is one of those that are masters of some public craft, a prophet, or a healer of ills, or a builder, or perhaps a divine minstrel, who gives delight with his song? For these men are invited all over the boundless earth.]

These lines have led scholars such as W. Burkert to postulate a flourishing culture of migrant craftsmen in the Eastern Levant during the late Bronze and early Iron Age.3 It is generally assumed – and archaeological evidence seems to support such a view – that craftsmen from the East worked in Greece during this period and that, in turn, their craftmanship deeply influenced archaic Greek art.4 The ‘orientalising period’ of Greek history, literature and art has been sufficiently examined and does 1

Unless otherwise stated, all translations of Greek authors are taken from the Loeb Classical Library. In addition to the usual abbreviations, the following are used: FGH = F. Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Leiden 1956ff.; IG = Inscriptiones Graecae; ICret = Inscriptiones Creticae; LSJ = H.G. Liddell, R. Scott, H.S. Jones (eds.), A Greek–English Lexicon, with a Revised Supplement, Oxford 1996. 2 Homer, Od. 17.382–385. 3 Cf. W. Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution: Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age (Revealing Antiquity 5), Cambridge 2 1992, 9-40 and Idem, ‘Itinerant Diviners and Magicians: A Neglected Element in Cultural Contacts’, in: R. H¨agg (ed.), The Greek Renaissance of the Eighth Century B.C.: Tradition and Innovation – Proceedings of the Second International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 1–5 June 1981 (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Institutet i Athen 4/30), Stockholm, 1983, 115-9. 4 Cf. B. Borell, D. Rittig, Orientalische und griechische Bronzereliefs aus

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not need to concern us here.5 Rather, I would like to turn the picture around and consider Greek migrant craftsmen, travelling from Greece to the Eastern Levant and more specifically to SyroPalestine. As such, this study is not intended to evaluate the significance of the Greek world for the history or theology of the Old Testament,6 but, rather, to explore possible areas of contact and what we can learn from these contacts about the social identity of the Greeks in Palestine.7 I hope to demonstrate that cultural contact is not exclusively a process among elites.8 Olympia: Der Fundkomplex aus Brunnen 17 (Deutsches Arch¨ aologisches Institut – Olympische Forschungen, 26), Berlin 1998, who were able to demonstrate on the basis of bronze-reliefs from a fountain in Olympia that the fragments originated in the workshop of an oriental craftsman in Crete. For a more cautious view on immigrant presence in Crete see G.L. Hoffman, Imports and Immigrants: Near Eastern Contacts with Iron Age Crete, Ann Arbor 1997, 153-89. 5 Cf. S. Dalley, The Legacy of Mesopotamia, Oxford 1998, 85-106; H. Matth¨ aus, ‘Zur Rezeption orientalischer Kunst-, Kultur- und Lebensformen in Griechenland’, in: K. Raaflaub (ed.), Anf¨ ange politischen Denkens in der Antike: Die nah¨ ostlichen Kulturen und die Griechen (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs, Kolloquien 24), M¨ unchen 1993, 165-86; S.P. Morris, Daidalos and the Origin of Greek Art, Princeton 1992; R. Osborne, Archaic and Classical Greek Art (Oxford History of Art), Oxford 1998, 43-51; C. Penglase, Greek Myths and Mesopotamia: Parallels and Influence in the Homeric Hymns and Hesiod, London 1994; M.L. West, The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth, Oxford 1997. 6 This has been done magnificently in the study by O. Kaiser, ‘Die Bedeutung der griechischen Welt f¨ ur die alttestamentliche Theologie’, in: Idem, Zwischen Athen und Jerusalem: Studien zur griechischen und biblischen Theologie, ihrer Eigenart und ihrem Verh¨ altnis (BZAW, 320), Berlin 2003, 1-38. 7 On the other hand, scholars of the Ancient Near East have started to explore views of Greece and her inhabitants found in Ancient Near Eastern sources. Cf. A. Kuhrt, ‘Greeks’ and ‘Greece’ in Mesopotamian and Persian Perspectives: The twenty-first J.L. Myres Memorial Lecture, Oxford 2002; G.B. Lanfranchi, ‘The Ideological and Political Impact of the Assyrian Imperial Expansion on the Greek World in the 8th and 7th Centuries BC’, in: S. Aro, R.M. Whiting (eds.), The Heirs of Assyria (Melammu Symposia, 1), Helsinki 2000, 7-34; H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, ‘Yauna by the Sea and across the Sea’, in: I. Malkin (ed.), Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity (Center for Hellenic Studies Colloquia, 5), Washington 2001, 323-46. 8 For reasons of space we will disregard the interesting phenomenon of intermarriage, which could possibly result in bilingual children (cf. Xenophon, Anab. 4.8.4 and Herodotus, Hist. VI.138); on the topic see M.L. West, East Face of Helicon, 618-21 and the remarks by J.N. Coldstream, ‘Mixed Marriages at the Frontiers of the Early Greek World’, Oxford Journal of

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The presence of travelling ‘foreign specialists’, as I prefer to call them, is well known from the Old Testament. Thus we read in 1 Kgs 7:13-14 of a certain Hiram from Tyre who comes down to Jerusalem to help Solomon with his building projects. The text states explicitly that he was a skilled bronze-worker: .rXomi μr:yjiAta, jQ'YIw" hmoløv] Ël,M,h' jl'v]YIw" 13 aleM;YIw" tv,jon“ vrEjo yrIxoAvyai wybia;w“ yliT;p]n" hFeM'mi aWh hn:m;l]a' hV;aiAˆB, 14 awbøY:w" tv,jNo “B' hk;al;m]AlK; twcø[}l' t['D'h'Ata,w“ hn:WbT]h'Ata,w“ hm;k]j;h'Ata, .wTøk]al'm]AlK;Ata, c['Y"w" hmoløv] Ël,M,h'Ala, [Now King Solomon invited and received Hiram from Tyre. He was the son of a widow of the tribe of Naphtali, whose father, a man of Tyre, had been an artisan in bronze; he was full of skill, intelligence, and knowledge in working bronze. He came to King Solomon, and did all his work. (nrsv)]

This may be a fictitious report,9 but it nevertheless draws attention to the fact that it was perceived as normal to ‘import’ foreign specialists for building projects.10 (From a literary point of view it is quite striking how the description of the manufactured items by Hiram in 1 Kgs 7:13-50 resembles the descriptions of handiwork we find in Homer.11 ) In a similar context we encounter Greek (Ionian) workers in the Persepolis Treasury Tablets, who are listed next to Syrians and Egyptians: 5 (to) workmen (of) the lands of the Hattians (Syrians), Egyptians, 6 and Ionians, (who are) earning wages, 7 (and for whom) Vahush is responsible at Parsa, 8 (to) these, for wages, give – (to these) who are ‘laborers’ 9 upon the columned hall, the . . . . of making the columned hall.12

Only in passing let us note that the Greeks here are called ia-una-ip a word obviously related to the Hebrew ˆw:y,: which is used Archaeology 12 (1993), 89-107. 9 Cf. V. Fritz, Das erste Buch der K¨ onige (ZBK.AT, 10/1), Z¨ urich 1996, 80-1. 10 M. Cogan, 1 Kings (AncB, 10), New York 2000, 271. 11 Cf. for example, the description of the Shield of Achilles in Homer, Il. 18.478-613. 12 Translation according to G.G. Cameron (ed.), Persepolis Treasury Tablets, Chicago 1948, Tabl. 15.5-9.

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to denote Ionian Greeks in the Table of Nations (Gen. 10:2, 45). Also, we possibly find Ionians, who build ships in Nineveh, mentioned in the inscriptions of Sennacherib:13 ‘Hittites’, plunder / of my bows I settled in Nineveh. Mighty ships / (after) the workmanship of their land they built dexterously. Sailors – Tyrians / Sidonians and ‘Io[n]ians’ – captives of my hand, I ordered / at the bank of the Tigris with them. Downstream to Opis / I had them shipped to disembark (there).14

Furthermore, a silver bowl from Amathus in Cyprus (now in the British Museum [WA 116253]) shows Greek hoplites fighting next to Assyrian soldiers.15 Even though it could be argued that the scene is purely mythological,16 the bowl nevertheless demonstrates that there has been a certain Greek-Assyrian involvement by the seventh century.17 In contrast to the hoplites, depictions of people in civilian dress are virtually non-existent. The only possible exception is a painted sherd from Ramat Rahel which could depict a Greek person.18 13 Cf. E. Frahm, Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO.B, 26), Wien 1997, 117, who also considers the reading Ja-[ad ] -n[a]-a-a for the singular Ja-[am !? ] -n[a]-a-a in the inscriptions of Sennacherib, which would then refer to ‘Cypriots.’ 14 Text of T 29 quoted according to R. Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East: Textual Evidence and Historical Perspective (ca. 750–650 bc)’, in: R.M. Whiting (ed.), Melammu Symposia II, Helsinki 2001, 233-64 (242). 15 Picture in J. Boardman, The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade, London 4 1999, 50, and a more detailed report on the bowl can be found in J.L. Myers, ‘The Amathus Bowl: A Long-lost Masterpiece of Oriental Engraving’, JHS 53 (1933), 25-39. 16 As recently done again by A. Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu: Its Material Culture and Historical Background’, Tel Aviv 28 (2001), 3-165 (141). 17 Thus W.-D. Niemeier, ‘Greek Mercenaries at Tel Kabri and Other Sites in the Levant’, Tel Aviv 29 (2002), 328-31 (328-9). On the question of the Greek-Assyrian encounter see Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East’, 233-64. 18 S. Geva, ‘The Painted Sherd of Ramat Rahel’, IEJ 31 (1981), 186-9. R. Wenning, ‘Griechische Vasenbilder in Pal¨astina’, in: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as Media: Sources for the Cultural History of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium bce) (OBO, 175), Fribourg 2001, 339-58, remarks on the sherds: ‘Obwohl diese Scherben f¨ ur die Frage der Interkulturation von großer Bedeutung sind, steht eine befriedigende Klassifika-

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References to Syria and Palestine are sparse in Homer and Hesiod. Of course, Homer mentions the Phoenicians19 as well as their land (Od. 4.83; 14.291), which can sometimes be called ‘Sidonia’ (Oi} dΔ ej" Sidonivhn eu\ naiomevnhn ajnabavnte" ⁄ w[/contΔ:20 ), and he also knows of the city of Sidon, when he says: ejk me;n Sidw'no" polucavlkou eu[comai ei\nai, kouvrh dΔ ei[mΔ ΔAruvbanto" ejgw; rJudo;n ajfneioi'o.21 [Out of Sidon, rich in bronze, I declare myself to be, and I am the daughter of Arybas, to whom wealth flowed in streams.]

As in Antiquity in general, so also in Homer the Phoenicians are famed for their ships (Foivnike" nausivklutoi h[luqon a[ndre"22 ) and are thus the long-distance traders par exellence.23 The only reference to Syria in Homer is found in Od. 15.403, where it is described as being an island: nh'sov" ti" Surivh kiklhvsketai, ei[ pou ajkouvei", ΔOrtugivh" kaquvperqen, o{qi tropai; hjelivoio, ou[ ti periplhqh;" livhn tovson, ajllΔ ajgaqh; mevn, eu[boto", eu[mhlo", oijnoplhqh;", poluvpuro".24 [There is an island called Syria, if perchance you have heard of it, above Ortygia, where are the turning places of the sun. It is not so very thickly settled, but it is a good land, rich in herds, rich in flocks, full of wine, abounding in wheat.] tion, f¨ ur die auch zwei weitere Fragmente von solchen Zeichnungen desselben Kontextes wichtig sind, noch aus’ (343-4). 19 Cf. Homer, Il. 4.141; 6.219; 7.305; 9.223, 621, 659; 10.133; 14.321; 15.538; 17.555; 23.360, 717, 744; Od. 4.83; 6.163; 11.124; 13.272; 14.291, 500; 15.415, 419, 473; 21.118; 23.201, 271. 20 Homer, Od. 4.285 (‘And they went on board, and departed for the wellpeopled land of Sidon’). 21 Homer, Od. 15.425; the Odyssey also mentions the title ‘King of the Sidonians’ (Sidonivwn basileuv", Od. 4.618), which is paralleled in 1 Kgs 16:31 (μynIdoyxi Ël,m), . 22 Homer, Od. 15.415, Homer continues to label the Phoenicians ‘greedy knaves’ (trw'ktai). 23 Cf. B. Patzek, ‘Griechen und Ph¨oniker in homerischer Zeit: Fernhandel und der orientalische Einfluß auf die fr¨ uhgriechische Kultur’, M¨ unsterische Beitr¨ age zur antiken Handelsgeschichte 15 (1996), 1-31 (11). 24 Homer, Od. 15.403-6.

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It is highly unlikely that this island of ‘Syria’ refers to Syria proper, since already in antiquity it is identified with the island of Syros.25 This would tally well with Strabo’s statement that Homer is ignorant of the great empires.26 Similar uncertainty regarding the geography of the Levant can be found in the Homeric Hymns. In the Hymn to Dionysos we read about a mountain called Nysa, which is located far away in Phoenicia – this Phoenicia is then described as being near the rivers/streams of Egypt: e[sti dev ti" Nuvsh u{paton o[ro", ajnqevon u{lhÛ thlou' Foinivkh", scedo;n Aijguvptoio rJoavwn.27 [There is a place Nysa, a mountain most high, burgeoning with forest, in a distant part of Phoenicia, almost at the waters of the Nile.]

To complete the picture of the early literary evidence, two fragments from Hesiod mention Byblos and Sidon as well as having a word for Phoenicia.28 This adds to the reference in Works and Days, where wine from Byblos seems to be mentioned (bivblino" oi\no").29 Let us now turn to the literary evidence that seems to point to a certain Greek presence in, and knowledge of, Syro-Palestine. First of all we must consider some terminology. Herodotus seems 25

Cf. Aristarchos and Herodian apud the scholion to Od. 15.403ff: Surivhº miva tw'n Kuklavdwn hJ Suriva. ei[rhtai de; Suriva wJ" ta; Yuvra Yuriva, Ôvnhvsou ejpi; Yurivh"Δ (Od. g 171). H. miva tw'n Kuklavdwn hJ Suriva, hJ pa;rΔ hJmi'n legomevnh Su'ra. B.Q. quoted according to W. Dindorf, Scholia Graeca in Homeri Odysseam ex codicibus aucta et emendata, vol. 2, Oxford 1855, 617. 26 Strabo, Geogr. 15.3.23: ”Omhro" gou'n ou[te th;n tw'n Surw'n ou[te th;n tw'n Mh'dwn ajrch;n oi\den: oujde ga;r a[n, Qhvba" Aijguptiva" ojnomavzwn kai; to;n ejkei' kai; to;n ejn FoinivkhÛ plou'ton, to;n ejn Babulw'ni kai; Nivnw/ kai; ΔEkbatavnoi" paresiwvphse. 27 Homeric Hymn I (To Dionysus) 8-9. 28 Cf. Hesiod, fr. 405.1 (Buvblon tΔ ajggivalon ka;i SivdwnΔ ajnqemovessan) and fr. 141.7 (kovuºrªhºi Foivniko" ajgauou'); fragments quoted according to R. Merkelbach, M.L. West, Fragmenta Hesiodea, Oxford 1967. 29 Hesiod, Works and Days 589. LSJ Suppl., 68, gives the translation ‘Bibline’, i.e. a special kind of wine. (cf. Theocritus, 14.15 ajnw'/xa de; Bivblinon aujtoi'"); the evidence from other ancient authors, however, suggests that we have to equate Bivblino" with Phoenician (see references in K. Dover, Theocritus: Selected Poems, repr. ed. Bristol 1985, 191).

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to be the only Greek author who explicitly calls Palestine by that name. MouvnhÛ de; tauvthÛ eijsi; fanerai; ejsbolai; ej" Ai[gupton. ajpo; ga;r Foinivkh" mevcri ou[rwn tw'n Kaduvtio" povlio" ejsti; Suvrwn tw'n Palaistivnwn kaleomevnwn.30 [Now the only manifest way of entry into Egypt is this. The road that runs from Phoenice as far as the borders of the city of Cadytis, which belongs to the Syrians of Palestine, as it is called.]

Of course, the ‘father of history’ is not concerned with Palestine as such, but mentions it always in connection with Egypt, often using the compound ‘Syro-Palestine’.31 This does not mean, however, that Herodotus is not interested in this part of the Eastern Levant. In his ‘ethnographic’ descriptions,32 he frequently mentions Greek contact with Phoenicia, when he states, for example, that Cretans were the first Greeks to come to Tyre,33 and that Io seemed to have been the first permanent dweller amongst the Phoenicians.34 Furthermore, Herodotus acknowledges the wellknown fact that the Phoenicians brought the alphabet to Greece: 30

Herodotus, Hist. III.5; see also the references in Hist. I.105; II.104; III.91; IV.39; VII.89, and S. Mittmann, ‘Die K¨ uste Pal¨ astinas bei Herodot’, ZDPV 99 (1983), 130-40; A.F. Rainey, ‘Herodotus’ Description of the East Mediterranean Coast’, BASOR 321 (2001), 57-63. 31 Here we detect the phenomenon which J. Assmann has described as the fascination of Greeks with the Egyptian world. Cf. J. Assmann, Weisheit und ¨ Mysterium: Das Bild der Griechen von Agypten, Munich 2000. 32 On the ‘ethnography’ of Herodotus see R. Thomas, Herodotus in Context: Ethnography, Science and the Art of Persuasion, Cambridge 2000, and on the anthropological problems of such a view cf. M. Herzfeld, Anthropology through the Looking-glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe, Cambridge 1987, 18-20. 33 Herodotus, Hist. I.2: Meta; dev tau'ta ÔEllhvnwn tinav" (ouj ga;r e[cousi tou[noma ajphghvsasqai) fasi; th'" Foinivkh" ej" Tuvron prosscovnta" aJrpavsai tou' basilevo" th;n qugatevra Eujrwphn. ei[hsan dΔ a]n ou|toi Krh'te". 34 Herodotus, Hist. I.5: Peri; de; th'" ΔIou'" oujk oJmologevousi PevrshÛsi ou{tw Foivnike": ouj ga;r aJrpagh'Û sfeva" crhsamevnou" levgousi ajgagei'n aujth;n ej" Ai[gupton, ajllΔ wJ" ejn tw'/ “Argei> ejmivsgeto tw'/ nauklhvrw/ th'" neov": ejpe;i dΔ e[maqe e[gkuo" ejou'sa, aijdeomevnh tou;" tokeva" ou{tw dh; ejqelonth;n aujth;n toi'si Foivnixi sunekplw'sai, wJ" a]n mh; katavdhlo" gevnhtai. On the myth of Io in general see T. Gantz, Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources, vol. 1, Baltimore 1993, 198-204.

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OiJ de; Foivnike" ou|toi oiJ su;n Kavdmw/ ajpikovmenoi, . . . , a[lla te polla; oijkhvsante" tauvthn th;n cwvrhn ejshvgagon didaskavlia ej" tou;" ”Ellhna" kai; dh; kai; gravmmata, oujk ejonta pri;n ”Ellhsi wJ" ejmoi; dokevein, prw'ta me;n toi'si kai; a{pante" crevwntai Foivnike":35 [These Phoenicians who came with Cadmus . . . at their settlement in this country, among many other kinds of learning, brought into Hellas the alphabet, which had hitherto been unknown, as I think, to the Greeks.]

What we learn from the usual mixture of myth and reliable historical facts in the work of Herodotus is that he is very much concerned with establishing Greek-Phoenician contact from a very early stage onwards.36 Furthermore, Herodotus draws a sharp distinction between the peaceful interactions with the Phoeni35

Herodotus, Hist. V.58; on the introduction of the alphabet into Greece ¨ from Phoenicia cf. W. Helck, Die Beziehungen Agyptens und Vorderasiens zur ¨ Ag¨ ais bis ins 7. Jh. v. Chr. (EdF, 120), Darmstadt 2 1995, 136-40; J. Tropper, ‘Griechisches und Semitisches Alphabet: Buchstabennamen und Sibilantenentsprechungen’, ZDMG 150 (2000), 317-21. One of the earliest examples of Greek writing comes from Rhodes, where we read in an inscription orao hmi ulic" (text according to L.H. Jeffrey, The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece: A Study of the Origin of the Greek Alphabet and its Development from the Eighth to the Fifth Centuries B.C., rev. ed., Oxford 1999, 347). A further early example can be found at the western Greek colony in Pithekoussai (where there has certainly been Greek-Phoenician contact; cf. D. Ridgway, ‘Phoenicians and Greeks in the West: A View from Pithekoussai’, in: G.R. Tsetskhladze, F. De Angelis (eds.), The Archaeology of Greek Colonisation: Essays Dedicated to Sir John Boardman, Oxford 1994, 35-46): Nevstoro"Ú eª2-3ºiÚ eu[potªonºÚ potevrioªnÚº ⇐ h o;" dΔ a] to'de pªiveºsiÚ poterivªoºÚ aujtivka ke'non ⇐ h ivmerªo"Ú h airºevsiÚ kallisteªfavºnoÚ ΔAfrodivte". ⇐ This is the text of the so-called ‘Cup of Nestor’, quoted according to R. Meiggs, D. Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century B.C., rev. ed. Oxford 1988, No. 1. Also in the West we find Semitic loanwords in Greek inscriptions. See H. van Effenterre, F. Ruz´e, Nomima, receuil d’inscriptions politiques et juridiques de l’archa¨ısme grec II (CEFR, 188), Rome 1995, No. 75. 36 Herodotus, Hist. II.104 mentions the practice of circumcision (ta; aijdoi'a) and continues to state that the Phoenicians and the Syrians of Palestine have learnt the practice from the Egyptians (Foivnike" de; kai; Suvroi oiJ ejn th/' Palaistivnh/ kai; aujtoi; oJmologevousi parΔ Aijguptivwn memaqhkevnai). In this respect too he may well have been right, cf. J.C. de Moor, The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism (BEThL, 91A), Leuven 2 1997, 299-100, n. 100.

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cians and the aggressive encounter with the Persian empire.37 At the same time, Herodotus always assumes that there has been a strong Greek presence in Syro-Palestine. It is to this presence that we will now turn our attention. The starting-point will again be a ‘travelling specialist’ whom we encounter in a fragment of the Lesbian poet Alcaeus,38 namely his brother Antimenidas: h\lte" ejk peravtwn gaj" ejlefantivnan lavban tw; xivfeo" crusodevtan e[cwn . . . ªto;n ajdelfo;n ΔAntimenivsn . . . fhsin ΔAlkai'oj Babulwnivoi" summacou'nta televsaiº39 a[eqlon mevgan eujruvsao dΔejk povnwn ktevnai" a[ndra macaivtan basilhivwn palavstan ajpuleivonta movnan i[an pacevwn ajpu; pevmpwn [From the ends of the earth you are come, with your swordhilt of ivory bound with gold . . . fighting beside the Babylonians you accomplished a great labour, and delivered them from distress, for you slew a warrior who wanted only one palm’s breadth of five royal cubits.]40

The fragment can be described as a ‘poem of welcome’41 for Antimenidas, the brother of Alcaeus. He seems to have returned from his service as a mercenary soldier in the army of the Babylonians. (We will return to the phenomenon of Greek mercenaries in the Eastern Levant below when dealing with the Arad ostraca and the ‘fortress’ of Mezad Hashavyahu.) The only ‘military’ success of Antimenidas mentioned in the poem is his killing of a giant 37

Cf. Herodotus, Hist. 1.143: toi'si de; aujtw'n nhsiwvth/si h\n deino;n oujdevn: ou[te ga;r Foivnike" h\savn kw Persevwn kathvkooi). 38 On the political situation of Alcaeus’ poems and his struggle with Pittacus, the tyrant of Mytilene, see D. Page, Sappho and Alcaeus: An Introduction to the Study of Ancient Lesbian Poetry, Oxford 1955, 149-244; R. Osborne, Greece in the Making 1200–479 BC, London 1996, 190-3; L. Kurke, ‘Crisis and Decorum in Sixth Century Lesbos: Reading Alkaios Otherwise’, QUCC 47 (1994), 67-92. 39 Phrase added from Strabo, Geogr. 13.2.3: ‘And his brother Antimenidas, who according to Alcaeus performed a great feat while fighting as ally of the Babylonians.’ 40 Alcaeus, fr. 350 LP; translation according to D. Page, Sappho and Alcaeus, 223. 41 D.A. Campbell, Greek Lyric Poetry: A Selection of Early Greek Lyric, Elegiac and Iambic Poetry, London 1967, repr. Bristol 1997, 302.

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warrior who was apparently ca. 8ft and 4in high,42 and who had caused – just as Goliath did to Saul – distress to the Babylonian king. The poem itself does not allow for any precise dating or geographical location of the military engagement of both Alcaeus’ brother and the Babylonian king, since the only ‘geographical’ location mentioned is the ‘end of the earth’ (ejk peravtwn ga'") which probably is intended to symbolise the far away place from which Antimenidas has now safely returned. However, a second, very fragmentary poem may offer some help here, since we read the following: º . an qavlassan º tw fevresqai: ºkΔ w\n fevraito ºa katavgrei ºBabuvlwno" i[ra" ºn ΔAskavlwna krºuvoentΔ ejgevrrhn ºn ka;t a[rka". ºte ka[slon º" ΔAivdao dw'ma ºlw novhsqai stºefanwvmatΔ a[mmi º tau'ta pavnta ºo . ª..º au\)toi º . den ª [. . . the sea . . . to be carried; . . . might be carried . . . destroys . . . (from?) holy Babylon . . . Ascalon . . . to stir up chilling (war?) . . . from the summit . . . and good . . . house of Hades . . . to think . . . garlands for us . . . all these . . . -selves . . . ]43

Because of to the occurrence of the phrase ‘holy Babylon’ (Babuvlwno" i[ra") next to Ashkelon (ΔAskavlwna) in lines 6-7 scholars have argued that this poem refers to the fall of Ashkelon at the 42

Calculation according to D. Page, Sappho and Alcaeus, 223 n.4, with reference to Herodotus, Hist. VII.117 (ajpo; ga;r pevnte phcevwn basilhivwn ajpevleipe tevssera" daktuvlou"). 43 Alcaeus, fr. 48 LP.

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hand of Nebuchadnezzar II in 604 bce.44 Since fr. 350 and fr. 48 are the only two texts in Alcaeus that mention Babylon, it is probable that they both refer to the military career of his brother. If that is indeed the case, Alcaeus’ brother would have been part of the military campaigns of Nebuchadnezzar II in Palestine.45 Here we would have one of the few Greeks in Palestine whom we actually know by name. At the same time, we note that it was all right for a member of one of the elite families from Lesbos to go abroad and be a soldier, but where exactly Antimenidas joined the army of the Babylonian king cannot be determined from Alcaeus’ works.46 In fact, other fragments from Alcaeus indicate that he was quite proud of military achievements and was – if we believe Athenaeus – ‘warlike to a fault’ (ma'llon tou' devonto" polemiko;" genovmeno" [Scholars at Dinner 14.627a-b]).47 As far as the literary convention is concerned, it is surprising that the poet Alcaeus hardly uses any Near Eastern elements in his poetry and thus stands in stark contrast with his contemporary Sappho.48 It looks as if his brother did not bring back more from Palestine than a ‘sword hilt of ivory bound with gold’. Alcaeus’ brother is not the only Greek person whom we encounter by name who was active in Palestine. In several cuneiform texts from the time of Sargon II he mentions a certain Iamani of Ashdod, who was the cause of some grief for the Assyrian king:49 44

Cf. J.D. Quinn, ‘Alcaeus 48 (B16) and the Fall of Ascalon (604 B.C.)’, BASOR 164 (1962), 19-20; on the political events and the destructions see L.E. Stager, ‘Ashkelon and the Archaeology of Destruction: Kislev 604 BCE’, ErIs 25 (1996), 61-74, and the so-called Adon Papyrus (text and translation in J.M. Lindenberger, Ancient Aramaic and Hebrew Letters (SBL.WAW, 14), Atlanta 2 2003, 23-4); cf. Jer 47:5a (ˆwløq]v]a' ht;m]d“nI hZ:['Ala, hj;r“q: ha;B; ‘Baldness has come upon Gaza, Ashkelon has perished’); Herodotus, Hist. I.103-106 mentions the sack of the Temple of ΔAfrodivth Oujraniva by Scythian soldiers, an event which may refer to the destruction of Ashkelon. 45 Already D. Page, Sappho and Alcaeus, 224, followed by D.A. Campbell, Greek Lyric Poetry, 302. 46 ¨ Contra P.W. Haider, ‘Griechen im Vorderen Orient und in Agypten bis ca. 590 v. Chr.’, in: C. Ulf (ed.), Wege zur Genese griechischer Identit¨ at: Die Bedeutung der fr¨ uharchaischen Zeit, Berlin 1996, 60-311 (93), who argues that the tiny and corrupt fragment Alcaeus, fr. 398LP (†tetrabarhvwn †plivnqwn †kai; tavgmata†) contains a description of Babylon. 47 Cf. Alcaeus, fr. 357 LP, where he proudly describes the weapons stored in his house (marmaivrei de; mevga" dovmo" cavlkwi, pai'sa dΔ a[rhi kekovsmhtai stevga ⁄ lavmpraisin kunivaisi). 48 Cf. West, East Face, 531-2. 49 English texts in Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the

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[Against] their ruler [they started] rebellion and insurrection; they expelled him out [of Ashdod] like someone who has shed blood . . . [. . . ] Iamani, commoner [without claim to the throne they made] king over them, they made sit [him] down [on the throne] of his master . . . 50

The revolt of Iamani is short-lived because he lacks support from the surrounding nations, and he is forced to flee to Egypt.51 R. Rollinger, after a careful examination of all the Iamani texts, is able to conclude that we should regard the person as someone of Greek descent, but one has to be careful to identify him with an Ionian Greek. Rather, it is likely that we are dealing with somebody from the Aegean region.52 If that is the case, ‘the cuneiform texts from the times of Tiglathpileser III and Sargon II mentioning Iam(a)naya are the earliest written evidence for Greeks since the Bronze Age.’ 53 Furthermore, we need to note that the Iamani-texts do not allow us to argue for an identification of them as merely mercenaries,54 and that one cannot narrow the relationship down to either trade or military activity. The evidence from Alcaeus directs our attention to the phenomenon of Greek mercenaries in the Eastern Levant.55 Next to Ancient Near East’, 245-7. 50 Nineveh-Prism (Annals of the Year 711 bce) VII.b: K.1668+IV’; English text according to Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East’, 245; see also A. Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr. (SAAS, 8), Helsinki 1998, 124-31 (cuneiform text of the prism, 44-6). 51 ‘Iamani from Ashdod, afraid of my weapons, left his wife and children and fled to the frontier of Egypt . . . and stayed there like a thief,’ Annals XIV.1114, quoted according to Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East’, 246. 52 Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East’, 249, following I. Morris, ‘Archaeology and Archaic Greek History’, in: N. Fisher, H. van Wees (eds.), Archaic Greece: New Approaches and New Evidence, London 1998, 1-91, who would call this region ‘central Greece’. 53 Rollinger, ‘The Ancient Greeks and the Impact of the Ancient Near East’, 258. Furthermore, Berossos mentions a mercenary with the name of Pythagoras – ‘the student of Chaldean wisdom’ – who is supposed to have served in the Assyrian army (FGH 685, F5), but this seems to be doubtful (see the discussion in Haider, op. cit., 91-2). 54 This view is supported from legal texts in which Iam(a)naya are mentioned; here we get the picture of respectable persons who live peacefully ¨ ais aus der Sicht amongst the Assyrians (cf. W. Mayer, ‘Zypern und die Ag¨ der Staaten Vorderasiens in der 1. H¨ alfte des 1. Jahrtausends’, UF 28 [1996], 463-84 [472-3]). 55 On the topic see P.R. Heym, ‘Greeks’ in the Neo-Assyrian Levant and

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the above-mentioned evidence for a Greek fighting in the Babylonian army, Herodotus tells us about Carian and Ionian soldiers in the service of Psametik I of Egypt (664-610 bce),56 and this is supported by epigraphic evidence.57 The Carians also appear twice in the Old Testament as part of the ‘bodyguards’ of queen Athaliah (yrIK; in 2 Kgs 11:4, 19).58 However, whether we are able to use this passage as an indication for the presence of Carian mercenaries in Palestine during the 9th century remains doubtful,59 since literary critical research seems to point to an origin of the narrative within a deuteronomistic milieu.60 .

It seems that rulers of Eastern Levantine empires sometimes could employ Greek mercenaries to strengthen their armies.61 Such a view is probably supported by the well-known Arad ostraca,62 which frequently mention the ‘Kittim’, a term generally understood as referring to Greeks of Aegean origin.63 ‘Assyria’ in Early Greek Writers, PhD Diss., University of Pennsylvania 1980, 135-60; M. Betalli, I Mercenari nel mondo Greco (Studi e testi di storia antica, 5), vol. 1: Dalle origine alla fine del V sec. a.C., Pisa 1995, esp. 43-52. 56 Cf. Herodotus, Hist. II.163: ei\ce de; peri; eJwuto;n Ka'rav" te kai; [Iwna" a[ndra" ejpikouvrou" trismurivou". 57 Meiggs, Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions, No. 7 and SEG 37, No. 994. 58 In 2 Sam. 20:23 one should read with the Qere ytyrk for yrk. C. Levin, Der Sturz der K¨ onigin Atalja: Ein Kapitel zur Geschichte Judas im 9. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (SBS, 105), Stuttgart 1982, 38, n. 20, proposes to read ytyrk as well in 2 Kgs 11:4, but remarks: ‘Doch wenn hier ein Fehler vorliegt, ist er jedenfalls sehr alt; denn die Erg¨anzungsschicht in V. 19a und LXX lesen den heutigen Text.’ In the parallel text in 2 Chron. 23:1 the Carians are missing. 59 R. Wenning, ‘Nachrichten u ¨ ber Griechen in Pal¨astina in der Eisenzeit’, in: J.M. Fossey (ed.), Proceedings of the First International Congress on the Hellenic Diaspora from Antiquity to Modern Times, vol. 1: From Antiquity to 1453 (Monographies en Arch´eologie et Histoire Classique de l’Universit´e McGill, 10/1), Amsterdam 1991, 207-19 (210). 60 Cf. C. Levin, op. cit., 95, who nevertheless argues for an older source written shortly after the events of the year 840 bce 61 R. Wenning, ‘Mezad Hasavyahu: Ein St¨ utzpunkt des Jojakim?’, in: F.-L. Hossfeld (ed.), Vom Sinai zum Horeb: Stationen alttestamentlicher Glaubensgeschichte, W¨ urzburg 1989, 169-95, has pointed out that one should not regard ‘mercenaries’ as simply being ‘fighting personnel’, since they could also serve as couriers, border patrols, etc. (174). 62 On the site of Arad see Y. Aharoni, ‘Arad: Its Inscriptions and Temple’, BA 31 (1968), 2-32; Z. Herzog et al., ‘The Israelite Fortress at Arad’, BASOR 254 (1984), 1-34. 63 On the problem of terminology see P.-E. Dion, ‘Les KTYM de Tel Arad: Grecs ou Ph´eniciens’, RB 99 (1992), 70-97; D. Pardee, in: W.W. Hallo (ed.),

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Arad 1:64 w . bçyla . la μytkl . ˆtn . t[ w 1 1 1 . ˆyy . μyh μç . btk jmqh . dw[mw

1 2 3 4 5

t . ˆçarh 6 jmq . 1 . bkr 7 l . μhl . tç[l 8 . ˆyym . μj 9 ˆtt . twngah 10

To Elyashib: And now: Issue to the Kittim 3 bat (of) wine and write down the date. And from what is left from the first flour, you shall load up 1 homer of flour, to make bread for them. Give them wine from the crates.

Arad 2: l ˆtn . t[w . bçyla . la l . ˆyy 1 1 μytk w μmyh t[bra w μjl 300 • hw ˆyy . rmjh . alm . rjat la . rjm tbs tnw . ≈mj . dw[ . μaw . μhl . t

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

To Elyashib: And now: Issue to the Kittim 2 bat (of) wine for the four days and 300 (loaves of) bread.65 And one full homer with wine: Deliver tomorrow; do not be late! And if there is any vinegar, give (it) to them

Arad 4: ç μytkl ˆt bçyla la 1 w wnjlçw μtj 1 ˆm 2 . μhl ˆt 1 ˆyy 3

To Elyashib: Issue to the Kittim oil 1 (jug). Seal (it) and send it (hither). And wine, 1 bat give to them.

The Context of Scripture, vol. 3, Leiden 2002, 82, n.3. The Kittim are attested in the Levant since c. 1190 (cf. De Moor, The Rise of Yahwism, 248, with bibliography). 64 The text of the ostraca from Arad follows J. Renz, W. R¨ollig (eds.), Handbuch der althebr¨ aischen Epigraphik, Bd. 1, Darmstadt 1995. See also A. Lemaire, Inscriptions h´ebra¨ıques, t. 1: Les Ostraca (LAPO, 9), Paris 1977 and the selection (with English translation) in: J.M. Lindenberger, Ancient Aramaic and Hebrew Letters, Atlanta 1994, 113-24. 65 According to the app. crit. in the edition of Renz and R¨ ollig (p. 359) there is a trace of a letter before the number 300. This could be a k, thus being the abbreviation for rK;K,i being a round loaf of bread (cf. μj,l, rK'Ki in Exod. 29:23; 1 Sam. 2:36; Jer. 37:21; Prov. 6:26; 1 Chron. 16:3; pl. Judg. 8:5; 1 Sam. 10:3). However, D. Pardee, ‘Letters from Tel Arad’, UF 10 (1978), 289-336, has proposed that the trace is a left-over from a previous inscription, especially since the ‘letter’ is written over the otherwise fairly consistent margin.

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Arad 7: [w . bçyla la μytkl . ˆtn . t djl 1 b yrç[l hççh d[ . ç ?w¿ 1 1 1 çdjl b . ˚ynpl htbtk ç[b . çdjl μynç j ˆmçw . yr ? . . wnjlçw μt¿

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

To Elyashib: And now: Issue to the Kittim for the tenth (month) on the 1st of the month until the sixth of the month 3 bat [and] write (it) down before you: on the second of the month in the tenth (month). And oil se[al it and send it]

Arad 8: To Elyashib: And now: Issue to the Kitt[i]m 1 homer flour from the 13th of the month until the 18th of the month. [And] wine 3 bat [. . . ] [. . . ] [. .] to me and [. .] [. .] who for the son [. . . ]

l ˆtn . t[w . bçyla la 1 . (j)mq 1 μ?y¿tk 2 çh . ˆm h d[ . çdjl rç[ hçl 3 çdjl rç[ hnmç 4 1 1 1 . ˆyy?w¿ 5 ç?≥≥≥¿ 6 jb?≥≥¿b tn?≥≥≥¿ 7 w . yla?≥≥¿ 8 ˆbl rça ?≥≥¿ 9 ?≥≥≥¿ 10

Arad 10: . t[w . bç?yla la¿ 1 1 1 1 ˆyy . μy?tk l ˆtn¿ 1 ˆmçw . μytb?≥¿a μ?jl¿ ?jl¿ç whydb[ ˆbl . μt?j¿

1 2 3 4

?≥≥¿y μytkl 5 ?≥≥≥¿ 6

[To Elya]shib: And now: [Issue to the Kitt]im wine, 4 bat [brea]d [. .] and oil, 1 (jug). [Se]al (it) for the son of Abdiyahu. Se[nd (it)] to the Kittim. [. .] [. . . ]

Arad 11: bçyla . la μytkl ˆtn t[w ˆyy 1 1 ?˚tam¿ ?≥≥¿w jq alm whymj?n¿m

1 2 3 4 5

To Elyashib: And now: Issue to the Kittim [from you] 2 bat wine. Fill (it) up (and) take (it). And [. .] [from Ne]hemyahu

Arad 14: ?t[w b¿çy?la . la¿ 1 ?≥≥ ˆy¿y μytk?l ˆtn¿ 2 ˆmç 1 jlç?w ≥≥¿ 3

[To El]yashi[b: And now:] [Issue to the] Kittim w[ine . .] [. . and] send 1 (jug of) oil.

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Arad 17 verso: ç μjn ˆtn çdjl 1 1 1 1 20 b 8 1 .ytkh dyb ˆm 9

On the 24th of the month Nahum gave oil into the hand of the Kittite: 1 (jug).

The figures for bread, flour and wine listed in the ostraca suggest a population of either 38 or 75 mercenaries in the neighbourhood of the fortress of Arad.66 The μyTiKi are mentioned about eight times in the Old Testament67 and are grouped under the ˆw:y: ynEB] according to Gen. 10:4 (μynId:dow“ μyTiKi vyvir“t'w“ hv;ylia‘ ˆw:y: ynEb]W). Generally speaking the term describes the inhabitants of Cyprus;68 however, the use of μyTiKi in Ezek. 27:6 seems to suggest that the population of the Aegean islands is referred to: μYITiKi yYEaime μyrIvua}AtB' ˆveAWc[; Ëver“q" ËyIf;wVømi Wc[; ˆv;B;mi μynIwLøa' They made your oars of oaks from Bashan; for your deck they used ivory-inlaid cypress69 from the islands of the Kittim.

This would tally well with the use of ˆw:y: ynEB] in the Old Testament, where the term describes the Ionians.70 Arad was not the only garrison or settlement of Greek mercenaries in Palestine. Further evidence comes from the fortress of Mezad Hashavyahu,71 probably ‘the only site in Palestine – of any 66

Renz, R¨ ollig, Handbuch, Bd. 1, 354, who calculate the measurements as follows: 3 bat of wine = 63-72l; 1 homer of flour = 200-240l. Ostracon 2 mentions 300 loaves of bread for four days; this would, following Jer. 37:21, imply 75 daily rations for 75 people. 67 Gen. 10:4; Num. 24:24; Isa. 23:1, 12; Jer. 2:10; Ezek. 27:6; Dan. 11:30; 1 Chron. 1:7. 68 Recently Y. Garfinkel, ‘MLS HKRSYM in Phoenician Inscriptions from Cyprus: The QRSY in Arad, HKRSYM in Egypt, and BNY QYRS in the Bible’, JNES 47 (1988), 27-34, has again argued for Cypriot origin of the Kittim at Arad. 69 Read with Ê μyrçatb for ˜ μyrçaAtb. 70 Gen. 10:2, 4-5; Ezek. 27:13, 19; Isa. 66:19; Joel 4:6; Zech. 9:13; Dan. 8:21; 10:20; 11:2; 1 Chron. 1:5, 7. For the use of the term in the ANE see J.A. Brinkman, ‘The Akkadian Words for “Ionia” and “Ionian” ’, in: Daidalikon: Studies in honor of Raymond V. Schroeder, S.J., Waucoda 1989, 53-71; R. Rollinger, ‘Zur Bezeichnung von “Griechen” in Keilschrifttexten’, RA 91 (1997), 167-72. 71 On the site see Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 1-165; J. Naveh, ‘The Excavations at Mes.ad H . ashavyahu: Preliminary Report’, IEJ 12 (1962), 89113; E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, vol. 2: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732-332 B.C.E.), New York 2001, 140-2; Wenning, ‘Mezad Hasavyahu’, 169-95.

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period – that has been called a Greek settlement . . . (otherwise unknown from biblical or other sources), which produced quantities of East Greek pottery of the late seventh century b.c.’72 The fort is L-shaped in outline; its maximum measurements are 77-95m. It is surrounded by a wall about 3.2m thick that is strengthened by exterior buttresses. A single gate on the west, protected by two towers faces the sea. Except for the gate area, the fort represents a single stratum of construction, pointing to a short period of occupation.73

According to J.C. Waldbaum and J. Magness, the place differs from the other sites in Palestine for the following reasons: 1. it cannot be associated with any ancient site known from literary sources; 2. it was occupied for a brief time only, showing one occupation phase over most of the site, two in limited areas, with the Greek pottery belonging to the earliest occupation, and 3. it has no clear destruction layer, and seems instead to have been simply abandoned.74

Furthermore, in Mezad Hashavyahu we find Hebrew ostraca and local pottery next to imported products.75 Especially striking is the occurrence of much pottery of the so-called ‘wild-goatstyle’,76 which is not normally found in these numbers in Pales72

J.C. Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East? Problems in the Definition and Recognition of Presence’, BASOR 305 (1997), 1-18 (5). The text of the ostraca can be found in Renz, R¨ ollig, Handbuch, Bd. 1, 315-34. 73 Quoted from R. Reich, ‘Mesad Hashavyahu’, Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, vol. 3, Oxford 1996, 474-5; see also the general plan in Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 9. 74 Quoted from J.C. Waldbaum, J. Magness, ‘The Chronology of Early Greek Pottery: New Evidence from Seventh-Century B.C. Destruction Levels in Israel’, AJA (1997), 23-40 (38). 75 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 5 states cautiously: ‘That it was not an exclusively Greek settlement, if it was one at all, is attested to by the presence of locally made pottery and several Hebrew ostraca..’ 76 For definition and description of this style see R.M. Cook, P. Dupont, East Greek Pottery (Routledge Readings in Classical Archaeology), London 1998, 32-70, and W. Tietz, ‘Wild Goats: Wechselwirkungen u ¨ ber die ¨ ais hinweg bei Vasendarstellungen wildlebender Paarhufer in der archaAg¨ ischen Epoche’, in: H. Klinkott (ed.), Anatolien im Lichte kultureller Wechselwirkungen, T¨ ubingen 2001, 181-247.

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stine.77 Of course the presence of ‘Greek’ pottery alone does not automatically allow the conclusion that Greeks were present at the site.78 However, the existence of ‘Greek’ kitchen-ware, which was normally not exported from Greece but was locally produced, is a strong indication of Greek population.79 This does not allow us to jump to the conclusion that Mezad Hashavyahu was a settlement founded by Greeks (the once popular hypothesis that Mezad Hashavyahu was originally a Greek trading post80 has to be abandoned on the basis of the structure of the buildings and the lack of direct access to the sea which would be necessary for maritime trading), since the Greek presence in the Eastern Mediterranean often had the character of a so-called ejnoikivsmo"81 or, better, katoikiva,82 i.e. the peaceful existence of a Greek community next to the already existing local population.83 This would also explain why there has been no building found displaying Greek style; the possible exception is Tell-Sukas, where the excavations revealed roof tiles with Greek graffiti.84 In general, Greek ‘inscriptions’ are very rare in Syro-Palestine,85 and we have to distinguish between graffiti made before firing and scratchings 77

For parallel finds see Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 88. Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 6. 79 Wenning, ‘Mezad Hasavyahu’, 171-2; W.-D. Niemeyer, ‘Archaic Greeks in the Orient: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, BASOR 322 (2001), 1132 (22), and the more critical view of such a position by Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 8, 12, who lists the finds of cooking pots and concludes that ‘this is a very thin repertoire if we are going to associate them with resident Greeks who show a preference for their own domestic ware’ (8). 80 Thus, inter alios, H. Weippert, Pal¨ astina in vorhellenistischer Zeit (Handbuch der Arch¨ aologie: Vorderasien, 2/1), M¨ unchen 1988, 620. 81 On the term compare ICret IV 72, IV 34f. (ka me; ¸oikeu;" ejn¸oike'i ejp-⁄i; kovrai ¸oikivon) and Herodotus, Hist. II.178. 82 The term seems preferable since it generally refers to the dwelling of non-citizens; see ICret IV 78 (kata¸oikivdeqai). 83 Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, vol. 2, 222; this even seems to be the case for Naukratis (on the site see Herodotus, Hist. II.178-9; Boardman, The Greeks Overseas, 118-33, and A. M¨ oller, Naukratis: Trade in Archaic Greece (Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology), Oxford 2000), and definitively for the fortress of Migdol (cf. E.D. Oren, ‘Migdol: A New Fortress on the Edge of the Eastern Nile Delta’, BASOR 256 [1984], 7-44). 84 P.J. Riis, Sukas I: The North-East Sanctuary and the First Settling of Greeks in Syria and Palestine (Publications of the Carlsberg Expedition to Phoenicia, 1), Copenhagen 1970, 68-9. 85 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East’, 8-9. 78

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produced after firing.86 The above-mentioned graffito on a roof-tile at Tell-Sukas is written in Ionian dialect and thus points to a EuboeanCycladic owner (pesaore" emi).87 Furthermore, we have a dedication incised on a Phoenician bowl (˙alio hm(i) ) which was probably written by a Dorian from Rhodes. At Al Mina we have an inscription on pottery from the second half of the fifth century (man(dri)o" kolix kalh). All the inscriptional evidence points to craft-literate, non-elite people.

The origin of Mezad Hashavyahu is difficult to determine. J. Naveh, the original excavator of the site, argued that the Greek soldiers garrisoned there belonged to the – above-mentioned – mercenaries employed by pharaoh Psametik I.88 Later on, it was conquered by Josiah and then abandoned when Necho II marched along the coast in 609 bce.89 Due to the absence of any Egyptian finds, as already noted by Naveh himself,90 it is highly unlikely that the fortress was ever under Egyptian control.91 Rather, scholars such as W.-D. Niemeier have suggested on the basis of the Hebrew ostraca found at Mezad Hashavyahu that the fortress had always been under Judean control.92 ‘Interpretations based on two settlement phases, with a change in the ethnicity of the inhabitants between the first and the second phases, must, therefore, be abandoned.’93 As far as a possible date for the erection of the fortress is concerned, R. Wenning has argued convincingly that one should date the finds and the fortress itself to the time of Jehoiakim (ca. 600-598 bce).94 Furthermore, the presence of 86

See the discussion in M.K. Risser, J.A. Blakeley, ‘Imported Aegean Fine Ware in the First Millennium B.C.E.’, in: W.J. Bennett, J.A. Blakeley (eds.), Tell el-Hesi: The Persian Period (Stratum V) (ASOR Excavation Reports), Winona Lake 1989, 69-137 (135-7). 87 All graffiti quoted from P.J. Riis, ‘Griechen in Ph¨onizien’, in: H.G. Niemeyer, Ph¨ onizier im Westen (Madrider Beitr¨ age, 8), Mainz 1982, 23755 (241). 88 Again proposed by Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 139-46. 89 Naveh, ‘The Excavations of Mes.ad H . ashavyahu’, 98-9. 90 Naveh, ‘The Excavations of Mes.ad H . ashavyahu’, 99 n.16. 91 This, however, does not prevent scholars such as P.W. Haider, op. cit., 75-6 still subscribing to Naveh’s original proposal. 92 Cf. the detailed discussion in W.-D. Niemeier, ‘Archaic Greeks in the Orient: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, BASOR 322 (2001), 11-32 (23-4). On the literary form of the ostracon see F.W. Dobbs-Allsopp, ‘The Genre of the Mesad Hashavyahu Ostracon’, BASOR 295 (1994), 49-55. 93 Niemeier, ‘Greek Mercenaries at Tel Kabri’, 329; cf. Fantalkin, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 10-17. 94 ‘Mezad Hashavyahu k¨ onnte der kurzen Phase der Autonomie des Jojakim

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Hebrew ostraca indicates that there must have been at least some persons resident at Mezad Hashavyahu who were able to write in Hebrew. Since bilingualism is difficult to prove due to the absence of bilingual inscriptions, it would seem that the ostraca point to a mixed community resident at the fortress – a view also supported by the evidence from Tel Kabri.95 Since we have already used pottery to support the thesis of Greek presence at some ‘mixed communities’ in Palestine, let us finally look briefly at this archaeological evidence.96 The earliest finds of ‘Greek’ pottery in the Eastern Levant consist of parts of proto-geometric amphorae dating from the tenth century found at Ras el-Bassit97 (the so-called ‘Tel Hadar Bowl’, an example of Euboean Middle Protogeometric or early Late Protogeometric – terminology according to N. Coldstream-Lebes, will be mentioned only in passing, since we do not yet have any parallel pottery from Greece98 ). These amphorae probably stem from Euboea.99 This would support the thesis of very early contacts between Euboea and Phoenicia.100 The earliest Greek import in Palestine is a pendant semicircle skyphos from Stratum III at Tell Abu Hawam (near Haifa), which can be dated thanks to comparable material zuzuweisen sein. Ob Jojakim die Instabilit¨at nach 601/600 v. Chr. zum Anlaß nahm, einen Korridor n¨ordlich der philist¨ aischen St¨ adte zum Mitelmeer zu okkupieren oder ob er dort nur partiell bestehende Besitzrechte wahrnahm, l¨ aßt sich von den Quellen her nicht entscheiden. Der festungsartige Charakter von Mezad Hashavyahu, die Stationierung griechischer Hilfstruppen und die Errichtung einer jud¨ aischen Verwaltung erkl¨ aren sich aus dieser Situation’ (Wenning, ‘Mezad Hashavyahu’, 191). 95 Niemeier,‘Greek Mercenaries at Tel Kabri’, 328-31. 96 For a list of Greek pottery finds in Syro-Palestine in geographical order see Niemeier, ‘Archaic Greeks in the Orient’, 12-3, and also R. Wenning, ‘Griechische Importe aus der Zeit vor Alexander d. Gr.: Vorbericht u ¨ ber ein Forschungsprojekt’, Boreas 4 (1981), 29-46; J.C. Waldbaum, ‘Early Greek Contacts with the Southern Levant, ca. 1000–600 B.C.: The Eastern Perspective’, BASOR 293 (1994), 53-66. 97 On the site see P. Courbain, ‘Bassit’, Syria 63 (1986), 175-220. 98 N. Coldstream, A. Mazar, ‘Greek Pottery from Tel Rehov and Iron Age Chronology’, IEJ 53 (2003), 29-48. 99 Cf. P. Courbain, ‘Fragments d’amphores protog´eom´etriques grecques `a Bassit’, Hesperia 62 (1993), 95-113. 100 On the problem see M. Popham, ‘Precolonization: Early Greek Contact with the East’, in: G.R. Tsetskhladze, F. de Angelis (eds.), The Archaeology of Greek Colonisation: Essays dedicated to Sir John Boardman, Oxford 1994, 11-34.

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from Lefkandi, to the 9th/8th century.101 As far as styles and shapes are concerned, J. Waldbaum lists the following categories of Greek pottery found in Palestine: • Lekythoi and amphoriskoi (perfumed oil flasks); • ‘vessels appropriate for wine service’ (cups, skyphoi, bowls, kraters); • oinochoai or jugs (seventh century only).102 By contrast, pottery for more general use, such as hydriai and funerary vessels, is absent. Earlier scholarship has argued that Greek pottery was only imported for use by Greeks,103 implying that the presence of Greek ware would always equal the presence of Greeks at the site: ‘While it might be appealing to picture bands of Greek adventurers toting their favorite cups, like erstwhile coffee mugs, to remind them of home in far-off lands, lugging a krater for personal use might be a little more cumbersome.’104 However, Greek pottery has turned up at so-called ‘non-Greek’ places such as Tyre, and the finds of ceramics in Phoenician tombs at Khaldeh and Tell Rachidieh have forced archaeologists to reconsider such a view.105 This might suggest – in addition to the limited forms of pottery – that the vessels reflect local practice with regard to drinking and cooking.106 Places of origin of the Greek pottery are: Rhodes, Miletos, Samos, Chios, i.e. all from the Aegean region. Corinthian pottery, on the other hand – the most widespread Greek trade ware – does not occur very frequently in the Southern Levant.107 The only occurrence 101

Waldbaum, ‘Early Greek Contacts with the Southern Levant’, 55 (photographs on page 56). 102 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 6. 103 Cf., as pars pro toto, P.J. Riis, Sukas I, who states: ‘It has rightly been emphazised . . . that the Orientals did not care for Greek pottery, and that when it occurs in the East, it is a sign of Greeks living there, as merchants or mercenaries’ (129). 104 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 7. 105 Waldbaum, ‘Early Greek Contacts with the Southern Levant’, 56, referring to J.N. Coldstream, P.M. Bikai, ‘Early Greek Pottery in Tyre and Cyprus: Some Preliminary Comparisons’, Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus 1988, 35-44. 106 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 8. 107 Waldbaum, Magness, ‘The Chronology of Early Greek Pottery’, 33. And Waldbaum, ‘Early Greek Contacts with the Southern Levant’, 59.

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in Israel so far is at Tel Kabri.108 ‘Nowhere in Israel does Corinthian ware of any kind seem to have been imported in quantity.’109 After a careful analysis of the pottery found at Tel Kabri W.-D. Niemeier concluded that all the finds have to be dated in the period ca. 630–580 bce.110 If that is the case, the Greeks stationed at Tel Kabri must have been mercenaries in the pay of Tyre, since Tel Kabri has never been a trading community like Naukratis or Al Mina.111 Here the evidence from Tel Kabri and Mezad Hashavyahu allows us to conclude that the occurrence of Greek pottery is an indication of a certain Greek presence, but that it is not possible to argue for a homogenous population on the basis of the pottery found. In contrast to Palestine, we find Corinthian pottery in some volume at Al Mina.112 Al Mina cannot be identified from Greek sources and it has probably never been regarded as a colony proper.113 Despite the fact that the site of Al Mina is still seen as a distinctive Greek settlement in Syria, we have to note that all characteristics of Greek presence (apart from pottery) such as housing styles, cult etc. are missing.114 This stands in sharp contrast to the picture we gain from Naukratis. Again, I would argue that at Al Mina we again encounter – if we encounter Greeks at all – a ‘mixed community’. Also, we have to bear in mind that Al Mina (and Naukratis for that matter) are special cases and that the insights gained from these sites are not readily transferable to the rest of Syro-Palestine. In recent years it has therefore become quite clear that it is impossible to argue for Greek presence in Palestine on the basis of pottery alone. To return to our question from the title: ‘Who would in108

On Kabri cf. A. Kempinski, W.D. Niemeier, ‘Kabri 1993’, IEJ 34 (1994), 181-4, 257-9. 109 Waldbaum, Magness, ‘The Chronology of Early Greek Pottery’, 35. 110 W.-D. Niemeier, ‘Greek Pottery: Evidence for Greek Mercenaries at Kabri’, in A. Kempinski, W.-D. Niemeier (eds.), Excavations at Kabri: Preliminary Report of 1992-1993 Seasons, Tel Aviv 1994, *31-*38 (*34). 111 Niemeier, ‘Greek Pottery’, *34. 112 Cf. J. Boardman, The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade, London 4 1999, 46-49; Waldbaum, Magness, ‘The Chronology of Early Greek Pottery’, 35-6. 113 Waldbaum, ‘Early Greek Contacts’, 54. 114 Cf. Riis, ‘Griechen in Ph¨onizien’, 245 who states: ‘Die alte Stadt X–VII hatte architektonisch anscheinend ein ganz orientalisches Gepr¨age; ¨ ahnliche H¨ auser und Gassen hat man im sp¨atbronzezeitlichen Ugarit . . . entdeckt.’

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vite a stranger from abroad?’ The answer has to be twofold. Firstly, we can be fairly certain of the existence of Greek mercenary soldiers in the Judean and in the Babylonian army and, of course, one could even speculate whether the Greeks from Mezad Hashavyahu fought against the Greeks from the army of Nebuchadnezzar II, if we take the above-mentioned Amathus bowl as representing actual historical facts. This mercenary presence certainly does not allow us to subscribe to W.F. Albright’s thesis of a coast ‘dotted with’ Greek settlements,115 because there is no evidence of a specific Greek way of life at the sites where pottery has been found.116 This leaves us with the question why Palestine seemed attractive to Greek military personnel. One could probably argue for a certain Greek-Philistine connection, which, in the Old Testament, is expressed in the term Kerethi and Pelethi117 and also supported by a seventh century inscription from Ekron which uses a Greek loan-word.118 It may be 115

W.F. Albright, From Stone Age to Christianity: Monotheism and the Historical Process, Garden City 2 1957. Followed by E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, vol. 2, 222. 116 Waldbaum, ‘Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East?’, 10-1. 117 Cf. David’s bodyguards in 2 Sam. 8:18; 15:18; 20:7, 23, 1 Kgs 1:38, 44; 1 Chron. 18:17 and 1 Sam. 30:14 (ytirEK]h' bg