The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel I: The Literary Formation of Genesis and Exodus 1-23 (JSOT Supplement)

JOURNAL FOR THE STUDY OF THE OLD TESTAMENT SUPPLEMENT SERIES 55 Editors David J A Clines Philip R Davies JSOT Press S...

Author: Thomas L. Thompson

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JOURNAL FOR THE STUDY OF THE OLD TESTAMENT SUPPLEMENT SERIES

55 Editors David J A Clines Philip R Davies

JSOT Press Sheffield

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The ORIGIN TRADITION of ANCIENT ISRAEL I. The Literary Formation of Genesis and Exodus 1-23

Thomas L. Thompson

Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 55

Copyright © 1987 Sheffield Academic Press Published by JSOT Press JSOT Press is an imprint of Sheffield Academic Press Ltd The University of Sheffield 343 Fulwood Road Sheffield S10 3BP England Typeset by Sheffield Academic Press and printed in Great Britain by Billing & Sons Ltd Worcester

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Thompson, Thomas L. The origin tradition of ancient Israel, I: the literary formation of Genesis and Exodus 1-23.— (Journal for the study of the Old Testament supplement series, ISSN 0309-0787; 55). 1. Bible. O.T. Pentateuch—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Title II. Series 222M066 BS1225.2 ISBN 1-85075-034-X ISBN 1-85075-083-1 Pbk

CONTENTS Acknowledgments Chapter 1 THE ORIGINS OF ANCIENT ISRAEL IN RECENT SCHOLARSHIP A. Biblical Theology B. The Israelite Occupation of Palestine C. The Issue of Historicity D. Biblical Archaeology E. The Origin of Israel

7 11 11 15 22 25 28

Chapter 2 THE PENTATEUCHAL TRADITION AS NARRATIVE A. Narrative Approaches to the Pentateuch B. Smaller Narratives and Variants: Genesis 12, 20, and 26

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Chapter 3 THE BOOK OF THE TOLEDOTH OF ADAM A. The Toledoth of Adam: The Origin of Israel's World B. The Toledoth of Terah: The Story of Abraham C. The Role of Isaac in the Tradition D. The Toledoth of Isaac: The Story of Jacob E. The Toledoth of Jacob: The Story of Joseph

61

Chapter 4 THE EXODUS A. Moses and the Sojourn in Egypt B. Moses and the Wandering in the Wilderness

41 51

61 80 101 104 116

133 133 148

Chapter 5 THE ORIGIN TRADITION OF ISRAEL A. The Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative B. The Abraham Complex-Chain Narrative C. The Jacob-Esau Complex-Chain Narrative D. The Joseph Complex-Chain Narrative E. The Toledoth Structure of Genesis F. The Passover and Exodus Complex-Chain Narratives G. The Torah Complex-Chain Narrative Chapter 6 CONCLUDING REMARKS ON CHRONOLOGY AND HISTORIOGRAPHY A. Chronology B. Historiography

155 155 158 161 163 167 172 181 191 191 195

Epilogue THEOLOGY NO MORE THAN HISTORY

199

Select Bibliography Index of Biblical References Index of Authors

213 217 220

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In spite of the fact that this book was conceived largely while ascending and descending ladders, no claims are made of divine intervention. Human help there has been. Before anyone else, I want to thank my children, Samir and Hilary, without whose long years of patient instruction I would still be grossly insensitive to the world of stories. To Professor Jack Murad Sasson I also owe much, not only to his immensely perceptive book on Ruth., but to his unstinting personal support and confidence throughout the very difficult decade which formed this book. The Catholic Biblical Association and the Ecole Biblique I thank for a semester's appointment as visiting professor, allowing me the freedom in which I have finally been able to revise this book and to prepare it for publication. To Professor Francois Langlamet and my students at the Ecole I wish to offer my sincere gratitude for that critical and academic support, so necessary to any work of scholarship. I wish also to thank my friend, Donald Murray for the many corrections and suggestions he has offered as this book took its final shape. This book is dedicated to my wife, Shirley Edith Janke. If I were able to cite all that this book owes to her, hardly a page would pass without reference to her contribution, in the language, in the understanding of the stories with which I have dealt, in the hundreds of corrections she has made, and in the details and insights which she has added. She is the one who has made this book readable. If there is a noticeable contrast in the clarity, logic, and humility of this book with that of my earlier work on the historicity of the patriarchs, that is largely due to her. The extent of her personal support might be glimpsed in the happy and confident tone with which most of this book is written; for it is written to her. Jerusalem, March 15, 1986


TO SHIRLEY 'Whose world is such a sudden place . . .'


Chapter 1 THE ORIGINS OF ANCIENT ISRAEL

IN RECENT SCHOLARSHIP

A. Biblical Theology More than a decade has passed since the completion of my book on the patriarchal narratives and historicity, in which I discussed the value of the tales of Genesis for writing about ancient Israel's early history. During this decade, much has changed in the field of Old Testament studies. What had needed to be argued then, and argued strongly, can now be taken for granted. Theories and ideas which had then been dominant, and, at least in the United States, a requirement for employment and publication in the field, are so much a part of the past history of research as to appear today quaint or reactionary. This has not been just a simple change from widespread acceptance of biblical historicity to widespread skepticism, and it certainly has not been a change from conservative to liberal approaches to scholarship. Changes of perspective throughout the whole field of Old Testament studies have altered our understanding. Issues today at stake are no longer those of historicity at all. Much more, they deal with the historiographical quality of traditional narrative on one hand, and the foundations of the modern historiography of ancient Israel on the other. It is no longer a question of whether this or that tradition happened in some reconstructable way that we can call history, or even whether a tradition might have been 'rooted' in some known historical event or process. Rather, the questions which now arise are: Are the traditions about early Israel useful to the historian at all?, and do we any longer have a pre-history of early Israel to teach? I am not referring esoterically to debates about the exactitude of history as a science, but rather to questions about sources and about the historical relevance of the stories altogether. Most of us who have understood ourselves as historians of early Israel have found ourselves suddenly on the outside of the wardrobe leading into

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The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel

Narnia, and this wardrobe unexpectedly and dismayingly appears to us a wholly mundane armoire of ordinary human construction. A generation ago, the two most significant points of departure into the study of the pentateuch had been the Documentary Hypothesis, as expressed by Wellhausen (1883), analyzing the development of the written traditions and sources of the pentateuch, and the form criticism (or Gattungsgeschichte) of Gunkel (1901; cf. Buss, 1979, p. 1), as a means of understanding the oral traditions which were believed to have existed prior to the written documents of the pentateuch as outlined by Wellhausen. As students, most of us had learned to see these methods as complementary disciplines, both of which were necessary to understand the fiill meaning of any given text of the pentateuch. Publishing scholars between 1930 and 1960, reacting to both liberalism and fundamentalism, were primarily interested in historical questions (Barr, 1971, p. 25). They asked such questions as: How can we identify Israel's earliest traditions?; how did Israel originate in the land of Palestine?; or what is Israel's proper place in the history of the ancient Near East? Research into such questions was often far more speculative than either Wellhausen's or Gunkel's, as it freely and frequently departed from the received biblical traditions. Two competing historiographical approaches to the pentateuch developed in the post-war years (cf. Miller, 1977, p. 213). Continental scholarship was most strongly influenced by Albrecht Alt (1953; 1959) and Martin Noth (esp. 1943; 1948; 1950) who, using a combination of tradition history, biblical archaeology, form criticism and sociology, tried to identify 'originating' historical events which had given rise to the narratives of the pentateuch. They understood themselves to be writing a history of Israel on the foundations of the historical-critical method. The alternative approach was that followed primarily in England and in the United States. American scholarship was dominated by one individual, the prolific W.F. Albright (cf. esp. 1940). Albright, and those associated with his approach, likewise sought to discover the 'events behind the texts'. However, they did not look to the history of the tradition to discover them, but rather they looked almost exclusively to the wealth of new material which was external to biblical studies proper: to field archaeology, and to the comparative study of other cultures and their epigraphic remains, seeking to find, in the rapidly expanding world of the ancient Near East, a place in which Israel and its tradition might best fit. The dominant interest on both sides of the Atlantic was historical:

1. The Origins of Ancient Israel

13

to discover the events in history which had given rise to and had influenced the biblical tradition. This overriding interest in events in history was strongly influenced by the broader intellectual and religious movement of 'Biblical Theology', a widespread reaction to liberal protestantism's nominalism and relativism (cf. Barr, 1973, pp. Iff.). Central to this reaction in Old Testament studies were the slogans: 'salvation history', 'saving events', and the understanding of God as essentially a 'God who acts' in history. In the understanding of this neo-orthodox movement, it was a serious obligation of the biblical theologians to address history, there to discover and examine those originating events of the traditions, not so much on the grounds that these events gave rise to the traditions, but much more because it was perceived mytho-theologically that in these very events God had revealed himself. The tradition itself was perceived, unfortunately and all too frequently, as distorting rather than reflecting God's revelation. Among some of the more influential works of the biblical theology movement were the writings of G.E. Wright (esp. 1957; 1962), G. von Rad (esp. 1972; also 1957), and R. de Vaux (esp. 1946-49; 1965), although de Vaux's L'Histoire (1971) was published late in the history of the movement, and is noticeably influenced by a growing disaffection from the main tendencies of the movement. The understanding of the fields 'biblical archaeology' and 'biblical history' had become so closely identified with this neo-orthodox biblical theology movement that they came to be inextricably theological projects. In the 1960s, the disenchantment with biblical theology, and its adherence to Heilsgeschichte, was reflected in a growing split between those scholars whose primary interests were theological, and those who were influenced by more secular, antiquarian, interests. On both sides of the Atlantic, the institutional independence of ancient Near Eastern faculties resulted in a noticeable ambivalence among younger scholars who specialized in Palestinian archaeology and ancient Israelite texts and traditions. Trained in theology, and working within the context of theological faculties, they developed an inevitable impatience (and even an alienation) with what was seen increasingly as the 'vagaries of theology'. In English-speaking countries and in Israel, the development of faculties of religion, understood as radically secular institutions within state universities, exacerbated this ambivalence, as an increasingly large group of scholars were trained in Palestinian and

14


biblical studies from a wholly secular perspective, independent of any theological basis. For many who had lost confidence in the biblical theology movement as a supportive context for their research, the drive towards a secularization of the fields of biblical archaeology and early Israelite history became an issue of integrity. To some, theological issues appeared increasingly irrelevant... more: they were seen as inappropriate. It is, therefore, not surprising that debates across this far-flung, international field have often been so acrimonious. Religious and secular perspectives, once they are defended on principle, are so far apart psychologically, that mutual support and co-operation is exceedingly difficult. Charges of 'nihilism', softened, for politeness's sake, to 'minimalism' or 'skepticism' on one hand, and of 'biblicism' 'pseudorthodoxy', and 'fundamentalism' on the other, became commonplace. The secular orientation of the new biblical studies threatened the biblical basis of theological orthodoxy in a manner far exceeding the earlier liberal/conservative controversies such as those of Bultmann and Barth. It was no longer an ameliorative, reforming, reinterpretation which was sought by the new, highly critical, and secular biblical scholars. Rather, religious faith was itself often seen to be a hindrance to understanding the past, and especially to understanding the biblical tradition as it truly was. Biblical 'faith' was seen to be relevant to a modern understanding of the world only as an anachronistic and romantic revival of one of the foundadons of western culture. The task that the biblical theology movement itself set for biblical studies was far too ambidous to be successful. The affirmation of Heilsgeschichte, as a theologically viable view of the world history, the belief in a God who acts in history, as a basis for modern faith, placed an impossible burden on biblical studies (cf. Barr, 1973, p. 76; 1976, pp. 2ff.), whose tools were essentially relative and analogisdc. The task of discovering the historical Israel and an understanding of its traditions was as much as the method available to cridcal scholarship could reasonably seek (cf. Barr, 1966, pp. 66f.; 1973, p. 79). To uncover, in the process of historical research, revelatory acts of God behind historical events and tradidons was a task for which no one was prepared. That it was undertaken at all, is evidence only of the strength of this theological movement. Concentration was given to the special uniqueness of Israel and its faith, as well as to the trustworthiness, credibility, and verisimilitude of the tradition. To establish the antiquity of a tradidon was assumed to be to affirm its


15

historicity. To uncover the original core of a tradition was often understood as discovering the event which had given rise to the greater tradition. To deny such antiquity or such originality was understood as equivalent to denying the theological import of that tradition, for it was seen as denying that the tradition had its basis in a saving act of God. What was ignored, and what I am at pains to point out, is that it was beyond the ability of any critical scholarship to establish a link between tradition and originating event, and between uniqueness and divine causality. Biblical theology began to fail in the 1960s. With its failure, the historical constructs of Wright, Albright, Noth, von Rad, and de Vaux also began to fail. The collapse of these inquiries led quickly and inevitably (cf. Barr, 1966, p. 67; 1976, p. 1) to a radical questioning of the roots of modern biblical scholarship: the documentary hypothesis of Wellhausen and the form criticism of Gunkel. B. The Israelite Occupation of Palestine To understand the rapid changes in the scholarship about Israel's origin traditions in the recent past, one needs to start with Manfred Weippert's 1967 master's thesis, Die Landnahme der israelitischen Stamme in Paldstina, which was originally seen as a buttress of Martin Noth's view of the 'settlement' of Israel in Palestine. Weippert's book focused attention on three alternative models for understanding Israel's beginnings: (1) Albrect Alt's and Martin Noth's understanding of the origin of Israel as a peaceful settlement of Palestine; (2) John Bright's understanding of that origin as the result of a unified 'conquest'; and (3) a hardly yet worked-out hypothesis of George Mendenhall that Israel originated in a 'peasant rebellion' against the Late Bronze Age city-states of Palestine. While Weippert's conclusions offered no great surprises to anyone familiar with the literature at the time, the clarity of his analysis, and the rigorous integrity and fairness with which he treated opposing views, caused his book to become a focal point for subsequent discussions. Weippert's book brought to a virtual end a generation of debate over the affirmation or denial of the historicity of conquest narratives on the basis of the interpretation of destruction levels from major excavations. In the 1950s and 60s, scholarship had proceeded in the form of a great debate between American 'positivism' and German 'skepticism'. The defeat of the American position in Weippert's book,

16


however, did not win new adherents to the German side of the debate. Rather, with the end of the debate, new energies were unleashed in hitherto unexpected and unforeseen directions. On one hand, scholars were free from the burden of supporting an ultimately unconvincing thesis, and on the other hand, opposition to the overly speculative German approach could now be understood and accepted in its own right. Subsequent to the publication of Weippert's book, many biblical archaeologists separated themselves from the Albright school's defense of Joshua's historiography, and began to formulate a variety of new ways of interpreting the archaeological information. Secondly, although Weippert's conclusions had supported Martin Noth's reconstruction of a peaceful settlement as the most adequate proposal at that time, the end of the debate gave impetus to an already explicit distancing of scholars from both Noth's amphictyony concept (cf. de Vaux, 1971; J.M. Miller, 1977; A. Soggin), as well as from German scholarship's quite unspecific, even romantic, identification of Israel's ancestors with a nomadic past. Weippert's own understanding of nomadism was quite subtle and refined, as was, to a great extent, Alt's and Noth's, based as it was on Gustav Dalman's work. However, they had never developed a clear description or definition of Palestinian 'nomadism'. As a result, their use of the term 'nomadic' as descriptive of Israel's pre-history was often blended with the very popular, romantic idea of a quasi-eternal conflict between the 'desert and the sown', between nomadic desertdwellers and the agricultural city-dwellers. Such misconceptions were common, not only in the secondary levels of oral teaching in seminaries and universities, but throughout scholarly publications, dealing with both biblical and extra-biblical materials. The most notorious of such romantic misinterpretations was perhaps the interpretation of the texts dealing with the so-called 'Amorites' and the consequent interpretation of the EB IV period in Palestine and the First Intermediate in Egypt. J. Tracy Luke (1965), and especially M. Rowton (1965 cf. also M. Liverani, 1976), had already argued decisively against this myth of folk and scholastic lore, and what has frequently been misunderstood as a resuscitation of this view in Weippert's landmark book, brought forth volleys of protest against the naivete of such an understanding of nomads and semi-nomads. Unfortunately, but perhaps expectedly, by the time these protests had subsided, the ever-present popularizing side of scholarship laid hold of a new naivete, and a new universal myth, canonized by


17

W. Dever in his 1977 textbook article, replete with impressive sociological jargon: the myth of 'dimorphic pastoralism'. It is to be hoped that the early criticism of this view (cf. Thompson, 1978c) performed its proper function of a quick and painless assassination. In the end, Weippert's defense of Noth's theory did not help to preserve it. Weippert's book rather helped its opposition to focus on the weaknesses of Noth's reconstruction, especially the amphictyony hypothesis and the insufficient treatment of nomadism. Finally and ironically, Weippert's serious analysis and critique of George Mendenhall's 1962 popular article in the Biblical Archaeologist brought about an interest in Mendenhall's proposed model of a 'peasant revolt' as a potentially viable alternative to the now moribund debate between the European 'settlement' model and the American/Israeli 'conquest' model as a beginning of Israel's history. It was the weakness (in 1967, one would not yet have used the word 'bankruptcy') of the dominant understanding of Israel's origins which gave Mendenhall's article the appearance to many of being the only viable future direction of research into Israel's origins then under discussion. That Mendenhall's article presented only a brief sketch of this alternative model was an advantage, given the glaring weaknesses of its competitors. In a world of ignorance, history is often created by default. The 'peasant revolt' appeared as a new idea, and new ideas were hard to come by in the 1960s. Mendenhall himself has not worked out the promise of his early article (cf. Mendenhall, 1973). This was left to N. Gottwald's large book, The Tribes of Yahweh, published in 1979, where the model of Israel's origin in a 'peasants' rebellion' has been set against the background of a thorough analysis of early Israel's social structures. In this book, Gottwald maintains both Mendenhall's critique of traditional ideas about nomadism, and his thesis of an indigenous origin of early Israel, essentially linked with the Amarna Period Apiru disturbances. Gottwald himself sees his book as a defense of the Mendenhall position. Nevertheless, in spite of the nearly 1000 pages published by Gottwald, Mendenhall's thesis is neither proven, added to in substance, nor essentially improved or altered. The strengths and attractiveness of this hypothesis still lie in the rejection of an understanding of Israel's origins in a vague undifferentiated nomadism and in its suggestion that Israel's origins are substantially indigenous to Palestine. Neither of these two great issues, however, is significantly furthered in Gottwald's book. No greater clarity about

18


specific forms of ancient Palestinian nomadism, nor about what share Israel may or may not have had in that nomadism, is offered. One is, however, given hours of reading ideas related to the topic, but they are abstract. Similarly, Gottwald does attempt, in his book of 1979, to show that it is plausible to see an indigenous origin for Israel. However, it ought not be forgotten that it was just as plausible to many of us who read the Mendenhall article of 1962. Gottwald presents to us, at best, possibility after possibility for history, but he does not even try to tell us that it was, in fact, just so, that history happened! My objection, here, is not so much that Gottwald's evidence is inadequate; rather, it is not evidence. Mendenhall and Gottwald have presented their theory, but neither its foundation nor its justification. Before Gottwald's book was published, I wrote a brief article, making the point that 'one important item that has been lacking in discussion ... is a comprehensive view of the available historical and archaeological sources for the economic and social structures of early Palestine' (1978b, p. 21). The situation, since then, has hardly changed. In Gottwald's book, we deal with assertions and theories about the economic and social structures of ancient Palestine, drawn largely from modern sociological literature, coupled with the claim, perhaps true, that ancient Israel must have developed similarly. Instead of giving evidence of how, in fact, his description must have been so, Gottwald marshalls an impressive series of texts which might be reinterpreted in the light he wishes, if one could but ignore their chronology and their geography. The comparative, sociological data that Gottwald has been at such pains to collect needs to be read, and provides the historian with much information of societies that are in some aspects analogous to ancient Israel, but it is extremely doubtful that much of this information can be directly useful as historical information for the reconstruction of what happened in Palestine during the period of Israel's emergence. It clarifies much about antique social structures in general, but nothing at all about the social structures of Palestine and Israel at the time in question, and it is in fact because social structures are so essential in the understanding of any people historically, that it is irresponsible to assert their existence in a particular form on the abstract basis of analogy. The weaknesses of Gottwald's treatment, like its strengths, are those of Mendenhall's. They are of an historical nature: 1. There is far too great a dependence on analogies from the ancient Near East,


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such as 'dimorphic pastoralism' in Mari and the Apiru/Hebrew equation, or the conflicts of the Palestinian Amarna period. 2. Similarly, there is far too great a dependence on analogous social structures, often leading into circular arguments. 3. There is a lack of any clear indication in the biblical tradition of anything which might readily be interpreted as a social rebellion, at any time close to that period in which Gottwald assumes Israel originates. It is not that an interpretation of a revolt is impossible; only that there is no evidence for it. We need to go at least one step beyond writing about theoretical models and possibilities of history. We need to address the actual archaeological and epigraphic materials we do have; and we need to relate those materials and to integrate them in an interpretive context in order to make them historically meaningful. It is not legitimate to pick and choose from such materials, on the basis of some favored sociologically or theologically grounded idealistic model, with the intention of using that model as if it were history. 4. There is a failure to use any historical critical analysis to determine which of the biblical traditions might be early. This negligence is particularly apparent in Gottwald and Mendenhall's assumptions about early Yahwism and covenant theology. 5. Perhaps most damaging is the lack of any recognizable criteria to determine the historicity of the biblical traditions they use, in an often eclectic and tendentious manner. 6. Finally, one must mention that the personal religious and political prejudices of both Gottwald and Mendenhall constantly damage their scholarly work. To describe a form of government, as they do, for example, with the so-called 'Canaanite' city-state, as ipso facto exploitative, and to describe peasantry as by definition oppressed, is hardly an innocent redundancy. The danger endemic to both Gottwald's passionate and idealistic reconstruction of Israel's earliest history, and the enlightened socialism of Mendenhall's Yahwism, is that they attempt to give historical and theological justification to a social-gospel movement which is not justified by our historical sources or our biblical traditions. This socalled 'scientific' sociological approach is a camouflage for an intellectual imperialism that puts forward modern and American ideas as eternal verities. Gottwald's Marxism, like Mendenhall's tenth-generation mythology, attempts to give a transcendent validity to their theories which distracts one from issues of evidence and justification. The jargon of this approach has a very serious purpose: the creation of an ever-increasing abstraction: a 'peasant revolt'. This idealistic image of what Israel might have been has primacy in

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Gottwald's book. Gottwald argues that it would be fitting to see Israel's origins in these terms. He follows a principle of noncontradiction. As in Aquinas's arguments for the existence of God, Gottwald shows his abstraction to be coherent and plausible. A believer might accept his belief as rational. The jargon functions to underscore the metaphysically based assumption that patterns in societies are somehow more than scholastic constructs, but realities in themselves. Gottwald, himself, is fully aware that sociological models, however thorough and however detailed they might be constructed, are, and can be, only as valid as the historical evidence that supported them (1979, p. 13). Sociological structures are not historical reconstructions. The value of Gottwald's book, however, is that it has transformed the entire issue of the 'conquest' versus 'settlement' debate into an analysis about the origins of the society of the nation Israel. One recent work, reacting against Gottwald's thesis, is that of Baruch Halpern: The Emergence of Israel in Canaan. Halpern's work is extremely sensitive to issues of historicity and to problems involving the history of the tradition. Throughout Halpern's study, however, the biblical tradition is seen as primary and determinative of what belongs to Israel's early history. Archaeological materials are brought in only when they are felt to be useful to understand, illuminate, or affirm a biblical tradition. The relationship between bible and history is handled with great care by Halpern. Nevertheless, few clear criteria, other than his great common sense, are used for determining what is historical in the bible's stories, or for understanding what might give evidence for originating events. For instance, Halpern frequently uses the very reasonable approach exemplified by Gunkel's well-known dictum that when iron floats on water, we are not dealing with the historical. It does not help us, however, in discerning the historical from the fictive in the plausible remnant of tradition. Believability is a very common characteristic of much fictional narrative. Halpern's common sense is helpful in marking out the unhistorical, not the historical. Similarly, given Halpern's insistence on the biblical tradition's primacy in reconstructing Israel's history, we are at a loss in making the leap backwards from the tradition to whatever might have been the originating events. In Halpern's book, we are faced with an impasse. If the bible is to be primary, how are we ever to deal with the problem of historicity, or any historical validation of biblical historiography? Halpern's book, itself, is not a critical history. It is,


21

however, a strong encouragement to writing such a history. In a manner similar to Halpern's approach, J. Max Miller starts his summary account of the origin of Israel's occupation of Palestine with the statement: The primary source of information regarding the Israelite occupation of Palestine is the biblical account of the conquest which extends from Numbers 13 to Judges 1. Certain other biblical materials are relevant in a less direct fashion, e.g., the patriarchal genealogies and narratives, the exodus account, the stories in the Book of Judges, and the chronological notations scattered throughout Genesis-II Kings (Miller, 1977, p. 213).

Later (p. 254), he argues that the narratives in the books of Judges and I-II Samuel give evidence that 'by the middle of the Iron I period, Israelite tribes had gained a footing in Palestine'. It is doubtful that the principle asserted, that we ought to look to the bible for evidence regarding the origins of Israel, is clear enough and unequivocal enough to give confidence to such statements (Miller's position is essentially unchanged in his new history published in 1986). What is meant by 'primary'? Is it the/zrsf source which might be used to establish the foundation for the historical reconstruction? Or is it meant that other evidence, e.g. extra-biblical epigraphic or archaeological evidence, must be evaluated in terms of the biblical traditions? Whatever is meant precisely, and what seems to be precluded or prevented by this starting principle, is the possibility of any reconstrucion of early Israelite history which is not based on or in conformity with some biblical tradition. Whatever the origin of Israel might in fact have been in history, it must somehow lie hidden within the pages of Israel's tradition. Why this is so, we are not told. It is not so of other nations. Histories of the sort proposed by Halpern and Miller must, of necessity, be understood as 'conditional histories': For if the history of Israel's origin, is, after all, to be found in the biblical traditions, that origin must be described so! Such a fundamental condition must be investigated further, if for no other reason than that an entire tradition of scholarship depends on it. For all recent reconstructions of Israel's prehistory, a common problem pertains: They lie between the Scylla of the assumption that the primary, and (for some) only source of direct knowledge of the origins of Israel is to be found in the biblical tradition, and the Charybdis of the uncertain relationship that the biblical traditions have with historical events.

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The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel C. The Issue of Historicity

The changes that have been brought about as a result of the renewed interest in the issue of historicity have greatly altered our perspective on Israel's origins today. Questions about historicity had already played a major role in the post-war debates between the Alt/Noth and the Albright schools. However, this role had been largely divisive, creating a seemingly permanent rift between American and European scholarship over the early traditions of Israel. The issue of historicity received new focus on the patriarchal narratives just at the time that international scholarship had begun to accept in common a basic or 'essential' historicity of these narratives. This new harmony had been expressed explicitly by Roland de Vaux (1971) and Siegfried Herrmann (1973), as well as in the later editions of John Bright's History. This new consensus echoed strikingly the middle ground of the old debate, worked out already in the late 50s and 60s by such conservative Catholic scholars as Herbert Haag and Henri Gazelles. Just at the time this consensus of scholarship was forming, however, my book in 1974, written somewhat ironically under the guidance of both Kurt Galling and Herbert Haag, addressed both the methods and the conclusions of the scholarship which had argued in favor of some form of historicity of the patriarchal narratives, through a comparison of the biblical traditions with historical, legal, and archaeological data from the field of ancient Near Eastern studies. While not totally excluding the possibility of historicity, the study systematically destroyed the premises on which so much early scholarship had proceeded, especially the assumption that archaeological and extra-biblical historical data was relevant to an understanding of traditional tales. As an alternative, it opened the way towards an independent and purely literary study of the tales about the patriarchs, unencumbered by the widespread prejudice that, as a whole, the patriarchal narratives were historiographical tales. The historiographical quality and the specific historicity of each narrative needed to be examined independently. Two major weaknesses of this work were an acceptance of such historiographical concepts as Eissfeldt's Stammessage as having played a major role in the formation of the narratives, and an unquestioned acceptance of the documentary hypothesis both as an interpretive context for the narratives, and in its chronology of the biblical narratives. The following year, in 1975, John Van Seters published a study in


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the United States, which, although radically different in its methods, independently reached many of the same conclusions. Van Seters also attempted to place a very late date (sixth century BC) on most of the patriarchal narratives. His book helped open a now far-reaching debate on the development of the traditions of the pentateuch, as well as on the specific manner of the transmission of the Genesis tales, and their historical Sitz im Leben. These two works on the historicity of the patriarchal traditions would have each alone received serious attention. Their combined effect radically altered American scholarship's attitudes towards both the patriarchal narratives and questions of historicity generally, and destroyed all hope of an international consensus on these issues. These changes were most pronounced in the publication of a new history of Israel in 1977, Israelite and Judaean History, ed. by J.H. Hayes and J.M. Miller. In a series of articles, covering historical reconstructions or evaluations from the patriarchal stories to the narratives about the united monarchy, a series of authors, each in their own way, repeatedly pointed out the lack of unity in modern research about both historicity and the methods of historical reconstruction of the early periods of Israel's existence. This book could even be caricatured as a non-history of Israel. It set out, at times by intention and at times by unwitting example, in clear and unequivocal terms, a long series of problems which need to be overcome before any history of Israel can be written, which might hope to achieve a consensus today. It has become clear in recent years that the critical issues in the pentateuch are no longer limited either to the patriarchal narratives or to historicity. The lack of strict historicity in the patriarchal narratives is now generally conceded (cf. especially, Miller-Hayes, 1986, and the Oxford Bible Atlas, 1985 edition). However, the problems surrounding the question of the origin of Israel are not resolved simply by moving the borderline separating myth from history from Genesis 11 to Exodus 3 or Exodus 15! Today, the question is what, if any, information can the traditions about premonarchic Israel give about a real historical past of Israel. This increasing skepticism is influenced by other factors than the works just mentioned. Just as the history of the patriarchal period had been advertised in the 50s and 60s as the greatest achievement of modern biblical archaeology, the subsequent collapse of confidence in the existence of such a period has brought with it grave and ineradicable doubts about many of the achievements of biblical archaeology. Not

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only have scholars become reluctant to propose new links between the pentateuch and extra-biblical data, but when such parallels or links have been proposed, they have received immediate critical appraisal. A good example of this is the reaction to the discovery by Pettinato of references to the 'Cities of the Plain' in cuneiform tablets from the ancient city of Ebla in modern Syria. These tablets are dated to about the twenty-fourth century, BC. The discovery was advertised by what must be called the 'barnstorming' methods of the Albright school's David Noel Freedman. If one were to accept Freedman's 'facts', all five cities of the plain appeared on an Ebla tablet 'in the same order as they are found in the bible' (Freedman, 1978, p. 149). Even the name of one of the kings was mentioned in order to overcome any excessive skepticism. Field archaeology was brought into the picture by linking the Ebla names to an archaeological survey in the region of the Dead Sea by W. Rast and T. Schaub. With this discovery, Freedman reasserted the historicity of the patriarchs, dating them now to the third millennium BC, rather than the more customary, but now discredited, second millennium BC. What was surprising about this new claim for historicity was that, unlike the comparable claims of the past, these claims were immediately questioned, tested, and refuted by other biblical and oriental scholars. This over-enthusiastic blunder about Ebla failed to become 'proven fact' simply because a scholar of great reputation had wanted it to be so. Clearly, the atmosphere of American scholarship had changed. Similarly, the coverage in the Biblical Archaeology Review (Shanks, 1981) of the Egyptologist Hans Goedicke's imaginative efforts to see the crossing of the Red Sea as an historical event occurring in 1477 BC, brought about by a great tidal wave which had been caused by 'a volcanic eruption in the Mediterranean Sea', and his efforts to link this 'event' with a new reading of the Hatshepsut inscription, met an immediate response from readers (Oren, 1981; Krahmalkov, 1981; Radday, 1982), setting out Egyptological, geographical, archaeological, and biblical evaluations of the hypothesis. The concern of Goedicke's critics was for a careful reading of both biblical (Krahmalkov) and Egyptian (Oren, Krahmalkov) texts, and for an understanding of the biblical narrative within its context, and in terms of its own kind of historiography (Radday). Moreover (and this is a very significant change), the scholars who were critically examining and rejecting Goedicke's thesis are far from liberal skeptics, who might see no historical value whatever in the biblical


25

narratives (Oren, pp. 51-53; Krahmalkov, p. 52; Radday, p. 69). They have serious reservations, nevertheless, about our ability to use either archaeology or ancient Near Eastern materials for sustaining or refuting biblical traditions. D. Biblical Archaeology The widespread skepticism about the direct use of archaeology for biblical interpretation, particularly regarding questions of historicity, coupled with the growing assertion of biblical scholars and historians that the primary source of information for the history of Israel's origins is in the bible (Miller, 1977, p. 213; Miller-Hayes, 1986, passim\ has thrown into doubt the longstanding relationship that has existed between biblical scholarship and Palestinian archaeology. What has happened to the archaeology of Palestine in the post-war period is similar to what happened in the fields of Egyptology and Assyriology long ago. Field archaeology of Syria and Palestine, along with its historical interpretation, had grown up as an adjunct to biblical studies. Palestinian archaeology had been one of several extra-biblical fields which the biblical scholar pursued in an effort to understand his text better. This pursuit, involving the entire territory of the ancient Near East, its history, its language, and its texts, has often and long been referred to under the title of'biblical archaeology'. Beginning with the establishment of the state of Israel, however, the archaeology of Palestine has become increasingly influenced by nonbiblical research. Although the Israeli lead had been followed by the British, archaeological research in regions of the Levant, outside the modern state of Israel, as well as American and European biblical archaeology generally, continued to be dominated by biblical scholars through the early 60s. This was an uneasy hegemony at best, however. By the early 1960s, American biblical archaeologists, under the leadership of such scholars as George Wright and James Pritchard, were following the British and Dutch leads in specializing in Palestinian field archaeology and West Semitic languages. A growing number of younger scholars (such as P. Lapp, W. Dever, and J. Sauer) clearly understood themselves as field archaeologists in contrast to biblical scholars. They addressed their research primarily, and sometimes exclusively, in these terms. The distinction between these two fields, which they began to make, was more than a semantic distinction (contra Shanks, 198 Ib), and more than

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organizational, because it affected the scholarly perspective from which they approached their work, as well as the questions they asked. The recent debate over calling their field 'biblical archaeology' underlines this change. William Dever's proposal that the field be called 'Syro-Palestinian archaeology' has much to be said for it. Biblical archaeology has its center of interest in the bible, and is preoccupied with the bible's historical background and the bible's interpretation (cf. D. Lance, 1982, p. 100), and involves much more than Syro-Palestinian archaeology. It includes the whole of ancient Near Eastern studies, including geography and anthropology, while Syro-Palestinian archaeology involves only the regions of Palestine and Syria, and the history of its culture. Biblical archaeology is and will remain a necessary but subsidiary interest of biblical studies—a focus of interdisciplinary research—rather than a field in its own right. Syro-Palestinian archaeology, on the other hand, is developing in the direction of independence from biblical studies. To the extent that it can proceed apart from biblically oriented questions, it will, I believe, serve biblical studies best, as Assyriology and Egyptology do in their way. It may well be that the 'Albright-Glueck-Wright approach to the patriarchal age is dead' (Shanks, 1981b), and that much of what 'is published under the popular heading of biblical archaeology is sensationalistic and speculative in character' (Sauer, 1982, p. 209); nevertheless, such occurrences must be understood as embarrassments, not as characteristics which can define either the international field of Syro-Palestinian archaeology or the branch of biblical studies understood as biblical archaeology. The impression given by some biblical scholars and archaeologists, that archaeology has little to offer to the prehistory of ancient Israel, seems linked to older approaches to archaeology and to the claims of some biblical scholars who have understood the primary source of evidence for Israel's prehistory to be not in archaeology but in the bible. If such an assumption were correct, given the state of the question of historicity today, a history of the origin of Israel would simply be impossible! To use the biblical traditions as the primary source for the history of Israel's origins, is to establish a hopeless situation for the historian who wishes to write critical, rather than anachronistic, history. This is the situation one is faced with in reading, for example, the new, extraordinarily sophisticated, but adamantly biblical, history of Miller and Hayes (1986). One might accurately describe this book as essentially a theological and apologetic work. By limiting themselves


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largely to biblical commentary, they have excluded an historical approach from the start. One gains the impression throughout that Miller does not believe that a critical history of early Israel is possible today. It is, however, the independence of Syro-Palestinian archaeology that now makes it possible for the first time to begin to write a history of Israel's origins. Rather than in the bible, it is in the field of Syro-Palestinian archaeology, and the adjunct fields of ancient Near Eastern studies, that we find our primary sources for Israel's earliest history. Archaeological evidence can no longer continue to be evaluated principally in terms of the biblical traditions. Many of the older approaches to biblical archaeology and to the early history of Israel preclude from the start a reconstruction of Israelite history which might be other than what is discovered in the biblical tradition, no matter how late the tradition might be understood to be. This is for the simple reason that evidence has been recognized as such because of its coincidence with biblical tradition. We cannot continue to follow the tradition of German and American historical critical scholarship in reconstructing the earliest of the Israelite traditions and calling that history. Such a method is self-consciously inconclusive and, objectively, inconsequential. Basic questions have been bypassed in biblical studies which would not and could not be ignored if we were dealing with any other people or folk tradition of the past. As with any other nation, the origins of Israel must lie inextricably with the origins of the people, the villages, the institutions, and the traditions of the historical nation. Our principal and primary sources for those origins are, and must be, whatever evidence we have for the beginning of those people, their settlements, and their regional, social, and political structures which have gone to make up the Israel we know in tradition. However much or little we have of such evidence, it is primary, and, for the most part, this evidence is archaeological and extra-biblical. Here, I must stand in direct contradiction to the Miller-Hayes History (1986). Likewise, a sociology of early Israel, before the formation of the tradition, is possible only on the basis of archaeological and extra-biblical evidence. Here I must depart almost totally from Gottwald's Tribes (1979). A history of Israel's origins is possible, and it is possible primarily because of the new directions in Palestinian and biblical archaeology. Whether the ancient Israelite historiographical reconstructions correspond with such a history is entirely secondary to the task at hand. Usually a nation is understood as a people who live in

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one specific place, have specific and unique political and social structures, a common language, and, to some significant extent, a common historical past. They usually share an interrelated economic, legal, and religious culture, with characteristic patterns in their crafts, their art, their music, and their literature. These are the factors which make a nation and forge the unity so essential to a nation's survival. Of course, this is not an exhaustive list of what is involved, nor are all of these factors wholly necessary. Nevertheless, however much they might resemble a shopping list, these are the concrete realities we are talking about when we are dealing with such abstract and general terms as 'nation' or 'people'. We must never forget that when we begin to speak about the origin of a people or the origin of a nation, we are really talking about the origins of just such specific aspects of a people's mode of being, and not something more abstract. It is exactly these aspects of Israel's existence and its origin which Syro-Palestinian archaeology and the comparative studies of the antiquities of the ancient Near East are uniquely competent to deal with. These fields, however, must be approached in their own competence. They do not offer an alternative to the bible's own view of its past as, for example, Malamat seems to imply when he speaks of the historiography of Joshua 'as an alternative view of the past' which must not be ignored by the historian. But rather these aspects of Israel's identity offer the possibility of a truly historical concept, in the context of which the bible's literary and folk traditions might best be understood. E. The Origin of Israel Critical to writing a history of ancient Israel's origins has been determining the point in time at which that history should start. In the past generation of biblical scholarship, the choice of a starting point has markedly reflected any given historian's attitude towards, and his evaluation of, the pentateuchal traditions and their historicity. For example, Wellhausen wrote his great Prolegomena, and drew, among others, the wide-ranging conclusions that nothing could be known about a patriarchal period, and that nothing could be learned from the traditions about the history prior to the period in which the traditions had been formed. W.F. Albright, to some extent in reaction to Wellhausen, but also wishing to make the case that Israel's early history must be found in the context of a history of the whole ancient


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Near East, attempted a history of the ancient Near Eastern world from the palaeolithic period to the Christian era. In doing so, he placed Israel and its history within that context (Albright, 1940). This was done in part to demonstrate the basic historical soundness or verisimilitude of Israel's origin traditions. John Bright (1959), following Albright's lead, and asserting strongly the essential historicity of the traditions about the premonarchic period, accordingly began his History of Israel with the patriarchal period, using Genesis 11 as the dividing line between traditions of Genesis which he considered to be mythological and those which he considered to be historically relevant. Unlike Albright and Bright, Martin Noth, doubtful that the patriarchal narratives had much value for the writing of Israel's early history, beyond what he believed to be their relationship to early proto-Aramaean nomadic movements, began his history of Israel (1950) with Israel's entrance into Palestine. More recently, Roland de Vaux (1971), arguing for a very complex multiple origin of Israel, began his history proper with the gradual consolidation of the tribes of Israel within the land of Palestine. In addition, de Vaux offered an extended pre-history in which he attempted to trace the background of many of the different groups who formed the later Israel. Siegfried Herrmann (1973) attempted to push back the beginning of Israel's history in order to posit a unity for Israel prior to their occupation of the land, a unity which he found in Aramaean related movements of the Shasu of Yhw3, who, according to Herrmann, had brought Yahwism to Sinai (1973, pp. 76f; cf. Thompson, 1977, pp. 157-60). The Hayes-Miller history of 1977, concentrating on the recent changes in scholarly approaches to the history of Israel, used biblical historiography only as an outline, beginning with the patriarchal narratives, and examined the contemporary evaluations of the biblical traditions for Israel's history. The Miller-Hayes History of 1986 takes the skepticism of the 1977 book as its point of departure, and affirms only a marginal historicity of the Genesis-Joshua traditions. Accordingly, it finds the origins of Israel in the 'authentic' narratives (in contrast to the secondary structure) of the book of Judges (pp. 80-119). Norman Gottwald's book, on the sociology of early Israel, followed de Vaux's lead, essentially beginning the history of Israel with a thirteenth-/ twelfth-century peasant rebellion, and then discussing a pre-history which stretches back at least as far as the Amarna period. In moving back into the earlier periods, however, he gives the impression of offering earlier historical analogies to his originating theory of

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peasant revolt, rather than actually attempting to sketch a prehistory. Today, in spite of a growing conviction among many scholars that questions of origin in Old Testament studies are illegitimate (M. Buss, 1979, p. 17) or fruitless (P. Ackroyd, 1977, p. 228), several new attempts have been made which carry the discussion of origins in significantly different and profitable directions. A. Soggin (1977, 1978) and W. Hallo (1980) both take up a starting point for the beginning of Israelite history on the general basis of biblical historiography. Soggin, building on the recent skepticism about the historical value of premonarchic traditions, chooses to begin his history 'with the foundation of a united kingdom under David' (1977, p. 332). He does so because he feels that it is at this point that the tradition leaves behind 'folk tradition' and 'enters the arena of history proper'. That is, Soggin quite reasonably wishes to begin the history of Israel at that point at which he feels he can trust the tradition to be truly historiographical and dependable. Two difficulties arise from this approach, however, and both are created by Soggjn's efforts to ground a modern history on the basis of ancient biblical historiography. First, the bible does not make any such historiographical distinction at the rise of the monarchy, that one might comfortably speak of the time before Saul as th bible's view of its prehistory, and that which follows as history proper. Secondly, one is hard pressed to find any sort of the formal distinction that Soggin does between what he calls a 'prophetic' or 'theocratic history' of the monarchy and a somehow less dependable earlier 'cultic and popular tradition'. Furthermore, the introduction of explicitly political issues in the traditions about the monarchy hardly carries one beyond the very broad genre classifications of 'popular traditions', 'stories', or 'traditional tales', classifications which are also appropriate to the narratives of the bible which precede the stories about David (cf. esp. Gunn, 1978). Though one must sympathize with Soggin in the feeling that the traditions about David and Solomon are closer to history than those about a Samson, a Moses, or an Abraham, this sense of credulity has its source more in the dynastic continuity, which the protagonists of the David and Solomon stories have with known history, rather than in any historiographical quality of the stories themselves, and certainly not in the manner in which they were written. It is exceedingly difficult to discern among the various forms of 'traditional tales' any all-encompassing historiographical


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motivation. Some folk-tales in the bible, such as the Jacob-Esau chain narrative, do display some limited aspects of historiography (cf. Thompson, 1979). Nevertheless, such heroic tales as the DavidGoliath story are not intrinsically different, historiographically speaking, from other unhistorical old folk tales, such as the SamsonDelilah, Lot-Sodom, or Cain-Abel stories. Historiography, as any other motivation of a biblical author, must be evaluated in each individual narrative, and its quality might be expected to differ in each. There is nothing akin to a watershed in the biblical tradition, by which we might arbitrarily assess what belongs to history, and suggest that whatever is found before that watershed might presumably be judged as intentionally fictive, and all that follows it as somehow historical. One last difficulty of Soggin's argument is that the monarchy of David is, in terms of biblical historiography-, hardly a beginning. Ultimately, one must agree with Hallo's critique of Soggin's position (1980, pp. 15f.) that the bible hardly sees national identity as a creation of the monarchy. This, of course, is not to say automatically that Soggin is wrong in seeing the historical beginning of the nation of Israel in the monarchy. The only point made is that such a beginning cannot be established historically on the basis of the bible's view of its past, nor on the basis of literary form. Hallo himself argued (1980) not only that the biblical tradition must be seen as a true historiography, but also that the concept of a distinct national beginning is scriptural. The constitutive events of Israel he identifies are the deliverance from slavery, the giving of the law, and the conquest of the land. The starting point for the history of Israel needs, according to Hallo, to be sought 'from among those offered by the text itself (1980, p. 16). Hallo sees the beginning of 'national consciousness' with the Egyptian oppression. If Hallo were entirely consistent, one would think he would need to start with Jacob entering Egypt, there to become the nation Israel, since that is where the biblical narrative marks its transition from prehistory (or Toledoth) to history. Hallo would also claim 'essential historicity' for the narrative of the Egyptian oppression, the Exodus, the wanderings of Israel in the wilderness, the conquest, and the period of the Judges, assuming, but apparently without argument, that 'true' historiography implies 'essential historicity', which is of course not true. 'Historiography' relates to the form of a text and to the intentions of its author. 'Historicity', on the other hand, relates a text not to an author's purpose but to historical reality. Two other major problems

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with Hallo's hypothesis must be noted: Hallo nowhere gives a sustained argument to show cause for believing that the bible should be normative or authoritative in the issue of Israel's origins (cf. Barr, 1973, p. 79). Why should one be inclined to accept the biblical historiography? There are some very good reasons against doing so, most importantly that 'biblical thought' projects the essence of Israel back into times in which it did not yet exist. The problem remains unchanged: Are the Exodus, Wilderness, and Conquest 'events' in fact constitutive of Israel's existence, or is it necessary to make distinctions between fictive, albeit genuine, historiography and historical reality? In outlining the constitutive events of the origin of Israel within Israelite historiography, including Exodus 1-8, Numbers, Deuteronomy 34, and a continuity through the book of Judges, Hallo seems to imply a prior existence of some such early historiographical work; that is, a 'proto-pentateuch'. Such a pre-existent tradition, however, is not supported by the present text of the bible, nor by any tradition of scholarship. Of far more promise than either Hallo's or Soggin's hypothesis is the very important methodological discussion of Alexander Malamat (1983), who, while also affirming the basic historicity of much of Israel's traditions, recommends a significant distinction between Israel's history proper and its pre-history. Moreover, the criterion for this distinction is not based on Israel's own historiography, nor is it grounded in an evaluation of any specific tradition's historicity. Rather, Malamat places the beginning of the historical period of Israel at that point at which the Israelite tribes are clearly established in Palestine, and become a dominant power; i.e. when Israel first becomes an ethnic and regional presence in Palestine, sometime about the early or mid-twelfth century (1983, pp. 1-3). This hypothesis significantly avoids the difficulties of depending on such nebulous concepts as 'true historiography' or 'national self-consciousness', as well as the major difficultly suffered by earlier proposals in setting the beginning of Israel in terms of the much debated conquest/settlement 'events'. Malamat's argument also has much to say for itself positively. One need not agree with Malamat that there were initially Israelite tribes who became 'established in Palestine', nor that Israel became an ethnically unified regional power in the early to mid-twelfth century. These are specific issues which can and should be discussed on the basis of evidence, not principle. Malamat's decision to place the beginning of Israel at that point in time in which Israel is substantially present, is a cardinal principle on


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the basis of which a history of Israel, I believe, can proceed confidently. What precedes that point in time is pre-history. 'Pre-history' is a history or description of all those elements that were not yet Israel, but which went into or led up to the creation oflsrael. What succeeds that, after Israel is established, is properly speaking part of the history oflsrael. This principle has one very strong point in its favor: that it can be maintained with integrity, whatever one's opinions about the forms of the biblical traditions, their historicity, or their historical value for the writing of Israel's history. Indeed, it need not have anything to do with the bible's own historiography. Further on in his 1983 article (p. 7), Malamat attempts to reduce the elements of Israel's traditions regarding the patriarchs to what he calls the Grundzuge of Israel's pre-history. These Grundzuge he sees related to pre-Israelite historical experience. He lists: (1) the wandering of the patriarchs; (2) their relationship to Palestine as foreigners; (3) the existence of a previous homeland; (4) the restriction of patriarchal movements to the central hills and to the Negev; (5) their life as half-nomads; and (6) their worship of one God. It is perhaps appropriate here to state a theoretical objection: it is hardly legitimate to claim, as Malamat does, that biblical narratives have an originating source in historical events, unless one is prepared to be quite specific about which aspects of the tradition reflect which specific historical events—however difficult it may be in any given case to demonstrate this with certainty. If these Grundzuge relate to history, what is the history they are assumed to relate to? Quite other reasons than historical facticity can be theoretically proposed for each of these Grundzuge. The prominence or dominance of a tradition has no necessary relationship whatever to the issue of historicity. For example: 1. The wandering of the patriarchs can be seen to have a literary origin, either as a traditional folk-tale motif (so, Gen. 12.10), or a secondary editorial technique of linking originally distinct narratives (so, Gen. 13.If.). 2. The traditions about Israel's relationship to Palestine as foreigners are quite different from those about the existence of a previous homeland. One might argue that the patriarchal narratives have as one of their functions that of explicating in story the perception that the Israel which came out of Egypt was coming back home, to the land given to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the very beginning by God himself. On one hand, we must never forget that

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the concept of 'indigenous' as we know it does not exist in Genesis, not even for the Canaanites and Amorites. On the other hand, we must also not ignore the biblical perspective, that the patriarchal narratives are linked with the narrative of Gen. 11.1 Off. and through that genealogy with the Babel story and the table of nations tale, which describes the spread of all nations over the earth. Is it a Grundzug of the patriarchal narratives that the ancestors of Israel came from outside of Palestine, or is it not rather a Grundzug of the patriarchal narratives that the later Israel belongs in Palestine as in their homeland by the promise of their God? In the patriarchal narratives themselves Jacob is linguistically and geographically inextricably linked to Palestine. Would Malamat seriously relate Ishmael and Esau/Edom with their lands as 'foreigners'? The Exodus tradition very consistently denies that Israel was ever 'at home' in Egypt or in the Sinai desert. The wandering tradition sees Israel as lost in the wilderness. In fact the tradition, in all of its parts, and as a whole, understands Israel as homeless outside of Palestine. Israel is also not to be identified with the Canaanites, however, or with the Amorites or the like, and Esau is explicitly rejected in one story because of his marriages with the natives, and Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob bring their brides from Aram. The tradition handles this paradox, not historically, though certainly imaginatively, by having Abraham (and Jacob in his turn) leave the faraway land of Harran under God's guidance to the land of Palestine where they will become Israel. The inextricable tie between the promised land and the promised nation in the patriarchal stories holds the indigenous nature of Israel (not the patriarchs) in Palestine as an axiom. As all came from Eden, and were scattered from Babel, Israel is indigenous where God first intended it to live as a nation. Israel had no previous homeland, and this can be maintained on the basis of Malamat's own fundamental principle. One may reasonably speak of a pre-history of Israel, but not a pre-existence! Before Israel was, it was not—only the many varied and disparate factors relating to its coming into being, each having its own history. 3. Though the bible does not lack references linking Israel's ancestry to the Canaanites, Jebusites, and other peoples of Palestine, Malamat's fourth Grundzug^ that the patriarchal movements were restricted to the central hills and to the Negev, cannot be ignored. This observation does cause difficulty for such theories as Gottwald's, which see early Israel as refugees and rebels from the city-states of the plains and valleys, while at the same time understanding the


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patriarchal narratives as filled with historical memories and allusions. What the significance of this geographical restriction is, however, and what perhaps the historical referent might be, is very much open to discussion. Such a Grundzug might perhaps make it difficult to place the origin of the patriarchal narratives very late in the history of Israel, such as in the sixth century, since by that time all of Palestine was understood as having been Israel. On the other hand, such a Grundzug might reflect nothing more than the conflicts early Israel had with the distinct ethnic groups living in the plains and the valleys during the early centuries of its history, such as with the Canaanites and Philistines, and have nothing to do with any prehistorical memory. 4. I fail to see a sufficient basis in the patriarchal narratives for describing the lives of the patriarchs as half-nomads, or indeed as belonging to any specific socio-economic class. Lot lives in a tent (Gen. 13), but also in a city (Gen. 19); Ishmael is described in a manner reflective of a nomad (Gen. 21.20f.), and Esau of a hunter (Gen. 25.27). Abraham and Jacob are shepherds in some stories (Gen. 13; 27.9), and at times they live in tents (Gen. 18.1; 25.27), but Abraham and Isaac are guests of royalty in cities (Gen. 12; 20; 26). In one story Abraham has an army, but in another he is helpless and lone and afraid for his life (contrast Gen. 14 with Gen. 12). Isaac and his family live in a house (Gen. 27.15), as does Jacob in Harran (Gen. 28). Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are, in fact, strangers in the land; they travel from place to place and from story to story. Their wandering is a narrative motif and a literary device, not a socioeconomic Grundzug. That the ancestors of Israel are often viewed as shepherds (by no means the same as nomads) is also found in the Joseph narratives, and in the story of Israel's entrance into Egypt. An economic base in herding, however, goes with the territory of the early historical Israel, which was the hill country of Palestine, where even today many Palestinians (fellahin not bedouin) are shepherds. This economic role also had ideological importance in the early military campaigns of the historical Israel against the Philistines of the coastal plain and the Canaanites of the cities. The David-Goliath tale also has such a motif. 5. One must finally doubt the legitimacy of Malamat's prehistorical Grundzuge^ when he lists among them the patriarchal worship of one God. One of the most striking and characteristic distinctions of the early narratives about the patriarchs, in contrast to most of the postMosaic tales, is their lack of a strict monotheism. Indeed, the long

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history of the literary redaction of the stories of Genesis constantly stumbles in its attempts to harmonize the God of the patriarchs. The worship of one God is not a characteristic at all of the patriarchal narratives. It is, however, one of the critical elements which bring unity to the many disparate groups that made up the historical Israel in Palestine, and the development of this monotheism ought to be one of the foremost leitmotifs of a history of early Israel; for it is also a concern which is a notable characteristic of the final redactor of the pentateuch. Though the issue of the actual historical origin of Israel is one which lies essentially outside the scope of this present book, it is not an issue that is irrelevant to it. Israel's history (understood as distinct from biblical historiography), and the history of Israel's origin, fall unquestionably and inescapably into the context of regional, historical geographical changes in the history of Palestine. It is only within such a context that the question of Israel's origins can be adequately dealt with. Apart from the historical geography of Palestine, the question, as an historical question, is without context. A basic outline of a history of the origins of Israel should follow the history of those fundamental elements which caused what we understand as Israel to become a dominant reality in Palestine. Five such elements are: a. Geographical contiguity: The process by which Israel achieved geographical contiguity has two aspects. The first is the long process in which the hill country of Palestine was settled by agricultural villages, a process which began as early as the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Galilee and the Judaean Hills, and which was not completed in the central hills and in the Carmel range until some time during the Iron II period. This new settlement was strongly supported by new developments in Palestinian agriculture, above all the widespread development of terracing. The development of slaked-lime cisterns was also a necessary forerunner of settlement in some regions. The second aspect involved in the historical development of geographical contiguity was the process of regional unification. In this regard, the control of the Jezreel Valley must have been of preeminent importance. Prior to the conquest of the Jezreel, a unity of the Galilee region with the Central hills is inconceivable. It is unlikely that, historically speaking, Palestine can be thought of as a geographical unity prior to the tenth century. b. Ethnic and linguistic unity. A description of this process must involve a very broad historical approach. The close family ties


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between biblical Hebrew and its predecessors in Palestine, represented, for example, by the finds at Ebla and Ugarit, suggest a relatively homogenous linguistic development from as early as the late third millennium BC. The emergence of classical biblical Hebrew in the ninth, or perhaps eighth, century is fairly direct, and involves few revolutionary mutations. Ethnic amalgamation is quite another matter. In the pre-Israelite Egyptian texts, a wide diversity of ethnic groups seems to have existed throughout Palestine during the second millennium BC, and this view is supported in the biblical traditions. Barring wholesale genocide and deportation, an untenable historical position, Israelite ethnic unity came about through the process whereby the indigenous population of Palestine began to understand and identify itself as Israelite. This process is linked both to the fortunes of the political states of Judah and Israel as well as to the unification of Israel's folk tradition. It is often forgotten in the history of Palestine, that, since as early as the beginning of the Bronze Age and continuing in spite of radical changes in politics, religion and language, until modern times, the population of Palestine has been essentially indigenous to the region. c. The unification of political, social, and economic structures. There were many early attempts at political unification. While the efforts of the Egyptian empire might be seen as half-hearted, and that of the Philistines ultimately unsuccessful, the regional hegemonies of many of the Late Bronze city-states, such as Hazor and Shechem, certainly were a beginning in the process towards political unity. The growth of population in the hill country certainly led to efforts by the established political powers of the coastal region and of the valleys to assert their authority over these new regions. Such efforts not only failed, but backfired; for the settlements of the hill country resisted those efforts, and over time, an increasingly centralized power in the hill country itself spread its influence over the whole of Palestine. There is little question that the southern hegemony over the central and northern hill country involved only a transitory political unification, and that an 'all Israel' political ideology was a postIsraelite political philosophy of Judah. Nevertheless, the development of trans-regional political powers in the hill country of Palestine involved a political revolution and transformation which radically altered the political map of Palestine between the eleventh and ninth centuries. The unification of the social and economic structures of Palestine is a byproduct of the centralized states in Jerusalem and Samaria,

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involving an integration of three ever-diverging social and economic aspects of life in Palestine: the cities, the agricultural villages, and the steppe. The political centralization of power in Palestine is specifically revolutionary in the region, because the base of power in this new monarchy lay apart from any single regional group, and resided in the military. The direction of its use of power was not so much imperial as it was centralizing, around the neutral cities of Jerusalem and Samaria. d. The unification of artistic and physical culture. The physical culture of Palestine had an undisputed unity that went back in time at least to the Middle Bronze Age, and was probably continuous since the Early Bronze period or earlier. The lack of any major cultural influx into Palestine, apart from the Philistine, is the single most influential argument for the indigenous character of early Israel. Artistically, Palestine was a backwater of Phoenician culture since at least the Late Bronze period. This coastal hegemony continued throughout the Israelite period. e. The unification of legal, religious, and cultic systems. Israelite legal traditions belong wholeheartedly within the cuneiform world, and the development of its court system followed political centralization. The centralization and consequent unification of cultic and religious tradition have clear beginnings in the construction of the temple in Jerusalem, sometime during the tenth century. The religious hegemony of Jerusalem over the northern kingdom was never achieved, nor did it achieve effective control over Judah until the reign of Josiah, late in the seventh century. Early Israelite religion was largely polytheistic. Even Yahwism seems to have been decidedly henotheistic. Monotheistic belief gradually became dominant in both the southern and northern kingdoms as a result of the eighth-century prophetic movements. A centralized, universalist monotheism did not win over the entire nation of Judah before the Josianic reforms. The pre-Israelite origin of Yahwism is at present still unclear. Most other aspects of early Israelite religion can be identified positively as either indigenous to Palestine, or as probably Phoenician in origin. The origin of early Israelite folk tradition is too varied to discuss in detail. Israelite poetry has many roots which are clearly indigenous to the region. The following chapters of the present book discuss some of the earliest of Israel's narrative traditions. These are the end products of a process of unification that hardly antedates the seventh century BC.


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In speaking of the origin of Israel, it gradually becomes clear that the ambiguity of the concept 'Israel' colors our every entry into the problem. What has become apparent in the scholarship of the past fifteen years is that if Israel is an indigenous historical development within Palestine, then the history of the origin of Israel has no unequivocal central concept, no single event, single period, or single historical development which can be identified as its origin. The problem is not easily dismissed. Either Israel's origin is part of the historical geography of Palestine, in which case the concept 'Israel' is not a univocal concept, or the concept 'Israel' comes from our understanding of biblical tradition. Coming from biblical tradition, the concept has a substantial ideological weight, more idealistic than historical. This idealistic concept of Israel is ultimately a product of seventh-century Judah, looking back upon its history and the traditions of its people, as a unified and harmonized reality. If this is the Israel which is the object of our historical research, then the question of its origin is not primarily historical at all, but literary, and it is to be answered in the analysis of the origin tradition of Israel. In the present atmosphere of biblical research into the origins of ancient Israel, the related issues of historiographical reconstruction and literary interpretation have been inseparable. This is based on a scholarly tradition which understands the biblical perspective and the biblical historiography as representing, in an as yet undetermined way, our primary source for a valid and scientific history or prehistory of the states of ancient Israel and Judah. It has been the contention of the foregoing chapter, which surveys the reassessments of this issue in recent scholarship, that a critical history of the origin of the bearers of the biblical tradition can indeed be written, and that the prospects for such a history in the near future are wholly positive if, and only if, the historical and archaeological evidence for the existence of the people themselves—not their ideologically tendentious and historically late self-understanding—is used as the primary, indispensable, and dependable source for historical reconstruction, as part of, and wholly within the framework of, an historical geography of Palestine. This is a history yet to be written. On the other hand, the biblical tradition is not a history at all. It asks, on the basis of its ahistorical folk tradition, who Israel is and what Israel means among the nations of the world. Its questions are not the historical questions of how Israel came to be. It is historiographical only in the aetiological sense of defining the Israel of its own day in

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terms of traditions past. As a leader of ancient Israel expresses his substance in genealogical terms, and is who he is because of the ancestral line which the society maintains for him, so Israel is what it is for the Israelite because of its Toledoth. The meaning of the genealogy, however, and the meaning of the Toledoth, is neither related to, nor is it discoverable in, its facticity or its historicity, but rather in the political, social, and religious ramifications of the world of its referent. I have chosen the origin tradition of ancient Israel as an example par excellence for this thesis. Although I believe that any other major section of ancient Israel's tradition from Genesis to 2 Kings might be profitably used as well for the same purpose, the tradition about the origin of Israel is without parallel in its clarity. The question of origins, when asked of tradition, is emphatically never an historical question. It is rather a question of the essence and meaning of a people. It is ideological rather than historiographical. I also believe that the origin tradition is most suitable for this investigation because it forms the central core of the pentateuch. An understanding of Israelite traditional literature is a desirable prolegomenon to the writing of a history of Israel, since the pentateuch has been the basis of modern biblical scholarship's historical understanding of Israel since Wellhausen. As Wellhausen had understood his historicalliterary analysis of the pentateuch as a necessary preliminary task for the writing of the history of Israel's religion, the first chapter of this book, sketching the collapse of that pursuit, has attempted to describe the context in which new departures might be made. A critical history of the origin of Israel (and of its religion) is ready to be written. That lies, however, apart from the task of the present book, which is offered only as a prelude to such a history. The historical task is to describe how Israel came to be a dominant power in Palestine. The present work attempts a preliminary and independent question: How did Israel understand itself, having once established its place within the history of Palestine? The following chapters make abundantly clear the necessity of separating biblical interpretation from modern historiography. This, once achieved, ends the crisis in biblical scholarship which we have discussed in the pages of this chapter. No less than Syro-Palestinian archaeology, Israelite history must proceed as a discipline independent of biblical exegesis. So too, biblical exegesis needs to be understood as an historical-critical discipline with its own autonomy apart from historical and archaeological research. The following chapters I hope demonstrate both the necessity and the value of that autonomy.

Chapter 2 THE PENTATEUCHAL TRADITION AS NARRATIVE A. Narrative Approaches to the Pentateuch To achieve a consensus of biblical, archaeological, and ancient Near Eastern studies on the origins of Israel (cf. Dever, 1977, p. 78), a new assessment of the origin tradition in the bible must be made. The proposal offered in Chapter 1, that a valid history of Israel's origins must be written within a historical geography of Palestine, based primarily on Palestinian archaeology and ancient Near Eastern studies, in conjunction with my earlier contention (Thompson, 1977, pp. 210-212) that Israel's own origin tradition is radically irrelevant to writing such a history, makes it finally possible to overcome the alienation of historical from exegetical tasks that has unfortunately been the hallmark of biblical studies for over a generation. The many new directions of literary studies within the last fifteen years have resulted in a thorough, even revolutionary, reappraisal of biblical narrative (cf. H. Frei, 1974; L. Gros and R.R. Kenneth, 1974; J.D. Crossan, 1975; J.P. Fokkelman, 1975; D. Patte, 1976; D. Clines, 1978; D. Gunn 1978; idem, 1980; D. Irvin, 1978; J.L. Crenshaw, 1979; J. Sasson, 1979; O. Carena, 1981; and R. Alter, 1981). The narratives of the Old Testament from the creation to the monarchy are—as literature—story. They are not history (Barr, 1976, p. 5). Biblical and historical scholarship in the past generation seems to have had on the whole no feeling for a bible text as literature, with its meaning in itself (Barr, 1976, p. 10). Stories have a literary form and literary intentions which are very unlike history and can be ignored only at great cost. History talks about or attempts to talk about the world of our real past. Imaginative stories create worlds other than our own (Clines, 1978, p. 126). The current flood of research into Old Testament narrative has, like the similar earlier studies of Gunkel and Gressmann, paid a

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great deal of attention both to comparative ancient Near Eastern literature and to the formal analysis of folktales and literature outside of the fields of Old Testament studies. As a result, a great variety of literary analytical methods are being followed today in the field of biblical criticism. Gunkel and Gressmann themselves, in identifying the smaller forms or Gattungen of narrative in Genesis, had taken their stand from the position of nineteenth-and early twentiethcentury European folktale studies. They were especially dependent on the research of the Grimm brothers on fairy tales, but also on some of the more systematic studies which were then developing, such as that of Axel Olrik (cf. esp. 1909; 1919) and the great Grimm commentary then in progress by Bolte and Polivka (1930). John Van Seters, * in the second part of his pivotal 1975 book on the patriarchs, attempted to build on this earlier work. Van Seters, like Gunkel and Gressmann, has been much impressed by a concept of an oral tradition pre-existing the very first literary traditions of Genesis. Basing himself on the theories of these early twenthiethcentury folktale studies, he classifies some of the small simple tales of the J tradition as oral narrative. Most of the remainder of the Abraham stories, he argues, had been from their origin written literature. Then, following so many of the early formalistic scholars of folktales and oral tradition from the Grimm brothers to Parry and Lord, he makes the assumption that oral tales by definition are earlier than written tales of a given folk tradition. Consequently, he identifies the stories he designated as oral in Genesis as 'preYahwistic', enabling him to argue further that through supplements and revisions the written narratives of the bible were added: first E, then J in two stages of transmission, then P also in two stages, and finally Genesis 14, which he dates the latest of all. Van Seters, in making this what he calls a 'fresh approach' to the literary problems of Genesis, concentrates, as most early scholarship has done, on the smallest segments of the tradition which might be considered to exist independently. He pays particular attention to those which might be understood as 'doublets' or have similar story plots such as Genesis 12, 20, and 26, Genesis 16 and 21, and Genesis 15 and 17. Following this well-worn path of earlier scholarship, Van Seters assigns each of the 'parallel' traditions to distinct pentateuchal sources. Building on that, he relates other pericopes of Genesis to one or other of the doublet or multivariant stories, thus arriving as one might expect *For the following, cf. Thompson, 1978.

2. The Pentateuchal Tradition as Narrative

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with a basic outline of sources quite similar in type—though certainly not in detail—to the Graf-Wellhausen documentary hypothesis. The revolutionary aspect of his proposal is in his chronology for these sources, for the bulk of the traditional J source is placed by Van Seters quite late in the development of the pentateuchal tradition. Moreover, he rejects the assumption of the existence of independent redactors who united the successive originally independent sources of the pentateuch. This function he assigns to the successive sources themselves, each source in turn being understood as the redactor and reviser of its predecessor. Van Seters' approach to the narratives of Genesis requires a priori that the influence of oral narrative forms be restricted to the very earliest stage of the tradition. The basis of his assertion that his J1 source is both distinct from and earlier than his J2 source is the indefensible equation: oral = early. Not only does he presuppose that his 'later' written sources cannot have an oral Vorlage, but he also assumes throughout that oral tradition is a function of preliterary society (p. 312). Van Seters' study is only partially influenced by the study and analysis of narrative forms. Much more: he addresses questions of redaction criticism (in spite of his often trenchant criticisms of this methodology) in that his primary effort is to outline the history of the transmission of the tradition. His recurrent allusions to modern folklore studies as a result become at best puzzling, since the recognition of the immense difficulty and usually very limited possibility of tracing a history of the redaction of even simple tales, to say nothing of complex traditions, has been a benchmark of postFrazerian folklore studies. Redaktionsgeschichte is perhaps possible if enough sources are available. But this condition nowhere obtains in either biblical or ancient Near Eastern studies. Walter Anderson (1923), in his study of the redaction of the story of King John and the Bishop, identifies as many as 18 separate recensions of this one tale. Anderson's study, however, is based on approximately 600 oral variants and 151 distinct literary versions of the tale. The implications of this work alone should undercut forever any attempt to trace with naive precision the origins of the Old Testament traditions through an oral prehistory. Anderson moreover deals with a whole tale, a very substantial and relatively easily traceable unit of tradition. Yet narrative elements are transmitted in much smaller units which persist in the history of a culture. Motifs, formulae, episodic

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structures, and themes have independent potential within the repertoire of narrators and writers and they have a much wider mobility than do whole tales. Conversely, the brief simple tales which are at the heart of Van Seters' discussion by no means approach the maximum limit of what can persist as a unity in oral tradition. Complex tales and narrative chains of considerable length have persisted orally for centuries. When dealing with antique traditions, theories about borrowing, and attempts to define the history of a tale's formation, beyond simple analytical observations, are perilous at best. And if this seems to bypass an entire generation of biblical exegetical scholarship into the history of the traditions and redactions of the bible, it is because of the conviction that every new recounting of traditional narrative forms its own unity and bears its own complex intentionality. Van Seters' methodology is explicitly based on principles which he believes to have been outlined by Axel Olrik in the early twentieth century. Since Van Seters assumes a radical distinction between oral and written forms of narrative, he needs criteria by which he can distinguish them. Neither questioning the accuracy of his understanding of Olrik's epic laws, nor the use to which these laws can be put, Van Seters proceeds to distinguish tales in Genesis which are dependent on oral tradition from those which he felt were originally literarily produced. As the pentateuchal variant's Moses before him, so Van Seters' Olrik reveals ten laws of oral tradition. They are: 1. The stability of the introduction and the conclusion. 2. Repetition. 3. The number three and the threefold repetition of events. 4. Scenic duality and polarity. 5. The law of the twin. 6. Singleness of direction and a very clear structural schematization. 7. Concrete details of the main scene. 8. Logic, and a consistency of natural and supernatural perspective. 9. Consistency of the treatment of scenes. 10. Focal concentration on the principal person (cf., not Olrik, but Van Seters, pp. 160f). What one first notices about these 'laws' by which Van Seters wishes to distinguish oral from written tales is that not one of them is found exclusively in oral tradition! On the contrary, they are all frequently found in written forms of literature, as, for example, in the tales of Mark Twain and in the plays of Racine. Van Seters seems to be aware of this (p. 161), but he seems unaware that this prevents these 'laws* from being legitimately used as distinguishing characteristics of oral tales. Many oral tales in fact contradict these 'laws'. The story of the


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Five Chinese Brothers and the Ghanaian story of Anansi and his Six Sons are examples of oral tales which share a common central motif which plays on a collective—but not individual—ability to overcome a crisis. Both stories intentionally mix natural and supernatural perspectives (contra law 8), and it is this mixture of perspectives which serves as the central appeal of the tales. Each brother or son has a magical power, but it can be used in one limited action only. It is the combination of these powers of all the brothers (or of all the sons), within an otherwise natural perspective, which enables both tales to overcome their crises. In the story of the Chinese brothers, the principal character plays a role only in the opening episode (contra law 10), while in the Ghanaian story, the principal character, Anansi himself, initiates the crisis, and, after the crisis is resolved, enunciates the dilemma of choosing which of the sons is to receive the reward. The action, however, shifts from child to child, and finally resides in the deity with the overcoming of a second crisis by means of an integrated aetiological motif. Scenic duality (law 4) is found in the story of the Chinese brothers (except at the beginning and the end of the story), but nowhere in the Anansi story can this law be observed. Law 1 is hardly ever to be observed in oral folktales. For example, in the story of The Princess and the Pea., some versions end with the early morning complaint of the princess and the announcement of the wedding. Others add on aetiologies which claim historicity, such as that the pea is still to be found in the museum. In yet other versions, the narrator is not satisfied with that, and adds a disavowal: 'if someone has not stolen it'. Closing formulae or aetiologies are the most common ways that the endings of tales can change. However, almost all simple tales, when they are transmitted as episodes within larger complex tales, fluctuate in both their beginning and ending, if for no other reason than to make them fit their narrative context. Law 6 is the criterion which Van Seters uses most. It is also the most puzzling to me, since neither singleness of direction nor clear structural schematization occurs often in either oral or written tales. One is rather constantly faced with a loss of plot line, long discursive detours, tangential episodes, baffling lacunae, and blind motifs. It is the rare tale or piece of literature which is lucid and singleminded. Some anecdotes do seem to have this characteristic, but blind motifs are even here very frequent! An entire classification of oral tales ('formulistic tales') can be made in which plot is not at all significant. There are also unfinished tales, catch tales, cumulative tales,

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anecdotes, etc. In fact, the plot lines of many complex tales consist largely of barriers to the completion of the action, a variety of lures, feints, and equivocations (contra law 7), which delay and prevent the answering of questions, the solution of crises, and the tale's consequent conclusion. Similarly, a mixture of genres (which I understand to be Van Seters interpretation of law 9) is a frequent, if not typical, occurrence in oral narrative. The narrative elements referred to in laws 2, 3, and 5 are so frequently found in all traditional narrative that they require no special comment. Van Seters' resuscitation of Olrik has its main purpose in his attempt to establish a relationship of dependency among the variant forms of the 'doublet' stories of Genesis. Furthermore, in attempting to distinguish between oral and written types of variants, Van Seters classifies separately those variants which result from the process of transmission and those which are the direct result of composition. Ultimately, his criterion for distinguishing transmission from composition variants is reducible to an indefensible assertion that transmission variants are small diversions, while composition variants are large. That both causes of variants are at times involved in the process of oral and written traditions must be granted. That the effect of these causes is distinguishable as types of variants is open to very serious doubt since, in the world of traditional narrative, transmission and composition are two aspects of the one same reality: one transmits by recomposing. Van Seters goes on to claim, apparently with New Testament synoptic studies in mind, that the presence of composition variants implies that one literary work is dependent on another. His conclusion is only possible because of the ambiguous use of the term 'variant', understood both as 'similar', as well as in the more limited sense of 'diverging'. He offers no criteria for distinguishing variants from what are merely similar compositions. This is important, since to speak of the Genesis doublets as diverging already implies that they were in fact originally related. For Van Seters, literary 'variants' imply dependence, while oral 'variants' are thought to occur independently of each other. The written variant is distinguished from the oral largely on the basis of the 'laws' of Olrik discussed above. Some of the criteria border on the contradictory: e.g., the simplest of two or more literary variants is the earliest, but shortened or summarized forms are to be judged late and secondary. This is a coalition of criteria which, if unassailable, is also inapplicable. Blind motifs are said to be evidence of direct and literary borrowing.


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Van Seters claims to approach Genesis from the perspective of form criticism, but he is overly dependent on unestablished premises about oral and written traditions. His entire argument is tendentious, however, because we do not have oral traditions in Genesisl We may have, at most, representations of oral traditions. The process, nevertheless, by which they are represented to us—as written—is lost to us irrecoverably. If any of these tales are directly based on oral narratives, significant changes must be expected to have occurred in the transmission to a written form. The relationship between oral and written traditional tales is much more complex than Van Seters allows. We may have writers writing tales, intending to reproduce what they have heard previously from an oral teller; or perhaps intending to revise it. We might also have writers transmitting not whole tales, but the motifs, episodes and formulae which they share in common with an oral tradition. The spectrum of possibilities is very large; only the total independence of oral and written traditions is unlikely. Van Seters' premises, that written narratives are related to literate societies and that oral narratives are related to illiterate societies, and that oral narratives are characteristically earlier than written forms, are peculiarly ill-founded. Oral narratives are known everywhere, while written tradition is limited to those cultures where someone can write! Much literature is written, even today, for oral recitation, and little, if any at all, is independent of oral traditions. The interdependence of oral and written narrative has a very long history. Oral tales have been a source for writers everywhere. It is also quite clear that oral tales have often derived from literary collections. Very many of the most widely collected oral tales have their earliest known forms in written accounts. This close interplay of oral and written narratives is already referred to in the colophon expansion of the Erra epic (Lambert, 1962, 119-26, 5th tablet, lines 42ff.) where authorship is claimed by Kabti-ilani-Marduk, who speaks of himself as 'compiler of its (the poem's) tablets'. The poem was 'revealed to him during the night', which might at first appear to be a claim relating to the poet's originality. However, as is traditional among so many modern tellers of tales, the author here claims that 'when he spoke it in the morning, he did not leave out a single line, nor did he add one to it'. Erra did not read the poem, but heard it, and the gods are commanded to praise 'this song'. 'The singer who chants it shall not die in destruction ... The scribe who commits it to memory ... shall be

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honored in his own land'. 'At the house where this tablet is deposited ... peace will be assured for it'. 'May this song last forever and endure for all time. Let all the lands hear i t . . . ' Kabti-ilani-Marduk is the composer of the song, but is he a singer or scribe, or both? It is clear, at least from his point of view, that the same song is both oral and written. Both forms transmit what is remembered. Composition itself is a form of transmission, carefully rejecting the intention of both revision and expansion. One of the problems with the research of many of the early form critics which Van Seters follows so closely, is that, in the process of developing categories with which they could analyze large bodies of literature, the assumption was too often made that the categories themselves were objective and distinct realities. Patterns observed in their studies took on the authority of laws. When this occurred, categorization itself replaced both understanding and the goal of facilitating comparison with literature of similar type. There are a number of Old Testament scholars today who, like Van Seters, have revived Gunkel's form criticism, some of them with great success in drawing out the narrative quality of much of the pentateuchal tradition. Some of the major works recently published are those of Brueggemann (1977), Coats (1976, 1985), Crenshaw (1979), Long (1968,1981), and Westermann (1974,1981,1982). Most of these scholars have worked within the documentary hypothesis and have had very strong theological interests. Yet other Old Testament scholars have followed traditional biblical form criticism in name only, and have followed more the direction of 'formalistic criticism' and motif analysis, especially as it has been developed by such non-biblical scholars as V. Propp (1968), A. Lord (1960), M. Parry (1955), S. Thompson (1946, 1955, 1955-58), A. Valles, (1969), and N. Frye (1982), in their study and classification of oral and folk narratives. A number of very promising studies in biblical research have been made over the past ten years, and the present book owes a great deal to this direction of research. Among the most important studies to be mentioned are those of D. Irvin on the Genesis Malach stories (1978), as well as her study of the Joseph and Exodus tales (1977), Fokkelmann's study of the Jacob narrative (1975), Clines's review of theme in the pentateuch (1978), Gunn's study of the David (1978) and Saul (1980) stories, and Sasson's very important commentary on Ruth (1979). In reading these scholars, one finds a world of ideas and


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perspectives totally other than what one finds in the more traditional Old Testament literary criticism of the documentary hypothesis, of tradition history, of redaction history, or even of form criticism. This new perspective comes in part because these approaches seek a reading of the text and an understanding of its formal structures and elements, rather than a history of the traditions which had been a primary goal of more traditional scholarship. Modern criticism might see these two approaches as a contrast between a diachronic and a synchronic approach to the text. But there are also very different assumptions involved about what the traditions themselves are. This 'new' criticism does not see the biblical narratives as folk histories, imaginatively expanded, but nonetheless rooted in a real past which the narratives relate. Rather they are seen as literary fictions, developing according to the demands of the audience, the author/narrator, or the tradition itself. This formalistic approach to biblical narrative has received much support as a result of the crisis within the traditional union of Wellhausen's documentary hypothesis and GunkePs form criticism. The inherent contradictions of these two approaches became apparent as a result of tradition history's need for a limited, unified context in which the development of oral tradition might be manageably traced. This created a redundancy in the form of a hypothesis of an originally coherent preliterary tradition or Grundlage that antedated the JEDP sources of the documentary hypothesis (cf. Noth, 1943, 1948; Speiser, 1965). Working at least tacitly with some such domain assumption, the whole process of Traditionsgeschichte since the late 1960s has accepted the documentary hypothesis in name only. Traditionsgeschichte has ignored both the implications of the documentary hypothesis and its fundamental opposition to a history of traditions and their forms. As a result, the documentary hypothesis has become a creed empty of substance, something which students learn in their early years of study. It is no longer a tool used by scholars to analyze or clarify a text. A generation or more has gone by since anyone tried to speak seriously about the Elohist and his world, and the priestly document has grown enormously, becoming a hodge-podge of short tales, editorial comments, chronological tidbits, and genealogical and cultic references which in the writings of most scholars is indistinguishable from the final pentateuchal redaction. The Yahwist Q) too has become more and more difficult to find. His personality and style change radically from story to story and from tradition to tradition. Longer narratives

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begin and end sharply and clearly, but are only with great difficulty seen as continuing the preceding 'J' narrative, or being continued in the following, without substantial deuteronomistic or priestly redactional help. The recent works of Van Seters (1975), Schmid (1976), and Rendtorff (1977) have profited biblical studies immensely in bringing most of these problems to a crisis. A similar atmosphere prevails in the study of the great deuteronomistic histories of Joshua through 2 Samuel. One speaks today of redaction-history, rather than great documents, which bridged the long history from Joshua to Solomon. 'J' and 'E' are designations relating at best to the 'flavor' of some of the tales which appear to have been collected by the earliest discernible redactors—little more. Discussions concerning the documentary hypothesis need not revert to contentions about whether there are multiple sources of the pentateuch. That is not in dispute. The documentary hypothesis received its most telling criticism when RendtorfF pointed out the lack of continuity of J. We will find below that this continuity fails in the movement from one major block of tradition to another. Prior to the comprehensive redactive process of the final stage in the development of the pentateuch there is no continuity in these stories beyond the traditions of single patriarchs or heroes. Whybray's very recent rejection of the Documentary Hypothesis, in which he speaks of the final form of the pentateuch as a unity, seems in agreement here—at least to the the extent that the process by which that unity has come about remains unexamined by Whybray (1987). The documentary hypothesis has created unities which are not observable within the text as we have it, and the unifying threads of the sources remain and must continue to remain fictive creatures of the interpreters (Rendtorff). The chronological framework, traditionally associated with the documentary hypothesis's sources, has lost its foundation (Schmid). This cannot be salvaged or revised through a facile reshuffling of hypothetical historical referents (Schmid, Van Seters). (For a very recent summary of current opinions on the DH, cf. Whybray.) Not only are we no longer able to show that the sources exist in the tradition as coherent and meaningful, we cannot date these sources, except insofar as we can describe individual units of the tradition as contemporary to or preexisting the final redactive process. That we might relate whole traditions ideologically with what little we know about pre-exilic, exilic, or post-exilic Israel, or, for that matter, with


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what sketchy understanding we have of Yahwism, or the states of Israel or Judah, cannot reasonably be accepted as a basis of interpretation. In the final chapter of this book, I will suggest a late seventh-century date for the earliest redaction of what later became the pentateuch. This is essentially a dating of the process of the final formation of the tradition. It tells us nothing regarding the possible antiquity of the tradition's sources, nor of their interpretation. That one might well believe in an oral-traditional background of some, or even much, of the biblical narrative cannot be defended from the specific forms of the written traditions we have, and there is no basis for assuming that such potentially oral traditions in any way antedate other extant written narratives. Certainly we do not have the basis for any history of the traditions or of their redaction here. We do need to investigate, however, the individual units of tradition from which the greater tradition has been formed, not only because such an investigation has been critical in delineating the sources of the pentateuch, but also because a recognition of the selfsufficient units of a tradition gives us a method for the observation of redactional efforts which have linked smaller units into a functional, greater whole. B. Smaller Narratives and Variants: Genesis 12; 20; 26 Questions regarding the unity and the history of ancient traditional narratives are critical to any understanding of these narratives. Unfortunately, that is hardly a sufficient basis for the hope that such questions can be adequately answered. Moreover, the more such essential questions are stressed, the more it is necessary to distinguish questions regarding the unity and the formation of the received narrative from those more speculative, undemonstrable excursions after so-called 'original' narratives and the growth of traditions preexisting what we now can read. Nevertheless, the briefest glance at the narrative of the pentateuch reveals many obvious primary and secondary story elements and story revisions in our text. Many episodes have been restructured; others have been inserted into the text, disrupting an otherwise continuous narrative line. The final redactive process of the pentateuch clearly used a number of different sources which had a varied and probably long tradition of literary and folk composition. This cannot be a license, however, to ignore the limits of what we can know, which are forced upon us by what we do know: the text.

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It has been common practice in discussions of the Genesis narratives, since the great Gunkel commentary, to discuss their form and structure from the starting point of the smallest integral units. To the extent that the identification of such units is understood purely formally, it is also legitimate. The analysis of such small elements as formulae, plot motifs, traditional episodes, episodic tales and similar forms is a necessary starting point for any serious study. To the extent that such formal analytical distinctions are thought to be distinctions in reality, with the result that what is independently analyzable is thought to be independently existent, to that extent we make it difficult to observe that these smaller units are also parts of larger unities, and ultimately part of the received text we have before us. And the text we have before us has continuity, however inadequate. At least from the point of view of the completed redaction, it forms a whole, however much that wholeness might be the end result of a long historical process (cf. now, Whybray, 1987). Long narratives, and the tales and plot motifs which make them up, can be classified into quite specific formal patterns. Frequently, similar and even identical motifs are found in a wide spectrum of tales. The variety and richness of these spectra has long been charted in the Folklore Fellows' Communications., as well as in the international index established by Stith Thompson, expanded by many regional studies. While most classification has concentrated on modern tales and tales from the recent past, increasingly scholars have become aware that the tales of the ancient Near East and the bible fall into similar patterns (cf. Irvin, 1978; Sasson, 1979). When distinct tales have most or all of their plot motifs in common, we might speak of a tale type. Moreover, in the comparison of tales, the interaction of the motifs of one tale on those of another can often be surmised, enabling us to speak of 'closely related tales'. The Snow White^ and the Snow White and Rose Red tales are good examples of this. However, it is extremely difficult, and in ancient stories— because of very limited quantities of extant versions—as yet impossible, to develop a history of the interrelationship of such similarly patterned tales. It is one thing to recognize variants of a story belonging to the same tale type, or closely related tales which share motifs, formulae, etc.; it is quite another to attempt to trace the direction of borrowing and relatedness, or to determine which of the tales might be chronologically earlier. Such efforts are futile and radically misleading. The methodological weakness of such efforts in


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biblical studies is nowhere clearer than in the discussions of one of the cornerstones of modern source and form criticism, the so-called triplet stories of Genesis 12, 20, and 26. Of the more recent studies of these stories, J. Van Seters' analysis (1975, pp. 167-91) is both representative of this method and its conclusions, and extraordinarily challenging in its programmatic implications (for the following, cf. Thompson, 1978, pp. 82-83). Van Seters understands the episode in Gen. 12.10-20 to be similar to a large body of folk (i.e. oral) literature, whose primary motivation was entertainment. The structure of this story, he argues, is simple and straightforward, a self-contained unit, fulfilling 'the basic structural requirements of Olrik's laws' (p. 169). Oral tales, he claims, typically have the following structure: (a) crisis; (b) plan; (c) execution of plans, followed by complication; (d) outside intervention; and (e) consequences. Gen. 12.10-20, he claims, follows this same structure: (a) famine; (b) plan to act as brother and sister to save Abram's life and to forestall suitors; (c) Sarah is taken into the royal harem; (d) God plagues the pharaoh; and (e) Abram is enriched. Without denying that Genesis 12 may have many characteristics similar to those found in oral tales, I hardly see this structure in the story of Genesis. The famine is not the crisis of the ensuing narrative plot. It rather serves as the effective cause of a journey. It has the appearance of a stock introductory formula (cf. Ruth 1.1), used to establish the setting of the story: the hero as wanderer. One could not, for instance, describe the story as how Abram survived the famine. The plot function of the famine is initiatory only. The plot crisis is the danger which is involved in travelling as a ger. The plan and its execution follow, but there is no hint in the text that this is to have the function of forestalling suitors; quite to the contraryl The plan has two aims: 'that it may go well with me because of you', and that Abram's life be spared (v. 13). No complications arise to prevent resolution of the plan. Rather, Sarah's marriage or concubinage is part of the plan: 'And for her sake he dealt well with Abram, and he had sheep, oxen, he-asses, men-servants, maid-servants, she-asses, and camels' (v. 16). The story plot is not simple, but it is straightforward. There is a dual plan and fulfillment. Not only is Abram's life spared, but he becomes rich. The crisis is passed, but the story does not end. If simplicity of plot were required, the Yahweh plague would have to be seen as an add-on motif, or as an intrusion. The plot as such is over. The plague's function is not to resolve the crisis, but to return the hero to the beginning—unchanged by the

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episode, except for his riches. Van Seters' element (e), Abram's enrichment, has nothing to do with the conclusion of the tale as told in Genesis 12. Wealth comes to Abram earlier in the story, as a result of Sarah being taken into the pharaoh's harem. The conclusion of Genesis's tale (beginning with Yahweh's plague), as well as the beginning of the story (the opening famine and the resulting journey) integrate this sub-tale into the larger complex-story in Genesis of Abraham as wanderer (cf. Gen. 12.9; 13.If.; and below, Chapter 3). The essential quality of this integration, in spite of the lack of harmonious transition, shows that Gen. 12.10-20 is not a selfcontained unit—a tale in itself—but is an episode within a large chain narrative. Genesis 20 is understood by Van Seters as a written revision of Gen. 12.10-20. In his discussion, he concludes from the summary character of v. 2, that the story of ch. 12 must be known to this narrator. The integral character of v. 13 certainly supports this interpretation: 'And when God caused me to wander from my father's house, I said to her, "This is the kindness you must do me: at every place to which we come, say of me, He is my brother".' However, the intimation in Genesis 20 of other such episodes in Abraham's wanderings suggests a plurality of occurrences known to the tradition, which ought to give us pause before concluding that it is a quite specific reference to the tale in ch. 12, or to that tale only. One also need not conclude that ch. 20 is motivated by a need to revise ch. 12. In its present context in Genesis, 20.13 causes the episode to function as a doubling of vthe previous story, and is to be understood as continuing, not replacing or reinterpreting, the narrative of 12.10-20. It is extremely difficult to read ch. 20 apart from its context within Genesis. The 'blind motifs, foreshortening, and backward allusions' (Van Seters, p. 175) are all the result of the function of ch. 20 as a repetition of the earlier episode of ch. 12. Such repetition of scenes is a common characteristic of long complexnarratives. Van Seters is correct to assert that ch. 20 cannot be understood (in its present context) as entirely independent of ch. 12. However, one may still doubt that the episode of ch. 20 was composed as a whole for its present context. Rather, both episodes appear as variable concretizations of common plot motifs, which at one stage of the Genesis tradition, represented by the present function of ch. 20 as an episode-repetition within a complex-tale, allow us to see something of the breadth of the repertoire of stock motifs which was available to Israelite tellers of tales. Only by an


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unreasonable limitation of the possibilities open to oral and written traditions, can the differences between these tales be used to classify the origin of one form of a plot motif as necessarily earlier than the other, or as essentially oral or scribal. This same motif appears again in Gen. 26.1-11, which is seen by Van Seters as the latest of all, and as having been originally literarily composed. Both conclusions are based on his claim that Genesis 26 must be understood as a dependent revision of both chs. 12 and 20 (p. 177). He points out correctly that v. 1 ('Now there was a famine in the land, besides the former famine that was in the days of Abraham.') refers directly to the famine of Genesis 12. He also claims that the references to Gerar and Abimelech must have been borrowed from ch. 20, since, somehow, it does not make sense to Van Seters that one would go to the city of Gerar (which certainly had stores of reserves) to avoid a famine 'in the land', rather than to Egypt which is unaffected by the rainfall patterns of Palestine. Van Seters fails to notice that famines in stories have narrative functions; they are not always like real famines, to be circumvented by good geographic sense. The conditions of Egypt are irrelevant to this tale. The famine of Gen. 26.1, like that of 12.10, is a formulaic opening of a narrative episode which functions not as a plot crisis, but as an occasion for a journey. This too is not a famine story. Nor is it necessary to assume that the use of Abimelech and the Philistines is dependent on Genesis 20. The second episode of the tale in ch. 26 is located near Gerar, and also involves Abimelech and Phicol (cf. Gen. 21.22-34!). The explicit reference to Genesis 12 does seem to imply that this stage of the patriarchal tradition already involves both tales, but such an observation is not evidence relating to the origins of these tales, to some possible interrelationship of dependency, or about the intentionality of this tale as revisionary, as Van Seters claims. It is a fundamental mistake in method to read these stories as commentaries on each other. Genesis 26 is irreducible; it illustrates only itself. On the other hand, each feature, each motif and formula, can be related, compared, and classified, and this relationship, comparison, and classification will aid our interpretation of the specific synthesis of such elements which forms the tale of Genesis 26. Van Seters proceeds in his interpretation of ch. 26 from the perspective of chs. 12 and 20, with the result that he is predisposed to see a network of dependent relationships. His questions, however, are formulated too grossly. We cannot trace connections except when we also ascertain that such connections exist.

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It can be legitimately asked whether these tales are variants. Are the similarities of these three tales to be understood developmentally as variants of a single tale-type? Should our attention be addressed to questions of origins, and to the process of change from one form to another? Could not these similar episodes be understood as variables within an as-yet-unknown spectrum of narrative tradition, having only some of their elements in common? Genesis 12 and 20 certainly have much that is similar, particularly the development of the central 'wife-sister' motif, and these two tales can probably be legitimately classified within the same tale- or episode-type, but they need not belong even to the same family of recensions, let alone be directly related. They are hardly to be described as close variants, as tales go. It is to go well beyond our evidence to claim that their relatedness is anything more than their present common context in Genesis. Chapter 26 should not be classified in this tale-type at all. Structurally, its similarities to chs. 12 and 20 are limited to the level of motifs (the famine introducing a journey, and theger claiming that his wife is his sister). It also shares other more central plot motifs with a number of narratives, many of which are also found in Genesis, for example, the promise of land by a divinity, a pun on the hero's name, the divinity's enrichment of the hero which leads to jealousy, a conflict over wells, a theophany leading to altar building, the resolution of a conflict through oath or covenant, and a concluding aetiology. The dominant plot in the earlier events of the tale uses the 'wife-sister' motif only tangentially, in order to take advantage of a pun on Isaac's name. The central plot-line runs from the promise motif to Isaac's wealth (a result of Yahweh's blessing) to the crisis in the conflict over wells, which is ultimately resolved, after a toppling of scenes, by an oath, or covenant, and rounded off with a closing aetiology. This tale may or may not have originated in oral form, but it is not structurally distinguishable from oral tales! Of the many plot motifs common to these three stories, two in particular stand out as determinative of their character as stories: the wife-sister deception, and the shepherd conflict. There is an intrinsic relationship between these two dominant motifs in both Genesis 20 and 26.The relationship of these two motifs in the chain narrative of Genesis 12-13, however, is not integral. It is constructed from two wholly separate episodes, apparently brought together for the first time in their present context. The wife-sister deception of ch. 12 is quite similar to the story in ch. 20, but the shepherds' quarrel episode is far more distant, lacking, for example, any reference to wells. This


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presents the possibility that the conjunction of these two motifs in the Abraham-Lot chain narrative reflects a familiarity with a taletype similar to the Genesis 20 and Genesis 26 stories, and that chs. 12-13 are a redactional variant of that tale-type. The tales of chs. 20 and 26 can also not be described as the 'original' or 'causative' form of this tale-type. In ch. 20, we are told that Abraham passed his wife off as his sister wherever he went. That other similar stories were in fact around is quite clear from the reference to a curse which had been placed on the people of Gerar, preventing the women of Gerar from conceiving. This particular motif is out of place and contradicts a central theme of Genesis 20. In ch. 20, God threatens death to Abimelech, not a curse of sterility to the women of Gerar, should Abimelech disobey him. The story, moreover, makes it very clear that Abimelech is innocent and obedient to God. Nor can this motif of barrenness in ch. 20 be understood as somehow referring to the story of ch. 12, since there, it is a plague sent by Yahweh against the pharaoh. It might be suggested that this curse referred to in Genesis 20 is an allusion to a variant of the story, now lost to us. Although there is an interruption in the narrative with the episode in Genesis 21 of Isaac's birth, the story of the covenant between Abimelech and Abraham, involving a reference to a quarrel over a well, exonerating Abimelech and supplying an aetiology for the name of Beersheba, follows smoothly and coherently from ch. 20. These add-on motifs tighten up the story in the pattern of Genesis 26, marking Abraham's transition from Gerar to Beersheba. The episode of ch. 20 appears to be finished, and the narrative seems to come to rest, when Abimelech offers to make a covenant with Abraham (21.23f.). At this point, Abraham makes a complaint about a well that had been stolen by Abimelech's servants. Abimelech protests his personal innocence. This protestation Abraham accepts by giving Abimelech a gift, after which a second covenant is made. Abraham, consequently, lays claim to the well by giving Abimelech seven ewe lambs, thereby explaining the origin of the name Beersheba as the 'well of the seven (ewe lambs)'. Abimelech accepts Abraham's claim by swearing a covenant with Abraham at Beersheba. The story closes with Abraham planting a grove and praying to God. The form of a tripartite closing of this story is also found in Genesis 26. The details, however, are quite different. The story-line itself in ch. 26 is quite unlike either ch. 20 or chs. 12-13. The weight of the story of ch. 26 rests on the shepherd-conflict motif. In fact, ch.

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26 can be understood as a conflict story in type, since the episode of the wife-sister part of the story also involves human conflict, and, like the conflict stories of Jacob, divine intervention does not play the pivotal role which it does in ch. 12, and especially in ch. 20. In Genesis 26, Isaac lies about his relationship with his wife (as in ch. 12) because he is afraid that the men of Gerar might kill him, on account of Rebecca's beauty. From that point on, however, the story travels its own direction and is uniquely a story of Isaac. Unlike the stories in chs. 12-13 and 20, no one tries to marry Rebecca in Genesis 26. The discovery of the deception takes place for the sole purpose of making a pun on Isaac's name, a motif that is a constant of the Isaac stories. Isaac is seen 'fondling' (mshq) his wife. Abimelech berates Isaac, and (perhaps because Elohim had threatened Abimelech in Gen. 20.7) charges all his people to leave Rebecca alone under the threat of the death penalty. In this story, Isaac becomes rich by farming the land. He becomes so rich and powerful that the people envy him in a motif similar to the story of Exodus 1. Here, however, Isaac is asked to leave, and the tale becomes a pious example story of patience. Isaac's servants dig a well, and the herdsmen of Gerar quarrel over it. Isaac then digs a second well, and they quarrel over that too. Finally, it is with the third well which Isaac digs that the quarreling comes to an end. Patience and pacifism win out, opening the story to an aetiology of the name of the third well: Rehoboth, for 'Yahweh has made room' (rhb] for them. At this point of the narrative, Abimelech and Phicol come to Isaac, as they had come to Abraham in Genesis 21. Isaac, however, berates Abimelech for driving him off. Abimelech confirms that Isaac had been in the right, and a covenant of peace is made. The story ends with the naming of Beersheba as in Genesis 21. These three stories in Genesis have a great number of motifs in common, many of which are interrelated. A distinctive quality is given to each story by its use of these motifs. Certainly one story has influenced the telling of the other, but it is not justified to speak of one story as dependent on and subordinate to the other, and there is no question, as Van Seters would have it, of one story being a revision of another. In their present form, the tales cannot be identified as earlier or later than each other. They are contemporaneous. The current form of some of the motifs can be seen as secondary and subsequent to a similar motif in one of the other stories. Moreover, there are indications that yet other variations of these episodes once existed, which were substantially different from our received stories.


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Indeed, the nature of the structures of these narratives indicates that the long quest for a detailed reconstruction of the earliest forms of the traditions is a hopeless quest. The individual units of Genesis do not exist by themselves, and at each level in the history of their transmission, they have formed new unities which have radically altered both their structure and their content. A pure original of a motif or a tale does not exist, nor did it ever! This time-worn effort to relate parallel traditions and units of traditions, which has been a fundamental first step in investigations into the history of traditions, needs to be radically questioned. We have neither the number nor the variety of tale-types in the bible with which one might reasonably analyze their interrelatedness. Moreover, the existence of doublets is definitely not a criterion with which we can demonstrate a separateness in the traditions or in the complex sources of traditions. Doublet and triplet stories can and do exist within the same traditions, as we shall see below (cf. now, Whybray, 1987). At times, such doubling is indicative of variations of narration within a single tradition. In yet other cases, they are indicative only of story elements which are used independently in more than one narrative, reflecting the tale-telling tools existing within the culture. Each example of such parallels needs to be examined on its own merits.


Chapter 3 THE BOOK OF THE TOLEDOTH OF ADAM A. The Toledoth of Adam: The Origin of Israel's World In any analysis of traditions within the aetiological and constitutional narrative of the pentateuch, the question of historiography arises in two forms: the function of the narrative perceived as a complex continuous story of Israel's origins, and the function of the individual narratives of which the pentateuch is composed. Traditionally, the former has usually been dealt with inside the framework of a discussion of source criticism, and the latter as part of the analysis of form criticism. This is an accident of the history of scholarship. In this and the following two chapters, I will deal formalistically with the larger structures of the pentateuch's origin tradition, the history of that tradition, and its historiography. One of the difficulties which becomes most apparent in reading the literature on the pentateuch is that, in the writings of those scholars who hold to an assumption of at least a general historicity of the pentateuch, the prehistory of Israel is frequently described in the form of a skeletal abstract of the final pentateuchal redaction. This prejudice in favor of what is often called 'the biblical view of history', but which, in fact, is a prejudice in favor of the final editing of the biblical narrative, is explicitly fostered by Malamat (1983) in the form of Grundzuge, or 'essential events' in the order of their occurrence in the historical books of the bible. This prejudice is an understandable one. After all, it is indeed the received tradition. Nevertheless, this prejudice ought not to mislead the historian. After all, the tradition is formed from a considerable number of clearly originally independent extended narratives, whose relationship to each other is hardly integral, but rather fragile, artificial, secondary, and circumstantial. The implications of this, I hope, will become clear in the following pages.

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In the present crisis of biblical research, it seems necessary to speak from the text itself, in an effort to reduce the abstraction of the argument. It is also important to use the entirety of a large, extended narrative to reduce the tendency towards arbitrariness and willfulness in interpretation. The following two chapters begin with the received text, seeking to describe the individual unities from which it has been formed. In this process, I have distinguished elements in the narrative, that are independent units prior to their inclusion in their present context, from revisional efforts which have been used to bind smaller units together in new complex unities. In Chapters 3-5, I have been able to isolate three, and in two cases, four successive levels of tradition, the final of which is in its conception a composite redaction. While these observations are frequently based on specific interpretations of the text, these interpretations are not, I hope, unduly speculative. They are certainly not abstract, but observations on the received text. To speak of successive levels of the traditions, I am speaking of very specific literary developments of the tradition in question, and not of any generalities which go beyond that tradition. The successive levels of a tradition are related to each other in terms of a relative chronology, and they cannot be assumed to be contemporary with the comparable levels of another tradition's development. We lack evidence for such an assumption. Moreover, no great time span can be assumed to exist in transitions from one level of tradition to another. As has been pointed out above, all of the narrative material in the pentateuch is unquestionably contemporaneous with the final redaction. Each successive stage of literary development has in its turn recreated the traditional material in a form which is meaningful in its own time. The tradition has been brought 'up to date', at times without change, and at times with profound and radical changes. A brief outline of these literary developments (or if we might borrow archaeological terminology: 'strata'), which have been brought out through the analysis of the following chapters, might be described as follows:\ 1. Smaller Units and Tales. All of the major blocks of tradition, from Genesis 1 to Exodus 23, are complex traditions. They consist of multiple units of narrative, each of which bears its own literary meaning and function. Many, perhaps most, have their own prehistories. Specific motifs, plot directions, thematic orientations, and other narrative elements, can be recognized within each unit as independent realities. Some of these units are very short, even a verse

3. The Book of the Toledoth of Adam

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or two. Others, however, are quite extensive, a chapter or more in length. They are distinctive units of tradition in that they have their own plot-line, theme, and recognizable beginning and ending, which are separable and distinct from those of their greater narrative context. 2. Larger, Compound Tales. These are larger narrative composites. They are similar to the smaller tales, but consist of a plurality of the smaller units and episodes of level 1. The compound narratives have their own theme and plot-line, along with a distinctive beginning and ending. This level of tradition has not been identified throughout the origin tradition of the pentateuch, nor is it usually found in the received tradition as a continuous unit of tradition. It has often been fragmented by its later use in the tradition. In the Abrahamic collection of narratives, four distinct compound tales have been identified and can be separated from the received narrative. These are the wandering of Abraham, Abraham and Lot, Abraham and Ishmael, and Abraham and Isaac. In the Jacob conflict tradition, three such compound tales are recognizable: The Jacob-Esau Conflict story, the Jacob-Laban narrative and the Rachel-Leah tale. In the Joseph narrative, three such compound tales are implied, and can be identified with clarity. They cannot, however, be wholly separated from their present context within the greater chain narrative of Joseph. These are the story of Israel's entry into Egypt, the story of Joseph the Faithful Servant, and the story of Joseph the Savior. It is likely that further research will identify yet other examples of this narrative genre. 3. The Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative. This narrative genre encompasses large sections of narrative from levels 1 and 2, and will be discussed at length in Chapter 5, below. Traditional ComplexChain narratives are not merely composite narratives. They are long discursive narrative chains which typically have an historiographic appearance. These chains of stories each have their own coherent theme and plot-line, and their own distinctive beginning and end. Six traditional complex-chain narratives have been identified in Chapter 5: the chain narratives of Abraham, of Jacob, and of Joseph in the book of Genesis, and the chain narratives of the Passover and the Exodus (the two chains intertwined in one narrative block), and of the Torah in the book of Exodus. These narratives form five of the six major blocks of continuous narration from which the origin tradition of the pentateuch (Genesis 1-Exodus 23) has been formed (the sixth block being Genesis 1-11). The affirmation of their existence is a

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refutation of the documentary hypothesis. The delineation of this narrative level in the pentateuch offers an incompatible alternative to the hypothesis of sources. 4. The Toledoth Structure. This last major developmental level of narrative building may with reason be spoken of as the final redactive process of the origin tradition in the pentateuch (on the Toledoth structure's relationship to the so-called P source, see most recently, Tengstrb'm, 1981). It holds together the successive narrative blocks of Genesis 1-Exodus 23 as a story unit, and gives it the form of an account of Israel's origin. There are three distinguishable movements in this redactive process: a. The structure created by the Toledoth formulae which forms Genesis as a book, and gives it the character of a prehistory of Israel's origin. This unit compositionally stands by itself, b. The redaction of Exod. 1-23 as a part and continuation of the Toledoth narrative. This redactional movement, exemplified in the connective passage of Exod. 1.1-6, 8, centering the understanding of Israel's origin in the Passover and the Torah, may well be contemporaneous with the Toledoth formulae. It has indications, however, of having been conceptually independent of, functionally subsequent to, and literarily dependent on, the Toledoth structure, c. The tales and other narrative materials which are episodes associated with the Toledoth structure of Genesis, fill out the patriarchal narratives as we know them, transposing the chain narratives of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph into the Toledoths of Terah, Isaac, and Jacob, and giving to the narration of these three quite distinctive stories an historiographically oriented parallel structure. These secondary elements of the tradition clearly support and strengthen the Toledoth structure of the narration. They also indicate, however, that the Toledoth redaction is best spoken of as a process, or a level of tradition, rather than as a single literary event. The entrance of these materials into Genesis is structurally and literarily dependent on the Toledoth structure as defined by the Toledoth formulae. They are also secondary, a fact which may or may not have chronological significance. The Toledoth tradition is a narrative unit, with its own theme, plot-line, and distinctive beginning and end. Its structure is redactional in nature, and, as such, composite. Its theme is the essence and existence of Israel. Israel is a nation, called into existence by Yahweh to live under the Torah, an existence which finds its source and substance in the Passover and sabbath observances. The origin tradition, under the Toledoth structure, is aetiological and histori-


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ographical in form. It is aetiological in its form as Toledoth^ recounting what Israel developed from. The book of Genesis is formally structured as Israel's prehistory. Israel's beginning^ however, is in the book of Exodus, and the origin tradition is historiographical in its description of Yahweh's calling of Israel out of Egypt, and of his guiding them through the wilderness—the collected traditions of Exodus 1-23. This extended Toledoth structure is a redactional process which holds together large blocks of narratives and multiple, lesser traditions in the form of a continuous narration, beginning with the creation of the world and ending in preparation for the conquest on the edge of the land of Canaan. This level of the development is essentially the text we know. 5. Past Toledoth Redaction. Given the four levels of narrative building suggested above in the formation of the origin tradition of ancient Israel, it is necessary to observe that in the received text, the origin tradition as a whole is within a yet greater story context, which we might speak of minimally as the pentateuch, but, perhaps better: as the narrative tradition which extends to the end of 2 Kings. The questions about the relationship of the Toledoth story of origins to these other narratives which also have among them traditions which might well be understood as essentially origin stories (the origin of Israel and the Land, the origin of the monarchy, etc.) are not wholly separate from our concerns. Certainly, the variant tradition of Deuteronomy, and that of the wilderness wanderings, impinge on our study directly, as they are brought together with our narrative within the pentateuch. Contiguity alone is a form of redaction affecting meaning. It is possible, perhaps likely, that the bringing together of such large traditions as the land tradition of Deuteronomy, or the legal and cultic traditions of the so-called priestly code, connecting the origin tradition of Genesis-Exodus 1-23 with the great tale of Joshua's conquest, affected also the narration of the origin tradition. It certainly affected the reading of it! It is at least possible that Gen. 1.1-2.3 may have been revised, or perhaps first introduced, at some time subsequent to the Toledoth redaction, under the influence of Leviticus, and perhaps Numbers. Similarly, the very enigmatic passage of Gen. 15.7ff may reflect influences such as Deuteronomy which are foreign to the origin tradition as a whole. Moreover, Yahweh's closing speech in Exodus 23 is certainly Deuteronomic in language and flavor (though not in plot!), and suggests interests and relationships as yet unidentified. These wholly secondary adjustments of our tradition are surprisingly peripheral.

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This underlines the conclusion of this study that the patriarchal and Exodus narratives were introduced en bloc, as the first major tradition of the pentateuch, and not in the form of successive pentateuchal sources or documents. Neither J nor P exists as such in these traditions. The following Chapters (3-4) are designed to carry the reader through the text of Genesis and Exodus in a continuous reading, with the purpose of defining the distinctive independent units of the tradition. The primary purpose of this reading is to mark out clearly the very large number of smaller units and tales which are characteristic of the first developmental level or stage of the tradition. In this process, indications of levels 2 and 3 are frequently noted, but only in passing. These are discussed in greater detail in Chapter 5. The final level, the formation of the Toledoth tradition, which has added so substantially to the traditions of levels 1,2 and 3, is discussed throughout Chapters 3 and 4, and is treated comprehensively in section E of Chapter 5. Outlines or diagrams of the often unwieldy traditional complex-chain narratives, as well as a diagram of the formulae of the Toledoth structure, are offered in their turn at the end of each section of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 deals with some questions of chronology and historiography which could not be reasonably dealt with in the main body of the work. The epilogue deals with some of the theological implications of a literary study of Genesis. This is comparable to my discussion of'Historicity and Christian Faith', at the end of my book on historicity (Thompson, 1974, pp. 326-30). If one keeps in mind the techniques and modes of traditional narrative building, one finds in the narratives of Genesis extended narrative structures, holding together very large complexes of stories, and a variety of different types of literature. These extended structures, which lend the pentateuch its sense of wholeness and continuity, often cannot be removed from the smaller, individual narrative units arbitrarily. They frequently form an integrated whole with those units, and cannot be presumed to exist without them. One is also frequently faced with the question of whether the individual tales in the pentateuch have their present form because of, and as a result of, this greater narrative context. For the most part, Genesis does form a continuous and significantly meaningful whole, and can hardly be read as a mere collection of brief, episodic units. Nor can it be legitimately read in terms of these smallest tales alone. Nevertheless, apart from this extended, editorial framework, there


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is little evidence of continuity from one larger unit of the tradition to another, and one must suspect with Rendtorff (1977), that the narrative units of Genesis, written or oral, were originally entirely independent of each other. However one might see similarities in form and style among the smallest units of the traditions, it is increasingly difficult to see these similarities as more than popular modes and fashions of narration. Certainly, it is difficult to see them as indicative of pre-existent, continuous, and independent, complex narrative histories of the sort which is presupposed by the documentary hypothesis. When one begins the analysis of the pentateuch with the smallest narrative units, one begins, so to speak, with the building blocks of a narrative tradition. However, any hypothetical larger 'documents' in which these smaller units are understood to eventually find their home, as in the documentary hypothesis, are not reconstructions based on actually observed or observable tradition. They are rather intellectually coherent structures and thematic constructs of the modern reader of ancient tradition. The documentary theory of source criticism founders when it is stressed that the very substance of the hypothetical, extensive, and complicated narrative traditions or documents such as J and E are essentially missing links which are not observable in any extensive or convincing detail. For example, one might ask whether the theology of the very complex J tradition springs from the smaller units and tales from which the tradition is formed. Does it grow out of the plots and themes of these stories with the result that one might speak of J stories whose cumulative weight builds a religious ideology, or of a theology whose progression and development is integral to the stories themselves from which the tradition is formed? Or is the hypothetical J theology to be understood rather as the ideology of a redactional framework which holds together a variety of originally independent traditions and stories which each have their own origin, coherence, and theme apart from that 'J' framework, in the manner, for example, of the theologies of a Matthew, a Luke, or a John? The first suggested alternative is objectionable for two quite different reasons: a. The narrative plots and themes of the smaller units and tales are independent, not only of some greater 'J' theme and narrative direction, but also from the themes and plots of the other associated tales (on this, further, see Chapter 5 and the Epilogue, below). The plot and thematic differences in these tales are such as to resist and conflict with any cumulative progression

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towards a dominant 'greater' vision, b. To the extent that these originally different plot-lines have been unified, and their divergences harmonized and interpreted in terms of the greater whole, to that extent 'J' must be understood in redactional terms, even when there are few redactional elements or structures which are separable from the individual narratives identified with 'J'- However, if 'J' is redactional, then the traditional narratives which are taken up in this greater editorial structure cannot be understood as intrinsically and ideologically identical with 'J'. If the 'J' theology can be understood as a redactional theology in this manner, analogous to Matthew's and Luke's Gospels, no intrinsic objections to such a view is apparent in the narratives themselves. After all, even the most resolute divergence in the narrative plot-line, or the most absolute contradiction in theme can theoretically be overcome by a good editor with a clear purpose of his own. However, if such a line of argument is followed in an effort to argue for the existence of'J', one finds oneself critically dependent on an argument based on non-contradiction. In the case of'J'5 as with so many good editors, there is no evidence open to refutation. On the other hand, 'J' is hypothetical, and most editors are not. Before we can assume the existence of such a redactional level within the tradition, and give to 'J' such a central place in the history of the bible and its theology, we should require some quite concrete and unequivocal element in the tradition, which we might identify and pass on to our students as evidence of 'J'The reading of the origin tradition in the following chapters attempts to point out both the coherent unities of the narrative text, as well as the disruption within the narration, with the hope of understanding better both how the stories themselves hold together and how they are held together by external and redactional structures. In this way, we can distinguish the processes of narrative building which bind independent units together in larger unities. This work builds on some of the observations of Rendtorff. Many of the continuities and discontinuities in the Genesis narratives become clear when the formal structures, with which the individual narrative units are introduced and concluded, are examined. It is frequently through these structures that the narrative content of the greater tradition takes its shape and moves forward.

Genesis 1.1 ff. When Gen. 1.1 begins the story of creation (1.1-2.3), it introduces


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this narrative unit alone: the creation of the sky and the earth, and what is included in that. The narrative unit which follows (Gen. 2.4b-3.24) is neither included in nor subordinate to the introductory phrase of Gen. 1.1, but has rather its own parallel existence and its own introductory formula: 'On the day that the God Yahweh made the earth and the sky'. Only if one were to understand the garden story as chronologically subsequent to the creation story, could one understand it as implicitly introduced by Gen. 1.1. Apart from the creation story of ch. 1, the garden story does not imply in its own telling that it occurs after the creation of the world. Its setting is rather contemporary to the creation of the world. The relationship of these two narratives is not an historiographical relation. Gen. l.lff. is set before the garden story not in a time sequence, but as a preface to a much greater work in which Genesis 2-3 is only a part. The garden story has a secondary introductory formula in Gen. 2.4a: 'This is the Toledoth of the sky and the earth when they were created'. This verse, read in the context of the received tradition, introduces not only the garden story, but the larger, complex narrative whole of the Toledoth, of which the garden story forms only the first and initiating unit. In terms of narration, the creation story of Genesis 1 is not understood so much in this secondary introduction as chronologically prior to the Toledoth narration as it is made to offer introductory context for the narration. In this it functions as a preface. The creation story of Gen. 1.1-2.3, as a story, stands by itself. It becomes a preface for the larger narrative context by means of the introduction to the genealogy of Adam in Gen. 5.1-2, which gives title to and establishes the Toledoth framework of Genesis as a whole and relates Gen. l.lff. to it: 'This is the Book of the Toledoth of Adam. When God created mankind, he made it in the likeness of God. Male and female he created them, and he blessed them and gave them the name "mankind" when they were created'. Although this passage introduces the genealogical narrative of Gen. 5.3ff. (as Gen. ll.lOa: 'This is the Toledoth of Shem' introduces the genealogy of Shem), the genealogical narrative itself is not the 'Book of the Toledoth of Adam'. Gen. 5.1b-2 carries the reader back to the creation story of Gen. l.lff. In doing so, it gives structure to a major complex unit, including both Gen. l.lff. and the narratives following Gen. 5.3. Gen. 5.la serves as both title and topical sentence to the entire Toledoth structure of Genesis. Gen. l.lff, as a preface, presents the creation of the world as the context for the book of the 'Toledoth'' or 'development' of mankind (for an earlier view, see Tengstrom).

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The narrative section introduced by Gen. 2.4a: 'This is the Toledoth of the heavens and the earth when they were created', includes both the garden story and the Adam genealogy of Genesis 4, of which the Cain/Abel story is a part. Neither of these two tales is originally alluded to in the Toledoth of 5.3ff. (where Seth, and not Cain or Abel carries on the quality of mankind in 'God's image', and Eve is unknown) or in the introduction of 5.1-2. They are brought into the Toledoth structure of Genesis through their own distinctive Toledoth in Gen. 2.4a. Gen. 2.4b ff., having taken on the understanding of the Toledoth of the world created in Gen. l.lff., becomes thereby a prelude of the subject matter of the entire book of Genesis, which is the Toledoth of mankind from 5.3 onwards. This preliminary tradition was linked to the genealogy of Adam in 5.3ff. through the addition of the Adam genealogy of 4. Iff. and the story of the birth of Seth in 4.25-26, thus creating a form of secondary linkage which, as we will see in Chapter 5, has been followed at every major juncture in the Toledoth structure of Genesis. Gen. 5.1-2 establishes the Toledoth structure which holds all of Genesis together, presenting the book's fundamental theme: the development of mankind which eventually will lead to the origin of Israel. The individual narrative units of the first block of narratives which is introduced and united by this overarching Toledoth structure are: Gen. l.lff.; 2.4b ff.; 4.1ff.; 4.17ff.; 5.3ff; 6.1ff.; 6.4; 6.9ff.; 9.1ff.; 9.18ff.; lO.lff.; 11.Iff.; ll.lOff.; 11.27ff. The narrative unit of Gen. l.lff. deals with the creation of the heavens and the earth. Even in its received form, the narrative proceeds in a series of narrative segments, each introduced by the formula: 'And God said' (Gen. 1.3, 6, 9, 14, 20, 24, and 26), with the last having a narrative subsection introduced by 'and God blessed them and said to them'. Each segment usually ends with variant concluding formulae, such as: 'And God saw that it was good', and 'And it was so', or the like. These segments are marked by a successive day: 'It was evening and it was morning...' However, there are two clear, jarring exceptions: Gen. 1.9 and 1.24. These suggest that the narrative originally proceeded in a series of eight acts, subsequently to be restructured in the final version's seven days. The assumption of some such prehistory of our text helps explain the very awkward Gen. 2.1, which is a concluding formula: 'Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them', though our narrative in the received text does not end here (For a thorough analysis of this narrative, cf. the forthcoming study


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of S.E. Janke). Gen. 2.2's 'And on the seventh day ...' continues the narrative within the scheme of a week, and gives a secondary conclusion to the creation narrative, stressing the ultimate value of the Sabbath as having existed from the beginning of creation. In this way, the story is given an aetiological purpose within the Toledoth narration. This function is comparable to that of many of the aetiologies which are found in the succeeding narratives of the garden story and the Adam genealogy of Genesis 4. One might well suggest that the retelling of the story of God's creation in seven days, forming an aetiology of the sabbath, marks this story very clearly as the first of a series of aetiological narratives. When this story is brought together with the narrative passage of the equally independent and originally separate story of Gen. 2.4b-4.26, the successive aetiologies from the creation of the world to the end of the Shem genealogy in Gen. 11.26 form an extended, aetiologically based narration, which can only be understood in its entirety as a form of creation narrative, explaining how the world known to Israel came to be as it was, and marking the continuous Toledoth narration of Genesis as essentially aetiological.

Genesis 2Aa ff. The introductory formula in Gen. 2.4b which begins the garden story is integral to the present form of the narrative, giving both its context as the first act of the Toledoth of 2.4a, as well as its setting in time. 'On the day that the God Yahweh was making the earth and the heavens', then the garden story occurred. This mythological setting is essential to an understanding of the narrative. It happened in the beginning of time, when the world was not yet as it is now. It is in such a time that this verse places us. The many aetiologies in this narrative, including those that are found in Yahweh's speech in 3.142"., about the snake, the woman, and the man, and especially the central aetiological theme of the narrative, explaining how it is that man is like God having wisdom, but is unlike God in that he does not live forever, enable this story to fit well into the collection of aetiological tales which make up the first eleven chapters of Genesis. As a transmitter of aetiology, Gen. 2.4b flf. has few peers. There are substantial reasons for believing that the garden story like the creation story existed originally independent of its context in Genesis. Not only does it have its own integral introductory formula (2.4b) apart from the introductory formula of 2.4a, which is part of the Toledoth structure, but in Gen. 3.17-19

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there is an awkward transition from God's speech to the man to the speech of the man naming his wife Eve in 3.20. At this juncture of the plot, we are told where clothes come from by means of the episode in which Yahweh makes Adam and his wife clothes. Giving the man the name Adam here (v. 21), links the story to Gen. 4.1, and, significantly, to Gen. 5.1-2. In the creation story of Genesis 1, as in the garden story apart from 3.21, the first human beings are not named, and the integrity of 3.20 as an integral part of the original story is certainly open to question. In these stories the Hebrew word 'adam' signifies 'humanity'. This very specific signification is a very important motif of the garden story. The integrity of the use of the names 'Adam' and 'Eve', however, is hardly open to question in the genealogical narrative of Gen. 4.1ff., where names are of the essence. Gen. 5.1 uses adam (without the article) both as a proper name (5.la) and as a common noun (5.1b). While echoing Gen. 1.27f, this passage in Gen. 5.1-2 has God name the first humans 'Adam', thereby integrating the creation of mankind, male and female in Genesis 1, with that of the man (earlier 'mankind', now 'Adam' and 'Eve', through the naming aetiology of Gen. 3.20-21, in accordance with Gen. 4.1) and his wife of Genesis 2-3, through the identification 'Adam' = 'mankind'. The awkward transition of Gen. 3.20-21 may well then reflect the necessary adjustments of the Toledoth structure. Genesis 4. Iff. The genealogical narrative of Gen. 4.Iff", is introduced by the formula 'And Adam knew his wife Eve', a formula paralleled within the genealogical narrative by the similar formulae in 4.17,19, and 25. These formulae are wholly integral to the genealogy, and there is every reason to believe they are original to it. Similarly the Cain story is a narrative expansion within the genealogy of Gen. 4.1-26, comparable to the many typical expansions of linear genealogical tales, and is parallel to the expansions in 4.17b, 23, 25b, and 26b. These narrative expansions express some of the function and purpose of the genealogical tale: to give aetiological expression to the foundation of such institutions as shepherding, farming, cities, and Yahweh worship (on linear genealogies, cf. Wilson, 1977). The Cain/ Abel story (4.2b-16) does not function solely as an aetiological tale, but is rather comparable to the garden story, a tale containing aetiologies and having an aetiological theme. The song of Lamech in 4.23f. refers back to the Cain story (4.2b-16) and shows it as fully integrated in the genealogical tale of 4.1-24. However, the story of


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the birth of Seth in 4.25f. appears to be secondarily dependent upon the narrative of 5. Iff., in which Seth is created in the image of Adam as Adam had been made in God's image. Gen. 4.25f. does not continue the genealogical narration of 4.1-24, but carries us back to 4.1-2a, to the descendents of Adam and Eve. It does not, however, simply add a third son to the earlier Cain and Abel. Rather, Seth functions in Gen. 4.25 both as a replacement for the dead Abel and, in the context of the received text (including the Toledoth structure and 5.3ff.) as a displacement of Cain. In this it functions as a harmonizing revision of the genealogy of Genesis 4. Gen. 4.1-26 seems to have been an originally independent genealogical narrative which later became part of a much larger complex narrative tradition, dominated by the Toledoth structure of Gen. 5.1-2. Prior to its present context, it seems unlikely that Gen. 4.1ff. had been connected with either of the narratives of Gen. l.lflf. or 5.36°., or even the garden story of 2.4b ff. Genesis 5.1-2 It seems, then, that the narrative block of Gen. 2.4b-4.26, with its introductory title of Gen. 2.4a—'The Toledoth of the sky and the earth'—has been harmonized and integrated by the Toledoth context in which it has its place within the received text, and that this narrative block now functions as an introduction of the Book of the Toledoth of Mankind. As such it has been integrated into this larger redactional work which is the structure of Genesis as a whole. Gen. 5.1-2 functions not only as an introduction to the genealogy of Genesis 5, but marks that genealogy as the beginning of the story of mankind, a story which encompasses not only this particular tale but all that follows within the Toledoth structure. Gen. 5.la is a title not only of this genealogical tale, but of the entire book. Under this title, and the successive Toledoths which bring us closer and closer to the origin of Israel in the opening narratives of the book of Exodus, all of Genesis becomes an Urgeschichte, or prehistory. It is through these Toledoths that Israel and its world have come to be, and out of which it takes its origin. Gen. 5.1b-2, and the expansion of the first genealogical entry in Gen. 5.3, function to relate this prehistory to the creation of the world and to the creation stories about mankind which now form an introduction to the book. Genesis 5.3ff. Gen. 5.3 begins a long genealogical narrative in which each

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successive name of the lineage is typically introduced with the formula: 'When A was X years, he became the father of B'. Each entry in turn also has the concluding formula: 'and so all the days of A were Z number of years and he died'. Each successive entry to the genealogy follows this narrative pattern closely with three exceptions. These exceptions are: a. Verse 3. Echoing Gen. 1.26 and the story's own introduction in 5.1-2, Seth is born in Adam's image and likeness, as Adam had been created in God's. The integrity of this expansion of the genealogy makes it abundantly clear that this genealogical narrative as a whole had been created within the perspective of the continuous Genesis narration of the Toledoth, linking the creation narratives of Gen. 1.14.26 with the succeeding generations to Noah. Genesis 5 functions as a bridge narrative between the Toledoth of the sky and the earth and the flood narratives. b. Verses 21-24. Enoch 'walked with God', rather than 'lived and died': 'Enoch was no more, because God took him'. The pattern of this Enoch entry is entirely integrated into the style of the narrative, and there are no reasons for seeing it as a subsequently intrusive element of the genealogy. c. Verses 28-31. Similarly, the genealogical entry of Lamech is expanded within the limits of this formulaic story in order to allow for a pun on the name Noah with the verb ynh, lending itself to a prophecy about Noah which, with consummate ironic humor, both introduces the Noah story to come and links that story to the garden story and to Yahweh's curses: 'Out of the ground which the lord has cursed this one shall bring us relief from our work and the toil of our hands'. This delightful expansion should not be read as secondary to the genealogy, or as redactional to it. It is fully at home within the genealogical narrative form, as are the Enoch and Adam expansions. What we have rather is clear evidence that this genealogical tale knows both the garden and the flood narratives and understands itself between the two as a bridge. Genesis 5.32-9.29 The expansion of the tenth-generation entry, however (in Gen. 6.Iff.), is not original to the genealogy. That it has been patterned after an expansion of a narrative genealogy is clear from Gen. 9.29, which has the formulaic narrative ending: 'And all the days of A were Z number of years, and he died'. Similarly, 9.28 alters the formula, much in the manner of the Enoch expansion, mimicking the formula


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'after the birth of with 'after the flood'. The formulaic patterns reflect the flood story. Gen. 9.28 leaves out the formula 'and had other sons and daughters', which is found in the presentation of all the other generations, including the very first. It does this, obviously, because the greater story of Genesis requires that Noah have three sons and three sons alone, who are given a parity as the three ancestors of the three types of the world's nations. In spite of these variations of formulae, allowing for the story context of the genealogical elements, the opening formula for the tenth generation reads: 'When Noah was the son of 500 years, he became the father of Shem, Ham, and Japheth' (5.32). Given the concluding formula in 9.28f, one might expect here 600 years. However, the concluding formula for the generation of Noah gives years after theflood, rather than the expected years after the birth of the first son. According to Gen. 7.6, the flood occurred when Noah was 600 years old. This can be explained in that in Gen. 5.32 and in 9.28f. the genealogical narrative element departs from the formula with the specific purpose of integrating the genealogical element with the narrative expansion, as did the Enoch and Adam entries. So much, however, cannot be said of the language of the introductory formula of 5.32. In view of the nine preceding generations, we might expect the rigidity of formulae to demand: 'When Noah was 500 years'. Instead of this we find the slight stylistic variant: 'When Noah was the son of 500 years'. We find the identical stylistic peculiarity in Gen. 7.6, in the formula which introduces the coming of the flood: 'And Noah was the son of 600 years when the waters of the flood covered the earth'. This leads to the supposition that Genesis 5's genealogical notation for Noah has been integrated with and influenced by the story of the flood. This idiosyncrasy and the nature of the expansions of ch. 5 suggest that the present form of the genealogy is chronologically later than both the flood and the garden stories. The genealogical tale is told in such a way that it integrated itself with these other narratives, and creates out of them both a chronological and an intellectual context for itself. That is to say, ch. 5 functions as a link between the garden story and the flood. In doing so, it becomes a creative and unitive force behind the present form of Genesis. The genealogical narration of the tenth generation has also been formulated so as to include the expansion of the narrative of the flood story with the tale of Noah's drunkenness and his three sons in Gen. 9.18ff. This expanded narration offers an easy transition to the

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segmented genealogies of Noah's sons in Gen. lO.lff. One might suppose that the expanded form of the narrative of chs. 5-9 included also ch. 10, though it is wholly possible that two, originally independent, genealogies had already existed prior to this expanded narrative chain. The naming of three sons in Gen. 5.32 does not follow the basic pattern of the Genesis 5 genealogy, which normally lists only the name of the eldest son (similarly, Gen. ll.lOff.). The reference to the birth of three sons in this type of genealogy is not unique to 5.32. It is found as well in an introduction to the segmented genealogies of Japheth, Ham, Canaan, and Shem in Genesis 10 (which have been rearranged to prepare for the Shemite genealogy of ch. 11), and is paralleled quite closely in the concluding entry of the linear genealogy of Gen. ll.lOff. in 11.26: 'When Terah had lived 70 years, he became the father of Abram, Nahor, and Haran'. The naming of the three sons in Gen. 5.32 appears to be dependent on either the expansion originating in the story of Noah's drunkenness, or on the genealogy of Genesis 10. Gen. 5.3-10.32 forms a complex narrative unit centered in the Toledoth of Noah, which has been united to the preceding Toledoth of the sky and the earth (Gen. 2.4b4.26) through a continuation of the Toledoth structure centered in Gen. 5.1-2. Patterned after Gen. 5.1-2, and parallel to the introductory formula in Gen. 2.4a, Gen. 6.9a ('This is the Toledoth of Noah') acts as an introductory formula, leading the reader to the subsequent narrative or 'happenings' in Noah's life, just as Gen. 2.4a introduced the immediately succeeding narrative of the garden story. The redundant reference to Noah's three sons (6.10), and the thematic redundancy of Gen. 6.11-22, following as it does the expansion of 5.32-6.8, which it parallels, suggest that we are not dealing with a straightforward narrative, but rather with an editorial technique which recounts at least two variants of the same story. Because of the harmonization of the present context, it is not entirely possible to separate these two variants of the flood story in the forms they must have had prior to this editorial presentation. It is likely that elements which were deemed unimportant or redundant from one source or the other have been deleted in the harmony. Nevertheless the following attempt at reconstruction seems likely. The passages included in the central column are required in the understanding of both variants.


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Flood Story Variants

B

A 5.32-6.8 7.2-5 7.12 7.16(3-20 8.8-12 8.20-22

6.9-22 7.1 7.6-10

8.2b

7.11 7.13-16a 7.21-8.5 8.6-7 8.13-19 9.1-27

Gen 9.18 links the flood story with a story about the curse of Canaan by means of a genealogical narrative episode joining Canaan to Noah's son Ham. I think it unlikely that this song of Canaan in 9.25-27 ever existed separately from the story within which it is recited. On the other hand, the story seems to imply a genealogy somewhat different from the one with which it is now associated, and suggests rather a brotherly relationship between Canaan, Shem, Ham, and Japheth. The existence of such a variant to the canonical genealogy would suggest a fluidity that is quite common among orally transmitted segmented genealogies (Wilson, 1977). The flood story comes to an end in Gen. 9.28-29, a concluding formula in the pattern of the narrative in 5.3ff. This entire concluding section, 9.1829, has 3 functions: (a) to recount the tale of Canaan's curse, and Canaan's subsequent subordination to Shem, (b) to link the flood narratives to the genealogical narratives of 4.1ff. and 5.3fF, and (c) to introduce the segmented genealogical narrative of Genesis 10, with its recurrent aetiological expansions. Genesis 10.1-11.9 Following the now established pattern of Gen. 2.4a and 6.9a, Gen. 10.la ('This is the Toledoth of the sons of Noah') introduces a story about the 'development' of these 'sons' in the form of a segmented genealogical narrative in four parts. The original independence of the genealogical narrative from its introduction is apparent in the joining of the introduction's three sons with a four-part genealogy. It is also likely that the four major segments of the genealogical narrative had each an independent origin, for there is a wide spectrum of forms included in Genesis 10. However, the concluding formulae of the three segments which had been introduced by Gen. lO.la—that is, those of Shem (10.31), Ham (10.20), and Japheth (lO.Sb)—are quite

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regular, stressing the theme of the genealogical narrative in its present received function: to present an orderly account of the families, languages, lands, and nations of Israel's world. That the genealogical segments are presented in reverse order from that expected from the introduction, has the very specific purpose of preparing the reader for the genealogy of Shem in H.lOfT. Verse 32 summarizes the entire story of 10.1-31: 'These are the families of the sons of Noah, according to their genealogies, in their nations; and from these the nations spread abroad on the earth after the flood'. The function of this summary is to connect the Toledoth of Noah's sons and the preceeding flood story with the following story of Babel's tower, and to do this both chronologically and thematically. The statement 'from these the nations spread abroad on the earth', adequately prepares the reader for Genesis ll's migration from the East. The conjunction of a genealogy organizing people according to—among other things—variety of language, with a story whose starting point is that the world had but one language, might appear to the modern reader to be clumsy. The appearance of clumsiness, however, arises by a reading of the narrative as successive, rather than as parallel. It must be argued that it is specifically on account of this very point—the reference to the spread of peoples and languages on the earth in Genesis 10—that the redactor introduces at this point, after the flood, both of the aetiological narratives that he has (one genealogical, the other folktale) which deal with the origin of language. This passage ends with Gen. 11.9: '... and from there the Lord scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth', echoing 10.32's: 'and from these, the nations spread abroad on the earth after the flood'. The two narratives do not contradict each other! They are placed together, and they belong together, because they both have the same theme and the same conclusion. In its final redaction, the entire long narrative from Gen. 1.1 to 11.9 finds a single dominant theme in how the world, and the center of its creation, mankind, developed their Toledoth. This is accomplished through recurrent motifs of an aetiological nature, from first farmer stories and the origin of human wisdom, to stories about the origins of languages, trades and various countries of the world, as well as the origin of covenant, the worship of Yahweh, and the sabbath. This theme is also developed through the language used in the structural framework which holds this narrative chain together. In a sense, Gen. 1.1-11.9 becomes a single creation story, for the world did not come into being all at once - not even in seven days.


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One must speak not only of its original coming into existence, but also of its development or Toledoth, thereafter. This constitutional past is part of our real world; it created it as it is. The integrative center of this narrative chain in Gen. 5.1-2 must be stressed. Most of the genealogical narratives, the tales, and other types of narratives which have been used within this greater narrative structure certainly had their own life, apart from and prior to their inclusion in Genesis, though the exact nature of their earlier forms is difficult to determine with precision, since they frequently appear to have undergone substantial alteration within their new context. There does not seem to have been any prior historiographical narrative line whereby these lesser stories had been related in a meaningful unit. Certainly the hypothesis of an extended Yahwistic document with its own theology about the increasing corruption of human nature, or some alternate form of salvation history, has little to support it. When one examines the narratives of Genesis 1-11, one finds a continuous, coherent, meaningful narrative, constructed out of a large number of independent short and long tales and genealogical narratives which had been at the disposal of the author of the Toledoth structure of Genesis. The story line speaks of the creation of the world as Israel knew it, and it proceeds in this task logically and aetiologically, not chronologically or historically. Once the narrator has accomplished this, the story line proceeds into the collections of patriarchal narratives. In these succeeding sections of Genesis, the task of the larger continuous structure is greatly reduced, and concentrates on tying together and giving coherence to already well-developed extensive units of tradition. The aetiological substance of Genesis 1-11, and of the Toledoth structure of which it is a part, is of significance both for the relationship of Genesis 1-11 to the patriarchal narratives as a whole, and to our understanding of the biblical historiography of the origin traditions. Genesis 1-11 and the Toledoth narration (which includes also the patriarchal narratives) form a single and continuous unit of tradition. That this unit is structurally coherent leads us inevitably to the expectation that they have a coherent meaning. From the perspective of the Toledoth redaction, one does not move from a world of myth and legends into a world of history and folk tradition as one passes from the story of the Tower of Babel to the genealogy of Seth and the Abraham story under the Toledoth of Terah. Nor does one move from the genre of aetiology to the genre of historiography,

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though that is all too frequently done in the world of modern commentaries. Formally speaking, we have in the patriarchal stories nothing other than a massive expansion of narrative material within the aetiologically motivated Toledoth structure. The interpretive framework of the patriarchal narratives lies wholly within the Toledoth structure. That Terah departs from Ur of the Chaldees for Canaan is not a meaningless survival of dead tradition belonging to the prehistory of our text. Rather, the Abraham stories are part of the Book of the Toledoth of Mankind, and the narratives about the patriarchs—down to the entrance of Jacob and his family into Egypt, where the sons of Jacob are established as the nation of Israelites—is a continuation of and a development within that Toledoth. The story of Abraham, then, read as the Toledoth of Terah, is a continuation and a narrative extension of the spread of mankind abroad according to their nations and their languages which is the heart of the aetiological narratives in Genesis 10.1-11.9. As all nations spread abroad to take their proper place in the world after Babel, so too did Israel, and the entire narration from Gen. 11.10 to Exodus 23, bringing Israel to the edge of the land of Canaan, recounts in detail how that came about. According to the origin tradition of Genesis and Exodus, in the received form of Toledoth, Israel is autochthonous and indigenous to Palestine. We are dealing in the patriarchal narratives with aetiology; it is no more historiographical than is Gen. 11.1-9, and Israel is no less at home in its land than any other nation of the tradition, simply because they understood their homeland to have been chosen for them by their god. If one must speak today of Urgeschichte, 'prehistory', one must remember that such a designation within the biblical tradition is only appropriate insofar as it includes all of Genesis, the Israelite tradition of the Toledoth, i.e. the 'prehistory' of the nation. B. The Toledoth of Terah: The Story of Abraham From the genealogy of Shem in Gen. ll.lOff. onwards, we are no longer dealing simply with narratives with self-enclosed plots which have at a later date been secondarily linked together by an external formal structure. The unities we find are rather much more complex. By the time they are brought into the comprehensive Toledoth structure, they have already achieved considerable length and coherence (cf. below Chapter 5). The narrative structures which need to be examined in studying this development fall into four general categories:


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1. There are internal plot structures which hold individual and multiple segments of narratives together as unities. These internal structures are plot motifs, narrative patterns, and story lines. Story or plot-lines are related to the direction of the narrative, and in their simplest forms they might be described as the movement of a story from a situation in which there is a problem or a lack to a situation of rest in which that problem or need is resolved. Recognition of such plot-lines is extremely useful in recognizing both smaller and greater stories in our text. A plot motif is a narrative unit which develops the story a significant step further along the plot-line. Motifs are the stock in trade of the narrator and their recognition is a significant aid in recognizing where a story is going. Motifs also tend to develop their own traditions and move from story to story and culture to culture independent of their context within specific narrations. Examples of such traditional motifs are: the barrenness of a wife which leads to the birth of a hero; a magic rock, which, when slept upon, leads to a dream; different forms of prophecies which lead to their fulfillment, etc. Narrative patterns are ways of telling stories which have become so traditional that they have fallen into typical and predictable patterns. For example, if a hero is to be born, one of two patterns is usually found in the telling. If the child is desired, one usually finds a succession of the motifs: barren wife—goodness/ reward—miraculous birth—naming of child. If the child is unwanted or perceived as a threat, one usually finds this pattern: birth of a child—threat to the child's life—the abandonment or hiding of the child—rescue and hidden rearing—return of hero. Other patterns are the divine messenger pattern, the sending of a savior, and the wifesister/shepherd conflict pattern (which I believe is peculiar to Genesis). The recognition of such internal plot structures helps us to recognize the individual tales which make up the larger more extended narratives. Such recognizable tale units in the Abraham tradition are: Abraham as wanderer, the composite tale of Abraham, Lot and Sodom, the Abraham/Ishmael story, Abraham/Isaac story, Abraham and the Philistines, the Abraham/Yahweh debate, Genesis 14, and possibly Genesis 22. 2. We also find plot-oriented structural elements, the most important of which are narrative themes and beginning and ending formulae. The recognition of these structural elements aids one's understanding of the narrative transitions from one segment, episode, or story unit to another. Frequently what appears disjunctive to a modern reader, demanding separation into sources or the like,

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becomes wholly understandable and reflective of conscious planning when such structures and their implied relationships are recognized. 3. In the development of larger units of narration, we also find historiographical structural elements which have created secondary narrative unities out of originally independent smaller units. At times, a harmonization of plot has occurred, as in the unification of the Abraham/Ishmael and Abraham/Isaac stories, creating a new story about the displacement of Ishmael. At other times, as in the conjunction of Genesis 13 and 14, tales have been brought together whose plots are at variance with each other, and little or no effort is made to harmonize them. Sometimes the historiographical connections made are very fragile and artificial, such as the connection between 12.10-20 and Genesis 13. But there are also occasions in which connections are made between stories subtly and deftly, as is the case in Genesis 18-21, where the Abraham/Lot story is linked, both with the Abraham/Isaac tale and the Abraham/Yahweh debate. The creation of such longer historiographical units will be particularly the topic of Chapter 5. 4. Finally, we have the structural elements and patterns of narration related to the Toledoth structure itself. These unite the creation narratives of Genesis 1-11, with the Toledoth of Terah, with the Toledoth of Isaac, and with the Toledoth of Jacob. In the development of the Toledoth structure which holds Genesis together as a unity, we have much more than just an artificial linking of the stories of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph. It is the presentation of the Toledoth of Israel from Yahweh's first call of Abraham to Israel's entrance into Egypt. Using the traditional complex-chain narratives of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph as a foundation for this history, the Toledoth structure establishes their historiographical connections with each other and with the Exodus tradition which follows. It is what first forms the Book of Genesis and is fundamental to the development of a pentateuch.

Genesis

ll.Wff.

The Toledoth of Shem is a genealogical narrative in the pattern of the genealogy of Adam in Gen. 5.35". It ends with the naming of Terah, who has three children, comparable to the ending of the Adam genealogy in Gen. 5.32. This parallelism of the structures of these two genealogies effectively links the pre-Abrahamic traditions with the stories about the patriarchs. Gen. 11.1 Off. prepares us for the expansive narrative about Abraham in much the same way as Gen. 5.3ff. had prepared us for the long narrative about Noah.


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Genesis 11.27ff. This passage, giving this section of Genesis the title of the 'Toledoth of Terah', as Gen. 5.la gave all of Genesis the title 'The Book of the Toledoth of Adam', is presented in the form of an expanded genealogical narrative. It concludes with the formula: 'The days of Terah were 205 years and Terah died in Haran', echoing the concluding formula of the genealogy of Gen. 11.10-25. The specific pattern which is followed here, however, is that of the Noah story. The formula used is that of Gen. 9.29: 'All the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years, and he died'. The specific technique mimicked is the expansion of a genealogical entry with an extended narrative. The primary function of this passage is to link the tradition of Genesis 1.1-11.9 with the traditions about Abraham. Genesis 12.1-4 Gen. 12.1-4 functions as an introduction to the journeys of Abraham, beginning with his call by Yahweh and his departure from Haran. In beginning the Abraham tradition with such a call, the greater tradition introduces a theological perspective from which the wandering of Abraham and the succeeding narratives are to be viewed, giving them a perspective which is only rarely integrated into the stories themselves (cf., however, Gen. 20.13). We are given here a theological assertion about Yahweh's providence towards both Abraham and Israel, which has little to do with the successive narratives themselves as they are individually laid out before us. In this, we are obviously dealing with the national tradition of Abraham, not one of the tales about him. This introduction is, however, highly appropriate as a blessing given to one departing on a journey. Three fundamental statements are made which interpret for us the significance of the journey of Abraham for Israel, a. Yahweh is to show Abram a land which is as yet unspecified, a circumspection which permits the inclusion of the myriad descriptions and allusions to the 'promised land', b. Yahweh is to make Abram a great nation. The form of this promise is particularly instructive, as the stories themselves center upon Abraham's need for a child and an heir. The function of this passage, however, goes beyond the stories, and, as an introduction to the whole of the patriarchal narratives, uses those stories for a message which transcends the interests of Abraham. The promise here has only a distant relationship to the birth of a child. It signifies, rather, that the Israel of history is to be understood as a great nation, whose

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destiny in greatness has here been determined by God himself, c. In Gen. 12.3 the introduction moves from the highly appropriate departure saying: 'I will bless those who bless you, and him who curses you I will curse', to a statement which finds its depth, not in the story of a man who is setting off on a journey of which he knows nothing, but rather in the full knowledge of the great gift of monotheism which Israel has brought to the world: 'by you all the families of the earth shall bless themselves'. The introduction is here telling us that Abraham's 'true' calling is to bring the blessings of Yahweh to all the nations of the earth, a theme which has little to do with the actual stories told about Abraham, but which does tell us the very specific value which Israel has in the context of the origins of the world and its nations, and which does justify this long excursion into the origins of Israel from the cosmic perspective of Genesis 1-11. Gen. 12.1-4 is self-consciously solemn; its scope is the whole of Genesis. Its purpose is not just to get Abraham out of Haran and on his way to Canaan. It is to make of the patriarchal narratives a vehicle for political and nationalist statements about the later Israel. By placing the call of Abraham here, the author is interpreting for us the narrative into which it is imbedded and which it interrupts and alters radically in terms of higher values. Genesis 12.5 Gen. 12.5 appears redundant in its present context. Its statement that Abraham departed from Haran is already found in v. 4, and its naming of the land, Canaan, to which Abraham is to journey is repeated in v. 6. Apart from its present context, however, Gen. 12.5 is obviously the continuation of the narrative of the Toledoth of Terah which had begun in 11.27b-29, 31-32, and which is continued in the Abram/Lot story of Gen. 13.5ff. This narrative has a perspective which was originally quite separate and distinct from the theme of the secondary redaction of Yahweh's call and practices. There is also some indication that we have a variant development of the Toledoth of Terah, originally separable from the Abram/Lot story. This narrative variation is introduced by the barren wife motif found in Gen. 11.30: 'Now Sarai was barren; she had no child', which is continued in the Abraham/Ishmael story and its variant the Abraham/Isaac story. Genesis 12.6-9 and 13.14a(a), 14b-18 These verses form a series of vignettes in which Abraham wanders through the land, building


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altars to Yahweh and receiving promises of land and great progeny. This serial narrative, given in the traditionally folkloric, tripartite way, fills out in narrative action the call and promise of 12.Iff. In themselves, these episodes belong to the genre of foundation legends. Together, and in their present context, they establish the theme of Abraham wandering, and specifically bringing him to Mamre in preparation for the story in Gen. 18.Iff. As Gen. 11.27-12.5 have established the starting point of the Abraham narrative, these three episodes provide a leitmotif which holds the greater complex-chain narrative of Abraham together, as well as begin him on his journey through Palestine as ger. Genesis 12.10-13.3 Gen. 12.10-20 is the first self-sufficient short tale or pericope of the Abraham chain narrative. This story has its own integral introductory formula: 'Now there was a famine in the land', and its own concluding formula: 'and they sent him on his way with his wife and all that he had'. Some pains have been taken to link this story to its present context, within the journey of Abraham, building altars, and before the episode of Abraham and Lot's separation in the story of Gen. 13.2fF. In terms of plot development alone, the placement of this story prior to the Abraham/Lot division story creates several difficulties which are only partially overcome by the narration. The first difficulty is that Lot, who is a companion of Abraham in Gen. 12.5, disappears entirely in the story of Abraham and Sarah in Egypt, and really can have no place in that story, only to reappear again in Gen. 13.1 where he plays a central role in the following story. This glaring discrepancy, moreover, would not have occurred if the Abraham/Lot division story had been placed first, a position which in fact might have been expected since the division story of ch. 13 seems to have been originally connected with Gen. 12.5. Moreover, the connection between the story of 12.10-20 and that of 13.5ff. is obviously highly artificial: Gen. 12.9 and 13.1,3 serve no other purpose than to get Abraham from the hill country between Bethel and Ai to Egypt for the story there, and then back to exactly the same spot from which the narrative had departed. There is purpose in this arrangement of narrative, a structural balance which has been sought in the final redaction of the tales, which is not arbitrary. The two central plot motifs involved in these two episodes, the wife/sister motif and the shepherd quarrel motif both seem to belong to a specific tale type which is found twice elsewhere in Genesis. In the

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other two forms of this tale, the story is begun with the deception episode, wherein the patriarch passes his wife off as his sister, and it is ended with the shepherd's quarrel motif. Because of the existence of this traditional pattern, the independent tale of Abraham and Sarah in Egypt has been inserted prior to the mainline episode of a shepherd's quarrel between Abraham and Lot. This has been motivated by the redactor's efforts to find structure and balance in his narration, a motivation which, as we shall see, is often more important than any consistency of incidentals of plot. There are also some narrative gains in the new balance achieved in this insertion. The great wealth of Abraham, which is the efficient cause of the conflict of shepherds which forms the plot of Gen. 13.5ff., now has a source which can be given dramatic play in the narrative. Secondly, Gen. 12.9 and 13.14-18 have become essentially interchangeable in their function, allowing for variations in the tale-telling of the Abraham story, with or without the intervening episodes of the wife/ sister and the Abraham/Lot division, since all possibilities would bring Abraham to the Negev where he might wait by the oaks of Mamre in Gen. 18.1. The division story of Gen. 13^5-13 ends with the formulation: 'Now the people of Sodom were evil and great sinners before Yahweh'. This ending clearly prepares us for the kind of story we find in the Yahweh-Abraham debate over\the wickedness of Sodom in Gen. 18.16ff., or the story of Lot in Sodom in Genesis 19. But it does not prepare us for Genesis 14. It should be noted, however, that Genesis 13.14a3: 'after Lot had separated from him', is secondary and has the redactional function of both tying the division story firmly to its present narrative context and of giving a geographical context for the episode of 13.14-18. Gen. 13.14-18, independent of the division story, with Abraham turning towards Mamre, can be understood as preparatory for both Genesis 14 and Genesis 18. Genesis 14.1-24 The story of Genesis 14 has long been recognized as an originally independent tale. However, the story in its present form makes clear efforts to tie the tale to its narrative context within Genesis. Its introduction, beginning with the formula 'In the days ...', concludes with the statement: 'They also took Lot...' This introduction links the story of Genesis 14 with the division story of Genesis 13, where we were told that Lot chose Sodom for his own, however much this must be seen as secondary from the point of view of the Abraham/


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Lot division story, where quite a different Sodom is awaited. From the perspective of Genesis 14:, its context following Gen. 13.13 (especially with the explanatory interlude of 13.14-18) is both comfortable and satisfactory, since the narration of the tale in Genesis 14 can freely make connection with both Lot in Sodom and Abraham in Mamre. When ch. 14 is understood as a narrative unit within a composite narrative, its context is both adequate and integrated within that narration. From the perspective of plot development, however, ch. 14 must be seen at best as a delay of the plot, if not as actually disruptive. Not only has Abraham gone off to Mamre to play a role in narratives there (certainly not to fight in wars back at Sodom), but in ch. 14 we are dealing with neither the Sodom nor the Lot of Gen. 13.5-13! Gen. 14.13's bringing of the story of ch. 14 to Abraham at Mamre indicates that ch. 14 is independent of and secondary in the development of Genesis. I think it probable that the capture of Lot becomes part of the story only at that time. He is kidnapped almost as an afterthought. On the other hand, Abraham's ties with the story are more carefully integrated, and I believe that only the assumption which understands the early part of this narrative to be recounting an historical military campaign has led many scholars to see the Abraham part of this story as secondary. To remove Abraham and Melchizedek from ch. 14 is to destroy it as story. If it does not exist as story, and with Abraham as its central hero, how are we to explain its survival? Admittedly, a great deal is at stake in such judgments; nevertheless, any methodology which has a tendency to atomize the text retains the problem of explaining the survival of narrative fragments, without traditions to hold them in existence. Genesis 15-17 The very brief story of Abraham's vision in Genesis 15.1-6 uses the introductory formula: 'After these things'. The stock character of this formula indicates that the succeeding tale is one link in a longer chain narrative. It is not making a chronological allusion to what preceded. The episode is marked by a very clear ending in Gen. 15.6: 'And he believed the Lord; and he reckoned it to him as righteousness'. The episode has a redactional function which links together the theme of Yahweh's promises to Abraham about the greatness of the historical Israel, here likened to the stars in the sky, with the folktale motif of Abraham's childlessness. Such redactional passages as this serve not only to hold the long narrative of Abraham together in a

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unity, but also to give to the narratives a new interpretation as part of the tradition of Israel. Because of just such passages, Sarah and Abraham are not just a very old couple to whom, because of their generosity, God is kind in giving them a child. Rather, Abraham becomes part of a plan that is much greater than he, and the story is able to point beyond the tale, and beyond Abraham as well. This passage is also much more than just redactionally interpretive; it functions as a specific introduction to the narrative about Abraham's childlessness, radically revising that narrative in the process. This introductory function, however is not immediately clear, because plot development has given way to thematic parallelism. The covenant story of 15.7-21 has been brought into the narrative at this point, because both its theme and its narrative pattern are similar to Gen. 15.1-6, especially in the opening lines: The vision of 15.1-6 begins 'the Lord came to Abram in a vision... "I am your shield; your reward shall be very great"', and Abram objects: How can that be? 'I continue childless... you have given me no offspring'. Gen. 15.7ff. begins: 'I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldaeans, to give you this land to possess', and Abraham objects, not for the purpose of a repetition of the childless motif, but to build on what has gone before: 'How am I to know that I shall possess it?' In the answer, it becomes very clear that we are dealing with a covenant story, which, like the passage in Gen. 12.1-4, giving the call of Abraham from Haran, shares a perspective of the greater tradition of the pentateuch, which might be described as prophetic or deuteronomistic in tone. This is implicit in the distinctive attitude towards the Amorites. In the preceeding tale of Genesis 14, Mamre the Amorite is Abraham's host and ally. In Gen. 15.7ff., however, the Amorites' possession of the land is understood as their 'wickedness' (v. 16). While the mainline narrative (Gen. 15.1-6), which holds all the divergent tales of Abraham together, lays heavy stress on such themes as the great nation that Abraham is to become, this passage, with its secondary theme of the covenant, adds to that the possession of the land of Palestine, a possession, however, which is to be long delayed. Abraham himself will not possess it (contra Gen. 13.14-18), but his descendants, after spending 400 years in Egypt, must wrest it from enemy hands. Unlike the mainline narrative, this passage in Gen. 15.7-21 is obviously reading the patriarchal narratives from the perspective of the final pentateuchal historiography, rather than from the perspective of the Abraham traditions.


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In its present form, Genesis 16 is the story which has been introduced by Gen. 15.1-6. It centers on the motif of Abraham's childlessness. Originally distinct and independent of the story of Isaac's birth in Gen. 18.Iff. and ch. 21, this story is introduced with the statement of the problem that Sarah was barren: 'Now Sarai, Abraham's wife, bore him no children'. This motif establishes a need which the story in Genesis 16 resolves, and the story, read in isolation, hardly departs from this central motif. The problem is resolved by Sarah's maid becoming pregnant by Abraham. A difficulty arises from the story itself in that Sarah's slave uses her position of advantage to look down on Sarah. Sarah retaliates by beating the slave, who runs off. This flight threatens the resolution of Abraham's need for a son (our opening motif). The problem is resolved through the intervention of a divine messenger and Hagar returns to bear Abraham his long-sought-for son, and the story rests. The concluding formula of the story is in the form of a genealogical narrative note on Abraham, giving his age at Ishmael's birth: 'Abram was eighty-six years old when Hagar bore Ishmael to Abram'. This formula makes an easy transition to the opening of the introduction to ch. 17: 'When Abraham was ninety-nine years old . . . ' and may be understood to presuppose it. Moreover the verses of the Ishmael story: 'The angel of the Lord also said to her, "I will so greatly multiply your descendants that they cannot be numbered for multitude .. . "' (16.10ff.) do not seem original to the story. Rather, it is to be understood as a redactional expansion, mirrored in Gen. 22.17a ('I will indeed bless you, and I will multiply your descendants'), which is used to tie the Ishmael story firmly to ch. 17 (Gen. 17.4: 'my covenant is with you and you shall be the father of a multitude of nations . . . ' ) and the following chapters of Genesis. To read ch. 16 in its context in Genesis, however, radically alters it as a tale; for it no longer can be read as a fulfillment of the motif of childlessness, from which the story starts, however much the redactional links reserve for it a role in the fulfillment of Yahweh's promises. Rather, the story, previously whole and independent, becomes an episode in a much more complex tale. The fulfillment of Abraham's childlessness in 16.15 ('And Hagar bore Abram a son; and Abram called the name of his son, whom Hagar bore, Ishmael') becomes a feint, a false direction, only an apparent fulfillment. The story does not really come to rest, but is to go on. Ishmael is not to be Abraham's heir, not even the fulfillment of Sarah's barrenness. Read in the context of Genesis, the story does not really begin in 16.1:

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'Now Sarai, Abram's wife, bore him no children', but within an integrated story of Abraham. In Gen. 11.30, within the context of the introduction to the traditions of Abraham, the motif of Sarah's barrenness is first introduced: 'Now Sarai was barren; she had no child'. In this context, 16.1 merely echoes that original introduction to the barrenness theme, which in this greater tradition is not resolved until the birth of Isaac, who is in Gen. 22.2 Abraham's only son. The story of Ishmael's birth in Genesis 16, then, becomes the opening episode of a story of the displacement of Ishmael. The reader of Genesis 16, however, is not entirely unprepared for this, for he has already been told in Gen. 15.3-4 that this child of a slave is not to be his heir: 'And Abram said, "Behold thou has given me no offspring; and a slave born in my house will be my heir". And behold the word of the Lord came to him . . . ' The addition of Gen. 15.3 to the text of 15.2, 4, the complaint about an Eliezer of Damascus, prepares the reader of the greater story for the displacement of Ishmael, with the purpose that the reader not be misled by the tale of Genesis 16. Chapter 16, thereby, becomes a delay in the plot of the fulfillment of Abraham's search for a son and an heir. As so often in biblical narrative, development of theme and plot take precedence over historiographical chronology, and the implicit reference to Ishmael in Gen. 15.3 before Ishmael's birth causes little real difficulty in the process of narration. It is sufficient that when the reader begins Genesis 16, he is not misled for a moment, but knows that a slave born into Abraham's household can never be his true heir or his true son, no matter what this particular episode might at first seem to imply: that position is reserved to Isaac. Genesis 17 is a long transition narrative, acting as a bridge, harmonizing disparate but parallel traditions, looking ahead to the birth of Isaac as the true development of God's providence, and back to Ishmael as a coherent part of God's providence for the whole world, not Israel alone. It is a universal monotheism which informs this redaction, where Yahweh is the God who hears even the plight of the Egyptian Hagar, and Abraham becomes the father of many nations. The symbol of Israel's covenant with Yahweh, circumcision, is here explained in the aetiological story of its origin, as governing Ishmael as well as Abraham. The inclusion of the pun on Isaac's name in Gen. 17.17 ('Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, "Shall Sarah who is ninety years old bear a child?"') reflects a strong effort to integrate this entire complex of tales and to give to the larger chain of narratives about Abraham a continuity of


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plot and theme in spite of its many origins. As Gen. 17.17 calls ahead to Sarah's laughter of Gen. 18.12 ('So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, "After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?'"), so the plea for IshmaePs legitimacy in God's eyes in Gen. 17.18 ('And Abraham said to God, "O that Ishamel might live in thy sight'"), harks back to Abraham's recognition of his son in Gen. 16.15 ('And Abram called the name of his son whom Hagar bore Ishmael'), and is decisively answered in Gen. 17.19 ('No, but Sarah your wife shall bear you a son, and you shall call his name Isaac'), maintaining, in the process of displacing Ishmael, the promise that Abraham's descendants, through Ishmael, will become a great multitude (Gen. 17.20; 16.10). In spite of the addition to the story of the episode of Ishmael's circumcision (Gen. 17.23-27), the specific difference between Ishmael and Isaac is understood in this major interpretive transition narrative in terms of covenant. It is with Isaac and Isaac alone that God establishes his covenant (Gen. 17.19, 21). Genesis 18-19 In the present received tradition, Genesis 15-17 are not associated with any specific locality. Gen. 18.1, however, locates Abraham at Mamre in the introduction to the story: 'And Yahweh appeared to him by the Oaks of Mamre'. It is in the union of this hospitality story with the Terah-Lot-Sarah genealogical expansion story of ch. 11 and the Abraham/Lot division story of ch. 13 that the Abraham tradition first found a central core, and around which it grew. No reference to Ishmael is made, and, at least originally, he does not seem to have been connected to this story at all, which begins with Abraham and Sarah as an old childless couple. By itself, the story of Gen. 18. Iff. is an example story of the virtue of hospitality, which lends itself here as the opening episode (and efficient cause) of a tale of the miraculous birth of a hero. The birth of the long-wished-for son is Abraham's reward for his open-handed generosity towards strangers, one of whom is God in disguise. That the story finds its immediate completion and fulfillment in Gen. 21.1-7, the story of the birth of Isaac, is adequately supported by the integrated moth0 of Sarah's laughter in Gen. 18.12, which motif reaches its climax in Gen. 21.6: 'And Sarah said, "God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me"'. (As was mentioned above, the parallel passage to this motif in 17.17 is secondary: its function is to prepare the reader—not Abraham and Sarah, who are not prepared—for the

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story of Genesis 18. It deals with the later, greater tradition's concern for the displacement of Ishmael, a concern which plays no role whatever in the traditions of Gen. 18.1-21.7). Even before the union of the Abraham/Isaac birth story with the independent Abraham/Ishmael birth story, this very early story of Gen. 18.Iff. had already become quite complex through its integration with the story of Lot and Sodom. In the hospitality story of Gen. 18.Iff., Yahweh, in the guise of one of three strangers, declares to Sarah that he will have the last laugh. While Sarah and the audience are left to wait for the fulfillment of the prophecy of the long-wishedfor son in yet another year, the narration takes advantage of this plot hiatus by turning back to pick up the thread of the Lot story. The two men who were not Yahweh turn towards Sodom (Gen. 18.16) and its wickedness (cf. Gen. 13.13: 'Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners before the Lord'), where they will become messengers of God (Gen. 19.1:'The two angels came to Sodom in the evening'). Very deftly, in what must be seen as a brilliant transition, rarely matched in folktales, the narrative pictures Abraham standing alone with Yahweh, who confides his secret to him. The two strangers, having become divine messengers, go down to investigate Sodom's wickedness. Yahweh and Abraham, meanwhile, debate the terms of that investigation, philosophically justifying the city's destruction. In this redaction, three very substantial, independent tales, each with their own very strong inner coherence, have been wedded into a chain of narrative which substantially bears the weight of the entire complex-chain narrative of Abraham (cf. below, Chapter 5). In the present received text, a critical linkage is made in Gen. 18.16-22, a very unusual passage in which Yahweh debates with himself the wisdom and justification for confiding in Abraham, giving the narrator the opportunity of explaining to the audience once again who Abraham is in terms of the greater story. The passage echoes the sentiments of Gen. 12.1-4. He is the one in whom all the families of the earth will be blessed (cf. Gen. 12.4b and Gen. 18.16b). The passage of Gen. 18.16-22 is best understood as a commentary or gloss on a story, which explains Yahweh's behavior to the audience. As such, it is a sound introduction to this extraordinary tale of a pious man debating with his God the issue of God's justice: 'Will you destroy the righteous along with the wicked?' (18.23). 'Far be that from thee! Shall not the judge of all the earth do right?' (18.25). Abraham's temerity in discussing the very justification


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of God's actions is here acceptable because the narrator has reminded us of the role which Abraham (and in the greater tradition of Abraham, Israel) has been given in God's providence for the world (18.18). We are suddenly taken up in this passage, as we had been in Gen. 12.1-4, into a cosmic view of Israel's place in God's scheme of things. To Abraham, as before in the case of Ishmael, God's intentions are revealed. The debate story itself (Gen. 18.23-33) is much more down to earth. The tone of the tale is wholly at odds with the seriousness of the introduction, which is in awe of both God and Abraham. In the story we have not awe but humor. In high comic relief, Abraham, tongue in cheek, bargains with God, demanding that he, the Judge of all the earth, must of necessity follow the rules of justice himself. The original story ends with the piece of wisdom that 10 just men are enough to save an entire city. The wholly independent wisdom tale ends with the formula: 'And Abraham returned to his place', allowing for an easy transition to the story of Lot which is introduced in Gen. 19.1: 'The two angels came to Sodom in the evening, and Lot was sitting in the gate of Sodom'. Although this story of the destruction of Sodom in Genesis 19 has been, as we mentioned above, clearly linked with the Abraham/Lot division tale of ch. 13 (cf. 13.13), it too was clearly originally independent and self-subsistent. Lot is no longer a shepherd living in a tent. In ch. 19 his home is inside the city in a house. Moreover, the story's central theme is not really so much about the destruction of Sodom, for which the reader has been well prepared (Gen. 13.13 and 18.16ff.), as it is a story about hospitality, in which Lot (not Yahweh or his wrath) is the hero and central figure,which reaches its climax in the escape by Lot and his daughters. This Lot story finds its present position within the Abraham chain narrative for two reasons: Not only does it lend itself well to integration with the Abraham/ Yahweh debate story, but it is also brought into the complex by attraction to the similar hospitality motif of the Abraham story in Gen. 18.Iff. Because of this dominant motif, these three separate tales (Gen. IS.lff., 18.23ff., and 19.1ff.), originally independent of each other, have become three episodes of a single story. Like the Abraham story of Genesis 18, the Lot story of ch. 19 is an example story. Lot is a paragon of the virtue of hospitality, a virtue which he held higher even than his love for his daughters. In this Lot's hospitality is also comparable to Abraham's obedience in Genesis 22.

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Gen. 19.27f. is redactional and links this story with the preceeding Abraham/Yahweh debate tale, and Gen. 19.30 is also redactional, linking the story with the following tale about Lot and his daughters. Both of these passages are obviously secondary. Gen. 19.29 appears to be a yet later theological gloss which attributes Lot's safety, not to Lot's own great virtue as does the story, but to God's remembrance of his friend Abraham, a sentiment which is consonant with Gen. 18.18. The brief episode recounted in Gen. 19.3Iff. linked to the Lot/ Sodom story by v. 30, was originally independent of that larger narrative, as is clear from the necessity of moving Lot and his daughters from Zoar to an isolated cave in the wilderness. Here Lot and his daughters have moved from one story to another, where an entirely different setting and different presuppositions pertain. This brief episode is an aetiological tale, offering an explanation for the origin of the Moabites and Ammonites. Its larger function is to complete the story of Lot within the greater complex-chain narrative about Abraham, freeing the audience to refocus on Abraham and Sarah. Genesis 20-21 At the end of Genesis 19, the continuity of the received tradition becomes very difficult to follow. As many as four different, and originally independent, narrative traditions come together, with the result that the strand of each becomes often confused in the whole. The Lot tradition is brought to a final closing in Gen. 19.38. That Gen. 20.1 picks up the thread of Abraham without transition, as Abraham journeys down to the Negev 'from there', leaves one unavoidably with a sense of disjointedness and inconsequence. There is no question but that our redactorial Homer nodded here. One is still holding in unresolved tension the two earlier plot threads of the presence of Ishmael in Abraham's household from Genesis 16-17, and Sarah's expectation of a son from Genesis 18. Gen. 20.1 introduces unexpectedly yet a fourth independent story line, whose plot will itself be interrupted in Gen. 21.1 by the attempt to resolve the plots that had been introduced already and held in abeyance! A literary understanding of this difficult redactional problem is itself not difficult, and one does not need to resort to the supposition that the redactor was a fool, unaware of the complexities of the traditions he was weaving. When we reflect on the stories that have become involved in the Abraham traditions, and accept the fact that the


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narrator wanted to add to them the tradition of Genesis 20 and 21.22-34, it becomes apparent that the interlude which has been offered to the structure of the chain narrative by the motif of waiting a year for the promised child, offers an unprecedented opportunity for insertions and digressions, and, in the present case, the only reasonable opportunity for the insertion of Gen. 20 and 21.22-34. Genesis 20 is the first part of a story of Abraham and Sarah in the town of Gerar. It begins with a variation of the wife-sister motif. I find no indication that ch. 20 continues any prior theme, or that it is related in plot to any narrative or narrative segment preceding it in Genesis. In fact, the characters in this story are quite different from characters with the same names in other stories of Genesis. Abraham is spoken of as a prophet. The god in the story is Elohim. Sarah is not only of marriageable age (she was in Gen. 12.10-20 as well), but she is Abraham's half-sister (contrast Gen. 11.27-29), and Abimelech is a pious man and friendly to the patriarch. The story is not completed in Genesis 20, but is interrupted. Gen. 21.1-7 continues the story of Gen. 18.1-15, and fulfills the promise that the long childless couple are to be rewarded for their hospitality with the birth of Isaac. The Isaac birth episode is allowed to interrupt the story of Abraham and Sarah in Gerar because of its attraction to 20.17 in the Gerar story. The women of Gerar are no longer barren, but now can bear children again. So too Sarah bears a child. Such association of tale episodes with a single common denominator, whatever difficulty it causes the linear plot development, is a common occurrence in the narration of folktales. Verse 18 ('For Yahweh had closed all the wombs of the house of Abimelech because of Sarah, Abraham's wife') is a redactional explanation of the plot of Genesis 20, and marks the transition to Sarah. Here the redaction, as is typical throughout the secondary development of the Genesis tradition, identifies Yahweh with Elohim. The episode about Ishmael in Gen. 21.8-21 is used here to tie the Isaac birth narrative to the previous story of IshmaeFs birth in ch. 16. Originally a variant of the episode of Hagar's flight in Genesis 16, it now serves as a vehicle of IshmaePs displacement, a displacement for which the audience of the greater narrative had been prepared in advance, in that heretofore enigmatic doubling of the motif of Abraham's complaint in Gen. 15.3. In bringing together the birth stories of Ishmael and of Isaac, involving this radical revision of the story of IshmaePs birth, Genesis 15—the story of Abraham's vision—

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has become the introduction to the story of Isaac's birth, giving the story a context in which it is to be understood in terms of God's plans. Genesis 16, which had been a fulfillment story of God's promise to Abraham, overcoming the crisis of Sarah's barrenness, becomes a feint and a delay in the plot of the Isaac story. The rights of the eldest son Ishmael now threaten the child Isaac, the true heir by the will of God. The removal of this threat from Ishmael through his displacement supports the now central motif of the story: the success of the unpromising. From the redactional point of view of the larger complex chain narrative of Abraham, the abandonment of Ishmael by Abraham in Genesis 21 serves three functions: a. It permits Isaac to replace Ishmael as the object of the promises of the story of Genesis 15 and 16. b. It sets the stage for Genesis 22, which knows nothing of Abraham's son Ishmael (similarly, the Quran variant knows nothing of Isaac), but sees Isaac as Abraham's only begotten son, by making Isaac the object of God's promises to Abraham. This is done not only through Genesis 15, but it is reinforced in Gen. 21.12-13 as well: 'God said to Abraham, "Be not displeased because of the lad and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for through Isaac shall your descendants be named. And I will make a nation of the son of the slave woman also, because he is your offspring"', c. Finally, it brings the story of Ishmael to completion in the light of Gen. 17.4-6: 'Behold my covenant is with you, and you shall be the father of a multitude of nations. No longer shall your narne be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham, for I have made you the father of a multitude of nations. I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come forth from you'. In this passage, Abraham is understood as the father of many nations, not just of Israel. In Gen. 21.1-21, the narrator adequately brings together what had been two diverging and originally independent traditions about God fulfilling the promise of a son to the childless Abraham. The key to the contradictions and conflicts of the tradidons for the redactor was to recognize Ishmael as indeed the patriarch of a great nation, and as a recipient of the promises to Abraham; however, not the specific promise which determines Isaac's destiny. Gen. 21.22-34, an episode about a quarrel over a well at Beersheva, is an aetiological tale explaining the origin of the placename Beersheva. It is both the condnuation of, and an integral part of, the story of Abraham and Sarah in Gerar from Genesis 20. This


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passage in Genesis 21 is the second episode which belongs to a taletype, which is found in Genesis 12-13 and Genesis 26 as well. This particular version has no sequel within the Abraham stories, but stands by itself. Its introductory formula ('At that time ...'), linking it to the Ishmael story, is both artificial and insubstantial. There is every reason to believe that this phrase was added secondarily at the time that the received text acquired its present form. The concluding formula of the narrative, on the other hand (Genesis 21.34: 'And Abraham sojourned many days in the land of the Philistines'), is very clearly marked as bringing to rest, not only this episode of the shepherds in Genesis 21, but the entire episode of Abraham and Sarah in the land of the Philistines (Genesis 20 and 21). Genesis 22 The transition from Genesis 21 to Genesis 22 is unlike any other transition in the Abraham narratives. Genesis 22 is neither an interruption nor a delay of the plot of Genesis 21, which has essentially come to a rest, most of the major plot lines of the individual Abraham stories having been resolved. However, it is also not obvious that a narrative is still in progress. It is quite possible that Genesis 22's story of God's test of Abraham is the final and crowning episode of the Isaac story of Gen. 18.1-21.6, a chain of tales which, like ch. 22, centers so dramatically on the personality of its protagonists. It is both possible and tempting to read the narrative just so, as such a unity; and coming as it does immediately upon Sarah's laughter and joy of Gen. 21.6, it certainly gives greater strength to the heartwrenching drama of ch. 22. Moreover, the theme of Abraham's selfless obedience here is much akin to that of Lot's generous hospitality in ch. 19. It is, nevertheless, also wholly possible that the tale of Genesis 22 was, like chs. 14, 24, and 38, complete and whole in itself, and that it was originally independent of the stories in Genesis 18ff., brought together with them only in the development of the greater complexchain narrative of Abraham. Unlike chs. 14, 24, and 38, Genesis 22 fits its present context within the received text exceedingly well. The story of Abraham is essentially completed; the promise is fulfilled; and ch. 22 caps the whole of the Abraham narrative as no other story could. Genesis 22, read in its present context, becomes a heroic tale of the first rank, worthy of a man with whom Yahweh could confide. The dramatic tension of the story is in every way clarified by its placement at the very point when the narrative comes to a full and

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complete rest. God's promise, a promise which has held the greater story in suspense for ten chapters, has finally been fulfilled. That Genesis 21 has tied up so many of the loose threads of plot in the intertwining stories all the more heightens the shock of God's test in its total unexpectedness. After all this, in spite of Abraham's and Sarah's doubts and laughter, in spite of the pretensions of Ishmael's mother, and the twofold threat to Sarah's integrity and Abraham's life, God has fulfilled his promise in Abraham's one hundredth year. In the face of Abraham and Sarah's joy, now the real test comes. It is now that we learn the real substance of this man Abraham. And we find in the reading of the story, that it is on Abraham's trust and on Abraham's trust alone that the resolution of the test—and with that everything, our entire narrative—depends! Abraham is called anew by God in the opening line of the story: 'Abraham!', and Abraham responds as the great prophet Samuel had when he was a boy (1 Sam. 3.4), 'Here I am'. The story stresses not the events but the psychological impact of the demands made on Abraham's faith. The story is intellectual in tone rather than episodic. Abraham must take his son, and it is stressed that it is his only son (22.2,12), whom Abraham loves, and sacrifice that child to God. The greater context of the story is not irrelevant. Abraham is not simply asked to sacrifice his only and beloved child, a demand which itself must carry him beyond all human feeling and capacity to fulfill, but Abraham must do this terrible deed without motive or hope of gain. It is a test of perfect obedience. Isaac is not only Abraham's son; he is the fulfillment of God's pledge to Abraham. Abraham must sacrifice with Isaac God's promises to him, the very basis of God's special relationship to him—without hope—in blind faith. The reader—not Abraham—is told that it is a test from the very beginning of the narrative, and this serves to objectify Abraham for us. The reader does not vicariously undergo the test; Abraham goes alone up the mountain. This loneliness of Abraham becomes a tool of the narration, as it heightens the dramatic poignancy. When Isaac asks the most obvious and simple of questions: 'Where is the lamb for a burnt offering?', Abraham's response, 'God will provide!', explodes as a legend of trust, in its profundity. It is not read as the statement of a fool or a liar, because the reader knows that it is true. The reader also knows that Abraham is unaware of the predictive accuracy of his own prophecy, and that he must still suffer the agony, even to the lifting of a sword against his own son, before he can be saved, so great are the demands of the test.


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The theme of trust in God's providence is reiterated in the placenaming aetiology (22.14) which draws the narrative to a close. Gen. 22.15-19 forms an editorial completion of the story, and brings it into the context of the greater Abraham tradition, drawing the conclusion that the promises to Abraham are reaffirmed as a reward of Abraham's great faith. Genesis 22.20-23.20 The genealogical narrative about Nahor in Gen. 22.20-24, and the story of the purchase of the burial plot at Machpelah in Genesis 23, are anti-climactic in the context of the Abraham chain narrative. They have no integral function in the Genesis narrative up to this point. The genealogical note about Nahor seems to have greater relevance to the sources used by the narrator, than it does to the story of Abraham as it is now being told. It harks back to the narrative structure that is external to the complex-chain narrative of Abraham, the Toledoth of Terah of Gen. 11.26, reminding us that the tradition we are reading is really the Toledoth of Terah, of which the story of Abraham is but a part. This tradition about Nahor appears to have been originally a genealogical fragment, left over from previous interests relating to ethnic geography. Placed as it is here, as an aid in the linking of the Abraham stories with the story of Isaac's marriage to Rebecca in Genesis 24 (cf. Gen. 24.15: 'Rebekah, who was born to Bethuel the son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham's brother ...'), it acts to reassert the Toledoth framework of the book of Genesis, and to place the chain narrative about Abraham within the tradition of Israel's patriarchs. Genesis 23 is a self-sufficient tale that has no integral connection with the preceding Abraham narratives. This is true not only formally, but in content as well. The place of Sarah's death is Kiriatharba, and the burial place at Machpelah, east of the place Mamre, is here connected with Hittites rather than Amorites and the 'oaks of Mamre' of the mainline tradition. No element of eponymy enters the story in Genesis 23. The story of Genesis 23, however, does serve the larger editorial purpose of linking the Abraham stories with the originally independent narratives about Isaac in chs. 24 and 26, and the genealogical narrative of Ishmael in Gen. 25.12-18. Related editorial structures, belonging to the Toledoth framework, are found in Gen. 25.7-11; 35.27ff., 49 (especially vv. 29-33); and 50.12-13, which are used to link these narratives with the stories about Jacob (Gen. 27-35), the

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genealogical narratives about Esau (Gen. 36), and the stories about Joseph (Gen. 37.38-48.50). This great editorial structure, building on Genesis 11 and setting forth the narrative progression from the story of the purchase of the cave at Machpelah, ultimately finding its climax in ch. 49, when Israel determines the destiny of his sons, who then bury him in his ancestral tomb, creates the narrative unity of the patriarchal tales, which enables us to read Genesis as a whole. Without these unifying links, the book of Genesis is fragmented into a series of independent traditions and tales, each of which has its own direction and story line, and each of which has its own independent history of tradition (on this structure, see below, Chapter 5). The function of this unifying structure is not so much to unite disparate and totally unrelated stories about the heroes Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in an artificially constructed family framework of patriarch, son, and grandson, though this has often been claimed about the prehistory of these traditions. The familial relationship of father, son, and grandson, between the three great patriarchs of Israel is both an implicit and an explicit assertion of the earliest narration of the tradition which we can discern. It is pure speculation to hypothesize what the stories may have been prior to what they are now. Nowhere is there any indication that Isaac is not Abraham's son, that Jacob (and Esau) is not Isaac's son, and that Joseph is not Jacob's. On the contrary, their relationships form an inseparable part of the central, abiding, and original cast of these stories. This large, all-encompassing, editorial structure of the Toledoth unites independent stories and traditions about the period prior to the Exodus, before Israel, in the tradition's view, had become a people. This structure, into which the narratives are fitted, is aetiological, however much it is obviously based on ahistorical and undatable traditional narratives. The result of this great aetiological work is that Genesis has become Israel's prehistory, much in the manner that the chapters of Genesis 1-4 serve as the prehistory of the Toledoth of mankind (Gen. 5.3). The central core of the Toledoth of Terah is the long complexchain narrative of Abraham, which is discussed below in detail in Chapter 5§B. This narrative comprises most of the narratives from Gen. 11.27 to Genesis 22. The plot-line and the theme of this chain narrative have been built on the basis of the compound tale which finds Abraham moving from place to place in Palestine, building altars to Yahweh. This disjunctive narrative easily expands to allow


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Abraham to journey to other places and to other stories, easily taking on the form of a kind of life of Abraham, attracting several independent tales, especially the compound stories about Abraham and Lot, and the two traditions about Abraham having a child. Two critical problems have been central in the weaving of such a variety of tales together, so that they might form a continuous plot-line and give to the tradition a wholeness: the harmonization of three wholly independent stories into a continuous historiographical narrative in Genesis 18-19, and the harmonization of the directly contradictory traditions of Ishmael and Isaac. The first harmonization was achieved through the identification of the three strangers of the Abraham hospitality story with Yahweh of the debate story and the two messengers of the Sodom story. The latter was achieved through the displacement of Ishmael by Isaac and the understanding of Abraham as the father of many nations (cf. esp. Gen. 15.1-6 and Genesis 17). C. The Role of Isaac in the Tradition Genesis 24 Following a pattern typical of Genesis, the story of Isaac proper begins with the dying of Abraham. The specific motif used here in Gen. 24.1 ('Now Abraham was old, well advanced in years . . . ' ) finds an echo in Gen. 27.1, the story of the dying of Isaac, as well as in the story of the dying of Jacob in Gen. 48.1 and 49.1. The repeated use of this motif of the dying patriarch allows for a considerable interweaving of the greater traditions, as well as for the development of smooth plot transitions from one narrative block to the next. This is related to the editorial function provided by the Toledoth formulae. The individual narrative units, however, which have been brought together with this technique, have their own independent internal cohesion. In each successive story, this unifying element from the editorial structure becomes one among many of the motifs in several complex plots, for the process of narration is far from mechanical. In Genesis 24, the approaching death of Abraham serves a plot function, and becomes the occasion for the departure of Abraham's servant in search of a wife for Isaac. The story of this search is a long and highly developed prose narrative in which Abraham's servant seeks for a sign, which might enable him to find a bride for Isaac who is divinely appointed. This sign is granted to him, and the appointed bride willed by God turns out to be no other than Rebecca, the

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granddaughter of Nahor, Abraham's brother. This story is clearly aware of the Abraham story of Isaac's birth (Gen. 24.36: 'And Sarah my master's wife bore a son to my master when she was old'), and the reference to Laban in Gen. 24.39 suggests that it may well be aware of some form of the Jacob-Laban story. The allusions to the plots of these other narratives are here integrated into the story of Rebecca's marriage. Some aspects of the story (most strikingly, the theme of ethnic 'purity') mirror one of the variants of the Jacob story, and one might well speculate on a prior connection. Efforts to link this story to the other patriarchal narratives of its context are obvious. At times, they disrupt the story's plot or chronological lines as, for example, in Gen. 24.62, where Isaac's dwelling place is Be'er Lahai Roi', a place unassociated with Abraham, but which is nevertheless used here because of Isaac's association with that place in Gen. 25.11. The story of Genesis 24 ends with the conclusion of Isaac's wedding in Gen. 24.67a. Verse 67b, however, adds a startling gloss, referring to Isaac's bereavement after his mother's death. This gloss is editorial and reconnects the story with Genesis 23, the story of the death and burial of Sarah. It also prepares the reader for the genealogical narrative which immediately follows in Gen. 25.1-10. Genesis 25-26 A second Isaac story is found in Genesis 26, where it breaks the continuity of the Jacob/Esau conflict narrative, which began in Gen. 25.19. With respect to linear plot development, the Isaac story is obviously out of place here. Moreover, it befuddles any sense of chronological progression, since Isaac and Rebecca in Gerar certainly know nothing of Jacob and Esau, their children. It should nevertheless be argued that the Isaac/Rebecca/Gerar story finds its present place in the final redaction of Genesis, partly, if not entirely, for biographical reasons. The episode coming up in the Jacob/Esau story is to introduce the dying of Isaac. The story of ch. 26, then, in which Isaac is very much ah've, must of necessity come earlier, before his death. There is, moreover, an undisclosed passage of time assumable between the events of Gen. 25.34 and 27.1. Few alternatives to the present location of Genesis 26 are available. Properly, one might expect it to come before Gen. 25.11, which is originally an ending formula for the entire Abraham tradition, of which the Isaac story of ch. 26, like the Isaac story of ch. 24, might be assumed to be a part (see further below, Chapter 5). However, the attraction of the Abraham genealogy of Gen. 25.1-6 for the Toledoth of Ishmael in


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Gen. 25.7-11, and the opening formula of the Jacob story under the Toledoth of Isaac in Gen. 25.19, is very strong, and resists interruption. The story of Genesis 26 is intentionally introduced, after the Jacob story has already begun, in spite of the jarring disruption this causes the Jacob story. That a good story has been destroyed in the process has little effect on the purpose of the redactor. His focus is elsewhere, and his task is much more complex than mere linear plot development. A similar disruption is found later in Genesis, when the Judah/ Tamar story of ch. 38 is told after the Joseph story has already begun. Historiographically, the story of Isaac and Rebecca in ch. 26 has little connection with the episodes of ch. 25. This is obvious. There are at least two functional reasons, however, which override such glaring difficulties, and allow the narratives to function in spite of them: a. The theme of the Isaac story of Genesis 26 is a theme of conflict, brought forward in a chain of conflict episodes, just as the story of Jacob is a chain narrative on the theme of conflict. That is: whatever linear plot development might dictate, ch. 26 does fit its present context thematically. If ch. 24 can become part of the Abraham tradition under the heading of the Toledoth of Terah, then ch. 26 can lay claim to a place in the heart of the Jacob story. As we have already seen in the organization of the Abraham stories, theme is a powerful motivating force in the redaction of Genesis, at times of far more importance than plot or historiographical considerations, b. As with ch. 38 in the Joseph story, Genesis 26, whose motifs parallel those of the Abraham narratives so closely, is used within the Jacob narrative with the purpose of forging a link, holding the narrative chains of the Abraham and the Jacob traditions together through Isaac. Little trace of any original connection between the tales of chs. 24 and 26 is discoverable. There seems no need to suppose that there ever were any such ties between these two stories. Nor does there seem to have been any original unity of the Abraham or Jacob chains with either of the tales of Genesis 24 and 26. Moreover, though the connection of Isaac with Abraham, and that of Isaac with Jacob, is indigenous to the respective narrative chains, there is no substantial linkage whatever between the complex-chain narrative of Abraham and the complex-chain narrative of Jacob. An Isaac cycle of tales either never existed, or exists no longer. The Isaac stories, like those of the Lot tradition, are connected with each other for the first time in this complex literary and editorial work of the Toledoth structure,

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which created for the first time the continuity of a patriarchal history from Abraham to Joseph. The Jacob narrative, like that of Abraham, preexisted as a chain of narrative, prior to its connection with the Toledoth and its linkage to the Isaac tale of Genesis 26. The Isaac tradition loses its form and its own proper beginning and ending formulae in this amalgamation of traditions. The Abraham tradition began with the Toledoth of Terah, and ends with the death and burial of Abraham in Gen. 25.11. There is no Toledoth of Abraham, however, in which we might find an Isaac tradition. Moreover, the death of Isaac, and his burial, close no story about Isaac, but that of Jacob and Esau (Gen. 35.29), as the death of Jacob closes the Joseph narrative. The third major chapter in the book of the Toledoth of Adam deals with the stories of Jacob, under the title of the Toledoth of Isaac. D. The Toledoth of Isaac: The Story of Jacob Gen. 25.19-34; 27.1-45 The story of Jacob is a complex-chain narrative on the theme of conflict. In its present context, it is introduced under the title of the Toledoth of Isaac (Fokkelmann, 1979, pp. 46fF.). The story of Jacob begins, as had the story of Abraham, with the motif of the barren wife. This motif, however, is not drawn out in the Jacob story. Rather, Rebecca conceives as an answer to Isaac's prayer in Gen. 25.21. The central theme of conflict is immediately introduced into the story in a progressive series of three episodes (a method commonly used in folktales for great thematic emphasis). In each of these episodes, Jacob usurps his brother Esau's position in the family. These three vignettes (Gen. 25.22E, 24-28, and 29-34) belong together. They are not variants from different sources, but, building one upon the other, create a tension which, in the following conflict between Jacob and Jacob's consequent flight from his homeland. In the present context, however, the growing tension of the plot is broken by the inclusion of the tale of Isaac in Gerar and Isaac's quarrel with the Philistines over the ownership of wells (see above, section C). The episodes of conflict between Jacob and Esau are tied together in the speech of Esau found in Gen. 27.36. It is, we are told, in the very nature of Jacob to supplant Esau. Genesis 27.46-28.9 Gen. 27.46-28.9, along with Gen. 26.34, presents a variant develop-


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ment of the Jacob story which was originally independent of the series of Jacob-Esau conflict episodes, ending with Esau's threat to murder Jacob. This variant has not been integrated into the plot of the main narrative in which it finds its present context. The editorial method used here is reminiscent of the method used in recounting the variants of the flood narrative in Genesis 6-9. The variant tradition has been interlaced with alternate episodes from the mainline tradition. This is a clear indication that the editor was well aware that he was dealing with variations of the same tale, and his purpose was to preserve both versions. The two variations of this story are substantially different from each other; indeed, the one version seems to be more a tale about Esau than about Jacob, in some ways comparable to the Ishmael version of the story of Sarah's barrenness in the Abraham tradition. The designation of these two traditions in the Jacob story as 'variants', rather than in the tradition of biblical scholarship as 'sources', seems necessary in that we are not speaking of a distinct tale from a separate tradition, but of a single tale with variations in the manner of telling it. The variant of the Jacob story, dealing so strongly with Esau and the theme of national purity, is wholly dependent on the preceding plot-line of the mainline story. It is a variant primarily in the motif governing the cause of Jacob's departure for the North, and has been preserved apparently because of its specific and ethnically important diversions from the mainline plot. Of course, whether Jacob flees his home threatened with murder, or whether he leaves home freely with his parents' blessing, is a sufficiently significant change of plot as to cause some variations at least in the reading or the telling of the story subsequently, particularly at that point in the narrative in which Esau and Jacob meet once again. One does not have fragments of two stories from different sources, cut and pasted together, resulting in a meaningless collage, nor even a single story with fragments of another, whose whole is lost to us forever, but rather a single tale, the episodes of which allow for a variety in their manner of telling. The mainline story of Jacob builds on the Jacob-Esau conflict episodes, and continues the plot-line in a very elaborate progression of conflict tales, within the context of the conflict between Jacob and Esau. This convoluted story, developing out of the childhood narratives, is constructed on the basis of a simple structure of conflict stories within conflict stories, placed one within the other like Russian Gigogne dolls. In the center of the Jacob-Esau conflict tale,

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we have inserted the story of the conflict between Jacob and Laban. In the center of that conflict, we have the conflict story of Rachel and Leah. Further complexity has been introduced with the inclusion of the theophany tales, balanced on either side of the episodes of the Jacob-Laban conflict story, one when Jacob leaves his home, and the other on his return. Other episodes and tales have been attracted to this larger narrative structure, as might be expected in any collection of ancient traditional narrative. Genesis 28.10-22 The setting of this story of conflict between Jacob and Esau is Beersheva. This seems to be a result of the union of the Jacob story with the Isaac story of Genesis 26 (cf. Gen. 26.34 and 28.10). It is not clearly indigenous to the Jacob tale. When Jacob flees for his life from Beersheva, he comes first to Bethel, where he comes upon a magic stone. He unwittingly uses it as a pillow and witnesses a theophany (Gen. 28.10-22). The episode here has three functions: (a) to link the Jacob stories with the Abraham/Isaac promise tradition, however, perfunctorily, (b) to recount a naming aetiology for the shrine at Bethel, and (c) to strike a balance with the conflict theophany recounted on Jacob's return journey. The first of these functions is editorial in nature, and is fulfilled not in the opening vision of the messengers of God, but in the secondary speech of Yahweh which has expanded this brief, aedological tale. Genesis 29.1-31.55 Jacob sets out on his journey anew in Gen. 29.1. In its present context it is a continuation from the theophany at Bethel. Originally it is the beginning of Jacob's flight from Esau, continuing uninterruptedly the narration from Gen. 27.45, both the variant and the secondary theophany having been inserted at this point. Gen. 29.Iff., then, continues the plot of the mainline story. The stock episode of the watering of the beloved's sheep at the well (variant motifs of this episode, which has romantic implications, are found in both the Moses story in Exod. 2.16ff., and in the Isaac tale in Gen. 24.15ff.) introduces the hero to his bride's family. In the Jacob story, it also sets the stage for a double conflict, which controls the plot of the narrative over the coming chapters: (a) Laban's and Jacob's efforts to gain advantage one over the other, and (b) Rachel's conflict with Leah, her sister. The die for these conflicts is cast when Jacob falls romantically in love with Rachel and asks for her hand in marriage.


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Laban requests that Jacob work for seven years for her bride price. The conflicts are joined when, the contract having been fulfilled, the wedding is celebrated, and Laban switches the unloved elder, ugly Leah for the beloved, younger, beautiful Rachel as Jacob's bride. Laban tricks Jacob under cover of the darkness of the bridal tent, and Jacob does not discover the deception until the morning, when it is too late. Because this is a story, the fraud works (cf. the deception of Isaac in Genesis 27) and Jacob finds himself working yet another seven years for Rachel. Jacob finally satisfied, this episode ends with the folktale motif of the unloved lesser wife (a variation of the Cinderella motif): Jacob loves Rachel more than Leah, which sets the next series of conflicts on its way. The narrator, relying heavily on the ironic potential of his motifs, finds Leah successfully bearing children to Jacob, while the beloved Rachel is barren. This ironic reversal of plot roles establishes Rachel's barrenness (not Leah's unrequited love) as the need to be fulfilled before the story reaches its resolution. The conflict of Rachel and Leah ultimately results in the birth of Jacob's twelve children (Gen. 29.3 Iff.). After the birth of the children, when Rachel finally gives birth to Joseph (Benjamin too being promised to us in the aetiology of Joseph's name) this conflict is wholly resolved, and the story returns to the conflict of Jacob and Laban. Having been outwitted by Laban in the previous story, Jacob now sets out a plot in which he outwits Laban, pretending to work for almost nothing (Gen. 30.25ff.). In doing this, Jacob becomes rich at Laban's expense through trickery (Gen. 30.41-43). When Laban's sons become angry at the impoverishment of their father by Jacob, the plot of this conflict story draws towards its climax. As Laban's sons became angry at Jacob, as earlier Esau had hated Jacob before his journey began (Gen. 27.41), so now Yahweh tells Jacob to go back home (Gen. 31.3), as Rebecca had earlier instructed Jacob to flee (Gen. 27.46). The long speech of self-justification which Jacob makes to his wives in Gen. 31.4ff. is a later and secondary addition to the narrative. It has the function of integrating the magic stone theophany of Gen. 28.10-17 with the story of Jacob as a whole, as well as the Yahweh theophany of Gen. 31.3 in particular. The weight of the speech is that it is God who is guiding Jacob, a sentiment which is wholly at variance with the tone of this rather raucous plot! However, there is no reason to suspect that this addition to the story is anything more than that: an addition which has its own pious understanding to give to our tale. It does not appear to be a reflection of a variant tradition. It is much more a dependent, harmonizing

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gloss, integrating, smoothing out, and interpreting the narrative. Its tendentiousness also changes all subsequent reading of the resolution of the conflict between Jacob and Laban which follows. The original story, stressing Jacob's cleverness, ends with Jacob and Rachel, somewhat dishonestly, making a fool of Laban by lying through their teeth to him. The gloss, in its stressing of Laban's malice, also acts to justify Jacob and Rachel's behavior and their treatment of Laban, a subtle but ethically significant alteration. This alteration is further bolstered by the argument that it was not so much magic and trickery (as one might be led to suspect from a bare reading of the facts) but God and God's providence which had made Jacob so rich. Recognition of this gloss allows one to read the confrontation between Jacob and Laban, the vehicle which brings about the final resolution of this conflict story, with less puzzlement. The resolution is structured in a series of three speeches in which Laban is outwitted one final time. In the opening speech, Laban speaks his anger straightforwardly. Jacob has run off like a thief! (Which, of course, is true.) Unlike what one is led to expect from Jacob's speech to his wives, Laban is here fair and conciliatory, though nonetheless angry and righteous. Laban argues that although he has right and power on his side, his own piety towards Jacob's God makes him wish to deal 'fairly' (i.e., to speak 'neither good nor bad' [Gen. 31.24]) with Jacob. Laban's plaintive allusion to a celebration that had been arbitrarily and rudely eliminated by Jacob's flight is neither cynical nor deceptive. Such an understanding grows out of the brilliant gloss of Gen. 31.4fF. which poisons our minds along with Rachel and Leah's, and causes us to judge Laban's every action with distrust. But Laban's complaint here is real, and he speaks the truth clearly. Jacob and Laban have not yet come to a formal resolution of the earlier contracts of marriage, which the occasion of Jacob's departure now demands. Laban's opening charge is patent: Jacob has treated him badly, without showing the least family feeling or responsibility. Laban's second charge is of a different order and much more serious in its nature. Laban, who has in every way maintained respect for Jacob's deity, has not been given similar respect in return. In fact, a serious crime—the theft of his gods—has been committed against him. It is a significant motif in this narration, which increases the plot tension considerably, that the audience is fully aware, though Jacob is not, that Laban is speaking the truth (Gen. 31.19!).


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The story's second speech, Jacob's response to Laban, depends heavily on the quality of the speech as dialogue to make its point. It requires dramatic rendition. Jacob answers both charges of Laban. To the first, of which Jacob knows everything, he mumbles lamely an excuse which is transparent nonsense, betraying the speaker's guilt in the telling of it. To the second charge, however, of which Jacob knows nothing, he responds boldly, declaring his innocence. So sure is he here of the falseness of Laban's charge, that he unwittingly condemns, through his own words, his beloved Rachel to death. This well-worn folktale motif introduces a subplot which leads towards the resolution of the conflict. Through Rachel's cleverness, Laban is duped once again, and is made to appear in the wrong. In the third speech of this final scene, Jacob recites his complaints against Laban, ending with the argument that God has been on Jacob's side. The scene ends with Laban's response, resolving the conflict between Jacob and Laban with a covenant. Genesis 32.1-33.20 The final movement of the Jacob story, marking Jacob's return and reconciliation with Esau is complex, and is hardly to be seen as a unity. Immediately upon setting out on his way home, Jacob has a theophany, relating a very brief, aetiological, place-naming motif for Mahanaim (Gen. 32.If). Structurally, this brief episode, in which Jacob is met by the messengers of God, is balanced in the greater narrative by the opening episode of Jacob's dream theophany about the messengers of God in Gen. 28.11-12, which leads to the very brief, aetiological, place-naming motif for Bethel, an episode which occurred when Jacob set out on his journey. The narrative returns to the Jacob-Esau conflict story, which opens with Jacob sending messengers to Esau, and receiving Esau's messengers in return. The thematic attraction of the messengers of God in the theophanies certainly cements these episodes together at this point. The attraction of the Mahanaim aetiological tale also finds expression in the presentation of two variants of Jacob's fears about Esau. It is obvious that, for the redactor, these two scenes, with vv. 7 and ll's lishne mahanot, belong together. That they derive from originally variant traditions also seems clear for the following reasons: In Gen. 32.6-8, Jacob divides his party into two bands for defensive reasons ('If Esau comes to the one company and destroys it, then the company which is left will escape'). In vv. 9-12, there is a play on the two bands mentioned in vv. 6-8, as Jacob remembers that

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the first time that he had crossed the river (on the way to the north) he had nothing, now, thanks to God's faithfulness to him, he has two bands to divide into. This prayer, building though it does on 32.6-8, appears to originate in a variant narration of the story. In 32.9-12, Jacob is no longer travelling southwards in the direction of Edom, camping at the ford of the Jabbok (so, 32.22), but he is coming from the east (Gen. 29.1!), moving westwards, camping on the banks of the Jordan (Gen. 32.10). That there may have been as many as three variations of the narration is indicated in the development of the plot. a. Jacob is threatened with the immanent arrival of Esau and his 400 men. In a defensive move, he divides his own group into two companies, a plan which would enable one to escape (Gen. 32.68). b. Gen. 32.3-5, 13-21 presents a variant division of Jacob's party and a variation of Jacob's plan to deal with the approaching Esau, one that is not defensive, but diplomatic. Jacob sends messengers to Esau, and tries to win favor in his brother's eyes by presenting Esau with a progressive series of gifts, from his herds and possessions—the plan is one of appeasement! c. In a third variation of the narration of Jacob's reunion with his brother, Jacob and his family go forward to meet Esau (Gen. 32.9-12, 22f; 33.1-3). A third division is presented: that of the children, in three groups, determined on the basis of their mothers, with Jacob himself going to meet Esau at the head of the train. The present received text follows the plot line of diplomacy and reconciliation, which plan variant (b) has prepared us for, and (c) assumes from the start. Jacob's plan (a), preparing for a defense in an ongoing conflict, continues in the received text only in the form of the analogy in 32.10, in Jacob's prayer to Yahweh. The resolution of Jacob and Esau's conflict is presented in Gen. 33.4-11. Here, both variants (b) and (c) are dealt with, and one must see this final narration of the text as integrating both earlier variations of the tale. First we have a scene (33.4-7) where there is no question of conflict. There is a joyful family reunion, with hugging, kissing, and tears, and Esau's question is: who are all the children? The question Esau puts forward in 33.8, however, is quite a different sort: 'What do you mean by all this company which I met?' Here the reference is to variant plan (b). Reconciliation is by no means taken for granted, but has to be negotiated. Jacob responds straightforwardly that they are gifts, offered in the hope that Jacob


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might 'find favor' in Esau's eyes (cf. 32.5 and 33.8). Esau, however, refuses (33.9). Here we find that Jacob's sincere desire for reconciliation succeeds as a result of his generosity, as he presses Esau to accept. The brief story recounting Jacob's wrestling with God in Gen. 32.24-32, involving the changing of Jacob's name to Israel and a dietary aetiology, seems to have been originally independent of its present context. I also have reservations in identifying this as a rivercrossing theophany. It appears to be only secondarily attached to the account of the crossing of the Jabbok. It may have once developed as a variation or as an expansion of the Mahanaim theophany in Gen. 32.1-2. In its present context, it functions structurally as a balance for the theophanic expansion in Gen. 28.13ff. of the Bethel aetiology (cf. above). The dietary aetiology serves only the minor function of concluding the episode. The changing of Jacob's name to Israel, however, like the story about the change of Abraham's name in Genesis 17, goes well beyond the episode itself. It not only connects this Jacob narrative with the Abraham stories, but identifies Jacob with the nation Israel. The story is quite clearly a redactional expansion quite late in the tradition's history. Because of the number of plot variations that have been included in the received text's account of the Jacob-Esau conflict narrative, the story concludes with considerable uncertainty. In Gen. 33.12-14, Esau invites Jacob home and Jacob accepts the invitation, asking only that he be allowed (because of the fragility of his family and flocks) to follow Esau home at a slower pace. Jacob's speech of 33.14 could fit either variants (b) or (c) well, and indeed follows the resolution presented in 33.4-11 uncommonly well: 'Let my Lord pass on before his servant, and I will lead on slowly, according to the pace of the cattle which are before me and according to the pace of the children, until I come to my Lord in Seir'. This is certainly a concluding line which brings the story to a rest, and should be read as such. The story begun in 25.19 with whatever variant narrations, is over! Gen. 33.16f. ('So Esau returned that day on his way to Seir, and Jacob journeyed to Succoth ...') is not a contradiction of this plot resolution, and should not be read as such! Jacob does not deceive Esau, nor does he 'escape'; the conflict and enmity with Esau is over. Gen. 33.17 (Jacob 'built himself a house, and made booths for his cattle; therefore, the name of the place is called Succoth') is, both in its form and in its position in the narrative, a closing aetiology. Clearly the narration intends to come to a rest with the stock naming

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aetiology for Succoth. Gen. 33.18fF., which has Jacob arrive safely at Shechem, does not offer an alternative ending for the preceding narrative dealing with Jacob and Esau. It rather creates a transition to the following narrative about Dinah in Shechem ('Jacob came safely to the city of Shechem... on his way from Paddan-Aram'). The passage in Gen. 33.18-20 is entirely redactional, forming a bridge between the Jacob-Esau narrative and the story of the rape of Dinah. Genesis 34-37.1 The remainder of the Jacob narratives found in Genesis form an only partly coherent collection of independent stories, aetiologies, and genealogical narratives. Their order and progression is typically the result of analogous pairing or attraction of similarities, with a very limited effort to harmonize their plots or to organize them in a continuous unity. Although the Dinah story, an originally independent and self-subsistent narrative, finds its place here because of its geographical placement at Shechem, the other narrative parts and episodes of Genesis 35 and 36 have been tied together here very loosely. The massacre at Shechem forces Jacob and his family to leave the Shechem region. Under the guise of Jacob wandering from place to place, some minimal narrative order is given to a series of unconnected incidents. This chain of narrative finally concludes in a series of genealogical tales which bring the Jacob and the Esau narratives to a final ending and prepare the reader for the narrative about Joseph, which follows under the title: the Toledoth of Jacob. In the variety of these episodes, tale fragments, and genealogical narratives, one receives some impression of the minimal range of variants which once existed among the narratives about Jacob and Esau. The lack of integration of these variants is in striking contrast to the editorial and redactional efforts which underlie the Abraham/ Lot/Isaac chain, none of whose parts had the solidity and density of plot which is apparent in the Jacob-Esau conflict chain. It is perhaps for that reason that the other Jacob and Esau stories were never integrated; for such a tightly balanced and structured story permits only a minimal inclusion of variants and new tales in the process of transmission, while in the Abraham stories the wandering theme permits a maximum of inclusion of such materials. As in the earlier chapters of Genesis, the collecting efforts of the editors and redactors of the Jacob and Esau narratives had a very definite logic and purpose which guided them. The passages in Gen.


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35.1-4, 5-8, and 9-15 form a series of episodes in which either a theophany or an act of God (vv. 5-8) is used to introduce plot elements. Moreover, all three of these episodes have a common denominator in their relationship to the place name Bethel. The last two, indeed, are obvious variations of the naming aetiology for Bethel found in Gen. 28.18-22, which is already presupposed in the episode of Gen. 35.1-4! It is very clear that the narration of Gen. 35.5-9 is fully cognizant of the earlier episode of Genesis 28. This, is not true however, of the episode of Gen. 35.9-15, which implies a setting immediately following Jacob's return from Paddan-Aram (v. 9). This variant of the Bethel naming story also contains a variant of the changing of Jacob's name to Israel (cf. Gen. 32.24-32). This allows for the inclusion of the Reuben incest story (Gen. 35.21f). It is interesting to note that the story of Rachel's death does not follow logically upon the specific Bethel episode of Gen. 35.9-15, but rather upon the cumulative effect of the collected Bethel variants. This indicates that the narrative logic here is not plot-oriented but is editorial, relating more to questions about where stories might best fit than to what happens in the stories. Following the already observed pattern of the redactor of the Abraham stories, the Jacob narratives conclude with a brief genealogical tale. Gen. 35.22b(3-26 gives a list of Jacob's twelve children, born in Paddan-Aram. That Dinah is not mentioned in this list and that Benjamin is listed, may indicate the assumption of a variant account of the tale of Rachel and Leah's conflict. The list here does know that story, as it lists here the children of Bilhah and Zilpah, the maids of the story. The mainline story does refer to the birth of Dinah in Gen. 30.21. However, this is not done in the same narrative mode as the births of the other children. No pun on the name of Dinah is made, and this verse fragment appears wholly extraneous to the narrative, and was perhaps introduced after the story of the rape of Dinah had been joined to the Jacob-Esau story. After Rachel, in the mainline story, bears her first son Joseph, she makes the pun: 'May the Lord add to me another son'. Yet such a son is not born in the story, however much the reader expects this to happen immediately. In this, we have the very unusual situation in a folktale of a promise being made, wholly in the mode of the story (and it is unlikely that it is editorial), which is not fulfilled within the space of that story. It is quite possible that a story of Benjamin's birth, which one might expect to follow Gen. 30.24, has been excised for historiographical reasons, once the story of Benjamin's birth and

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the death of Rachel had been connected to Palestine and Bethel in Gen. 35.16ff. The list of Jacob's sons in Gen. 35.22b(3-26 is a creation of the redactor, based on the Rachel-Leah narrative rather than independent of it. Gen. 35.27-29, dealing with the death and burial of Isaac, concludes the Jacob section of Genesis. The function of this passage is to link Jacob to the stories about Isaac and Abraham. This is done through Isaac's death and his burial at Mamre. The next major coherent narrative block in Genesis is the Toledoth of Jacob. However, before beginning that narrative, the redactor quite appropriately collects together in one place the six genealogical and genealogy-like traditions about Esau in Genesis 36. The redactional function of the collector is most obvious here. Gen. 36.1-5 lists the sons and wives of Esau in a fashion similar to the list of Jacob's sons and wives in Gen. 35.23-26. It is followed by the aetiological episode, explaining how Esau is Edom/Seir. This tradition had not found a place in the mainline tradition as it offers a third variation of the cause of Jacob's separation from Esau, wholly independent of the story of Jacob's journey to Laban's house. Here the motive for the separation of the two brothers has nothing to do with Jacob stealing Esau's blessing and nothing to do with Isaac's and Rebecca's wish for Jacob to marry into 'pure' stock. Here the cause of the separation is that 'their possessions were too great for them to dwell together', a motif which is also a variant of the Abraham/Lot division story of Gen. 13.2ff. In this variant of the Jacob/Esau conflict narrative, it is Esau who leaves, rather than Jacob. Gen. 36.9-14 is a segmented family genealogy, used to describe political relationships and alliances. Gen. 36.15-19 offers a variant of this same genealogy. Verse 15 uses the name Benei Esau as a tribal name, and the list is of the chiefs of that tribe. This is followed (Gen. 36.20-30) by a comparable genealogical list of the Benei Seir, giving an account of the aborigines of Edom, here called Horites. Connected with this list are aetiological tale fragments similar to those found in Genesis 4. Gen. 36.31-39 adds a king list, in the style of a segmented genealogy. These are presented as the early kings of Edom, 'before any king reigned over the Israelites'. This list is apparently totally independent of the tribal genealogy of Seir. It lists some of the early kings and the dominant cities. The apparent reason for its inclusion here is that it purports to be a royal list of Edom, whom the previous lists identify with Esau and Seir, and the following list with a son of


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Esau (so, Gen. 36.43). In its present context, following the list of the sons of Seir, the list appears to present kings of Edom, belonging to the aboriginal inhabitants, before Esau and his chiefs took over the territory. Gen. 36.31, then, is not to be read as comparing Edom/ Esau with Israel, but rather as comparing Edom, and its earlier kings, with the later Esau/Israel. Apart from the received context, this list appears to be unrelated to the Seir list or to Esau or the Israelites. The fifth list (Gen. 36.40-43) is also an originally independent list of Esau's chiefs. However, it appears that the redactor of Genesis is fully aware of its character as a variant of the list in Gen. 36.9-14, which is a list of Esau's sons. In vv. 40-43, in contrast, we have a list according to families and dwelling places, a list which reflects political organization after Esau and his family had taken possession of the land of Edom. The redactor's obvious awareness of the malleable, even fictional, quality of the context which is created for these lists should not be overlooked. As narrative, his reconstruction appears both clever and workable. From a modern historiographical view, however, his reconstruction is unusable, as it is clear that he is no more aware of the significant context of the list of 36.9ff. than we are. What he adds is his note that the king list of Gen. 36.3 Iff., in his opinion, antedates the Israelite kingship. However, it is not entirely clear what is actually referred to by 'Israel' in Gen. 36.31. There is some justification for seeing this, in the redactor's mind, as a contrast between pre-Israelite and Israelite kings over Edom^ and that the redactor thought of the kings of this list as having ruled over the territory of Edom before the Israelites held sway over this territory. Such an understanding is already reflected in his contrasting the chiefs of Esau with the aboriginal chiefs of Seir. Here he contrasts the earliest kings of Edom with the subsequent Israelite rule over Edom. In this manner, five originally independent genealogical and genealogy type narratives take on a new meaning, distinct from what they may have meant prior to their narrative use here. In conclusion: The Toledoth of Isaac (Gen. 25.19a) is a structure holding together the narratives of Gen. 25.19b-36.43 and narrating them as a stage in the Toledoth of mankind, following the Toledoth of Terah. Within this Toledoth of Isaac, there is a central, long, chain narrative, structured within the Jacob/Esau conflict story of Gen. 25.20-33.17, which antedates its redaction as Toledoth. Although the existence of Isaac—the father of Jacob and the son of Abraham—

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might be understood as an historiographical link between the greater and more coherent Abraham and Jacob traditions, we find that it does not serve such a function literarily. In terms of the literary structure which is imposed on the narratives and gives them their context as patriarchal stories, the Isaac traditions are related to the Abraham stories, and are not connected to the Jacob tradition prior to the Toledoth redaction. It is the Toledoth structure itself, and the patterns of traditional narration which it relates, that give the patriarchal stories their coherence as a continuous historiographical patriarchal tradition. There is nothing intrinsic to the original narratives of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, which serves that function, nor indeed anything earlier than the final redactive process identified with the Toledoth structure. E. The Toledoth of Jacob: The Story of Joseph Genesis 37.2-11 The fourth large narrative block of the received text of Genesis begins in Gen. 37.2, with its now familiar title: 'This is the Toledoth of Jacob'. That is, it is an account of Jacob's descendants. The story begins with Joseph, who, as a young boy, is a shepherd with his brothers. The opening theme of this story has its entry, as in the entry to the Jacob narrative, in a series of conflict vignettes, here giving the cause of Jacob's sons' hatred of Joseph, as Genesis 25 had given the cause of Esau's great hatred of Jacob. Something of the complexity of the Joseph tradition is already discernible in these opening scenes. In v. 2, Joseph, who had been with his brothers, comes home and speaks badly of them to his father. This very brief episode serves the main story line by setting Joseph apart from his brothers in conflict, and would appear to be the opening episode of the story, setting the theme of conflict and hatred, to be followed up later with the successive scenes of Joseph's dreams. However, the beginning of v. 3, 'Now Israel...', presents us with a formula which formally begins a narrative segment (so, for example, 37.12: 'Now his brothers ...'; 39.1: 'Now Joseph ...'; 39.6b0: 'Now Joseph ...'). It presents the cause of the brothers' hatred for Joseph in their father's greater love for him, and sees Joseph's new tunic, a gift from their father, as a goad for their hatred. Apparently originally variant openings of our story, vv. 2-4 of Genesis 39 now read as a single scene. This harmonized perception is encouraged by the later use of Joseph's robe as the means by which the brothers are able to


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convince Jacob that Joseph is dead (Gen. 37.23, 31-33). This story in Genesis uses two different names for Jospeh's father: Israel (Gen. 37.3, 13) and Jacob (Gen. 37.2, 34). This inconsistency of names is also found elsewhere in the story and is especially remarkable in Gen. 46.2, 8. A similar mixture of names is found in the use of the names of Reuben, Jacob's eldest son, and that of Judah. Most remarkable is the use of the name of Judah in Gen. 44.14, where one might rather expect to find the name of Reuben, the eldest son. There is also a similarity and perhaps a confusion of the name Potiphar in Gen. 37.36 with the name of Joseph's father-in-law, Potiphera, in Gen. 41.45 and 46.20. It is, moreover, impossible to overlook the use of both Ishmaelite and Midianite traders to dispatch Joseph to Egypt. It is both tempting and justifiable to see in this seeming confusion of names the result of a story which has been created from more than one source. There has been, however, only limited success in clearly identifying and distinguishing such sources. The interchanges of the names Jacob/Israel, as well as Yahweh/ Elohim/El Shaddai/'God of your father', seem significantly integrated in the present received form of the story. The narration both obviously identifies the person of Jacob with Israel, and unquestionably sees all the divine names as referring to a single God. Any distinction which might be made in the referents of these names lies either in the prehistory of our present text, or outside of the narrative itself. Reuben and Judah, however, are understood as clearly distinct personages, as are also the Midianites and the Ishmaelites. There are obvious indications of an attempt to harmonize narrative variations, which has resulted in their conflicting inclusion in the final redaction. The naming of the captain of the guard as Potiphar, however, in Gen. 37.36, is extremely jarring in its context, for this character is otherwise referred to anonymously as Joseph's 'master', the 'Egyptian', and the 'captain of the guard'. While there are at least two variant recensions involved in the narrative here, I would suggest that the name Potiphar in Gen. 36.37 is more in the nature of a gloss, resulting from a displacement of names from Gen. 41.45 and 46.20, or possible variants thereof. The Joseph story begins, as did the Jacob-Esau narrative, with a series of three conflict episodes, showing cause why Joseph's brothers hate him. The second and third episodes involve the doubling of Joseph's dreams. The literary function of the doubling of dreams, which occurs three times in the greater narrative, is explained within the narrative itself. What is twice dreamt is 'ordained by God'

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(41.32). In the presentation of the dreams, we are dealing with prophecy. The narrative is pointing ahead into the future of the story. To ensure that this point is not missed by the story's audience, the narrator distinguishes sharply the reactions to Joseph's accounts of his dreams. Joseph's brothers 'were jealous of him' (37.11), and even more resentful, thus completing the tripartite introduction of the greater narrative. Joseph's father, however, 'kept these words in his heart', letting the audience know that we are dealing with more here than just the cause of the brothers' jealousy, the subject of the first episode in Gen. 37.2-4. We are also dealing with a prophecy which is going to come true in the story. Here we are presented with a narrative clue that what has been dreamt is pivotal to an understanding of the narratives to come. We know that the narrative will not come to rest until this dream is fulfilled. The audience (not the brothers) know that Joseph's dream is not overweening pride, arrogance, or a fault of Joseph, but rather a sign of God's providence, which is in complete control of the narrative. Of the two dreams of Joseph, it is the first, with the stands of wheat in the field, each representing a brother gathering around and bowing down before Joseph's stand, which follows most closely the narrative plot of the story as it has been received into the present text of Genesis. The accurate interpretation of this dream by the antagonistic brothers (37.8) gives an ironic solidity to the scene, and identifies the leitmotif of the narrative of Joseph's struggles with his brothers as that most favorite of all Israelite themes: the success of the unpromising. The second dream (Gen. 37.9ff.) with the sun and the moon and the eleven stars bowing down to Joseph, along with Jacob's interpretation of this dream, does not fit the story's detail, though it does repeat the central theme. In the received story, Joseph's father does not bow down to him, and Joseph's mother is long since dead, and has no place in the story whatever. Moreover, the rebuke by Joseph's father here does not fit the hagiographic tone of our story, which pits the innocent Joseph as his father's favorite against the jealous, murderous brothers. Certainly the possibility arises that this dream once played its role in a significant variation of the Joseph story, one that did not blend so well with the story of Jacob and his romantic love for Rachel as the received text does (cf. Gen. 44.18ff.), one that does not assume Rachel's death, and one that is not so complete in its maintenance of Joseph's virtues. The glimpse we have here of such a variation, so radically different from the received


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tradition, indicates the breadth of the spectrum of narrative in which the received version has its place. That the dream has survived in the present story ought not to surprise us. The minor narrative discord that this dream brings with it pales in contrast to the striking imagery of the sun and the moon and all the stars bowing down before Joseph. Could any storyteller resist such magic for the sake of consistency? Genesis 37.12-35 Following the threefold introduction which sets the stage for the greater narrative, the plot action begins in Gen. 37.12, when Joseph is sent by his father to his brothers, who are caring for the flock, to see whether they are all right. The use of geography here is very cavalier, with Joseph travelling great distances in search of his brothers, from Hebron to Shechem, and then on to Dothan. It is a mistake to assume geographical realism either here or in the later part of the story in Egypt. The creation of distance is a necessary function for the story; that should suffice. Before Joseph arrives, when his brothers first see him coming, they plot to kill him. The motive: 'We shall see what will become of his dreams'. The plot against Joseph's life here not only refers back to the dreams, but it also introduces the motif of the claim that a wild beast had killed Joseph, which will be used later in the story. Reuben, the eldest, interferes at this point and demands that Joseph be put into a pit. The ostensible reason is that the brothers might avoid killing Joseph directly. Reuben, however, plans secretly to rescue Joseph (Gen. 37.22, 29f.). The brothers obey Reuben, and Joseph is thrown into a pit or an empty cistern. At this point of the narrative it becomes clear that we are dealing with at least two variations of the story which the tradition has only partially harmonized. In Gen. 37.25ff., a new element enters the story: the brothers see a caravan of Ishmaelites coming. In an episode which functionally parallels Reuben's scheme to save Joseph, Judah puts forward a plan to the brothers whereby they might make a profit while still ridding themselves of Joseph: namely, by selling Joseph to these Ishmaelites. The integration of these two variations of the plot's development is noticeably incomplete, in that the need to avoid Joseph's 'blood', which is expressed as an argument in support of Judah's plot (37.26), is a need that has already been satisfied by Reuben in his response to the initial suggestion of murdering Joseph (37.19ff.). Clearly, Gen. 37.25ff. is not originally subsequent to 37.19ff., but only to the

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conspiracy to murder (37.18)! Judah's scheme of 37.25ff., in which Judah is very much a part of the murder conspiracy, stands in sharp contrast to Reuben's plot to prevent the murder. In the harmonization, Judah's plan serves as a plot motif, preventing Reuben's scheme of 37.19ff. from succeeding. That the narrative was in fact so understood at some time during the transmission of the story, seems to be indicated by the speeches of guilt and recrimination of the brothers and Reuben in Gen. 42.21f. Reuben accuses the brothers of not listening to him! That the brothers did not listen to Reuben, we know only from Gen. 37.25ff. Moreover, Reuben knew nothing of this (that the brothers had betrayed their agreement with him), even after he had found the empty pit in Gen. 37.29fl Gen. 37.28aa, 'The Midianite traders passed by', jars the reader harshly in its present context. It cannot reasonably follow upon Judah's plan with the brothers to sell Joseph to the Ishmaelites. Moreover, Gen. 37.28bct, 'and they sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty shekels of silver', cannot follow upon v. 28aa, with the meaning that the Midianites sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites (see Gen. 37.36!), although that is the plain and obvious meaning of the harmonized received text. Gen. 37.28a(3, b(3: 'and they drew Joseph up, and lifted him out of the p i t . . . and they took Joseph to Egypt', fits the context of v. 28aa admirably, by telling us what the Midianites did when they passed by, giving us a vivid understanding of Reuben's hopeless shock in vv. 29f., and also pointing ahead to the narrative development which has (now somewhat contradictorily) Midianites sell Joseph to Potiphar in Egypt (Gen. 37.36). In this variant of the story, Joseph comes to Egypt because Reuben's attempt to save Joseph goes awry, when, unknown to both Reuben and his brothers, Midianites find Joseph in the pit and, kidnapping him, take him as a slave to Egypt. That such a recension of the story once existed prior to the received text's harmonization, is very clearly implied in Gen. 40.15, when Joseph complains that he had been 'stolen out of the land of the Hebrews'. The alternate version follows the plot-line of the brothers' scheme to murder Joseph; later, following Judah's advice, they sell him to the Ishmaelites, who, in turn, upon arriving in Egypt, sell him to Potiphar (Gen. 39.1). Neither variant seems aware of, or dependent on, the other, though both are dependent on the dream episodes in their plot development, as well as on the motif of the brothers' hatred and desire for revenge. The received text offers a harmonized reading of the text, a reading of the story which existed in neither variant, but only in their


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combination. The upshot of this harmonization is that the brothers betray their agreement with Reuben, and determine, at the instigation of Judah, to sell Joseph. Midianite traders, however, come by, and they sell Joseph to the Ishmaelites. This harmonization reflects a degree of disharmony, but no greater than the historiographical disharmony we saw above of the Abraham hospitality story in Gen. 18.1-15 with Gen. 18.16-33, the debate story, and Genesis 19, the story of Lot in Sodom. Genesis 37.36-39.1 This harmonization of the various recensions of the Joseph story is fostered by the inclusion at this point of the Judah/Tamar story of Genesis 38. Though the inclusion of this narrative breaks the immediate plot line of the Joseph story, the interruption should perhaps best be understood as an interlude, rather than as an unintentional disruption. The Joseph story, itself, with its technique of doubling Gen. 36.37 and Gen. 39.1, consciously sets out space for the narration of the story of Judah and Tamar. The Judah story is fittingly placed here because the story about Judah, like that about Joseph, is a fully appropriate part of the Toledoth of Jacob (Gen. 37.2). From the perspective of the final redaction of Genesis, we are not reading the story of Joseph, but the Toledoth of Jacob, and as such, focus is on what happens to all of the brothers, the sons of Jacob. The climax of the Toledoth story (in contrast to the Joseph story) is not Joseph's success and the ironic fulfillment of his dream—though that was the climax in the version of the story prior to its present context as a Toledoth. Rather, the climax lies squarely in the move of Jacob and the Benei Israel down into Egypt in Genesis 46 and 47. Neither the genealogical tales of Genesis 46, nor even the deathbed assemblies of chs. 48 and 49, are to be seen as unaccountable intrusions upon some pure 'novella' about Joseph, any more than the brief episode of Gen. 47.20ff., telling of how Joseph was responsible for the enslavement of all of Egypt under the Pharaoh, is an intrusion. There are also some historiographical factors which prevent the stories of Judah and of Joseph from being separated. The task of the Toledoth's redactor is to account for the descendants of Jacob. Gen. 38.1, however, sees Judah as living apart from his brothers, alone with his own family. The narrator, therefore, has little choice but to place the Tamar story at some point later than the opening of the Joseph story. For similar reasons, he is constrained from placing it

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after the end of the Joseph story, since from that time on, Judah is in Egypt, moving towards the Exodus. The interlude allowed after Joseph's entry into Egypt while he is in his master's house, languishing in prison, and then organizing Egypt to overcome the famine, is opportune for just such an inclusion. Gen. 39.1, as we have already mentioned, parallels Gen. 37.36, the narrator seeing them as equivalent and parallel motifs in the process of the plot's development, rather than as reflections of independent sources with inherent contradictions. They are variant motifs of a common story which the narrator transmits in the larger context of the Jacob Toledoth. Here again we have evidence that the received text of the Joseph story does not reflect the individual composition of a 'novella'. Rather we have here a tradition of plot episode and motif development, akin to traditional narrative of the sort we have seen in both the Abraham and the Jacob narratives. The Joseph narrative is different from these primarily in its greater coherence and smoothness in narration, a distinction which is related to both its quality as a narrative, and the degree to which individual minor episodes and tales have been integrated into the movement of the greater chain narrative. Genesis 39.2-23 Gen. 39.2-6 introduces one of several leitmotifs which hold the Joseph narrative together. The Lord is with Joseph, so that everything he does goes well; as a result his master needs do little in the house. The same motif is found again in Gen. 39.20-23, when Joseph works for the keeper of the prison. Both of these episodes prepare the reader for Joseph's rise to power as vizier, where he will in turn take over all of Pharaoh's power and authority in Egypt, except for the throne itself (Gen. 41.39-45). These two parallel motifs in Gen. 39.2-6 and 39.20-23 are variations of a common theme. They are thematic parallels rather than plot progressions. Their function is to establish the mode of Joseph's response to adversity: Joseph is enslaved; God is with him; all goes well. Joseph is imprisoned; God is with him; all goes well. Moreover, these two situations in which Joseph finds himself are ambiguously distinct. Joseph is 'in the house of his master the Egyptian' (Gen. 39.2b), who is harmonistically assumed to be the 'the captain of the guard' in Gen. 39.1, and in the service of (or as the prisoner of) 'the keeper of the prison' (Gen. 39.21), which is identified as the 'house of the captain of the guard' in Gen. 40.3! It is


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never made clear whether Joseph lives as a servant in the prison (which one might suspect from Gen. 37.36; 39.1, 21ff.) or whether Joseph is indeed a prisoner (so, Gen. 39.20 and 40.15b). The plot progression of the complex-chain narrative develops as the story of Joseph's enslavement in the house of the captain of the guard (Gen. 39.1, 21ff.) is harmonized with the variant story of Joseph entering the service of'his master, the Egyptian' (Gen. 39.220). This harmonization is achieved through the narration of the two variants as progressions in the plot: Joseph finding himself in recurrent danger, and surviving it because God is with him in all that he does. In this manner, the independent tale of the seduction of Joseph by his master's wife becomes the efficient cause of Joseph's placement in the prison, now as prisoner. Genesis 40-41 In Genesis 40, we find the first of two stories in which Joseph interprets pairs of dreams. In this first tale, Joseph interprets the dreams of the butler and the baker of Pharaoh. The first of these dreams, dealing with a vine with three branches, clustered with grapes, is positive: the butler shall live. The second dream, dealing with three cake baskets, is negative: the baker shall die. The contrast of the two dreams is drawn out graphically in the macabre and ironic pun that the Pharaoh will 'lift up' the head of each. The plot of the mainline story about Joseph is not immediately furthered by this tale, and Joseph continues to languish in prison (Gen. 40.23). This may suggest a significant separation from the tale in Genesis 41, in which Joseph interprets the two dreams of the Pharaoh. They may not always have been told as parts of the same story. Gen. 41.9-13 connects the two parallel narratives, when the butler remembers his promise to Joseph, and tells the pharaoh of Joseph's ability to interpret dreams. The two dreams of the pharaoh are similar to those that Joseph himself had dreamed in the opening of the mainline story, in that both the dreams of the pharaoh are parallel in meaning and bear the same interpretation. They are also—in contrast to the dreams of the butler and the baker—relatively simple and transparent, involving neither puns nor irony. They do, however, share the motif of positive-negative contrast with the butler/baker dreams, in that each dream of the pharaoh has paired sets of cattle and grain, indicating successive periods of good and bad harvests. The narrative goal of Joseph's interpretation of the pharaoh's

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dreams is the selection of a 'man discreet and wise' (Gen. 41.33), who might guide Egypt through the coming troubled times. That such a person can only be Joseph (Gen. 41.39), the reader has long been prepared to accept. The building of this theme now becomes the dominant leitmotif of the entire narration: Joseph's life is controlled by God's providence, a theme which will ultimately reach its climax when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers and explains to them that it was not they who really were responsible for his being in Egypt, but rather it was God who had a special task for him (Gen. 45.8); for he was sent 'to preserve life', both the lives of all Egypt and those of Israel as well (Gen. 45.7). Once Joseph is established as ruler of all Egypt in Gen. 41.40ff., the plot of the chain narrative achieves an easy unity, and is open to an ever progressive complexity. Gen. 41.46-49 is almost lyrical in its picture of the fruitfulness and plenty of Egypt during the years of good harvest. Quite fittingly, the episode dealing with the births of Joseph's children, including the appropriate puns on their names, has been attracted to this description of fruitfulness. Genesis 42 Genesis 41 ends with the beginning of the famine, as all the earth comes to buy grain from Joseph. This prepares the way for the first of three successive episodes of the entry of the family of Jacob into Egypt. The plot of the Joseph story here is extremely coherent, and the narration makes repeated efforts to hold the complicated storyline together. For example, in Gen. 46.6, Joseph's brothers came 'and bowed themselves before him with their faces to the grounds'. This is, of course, a fulfillment of Joseph's first dream of the wheat stands. The narrator immediately tells the audience that 'Joseph saw his brothers, and knew them' (46.7), but his brothers did not recognize him, an important motif of the hero in disguise, which governs the entire narrative of the relationship between Joseph and his brothers in Egypt. In this anonymity, Joseph roughly asks the brothers where they have come from. They answer that they have come from Canaan with the purpose of buying food (46.7). This motif is repeated: the brothers, innocent and straightforward; Joseph, testing, manipulating and mocking them in his roughness. The repeated pattern is the same: 'Joseph knew his brothers and they did not know him' (46.8). 'Joseph remembered the dreams' (46.9). Joseph accuses them of being spies (46.9), and the brothers declare that they have come down to Egypt to buy food (46.10-14). This repetition is


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not unintentional redundancy. It rather has the very serious purpose of giving great emphasis and importance to this scene, which has the function of reconnecting the narration with Genesis 37. It sets the tone and the context for the following events of the story. Joseph's accusation that the brothers are spies also moves the story forward, preparing the conditions for the brothers' return journey. Building on this doubled scene, Joseph demands that one of the brothers remain in Egypt. This offers yet another opportunity of reminding the audience of the brothers' former plots against Joseph's life. Here, the reference is specifically to Gen. 37.22, 29f. The brothers in this scene in Egypt quite sincerely believe that their brother Joseph is dead. In Gen. 42.25, we find the introduction of a well-known folk-tale motif, that of the hidden money, which the narrator effectively uses twice in his narrative: in ch. 42 and again in ch. 44. In the use of this motif, the narrator is able to determine and to control the transfer of scenes, always a difficult manoeuver in chain narratives. There is some indication that there once existed some variety in the manner in which the motif had been recounted. When Joseph orders the sacks of grain to be filled, he also orders that the money that the brothers had paid for the grain be placed in the grain sacks. The audience, however, is not told why Joseph ordered that the money be replaced in the sack. One might be tempted to attribute this to Joseph's generosity, and certainly Joseph himself suggests this later. However, the story in its present form does not recognize the act as generous, and there is no indication at this point of the narrative that Joseph wants the brothers to have the money for themselves, either as a gift or as aid to them in this time of starvation. Rather, this motif, as used in Genesis 42, has two very clear plot functions. It is a test, by means of which the narrator is able to demonstrate to the audience the honesty and the integrity—even the generosity—of the brothers (cf. esp. Gen. 42.28; 43.12; 44.11). This wins the audience over, that they might favor the ultimate reconciliation and forgiveness of the brothers by Joseph. The story had started on the motif of the contrast between the bad brothers and the good Joseph. If it wishes to end on the motif of reconciliation and forgiveness, rather than retribution and punishment (a far more common and easier resolution of such a plot), the narrator must somewhere change streams, in order to bring about repentance (beginning in 42.21ff.) and good action (so, here, Gen. 42.25ff.) on the part of the brothers. It is a simple issue. Audiences demand that good be rewarded and that evil be punished,

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and in their full knowledge of the grey middle that reality is, they do admire nuanced alternatives. The second function of the money in the sacks is to create a narrative doubling of scenes, a technique which is used over and over in the greater story. In ch. 42 there is a famine, and the brothers come to Egypt to buy food. In ch. 43 this occurs a second time. There is a doubling of the accusation of spying. There is a doubling of the motif of hostage: Simeon and Benjamin. So too there is a doubling of the episode of hiding money in the sacks. However, as the mainline narrative, involving the doubling of this motif, has developed, only the first use of this motif really functions properly. In Genesis 42, the purchase money of the grain is returned into the sacks of each of the brothers. This has the plot function of bringing about a situation in which the brothers eventually return to Egypt with double the money necessary for grain, and thus prove their innocence against Joseph's manipulated accusation. Secondly, in ch. 42, the money is found in the sacks of each of the brothers, giving a dramatic impact and shock of surprise that is so important to the scene with Jacob in Gen. 42.34ff. This discovery also provides the reason (their fear of being accused of theft) for the brothers' not returning to ransom Simeon, and writing him off as dead ('Joseph is no more, and Simeon is no more': 42.36), remaining in Palestine until famine once again forces them to return to Egypt (Gen. 43.1). Genesis 43-45 The second use of the motif of the treasure hidden in the sacks has a quite different narrative function. In this tale (Gen. 44.1ff.), the treasure, which is secreted in the sack, is properly Joseph's silver cup hidden in the sack of Benjamin. The function of this motif is to set the scene for the very dramatic climax of Joseph's deception of the brothers, which is centered in the motif of the 'unwitting condemnation of the beloved' (Gen. 44.9; cf. Jacob's condemnation of Rachel, and that of Jethro of his daughter!). This climactic episode will bring about a final resolution of the plot by shattering the tension which has built up through Joseph's long manipulation of his brothers, and lead to Judah's summary speech of Gen. 44.18fF., in which he confides in Joseph and offers his own life in place of Benjamin's. The generosity of Judah's action leads immediately to the emotion-purging scene in which Joseph reveals his true identity to his brothers. The doubling of the motif of the treasure in the sack is very


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effective in moving forward a very complicated plot. Some of the doubling appears to have been done either secondarily or mechanically, perhaps reflecting variations in the telling of the story which have been lost to us in the process of the tradition's unification and transmission. In the first use of the motif, the brothers stop on their journey home, and one of the brothers discovers the money in his sack (Gen. 42.27-28). This discovery, however, has no sequel. Nor does it have a plot function. Indeed, it is clear that Gen. 42.35ff. knows nothing of it ('As they emptied their sacks, behold every man's bundle of money was in his sack; and when they and their father saw their bundles of money, they were dismayed ...'). Similarly, in the second use of the motif in Genesis 44, not only is a silver cup placed in Benjamin's sack to tremendous narrative purpose, but money is also placed in each of the brothers' sacks, in the same manner that it had been placed there the first time. This element also has no plot function and no sequel. Indeed, the account of the search of the sacks for the silver cup (Gen. 44.12) makes it very clear that the money does not belong in this mainline episode. The existence of variations of narrative such as this, as well as of the variant traditions recounting Joseph's enslavement in Genesis 37 and 39, requires the conclusion that the Joseph narrative cannot be the result of a single composition and cannot be adequately understood as a single narrative. Rather, it reflects a tradition comparable to the Abraham and Jacob narratives. The present, received recension is very much the product of a most accomplished redactor or editorial tradition, rather than that of a novelist, creating ex novo. While the smoothness of the Joseph narrative, and the repeated efforts which have been made to integrate the plot, make it difficult and at times impossible to isolate the individual narrative units from which the Joseph tradition has been created, the complexity of plot is such that its unity remains forever baffling. In the end, we cannot speak of a unity of plot. There is no single plot. For all the smoothness of its transitions and its thoroughly integrated convolution of narrative, the Joseph tradition is not one story, but several. As the Jacob tradition tells three quite distinct tales of conflict, one within the other (to say nothing about the minor narrative elements also included in that tradition), so too the Joseph tradition is a compound of a number of distinct plots. This becomes very clear as one seeks an ending to the Joseph story. One finds several endings. Three are very clear and unequivocal. The first plot-line conies to its resolution in the brothers' conversation

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with Jacob in Gen. 45.26-28, where, the brothers and Joseph finally reconciled (Joseph's first dream having been fulfilled), Israel wisely concludes this narrative of family conflict and tragedy: 'It is enough; Joseph my son is still alive'. This story begins and ends with Joseph as the beloved son. The sequel to this story is found in Genesis 48, where in an ironic deathbed scene—reminiscent of the Jacob story's deathbed blessing of Isaac in Genesis 27—Jacob blesses Joseph's sons, Manasseh and Ephraim, and, in the process, displaces the firstborn Manasseh. In Israelite stories, the unpromising will always win out. In this sequel, this family story of Jacob and his sons is linked to the Jacob narratives of the Isaac Toledoth. Genesis 46-47 After the ending in Genesis 45 of the plot-line which followed the family conflict theme, the narrative continues, building on the theme of the patriarch asger. Gen. 46.1 opens in the manner of Genesis 22. God calls to Jacob in a vision, and Jacob answers as Abraham had before him, and as Moses will answer in Exodus 3: 'Here am F. The plot-line which is brought to its completion here is that of Israel's entrance into Egypt. The Benei Israel have already made two journeys down into Egypt, and in those two journeys, the story of Joseph and his brothers has been told. Now that that story is over, the real journey for which those two have prepared us can be undertaken. In response to the call of God, echoing the Abraham wandering tradition, Jacob goes down to Egypt, where Yahweh will make of him 'a great nation' (Gen. 46.2-3). Through this plot, the Joseph tradition tells the story of how Jacob and his sons went down to Egypt, there to become the great nation of God's promises. Appropriately, in this story of the patriarchs wandering under the guidance of God's will, following his promise to make of them a nation, a segmented genealogy listing the seventy who entered Egypt is given in Gen. 46.8-28. The genealogy effectively links the Joseph narrative with the book of Exodus (Exod. 1.5). This link is explicit in the introduction to this genealogy in Gen. 46.4: 'I will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up again'. In the middle of Joseph's settling of his father in Egypt, the plotline of the story of Joseph, the wise and discreet interpreter of dreams and the master of all of Egypt, is introduced once again (Gen. 47.1326), indicating to us that this story is not altogether subservient to the Israelite traditions, but functions on its own. In this passage, we find that the story which we have followed in its three stages (Joseph


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ruling over his master's house; Joseph ruling over the house of the keeper of the prison; and Joseph ruling over Egypt during the famine) is not merely a narrative context for the other stories, but a fully fledged story in its own right, with its own plot-line, and in need of its own resolution, which neither the story of Joseph and his brothers, nor the story of Israel's entry into Egypt, offers. Here, in the concluding passage of this narrative line, we find an elaborate aetiology of Egyptian state ownership of all non-temple lands, and of the status of Egyptians as subjects to the pharaoh. From this Israelite point of view, the Egyptian owns nothing, and is a slave. This aetiology is particularly ironic in the light of the Exodus narrative, for the story-teller tells his audience: our ancestor Joseph made slaves of all the Egyptians. Gen. 47.26a also has an interesting claim to historicity. The statute which Joseph himself made, establishing this situation in Egypt 'stands to this day'. (For a similar claim of historicity in tales, some of the variants of the story of the 'Princess and the Pea' declare that the local museum has preserved that pea 'to this day'). The story of Israel's entrance into Egypt, closely linked as it is to the final redaction, takes up most of the rest of Genesis, and marks the transition to the book of Exodus. This narrative is essentially brought to a close, in the manner of the Toledoths, with the death of Israel in Gen. 47.31 and 50.1-3. This ending has attracted numerous variants. Genesis 48-49.28 Genesis 48 and 49 present two variants of death-bed blessings, which have been attracted to the story, and have been inserted here at the point of Israel's death. Gen. 47.31 does not actually declare that the old man is dead, with the result that the redactor can spring in here just as Joseph begins his mourning (50.1), and present the death-bed speeches. One deals with the sons of Joseph (Genesis 48), and the other with the sons of Jacob (Genesis 49). Both tales function similarly in that the death-bed blessing is a decree of the fates of the individuals 'blessed'. Both, of course, are originally independent of each other and of the story line of the Joseph narrative. Genesis 49.29-50.14 After the editorial comment of Gen. 49.28 ('All these are the twelve tribes of Israel; and this is what their father said to them as he blessed them, blessing each with the blessing suitable to him'), concluding

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the poem dictating the fate of the sons of Israel, an editorial passage is given, linking the Joseph story with the burials of Abraham and Isaac (Gen. 49.29-33). This passage is interrupted in the present context by the conclusion of the story from Genesis 47 of Israel's dying and his burial (Gen. 50.1-12). Here in the Joseph mainline story, Israel is buried beyond the Jordan in Abel-Mizraim. The Toledoth redaction, however, interprets this tradition in Gen. 50.1214 ('Thus his sons did for him as he had commanded them; for his sons carried him to the land of Canaan, and buried him in the cave of the field at Machpelah, to the east of Mamre, which Abraham bought with the field from Ephron the Hittite, to possess as a burying place'). This interpretation brings about the net result that Israel is buried at Machpelah! Genesis 50,15-26 To these burial traditions there has been attracted a final summary conclusion of the whole of the Joseph narratives, which is patterned after the account of Jacob's death. We have first a statement about the length of Joseph's life (Gen. 50.22). This is followed by a very brief account of Joseph's death-bed blessing, determining the fate of his descendants (Gen. 50.24). It closes with mention of Joseph's death and burial. Prior to this (Gen. 50.15-21), there is inserted a secondary and variant conclusion of the story of the conflict between Joseph and his brothers. The brothers fear that Joseph, with Israel dead, will now turn upon them for revenge. They plead with Joseph to forgive them out of filial piety. The reference to a specific request of their father that Joseph forgive them (Gen. 50.17: 'Your father gave this command before he died: "Say to Joseph, Forgive I pray you, the transgression of your brothers, and their sin, because they did evil to you"') cannot be traced in the received story we now have, in which Israel never learns of the brothers' crime. If it is a motif involving deception (that is, the brothers are lying to Joseph), such a motif is not followed through within our narrative, as it comes down to us, and would have to be understood as a blind motif. We have to do here with an unknown variant of the tradition. A similar explanation—that we are dealing with a blind motif—is necessary for the puzzling line in Gen. 45.24b, where Joseph instructs his brothers when they set out on their journey home: 'Do not quarrel on the way'. This obviously suggests a motif, involving quarreling or murmuring, which has, however, neither prior referent nor any sequel. The humble request of the brothers, seeking forgiveness in


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Gen. 50.16-17, and Joseph's tear-filled response, forgiving them in Gen. 50.18, have a double function. The first is to interpret Gen. 50.16-17, whatever its original meaning may have been, in the light of the brothers' humility in Gen. 50.18, when they also come to Joseph. In doing this, a variant rendition of the fulfillment of Joseph's first dream is created, offering a very appropriate closing of the narrative in a play on its opening: 'His brothers... came and fell down before him, and said, "Behold, we are your servants'". The second function is to create an opening in the narrative action, to present the final statement of philosophy which has guided the entire final redaction: 'Fear not, for am I in the place of God? As for you, you meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today'. Here, the redactor relates not only to the survival of Israel, but of the whole world; for the whole world had come down to Joseph (Gen. 41.57). The traditional complex-chain narrative of Joseph has a structure very similar to the complex narratives central to the traditions of Jacob and Abraham. In all three of these chain narratives, small, independently coherent, episodic tales gradually build a long, divergent, complex narration about a single patriarch. At a later level of the tradition, this complex story has been used as the central and longest narrative unit of a tradition which brings it together with other tales, genealogies, and genealogically related notes under the title of a Toledoth of the father of the central character of the complex-chain narrative (in this case, the Toledoth of Jacob). Most of the smaller episodes, notes, and genealogies which have been added to the central complex-chain narrative are of a similar type, and create each successive Toledoth as an analogue of its forerunner. This entire redactional process, subsequent to the chain narratives, is associated with and dependent upon the Toledoth structure (this is discussed in detail in Chapter 5 §E). It does not seem justifiable to understand the Joseph narrative as belonging to a literary genre distinct from the genre of the Abraham and Jacob stories. Its distinctiveness rather lies in its coherence and the smoothness of its narration; that is, in the success of the traditional literary efforts which produced it.


Chapter 4 THE EXODUS A. Moses and the Sojourn in Egypt Exodus 1.1-14 The book of Exodus begins in the middle of things. The introduction in Exod 1.1-6, 8 does not present the beginning of a new narrative so much as it establishes continuity with the preceeding narrative from Genesis. In listing the sons of Jacob who had originally entered Egypt, it does so from the perspective of the end of Genesis and not from the perspective of the Exodus story or the period of bondage. The story time is the time of the entrance itself. It is summary in scope: These are the Israelites who entered Egypt with Jacob. Verse 6 ends that period and completes it, making way for the new tradition which will occupy the narration: 'Then Joseph died, and all his brothers, and all that generation'. In the following story we are dealing with an entirely new generation and an entirely new period in Israel's history. Even the pharaoh who had been so close to Joseph is gone. The setting is wholly new. Egypt is no longer a place of refuge where a remnant of Israel might live (Gen. 45.7). That is past: 'There arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph'. This introduction holds Genesis and Exodus together in one continuous historiographical narration, and it also marks a separation between the two traditions. The oppression is of a different world and time from Genesis. In the present received tradition, the oppression begins within this introduction, and not independently of it. Exod. 1.7 sets out the central motif which becomes the dominant issue with which the plot-line of the next fifteen chapters will deal: 'The Israelites were fruitful and increased greatly; they multiplied and they became exceedingly strong; so that the land was filled with them'. The 'great nation' of the promise that Israel has become poses a crisis for Egypt. We are told in the very words of the king of Egypt: 'Behold the people of Israel are too many and too mighty for us'

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(Exod. 1.9). In the mind of the Egyptians, the threat is stated that the Israelites 'might join our enemies and fight against us and escape rom the land' (Exod. 1.10). To prevent this growth and ultimate 'escape', the Egyptians enslave the Israelites. The solution however fails and makes the situation worse than it was before: 'The more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied' (Exod 1.12). Exodus 1.15-21 The king of Egypt tries again in a second episode which supports and strengthens the theme of the story to come, following upon the first episode as a successive and independent link of a chain. There is no continuous narrative thread, but a parallelism of theme and motif which holds these first two episodes together. The king orders the midwives to kill all the Hebrew male children at birth. Out of piety, the midwives disobey. The midwives are rewarded by God with families of their own, and the Israelites become even stronger. Again in this episode, the Egyptian failure to suppress the Israelites creates an even greater crisis. Exodus 1.22-2.10 This episode prepares the way for a third effort to solve the crisis. The pharaoh orders that all newborn sons of the Hebrews be thrown into the Nile, introducing the story of the birth of Moses. Paralleling the motif of the disobedience of the midwives, Moses' mother hides him against the Egyptian threat. As the pharaoh has ordered all male children to be thrown into the Nile, so the mother puts her child into the river. The pharaoh's plan is wholly undone when, ironically, his own daughter saves the child and adopts it as her own. The irony is played on in the pun on Moses' name (Exod. 2.10). The failure of the Egyptian oppression this time is disastrous, as the child saved is one who will both lead the Israelites in their escape from Egypt, and, in doing so, bring about the destruction of the Egyptian army and the pharaoh himself (Exodus 13-15). These three introductory episodes establish a thematic pattern which now centers on the person of Moses. The three tales could stand independent of each other and may once have done so. They are, however, wholly integrated with each other and create a single narrative in three movements, establishing the birth of the savior in the context of the failure of the murderous Egyptian oppression which attempts to contain the threat of Israel's ultimate escape from Egypt.

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Exodus 2.11-15a The following episode (Exod. 2.1 Iff.) has its own introductory formula: 'One day ...' The phrase 'when Moses had grown up' links this tale historiographically with the preceding narrative of Moses' birth. There is, however, no further implicit or explicit connection between this tale and the introductory narrative. The setting of this new story is thinly drawn. Two parallel episodes are narrated: Moses' calculated murder of the Egyptian oppressor in Exod. 2.11-12, and the Hebrew's rebuke of Moses' call for solidarity in Exod. 2.13-14, which leads to Moses' flight from Egypt. The theme of the tale is the contrast of these two episodes. On one hand we have Moses as the hero against Egyptian oppression, and on the other, the Israelite oppressed, caught in their fecklessness and collaboration, resisting Moses' example. The tale stands by itself as a hero story of rebellion, a polemic against collaboration. Moses is one of the Hebrews oppressed. In its present context within the received tradition, the story primarily functions historiographically, moving the greater narrative from the birth story, in which Moses is raised as an Egyptian, to the narratives of Exod. 2.15b ff. and 3. Iff., where Moses is a ger (as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were before him) living in the land of Midian. In these stories, Moses becomes a shepherd in the wilderness of Horeb, and the son-in-law of a Midianite priest. Exodus 2.15b-22 The first episode of Moses in the wilderness, in its present form, is a transition narrative, connected with the previous murder story, and creating a smooth progression from Moses in Egypt to Moses in Midian. Constructed on the same pattern as the story of Jacob's meeting of Rachel, this story repeats the motif of Moses as liberator, and, in doing so, builds on and expands the tale of the murder and flight of Exod. 2.11-15. The reference to Moses as an Egyptian in v. 19 links the story to an understanding of Moses, gained from the story of Moses' birth in Exod. 2.1-10. The name of his father-in-law, Reuel (mentioned in Num. 10.29 as the father of Moses' father-inlaw, Hobab), suggests an origin of this episode in some variant tradition or narrative from that in Exodus 3, where the name of Moses' father-in-law is Jethro. Exodus 2.23-4.9 The theophany episode of Exod 3.Iff., which in its present context has the introduction found in Exod. 2.23-25, is an independent

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variant of the beginning of the Moses story. This beginning brings Moses from the wilderness. He is identified as the son-in-law of the priest of Midian, who herds sheep near the mountain of God, in contrast to Exodus 1-2, which saw Moses as the son of a Levite, born in Egypt and raised by the pharaoh's daughter. Exod. 2.23-25 is patterned after Exod. 1.8. In Exodus 3, the story follows the traditional pattern of the sending or calling of a prophet (compare Exod. 3.4 with Gen. 46.2). Both in its introduction (Exod. 2.24) and in the story itself (Exod. 3.6), a close thematic connection is made with the covenant redaction of the patriarchal narratives. God identifies himself as the God of the three patriarchs, and the cause of the theophany is that God has remembered his covenant with these three patriarchs. Exod. 3.8 clearly sees that the ultimate purpose of God's wish is to bring the Israelites to the promised land. When God tells Moses to go down to Egypt, Moses responds that no one would believe him. He does this three times, each time predicting something which is to happen later in the story. In Exod. 3.11-12, the prediction is that Moses and the people will 'serve God upon this mountain'. In Exod. 3.18-22, after the puns on the name Yahweh in 3.14 and the reaffirmation of the patriarchal promise of the land, Yahweh instructs Moses to ask the king of Egypt to allow the Israelites to go three days into the wilderness in order to sacrifice to Yahweh. It is predicted that the king will refuse, and that God will 'smite Egypt with all the wonders I will do in it', and also that, finally, the Israelites will be allowed to leave. They will be allowed to take great wealth out of Egypt, so much that they shall 'despoil the Egyptians'. In the third exchange between Moses and Yahweh (Exod. 4.1-9), Yahweh shows him how to do three miracles as signs for the Egyptians of Yahweh's power. He shows Moses how to make his rod into a snake, how to turn his hand leprous, and how to change water from the Nile into blood. The prophecies of this introduction are very consciously patterned in a tripartite form, fully comparable to the tripartite story of the oppression in the variant introduction of Exodus 1-2. Moreover, since we are dealing with prophecies in the opening scenes of a narrative, we know that they are to come true in the course of the narrative. The prediction in 3.11-12 is fulfilled in the tradition represented in Exodus 18 (Exodus 19, identifying the wilderness and the mountain as Sinai suggests a minor variation). Exod. 3.13-22 accurately predicts a series of events in the story of the received tradition. The third exchange between Moses and Yahweh in Exod.

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4.1-9 does not offer a prediction directly, but predicts in the form of instructions. This passage appears rather to be a variation on the motif of a threefold prophecy looking forward to fulfillment, in the form of a threefold instruction looking forward to a threefold wonder story. The passage in Exod. 4.21-23, however, which predicts the death of the Egyptians' first-born, is a third prophecy narrative, fulfilled in the received tradition in Exodus 12. It is appropriately associated to the first two prediction stories in both form and content, fitting the pattern of the story to come. The instruction narrative of Exod. 4.1-9 which intervenes and interrupts the continuity of plot here, on the other hand, carries us into potential narrative variations of the Exodus tradition which are only partly represented in the received text. In the story to come, the miracle of the rod which becomes a snake is more than the instruction narrative in Exod. 4.1-9 would lead us to expect. Similarly in the 'event' itself, Moses turns the entire Nile river into blood, and not merely some water poured out from the Nile. The third wonder, in which Moses is instructed, is not used in any of the variants of the received tradition of the Exodus story. One is left to speculate that Exod. 4.1-9 is yet a third variant beginning of the story of Moses in Egypt, one which looks forward to a story of signs and wonders, rather than to plagues. The existence of some such complex of tradition is supported by the ambiguous beginning of the plague narratives in Exod. 7.8ff. (see, further below). Exodus 4.10-31 Yet another variant family of tradition is suggested by the episode of Exod. 4.10-17, which has been attracted here by its similarity to the Yahweh/Moses exchange. Here we have a doubling of scene. Moses complains about his ability to speak, and Yahweh assigns Aaron, Moses' brother (who is peculiarly identified as 'the Levite') to speak for Moses. Yahweh's telling Moses that Aaron is already on his way suggests the likelihood that Exod. 4.27-28 (Yahweh's instruction to Aaron), although not entirely linear in its presentation of the plot, does fit the content of the plot appropriately. The passage of Exod. 4.18 is entirely another matter. In this narrative episode, Moses tells Jethro that he wants to go to Egypt to visit his kinsmen 'and see whether they are still alive'. Given the present context, it appears that Moses is lying and hiding the truth from Jethro, a plot-line which can in no way be justified or developed. It is far better to understand this passage as out of

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context, reflecting yet another variant of Moses' return to Egypt, here with a motivation independent of the Israelite oppression and the Yahweh theophany. Though the linear plot development would needs be reversed, Exod. 4.18 is possibly related to 4.19-20. This passage is clearly related in plot to the murder story of Exod. 2.1115a, and also very probably to the passage now used as an introduction or transition in Exod. 2.23-25. There appear to be remnants of at least three episodes of a variant narrative tradition: Moses murders an Egyptian and flees for his life; the pharaoh dies; Moses is therefore able to return to Egypt safely. If Exod. 4.18 is part of this tradition, the motive for his return, a visit to his kinsmen, is provided. Moses' marriage (Exod. 2.15b ff.), and the birth of at least two children, with appropriate naming aetiologies for Gershom and Eliezer (Exod. 2.22; 4.20; 18.3-4), would also be involved in such a narrative unity. In the opening chapters of Exodus, it becomes clear that the redaction of the received tradition has woven together at least three, and possibly four, narrative variations about how Moses came or returned to Egypt. Some show signs of having originally belonged to extended variant traditions of considerable complexity, independent of the traditions in which they are now being used. In the present received text, these episodes have been linked together progressively and historiographically, and, at times, because of their thematic similarity. Yet other episodes have been used which have a more distant association with any known tradition. For example, the surprising story of Exod. 4.24-26, in which Yahweh tries to kill Moses, is utterly confounding in the received tradition, placed as it is in the context of a journey that Moses undertakes by Yahweh's instruction. It has several similarities to the story of Jacob's wrestling in Gen. 32.22-30. In this Exodus story, we have a tale whose theme is the origin of circumcision, which is wholly independent of its present context, and has been attracted to this place because of the association with Zipporah. Exod. 4.27-31 needs to be seen in contrast to 4.Iff. The mainline narrative pits Moses (and Aaron, in a sub-motif variation) against the pharaoh. In contrast, the tradition which deals with the instructions perceives Moses having difficulty with the pharaoh and the Israelites. In Exod. 4.29-31, the people's response is treated summarily: 'Aaron spoke all the words which the Lord had spoken to Moses and did the signs in front of the people'. The people's positive response is

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unequivocal: they 'bowed their heads and worshipped'. This editorial transition sets the stage in the received text for the originally independent chain narrative dealing with the plagues: a story of conflict in which Yahweh shows his power over the Egyptians. Exodus 5.1-13.16 In the long complex narative which begins in Exodus 5, dealing with Moses' efforts to free the Israelites from Egyptian oppression we find a very fragmented plot unity. The narrative reflects a great number of variant sources which have been used by the redactors of the received tradition with correspondingly few attempts at harmonization. Moses' and Aaron's first attempt to approach the pharaoh is doubled in the received tradition. Moses' request and the pharaoh's response turn in such different directions thematically that it is best to see them as variants. The first request (Exod. 5.1-2) is direct. Moses speaks as a prophet: 'Yahweh, the God of Israel says, "Let my people go"'. The pharaoh's answer ('I don't know Yahweh!'), though quite appropriate, nevertheless suggests that we are dealing with yet another, albeit minor, variation of narrative. In the predictive introductions, the reader has been prepared for such a response from the Israelites, not from the pharaoh. The doublet which is linked to this episode in the chain narrative (Exod. 5.3) has Moses request that Israel be allowed to leave for a three days' journey for the purpose of offering sacrifice. Since this is in accord with the predictive instructions of Exod. 3.18, it seems plausible that we are dealing, in this doublet, with a variation of the request to 'Let my people go!' of Exod. 5.1-2. However, the reason given for the request in the doublet, the fear that Yahweh will 'fall upon us with plague or sword' (Exodus 5.3), is, in its present context, a blind motif, and must reflect a narrative variation (see below, Chapter 5). Pharaoh's refusal of the request (Exod. 5.4ff.) takes the form of a complaint that what Moses asks would take the people away from their work. This leads to the self-defeating oppression which we saw earlier in the story in the decrees in Exodus 1: Make them 'gather straw for themselves ... Let heavier work be laid on them' (Exod 5.7, 9). This new story of oppression (Exod. 5.6-23) uses a three-fold presentation (the pharaoh's orders, the carrying out of those orders, and the complaints of the Israelite foremen) to magnify the sense of harshness and unfairness. The story ends with the foremen blaming Moses for setting the Egyptians against them, a motif which echoes the earlier

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story of Moses' murder of the Egyptian oppressor. With Moses' first effort ending in failure, the narrative now turns by attraction to the previous scene, to the leitmotif of the people of Israel not listening to Moses. In a variant of the theophany of Exodus 3, Yahweh gives a long speech to Moses (Exod. 6.1-8), identifying himself as the same El Shaddai who was the God of the patriarchs. He declares that he will take Israel as his people, and will bring them to the land which he promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The people, however, do not listen. In the present text, this motif is not resolved in terms of this particular plot-line. The redactor uses a technique which is similar to that which had been used in the Joseph narrative to cover the narrative contradiction betwen Gen. 37.36 and Gen. 39.1. In Exod. 6.12-13, in a fresh start, the redactor has Moses speculate on the motif, so that the audience attends to the pharaoh rather than to the people: 'If the people won't listen to me, how then will the pharaoh listen to me, who am a man of uncircumcised lips?' At this point, the narrative is interrupted with a segmented genealogy which centers on Aaron and Moses. The narrative line is taken up again in Exod. 6.30-7.1, 3. We are presented with a very brief variation of the episode of Exod. 4.10-17, in which Aaron is made Moses' spokesman. Certainly in terms of the original plot from which the narrative chain has been built, the motif of Moses' rejection by the people of Israel has been passed over. However, in the received tradition, we are dealing with a narrative chain that has been constructed out of a variety of motifs, themes, and episodes, which are derived from a number of independent sources. The redactor is not dealing with a single plot-line from one narrative, but with a number of different plots. The narrative question at stake in Exodus 6 has been given in the form: Why should the people of Israel listen to Moses? Although this question arose because of the Egyptians' harsh response to Moses' request, the question is essentially the same as the one Moses asked of Yahweh in Exodus 3, which had been closely associated with the introduction of Aaron to the narrative, namely: 'Who am I?' (Exod. 3.11; cf. 4.1) It is exactly this question, Who are Moses and Aaron?, that the 'intrusion' of the genealogy in Exod. 6.14-25 answers. That this is indeed the question being answered is made explicit in Exod. 6.26-27'. The repetition of the variant about Aaron speaking for Moses opens a new series of narratives in which Moses and Aaron again

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approach the pharaoh to request that he let Israel go. This time the introduction predicts that the pharaoh will refuse to listen specifically because God 'will harden his heart' (Exod. 7.3). The purpose of this manipulation of the pharaoh is so that 'the Egyptians shall know that I am Yahweh' (7.5). This introduction sets the plot-line for the following four chapters: Exod. 7.8-11.10. In Exod. 7.8-24, three similar episodes are linked together, recounting miracles which are done with Aaron's or Moses' rod. Originally independent tales from variant traditions, they now proceed progressively to form what is understood as a single account of a plague. The point of the first tale is that, as Aaron's rod, in the form of a snake, can swallow up the rods of the pharaoh's magicians, so is Yahweh's power greater than that of Pharaoh. The second two episodes are now told as one (Exod. 7.14-24). In the first, Moses (alone) is to strike the Nile with his rod, turning it to blood. In the second, Aaron is to stretch his rod over all other water and turn that into blood too. Somewhat inconsequentially (and defying imagination as well), in a clumsy borrowing of a motif from the first episode of the triplet in Exod. 7.10, the magicians repeat Moses' trick, and the pharaoh's heart is hardened. The same sort of disftmctional motif is found in Exod. 8.7, when the magicians add to the plague of frogs. In the story of the plague of gnats (Exod. 8.8-19), the motif of the contest with the Egyptian magicians occurs again. This time, the story follows the theme of the story of the swallowed snakes. The Egyptians are not able to match Moses' power. In all four episodes, however, the function of this motif of contest in the larger narrative is identical: Whether or not the Egyptian magicians succeed, the pharaoh's heart is hardened. One must suspect that the motif had other functions and other contexts prior to its present use. The function of the gnat episode, building on the rod-snake episode is clear and unequivocal: the magicians, the wise men of Egypt, believe in the greater miracle of Yahweh as an act of God: 'This is the finger of God' (Exod. 8.19). The present conjunction of these two episodes with the magician's successful attempts to change Nile water into blood and to multiply frogs, leads one to wonder why it is that they can multiply frogs but not gnats. In fact, we are not dealing with gradations of magical complexity, but with two variations in the use of a single motif. One bears the pious message that the power of Yahweh is such that the wise men of Egypt recognize it. The other treats the Egyptian magicians with mockery: they make the plagues worse than before. The motif of Moses' contest with the magicians

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occurs once again in Exod. 9.11, in the plague of the boils. In this story, the motif is used in yet a new way. Its function is to show that Yahweh's power is such that even the magicians cannot protect themselves from the plagues that Yahweh sends. When other motifs of the plague narrative are examined, one finds a bewildering variety in the form of their presentation. Although one has, in reading the received text, the dominant impression that one is dealing with plagues, there are occasions when one has the impression rather that Yahweh is working wonders. Such is the case in the tales about turning rods into snakes and the two variant miracle stories of striking the Nile and of turning all the water of Egypt to blood. Certainly the theme of the contest with the magicians fits stories of miracles or wonders more than plagues, though Exod. 9.11 undoubtedly deals with a plague. The two forms of tales are very close. Indeed, the miracle over the Nile has the effect of a plague: 'And the fish in the Nile died, and the Nile became f o u l . . . ' (Exod. 7.21). The story of the creation of the frogs, on the other hand, functions as a miracle story (so, Exod. 8.7), but it is referred to in the narrative as a 'plague' (Exod. 8.2), and it is preceded by a threat, as so many of the plague narratives are. Finally, what is announced as the final plague (Exod. 11.1: 'Yet one plague more will I bring...'), is not the final disaster which is to befall the Egyptians with the function of showing God's power over them. This does not come until Exodus 14: 'And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and he will pursue them, and I will get glory over Pharaoh and all his army...' The plague/wonder narrative of the received text appears to begin with the rod-snake story and to end, after thirteen episodes of wonder or plague, with the destruction of the Egyptians in the sea. One might conclude, however, on the basis of Exodus. 11.1 announcing the final plague, and the treatment of the first three wonders in Exod. 7.8-24 as a single plague, that there existed, prior to the final redaction, an extended narrative of only ten plagues, beginning with the tripartite blood plague and ending with the passover story. This earlier chain narrative, beginning in Exod. 7.8, establishes the pattern of the entire unit with a triple episode of 'signs' to show God's power in Egypt and to show the pharaoh who Yahweh is. To these signs, the pharaoh responds (in distinction to Exodus 5) with a 'hardened heart'. This chain narrative often plagues is summarized in Exod. 11.10: 'Moses and Aaron did all these wonders before Pharaoh; and the Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart, and he did not let

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the people of Israel go out of his land'. This summary sets the stage for the final and tenth plague, which will successfully result in Israel's departure from Egypt. We find the closing lines of this plague narrative in Exod. 12.40-41: 'The time that the people of Israel dwelt in Egypt was 430 years. And at the end of the 430 years, on that very day, all the hosts of the Lord went out from the land of Egypt'. The received narrative, while obviously a compound of the plague narrative and other earlier traditions, is also a story in its own right. It has substantially altered the sources from which it has grown. It has expanded and developed motifs as it has progressed, with its own direction, its own theme, and its own climax. The three most significant plot alterations and additions of themes to that of the earlier plague narrative which go beyond what we have discussed already in the introductory stories and their variants in Exodus 1-6, are: (1) the theme of 'despoiling the Egyptians', predicted in Exod. 3.21-22 and fulfilled in Exod. 12.36; (2) the very radical cultic dehistoricizing of the tenth plague in terms of the Israelite Passover festival; (3) the addition of the story of the destruction of the Egyptian army and of the pharaoh himself. This last is very dramatically predicted in the ironic expansion of the last speech between Moses and the pharaoh just before the tenth plague in Exod. 10.28-29 and is fulfilled in the now stirring tale of the Exodus in Exod. 13.17-15.21. The present text of the plague narrative reflects a prehistory of multiple sources and variations of traditions. Certain motifs and stylistic patterns might be linked together, and parallels might be cited. Some of the episodes are unlikely to have originated in their present form with other episodes of quite disparate form. At present, however, biblical scholarship has been markedly unsuccessful in identifying or isolating these sources in detail. There are some passages which might justly be described as harmonizations, such as Exod. 9.31, which allows a portion of Egyptian grain to survive the plague of hail, in order that there might be something left for the locusts to devour in the following plague. There are other cases, however, where harmonizing might have resulted in a more satisfying story. The most notorious example relates to the terrible plight of the Egyptian cattle who die in Exod. 9.6, get boils in Exod. 9.9, and lose their first-born in Exod. 12.29. In the present text one also finds a variety of narrative types and narrative patterns in the recounting of the plagues. There is also a variety of formulaic language. This all the more firmly underlines for us the conclusion

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that, prior to the development of the ten plague chain narrative, this narrative tradition must have derived from several disparate origins. Exod. 12.1-27, 43-50 is a central redactional narrative which holds together these many disparate traditions found in Exodus 1-15. It is a cultic interpretation, in narrative form, of Israel being saved from the oppression. It understands the story of Israel coming out of Egypt as a story whose center is the celebration of the passover feast. For this redactor of the pentateuch, Israel finds its origin as a nation in the celebration of the Passover. It is for him a New Year's festival. The recitation of the Exodus history becomes a reconstitution of that original Passover. This commemorative recitation creates Israel, giving an historiographic form to an essentially mythical and constitutional reality. The proper response to the narration is given in the narrative itself: 'And the people bowed their heads and worshipped' (Exod. 4.31 and 12.27!). Indeed, such worship is the context in which the narrative is to be recited and understood. It forms its beginning and its end. This passover festival marks, for Israel, the origin of its history: 'This month shall be for you the beginning of months ...' (Exod. 12.2). Exod. 13.1-16 is an originally unrelated variant expansion of the tradition, which sees Exodus 12 as an historical event. This passage offers an aetiology for the agricultural cultic practice of the consecration of the firstborn, and an interpretation of the feast of unleavened bread as a memorial feast. Exodus 13.17-14.31 The narrative about the crossing of the Red Sea is connected with the Passover narrative by means of the passage in Exod. 13.20-22, when the Israelites stand on the edge of the wilderness, with Yahweh leading them in the form of a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Exod. 14.1-4 sets the stage of the narrative in the form of an entrapment motif. Yahweh places Israel in an indefensible position, off the highway and flanked by the wilderness and the sea. He hardens Pharaoh's heart to make him attack. The purpose of this plot is to demonstrate to the Egyptians that he is Yahweh. Exod. 14.5-7 begins a major redactional expansion of this basic narrative of entrapment (The expansion is found further in vv. 11-14,19f, 21a{3ba, 24f, 27ap~ba, and possibly v. 31). This redaction develops the entrapment story in terms of the traditional episode of a saving divinity answering a cry of distress. The traditional episode is

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secondary to the basic narrative which is found in Exod 14.1-4, 8-10, where Pharaoh's heart is hardened and he begins the chase. In v. lOb the Israelites are afraid, and they cry to Yahweh, who responds (v. 15) through Moses that the Israelites should go forward, instructing Moses to divide the sea with his rod in Exod. 14.15-18. The expansion of this tale in vv. 11-14 interprets the cry of distress of v. lOb in terms of the murmuring motif, which has already been introduced in Exod. 13.17, and becomes a leitmotif of the Moses traditions as a whole. Here the murmuring motif takes the form of an ironic joke on the importance of burial in Egypt. It functions as a challenge to Moses' leadership. Moses responds to this complaint by promising that Yahweh will fight for Israel. He promises the Israelites that they will see the salvation of Yahweh, and that they will never see the Egyptians again (pointing ahead to the pillar of cloud motif of vv. 19f). Moses' leadership is here justified by Yahweh's direct action, in striking contrast to the base narrative, where Yahweh acts through Moses. In the base narrative of Exod. 14.15-18, it is Yahweh's purpose to harden the Egyptians' hearts so that they will pursue the Israelites. The function of this trap is in no way oriented to the issue of Moses' leadership; it is rather directed to gain honor for Yahweh by destroying the pharaoh and his troops; it is a motif of entrapment. Exod. 14.19f. and 24f. are redactional. They bring back into the narrative Exodus 13's pillar of cloud and tire, which is here seen as the messenger of Yahweh, the saving power through which God responds to the Israelites' cry of distress. The primary result of this redactional expansion of our narrative is to bring about a greater involvement of God in the destruction of the Egyptian army. In vv. 19f., Exodus 13's pillar of cloud moves to the rear of the Israelites, to protect them from the Egyptians. In this development and expansion of an earlier motif, we have a new symbol created. What had heretofore simply been a motif of visible guidance, alternating between day and night, now becomes a synthesis of opposites (comparable to the burning bush motif of Exodus 3): fire and cloud, light and darkness, giving saving light to guide Israel, and protecting darkness against the pursuing Egyptians to protect Israel, and incidentally, fulfilling Moses' prophecy that the Israelites will not see the Egyptians again. In the original base narrative, the plot moves quickly and immediately to its climax, and Moses is the central actor. The expansion delays the narrative over two days, and its attention is

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centered on Yahweh. In Exod. 14.21, the base narrative has Moses stretch his hand out over the sea and the water is divided. In the expansion, the East Wind is introduced, driven by Yahweh to dry up the land, taking all night. Exod. 14.22f. continues the base narrative. It has the Israelites enter into the middle of the sea, between walls of water. The Egyptians pursue the Israelites and the trap is sprung. Exod. 14.24f., belonging to the expansion of the narrative, has Yahweh look through the pillar of cloud and fire, disrupting the Egyptians' charge and routing them in confusion. Here the Egyptians flee the Israelites as in a battle, and they acknowledge that Yahweh fights for the Israelites, proclaiming his name and fulfilling Moses' prediction. In the original narrative (vv. 26, 27aa, b(3, 28), the Egyptians are destroyed by Moses acting under Yahweh's instructions. Moses stretches his hand out and brings the sea together again. Exod. 14.29f., in conclusion, recaps the story's two-edged plot: the Israelites are saved and the Egyptians are destroyed. Exod. 14.31, with its allusion to the murmuring motif, belongs to the secondary expansion or redaction and is used to conclude this episode of Israel in distress. Exodus 15.1-21 Exod. 15. la is a narrative segment which introduces the 'Song of the Sea', a song of praise, celebrating the great action of Yahweh against the Egyptians. This brief introduction is continuous with Exod. 14.31 and a close variant of the expanded version of the story in Exodus 14. The song fulfills the call for Yahweh's proclamation. In the song itself, Exod. IS.lb is an introductory stanza, stating the theme and purpose of the song. 15.2f. is a song of praise, general in nature. Exod. 15.4-10 is a recitation of the deeds of Yahweh which have given rise to the praise. It is in its present context a poetic version of the expanded narrative of ch. 14, reciting in a different manner elements common to both the base narrative (15.4: the pharaoh's chariots cast into the sea; 15.9: the presumption of the enemy; 15.8: the waters gathering together and standing upright) and the redactional expansion (15.8a, lOa: by the wind from the nostrils of Yahweh; 15.6: Yahweh who is understood as a warrior). The East Wind is perhaps also to be found in the song in Exod. 15.7b: the heat of the hamsin consumes even the stubble of the land and is understood as the wrath of God. That the Song of the Sea is based on a tradition similar to the Exodus 14 narrative is supported particularly by the many allusions to this story which we find in 15.4f. and 15.8-

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10. This would suggest that the song is relatively late in the development of the Exodus tradition. Such an understanding is consistent with the theme of the rest of the song. Exod. 15.1 If. acts as a transition, summarizing and recapping vv. lb-9. Verses 12-18 interpret the events in the theological terms of salvation history, and within the historiographical framework of the origin narrative of the pentateuch. Israel is redeemed (the passover), and is guided by Yahweh to the holy place (where Yahweh gives the Torah). This sets the stage for the conquest (seen within the historiographical framework in terms of the future). The people of Palestine will be distressed. The Edomites, the Moabites, and the Canaanites will be afraid. The strength of Yahweh will be immovable until his people cross over and he settles them in the holy land. Exod. 15.18 is the culmination: Then Yahweh will reign forever! Verse 19 explicitly interprets the tradition of the crossing of the sea as a theme of salvation history. That Yahweh destroyed the Egyptians and saved the Israelites prefigured and established the entrance into the promised land. Yahweh's saving action at the sea laid the foundations for the eternal reign of Yahweh in Palestine. The so-called 'Song of Miriam' is often thought of as a surviving fragment of an earliest form of the tradition, perhaps only because it is so insubstantial and inconsequential. It is a repetition of the opening verse of the 'Song of the Sea', and should be understood as the title of that song. The present prose introduction of the verse introduces it as the words of the women, and gives it a context within the larger narrative begun in Exodus 14. The prose segment introduces a sung response (in the first person plural) to the 'Song of the Sea', and Exod. 15.21f. forms a responsorial conclusion to the tradition of chs. 14 and 15 as a whole. The earliest form of this tradition is the base narrative of Exodus 14. We are not dealing with an historisches Kern in Exod. 15.21, but a literary core in ch. 14. This tale, involving Yahweh's entrapment of the pharaoh whose heart is hardened, and the deliverance of Israel, in order to show Israel and Egypt that he is Yahweh, knowing a Moses who uses Yahweh's power with his rod and his outstretched hand, one greater than the pharaoh's magicians, is understood, not in the terms of history, but in the context of the plague narratives (especially, Exod. 6.6-8 and 7.14-18), which develop the same literary and theological purpose, using a common pool of literary motifs. The song of Miriam, understood as a responsory, suggests that the original Sitz im Leben of the Song of the Sea is the very narrative

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context in which the song is found and in which it has been transmitted in tradition. Its emphasis like that of the narrative expansion of Exodus 14, is on the saving deeds of Yahweh. The song of Miriam, in repeating the first verse of the Song of the Sea, acts as a continuous response of praise to Yahweh's great acts which were proclaimed and prophesied by Moses. Exodus 1-15 is certainly the most complex of the larger narrative blocks from which the origin tradition of Genesis 1-Exodus 23 has been formed. It is also most central. The bewildering multiplicity of narration variants and the historiographical orientation of many of its story lines cause great difficulty for an analysis of its narrative structure. Moreover, the revisions which the central stories of plague and wonder have undergone make it exceedingly difficult to trace the plot-lines of the variant components of the greater stories. Finally, the fact that there are at least two long complex chains of narrative, which have been brought together in the final redaction of the tradition, one centering on the exodus from Egypt and the other on the Passover festival, one dealing historiographically and the other ideologically with the origin of Israel, means that the tradition has far greater depth, but also far greater opacity, than is found in any of the other major narrative blocks of the origin tradition (see below, Chapter 5§F). This tradition lies outside of the Toledoth structure of Genesis, but it has been linked to this prehistory by the transitional preface found in Exod. 1.1-6, 8. Within the origin tradition of ancient Israel, Exodus 1-15 is the first step in the history of Israel. It is here and in the Torah that Israel finds its origin. B. Moses and the Wandering in the Wilderness Exodus 15.22-16.36 A new series of tales begins in Exod. 15.22. The first stories of this tradition are narrated within a context of a wilderness itinerary that is a variant of Numbers 33, and which shares many common elements with the itinerary in Numbers. The first three narratives of Exodus are recited as expansions of the itinerary. It is likely, however, that they were originally wholly independent of such a context, and were connected with it only as they were used within the context of the story of the theophany at the mountain of God. Certainly, the story of the bitter water at Marah (Exod. 15.23-26) is placed in the middle of the itinerary's search for water (Exod. 15.22),

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which is successfully discovered at Elim (Exod. 15.27). This historiographical context of the itinerary, which now develops the story line, breaks the thematic progression between the Marah story and the story about the manna and the quails (Exod. 16.2-36), as it also does between these stories and a third tale about bringing water miraculously out of a rock (Exod. 17.2-7). These three tales center on the theme of the people murmuring against Moses (or Moses and Aaron). All three are miracle stories in which Yahweh provides the people with food and water. All three tales contain aetiologies. The first and third of the tales offer place-name aetiologies and the second story gives an aetiology for the word 'manna'. All three stories, moreover, are interpreted in the light of the greater story in which they are now found. The Marah story is interpreted in terms of obedience to God's laws and commandments (Exod. 15.26), the manna story, in terms of God 'testing them whether they will walk in my law or not' (Exod. 16.4), and the third in terms of the people's affirmation that it is God who acts, a motif which becomes functionally critical in the narration of the covenant theophany towards which these stories lead. It appears that these three originally independent stories are not only strung together by the redactor to form a narrative chain, but that they are also progressively interpreted to fit closely the greater narrative which is being built. Exodus 17 The story of the battle against Amalek at Rephidim (Exod. 17.1, 816) is in its origin an expansion of the itinerary narrative, much in the manner of the itinerary expansion in Num. 33.38-40, or the genealogical expansions of Genesis 4 (see above, Chapter 3§A). In its present context, it functions as an expansion of our third miracle story, attracted to that story by affinity, in the common use of the motif of Moses' magic rod. Conversely, the story of striking the rock finds an appropriate setting at Rephidim because of the itinerary tradition's mention that there was no water there (cf. Exod. 17.1 with Num. 33.14!). The story of the battle builds on nothing that has gone before it in the narrative, and it has no sequel in Exodus. The itinerary tale of which it is a part has been used as a structural context for Moses' and the Israelites' journey to a series of narratives which are related to the giving of the Torah at the mountain of God.

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Exodus 18 The first of these stories at the Mountain of God is found in Exod. 18.1-27. This tale is a self-sufficient unity with its own introduction: 'Jethro ... heard of all that God had done for Moses and for Israel his people'. It also has its own clear-cut concluding formula: 'Then Moses let his father-in-law depart, and he went his way to his own country'. Exod. 18.1-12 ties this narrative together with the Exodus tradition and with the tradition of Moses' wife Zipporah. It stresses the theme of Jethro's speech, in which Jethro affirms that Yahweh is greater than other gods because he delivered Israel from the Egyptians. Exod. 18.13-27, the narrative proper, is an origin story of Israel's court system, the foundation of which is attributed here to Jethro. Also in this narration, Moses' role as teacher of the Torah and as sole mediator between the people and Yahweh is established. These are motifs which are central in the theophany narratives which follow. The close relationship which the Jethro story has with its narrative context, referring back to the Exodus tradition and pointing ahead to the Sinai theophany, suggests that it is dependent on this context in its origin. Exodus 19.1-23.19 Exodus 19, however, is originally independent of the Jethro story, and has been added to it as its functional interpretation. It is in following out Jethro's plan that the greater chain narrative recounts Moses' going before Yahweh to receive the Torah. The mainline story of the theophany is found in Exod. 19.1-19 and 20.18-23.19. The story has two parts: a narrative prose section and a collection of laws. The narrative section establishes the giving of the Torah as a covenant function (Exod. 19.5ff.), clearly narrating the people's witness of the giving of the law and their knowing affirmation of it (19.7-9; 20.22). In doing so, it confirms the role of Moses as sole mediator of Torah (Exod. 19.9-19). The decalogue, and its immediate narrative context in Exod. 19.20-20.17, is a variant theophany, which also includes Aaron in the narrative. The mainline narrative, however, interrupted in Exod. 19.19, continues in Exod. 20.18. The people are afraid; Moses is the only mediator and the people are witnesses (Exod. 20.22b). The legal portion of the narrative has, in fictional understanding, two types of laws: the commands and the ordinances of Yahweh, patterned after edicts and statutes of a king. The collection does not assume any settled order or specific plan. They are henotheistic and

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agricultural in their perspective. They include laws related to the worship of Yahweh, laws protecting human beings, laws dealing with property, and a variety of social and cultic regulations, ending with a cultic calendar which gives special emphasis to the sabbath (Exod. 23.10-12) and the feast of unleavened bread (cf. Exod. 23.14-15 with 12.14ff.). Both the apodictic and conditional laws of this code are comparable to Syro-Palestinian and cuneiform laws generally, and parallels in both form and content can be readily traced. The opening commands (Exod. 20.23-26), dealing with the recognition of Yahweh as Israel's sole God and with the worship of Yahweh, are appropriate to the context of a covenant relationship which is narrated in the theophany story. The expansion of these commands, to include a variety of ancient Israel's basic laws, is ideologically very important, since the narrative context interprets these laws both as laws of God and as laws which are foundational to the Israelite court system and to the establishment of a nation (Exodus 18), giving the Israelite legal system of law code and centralized court the absolute, immutable quality of divine inspiration. It also gives a binding power to the commands and ordinances of Yahweh which, in terms of our story, establishes Israel as a nation. In this, we are dealing with what is essentially an origin narrative: the origin of the Torah (see, further, Chapter 5). The decalogue variant of the mainline covenant code (although it does not itself fulfill the plot requirements of the narrative which begins in Exod. 15.22ff.) is even more emphatically a narrative account of foundational or constitutional law. All of the laws of the decalogue are given in a direct apodictic form, as commands made directly by God himself. In content, they deal with central issues of Israelite society: religious exclusivism, the sabbath, the care of the elderly, murder, adultery, theft, perjury and greed. While Exod. 20.36 and 8-11 might be understood to derive from peculiarly Israelite cultic law, narratively expanded, Exod. 20.7 and 20.17 are best understood as law in story. Undoubtedly, greed, lust, and religious indifference are fundamental evils which undermine a just society, and legislating against them might be seen as righteous in constituting a society. They are, nevertheless, by necessity of interest more to moralists and intellectuals than to lawyers and a court system. They are more narrative motif than specific law. Exodus 23.20-33 The mainline narrative of the Torah story essentially draws to a close

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in the long concluding passage of Exod. 23.20-33. The narrative plotline continues into this passage. Yahweh is still speaking. He is speaking, however, no longer in terms of the laws of Israel, but in the context of the covenant. Yahweh sends his messenger to guide Israel, as at the crossing of the sea. If Israel obeys all that Yahweh has said, Yahweh will fight their enemies. The expectation at the end of this passage is the immediate entry into the promised land, outlined in grand romantic terms: 'from the Red Sea to the Sea of the Philistines, and from the Wilderness to the Euphrates' (Exod. 23.31). The wilderness crossing is over and Israel stands, under the Torah, on the border of the land of Canaan (Exod. 16.35). Exodus 24 Exod. 24.2-8 is a variant conclusion, associated with the decalogue of Exod. 19.20-20.17. It is doubtful that this should be understood as an independent tradition added to the Torah narrative at a later date. Rather, it has more the characteristic of a variant of the covenant story, where the covenant itself is stressed more than the Torah. Exod. 24.1, 9fF. deals with a secondary expansion of the Exodus narrative, which brings the independent tradition about the building of the ark into the Torah narrative. Exod. 24.2 is an editorial harmonization. This narrative also uses the central motif of the Sinai theophany, which was undoubtedly the vehicle of its inclusion here. The theme of divine foundation or revelation is a ready vehicle for strengthening the adherence to and acceptance of many important issues, especially those of cultic importance. With this motivation, the stories of the origin and establishment of the Israelite priesthood (Exodus 28.ff.) and other cultic matters expand the text. These expansions lead readily into a variety of wilderness wandering traditions and steadily away from the conclusion of Exodus 23 which closes the mainline origin tradition of early Israel. The story complex found in Exod. 15.22-23.33/24.8 is, in structural terms, the simplest and most direct of the six major blocks or traditions of narrative from which the origin tradition of ancient Israel has been formed. It has the linear historiographical orientation of Yahweh guiding Israel through the wilderness and bringing them to the border of Canaan. It is composed of a small number of originally independent stories which have been only partially integrated into its itinerary structure. The received text consists of the traditional complex chain narrative of the Torah, and contains, by attraction, the secondary addition of the story of the battle of

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Amalek, and the decalogue variant of the Sinai theophany. The narrative closes on the edge of the land of Canaan, ending the origin tradition of ancient Israel as a whole. In answering the question where Israel came from, the origin tradition sees Israel as essentially formed by Yahweh's protection and guidance. The specific event of origin is the Passover festival in which Israel celebrates Yahweh's protection annually. Yahweh leads and guides Israel through his Torah, as he did in the time of Moses and will do in the future. Israel fulfills Yahweh's commands and ordinances through its obedience to the Torah. In establishing the sabbath at the origin of the world in Genesis 1, the first redaction of the pentateuch or origin tradition was able to set its pre-history in a developmental and linear polarity between two great cultic feasts, the Sabbath and the Passover. In rendering this structure, it identifies the essential coherence between the origin of Israel and the origin of the world itself.*

*The parallel function of St John's prologue comes immediately to mind. An even closer structural parallel might be found in Luke's Gospel. The polarity which Luke establishes between the Christian cultic celebration of Baptism (Luke 3) and of the Eucharist (Luke 24.13ff.) establishes quite boldly that the meaning of Jesus' life is to be found primarily in the Christian community. This structure also implies that faith and belief in the history of the resurrection and crucifixion find their proper home in the cultic celebration of the 'breaking of the bread'. It is then that Jesus is among them, and this is the primary evidence of how he once was with them. The last supper 'event' which the Eucharist commemorates becomes peripheral. The structure of the origin narrative in the pentateuch is similar. The origin of Israel is found in the Passover celebration, and the event which it commemorates becomes a peripheral illustration of that cultic celebration.


Chapter 5 THE ORIGIN TRADITION OF ISRAEL A. The Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative In studying the origin tradition of Israel in Genesis and Exodus, it has been necessary to depart wholly and entirely from the traditional documentary hypothesis. As it is interpreted today, this has involved presuppositions of a pre-literary Grundlage and successive historical developments of the tradition from the earliest J narrative through the successive accumulations of variant traditions (e.g. J2, E, D, P) and their redactions up to the final redaction of the pentateuch as we know it. This departure has been necessary because the fundamental evidence for the documentary hypothesis is no longer sufficient to maintain such a radical interpretation of narrative, one which carries us so far from any immediate reading of the text. Differences in divine names, place names, references to individuals and groups, even differences in style and language, while often giving evidence for the lack of homogeneity in the tradition, do not justify the positing of distinct documents, separated by centuries. Indeed, the doublet stories (long used as evidence for multiple sources and traditions) are usually far better explained as variations of tale episodes which belong to a common tradition, or as multiple renditions of a theme or motif, at times within the same narration. What these doublet stories and narrative segments have in common is usually evidence for their close relationship. Their differences often suggest the reason for their inclusion within the same tradition. This is frequently the case when such variant episodes perform the same function, for example, in the successive variants of the flood story, and in the variant reasons given for the necessity of Jacob's journey to the North. We find that we are really dealing here with literary, editorial techniques of presenting deviations of narrative, which are recognized by the ancient collector and redactor as

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belonging to the same story and to the same line of tradition. Similarly, many disjunctions appear in the narratives which are reflective of a newly achieved harmony in the process of a tradition's development. Parallelisms of themes and motifs, breaking apart linear plot development, are the most obvious of such disjunctives. Examples are the placing of Genesis 14 after Genesis 13, or the more obvious Genesis 21's birth of Isaac episode being placed after Genesis 20's 'opening of the wombs' of the women of Gerar. It is also extremely difficult to establish a clear plot development, the development of themes, or the tracing of leitmotifs, across the larger blocks of narrative which form the pentateuch. The only truly significant linkage, connecting the larger narrative blocks of Genesis and Exodus, comes with the Toledoth narrative structure, and those narrative adjustments which are associated with it. Those echoes or references to narratives of another distinct major narrative block which do exist are exceedingly ephemeral. They give evidence only that the narrative of one block of tradition (e.g. the Abraham story) is not wholly ignorant of another (e.g. the sojourn in Egypt). Rather it coexists with it. Such awareness is to be expected. Nowhere, prior to the final bringing of the stories together, can there be observed such linkage as to argue that there was a pre-existent narrative about the origin of Israel which set the basis for the received text's extended tradition. Such a unifying historiography is the result of a very late editorial work whose ideological center is probably to be found in the prophetic reforms some time close to the reign of Josiah. Of far more importance than such negative arguments against the documentary hypothesis is the positive delineation of a genre of quite large narrative units which I have already referred to as the 'traditional complex-chain narrative'. It is possible to identify at least five, and perhaps as many as six, such distinct units. Similarly, the explication of the quite self-consciously secondary editorial structure of the Toledoth (which not only holds the complex-chain narratives together in both historiographical and thematic continuity, but also permits the inclusion of other traditional narrative material, which had not been part of one or other of the complex-chain narratives), is, in itself, a refutation of and an alternative to the documentary hypothesis. I believe that what I call the 'traditional complex-chain narrative' is an ancient narrative genre, a specific type of oral or literary unit. It has its own beginning and end, its own theme, and its own plot-line (i.e. its own developmental direction), which enables it to exist as a

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literary entity, and to have a life of its own, independent of both its context and the narrative materials from which it is formed. The traditional complex-chain narrative is not an editorial or a redactional structure, but a type of literature in its own right: one of the ways in which ancient Israel told long stories. We have within the origin tradition of Genesis and Exodus, five clear and unequivocal examples of this genre. A sixth unit (the Passover chain narrative) may well belong to this genre, and a seventh narrative (Genesis 1-11) appears to have been constructed, for introductory and editorial purposes, with this genre in mind as a superficial model. The genre of the traditional complex-chain narrative is 'traditional' because it is a story construct based on largely pre-existent narrative units, each with its own history of development in the narrative traditions of its past. This genre of narrative is 'complex' because it is composed of a number of different, at times generically distinct, smaller units, which do not necessarily have, and usually do not have, a common theme, plot-line, or point of departure, and each of which may have its own complexities, its own variations, or series of variations. There are at least three successive historical levels of development in the traditions of Genesis and Exodus. It is important that exegetical analysis take account of each, as each level of meaning is intentionally included, successively, in both the process of development and in the final reading. The first is the smaller narrative unit or episode from which the complex-chain narrative is formed. The second is the complex-chain narrative itself, and the third is the reading of that narrative within its context as Toledoth along with other fragments, episodes, and traditional narratives which the final redactor saw as significant in his account of Israel's origin. In pointing out three stages in the tradition's history, we are not at all dealing with the issue of a hypothetical 'prehistory' of the tradition. Hypothetical, preliterary stages might well, at times, be guessed at. We hardly yet have the means, however, of their reconstruction at hand. What we have are three stages in the development of a single tradition which are, for the most part, observable. The outline of the whole would not be unlike that of a family tree. The central blocks of tradition, or narrative units, which I have chosen to call traditional complex-chain narratives, are 'chain narratives' because they link together a succession of smaller narrative units in such a way as to develop a distinctive theme and plot-line, creating thereby an entity that is greater than the

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successive units which make it up. The process by which the smaller units are linked, and this larger genre is formed, is variable. However, a clearly defined beginning and end, and an independent theme and plot-line, indicate that the process is neither simply accumulative nor haphazard. The traditional complex-chain narrative is also not a theoretical or abstract stage in the process of developing a greater and greater growth of tradition, but it is rather a fully conscious story, having its own interpretive context, and requiring its own exegesis. The narratives of this genre all begin with a series of three episodes which together perform specific functions of the chain narrative. They state the theme and frequently give the context of the later narrative. They set the mode of resolution for the plot-line, and they take the first step in the plot-line of the greater story. It is usually the third of these episodes which is of greatest importance. It is this third episode which sets the plot of the chain narrative moving and is found to echo through succeeding episodes of the larger narrative. B. The Abraham Complex-Chain Narrative The plot of the Abraham complex-chain narrative is introduced by a threefold repetitive narrative in which there are three story elements or motifs: (a) Abraham is passing through the land; (b) he builds an altar; (c) he either speaks to or is spoken to by Yahweh. The first of these episodic narratives (Gen. 12.6-9) sets the theme, not only of the tripartite introduction, but, in a limited degree, to the entire chain narrative. Yahweh tells Abraham: 'To your descendants I will give this land'. The issues of land and progeny, as well as Yahweh's close relationship to Abraham, dominate the tales included in the chain. The second episode (Gen. 12.8) pairs with the first episode. It does not carry the plot forward, but emphasizes it through repetition. It confirms the first, making the point that the first is neither insignificant nor an accidental occurrence. Gen. 13.4, referring to Abraham calling on the name of Yahweh, is not an episode in its own right. It rather reasserts the episode of Gen. 12.8, which had been disrupted by the inclusion of the Abraham/Sarah story of Gen. 12.10-20. The third of the three introductory episodes occurs in Gen. 13.14-18, where the theme of the entire Abraham chain narrative is emphatically stated. Abraham is the faithful worshipper of Yahweh and wanders from place to place through Palestine. In response to his faithfulness, Yahweh promises to Abraham all the land that he can


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see to hold as his own, not so much for now, as forever. Yahweh further promises that Abraham's descendants, who will possess this land, will be almost infinite in number. The tone of the narrative, representing Abraham as the stranger, wandering through the land, dependent on Yahweh alone, is emphasized by the placement, or rather displacement of these introductory episodes. Abraham is the wandering, faithful servant of Yahweh, and he wanders not only from Shechem to Bethel and Ai, to Hebron, Gerar, and Beersheba, but even more significantly he wanders from story to story, until he finally finds himself on the top of Mount Moriah in Genesis 22, in the place where he had begun his journey when he built his altar in Gen. 12.6. It is upon Mount Moriah that Abraham, having believed so strongly that 'God will provide', as befits the sojourner, is reconfirmed in the possession of the promise (Gen. 22.15-19). It is in the structure of this larger chain narrative about Abraham, that we understand the central theme of this story to be the establishment (not the development) of Yahweh's threefold promise to Abraham: (a) to possess the land, (b) to become a great nation, and (c) that other nations will be blessed because Abraham (i.e. Israel) obeys God. The plot-line of the narrative is Abraham as ger, the wanderer, a plot-line well suited to the complex and multiple traditions which have been united under this narrative umbrella, whose purpose is to unite the myriad traditions about all of the peoples and nations of the region, and their relationship, through Abraham, to Israel. This is accomplished under the unifying motif of Gen. 17.5, the pun on Abraham's name: that he is no longer Abraham, but Aber Hamon, the 'father of many nations'. It is through the motif of Abraham as ger, set out in the tripartite introduction in their content and in their disjunctive form, that the early multiple tale units about Abraham (e.g. Abraham as warrior, Abraham and Ishmael, Abraham and Lot, Abraham and Isaac, Abraham as confidant of Yahweh, Abraham in Gerar, etc.) achieve a unifying structure in the form of a biography of Abraham, the very disjunctiveness of which becomes the unifying plot-line. The process or development of this biography is not historiographical in a linear sense, but lateral, linking together the divergent plots of separate tales by means of narrative techniques based on parallelism, affinity, and the conjunction of motifs. Such narrative techniques are difficult to appreciate from the perspective of our own plot-dominated taste in narrative progression but they are nevertheless understandable and accountable in terms of an ancient, early form of narrative.

Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of Abraham: Direction of Plot-Lines Wandering Tradition: Gen. 12.6-9

12.10-20 (displaced)

(13:1-4)

13.14aa (a0)

14b-18

Abraham as Warrior:

(15.7-21 T)

20.1-17

21.22-34.

(Genesis 14.)

Abraham and Lot: Gen. 12.5

13.5- 13

Barren Wife A: Abraham and Isaac:

18.16-33

18.1-15

21.1-7

19.1-28 (29)

19.30-38.

22.1-19.

Gen. 11.30

Barren Wife B: Abraham and Ishmael:

IS.lf., (3) 4-6

Direction of plot-line. ( ) Harmonized texts. ( T ) Harmonized texts, strongly influenced by the Toledoth structure.

16.1-9 (10 T) 11-15

(Genesis 17 T)

(21.8-21)


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C. The Jacob-Esau Complex-Chain Narrative The story of Jacob and Esau is the longest unit of narrative that has been taken up into the Toledoth of Isaac. As the chain narrative of Abraham did, it too begins with three brief repetitive episodes as an introduction, clearly marking out the theme and the plot-line of the whole. The first of these episodes is found in Gen. 25.22f. In this episode the theme of the Jacob-Esau conflict narrative is set out clearly and succinctly. The episode makes a prediction of conflict between Jacob and Esau, and gives the interpretation that both children will be ancestors of the nations Edom and Israel, and that the younger Jacob will overcome the elder in the conflict. This is confirmed later in the narrative as Jacob becomes the heir to the promises to Abraham rather than Esau. This episode signifies not only that the central theme of the coming narrative will be that of conflict, but also that the resolution of the conflict will follow the folktale motif of the success of the unpromising. The second parallel episode (Gen. 25.24-26) does not carry the development of the plot further so much as it confirms and expands the theme. Jacob, though the younger, is the 'supplanter' and the 'grasping' one. Esau, born all red and hairy, is unquestionably Edom, the nomadic hunter. In the Jacob narrative, as in the Abraham narrative, it is the final episode of the tripartite introduction that both repeats what has already been established and carries it into the mainline plot of the chain narrative. The emphasis on the conflict as one between two nations is made explicit with an aetiology of the name Edom. The issue of conflict in this third episode is that of birthright. Here Jacob supplants Esau in his right as firstborn. It is also here that the ruthless character of Jacob comes clearly to the fore, and Esau is given cause to hate Jacob (so, Gen. 27.36). The plot-line builds tension from this point forward, and does not come to rest until the resolution of Esau's hatred for Jacob in Gen. 33.15-17, when Esau departs for Seir and Jacob settles in the promised land at Succoth. In the development of the Jacob-Esau conflict narrative, the plot line is neither disjunctive nor linearly historiographic, though it is able to follow a relatively simple progression of 'events'. The plot structure is, rather, inclusive. It is within the tale of Isaac's death, between his taking to his death-bed (Gen. 27.1) and his death and his burial by Jacob and Esau (Gen. 36.28-29) that the conflict narrative

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of the two brothers is played out. Similarly, it is within the tale of the Jacob-Esau conflict, between Jacob's flight (Gen. 28.5, 10) and his return (Gen. 32.3ff.) that the theophanies occur (Gen. 28.11-22 and 32.If, 24-32). The story further develops inclusively within the structure of these theophanic tales as the Jacob and Laban conflict tale is played out (Gen. 29.1-29 and 30.25-31.55), in the center of which in turn the Rachel and Leah conflict story is told (Gen. 29.3030.24). This structure is neither arbitrary nor unreflective. It is at the center of the Jacob story which begins and ends with the death of Isaac, that the focal point of interest is reached: the birth of Jacob's sons. In this chain of narrative, individual conflict tales are linked together, not successively but concentrically, and it is to the center of the narrative that the direction of the story moves. It is in this center that the action of the narradve reaches its climax with the birth of the tribes of Israel. This inclusive structure forms an independent theme and plot quite distinct from those of the individual tales which make it up. The individual tales have the linear plot pattern of conflict—crisis—resolution, typical also of the Abraham stories. It is this independent, multiple plot development which requires us to see the Jacob narrative as a distinct chain narrative, sharing the same genre as the Abraham narradve, rather than more simply as a long series of short episodic tales.

Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of Jacob: Direction of Plot-Lines (with variants) IV 29.30-30.24

III 29.1-30

II 28.10-12, 18-22 (28.13-17)

I 25.19-34; 27.1-45 (26.34; 27.46-28.9)

*-IIl 30.25-31.55

MI 32.24-32 (32.1-2)

M 32.3-23; 33.1-16 (17) (33.18-34.31)


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D. The Joseph Complex-Chain Narrative The Joseph story is also a traditional complex-chain narrative, involving multiple, independent episodes, no less independent than the Jacob or the Abraham narratives. The episodes of the Joseph narrative, however, are held together by a structural syntax which gives it a unity and a progression of thought that are uncommon in the Old Testament. The success of this structural unity is such that many modern commentators have been led to describe it in the terms of contemporary literary genres, such as a novella or short story. Because of the extraordinary smoothness of its narrative progression, subtales within the narrative are frequently used to evaluate the whole. It has become common, for example, to speak of the Joseph narrative as a 'wisdom story', or the like. It is also frequently compared with much simpler tales, such as Ruth, Jonah, Judith. In the complexity and independence of the origins of the elements which make it up, however, it is similar to both the Abraham and the Jacob stories. That the Joseph story is of a much higher quality of narrative should not move us to classify it in a different genre. Nor should its higher tone and aesthetic sophistication prejudice us in a relative dating of the tradition. The Joseph story is by no means a novella or a short story. Its structural syntax holds together a threefold development of theme and plot-line, each independently proceeding in a tripartite series of episodes. The narrative technique involved in this structure effectively holds together a long discursive tale which contains at least six distinguishable plot oriented themes: (1) the conflict between Joseph and his brothers; (2) Joseph as a faithful servant; (3) the threat to Joseph's life; (4) Joseph as savior; (5) Joseph as a wise man; (6) Israel enters Egypt. These are the significant structural elements which hold this, at times, unwieldy story together. The most obvious and most successful technique used is the classical tripling of scenes, which is here the key to the plot development. Plot 1 opens, and the narrative as a whole is introduced, with the tripling of the scenes of jealousy, establishing the prophecy that the brothers and the parents of Joseph will bow down before Joseph; that is, be subject to him. As with the Abraham and Jacob narratives, it is the first episode of this tripartite introduction (Gen. 37.2-4) which establishes the motif of the brothers' hatred of Joseph. The second episode (the first dream of Joseph: Gen. 37.5-8) reaffirms this motif and establishes continuity with the following narrative. Joseph's

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dream—predicting the future—makes them hate him all the more. Again in the Joseph story, it is the third episode which firmly establishes the theme of the narrative and sets the direction of the plot. The theme is the brothers' hatred, and the plot-line is directed towards the fulfillment of the prophecy of Joseph's brothers' and parents' bowing down before this younger son. As prophecy, this plot-line has broad ironic play. The brothers see Joseph as arrogant, dreaming of himself as a lord over not only the brothers but the parents as well. Neither the world nor the audience can have much patience for such arrogance. In the literal fulfillment of the prophecy, however, Joseph only pretends to the role of lord and master, but truly acts as compassionate savior. The final resolution of this plotline also proceeds in a tripartite manner, developing the theme of Israel entering Egypt: 1. The brothers enter and are fed. 2. The brothers return with Benjamin. 3. The brothers return to Egypt with Israel to stay. The plot-line rests. The second plot is also composed of a pair of tripartite episodes, which develop and complicate the plot-line of the story as a whole. The episodes of plot entry play on the theme of the threats to Joseph, and the resolution of this plot lies in the theme of Joseph as the faithful servant. Joseph is threatened three times: 1. His brother seeks to kill Joseph and he is kidnapped/sold into slavery. 2. Joseph is accused of rape and is imprisoned. 3. The butler forgets his promise to Joseph and Joseph languishes in prison. This plot-line of threefold threat is carried forward into a threefold resolution: 1. Everything goes well with Joseph and he runs his master's household. 2. Everything goes well with Joseph and he runs the prison. 3. Everything goes well with Joseph and he rules Egypt. The third plot gives the narrative its flavor as a wisdom story, with its threefold presentation of Joseph as the wise man who is privy to God's intentions for man. The episodes of plot entry are presented in three double dreams: 1. Joseph dreams that his brothers and his parents will bow down to him, and his brothers and his father interpret the dreams. 2. The baker and the butler dream of what fate awaits them from the pharaoh, and Joseph interprets the dreams. 3. The pharaoh dreams of good harvests and famine, fat cattle and lean, and Joseph interprets the dreams. The resolution of this plot-line is worked out with the theme of Joseph as savior: 1. Joseph saves the butler. 2. Joseph saves his family. 3. Joseph saves Egypt. The three distinct plot-lines outlined here, in which plot entries find their resolutions, are not separable plots in a sense that might


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suggest that we are dealing with three originally independent stories which were eventually united in the history of the Joseph tradition, as we have found to be the case in the Abraham stories. Nor do we have separable stories within stories as might be suggested of the Jacob narrative. Certainly we do not have independent episodic tales, held together by a secondary external structure as I have suggested for Genesis 1-11. Rather, in the Joseph narrative, we have an integration of three major plot-lines which make up a single narrative, greater than the sum of its distinctive parts. This has been achieved through the internal structural techniques of plot progression and plot delay. The greater story begins with the theme of the brothers' jealousy and ends with the theme of Joseph as savior, which serves the function of explaining how Jacob and his sons became Israel in Egypt. Each theme develops in a linear direction, 'historiographically', causatively. The jealousy of the brothers is the cause of the threats to Joseph, whose response is that of the faithful servant, which leads to his role as wise man and interpreter of dreams. The dreams of famine give a context for Israel's entrance into Egypt, and lead to the role of Joseph as savior of both Israel and Egypt. The total narrative, with the direction of its plot and the development of its theme, is much more than the combination of the three narrative lines which make it up. The theme of this complex-chain narrative as a whole is the 'providence of God'. God has his own purposes which are not the same as ours. The brothers' hatred of Joseph and the sufferings of Joseph occurred for a reason that God had: that many might be saved. This is explicit in Gen. 50.20: 'You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive as they are today'. The discussion of narrative function, however, cannot stop here, for the direction of the plot of this chain narrative has a goal which reaches beyond the story of Joseph itself. While the linear, historiographical, plot-line ends, the story comes to rest in the settlement of Israel in Egypt. This suggests that the story does not have its parameters in the prophecy and the fulfillment of Joseph's first dream, nor simply in the extension of the theme of Joseph as savior. All of these serve, rather, an historiographical purpose, which has its point of departure outside of the story of Joseph itself. In fulfilling this historiographical purpose, the Joseph story provides a bridge between the Jacob stories and the story of Israel's enslavement in Egypt. The context for this historiography is provided by the

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literary structure of the Toledoth (which also led to the inclusion within the Joseph narrative of the Judah/Tamar story). The implications of this are far reaching, not only must the pentateuchal historiography be placed very late in the history of Genesis, but this historiography must be understood to develop in tandem with the Joseph story itself. Two major conclusions are apparent from this: a. The pentateuchal historiography is not earlier than the Joseph story, b. The Joseph narrative cannot have existed in its present form apart from the Moses tradition. Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of Joseph: Structural Syntax Plot-line I Plot resolutions

Plot entries (themes)

Israel enters Egypt

Jealousy of brothers (episodes) (a) Joseph tattles (b) Israel loves Joseph

(a) Brothers enter (b) Brothers Egypt return to Egypt (c) Israel enters Egypt

(c) Joseph's dreams Plot-line 2

Plot resolutions

Plot entries (themes) 'ITireats to Joseph

Joseph as faithful servant (episodes)

(a) Brothers seek (b) Joseph in to kill Joseph slavery

(a) All goes well (b) All goes well Joseph rules Joseph rules over master's over prison house (c) All goes well Joseph rules over Egypt

(c) Joseph in prison Plot-line 3 Plot entries

Plot resolutions (themes)

Joseph the wise man

Joseph the savior (episodes)

(a) Joseph dreams; (b) Baker/butler family interprets dream; Joseph interprets (c) Pharaoh dreams; Joseph interprets

(a) Joseph saves (b) Baker loses his family head; butler has head 'lifted up' (c) Joseph saves Egypt

5. TJi£ Origin Tradition of Israel

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E. The Toledoth Structure of Genesis The Toledoth structure in the pentateuch ends with the end of the Joseph narrative. The Joseph story, however, clearly points, both in its form and its content, beyond itself and beyond the Toledoth narrative which is Genesis. The Joseph story clearly has a selfunderstanding which is oriented to the story of the Exodus. That Israel ceases to be an individual with his family, and has become the nation Israel, is part of and a conclusion of the Joseph narrative. We are left to conclude that the transition between Genesis and Exodus, between the story about Joseph and his brothers and the story about the birth of Moses, marks the end of the Book of the Toledoth of Adam in the establishment and existence of Israel as a nation. The narrative theme of the book of Genesis is essentially aetiological. It traces the development of the Toledoth of mankind. Its goal, and the end toward which its plot is directed, is the existence of Israel as a people. It explains how Israel came to be, as well as to be in Egyptit is very significant that neither Exodus as a whole, nor the first major narrative in it, the exodus/passover story, has a clearly marked beginning. As we mentioned above in Chapter 4, Exod. 1.1-6, 8 is a passage whose function is essentially to clear the stage of what remained from the narratives of Genesis. It is not itself a beginning, but clears a way, so that, from the narrator's point of view, a beginning becomes possible. The structural beginning of the exodus/ passover narrative is found in Exod. 1.7. Exod. 1.1-6 is an editorial connective, which, in its formulaic beginning in Exodus 1.1, is patterned after the Toledoth form and uses it as its model. Although the closely structured Toledoth narrative is completed, there is a conscious continuation of that narrative, which holds together the larger chain narratives of Genesis with those of Exodus as well. There are reasons to believe that these redactional efforts which have linked the chain narratives (including the Toledoth structure), were not made in a single effort, but in a more complex process over time. A number of stories: the story of the rape of Dinah, episodes about the building of shrines and the theophanies in the Jacob narrative (which are parallel to the Abraham wandering tales), the story of the death of Rachel, the Jacob and the Esau genealogical tales, and the death of Isaac, are all brought together at the end of the Jacob story. They are not presented, however, as part of that story, but are used

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to fill out and complete the Toledoth of Isaac, much in the same pattern as we find in Gen. 22.20-Gen. 25. These chapters follow the conclusion of the Abraham chain narrative. In them, we find the stories of the genealogy of Nahor, the death of Sarah, the purchase of the burial place at Machpelah, the genealogy of Keturah and the death of Abraham, and the genealogy of Ishmael. A similar pattern of narrative, filling out the Toledoth of Jacob, is found after the conclusion of the Joseph story in Gen. 48.27ff., where we find the story of the dying of Jacob, the tales about the blessing of Joseph and Ephraim and the long poem, decreeing the fate of all of the sons of Jacob in Genesis 49, the story of the burial of Jacob and the tale of the final reconciliation of Joseph with his brothers, and the account of the death of Joseph. While the major Toledoth structures are dominated by successive complex chain narratives (the Toledoth of Terah contains the story of Abraham, the Toledoth of Isaac, the Jacob story, and the Toledoth of Jacob, the Joseph story), these add-on narratives, which are included in the successive Toledoths, serve the function of postscripts, tying together heroic narratives as successive biographies. They do not function within the main narrative lines of the chain narratives of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph. They rather have their place within the larger, historiographical narrative structure of the Toledoth^ which understands the mainline chain narratives as carrying forward a continuous history from Abraham's entrance into the land of Canaan to the entrance of Israel into Egypt and beyond. Such connections are made not only through the explicit repetition of the promise motifs, but also by paralleling the structures of specific tale motifs, such as the form of the promise which Israel demands of Joseph in Gen. 48.29, when he asks Joseph not to bury him in Egypt. This echoes the form of the promise demanded by Abraham of his servant in Gen. 24.3, when he sends him to find a wife for Isaac. Other examples of such parallels of motifs are: the motif of recognition of coming death, found with Abraham in Gen. 24.1, with Isaac in Gen. 27.1f, with Jacob in Gen. 47.29 and 48.1, and with Joseph in Gen. 50.24; the burials at Machpelah in Gen. 25.9, 35.27, 49.29-32, and 50.13. The paralleling of motifs and narrative patterns in these postscripts is so intent upon linking the three main stories together, that even the motif of the younger son supplanting the elder, which had played such a large role in the Jacob story, as well as in the restructuring of the Abraham/Isaac and Abraham/Ishmael tales, is given strong ironic play in the blessing of the younger Ephraim over


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the elder Manasseh (Gen. 48.8-22). That such parallelism is not accidental might also be argued from the closeness of the motifs of blindness (Gen. 27.1 and 48.10), as well as from the motifs of the greater and lesser blessings determining the fate of the nations the children are to become (Gen. 48.19-20 and 27.27-29, 39-40). The parallel play on Jacob and Ephraim, drawing out the motif of the younger brother inheriting, also links these narratives with the Abraham chain narrative's supplanting of Ishmael by Isaac, which is found in Gen. 15.3-4, 16.10-12, 21.18, and especially Gen. 17.5-6, which presents an understanding of Abraham that dominates the Toledoth structure and lays the groundwork for the selection of the children of Israel as the recipients of the promises to Abraham, over against the claims of neighboring nations, which also held claims in the tradition to the ancestry of Abraham. One minor linkage in the Toledoth structure between the major chain narratives can be found in the reassertion of the themes of chosenness and promise in the theophanies (e.g. Genesis 28). One very significant literary technique which has been used to bind the distinct chain narratives together might be called 'postintroductory inclusion'. It is a technique in which an independent tale is given the editorial function of anchoring a chain narrative to the greater structure of the Toledoth framework. It firmly marks the chain narrative as part of the Toledoth, thereby creating a new purpose for all of the narratives within the chain, which are now understood in terms of an aetiology of Israel. For example, Abraham functions essentially as the father of many nations, an illustrative expansion of the table of nations of Genesis 10 and 11. The technique of post introductory inclusion has been most noticeably used in the inclusion of the Judah/Tamar story of Genesis 38, following the tripartite introduction to the Joseph chain narrative. This same technique is also quite obvious in the inclusion of the Isaac/Rebecca story of Genesis 26 after the final episode of the tripartite introduction to the Jacob/Esau chain narrative. In these examples, both the Jacob and the Joseph stories continue, after the inclusion, as if there had been no interruption whatever, an indication that the inclusion is secondary to the chain narrative. The same technique is perhaps also used in the Abraham chain narrative, where the wife-sister/shepherdconflict tale of Gen. 12.10-13.13 comes by inclusion between the second and the third episodes of the tripartite introduction to the Abraham chain narrative. This point of inclusion is tolerable in the Abraham story, because it reasserts the theme of Abraham wandering from story to story.

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The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel The Toledoth Structure in Genesis Gen. 1.1-2.3 (used as a preface to the Toledoth of the sky and the earth) Gen. 2.4a—Toledoth of the sky and the earth (sectional title for Gen. 2.4b-4.26) Gen. 5.la—Toledoth of Adam (title of book, Genesis 1-50; Gen. 5.3-32 is used as a preface to the Toledoth of Noah) Gen. 6.9a-Toledoth of Noah (sectional title for Gen. 5.32-9.29) Gen. 10.1—Toledoth of the Sons of Noah (expansion of the Noah Toledoth, Gen. 10.1-11.9) Gen. 11.lOa—Toledoth of Shem (Gen. 11.10-26 is used as a preface to the Toledoth of Terah Gen. 11.27a—Toledoth of Terah (sectional title for Gen. 11. 27b-25.11) Gen. 25.12a—Toledoth of Ishmael (Gen. 25.12-18 is used as a preface to the Toledoth of Isaac) Gen. 25.19a—Toledoth of Isaac (sectional title for Gen. 25.19b-35.29) Gen. 36.1—Toledoth of Esau (Genesis 36 is used as a preface to the Toledoth of Jacob) Gen. 37.2a—Toledoth of Jacob (sectional title for Gen. 37.2b-50.26)

There are also efforts to hold the narratives together in terms of content. Two of these might be pointed out: a. The ages given to the patriarchs sets up a stylized pattern which aids the unification of the Toledoth narrative, consonant with the later Massoretic chronology of the pentateuch. Abraham lives 100 years in Canaan, and Isaac is born when he is 100 years old. Isaac marries at the age of 40 and is 60 when Esau is born, who, in turn, marries at the age of 40 when Isaac is 100 (cf. Thompson, 1974, p. 16). b. The reiteration of the promise motif (cf. Gen. 12.2-3, 7) in theophany stories, and the identification


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of the divinity as a god of the ancestor (e.g. the god of Abraham, of Abraham and Isaac, of your father, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, etc.) are found not only in the Abraham wandering episodes, such as in Gen. 12.7 and 13.14-18, but are also repeated frequently within the chain narratives, for the specific function of uniting these narratives into a story about the origin of Israel: so Genesis 17 and 22.1, 17ff. in the Abraham stories, Gen. 26.24 in the story of Isaac, Gen. 28.13 in the Jacob story, Gen. 46.1-4 and 49.1-2 in the Joseph tale, and Exod 3.4-6 of the Passover story. These anchoring techniques link the narratives within the Toledoth structure, and carry them historiographically forward into the Exodus and wandering traditions. These editorial structures indicate that the amalgamation of pentateuchal narrative into an historiographically continuous whole interprets the large chain narratives of an earlier stage of tradition. This historiographical interpretation involved the chain narratives of the patriarchs Abraham, Jacob and Joseph, the stories of Isaac, the Passover tradition, and the Torah wandering narrative. It must therefore have come quite late in the tradition history of the received text, working along lines at least thematically related to the Toledoth structure. In contrast to the clearly definable chain narratives of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph, the creation aetiology of Genesis 1-11 is best understood as a series of narratives, and not as a narrative unit of the complex-chain type unit in its own right. This series of aetiological tales forms a cumulative narrative block which is patterned in only a limited way on the form of the complex-chain narrative. Two factors are involved in this conclusion. Genesis 1-11 is not introduced, as are all of the other examples of complex-chain narratives, by a tripartite introductory tale of three minor episodes, which establish the theme of the greater narrative and set the plot forward on its way. Instead of this, we have an introductory story of the creation of the world, whose theme links the creation of the world with the creation of the sabbath, perhaps pointing far ahead to the Exodus story, where the origin of Israel as a nation is linked with the creation of the Passover. Only after the story of the creation of the world is told, in Gen. 2.4a, do we strike upon the theme of Genesis 1-11 as a whole: the Toledoth of the heavens and the earth after they were created, which links us with Gen. 5.1-2 and the external Toledoth structure. This is not by itself a decisive reason for excluding Genesis 1-11 from the specific genre of the traditional complex-chain narrative, since it is uncertain that the use of the tripartite introduction is

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essential to the genre. It is a typical characteristic of this genre in the pentateuch. What is essential, however, is that the chain narrative forms a story in its own right. The theme of Genesis 1-11 is no more than the cumulative effect of the consecutive aetiologies which make up this block of narratives. Apart from the individual tales making up the Toledoth of Adam, we have neither a theme nor a coherent direction of plot, until we reach the very end of Genesis. It is then that we understand that the Toledoth of Adam is an extended aetiological narrative framework, which tells us how Israel came to be. Genesis 1-11 is a redactional narration, whose structure holds many narratives together under their Toledoths. Genesis 1-11 is a composite. It is not a literary unit in itself. It is modeled as much upon the Toledoths of Terah, Isaac, and Jacob, as upon the chain narratives of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph. It functions as an introduction to the whole. F. The Passover and Exodus Complex-Chain Narratives Beyond the Toledoth structure, which presented the great aetiology of the development of mankind to the existence of Israel in Egypt, the text of Exodus continues the history of Israel beyond this aetiological historiography. In the formation of the narration of Genesis, it becomes clear that it is in the function of aetiology, and particularly the Toledoth form of aetiology, that ancient Israelite historiography presents a prehistory, and consciously establishes a demarcation between those events and narratives which brought Israel into existence and the history of Israel as a people. The Toledoth is the development. It is after the Toledoth that we find, from the point of view of the narrative itself, the history of Israel. From this biblical point of view, it is not in Genesis at all, but in the story of the Exodus that we find the earliest events of Israel's history, and it is the Passover narrative which marks those events as a beginning. This distinction between Israel's prehistory and its history is marked formally in the biblical historiography. It is not based on any certainty of knowledge held about the events, nor is it based on any characteristics of the sources of the traditions which are used. The determinative distinction is much more specifically the object of the history. It is in Egypt that one first has Israel and a history of Israel to discuss. Prior to that, one has Israel's ancestry, its Toledoth. In Exodus, we find that the sources and the narrative materials which have been employed by the historiographically oriented redaction of the pentateuch are not significantly different from those


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used in the patriarchal traditions. As we have already seen, the present book of Exodus begins with an introductory passage that is redactional in nature (Exod. 1.1-6). It links the following narratives with the family of Jacob in Genesis, and summarizes generally what we already know from the Joseph story, especially from the more detailed passage of Gen. 46.8ff. In Exodus, the sons of Jacob are mentioned as having entered Egypt only to make the point that the real story takes its departure first when that entire generation has died off. Even the pharaoh, who had been so good to Joseph, is gone (Exod. 1.8). We have an entirely new situation and an entirely new story. We are no longer dealing with Jacob and his family but with Israel, and Israel's situation in Egypt is neither friendly nor welcoming. Immediately following this editorial connective, the long Exodus narrative begins, and clearly belongs to the genre of the chain narrative. This narrative begins with a tripartite introduction of minor episodes which, repeating themselves, establish the theme of the narrative and set the plot on its way. Following a pattern of problem and response, the first episode (Exod. 1.7-14) states the theme: Israel increases greatly and fills the land. The Egyptians become afraid that Israel is too many and respond with the expressed intention of preventing them from multiplying to the extent of threatening Egypt by joining their enemies: 'lest they multiply ... and escape from the land'. This establishes the theme of the greater narrative: the Egyptians striving to prevent Israel from becoming a great people and escaping from the land. At the same time, it is the theme of this first plot episode, and the tripartite narrative as a whole. The Egyptians put the Israelites to forced labor, which establishes the setting of a chain narrative. The Egyptian effort does not accomplish its purpose: 'The more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied'. This establishes the first of a series of failures which the Egyptians are to face in the chain narrative. The more they try, the more they fail, until utter disaster overtakes them. The very elaborate presentation of this first episode, which goes well beyond the demands of the genre, makes it abundantly clear that the tripartite introduction of this chain narrative is not a self-sufficient tale in itself, but functions essentially as introduction. The second episode (Exod. 1.15-21) offers a repetition of the theme. The plot of the episode, dealing with the threat to the Hebrew infant males, prepares the way for the plot-entry episode, which is the third scene of the introduction. The third and decisive episode

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builds on the second and carries the narration into the mainline plot of the chain, with the birth of Moses and his escape from threatened death (Exod. 1.22-2.10). This tale centers on the ironic twist of events, thereby underlining the remarkable Egyptian failure to work their will against Israel. The order goes out that all male children of the Israelites are to be thrown into the Nile; it is the story of Moses who 'has been drawn out of the water' (Exod. 2.10!). This third episode follows the folktale pattern of the traditional episode of the persecuted baby found in many stories, such as the Naru birth story of Sargon, the Hittite stories of the Sun-God and the Cow, and the Tale of Ullikumi (cf. Thompson and Irvin, 1977, pp. 191-93), as well as in many other ancient tales, including the Matthaean birth story of Jesus. This folktale serves as a plot-entry into the chain narrative of the Exodus, by concentrating the attention of the audience on the child, Moses, as its center. The plot-line of the larger narrative follows from this as a life of Moses, proceeding linearly and historiographically. The story pattern which is typically introduced by the traditional episode of the persecuted baby is that of the birth of a great man, who, threatened as an infant, returns as an adult to do great things, such as rule over the people, or, in this case, save them. The direction of this plot-entry points ahead to the traditional episode of the calling of Moses by God in Exod. 2.23-3.6, which is followed by the story of the sending of Moses by God back to Egypt in the folk-tale pattern of another traditional episode: the sending of a savior (Exod. 3.7fF.), which is a pattern that has been found in the cuneiform stories of Bel and the Labbu, Anzu, the Enuma Elish, Keret, as well as in Isaiah 6, Ezekiel 1-2 and Job 1-2. The concentration on the person of Moses in the third introductory episode allows the narrative to proceed historiographically, from event to event, chronologically, so that the story of Moses' calculated murder of the Egyptian and his flight, as well as the story of Moses' marriage, find their place prior to the call of Moses episode. Similarly the chain of plague narratives precedes the Passover tale of Exod. 12.1-13.16, and the story of the entrapment of the Egyptians and their drowning in the sea (Exod. 13.17-14.30) follows it. The celebratory song of victory sung by Moses and the people, with the responsory sung by Miriam and the women, closes the story. The Israelites are safely out of Egypt, ready for the next events of their history. One of the most important narratives taken up into the traditional complex-chain narrative of the Exodus is a long, extended chain of


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narratives about the plagues in Egypt, which, in its original context takes the form of the traditional complex-chain narrative in its own right. Brought together with the Exodus chain narrative, it transposes the Exodus narrative and gives it a new center and a new climax in terms of the Passover festival. The Exodus narrative is no longer straightforwardly historiographic with its narrative goal in Israel's escape from Egypt. Nor is its dramatic highpoint any longer the tale of the destruction of the Egyptians in the crossing of the sea. With the inclusion of the passover-plague narrative, the crossing of the sea becomes anticlimactic. The stories of plagues and miracles are now structured to build dramatically towards their goal in the tenth plague, the story of the destruction of the Egyptian firstborn. This dramatic climax allows the story to center on the celebration of the Passover festival in which the Israelites celebrated God's saving protection over them and marked their origin as a people. In its literary form, this narrative inclusion has the structure of the complex-chain narrative. There is reason to believe that it existed separately, as such, apart from the Exodus chain narrative. In the predictive episodes of the Exodus narrative, one has the expectation of a story in which the Egyptian effort to suppress Israel will be self-defeating and Israel will eventually escape from Egypt. The Exodus chain narrative, centered on the person of Moses as savior, is an historiographic narrative and is always directed ahead towards the past event of that escape from Egypt. In the passover chain narrative, however, God plays with the Egyptians; it is he who hardens pharaoh's heart. The theme is the wonder and power of Yahweh, and the narrative goal is the worship of Yahweh. In this passover narrative, the request of Moses to the pharaoh is to let the people go out of Egypt for three days in order to serve Yahweh in the wilderness. This is understood as an escape from the land only in the final redaction of the narratives which brought this narrative together with the Exodus chain narrative, making the passover festival the center of interpretation for the historiography. Because of such revision, and the consequent harmonizations with which it has altered the received text, any reconstruction of the passover chain narrative must at present be partial and tentative. It is possible that the passover chain narrative had been originally a variant of the Exodus chain narrative, paralleling it in its plot-line. In the discussion of the book of Exodus in Chapter 4 above, it was mentioned that in the theophany of Exodus 3, Moses' objection to Yahweh's order to go down to Egypt leads to a threefold prediction of

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what is to happen later in the story: a. In Exod. 3.11-12, Yahweh predicts that the people will serve God upon the mountain, the purpose for which Israel leaves Egypt in the passover story (Exod. 12.31). b. In Exod. 3.18-22, Yahweh predicts the events of the plagues, ending in the highlight of the motif of the 'despoiling of the Egyptians', a motif that takes a central place in the passover story, c. In Exod. 4.21-23, a third prediction is made of the death of the Egyptians' firstborn. This event is both central and climatic in the passover story of Exodus 12. As predictions, this tripartite narrative functions as an introduction to the chain narrative of the passover story, establishing both the theme of the worship of Yahweh, and the central motif of the despoiling of the Egyptians. It sets the story on its way in a series of wonders in which Yahweh will harden Pharaoh's heart, finally culminating in the death of the firstborn of the Egyptians. The context of the passover chain narrative, moreover, gives us a meaningful context for the enigmatic passages of Exod. 4.29-31 and 5.3 (see above, Chapter 4). In contrast to the Exodus chain narrative, the people of Israel do not resist Moses' leadership in the passover chain narrative. The mood of the story is not one of tension and conflict at all; the plot is rather directed to awaken emotions of wonder and awe-filled prayer. In Exod. 4.29-31, the people's response to learning of Yahweh's message to Moses, is that they worship Yahweh, a motif which will also be found at the very end of the passover chain narrative. Moses' task in this narrative is not so much to free the people from slavery, as it is to bring the people out to worship Yahweh on the mountain. Exod. 5.3b, referring to the Israelite's fear that Yahweh might fall upon the Israelites with pestilence and sword, also makes sense in the context of the passover tale, for the passover celebrates Israel's salvation from pestilence and sword. In its narrative function, Exod. 5.3b is predictive, and it predicts the guarding or protection of Israel against the plagues to come, and the slaughter of the firstborn. Beginning in Exodus 7, with its triple episode of signs, a chain of ten plagues, reworking earlier stories of plague and wonder, is sent against Egypt. This chain of narrative has been reworked as it has been taken up into the Exodus chain narrative. This reworking is quite marked in the introductory passage of Exod. 7.1-7, as well as in the expansion of Exod. 10.28-29, when Pharaoh threatens Moses and predicts his own death. The chain of plagues is summarized in Exod. 11.10, and the passover chain narrative as a whole comes to a close in


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Exod. 12.40-41. In terms of plot direction, plot tension, and theme, the passover chain narrative finds its resolution as story in the passover tale of Exod. 12.1-13.16. In the received text, however, the redaction by which the passover chain narrative has been included within the Exodus chain narrative, i.e. the historiography and movement of the Exodus chain narrative, dominates. It is nevertheless radically altered by this inclusion. For example, in the received text, the passover is not celebrated because the Egyptian firstborn were killed by the angel of death. Not even because the houses of the Israelites had been protected and the Israelites spared this last plague, although that is the meaning of the pun on the name of passover. The perspective of the received text is no longer historiographical, as is the Exodus chain narrative. The perspective of the received text is taken from within an historiographical narration, but the narrative is also understood from the present of the narrator looking back upon the past: 'When Yahweh has brought you into the land of the Canaanites . . . Then you shall give the firstborn each year to God'. This is done, the narrative tells us, because on that originating day, the foundation day of the feast of the Passover, 'Yahweh brought the people of Israel out of the land of Egypt by their hosts' (Exod. 12.50). This is emphasized again in the very last phrase of the passover tale, in Exodus 13.16b: 'For by a strong hand Yahweh has brought us out of Egypt'. In the received text, the passover festival is a memorial day (Exod. 12.14a). What is celebrated in this festival is the origin of Israel as a nation: 'This month shall be for you the beginning of months'. The ordinance of the passover festival in Exod. 12.1-27, and the story of the events upon which it is based in Exod. 12.29-39, form together a constitutive narrative. Israel exists as a people because God brought Israel out of Egypt. This beginning of Israel is marked in the memorial of the Passover, as it is in that festival that Israel marks its doorposts and itself as under Yahweh's protection. This is ancient Israel's new year festival, for it is in that beginning that Israel is constituted. The celebration of the festival brings about a radical demarcation, which is marked in the narrative in Exod. 12.40-42: 'The time that the people dwelt in Egypt was 430 years'. This passage is comparable to the summation of the Joseph story in Gen. 47.27-28, to that of the Jacob narrative in Gen. 35.22b-26, and of the Abraham story in Gen. 25.7-11. In this narration of the final redaction, whose theme is the origin of Israel, the climax of the narrative has been reached. It is in the annual Passover that the historical Israel might rediscover its

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constitutive origin and the meaning of its beginning. The consecutive events of the narrative from Exod. 13.17 on are, in form, a continuation of the plague narrative which began with the story of Moses' magic rod and ends only at the destruction of the Egyptians at the sea. The story of the sea, in itself a story of great power and excitement, is, in the received tradition, anticlimactic. However, as the Joseph narrative and the resolution of the Toledoth of mankind established the existence of the people Israel, and brought to a conclusion the narration of Israel's prehistory, so the final redaction of this origin tradition in Exodus, concentrating on the person of Moses as savior, so interprets the earlier passover chain narrative as to mark it as the first and initiatory step in Israel's history, constituting Israel as a nation, which was formed and brought out of Egypt by God. This great festival of the passover marks the beginning of history. It is a memorial of the Exodus and the origin of Israel, as the sabbath is a memorial of the creation of the world. To reiterate: the plot of the Exodus chain narrative is historiographical. The theme and direction of the passover chain narrative is, on the other hand, more narrowly aetiological, in its central focus on the cultic festival. The individual narratives which have been taken up into the Exodus chain narrative each have their own plot development and theme, and their own history of tradition: the story of the threatened child, Moses as a young man, Moses' flight and his marriage to the daughter of Jethro, the call of Moses, the sending of the savior, the contest between Moses and the pharaoh, and the entrapment of the Egyptians and their destruction in the sea. They attain their historiographical unity and context for the first time within the Exodus chain narrative. There appear at first to be strong arguments for seeing the story of the entrapment of the Egyptians and the crossing of the sea as a later addition to our narrative. The most important of these are: (a) the concluding summation of the passover narrative in Exod. 12.40-42; (b) the conclusion of the tenth and final plague in Exod. 12.29-39; (c) the absence of a reference to this event in Num. 33.3-6. This passage in Numbers ignores the crossing of the sea story, and understands the wilderness wanderings as having started from Ramses (Succoth being the first stage). This latter objection, the reference to Numbers, is only applicable if one were to argue that the received tradition of the passover narrative was relatively early, and if one were also to assume that Numbers makes reference to that. However, the


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Numbers itinerary does not seem to be based on the tradition of Exodus, but rather appears to be only a close variant of it. Exodus begins the wilderness wanderings only after the Exodus chain narrative is completed in Exod. 15.22. The references there to Pi-hahiroth, Migdal, and Baalzephon belong to the story plot of the entrapment. They are very importantly not part of the wilderness journey, which takes its first stop at Marah, in the wilderness of Shur. One cannot conclude, then, that the passover tradition is early', relative to the Exodus tradition on the strength of Numbers 33, which reflects an independent variant of the passover tradition. Numbers does refer to the passover and to the story of the death of the Egyptian's firstborn. Moreover, Numbers 33 sees that event as marking the point from which Israel is led out of Egypt, supporting our assumption that the passover and the Exodus chain narratives existed, at some time in their history, as independent or variant traditions. Similarly the conclusion of the passover narrative in Exod. 12.29-39 might be evidence of the existence of the passover chain narrative prior to its inclusion in the Exodus chain narrative. The summation of this narrative in 12.40ff., however, with its historiographical interpretation of the passover as marking the end of Israel's stay in Egypt (independently confirmed in Num. 33.3ff.), is much more difficult to explain. There are essentially three reasons for my suggestion that the tale of the entrapment of the Egyptians and the crossing of the sea is integral to the Exodus traditional complex-chain narrative. The question posed has an added subtlety in that the chain narratives are already secondary unities of pre-existent traditions. 1. The entrapment narrative of the Exodus chain has been fully integrated into the chain of plague narratives, prior to their reduction to a ten plague schema. The plot progression of the plague narratives is such that they do not contain the hope that, finally, if the plague be only great enough, the Egyptians will repent and the pharaoh will let the people go. Rather, in the plague narratives, Egypt is a plaything of Yahweh, who toys with the Egyptians in order to demonstrate his wonders in Egypt and his glory over the Egyptians. With the successive plagues, each in turn causing the pharaoh to relent and to give permission for Moses to take the people out, it is Yahweh who acts in hardening Pharaoh's heart, giving cause for the tenth plague (Exod. 11.10). The tenth plague is no exception to this pattern. There again, the pharaoh relents after the death of his first born, permitting

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the Israelite departure with all the riches of Egypt, and, there again, Yahweh hardens his heart (Exod. 14.4). Yahweh's intention is one final devastating act against the Egyptians, by which Yahweh will show his glory over Pharaoh. This extended narrative must have existed prior to the inclusion of the passover chain narrative. The final redactional narrative prepares us for the continuation of the plague motifs in the powerful ironic prophecy of Exod. 10.28f. Here, in spite of, and in conflict with the conclusion of the tenth plague in the pharaoh's repentance in Exod. 12.31f, when he sees Moses a 'final' time, in Exod. 10.28f. the pharaoh, breaking the pattern of the plague narratives, threatens Moses personally: 'Never see my face again, for in the day you see my face you shall die'. Moses' response is most important; for it is an acceptance of the pharaoh's threat, but now as a prophecy, declaring death not to Moses, but to the pharaoh himself: 'As you say, I will not see your face again'. This exchange does not so much continue the conversation of Exodus 10, ending with v. 27, as it refers to the final act of Yahweh's destruction of the Egyptians, and foretells the death of the pharaoh himself. 2. The narrative of the tenth plague does not, in the context of the passover chain narrative, prepare the reader for Israel's final departure from Egypt, unless one is to suppose that Moses is lying to the pharaoh, an implication which is not justified in terms of the story. In Exod. 10.25, Moses asks permission to be allowed to go out to offer sacrifices to Yahweh: a temporary departure. There is no indication that there is an actual intent to deceive; that is only what the pharaoh suspects and fears (so, Exod. 10.24). Not only does the story of the destruction of the Egyptians take its departure from within the plague narratives, but the revised plague narratives of the received tradition now require an Exodus narrative; for they do not have it in themselves. Moreover, the explanation of the name of the passover feast in the pun on the Hebrew verb pasah is that the Israelites were guarded or protected from the visitation of the angel of death. It takes on the understanding of marking Israel's decisive departure from Egypt only after it is understood historiographically; that is from within the Exodus chain narrative, only after the summary statement of Exod. 11.10 and the constitution of Israel in Exodus 12. Moreover, though the theme is stated, the event itself does not occur except in the context of the entrapment story, without which this interpretation of the passover story is crippled and incomplete. In the received text, it is the crossing of the sea which marks the event that has been prepared in Exod. 12-13.16: Yahweh


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leading his people out of Egypt. This is historiography, not aetiology. 3. Finally, the received text achieves an aesthetic wholeness, in spite of the anti-climactic nature of the entrapment story and the thematic awkwardness of the historiographic plot progression. This polish, this wholeness, is due to the song of Moses, celebrating the drowning of the pharaoh and his army, with Miriam and the women of Israel, with their timbrels and dancing, giving the story its echoing response and its fitting conclusion: 'Sing to Yahweh for he has triumphed gloriously'. Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of the Exodus: Outline (Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of the Passover) Exodus 1.7-2.22 (2.23-3.22 Theophany with threefold predictions) 4.1-20 (4.21-5.3 Preparation for the plagues) 5.4-6.30 (7.1-10.27 Ten plague narrative) 10.28f. (11.1-12.41 Tenth plague and passover narrative) 12.42-15.21

G. The Torah Complex-Chain Narrative This final traditional complex-chain narrative of the Origin Tradition begins in Exod. 15.22 and comes to rest in Exod. 2333. Exod. 15.22 sets the narrative in the context of the wilderness wanderings. Its tripartite introduction builds on the 'murmuring' motif, in which the people of Israel have a great need and they complain to Moses. The need is resolved by Yahweh's action, and the people's complaint is satisfied. The first of the three episodes occurs when the Israelites arrive at Marah (Exod. 15.23-26). The water is bitter (a pun on the name of the place) and, when the people cannot drink it, they complain. Yahweh makes it sweet. Lest the function of this miracle be misunderstood, a commentary is given, anchoring the tale to an

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explanation (15.25b-27). The explanation, however, has more to do with the plot of the chain narrative than it does with that of the Marah episode. The miracle at Marah gives only the structure of the greater narrative theme. Without Yahweh, the life of the Israelites is bitter and they complain. With Yahweh, and Moses as mediator, it is a life of sweetness. The explanation is couched in the terms of a 'statute and an ordinance', pointing ahead to the coming narrative. Israel must listen to God's voice and obey his commandments and statutes, and Yahweh will be their healer. God's care of Israel is contrasted to the diseases he put upon the Egyptians. This interpretation of the Marah episode links the narrative strongly to the plague stories. The second episode of the introduction is the long story about the manna and the quails (Exodus 16). It too takes its setting within the wilderness wanderings, and brings the Israelites into the wilderness of Sin, up to the border of the land of Canaan (Exod. 16.35), a setting which will be resumed later in the story. This self-sufficient tale, rich in its own right, is, in its function within the chain narrative, an expansion on the first episode, clarifying it by narrative example, and extending it through the entire forty years of wandering. Exodus 16 makes explicit what Exod. 15.22-26 had established. In this story, the anger of the people against Moses is emphasized: it would have been far better if they had remained in Egypt. Moses draws out the implication that the people are not really complaining about him, but about God. Moses' role is only that of mediator betwen Israel and God. This becomes a motif on whose basis the chain narrative as a whole builds. There is also a test involved in this tale: to see whether Israel 'will walk in my (i.e. Yahweh's) law or not'. The law referred to is specifically that of the sabbath. When some of the people do try to gather manna on the sabbath (Exod. 16.27), Yahweh complains: 'How long do you refuse to keep my commandments and my laws?' The conflict is resolved when the people, following Moses the mediator's instructions, rest on the sabbath (Exod. 16.30). This part of the story has the function of example: to explain how Yahweh wants his ordinances obeyed. Neither this nor the Marah story is a simple tale whose only function is to show how Yahweh's guidance of Israel turns bitterness to sweetness, hunger to fulness. The concentration is on the commandments and ordinances and the obedience to them which Yahweh demands. In this chain, it is this second introductory episode which carries the theme forward into the main plot of the chain narrative about giving the Torah to Israel.


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The third episode of the tripartite introduction (Exod. 17.1-8) is a repetition of the first. In this episode the people complain bitterly at having no water to drink, and Moses is instructed by God to use his rod (with again a reference to the plague narratives: Exod. 17.5) to bring water out of a rock. This story centers on the motif of the people contentiously putting God to the test, laying the foundation for the place-naming aetiologies of Massah and Meribah, and striking a contrast with Yahweh's test of Israel in Exodus 16. The tale immediately following the threefold introduction, the story of the battle against the Amalekites, serves no narrative function within the chain narrative. It is included within the itinerary as an event at Rephidim, and has a place within the larger narrative by affinity because of the use of Moses' magic rod. The theme of the chain narrative is taken up again in the story of Jethro in Exod. 18.Iff. Here, the central plot of the chain narrative, the theophany at the mountain of God, is first introduced. It becomes clear in the story of Jethro that we are dealing with an aetiological narrative which explains how it came to be that Israel, in following the Torah, is obeying the very commands and ordinances of its God. The function of the Jethro story is to inform the audience that the law of Israel, the Torah, is superior to laws which have been made up by men, even by such a one as Moses. In the narrative, Jethro counsels his overburdened son-in-law with wisdom. Jethro argues that it is beyond the ability of man to judge justly a whole people. What Moses is trying to do, judging the people from morning to evening, 'is not good'. Moses' proper role is that of mediator. Before the people, he is to be not a judge but a teacher of the Torah, teaching them the statutes and the decisions which are of God. The story comes to a close as Moses agrees to carry out Jethro's plan. He sets up a legal system, based on leaders and officially appointed judges. The story of Jethro in Exodus 18, like that of the story of the quail and the manna, is an originally independent tale, being used now in a secondary context. In its present place, within the development of the chain narrative, it offers a narrative context as well as a reason for the giving of the law by Yahweh on the mountain. The itinerary no longer quite fits the present narrative. At the end of Exodus 16, the people have already reached the border of Canaan, after eating quail and manna for forty years (Exod. 16.35). Certainly the closing speech of Exod. 23.20ff. assumes some such historiographical setting. However, in the present use of the tales within the

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chain narrative about the origin of the law, there has been some geographical and chronological displacement. In Exodus 18's setting at the 'mountain of God' in the wilderness, we have evidence of that tale's prior existence in another setting. However, the place which it takes within the chain narrative is fully functional. The threefold introduction establishes the theme that Israel must obey God's commands and laws. The Jethro story carries this theme one step further. It sets out the manner in which the law of God is to be constituted, resulting in a court system which administers law, and is understood as divine. Exodus 19ff. is the next step in the development of this theme. Moses, as mediator, receives the law from God himself, firmly establishing ancient Israel's judicial system as a fulfillment of God's will, and as the means by which Israel fulfills its part of the covenant with God. With repeated reference to the Exodus from Egypt, the giving of the law in Exodus 19-23 is in the context of a covenant story, which has already been interpreted for us within the chain narrative as bringing God's protection and sustenance. Here, the covenant is stated much more emphatically. If Israel obeys, it will be Yahweh's own people. Among all nations, it wll be a special nation, a nation of a separate priesthood (Exod. 19.5-6). Such a nation, of course, is one that has no need of priests. This is important in the understanding of the theme. The intermediary role of Moses is both singular and definitive. Once the Torah has been established, the people have only to look to that, if they wish to know God's will. In obeying the Torah, they become a holy nation, as it were, in which all are priests; for in the teaching of the Torah, Israel has direct access to divine commands and ordinances. It is most important in this narrative that the people themselves agree to Yahweh's demands. Special signs are given so that everyone will know that it is God who is talking to Moses (Exod. 19.7-9). The people prepare for the theophany for three days (Exod. 19.10-11), echoing the travelling for three days in the wilderness of Shur before the Israelites reached Marah (Exod. 16.22). On the morning of the third day, a frightful scene takes place. Yahweh descends on the mountain in fire, and it is wrapped in smoke. The mountain quakes, and as the sound of a trumpet grows louder, Moses speaks, and God answers him in thunder. At this point in the tale, what was originally a very close variant tale of the Sinai theophany has been inserted into the narrative (Exod. 19.20-20.17). This intrusion breaks the dramatic tension which has been building in the mainline narrative. The


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mainline theophany continues in Exod. 20.18. The variant is close to the main plot-line, but it does not fit it in detail. For example: In the mainline narrative it is essential that Moses alone receive the theophany in order for the plan of Jethro, with its role of Moses as sole mediator and teacher of Torah, to be fulfilled. In the variant, Aaron is included. The mainline narrative deals neither with Aaron nor with priests, but with Moses and the people alone as a holy nation of priests. Moreover, the mainline narrative demands a covenant context, and sees it as essential that the people watch, so that they might know it is God who is speaking to Moses. This is in order that the divine origin of Israelite law should be clear and unequivocal. The fear of the people is that God might speak directly to them (Exod. 20.19), and they beg Moses to act as their mediator. Exod. 19.21ff., in contrast, sees it as necessary to restrain the people. In the variant theophany of Exod. 20.Iff., the commands of God are given in a decalogue form, with references, as in the mainline narrative, to both the exodus and the sabbath. In Exod. 20.8-11 there is a clear allusion to the revised version of the creation story. The decalogue parallels in function the first part of the mainline narrative's revelation of law, which presents the 'commands' of God. There is also some similarity in the content of the laws of the two variations of the story (cf. 20.4-6 with 20.23 and 20.8 with 23.10,12). The decalogue variant, however, does not give the ordinances or 'statutes' which the tripartite introduction to the chain narrative has led us to expect (Exod. 15.26), nor does the decalogue adequately satisfy the needs of the story for laws which might function in the court system of the Jethro. tale. The variant theophany of the decalogue has not been integrated into the text. It does not proceed from the context of the narrative, and it is best to understand it as deriving from an originally separate, secondary tradition. Exod. 20.18 continues the narrative of the mainline chain without any adjustment or harmonization from Exod. 19.19. However, the decalogue theophany does seem to be related to a harmonized variant of a later expansion of this story, which tells about the construction of the 'ark of the covenant'. This variant tradition contained a copy of the 'words' of God, written down by Moses: the ten commandments (Exod. 34.28). This tradition about a written 'decalogue' which is placed in the ark seems to be a simplification and a harmonization of the story of the 'original' tablets of stone 'with the law and the commandment'

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(written by God and later, of necessity, to be broken) which the expansion of the Sinai theophany in Exodus 24ff. recounts (cf. Exod. 24.12), with the giving of the law directly by God himself (which is preserved in Israel, of course, not in the ark, but in the legal system) of our mainline chain narrative. The variant theophany of the decalogue which is found in Exod. 19.20-20.17 is best understood, I believe, as a later working out of a number of variant traditions which depart from the origin tradition in a proliferation of wilderness stories, found in Exodus 24ff., Leviticus, and Numbers. The mainline complex-chain narrative of the origin tradition, the story of the giving of the Torah, does not have a decalogue as such. In the origin tradition of Israel, God's revelation is the Torah, mediated by Moses and administered by the court system which Moses established. In Exod. 20.18ff., Moses quiets the fears that the people had of their lives in the terribly awe-inspiring scene which is a prelude to the theophany. The purpose of the fear in the story is to prevent the people sinning. It is to 'prove' them (Exod. 20.20), in the words of the introduction to this story, 'whether they will walk in my law or not'. The function of this narrative is quite simply to give a divine foundation to the constitution of Israelite law. The people of Israel are told: 'You have seen for yourselves that I have talked with you from heaven' (Exod. 20.22). There is no further need of proof, or tablets, or copies of tablets. The covenant which the people themselves make is binding to them. Of its very essence, a covenant theology finds a proof-text abhorrent. It is not a decalogue written on stone that binds them, but rather their own commitment which they have made. In the theophany itself, the first laws are in the form of commandments (Exod. 20.23-26). They deal with the worship of God. As such, they are unconditional. The other laws, found in Exod. 21.1-23.19, are a mixture of conditional and unconditional laws, protecting human beings, property, social, cultic, and dietary mores, and the important religious festivals. They are the kind of laws which one might expect if any society is to function. Special emphasis is given to the sabbath (Exod. 23.10,12), to the rejection of other gods than Yahweh (Exod. 23.13), and to the treatment of strangers (Exod. 22.21; 23.9). This last allows a reference to the sojourn in Egypt. The theophany, and the chain narrative of which it is a part, end in a long speech of Yahweh in Exod. 23.20-33 and find their closure in


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Exod. 24.2-8. Yahweh's speech refers the people to their future settlement in Palestine. In this, the story assumes again the itinerary of the opening tripartite introduction. Forty years have passed in the wilderness. This is the end of the wanderings. Israel is on the border of the land of Canaan (Exod. 16.35). If Israel is faithful to this covenant, Yahweh will be with them and fight for them, and destroy the people of Canaan (Exod. 23.22f.). Exod. 23.25 specifically echoes the tripartite introduction. Exod. 23.29f. seems to suggest a knowledge of a tradition about a conquest over time; 'little by little'. The story concludes with the setting of the boundaries of the promised land and a forbidding of any compromise with the inhabitants of the land or with their religion. The end of this chain narrative closes the origin tradition of Israel. Subsequent expansions and add-on traditions develop. But here, Israel is perched on the border of Canaan. The story is not continued further in the narrative of the pentateuch, nor in Joshua or Judges, and one must suppose that the story ended here. Exodus 24-33 is an expansion of the Sinai theophany, dealing with the construction of the ark in the context of a continued wilderness wandering, and Exodus 34-40 is a variant tradition of that. Both of these traditions belong to different literary genres than that of the origin tradition which we have dealt with in this book. They lie outside of the scope of our study, as do the traditions of Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy (these traditions will be discussed in Vol. II, now in progress). The traditional complex-chain narratives which we have outlined and described in this chapter form the core of the foregoing literary interpretation of the development of this early part of the pentateuch. They not only contain the greatest bulk of traditional narrative of this part of the pentateuch, but they each mark a critical stage in the development of the greater tradition. If one wished to speak of independent literary traditions which function as sources for this portion of the pentateuch, then these are those sources. This analysis must be seen as essentially antogonistic to, and as an alternative to the documentary hypothesis based on the sources of the Yahwist, Elohist, and Priestly writers. If the central lines of this analysis are acceptable, we can no longer speak of J, E, or P. Apart from the Torah complex-chain narrative, which may well be understood as a construct of the final redaction, the complex-chain narratives are entities compositionally independent of each other. They have been linked together by the secondary Toledoth redaction.

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The concepts of a Yahwist or Elohist narrator have no place in the history of the pentateuchal tradition. Each complex-chain narrative is also a traditional narrative and has a history of its own. This is also true of most of the smaller tales and episodes which have been included in this narrative building. There is also clear evidence of variant forms of some of the complex-chain narratives, and of many of the individual tales within these chains. This is most clear in the Jacob and the Exodus/Passover narratives. The presence of such variations of narration indicates to us that these traditions had a life of their own prior to their final redaction within the Toledoth structure of the origin tradition, and marks that final stage as essentially a redactional effort. This final redactive process also cannot be facilely identified with what we ordinarily understand as P. Not only would the designation 'priestly redaction' be a misnomer for a composition which is, for all its religious and cultic interests, essentially unpriestly, but this redaction can in no way be understood as a source of the pentateuch which once existed independently of the traditions it structures. Its abiding theme and function in the origin tradition is sufficiently coherent that one, I believe, is justified in seeing this redaction as a continuous process, at least in its major manifestations. Given the tight structural clarity and coherence of the Toledoth framework of Genesis, however, in contrast to the more plot-oriented redaction of the Exodus/Passover and Torah traditions, one must certainly see the book of the Toledoth of Mankind as a distinct entity and the traditions in the book of Exodus as dependent upon that. Nevertheless, the Toledoth structure, both in its historiographical orientation (towards the existence of Israel in Egypt) and in its function (i.e. as Toledoth or 'prehistory'), is directed towards, and hence at least conceptually dependent upon, the traditions of the origin of Israel in Egypt and at the mountain of God, in the same manner as the origin tradition as a whole, as origin tradition, is oriented towards the entrance into Canaan to which it is historiographically directed.

5. The Origin Tradition of Israel Traditional Complex-Chain Narrative of the Torah: Outline Exod. 15.23-17.8

Threefold introduction

(17.9-16)

Malekite inclusion

18.1-27

Plan of Jethro

19.1-19

Preparation for the theophany

(19.20-20.17)

Decalogue variant

20.18-23.19

Theophany

23.20-33

Conclusion

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Chapter 6 CONCLUDING REMARKS ON CHRONOLOGY AND HISTORIOGRAPHY

A. Chronology The question of dating the narratives which form the origin tradition of Israel is, perhaps, ultimately an impossible one. However, we do have some indication. The recent attempts to date the latest strata of the pentateuch by R. Polzin (1976) and, especially, A. Hurvitz (1982) have brought a degree of objectivity into chronological discussions which has been extremely rare in Old Testament studies, generally. Polzin argues that 'P' is transitional between Classical and Late Biblical Hebrew. Hurvitz, in arguing the contrast between 'P' and Ezekiel, is totally convincing in showing that this latest stratum of the pentateuch is earlier than Ezekiel. Although I am inclined to follow Hurvitz in his dating of the pentateuchal language as not later than the end of the seventh century, there is no certainty and a date of about the midsixth century is tolerably within the analyses of both scholars. A date post quern, however, is extremely ambiguous. Individual units of the tradition, prior to the formation of the complex-chain narratives, might go back to what can only be called 'hoary antiquity'. Not all of our tales presuppose the existence of Israel. Some of the narratives do, however. Others presuppose the existence of other historical nations of the past. These narratives could not antedate their referents in their present forms. Such are the stories relating to the existence of Edomites, Moabites, Ishmaelites, and the like. Some narratives presuppose the existence of Israel in Palestine. These range from the laws of the covenant code to references to the twelve tribes, etc. There are yet other narratives whose seemingly historical referents are, in fact, wholly fictional. The dating of such stories is often impossible. Belonging to this type, we find a range of stories from the garden story to that of Sodom and Gomorrah. Many

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of the motifs, episodes, and narrative patterns which are included in our narratives likewise share in traditions which are not biblical and have nothing to do with the specifically Israelite tradition. As such, these narrative elements might be as early as mankind's first stories. Any attempt to date the earliest level of the tradition must approach each narrative separately, for each has its own chronology. Conclusions derived at regarding one would in no necessary way affect our understanding of another. Of the complex-chain narratives, however, something much more explicit might be said. All six of the narratives defined as belonging to this genre must postdate the existence of Israel as a people, because all of them presuppose such an existence and take their departure therefrom. The Abraham, Jacob, and Exodus chain narratives could be quite early, as each of them is capable of and shows signs of having existed by itself, independent of the Toledoth structure in which they are now included. There is every reason to believe that they existed prior to the Toledoth structure. The Joseph narrative, as we now know it, presupposes the existence of some form of the patriarchal traditions and some form of the story of the sojourn in Egypt. The passover narrative, similarly, has some awareness of the patriarchal narratives. The Torah narrative, on the other hand, needs only to be dated subsequent to the plague and the Exodus traditions. We have seen, in Chapter 5, that there are some grounds for relating the received Exodus, passover and Torah chain narratives to the Toledoth structure of Genesis. There is a strong historiographical thrust in the received versions of both of these narratives. Taken in isolation, neither narrative offers a satisfactory context for such a function by itself, although the Exodus chain narrative is dominated by its historiographical intent. In their present context, they form a continuation of the Toledoth structure, which supplies them with a narrative superstructure and a raison d'etre. It is not to be taken for granted that they could have existed for long periods of time without some such context. In the context of the Toledoth, their references to the patriarchal narratives, to the Joseph story, and to each other, are fully explained, as they all derive from the same tradition. It is fully possible that these larger narrative structures are closely contemporaneous. The origin tradition as a whole is subsequent to or contemporaneous with a concentration on the sabbath, and is closely associated with an ideology which emphasizes the importance of that feast. Secondly, it is independent of, but not necessarily earlier than, a

6. Concluding Remarks

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priestly centrism in Israelite religion. Thirdly, there is an emphasis upon covenant and prophetic models in theological language, and, finally, they postdate the introduction into the cult of Israel of not only the sabbath observance, but also the passover festival. That the tradition as a whole ought to be understood as postdating the passover is necessary because the tradition as such, is, in its very essence, an origin tradition. The origin theme of the passover story is at its very center. In narrative terms, it is in the passover event that Israel finds its beginning and understands itself as a nation. The passover is the climax of the entire narrative, beginning in the prehistory of Gen. l.lff., and culminating in the Torah narrative, where Israel finds itself ready to enter Palestine as a nation led by God under the Torah. Traditionally, the passover festival had not been observed in Israel prior to the reforms associated with the reign of Josiah, and it is in this period, no earlier than the end of the seventh century, that we might place the development of this central pentateuchal tradition. In suggesting that the final redaction of Israel's origin tradition is to be dated between the end of seventh century and the middle of the sixth century, I do not assume that the earlier stages of this tradition (such as the chain narratives) antedate it by many centuries. In dating the final redaction to the end of the seventh century or the beginning of the sixth, we are also saying that the Abraham, Jacob, and Exodus chain narratives, and the present form of the stories which make up all of the tradition, also existed as contemporary stones at that time. That some form of these stories and traditions existed also earlier has to be assumed by reference to Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, and elsewhere. However, the specific nature and form of this pre-existence can neither be assumed nor determined. This argument necessarily suggests that the pentateuchal historiography, in its united form, tracing the origin of Israel from the call of Abraham in Mesopotamia through successive patriarchs, the sojourn in Egypt, the Exodus, and the wilderness wanderings, is a product of the late seventh or the early sixth centuries, at least as it serves as an axiom of Israel's self-understanding. This historiographic selfunderstanding is fundamentally colored by the cultic festival of the passover which marks Israel indelibly as a nation ofgerim dependent on Yahweh for all that they have. In this self-understanding, it is Yahweh who has given them their land, and it is the social fabric of the Torah which holds them together as a people. In this, the biography of Abraham becomes a paradigm of the Israelite nation!

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They exist because Yahweh has called them, from their very existence. This ideology as such has the power and the capacity to survive any extreme of political and social disruption; for their existence as a people depends on neither a physical nor a political context, but on a religious and ideological one: their observance of Yahweh's commands and statutes. This is a self-understanding which will hold them in existence even in the loss of their kingdom and their temple, in exile from their land; for none of these aspects is essential to their self-identity. It might be tempting to press this line of argument further, and to find a home for this ideology in the exile itself, or, with Van Seters, even later, in the post-exilic period. There is, after all, nothing in this ideology which would forbid such a later cnronological framework. This, however, I do not think should be done. We lack evidence for it. The history of ideas is an immensely fragile undertaking in the best of circumstances. It is methodologically wrong to attempt it, failing clear and precise historical benchmarks to which one might anchor historical speculation. Such benchmarks are lacking in the content of the tradition. Because of this, the conservative date which I have proposed seems to be the only reasonable date to give to a comprehensive redaction of the traditions. If Polzin, and especially Hurvitz, are correct in their dating of the language of the so-called 'P' tradition, then we cannot come much later than the early exile for the final form of the received tradition. Van Seters' chronology futher appears simply wrong in its efforts to date individual episodes and small tales of the tradition to the post-exilic period, in that he ignores the only objective criterion we have for dating any of the early Israelite traditions: the distinction between classical and late biblical Hebrew. If the so-called 'J' tradition were with Van Seters post-exilic—and there is no historical reason to suppose that it is, apart from Van Seters' hypothetical reconstruction of ideology based on the very texts to be dated—then classical Hebrew cannot exist as a definable entity. That classical Hebrew did exist in the pre-exilic period, however, seems patent, and Van Seters' late chronology for 'J' is wholly arbitrary and, at best, provocative. B. Historiography Ancient Israel's own historiography does not so much see its origin in the Exodus from Egypt, as it sees that origin in the passover festival,


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expressed in story form, in narrative terms, of Exodus. In that tradition Egypt is frequently understood as security, a bitter irony that the wilderness traditions constantly echo. Israel exists because Yahweh has led his people out of Egypt, but it is in the leading out that Israel finds its essence, not in the going out. However much these traditions may be origin traditions, and however historiographical they may be, they are not traditions about history. Ancient Israel did not discover its origin in the narrative traditions of the past, and select the passover and Torah stories as central, around which its history might be built. They rather understood their existence as a people to derive essentially out of the existing passover festival then practiced and in the ongoing observance of the Torah. Praxis gave rise to doctrine, and the tradition was constructed out of many of the individual tales and lesser traditions which then existed in the popular folklore and folk history of the time, arranged to make a fundamental affirmation about their already existent self-identity as a nation ofgerim, led by God. It was not their view of history, in the sense of their view of the past, which gave rise to this selfunderstanding, but the reverse. Their understanding of themselves led to this particular construction of their past, and led to a particular selection of traditions which confirmed their self-understanding. Their understanding of themselves arose out of their view of the fragility of history and of the transitoriness of all that gives meaning to being a nation. For the creators of this tradition, two things could not be transitory, and had to be understood as coming from the very foundation of their existence: (1) that they were called into existence by God and (2) that they were maintained in existence by him—an existence which was contingent on their obedience to the Torah. The dating of the origin tradition to the end of the seventh or early sixth century is not necessary. Given a different origin of the passover in the history of Israel's cult, apart from the Josianic reform, one might perhaps date it earlier as well. My own conclusion, following Wellhausen and others, is that the tradition of 2 Kings does not know a passover festival, as passover, prior to the time of Josiah. What might be the possible cultic origins of the festival in a context apart from Israel, in terms of nomadic migration festivals, is wholly speculative, and has little to say to us about Israel's passover festival as such. 2 Kings, however, does deal directly with that. For this reason, I have drawn the conclusion that the integral centrality of the sabbath and passover festivals marks the tradition as a product of

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Josianic reform. Nevertheless, this is a conclusion, based on the premises of the tradition. As such it is hypothetical and speculative. It says nothing more than what we have understood from our reading of the origin tradition. It does fit well with the prophetic reform theologies, and specifically with what we know about the Josianic or similar reform. However, this interpretation does not render for us an even greater interpretive context, from which we can now return to the text and interpret it in this new light. In the interpretation of ancient texts, care must be taken to distinguish two aspects of research which ought never be confused: a. What we know; that is, what is given us directly as evidence. In our present concern, what is given is the received biblical text. b. What we do not know, but which we might find out if we examine the evidence we have. The first might lead to the second, but the second can never be the basis for interpreting the first. In this, I depart wholly from the methods of J. Van Seters, and distance myself appreciably from those of H. Schmid, in their common methodological assumption of the documentary hypothesis (or its equivalent) serving as an interpretive context, within which the narratives of the pentateuch obtain a modern theological or historiographical purpose, than they have in their own sight. The interpretive context of the pentateuchal narratives does not come from Josianic reform theology, but rather from our recognition of them as narratives. To identify the tradition about Israel's origin as tradition narrative is more than a classification. It also presents us with an interpretive context and a procedure to follow in their exegesis. It provides us with a body of comparative literature that is both contemporary and typical, through which we might gain a legitimate and critical perspective of the meaning which any given unit might have. It enables an objective reading which a hypothetical Sitz im Leben cannot. Interpretations must come from the texts themselves; for they are what we can know in ancient literature. They are our facts, and they provide us with the premises of our understanding, not anything else. Story, like music and art, has a universal human appeal which transcends the historical context in which it is written. To know a story's date can tell me much about the people of that time. However, to know a period well adds only peripheral, technical, understanding to that period's stories. At best, it frees exegesis from misconceptions and misunderstandings which we bring to the story. The story, in its essence as story, speaks to our humanity, which we share in common with both its originator and its audience. The


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always ephemeral and totally tendentious quest for a Sitz im Leben, that is, for an interpretive context external to the actual texts of ancient tradition, is an illusory one, requiring a thoroughness and specificity beyond the capacity of historical critical research. Can one imagine the myriad potential ideologies that must have existed, surrounding such a historical movement as the Josianic reform, to say nothing of the tens of thousands of historical events which were causative of such nuanced perspectives? The quest for a Sitz im Leben is also an unnecessary one. The text does speak to us. We can misunderstand it, and our hearing must be refined. This refinement is partially a negative process: to remove those ideological and historiographical presuppositions which make it impossible for us to read what is written. The positive process is to learn the cues and patterns of narratives which are now foreign to us, to learn to recognize the cultural, historical, geographical and political allusions which are implicit in the narratives, and to translate the antique and primitive which is now distant from us. The primary task of exegesis is evocative. It is not to ask of the tradition our questions, whether they are historical or theological. It is to resurrect that perspective from which the biblical tradition itself speaks. We know very little about ancient literary genres, their social context, their specific intent, and especially the variety of literary patterns which might be included in a taxonomy of ancient literature. The work of identifying narrative plot motifs and ancient narrative patterns has only just begun. The identification of whole narrative units, such as tale-types, has not yet received much attention from the scholarly world. What has been done has been largely restricted to the highly artificial classifications of classical and mediaeval folktale types. In recent years, the scholarly world has learned much about nineteenth- and twentieth-century oral narrative, but this offers only marginal help to the student of ancient traditional narrative, because we know so little about the process of transmission of these traditions. Much of what is understood as biblical form criticism has been a classification, subsequent to interpretation. The value of the conclusion that a narrative is a legend, myth, saga, or family tale is extremely limited, unless it can also be shown that these distinctions underlie ancient biblical presuppositions about narratives. The central problem of classifying ancient literary genres can be put very succinctly: we know little about how the ancients understood their literature, and the presuppositions which they held about it. Initial steps of genre classification need to be cautiously

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descriptive of what the ancients included as parts of specific types of stories. Then we might understand issues of implied purpose and intention, by which we might classify them with comparable narratives, in the hopes of creating for ourselves the very specific interpretive context we need, in which the obvious meaning of a tale can be discovered. A proper use of exegesis does not really carry us beyond the text itself, but rather it serves to make us familiar with that text. That is all. And this is appropriate; for narrative calls us into a world of Narnia, the world of imagination in which we all can live and find sustenance. This is a world that is in the texts themselves, and only in those texts. We do not need a key apart from them to lead us back into the wardrobe of imagination—only a belief in the narrative world which exists and reveals itself even to one today who chooses to pick it up and read.

EPILOGUE Genesis: Theology no more than History\*

In the relationship of Genesis to theology, as of Genesis to history, we are dealing above all with a question of literary form. What follows reflects many of the issues that I discussed with my students at the Ecole in the winter semester of 1985/86. I am much aware that it takes a certain amount of chutzpah for a layman like myself to speak about theology to a class of theologians and priests. My own search for that very intricate genre of intellectual discourse called theology has been a long and elusive one. And I have been told time and again by my ordained colleagues and friends—whether I would listen or not—that there are mysteries ... in theology ... and especially in Genesis. My first awareness of this came when I was sixteen and full of Irish-Catholic enthusiasm for religion. While translating the TE DEUM, I was profoundly struck by Augustine's argument about the happiness of Adam's fall from grace. Up to that time, the meaning of Original Sin had been: Sex; and, as my Irish mother had told me, there was nothing happy about that! Augustine was a breath of fresh air to a young man already incipiently stifled by tradition. To be very brief: Out of this experience I decided to become a theologian; for I wanted very much to think happy thoughts, not only about Genesis, but also about what I then thought was Original Sin. It was only to be expected that then, as later in my life, I was cautioned by my *This epilogue was originally presented as a public lecture at the Ecole Biblique, on January 8, 1986, during a semester lecturing at the ficole as a visiting professor. The original lecture form of this essay has generally been maintained, because the content of the essay has been critically determined by this original form. To alter it substantially would be, I fear, misleading.

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priest-counsellor to keep my thoughts about theology, and about Genesis, to myself. It was some years later, in the steel-mill city of Pittsburgh, that I came back to my topic. At that time, a then little-known French philosopher, Paul Ricoeur, was giving a series of three lectures on the phenomenology of Genesis 1-3.1 do not remember what he said—it was twenty-five years ago—but the depth and clarity of his argument were powerfully moving. These stories held such immense meaning: the eternal struggle between light and darkness, between life and death. I was still a very young man then, but in those lectures I found an intensity of intellectual search to which I could dedicate my life. Within six months, armed with everything that I had been able to read in existentialism and phenomenology, I set sail for Europe to study the mysteries of theology: first to the Dominicans and Oxford to study Thomas and Bonaventure, and then, only partially sobered, on to Germany and Hegel. Once I had arrived in Tubingen, however, I quickly discovered that what had happened to Thomas in Oxford had also been the fate of Hegel in Germany—except that in Germany, the shrines were not as impressive or convincing. My disillusionment was not complete. That was to take yet another decade. The early sixties was a time, after all, in Roman Catholic theology when laymen were welcome, and a time when all of our professors were telling us to go back to the sources, there to study the biblical foundations of theology. Being an American—and not very complicated yet— I took everything quite literally, and, if we were supposed to begin at the beginning, Well I was not going to be outbegun by anyone! I soon found myself buried in Bronze Age archaeology and in the study of the formation of the pentateuch. You must remember that this was the early to the mid-sixties, when God still acted in history! To search for and to reconstruct the events which lay behind the text of Genesis, was to get as close as one could possibly get to true theology. By the early seventies, however, to my horror, Genesis and its theology could not be discovered in the Bronze Age. Its foundation existed in neither history nor in archaeology. For many of us working in the field of Old Testament studies, the failure of the biblical theology movement was sudden and unexpected. The historical constructions of Albright, Noth, von Rad, and de Vaux collapsed with it, under the well-deserved and increasingly devastating criticism of biblical and archaeological research. This sudden swing towards the left in biblical studies, towards a liberal, historical-critical exegesis, was extremely short-

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lived. The hundredth anniversary in 1976 of the publication of Julius Wellhausen's Prolegomena was celebrated in Switzerland with the publication of Schmid's Der sogenannte Jahwist, and quickly seconded in 1977, in Heidelberg itself, with Rolf Rendtorff's book. Liberals everywhere quickly became revisionists, and by the early eighties, if historical-critical biblical scholarship had been a parliament, a government could never have been formed. The theological importance of Genesis and the pentateuch was everywhere recognized, but the key was not anywhere there. Genesis, almost everyone agreed, was certainly not history, but source criticism, form criticism, redaction history, and the history of traditions had all come upon hard times. When one looked into the treasury of what used to be called 'the assured results of modern scholarship', one found it empty. During the latter part of this very lean period in biblical studies, during the late seventies, I became engaged in the raising of two small children. This was very important for me; for, very unexpectedly, I learned much about theology from Samir and Hilary. For the first time in my life, I began telling the stories of Genesis (of course, we did Gilgamesh and other stories as well as Genesis), without concern for the great mysteries, their 'true' sense, or their 'deeper' meaning. For the three of us it was pure story. If I ever strayed from this, and paused to 'explain' the stories, or to reconstruct the 'original' of a tale, the children always became irritated with me. It was a sola scriptura of which Luther had only an inkling. Unlike the children, I was a slow learner. Nevertheless, gradually over the years, I became aware that I did not miss the theological nuances. In fact, these theological nuances carried me away from what the text itself said. I needed to move away from the theological world to see the bible as it was. Theology had created a barrier to the texts which prevented their exegesis, however much it purported to help. Today, to be a theologian and an exegete is a conflict of interests; the trained scholar has much to unlearn. It was during this process of unlearning that I met my wife, who never would see a text as I would have it. As I energetically explained to her the wealth of knowledge about the texts, she, much more calmly, led me back to the texts themselves. By the time I first began writing this book, I found that my tastes had altered severely. Historical-critical exegesis and Redaktionsgeschichte now appear to me impenetrable—at best, quaint. Genesis could not be read first of all and primarily as a theological work, as first

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von Rad and now Westermann, Brueggemann, and Coats would have it. Worse, the very idea is strange, understandable only because of values that have been given to the book by later centuries of commentary. Risking the simplistic, I would say that to read Genesis as theology is much more a product of Paul, Augustine, and Christian tradition's need, than of the narratives themselves. One of the hitherto major successes of the Documentary Hypothesis has been the discovery of the integrated world-view of the Yahwistic theology. It is that theology, in both its depth and its attractiveness, which holds the J author in existence—and that by a thread, not anything else. If that theology is not there, the J author vanishes, and is not. In theology, stories are often arrogantly referred to as 'mere' stories, or 'only' stories. But now I want to suggest that in Genesis— and Genesis is older than theology, though we have failed to realize the implications of that—we have stories alone . . . : complicated stories, rich stories, profound and moving stories, but, nonetheless, stories alone. I do not begin to imply by this that some of the stories in Genesis are not religious stories or pious stories. They are—some of them. What I do mean to say is that even these pious and religious stories are not systematically didactic, nor are they theological, in intent. For example, the story in Genesis 22, the sacrifice of Isaac, at first blush appears to be hagiographic, a saint's story, even of the first rank, and, if so, didactic in its intent throughout. Although the story may be read as a unit by itself, it fits its present context, within the larger Abraham story, exceedingly well. When Genesis 22 begins, the Abraham tradition is already essentially completed, and the promise to Abraham has been fulfilled in the birth of Isaac. Genesis 21's final tying up of so many of the intertwining threads of plot in the Abraham stories heightens the shock of God's test of Abraham in its unexpectedness. After all this, in spite of Abraham's and Sarah's doubts and laughter, in spile of the pretensions of Ishmael's mother, and in spite of the twofold threats to Sarah's integrity and Abraham's life, God has finally fulfilled his promise to the patriarch in Abraham's hundredth year. It is just then that the real test comes. It is entirely on Abraham's trust in Yahweh, and on that trust alone— on Abraham's belief that 'God will provide'—that the entire narrative depends. The test is to be one of perfect obedience. Isaac is not only Abraham's only and beloved son, he is also the fulfillment of God's pledge to Abraham. The demand made of Abraham is that he must, with Isaac, also sacrifice the promise that God has made to

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him, which is the very basis of God's special relationship to him. It is extremely important for understanding the intention of the story to notice that we do not go on the journey of faith with Abraham. Abraham is alone. We watch the performance, but we are not participants in it. From the very start of the narrative, the audience is informed that God is only testing Abraham—a literary device that is used with even greater effect in Job—and this should inform us, on the issue of literary type, that we are not dealing here with a hagiographic or didactic form of narrative. The religious sensibilities of the audience are being protected throughout by their being clearly informed that the test is only that: a test. This story is not of the same type as, nor can it profitably be compared with, the mediaeval legends about the martyrs. Nor is it even comparable to an imitatio Christi^ and certainly it is not a parable, all of which end up with the spoken or the implied: 'Go, do likewise'. That, certainly, not here! The story of Abraham in Genesis 22, and the story about Joseph being guided by divine providence as well, are not hagiographic, nor do they encourage the audience directly to have similar faith and trust. It is true that we are led to admire and to focus on Abraham's great faith, but it is an admiration as for a hero in a saga. Abraham's faith is admirable in exactly the same way that Lot's hospitality to the two strangers at Sodom is. It isn't, of course, that Lot valued his daughters so little, but rather it is because he valued them so much, that they are offered to the townspeople for rape. The kind of admiration we, the audience, have in such stories is the awe and wonder of entertainment: an awe and a wonder which cannot survive if it is taken too seriously. It is in just such an unserious, unmoral, and untheological way that we admire—with horror—but nonetheless with admiration, Laban switching brides on Jacob, or Jacob's own duplicitous bankrupting of Laban. So too do we admire Rachel's quick wit and luck in feigning menstrual cramps, thereby limiting Laban's search, and succeeding in her theft. This list can easily be extended. If these stories do something so serious as teach, they teach the way that most stories teach: by educating the emotions in a safe place and in a safe way. It is rash and foolish to jump to the conclusion that the protagonists of the stories of Genesis are intended to be emulated, or even that they are in any special way admirable. They do, however, have their highspots, and certainly Joseph is almost always to be admired, except when he 'narks' on his brothers, or enslaves the people of Egypt. It is, moreover, not even a

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good idea to believe in a god when he is a character in a story! Don't think for a moment that the narrator or his audience ever believed in or prayed to that kind of a god. We must never forget—especially when reading the pentateuch—that suspension of belief is the very constitution of a narrator! It is what is necessary for a teller to create his own story world, where sometimes iron does float on water, and where sometimes gods are awful! I'd like to demonstrate this point about the characters of Genesis, whether gods or patriarchs, with some examples. The issue becomes clearest to me when I think of the very positive character of Abraham in Genesis 14. In this story, Abraham has been called upon as a military savior, and he responds by routing the kings of the north in battle. In doing this, he saves the kings of the Jordan Plain, and rescues his nephew Lot in passing. Such is Abraham's success. His character is brought out in a very few words in his conversation with the king of Sodom over the division of the booty, which, of course, Abraham had all rights to. After Abraham had given a tithe to Melchizedek, the priest-king of Salem, the king of Sodom said to him: 'Give me back the people, but keep all the goods for yourself'. Abraham responded to the king that he 'would not take a thread or a sandal-thong, or anything that is yours, lest you should say, "I have made Abram rich". I will take nothing but what the young men have eaten, and the share of the men who went with me; let Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre take their share'. There can, of course, be observed here a thematic parallel of Abraham's generosity with the generosity that he showed his nephew Lot, when he allowed him to choose the best land in Genesis 13. In fact, it is this thematic parallelism that is one of the reasons for Genesis 14 being placed after the Lot story in the developing complex-chain narrative which forms the heart of the tradition of Abraham. However, the personality of the hero Abraham in Genesis 14 is quite unique. This is not the fatherly Abraham of Genesis 13, careful to avoid even the occasion for conflict, anymore than Abraham is here the bunco-artist of Genesis 12, who would sell his wife to get rich at the expense of the Egyptians. Nor is Abraham in Genesis 14 the holy prophet of Genesis 20, whose cowardice has to be excused by the narrator, on the plea that Sara was, after all, his half-sister. Nor is Abraham in Genesis 14 the stoic, obedient servant of Genesis 22—that horrifying saint—ready to kill his own son if God should demand it. And Abraham of Genesis 14 is certainly not the doddering old man, waiting by the oaks of Mamre, whose heart was full of hospitality for the stranger. It is very difficult to see him as

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identical to the husband of Genesis 21, so helplessly torn by the conflicts of his wives as to accept the abandonment of his first-born son—even if it was on God's instructions! No, here in Genesis 14, we have a military hero, of the like of D'Artagnan or Robin Hood—ever careful of and ever generous for his friends and his men, but careless for himself. He could be likened to a Samson, or a David; even a Joshua on his better days without his deuteronomistic redactor. This is the stuff that heroes are made of, and the potential for emulation is certainly there, but this Abraham has no more to do with a theological message than any of the other Abrahams or heroes that have been mentioned. Can we seriously think of these stories, or of the stories of Jacob using extortion against his starving brother, or deceiving his blind, dying father, as theologically, or even ethically, motivated stories? That would both pervert them (to say nothing of theology or ethics) and destroy them as stories, which ought to engage a less serious side of our imaginations. We would also do well to avoid seeing God or Yahweh, who plays a role in so many of these stories, as having anything serious to do with the God or Yahweh of the theological tradition which feeds off these stories. In the pentateuch, God plays a character in a story, and his role is as varied as the stories he appears in. Too much is made of such folktale motifs as the pun on the word 'to be' and the name 'Yahweh' in Exodus 3's burning bush story. That, however, is at least not incompatible with theology, however little it has to do with it. It is quite otherwise with many of the stories of Genesis and Exodus. To a degree, I have a personal and quite horrific reaction, and a sense of resentment, toward a god like that in Genesis 22, if we were to mix him up with a God of the real world. Can this be? A God, who 'sees into men's hearts', and then, for a game, would so pitilessly toy with a father's deepest feelings. This story when read, however, not as an act of God, but as a story—like that of Job—is wholly without objection. I ask those of you who are parents: If this were truly God, would you even want to forgive him if you were Abraham? And how would you feel, at the end of Job's trials, with your replacement set of children? I do not think theology needs to be burdened, to put it mildly now, with God's ethnic discrimination in the revised Ishmael narrative, or with the plague in Genesis 12 which God sent against the Egyptians because the king had been fooled by Abraham's despicable lie. And a very fine story, like that of the wrestling at the Jabbok, is just not possible, if one is too serious.

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The situation in which Genesis is read as theology is fully analogous to those attempts of the past which were made to historicize Genesis. Reading Genesis as theology destroys at almost every turn the stories which are actually being told. Genesis is, historically, one of the major foundation blocks of western theology, but students of scripture should not be deceived by the circuitous logic which would assume that, because of this, Genesis must be somehow a theological text; or worse, and far more destructive, that it should be read from a theological perspective. If theology is ever to be a field of critical thought, we must recognize that, for whatever later interpretations a text has been used, it is in fact accidental to the text itself. This can be seen most clearly when we examine the very heart of the J theology: the Lutheran-Catholic doctrine of the spread of sin over the world. The J theology has perhaps nowhere been more clearly expressed than in Gerhard von Rad's commentary on Genesis. It is through his theology that the J author becomes more than a collector of old tales. It is as a theologian that he becomes the author of a major work of his own, and the original architect of a theological structure involving man's sinfulness and need for salvation, and God's mercy expressed in terms of promise and fulfillment, whose foundation is Original Sin, and whose pinnacle is the crucifixion and the theology of redemption. Paul, Augustine, and Luther all added mightily to the superstructure of this central doctrine of western Christianity. Its foundation in Genesis, however, is weak and critically dependent on the survival of an abstraction: the J author and the history of salvation. This rich theological structure rests not so much on its foundation as it does on its central pillar, the tedentious Romans 5, supplied by that guilt-ridden rabbi from Tarsus. The central importance of this doctrine to the theologies of Augustine and Luther is such, that it can hardly be perceived as an accident or a mistake that the hallmark of liberal Protestant biblical theology since Wellhausen has been just this J theology. In just a few sentences, von Rad outlines, in brilliantly clear strokes, the theological results of three generations of historicalcritical scholarship, laying the foundation for his theology of the Old Testament: The J narrator outlines a history of God and of mankind from its beginnings. On the human side, there is in this history a progressive growth of sin: the sin of the first humans, that of Cain, of Lamech, of mankind's marriage with the angels (sic!), and the

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sin of the tower of Babel, all of which are steps on a journey which carry mankind further and further away from God, creating a permanent and ever-widening chasm between God and man. On the divine side, this increase of sin brought about a progressive increase of God's punishment, ending with mankind, his unity wholly destroyed and scattered over the face of the earth.

However, as von Rad goes on to argue, the stories in the J theology do not leave the sinner cursed by God. In the very beginning, Adam and Eve—in spite of God's threat to the contrary—are allowed to live. In fact, they are clothed by God himself. Even Cain is given God's protection, and the Babel story ends with the genealogy of Shem, leading to the calling of Abraham, a story whose leitmotif is one of promise and fulfillment. In the hands of the J author, Urgeschichte becomes Heilsgeschichtel When we read what is written in the text of Genesis, however, a different impression is formed. If we forget for a moment the documentary hypothesis, the J and P compositions cease to be apparent. The entire long narration of Gen. 1.1-11.9 finds rather a single dominant theme in how the world, and the center of its creation, mankind, developed its Toledoth. This is accomplished in the narrative through recurrent motifs of an aetiological nature: from first farmer stories and a tale about the origin of human wisdom, to brief episodes about the origin of languages, trades, and many of the varied countries and peoples of the world, as well as narratives about the origin of covenant, of the sabbath and of the worship of Yahweh. This aetiological theme is brought out as well through the language used in the structural framework which holds this long narrative section together. In fact, it must be argued that Gen. 1.1-11.9 becomes a unified creation narrative and it does so through the structure that holds it together. The world did not come into being all at once, not even in seven days. One must speak not only of the world's originally coming into being, but also of its development, its Toledoth, thereafter. Just so was the world as it really is created. I wish to stress for a moment the integration of this long narrative complex, with its center and its title in Gen. 5.1-2: 'The Book of the Toledoth of Adam'. Most of the genealogical narratives, the tales, and other types of stories which are used and find their home within this structure, undoubtedly had their own life apart from and prior to their inclusion here. Nevertheless, there does not seem to have been any prior extended narrative, whereby two or more of these stories were related in a meaningful unit. Certainly, the hypothesis of an

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extended Yahwistic document, with its own theology of an increasing corruption of human nature, has little to support it. Such a motif—of human corruption—is found in Genesis 1-11. However, it is not found as a leitmotif through several stories, and can hardly belong to what scholars have traditionally associated with a J document. It occurs, in fact, as a motif in both of the variants of the flood story, albeit differently formulated (6.5-8: 'The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually', and 6.11-13: 'Now the earth was corrupt, and the earth was filled with violence . . . for all flesh had corrupted their way upon the earth'), and also differently resolved in the variations of this same story (8.20-22: 'Then Noah built an altar . . . and when the Lord smelt the pleasing odor, the Lord said in his heart, "I will never again curse the ground because of man, for the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth!'" and 9.8-17: 'Behold I establish my covenant with you and your descendants after you,. . . that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood . . . I set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth . . . when the bow is in the clouds I will look upon it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth ...'). Here very clearly, in both the so-called 'J' and 'P' sources of the pentateuch, the problem of the evil of man is raised and resolved within a single narrative. In the first of these narratives, God comes to the mature reflection that man is 'just that way' and God must live with it, the theme of the ending of the variant is similar. Here the conflict comes to rest with God making the solemn oath that he will never so try to destroy mankind again, and he places the rainbow in the sky to remind himself of that. In both versions of the story, man's evil is a given of the narrative, and in both versions, it is God who is changed by the experience. Apart from the flood story itself, there are six narratives where an element of conflict becomes a significant motif: the garden story, the Cain and Abel story, the Song of Lamech, the story of the lesser gods marrying women, the sin of Ham with its curse of Canaan, and the Tower of Babel Story. There is in these no continuity between the stories, nor an increase of wickedness, nor, in some stories, any discernible wickedness at all. Two of the stories occur after the flood narrative, and one of these, the curse of Canaan, in both its structure and its content, can be understood to have occurred only later than the flood story. This is significant, because it is in the flood narrative

Epilogue

209

that the cosmic motif of the evil of mankind is decisively resolved. In Gen. 8.20-22, the narrative philosophically observes that evil is quite natural and to be expected of man: 'For the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth'. Yahweh, himself, has learned something about man in the process of this story, and Yahweh accepts the fact of the natural inclination of man to be corrupt as given. That is, like so much of the rest of Genesis 1-11, this variant of the flood narrative is aetiological, giving expression to the ineradicable evil of man's nature, as understood by the narrative. Similarly, in the variant of Gen. 9.8ff., the evil consequence of man's corruption—destruction sent by God—is resolved in a covenant sworn by God, the sign of which, the rainbow, can be seen by everyone today. With these passages of the flood story, whether from J, P, or X, the issue of the evil of man ceases to have cosmic significance. Ham's evil has consequences visited upon his son Canaan, not upon mankind. In this aspect, the Ham story is not unlike the story of the murder committed by Cain, which is also not a cosmogonic myth, but an ethnic story, as is also the poem of Lamech. The authors of these three stories are certainly letting their prejudices be known, but they are not talking about mankind. The other three conflict narratives—the stories about Adam and Eve, the lesser gods, and about the Tower of Babel—do not obviously involve a theme of evil or corruption. Rather, they too are aetiologically oriented narratives, each with its own, distinctive theme. The garden story does deal with disobedience. However, the narrative does not understand this as either sin or evil, however assuredly Yahweh does not like it. The conflict in the narrative begins because Yahweh has lied to the human being about the nature of the tree of wisdom^ and has declared that it is rather a tree of death. The wise serpent acts to help humanity and tells the woman the truth about the tree. As a result of this discovery, the parents of all mankind, through disobedience to Yahweh, achieve wisdom for all mankind, becoming like gods, lacking only eternal life. To prevent their further divinization: 'Behold, the human being has become like one of us, knowing good and evil, and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever . . .', Yahweh puts them out of the garden, not as punishment, as for a past fault, but with the purpose of preventing them from getting back to the tree of life. The main theme of the narrative is an aetiology of human wisdom. Subordinate aetiologies are found in the successive curses of Yahweh: against the snake (that he must crawl on his belly and eat

210


dust, and be condemned to a never-ending vicious-cycle of conflict with those he has befriended), against the woman (an almost feminist expression of the alienating dichotomy of women's lives, involving the pain of childbirth, sexual passion, and her humiliating subservience to her husband), and to the man (Adam came out of the earth, and now he is alienated from it—the plight of a farmer and a laborer—an ironic bitterness of life which is not resolved, until a man is finally at peace with the earth; that is, in his grave). In these curses, some of the essential alienations of our existence find poetic expression. Such suffering, and such alienation, are the bread and butter of being human; they are not the first steps in a history of evil, however much such an understanding might be essential to a Pauline form of salvation history. The very brief narrative found in Gen. 6. Iff., one might reasonably argue, was originally independent of its present context at the beginning of the flood narrative: 'The sons of God saw that the daughters of women were fair, and they took to wife such of them as they chose. Then the Lord said: "My spirit shall not abide in man forever, for he is flesh, but his days shall be a hundred and twenty years". The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God went into the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. These were the mighty men of old, the men of renown.' Here again, it is not evil with which we are involved in the narrative; it is not even something for which people are responsible. It is rather much more simply something Yahweh does not want to happen, which occurs, and on which he acts, to prevent a permanent alteration of humanity. It is not men, but gods, who act by having sexual intercourse with women. As in the Garden story, so here, Yahweh acts, not to punish, but to prevent people from becoming too much like gods, and he does this with a similar result; here by putting a limit on the span of man's life. This brief, aetiological, tale not only gives expression to the brevity of our lives, but the narrator also adds the second episode about the Nephilim to explain to the audience with this tale how it is that the half-divine half-human heroes of the past came to be, but are no longer with us today. Again and again in these narratives, it is the author's own world, not the distant past, which is the point of reference for the story. This is particularly true of the Tower of Babel story, where, not only does the author give expression to the obvious spread of peoples and languages throughout the world, but he raises the philosophical issue

Epilogue

211

that language complexity and difference is the basis for the lack of cooperation among men. Rather than an increase in wickedness, the conflict with Yahweh in this story—as in the Garden story—is the result of the very positive ability of his creatures to work together in harmony. The peace and the unity of the people at Babel is so great that 'nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them'. It is this that Yahweh does not want and acts to disrupt by confusing their language. It is an aetiology about the difficulty which every man in every language has in communicating clearly to another. The central philosophical and theological issue raised in these stories is not an increase in evil among mankind, and it has nothing to do with the later Christian doctrine of Original Sin. It is an effort to portray, through a wide variety of tales, the development, or Toledoth, of mankind. Humanity is in the process of becoming what it is: almost divine, but essentially human (with all the alienation which that implies), scattered over the face of the earth, 'according to their families, their languages, their lands, and their nations'. The primary task of exegesis (as I have argued in Chapter 6) is not to interpret the stories of Genesis either theologically or historically, or even as literature. The task of exegesis is much more modestly to try to discover—after so many centuries—what is written. I hope that it is not seen as a belittling of biblical narrative—and I do not mean to be either negative or nihilistic in so arguing—that these stories of the pentateuch are often not more than what they appear to be to the ordinary reader and to the child, and it is our primary task to free the stories that they might be read in whatever way the narrator of the past intended. I am not sure that depth and profundity are altogether happy characteristics of the theologian's contributions to biblical studies. Genesis, I fear, will not bear the burden of its own hagiography! To speak of the garden story as a lifewrenching struggle between thanatos and eros is deeply moving, but I find a small rebellious child within myself raising the ridiculously vulnerable Gretschenfrage: 'But what does the story say?' And the story, indeed, talks about a very friendly, talking snake—not an insidious portent of evil. As I like talking snakes, I am going to have to defend my friend, as any child would, against the seriousness of adults and the blame falsely placed on him by Eve! As every child knows, such a struggle against the adult world has profound ramifications on the soul of the child. In the outcome of that struggle is the survival of fantasy and imagination in the very

212


unstorylike, painful adult world of men, where a simple story is transformed into theology, as the child grows and becomes, irredeemably, Vhomme serieux.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ackroyd, P.R., 'Continuity and Discontinuity: Rehabilitation and Authentication', Tradition and Theology in the Old Testament (1977), pp. 215-34. Albright, W.F., From the Stone Age to Christianity: Monotheism and the Historical Process (Garden City, 1940, ?1957). — Yahweh and the Gods of Canaan: A Historical Analysis of Two Contrasting Faiths (London, 1968). Alt, A., Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, I-III (Munich, 1953-1958). Alter, R., The Art of Biblical Narrative (London, 1981). Anderson, W., Kaiser und Abt (PTC 42; Helsinki, 1923). Barr, J., Old and New Interpretation: A Study of the Two Testaments (London, 1966). —''I"he Old Testament and the New Crisis of Biblical Authority', Interpretation 25 (1971), pp. 24-40. -The Bible in the Modern World (London, 1973). —'Story and History in Biblical ITieology', Journal of Religion 56 (1976), pp. 1-17. Bolte, J. and Polivka, G., Anmerkungen zu den Kinder- und Hausmdrchen der Bruder Grimm (Leipzig, 1930). Bright,]., A History of Israel (Philadelphia, 1959, 21972). Brueggemann, W.,"'David and His Theologian', CBQ 30 (1968), pp. 156-81. —The Land: Overtures to Biblical Theology (Philadelphia, 1977). Buss, M.J., Encounter with the Text: Form and History in the Hebrew Bible (Semeia Supplements 8; Philadelphia, 1979). Carena, O., La Communicazione non-verbale delta Bibbia (Turin, 1981). Gazelles, II., 'Patriarchies', DBS 7 (1966), cols. 81-156. Clines, D.J.A., The Theme of the Pentateuch (JSOTS 10; Sheffield, 1978). Coats, G.W., Rebellion in the Wilderness: The Murmuring Motif in the Wilderness (Nashville, 1968). —From Canaan to Egypt: Structural and Theological Context for the Joseph Story (CBQMS 4; Washington, 1976). —Saga, Legend, Tale, Novella, Fable: Narrative Forms in Old Testament Literature OSOTS 35; Sheffield, 1985) Crenshaw, J.L., Samson, A Secret Betrayed, A Vow Ignored (London, 1979). Crossan, J.D., The Dark Intci-val: Towards a Theology of Story (Niles, 1975). Dalman, G., Arbeit und Sitte in Pala'stina, vol. VI (Giitersloh, 1939). Dever, W.G., 'The Patriarchal Traditions', Israelite and Judaean Histoiy (Philadelphia, 1977), pp. 70-119. —'Retrospects and Prospects in Biblical and Syro-Palestinian Archaeology', BA (1982), pp. 103-107. Fissfeldt, O., 'Stammessage und Menschheitserzahlung in der Genesis', Sitzungsberichte der Sachsischen Akademie der Wissenschaft zu Leipzig, 110, 4 (1965), pp. 5-21. Fokkelman, J.P., Narrative Art in Genesis: Specimens of Stylistic and Structural Analysis (SSN 17; Assen and Amsterdam, 1975). Freedman, D.N., 'The Real Story of the Hbla 'lablets: Ebla and the Cities of the Plain', BA 41 (1978), pp. 143-64. ' Frei, H.W., The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative (New Haven, 1974). Frye, N., The Great Code: The Bible and Literature (London, 1982).

214


Gottwald, N.K., The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel, 1250-1050 B.C.E. (New York, 1979), Gressmann, II., 'Sage und Geschichte in den Patriarchenerza'hlungen', ZAW(1910), pp. 1-34. —'Ursprung und Entwicklung der Joseph-Sage', Eucharisterion (1923), pp. 1-56. Gros, Louis, K. and Kenneth, R.R., Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives (Nashville, 1974). Gunkel, H., Genesis ubersetzt und erkldrt (IIKAT 1/1; Gottingen, 1901). Gunn, D.M., The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation (JSOTS 6; Sheffield, 1978). -The Fate of King Saul (JSOTS 14; Sheffield, 1980). Haag, H., Bibellexikon (Einsiedeln, ^1968). Hallo, W.W., 'Biblical History in its Near Eastern Setting: the Contextual Approach', Scripture in Context (1980), pp. 1-26. Halpern, B., The Emergence of Israel in Canaan (Chicago, 1983). Hayes, J.H., and Miller, J.M., Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977). —A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (Philadelphia, 1986). Herrmann, S., Geschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit (Munich, (1973). Hurvitz, A., A Linguistic Study of the Relationship between the Priestly Source and the Book ofEzekiel (CRB, 20; Paris, 1982). Irvin, D. and Thompson, 'l"h. L., 'The Joseph and Moses Narratives', Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977), pp. 147-212. Irvin, D., Mytharion: The Comparison of Tales from the Old Testament and Ancient Near East (AOAT, 32; Neukirchen, 1978). Krahmalkov, C.R., 'A Critique of Professor Goedicke's Exodus Theories', BAR 7/5 (1981), pp. 51-54. Lance, H.D., 'American Biblical Archaeology in Perspective', BA 45 (1982), pp. 97101. Lapp, P.W., Biblical Archaeology and Wstory (New York, 1969). Liverani, M., Review of H. Klengel, Zwischen Zelt und Palast (OrAn 15 (1976), pp. 6873. Long, B.O., The Problem of Etiological Narrative in the Old Testament (BZAW, 108; Berlin, 1968). —Images of Alan and God: Old Testament Short Stories in Literary Focus (Sheffield, 1981). Lord, A. and Parry, M., Scrbocroatian Heroic Songs (2 vols.; Cambridge, 1960). Lord, A., The Singer of Tales (Cambridge, 1960). Luke, J.T., 'Pastoralism and Politics in the Mari Period' (unpublished dissertation, University of Michigan, 1965). Malamat, A., 'Die Ertihgeschichte Israels: eine methodologische Studie', Tlieologische Zeitschrift 39 (1983), pp. 1-16. Mendenhall, G.E., 'The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine', BA 25 (1962), pp. 66-87. — The Tenth Generation (Baltimore, 1973). Miller, J.M., 'The Israelite Occupation of Canaan', Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977), pp. 213-84. —A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (Philadelphia, 1986). Noth, M., Uberliefcrungsgcschichtliche Studien I (Halle, 1943). — Uberliefcrungsgeschichte des Pentateuch (Stuttgart, 1948). — 772*7 History of Israel (New York, 1950, ^1960). —Die Urspriinge des alt en Israel im Lichte neuer Quellen (Koln, 1961). Olrik, A., 'Epische Gesetze der Volksdichtung', ZDA 51 (1909), pp. 1-12. —Folkelige Afliandlinger (Kopenhagen, 1919).

Bibliography

215

Oren, E.D., 'How Not to Create a History of the Exodus: A Critique of Professor Goedicke's Theories', BAR 7/6 (1981), pp. 46-53. Parry, M. and Lord, A., Serbocroatian Heroic Songs (2 vols.; Cambridge, 1954). Parry, M., L'epithete traditionelle dans Homere (Paris, 1928). Patte, D., What is Structural Exegesis'? (NTS, 5; Philadelphia, 1976). Pettinato, G., 'Ebla and the Bible', BA 43 (1980), pp. 203-16. Polzin, R.M., Late Biblical Hebrew: Toward an Historical Typology of Biblical Hebrew Prose (HSM 12; Missoula, 1976). Propp, V., Morphology of the Folktale (Austin, 21968). Rad, G. von, Theologie des Alien Testaments (Munich, 1957). —The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (Edinburgh, 1966). —Das erste Buck Mose: Genesis ubersetzt und erkldrt (ATD 2-4; Gottingen, 1972). Radday, Y.T., 'A Bible Scholar Looks at BAR's Coverage of the Exodus', BAR 8/6 (1982), pp. 68-71. Rast, W.E. and Schaub, R.Th., The Southeastern Dead Sea Plain Expedition: An Interim Report of the 1977 Season (AASOR 44; 1981), Rendtorff, R., Das uberlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch (BZAW, 147; Berlin, 1977). Rowton, M.B., 'The Topological Factor in the Hapiru Problem', Assyriological Studies 16 (1965), pp. 375-87. Sasson, J., Ruth (Baltimore, 1979). Sauer, J.A., 'Prospects for Archaeology in Jordan and Syria', BA 45 (1982), pp. 7384. Schaub, R.Th. and Rast, W.E., The Southeastern Dead Sea Plain Expedition: An Interim Report of the 1977 Season (AASOR, 44; 1981). Schmid, 11.11., Der sogenannte Jahwist: Beobachtungen und Fragen zur Pentateuchforschung (Zurich, 1976). —'Auf der Suche nach neuen Perspektiven fiir die Pentateuch-Forschung', VTS 32 (1981), pp. 375-94. Shanks, II., 'The Exodus and the Crossing of the Red Sea according to Hans Goedicke', BAR 7/5 (1981), pp. 42-50. -'Should the Term "Biblical Archaeology" be Abandoned?', BAR 7/3 (1981), pp. 5457. Soggin, J.A., ''I"he Uavidic and Solomonic Kingdom', Israelite and Judacan History (Philadelphia, 1977), pp. 332-80. —''ITie History of Ancient Israel: A Study in Some Questions of Method', Eretz Israel 14(1978), pp. 44*-51*. Speiser, E.A., Genesis (Anchor Bible, 1; Garden City, 1964). Thompson, S., The Types of the Folktale: A Classification and Bibliography, (FFC, 74; Helsinki, 1927 [2nd edn; FFC 184, 1961]). -The Folktale (New York, 1946). —Narrative Motif Analysis as a Folklore Method (FFC, 161; Helsinki, 1955). —Motif Index of Folk Literature (6 vols.; Bloomington, 1955-58). Thompson, Th.L. and Irvin, D., 'The Joseph and Moses Narratives', Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, 1977), pp. 147-212. Thompson, Th.L., The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: Hie Quest for the Historical Abraham (BZAW, 133; Berlin, 1974). —The Settlement of Sinai and the Negev in the Bronze Age (BTAVO, 8; Wiesbaden, 1975). —'A New Attempt to Date the Patriarchal Narratives', JAOS 98 (1978), pp. 76-84. —'Historical Notes on "Israel's Conquest of Palestine: A Peasants' Rebellion?'", JSOT 1 (1978), pp. 20-27.

216


—'The Background of the Patriarchs: A Reply to William Dever and Malcolm Clark', JSOT9(1978), pp. 2-43. —'Conflict Themes in the Jacob Narratives', Semeia 15 (1979), pp. 5-26. —The Settlement of Palestine in the Bronze Age (BTAVO, 34; Wiesbaden, 1979). Van Seters, J., Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven, 1975). —In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven, 1983). Vaux, R. de,'Les Patriarchies Hebreux et les decouvertes modernes', RB 53 (1946), pp. 321-48; 55 (1948), pp. 321-47; 56 (1949), pp. 5-36. —'Les Patriarchies Hebreux et 1'histoire', RB 72 (1965), pp. 5-28. —Histoire ancienne d 'Israel: Des origines a I 'institution en Canaan (Paris, 1971). Weippert, M., Die Landnahme der israelitischen Stamme in der neueren wissenschaftlichen Diskussion (Gdttingen, 1967). Wellhausen, J., Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin, 31886). Westermann, C., Genesis (BKAT, 1/1-3; Neukirchen, 1974, 1981, 1982). Whybray, R.N., The Making of the Pentateuch: A Methodological Study QSOTS, 53; Sheffield, 1987). Wright, G.E., Biblical Archaeology (Philadelphia, 1957). —God WJio Acts (Garden City, 1962).

INDEX INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES Genesis 1-Exod. 23

1-11

1.1-11.9 1.1-4.26 1-3 1.1-2.3 1 1.1-3 1.26 1.27-28 2-3 2.4-4.26 2.4-3.24 2.4-6 2.4 4

4.1-3 5.1-3 5.1-2 5.1 5.3-10.32 5.3-31 5.3-5 5.3 5.32-9.29 5.32 6-9 6.1-3 6.4 6.9-11 9.1-3 9.18-21 9.29

62-63, 64, 65, 148 63, 78, 79, 82, 83, 84, 157, 165, 170-72 207-12 74, 100 200 65, 68-71 72, 153 73, 193 74 72 69,72 71, 73, 76 69, 71-72 70 70 70-73, 114, 149 72,77 75 69, 70, 72, 73, 76, 79 72,83 76 73-74 69, 70, 73, 77,82 100 74-77 82 105 70 70 70 70 70 83

10.1-11.9 10 10.1-3 11 11.1-3 11.10-Exod. 11.10-26 11.10-25 11.10-12

11.10 11.26 11.27-25.11 11.27-22 11.27-12.5 11.27-32 11.27-29 11.30-22.19 11.30 11.31-32 12-13 12 12.1-4 12.1-3 12.2-3 12.5 12.6-9 12.6 12.7 12.9 12.10-13.13 12.10-13.3 12.10-20 12.10 13 13.1-2

77-80 76, 77, 169 70,76 23, 29, 76, 91, 100, 169 70 23 80 82 83 34, 70, 76, 80 69 71, 76, 99 172 100 85 83, 70, 84, 95 160 84,90 84 56-57, 58, 97 35, 42, 5159, 204, 205 83-84, 88, 92,93 85 170 84 84-85, 158 159 170 86 169 85 82, 95, 158 33 35, 82, 86, 91, 93, 156, 205 33,54

13.2-4 13.4 13.5-13 13.5-7 13.13 13.14-18

14

15-17 15 15.1-6 15.3-4 15.3 15.7-9 16-17 16 16.10-12 17 17.4-6 17.5-6 17.5 18-21 18.1-21.6 18-20 18-19 18.1-15 18.1-3 18.1 18.12 18.16-33 18.16-18 19

20

20-21 20.13

114 158 86, 87 84,86 87,92 84-88, 158, 170 35, 42, 81, 82, 86-88, 97, 156, 204-205 87-91 42,95 101 169 95 65 94 42, 95, 96 169 42,101,111, 170 96 169 159 82,92 97 97 91-94, 101 95, 121 85,89 35,86 91 121 86 35, 86, 97, 121 35, 42, 5159, 156, 204 94-97 83

218


Genesis (cont.) 42, 57, 58, 21 89, 98, 156, 202, 205 91 21.1-7 21.18 169 21.20-21 35 21.22-34 55 21.23-24 57 81, 93, 9722 99, 128, 159, 202-204 22.1 170 90 22.2 22.15-19 159 22.17-19 170 22.17 89 22.20-25 168 22.20-23.20 99-101 22.22 202 102 23 24 97, 99, 101102, 103 24.1 168 24.3 168 24.15-17 106 25-26 102-104 25.25 116 25.7-11 99, 177 25.9 168 102 25.11 25.12-18 99, 172 25.19-36.43 115 25.19-35.29 172 25.19-34.31 162 25.19-34 104 25.19 111,115 161 25.22-23 25.24-26 161 25.27 35 26 35, 42, 5159, 97, 99, 106, 169 26.24 170 26.34 104 27-35 99 27 107, 128 27.1-45 104 27.1-2 168 27.1 101, 102, 161, 169

27.9 27.15 27.27-29 27.36 27.39-40 27.41 27.45 27.46-28.9 27.46 28 28.5 28.10-22 28.10-17 28.10 28.11-22 28.11-12 28.13-15 28.13 28.28-22 29.1-31.55 29.1-29 29.1 29.30-30.24 30.21 30.24 30.25-31.55 32.1-33.20 32.1-2 32.3-5 32.22-30 32.24-32 33.15-17 34-37.1 35.22-26 35.27-29 35.29-33 35.27 35.29 35.49 36 36.28-29 36.37 37 37.2-11 37.2-4 37.2 37.5-8 37.12-35 37.13 37.22 37.23

35 35 169 161 169 107 106 104-106 107 35, 169 162 106 107 162 162 109 111 170 113 106-109 162 110 162 113 113 162 109-12 162 162 138 113, 162 161 112 177 99 99 168 104 99 100, 172 161 117, 121 125, 127 116-19 163 121 163-64 119-21 117 125 117

125 117 117 121-22 117, 120, 123, 140 37.38-48.50 100 38 97, 103, 169 39 127 39.1 116, 120, 123, 140 39.2-23 122 39.2-4 116 39.6 116 40-41 123-24 40.3 122 40.15 120, 123 41.32 118 41.45 117 41.39-45 122 41.57 131 42 124-26, 42.21-22 120 127 42.27-28 42.35-37 127 43-45 126-28 43 126 43.12 125 44 125 44.11 125 44.14 117 44.18-20 118 45.7 124, 133 45.8 124 45.24 130 46-47 128-29 46 121 46.1-4 170 46.2 117, 136 46.6 124 46.7 124 46.8-10 173 46.8 117, 124 46.9 124 46.10-14 124 46.20 117 47 121, 130 47.27-28 177 47.29 168 48-49.28 129 48 121, 128

37.29-30 37.31-33 37.34 37.36-39.1 37.36

219

Index of Biblical References Genesis (com.) 48.1 101, 168 48.8-22 169 48.10 169 169 48.19-20 48.27-29 168 100, 121, 168 49 49.1 101 170 49.1-2 49.29-50.14 129-30 49.29-32 168 129 50.1-3 50.1 129 99 50.12-13 50.13 168 50.15-26 130-31 165 50.20 168 50.24 Exodus 1-23 1-15 1-8 1-6 1-2 1.1 1.1-14 1.1-6 1.1 1.5 1.7-15.21 1.7 1.8 1.15-21 1.22-2.10 2.1-10 2.11-15 2.15.22 2.16-18 2.22 2.23-4.9 2.23-3.6 2.23-25 3

3.4-6

64, 65 144, 148 32 143 136 58 133-34 148, 167, 173 167 128 172-81 167 136, 148, 167 134 134 135 135, 138 135 106 138 135-37 174 138 23, 128, 135, 140, 145, 175, 205 170

3.7-9 3.11-12 3.18-22 3.18 3.21-22 4.1-3 4.1 4.10-31 4.10-17 4.21-23 4.29-31 4.31 5.1-13.16 5.3 6.6-8 7 7.8-10 7.14-18 10 10.28-29 11.10 12.1-13.16 12 12.14-16 12.29-39 12.31-32 12.31 12.40-42 13-15 13.17-15.21 13.17-14.31 13.17-14.30 13.17 14 14.4 15 15.1-21 15.22-24.8 15.22-23.33 15.22-16.36 15.22-24 16.35 17 17.2-7 18 18.3-4

174 176 176 139 143 138 140 137-36 140 137, 176 176 144 139-44 176 147 176 137 147 180 176, 180 176, 179, 180 174, 177, 180-81 137, 176, 180 151 178, 179 180 176 178, 179 134 143 144-46 174 178 142, 147, 148 180 23 146-48 152 181-89 148-49 151 152 149 149 136, 150, 151 138

19.1-23.19 19 19.20-20.17 23 23.20-33 24-33 24-26 24 24.2-8 24.12 28-30 34-40 34.28

150-51 136 152 65 151-52 187 186 152-53 187 186 152 187 185

Numbers 10.29 33 33.3-6 33.3-5 33.14 33.38-40

135 148, 179 178 179 149 149

Deuteronomy 34 32 Ruth 1.1

53

1 Samuel 3.4

98

Job 1-2

174

Ism&h 6

174

Ezekiel 1-2

174

Luke 3 24.13-15

153 153

Romans 5

206

INDEX OF AUTHORS Ackroyd, P.R. 30 Albright, W.F. 12, 15, 16, 22, 26, 28-29, 200

Alt, A. 12, 15, 16, 22 Alter, R. 41 Anderson, W. 43-44 Barr,J. 12, 13, 14, 15, 32,41 Barth, K. 14 Bolte,J. 42 Bright, J. 15,22,29 Brueggemann, W. 48, 202 Bultmann, R. 14 Buss, MJ. 12, 30 Carena, O. 41 Clines, D.J.A. 41, 48 Coats, G.W. 48, 202 Crenshaw, J.L. 41, 48 Crossan, J.D. 41 Dalman, G. 16 Dever, W.G. 17, 25-26, 41

Hayes, J.H. 23, 25, 26-27 Hegel, G.W.F. 200 Herrmann, S. 29 Hurvitz, A. 191, 194 Irvin, O. 41, 38, 52, 174 Janke, S.E. 71 Krahmalkov, C.R. 24, 25 Lance, H.D. 26 Lapp, P.W. 25 Liverani, M. 16 Long, B.O. 48 Lord, A. 42, 48 Luke,J.T. 16 Luther, M. 201, 206 Malamat, A. 32-34, 61 Mendenhall, G.E. 15, 17-20 Miller, J.M. 12, 16, 21, 23, 25, 26-27 Noth, M. 12, 15, 16, 17, 22, 29, 49, 200

Eissfeldt, O. 22 Fokkelman, J.P. 41,48, 104 Freedman, D.N. 24 Frei, H.W. 41 Frye, N. 48 Galling, K. 22 Glueck, N. 26 Goedicke, H. 24-25 Gottwald, N.K. 17-20, 27, 29, 34 Graf, K.H. 43 Gressmann, H. 42 Gros Louis, K.R.R. 41 Gunkel, H. 12, 15, 20, 42, 48, 49, 52 Gunn, D.M. 30, 41, 48 Haag, H. 22 Hallo, W.W. 30, 31-32 Halpern, B. 20-21

Olrik, A. 42, 44, 46, 53 Oren, H.D. 24, 25 Parry, M. 42, 48 Patte, D. 41 Pettinato, G. 24 Polivka, G. 42 Polzin, R.M. 191, 194 Pritchard, J.B. 25 Propp, V. 48 Rad, G. von 13, 15, 200, 202, 206-207 Radday, Y.T. 24, 25 Rast, W.E. 24 Rendtorff, R. 50, 67, 68, 201 Ricoeur, P. 200 Rowton, M.B. 16 Sasson,J. 41, 48, 52 Sauer, J.A. 25, 26

Index of Authors Schaub, R/ITi. 24 Schmid, H.H. 50, 196, 201 Shanks, H. 24, 25, 26 Soggin, J.A. 16, 30-31 Speiser, E.A. 49 'iTiompson, S. 48, 52 •Iliompson, Th.L. 17, 29, 31, 41, 53, 66, 170, 174 Valles, A. 48

221

Van Seters, J. 22-23,42-48, 50, 53-55, 58, 194, 196 Vaux, R. de 13, 15, 16, 22, 29, 200 Weippert, M. 15-17 Wellhausen, J. 12,15, 28, 40, 43, 49,195, 201 Westermann, C. 48, 202 Whybray, R.N. 50, 52, 59 Wright, G.E. 13, 15, 25, 26

JOURNAL FOR THE STUDY OF THE OLD TESTAMENT Supplement Series 1 I, HE, WE AND THEY: A LITERARY APPROACH TO ISAIAH 53 D.J.A. Clines 4 THANKSGIVING FOR A LIBERATED PROPHET: AN INTERPRETATION OF ISAIAH CHAPTER 53 R.N. Whybray 5 REDATING THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST JJ. Bimson 6 THE STORY OF KING DAVID: GENRE AND INTERPRETATION D.M. Gunn 7 THE SENSE OF BIBLICAL NARRATIVE I: STRUCTURAL ANALYSES IN THE HEBREW BIBLE (2nd edition) D. Jobling 10 THE THEME OF THE PENTATEUCH D.J.A. Clines 12 THE JUST KING: MONARCHICAL JUDICIAL AUTHORITY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL K.W. Whitelam 13 ISAIAH AND THE DELIVERANCE OF JERUSALEM: A STUDY OF THE INTERPRETATION OF PROPHECY IN THE OLD TESTAMENT R.E. Clements 14 THE FATE OF KING SAUL: AN INTERPRETATION OF A BIBLICAL STORY D.M. Gunn 15 THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY M. Noth 16 PROPHECY AND ETHICS: ISAIAH AND THE ETHICAL TRADITIONS OF ISRAEL E.W. Davies 17 THE ROLES OF ISRAEL'S PROPHETS D.L. Petersen 18 THE DOUBLE REDACTION OF THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY R.D.Nelson 19 ART AND MEANING: RHETORIC IN BIBLICAL LITERATURE Edited by DJ.A. Clines, D.M. Gunn, & AJ. Hauser 20 THE PSALMS OF THE SONS OF KORAH M.D. Goulder 21 COLOUR TERMS IN THE OLD TESTAMENT A. Brenner 22 AT THE MOUNTAIN OF GOD: STORY AND THEOLOGY IN EXODUS 32-34 R.W.L. Moberly 23 THE GLORY OF ISRAEL: THE THEOLOGY AND PROVENIENCE OF THE ISAIAH TARGUM B.D. Chilton 24 MIDIAN, MOAB AND EDOM: THE HISTORY AND ARCHAEOLOGY OF LATE BRONZE AND IRON AGE JORDAN AND NORTH-WEST ARABIA Edited by J.F.A. Sawyer & DJ.A Clines

25 THE DAMASCUS COVENANT: AN INTERPRETATION OF THE 'DAMASCUS DOCUMENT' P.R. Davies 26 CLASSICAL HEBREW POETRY: A GUIDE TO ITS TECHNIQUES W.G.E. Watson 27 PSALMODY AND PROPHECY W.H. Bellinger 28 HOSEA: AN ISRAELITE PROPHET IN JUDEAN PERSPECTIVE G.I. Emmerson 29 EXEGESIS AT QUMRAN: 4QFLORILEGIUM IN ITS JEWISH CONTEXT G.J. Brooke 30 THE ESTHER SCROLL: THE STORY OF THE STORY D.J.A. Clines 31 IN THE SHELTER OF ELYON: ESSAYS IN HONOR OF G.W. AHLSTROM Edited by W.B. Barrick & J.R. Spencer 32 THE PROPHETIC PERSONA: JEREMIAH AND THE LANGUAGE OF THE SELF T. Polk 33 LAW AND THEOLOGY IN DEUTERONOMY J.G. McConville 34 THE TEMPLE SCROLL: AN INTRODUCTION, TRANSLATION AND COMMENTARY J. Maier 35 SAGA, LEGEND, TALE, NOVELLA, FABLE: NARRATIVE FORMS IN OLD TESTAMENT LITERATURE Edited by G.W. Coats 36 THE SONG OF FOURTEEN SONGS M.D. Goulder 37 UNDERSTANDING THE WORD: ESSAYS IN HONOR OF BERNHARD W. ANDERSON Edited by J.T. Butler, E.W. Conrad & B.C. Ollenburger 38 SLEEP, DIVINE AND HUMAN, IN THE OLD TESTAMENT T.H. McAlpine 39 THE SENSE OF BIBLICAL NARRATIVE II: STRUCTURAL ANALYSES IN THE HEBREW BIBLE D. Jobling 40 DIRECTIONS IN BIBLICAL HEBREW POETRY Edited by E.R. Follis 41 ZION, THE CITY OF THE GREAT KING: A THEOLOGICAL SYMBOL OF THE JERUSALEM CULT B.C. Ollenburger 42 A WORD IN SEASON: ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF WILLIAM McKANE Edited by J.D. Martin & P.R. Davies 43 THE CULT OF MOLEK: A REASSESSMENT G.C. Heider 44 THE IDENTITY OF THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE PSALMS SJ.L. Croft 45 THE CONFESSIONS OF JEREMIAH IN CONTEXT: SCENES OF PROPHETIC DRAMA A.R. Diamond

46 THE BOOK OF THE JUDGES: AN INTEGRATED READING E.G. Webb 47 THE GREEK TEXT OF JEREMIAH: A REVISED HYPOTHESIS S. Soderlund 48 TEXT AND CONTEXT: OLD TESTAMENT AND SEMITIC STUDIES FOR F.C. FENSHAM Edited by W. Claassen 49 THEOPHORIC PERSONAL NAMES IN ANCIENT HEBREW J.D. Fowler 50 THE CHRONICLER'S HISTORY M. Noth 51 DIVINE INITIATIVE AND HUMAN RESPONSE IN EZEKIEL P. Joyce 52 THE CONFLICT OF FAITH AND EXPERIENCE IN THE PSALMS: A FORM-CRITICAL AND THEOLOGICAL STUDY C.C. Broyles 53 THE MAKING OF THE PENTATEUCH: A METHODOLOGICAL STUDY R.N. Whybray 54 FROM REPENTANCE TO REDEMPTION: JEREMIAH'S THOUGHT IN TRANSITION J. Unterman 55 THE ORIGIN TRADITION OF ANCIENT ISRAEL: THE LITERARY FORMATION OF GENESIS AND EXODUS 1-23 T.L. Thompson 56 THE PURIFICATION OFFERING IN THE PRIESTLY LITERATURE: ITS MEANING AND FUNCTION N. Kiuchi 57 MOSES: HEROIC MAN, MAN OF GOD G.W. Coats 58 THE LISTENING HEART: ESSAYS IN WISDOM AND THE PSALMS IN HONOR OF ROLAND E. MURPHY, O. CARM. Edited by K.G. Hoglund 59 CREATIVE BIBLICAL EXEGESIS: CHRISTIAN AND JEWISH HERMENEUTICS THROUGH THE CENTURIES B. Uffenheimer & H.G. Reventlow 60 HER PRICE IS BEYOND RUBIES: THE JEWISH WOMAN IN GRAECO-ROMAN PALESTINE L.J. Archer

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